#not only did he [spoiler] and [spoiler] but he also [spoiler] when he didn’t need to…

[makeupbychio]

party 4 u // bucky barnes x fem!avenger!reader

Summary: You hate your birthdays, but Bucky made you a promise to always be next to you that day that haunts you. But this year he broke that promise. Now he has to right his wrongs because you only did that party for him.

Warnings: angst, Bucky did wrong, verbal fights, reading dealing with grief, loss of a loved one, depressive thoughts, mentions of Valentina, Mel, Joaquín and Sam, fluff, birthday sex so smut, husband!bucky, thunderbolt*!bucky. I guess the whole gif is a spoiler, so spoilers, happy ending.

Words: 4k.

A/N: Once again, a reminder that english is not my first language so I’m sorry if there is a mistake. This takes place in the world of Thunderbolts* so spoilers maybe(?). I had this idea based on the amazing song party 4 u by Charli xcx and all the sad romantic edits that are around. Enjoy!!

italics = past.

*-

“Look congressman, the assistant is about to speak so keep an eye on her” Bucky was telling what he did, he gave his number and the number of his office to Mel, Valentina’s right hand. If she wanted to give him some information to finally accuse Valentina of what she has been doing this whole time. 

“Bucky, I don't think she would like to tell me what or where Valentina is hiding the proof,” the congressman in charge of this case told him. 

“Maybe not today considering the circumstances” Bucky told him, taking a sip of his champagne glass without looking at the other man. He was referring to the dinner party they attended that night. Valentina’s dinner party. “But I need to go, I need to be somewhere else actually”. 

“Bucky, you can’t go right now, what if something happens” the congressman was really trying to hold him. They really needed something against Valentina. 

“I doubt it actually, probably she called the whole police officers to cover this event” Bucky finished his drink ready to leave and go where he actually wanted to be the whole day. “Good night, see you on Monday” he gave a small smile to the other man and headed to the stairs. 

When his phone rang, he was ready to explain that he was already on his way. But it was not the contact he expected to see. 

It was Mel, Valentina’s assistant. He picked the call, stopped his trail. “Hello?” he asked. 

“Bucky?” Mel was whispering, he understood that she was hiding because he saw her in the dinner party next to her boss but now she was not. 

“Yes, tell me,” Bucky confirmed. Mel gave him some information about her boss but of course letting him know her concerns because Valentina is a really powerful person who has contacts everywhere and people who would do anything she asked them to do, good and awful things. 

“Thanks for the information, don’t worry I told you that I was going to protect you. If you want to give more information you can send it to my office and I will check it on Monday, okay?” Bucky reassured her. 

He was again heading his steps to leave the building but Mel didn’t catch that that was the end of the conversation for now. “I think she is already suspicious about me because about 5 minutes ago she was talking about how she appreciates my work, that I’ve been so loyal and also so smart, and that kind of stuff” she continued. 

Bucky didn’t want to be rude not especially now that finally she was giving him some information to catch Valentina, but he really needed to leave this shit show where he pretend to he’s having a good time and talk to politicians and people he hates just because of this toxic environment where he is now that is politics. He’s been faking smiles all night, stretching hands he didn’t want and answering the same questions about him being a super soldier and the adventures about Steve or about Sam, etc. 

“Don’t worry about it, she is not going to do anything to you if she already knows that I’m on your side” Bucky really tried to finally calm her. He was about to say something else to finally say goodbye when on his phone he got another call waiting on the line. “Excuse me, Mel. I really need to take this call. Talk to you later if you want when you arrive home". He hung out and clicked immediately on the other person calling. 

It was Joaquín calling him. “Bucky! Hey! Where the hell are you?” he asked him. the noise of people talking and the music in the background. 

“I’m now on my way, don’t worry I’m on my bike so I’ll be there in like 15 or 20 minutes” Bucky said finally seeing the revolving door that leads to the street and the parking lot. 

“You better hurry up, we already sang happy birthday!” Joaquín told him firmly in case he’s not aware of the time. 

Bucky found his bike but that statement made him stop. He really closed his eyes really hard because he prayed that Joaquín maybe is making him a joke, he better be. Please, he didn’t want to open his eyes to check the hour on his phone. 

“Bucky? Can you hear me? She-” Joaquín asked him because he went silent. 

Bucky finally checked the screen and yes, Joaquín was telling him the truth. He was not making him a bad joke. It was already 12:30 am. He wanted to kill himself. “Joaquín, I’m on my way!” Bucky started the engine. He was trying not to freak out because this night has already been really stressful. 

“Bucky, let me finish! We have a problem, she left”. Joaquín finally said what he was trying to say. “With Sam we just found out, after blowing the candles she went outside to go with her friend to smoke, that's what she told us but now she’s gone” he explained. 

“FUCK!” Bucky was about to crash the phone between his hands. But it wasn’t the phone’s fault. It was his fault. He promised her to be there before the clock changed to midnight. ��Are you sure she left by her choice? Check please”. He asked because even when you are powerful he can not stop to worry about you especially with all of the evil out there. 

“Yes, her things that were upstairs are gone,” Joaquín said. “I’m just letting you know what happened and you are not going to find her here, her friend doesn't know where she went also, because she told her that she needed a moment to call her family but she told her that she was very angry at you”. 

“K’ man, thanks. If you know about her, call me. Because she is not going to answer my calls”. Bucky asked his friend. 

“Yeah, sure. K’ gotta go because Sam is about to start the karaoke. But don’t worry she can take care of herself and you know that” Joaquín tried to calm him down. 

“You’re not helping man but thanks, gotta fix this shitty thing I just did. Bye” Bucky said and cut the call.

Bucky didn’t care about his birthday, he had enough of those through the years that he is not interested anymore, he actually forgets his birthday. His loved ones remind him the day when they call him or when the gifts start to arrive at his house or his office. But if it wasn't for that he will never remember his birthday. 

On another hand, you HATE your birthday. Hate hate hate! And Bucky knew that. And just like you convinced him to celebrate his own birthday with a proper fun day, he convinced you to celebrate yours too. Since you have been together, both of you already know what the other likes and dislikes for that day. 

—--

“But why?” Bucky asked you. You were with him having dinner in your house, it was summer and you were on the patio enjoying the heat of the night watching the stars, laying down on the grass. 

“I don’t know, Bucky” you didn’t want to explain why you hate to celebrate your birthdays, it brings you only sadness from those memories. Your birthday is in autumn so Bucky had enough time to convince you the opposite. 

“Doll, you can tell me. Is it about getting older? Because you only get sexier every day” he teased you. You pushed him on his chest laughing at his smirk. 

“No, you asshole. It’s not about getting older but thanks for giving me another reason to hate my birthday” you said. A long pause passed, completely silent. He didn’t want to push you to tell him but he sensed that it was something more serious. 

“If you want, we can go to bed and tell me whenever you’re ready” he finally gave up, the least thing he wanted was to upset you. 

“Don’t get me wrong, Buck. I used to love LOVE my birthdays” you stated and smiled at those old birthdays you had when you were a kid and your parents and grandparents prepared everything to be the best day for you. With your childhood friends, etc. You explained to him how your mom actually used to do every piece for the decoration and planned the games for the day. He smiled because he can imagine your mom doing all of that, she is so sweet to him. “But everything changed when it was my 16th birthday…” another pause, tears already forming on your eyes. “That year, my sister was travelling the world, her biggest wish to discover the world, so at that time she was way too far from here so that day I waited and waited for her call or message assuming that maybe the different time zones were the trouble and-” you put a hand on your chest trying to find comfort. 

“You don’t have to say it” Bucky already understood. He knew about your family but he didn’t know about when or how. He knew it was still a huge pain in your heart. 

“So, we had the tradition to call at 12 am, o’clock. And that year I fell asleep waiting so around 5 am the phone rang downstairs. My mom took the call because she was already up getting ready for her work. And you know how light I sleep so I woke up by the jump of the phone ringing. And I could remember vividly my mom screaming and crying with no control. My sister had an accident, she passed away a day before my birthday. But we got the call on my birthday because of the different time zone and also because she entered the hospital before my birthday, there was a surgery to try to save her but it was too much blood she lost” you finally confessed. “So that’s why, we planned a fucking funeral instead of being celebrating all together as a family, I remember calling everyone to cancel the party and telling them the news. I remember giving my mom money to do everything to bring my sister back home so we can bury her here”. you didn’t notice but your tears soaked your shirt and also didn’t notice how Bucky was holding you so close to his body letting you to cry. 

“I’m sorry, my love” he kissed your hair, that always calmed you down. “I’m sorry, I’m an asshole for asking”. 

“Don’t be. You couldn’t have known or guessed. So don’t be. I told you I lost a sister but I never told you more details, now you know why I hate my birthday, the memories from that horrible night and what came after”. 

Since that day almost 7 years ago, Bucky promised you to always be there for you on your birthday, he promised you that he will do his best to give you a good day despite the pain. He was going to keep the tradition your sister left, to salute you at 12 o’clock.

—-------

But this year he failed you. All of these years, he kept the promise. Sometimes he was on a mission with Steve or Sam but he never failed you, he always found a way to call you or left a message. Sometimes he also surprised you by returning home for your birthday. 

But this time he admitted that he was so into this Valentina bullshit, it was so stupid why he failed that he would accept if you don’t forgive him. You’d been telling him that he needed to work less hours, have more time at home with you or to rest even when he says that one of his skills is he never gets tired. 

This year he insisted that you should celebrate your birthday because of all the good things that have been happening to you. You didn’t feel the same way because it is another year without your sister, and Bucky knew how hard this week has been to you with the nightmares and the flashbacks to that night. He knows that better than anyone. 

So you let Bucky rent a space or a bar so that everyone could have a good time, he paid for everything. Before leaving your place, Bucky called you that he was going to this event but promised that he would make it on time. 

Bucky already went to a lot of places that you could be. Your place, his place, the place you share together. Nothing. No sight of you. He doesn't want to call your family because they will get worried and ask if something is wrong. He went to the Avengers compound, nothing. He checked every single floor, gym, office, your favorite spots of the campus, nothing. 

It’s been like 1 hour of him looking for you and your phone sent him directly to the voicemail. He remembered every place, the places of your dates, the battles, the missions. Nothing. 

He didn’t change his clothes or stop to get something to drink or to eat despite the fact that he literally went to his place. That’s when he figured it out. He needed to go in the opposite direction he was looking before.

He was near Hell’s Kitchen so after 45 minutes on his bike, he arrived praying to find you. This store was in front of the water in Brooklyn. It was late but Zeff never fails. He parked his bike outside and checked on his suit and hair before opening the door. 

“Night, Zeff” he smiled at the old italian man. He lost the count of how many times you two visited this place. 

“Hi, Bucky” the man smiled back. “She’s in the back, is everything okay? She didn’t pick the same table to look at the lake” Zeff asked. You are like family to Zeff, always protecting him and his restaurant. The best italian restaurant, the best pizza you tasted, not new york style pizza. No, the real one. Zeff has an italian certification of the Vera Pizza Napoletana given by the italian association.

“I made a huge mistake, Zeff” he whispered to the man. The old man gave him a sad look, he saw you sad but he didn’t want to insist. So instead, he prepared a special pizza for you with extra garlic sticks. “I’m here to make it right, but she is in her right to not forgive me”. 

“Real love always can” he pat Bucky’s shoulder, a wise man. You two know his whole story about his life, his family and the restaurant. So if he says that, he’s right. 

Again Bucky checked his suit, and started to walk to the table you were. Your back was facing him, it was cold outside and the restaurant was empty already because you were the last to enter and Zeff would never tell you to leave even if it was late, it doesn’t matter because he lives next door. 

Bucky coughed before sitting at your table in front of you. You acted like there was nobody, so you kept eating that slice of pizza. Not even looking at his eyes, you were looking at your drink. 

“It took you a while” you finally spoke to him, still not looking at him. 

“Well I was shitting bricks looking for you in this city, I almost went to Jersey to your family’s house” he confessed. 

“You broke your promise, Bucky. It seems that this whole Valentina thing is more important and it’s fine” you were really angry. Trying to cope with the sadness by being annoying to him. 

“I’m sorry, my love. Valentina’s assistant and everyone were pissing me off and I-” he tried to explain to you. 

“Bucky there is literally a fucking app in your phone that you can put an alarm to let you know about things. Maybe you forgot about the existence of it trying to get Val’s assistant attention that you mention and insist so much. How old is she? Is she pretty?” you were really throwing daggers at him with your look. 

He tried his best not to confront you with this brat attitude. But he knows that when you are angry you throw everything on the table. 

He looked at your face, noticing the redness on your eyes. You were crying and your eye makeup was a little bit messy. 

“Can you stop with that? I’m not trying to get Val’s assistant attention. What the hell? She’s literally a kid” He calmly kept the conversation. “I was doing my job to save this shit show of this whole Valentina’s case”. 

He didn’t even notice when Zeff brought him a pizza and a lemonade. He was so focused on you, only you. 

“Bucky, I literally only threw this party for you. Because you insisted on celebrating my achievements lately. But guess what! Bad news! The only thing on my mind this whole fucking week is the image of burying my dead sister that died almost a decade ago and I can’t get over it! Now you can judge me about how pathetic I am” you throw the slice of pizza back on the plate and cover your face with your palms, the tears were impossible to hold back. 

He took some napkins to give you but you can’t stop crying. He tried to reach your hands to stop covering your face. “Doll-”.

“Don’t doll me, Bucky. You were too busy playing the super hero surrounded by people who don’t give a shit while your friends and I were at the bar that you rent” now you are looking at him directly in his eyes, your makeup messier than before. “You broke your promise, did you count the lost calls from me? or from Sam?” you asked him. 

You didn’t want to do this to him. But lately he doesn’t understand how his work has been affecting everyone and everything around him. He didn’t even like it, he just wanted to feel better about himself for all of the damage he caused, when in reality he barely accomplished anything in politics. You were not the only one who told him that. Sam insisted that he could keep joining all of you in the field to battle or to retire to settle with you. 

He just wanted to hold you to take all of that pain he caused you, and all of your demons in your mind right now running free haunting you. 

“You are right.” Bucky said. “I told Joaquin that I will have to make up my mind if you don’t forgive me. You were right. I don’t like this job anymore. I feel like I’m not helping anyone. That’s not an excuse, I insist. I should have stopped this circus of me playing the good guy when you and Sam asked me to come back in the field or to retire. I’m sorry. I made a huge mistake, I love you and all I want is to have another power to take that pain away you carry with you every single day” he spoke so fast pouring his heart and truth to you before you faded away from his sight. 

“I don’t want to keep fighting right now to be honest, Bucky. All I wanted was to eat pizza, to look at the water outside and be with you and Alpine for my birthday. You know that is my favorite thing to spend time on” you confessed. “I’m tired”. 

He knows how triggering and challenging these days have been to you. So he’s pretty sure you said that because you are tired because of that and also only the universe knows how much you cried while you made your way to the restaurant because it was pretty far away from the bar he rented. You were not with your car because you trust his word so he’ll be your ride back home on his bike. 

You continue eating your pizza and drinking your cocktail so Bucky did the same with his meal. A moment of peace and silence to put yourself together, both of you. 

Bucky didn’t want to keep bothering Zeff so he paid the bill despite Zeff not accepting his money saying that it was your birthday. But as always you didn’t listen and left the money on the table. “Thanks Zeff, delicious as always. Say hi to Sol from us, goodnight” you gave the old man a kiss on the cheek, before Bucky put your coat on your body. 

After leaving the restaurant, you sat on a bench with Bucky facing the lake. You were angry at him and sad remembering your late sister. He looked at your sad eyes and grabbed your hand intertwining your fingers together. 

“I know your intentions are pure. It’s just, grieving is different every year despite the time that has passed” you confessed. You know he planned all of this for you to have a good day, but he didn’t count that he would fail in the only thing he had to do. To be next to you.

“I should have listened to you, doll. Sorry, I’m really really sorry and I feel awful” he hid his face holding your hand to kiss your palm. “I’m an asshole, I know your heart is aching and the least thing I want to do in this world is to cause you pain” you felt a tear in the back of your palm. 

“Can we make a deal? To decide what to do on our birthdays considering our mood, like if you want to spend the day in bed that’s okay with me” you said. He laughed at the idea because it was a good one. 

“Deal. In that case, it’s already your birthday. What do you really want to do?” he asked you. He already took notes for the future to always be free the day of your birthday. 

“I already did what I wanted. Pizza, a cocktail, be next to you. Can we go home and cuddle? At dawn it starts to rain” you informed him. 

“Let’s go, my love” Bucky never let go of your hand, leading you to where his bike was parked. 

Once at the safety of your shared place, you both took a warm shower to take off all of the tiredness of the day. Kisses spread around all of your body from his mouth. 

After that you went directly to bed, too tired to have birthday sex. You really just want kisses and cuddles to keep you warm in bed. Both of you felt sleep really fast so comfortable next to each other and your cat Alpine somewhere in the bed. 

Your light sleep woke you up when the rain hit the window, you always spoon with Bucky in the same direction. His right arm around your figure, so his left cold vibranium arm doesn't touch your skin to give you chills. Somehow you made your way out to give some breakfast to Alpine, but it was too early in the morning so you went back to bed. Cherishing this moment, the rain outside, checking your happy birthday messages from your friends and family on your phone, looking at your beautiful husband sleeping next to you, his warm unclothed precious chest facing you, his tags hanging peacefully. You love him despite his ideas, he just wanted for you to be happy. You thanked that he never judges you because of your grieving process. Not all people take well when you have bad days, always giving you the talk about how many years already passed so you should be better. 

You kissed his jawline and brushed his long messy morning hair with your fingers, he leaned his head at your touch. “Morning, princess,” he said with a raspy voice. “Keep doing that and I will give you the best birthday sex of your life, remember I never get tired, I can’t get tired so I will make love to you all day” he teased you. 

You blushed at his statement. You know he’s for real. He really can’t get tired because of the soldier serum. You didn’t mind spending all day in bed, you didn’t want to go outside anyway. “If you say so, come here, soldier”. You grabbed him by his tag to kiss him. 

Indeed, he gave you the best birthday sex of your life all morning. You just stopped in the evening to have some food and a time out because you are an avenger but not a person with the soldier serum. Then he put your phones in silence because he continued the whole night.  

“Happy birthday, baby girl” he kissed you before midnight, before your birthday was over. 

[wthphe1n]

554 Spoiler quick spoilery chaos recap (turn ur brain off edition) If you don’t wanna get spoiled, scroll fast!! ⚠️

I translated it from Korean to English.

Read with caution and a clear mind

Okay everyone, this is a spoiler — a massive spoiler. If anyone feels uncomfortable with intense plot developments or emotionally heavy content, please scroll past. What comes next… will change everything. You’ve been warned.

Okay — Sangho wasn’t the mastermind behind the plan to kill Mahon. It was that mustached guy. Sangho only suspected that Mahon was about to uncover the truth, so he called the mustached man to ask what to do. That guy told Sangho to just follow his instructions and that he would “handle it himself.”

He instructed Sangho to call Mahon and tell him that he(that mustacheed) had found evidence (supposedly through an overseas contact) that could prove Mahon’s innocence, and invited him to come to his office.

Then boom, on the way there, a truck appears — no need to guess whose doing that was.

They staged everything to look like a suicide, even placing a fake note.

When Sangho found out, he was shocked beyond belief. He couldn’t understand why it had to go that far —“ did you have to do this? but you dont have to kill him di you?!” But the mustached man told him, “This was the cleanest way,” (like… please, no brain cells at all 😩).

He also told Sangho not to feel guilty about it.

Cut to the competition scene — Sangho’s there, trying to keep his cool, but he’s clearly breaking down inside. He thinks to himself, “I didn’t think I’d actually feel this guilty” (like duh, of course you would, you’re a mess).

Then the episode ends.

[thanossssss]

SPOILERS (kind of)? // Thinking of regressor namgyu in the new season with myung gi and the “play with me” scene,,,, we need something with that but less violent ,, he’s such a baby i love him

Regressor! Nam-gyu w/ Caregiver! Myung-gi

Summary: Nam-gyu wants to continue playing Hide and Seek, even after him and Myung-gi have already passed. Myung-gi eventually agrees.

Contains: Age regression, mention of killing, mention of pills, mention of knives.

A/N: This is super short, but hopefully that’s okay!

Not proofread.

Myung-gi regretted his choice of teaming up with Nam-gyu. Ever since getting two shared kills, Myung-gi found Nam-gyu to be more annoying and energetic now. It felt like he was taking care of an extremely hyper toddler.

Nam-gyu kept talking about stuff that Myung-gi couldn’t comprehend, it was just nonsense. He was also being loud and just jumping around, following Myung-gi everywhere, despite not needing to anymore.

While Myung-gi was searching for Jun-hee, Nam-gyu was bouncing along side of him, babbling and singing. Myung-gi wasn’t exactly sure why or how Nam-gyu could be so happy and carefree in a situation like this, but he could only guess it had something to do with those pills he’d took.

Nam-gyu loudly hummed and singed, dragging his knife along the walls. He looked over at Myung-gi, giggling as he did so. “Myung-gi!!” He spoke in a singsongy voice. “I wanna play! Let’s play!” Nam-gyu exclaimed, stopping in his tracks as he started jumping up and down.

“You can keep playing by yourself. I’m looking for someone.” Myung-gi responded, causing Nam-gyu to pout. “You’re no fun, MG coin!” He spoke with disappointment, watching as Myung-gi walked past him. Nam-gyu immediately ran over to him, grabbing onto his arm.

“Myung-gi, play with me..!” Nam-gyu dramatically whined at him. Myung-gi sighed, ignoring the regressed man. “Amazing Myung-gi..” Nam-gyu grumbled, aggressively swinging his arm to get Myung-gi’s attention.

“You have to play with me! We’re a team!” Nam-gyu whined. “We’ve already passed, Nam-gyu. There’s no reason to keep playing.” Myung-gi told him. Nam-gyu whined again and pouted. “But I wanna play!!” He replied to Myung-gi, who didn’t say anything back to him, trying to ignore him and his antics.

“Myung-gi…” Nam-gyu spoke in an obnoxiously whiny voice. “Play with me..” Nam-gyu swung Myung-gi’s arm again, looking at him with a pouty frown when he turned to him, something he’d always do to get his way. Myung-gi groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Alright, fine.” He said. “We can keep playing, but we’re not actively searching them out. If we come across them, then we can..“play”.” Myung-gi watched as Nam-gyu’s face lit up, feeling extremely grateful that he was on the red team and not the blue team. Even though Nam-gyu clearly wasn’t in his right mind, he definitely wasn’t someone Myung-gi wanted to be up against.

Nam-gyu started giggling like crazy, jumping up and down as he and Myung-gi continued walking throughout the area. He hummed and babble, clearly just the happiest person playing the game.

[roots-symphony]

do you think the reason agatha’s trial felt weird is because she was the only one who did not actually buy into the mythos of the road since she knew the truth? like that was why no perspective change and all the other reasons why people thought it was a fake trial

[deus-ex-mona]

when you’re trying to sleep bUT T H E .

[em1i2a3]

The Greatest Light Is The Greatest Shade

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

Summary: You return back to the compound a week early from an initial two week-long mission, only to find Bob asleep in your bed.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because Bob and everyone else are in this story. Fluff and Smut, that’s it, that’s the tweet lol Oh and also Reader and Bob have an established friends with benefits relationship.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it before you tap it…or don’t I mean…All up to y’all lol), Biting/Marking, Praise/Worship Kinks (because sometimes we all need that), Bob gets a little dominant in this fic, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Scratching, Choking (if you squint, it’s not extreme though, like just holding), Breast Worship.

Author's Note: This is like a combination of two requests because it made a lot of sense to just combine them in a nice little wrap. Both were from anon users so if these were your requests, thank you! (Requests were: Bob getting a confidence boost in bed, and Bob liking the act of marking the reader/biting the reader)

Word Count: 9,119

You and Yelena weren’t supposed to be back at the compound for another week.

But missions had a way of unraveling differently when the two of you were left to your own devices–strategic, relentless, and just a little bit impatient. You didn’t linger. You didn’t overcomplicate. You didn’t sleep much, either, which probably explained the record time.

You’d cleared the final objective in less than forty-eight hours, ghosted the cleanup crew, and caught the first unmarked flight back to the States before anyone could slap a new assignment on your desk.

Efficiency had its perks, and so did chronic sleep issues.

Because the truth was–if you’d stayed another night in that motel with its scratchy sheets and the whine of traffic bleeding through the windows, you might’ve clawed your skin off. You hadn’t slept more than two hours in a row the entire time you were gone. The bed was too stiff and the air was too stale. You’d tried your usual tricks–white noise, stretching, sleeping pills stolen from the med kit–but nothing worked.

Your body just didn’t settle when you weren’t home.

And it wasn’t even just about your own bed–though you missed the way the pillow fluffed perfectly around your head, the subtle citrus-and-cotton scent of your detergent lingering in the sheets, the familiar groove in the mattress where your weight naturally settled.

It was about his bed, too.

Bob’s.

Because the only real, uninterrupted sleep you’d gotten in the last few months had been tangled up in him–skin warm, limbs heavy, his breath soft against your neck as he pulled you closer and laced your fingers with his beneath the covers. You remembered the way he kissed the dip beneath your ear just before he fell asleep, how he always muttered something quiet against your bare shoulder, like he didn’t want you to know he needed this as much as you did.

But you did know. Because you needed it too.

That was the problem with the whole friends-with-benefits arrangement–it had rules, boundaries, expectations. But somewhere along the way, you stopped following the fine print. Somewhere along the way, you started looking forward to him more than the orgasm. You started memorizing the shape of his hands, the way he curled into you when he thought you were asleep, the sound he made when you ran your fingers through his hair just right. The pillow talk that both of you would have post sex, tangled up within one another–joking about another round before giving in.

You missed him.

Not just the sex, not just the heat of his mouth or the way he whispered your name when he came–you missed all of him. His nervous smiles. His soft voice. His quiet steadiness. You missed the way he looked at you like he couldn’t believe you wanted him back. The way he understood that the only reason you weren’t in a relationship with him was because you hated the pressure that it came with, and how you just wanted to be–because labels just complicated things.

And you hadn’t told anyone–at least not willingly. But Yelena knew. She always knew. The girl could sniff out repressed feelings like a bloodhound, and her raised eyebrow and pointed remarks whenever Bob entered a room had gotten more pointed with time. And Bucky…Bucky didn’t say anything, but he watched. You could feel it in the weight of his gaze when you sat next to Bob at the kitchen counter, or when you reappeared from ‘relaxing in your bedroom’ wearing a hoodie that definitely wasn’t yours.

Still. None of them had said a word. Not directly at least, and the both of you were immensely grateful for that.

The elevator doors hissed open at 2:04 a.m., depositing you and yelena into the compound’s dim, and mostly-silent common room.

The air inside was nice and cool against your burning hot skin, it was crisp with the faint scent of fresh laundry. Everything felt still, as if the whole building itself had decided to turn in for the night completely.

Except for Bucky Barnes, apparently.

He was sunk deep into the corner of the oversized grey sectional, one arm slung over the back, the other nursing a steaming mug of coffee–you could tell because of the lingering odor of the roasted beans that stuck to the air. He didn’t even flinch at the sound of your boots–just glanced up, eyes cutting over the rim of his mug as the glow of the television flickered across his face. The screen was playing something low-budget, or at least it looked like it–judging by the terrible stick on mustaches and the VHS tracking lines.

”You’re back early,” Bucky said, sipping from his mug.

“No, you’re just up late,” Yelena shot back, dropping her bag on the ground before veering toward the kitchen without missing a beat. Your suit–a cross between tactical armor and a flight suit– creaked with each step you took, the joints still tight from hours of wear. You felt grimy and stiff, a little windburned, and very much like a human shaped knot of fatigue.

”What’d they do, drop you into a war zone or the sun?” Bucky muttered, looking you over. You gave him a half-smile.

”Maybe a little bit of both, it was terrible over there.” You replied, turning your attention to the television.

Yelena yanked the fridge open, her movements sharp with leftover adrenaline. She pulled something out, and tossed one blindly at you without even checking if you were paying attention.

You caught it without turning, fingers wrapping around the chilled plastic in mid-air.

”Still got it,” Bucky said with a low chuckle, grabbing the bowl of popcorn beside him as Yelena walked around you and dropped herself onto the open space he had made for her.

”I never lost it Barnes.” You replied, cracking open the cherry flavoured electrolyte drink, hearing it fizzle. Yelena chugged half of it in one go, before reaching for the remote that was on the armrest.

”What is this?” She asked, pressing a few buttons absentmindedly, flipping through the menu with obvious disdain, “This is what you stay up late watching? Are you eighty-five?”

”No, I’m a hundred and ten thank you.” Bucky shot back, yanking the remote from her hands, “It’s also a classic.” He mumbled.

”It had bad editing and worse acting,” She retorted, lunging across him to snatch the remote again.

You smirked, shaking your head as they dissolved into bickering over how insufferable Yelena is when she hasn’t gotten enough sleep. The whole room felt hazy, soft-edged in that post-mission, too-tired-to-function way, but it also was safe and familiar, and you were grateful to be home.

You adjusted your bag over your shoulder, taking a sip from your bottle, before turning toward the hall.

”Where you headed?” Bucky called after you, half-distracted by Yelena’s attempt to reach his outstretched hand that had the remote in it.

”Shower, and sleep. Maybe pretend to be dead for a few hours.”

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Yelena chirped, before throwing herself over Bucky who let out a yelp, as you left him to his own demise.

Your mind was already elsewhere. You were thinking about Bob.

Mulling over the fact that this was the longest you’d been apart–almost a full week without seeing him, touching him, or hearing him. Without the little comforts you weren’t supposed to be attached to. His voice low in the dark, his fingers tracing letters into your stomach and asking what he was spelling. The stupid way he whispered your name before nuzzling himself into your neck and peppering kisses along your skin.

You had planned on surprising him in the morning. Maybe knock once on his door, and slip inside without saying anything. Maybe you’d crawl into his bed beside him and wake him up with your mouth on his neck just to see if he’d pull you in close and wrap those long muscular arms around you like he always did.

Because a week was just too long, and you’d missed him more than you were ready to admit.

You padded softly down the hall, the compound’s hush closing in behind you like a slow exhale. Even the low chatter of Yelena and Bucky was swallowed by the distance, replaced by the click of your boots and the faint buzz of the overhead fluorescents.

Your hand grazed the cool metal of your doorknob.

You were still smiling to yourself, still replaying the plan in your head—how you’d toss your gear on the floor, shower off the grime of the last two days, slip into something barely-there, and sneak into Bob’s room just after sunrise. You’d press your lips to the warm edge of his jaw and whisper something teasing just to feel the way he twitched beneath you, sleepy and flustered and already halfway gone before he could even open his eyes.

You turned the knob and pushed the door open, and froze dead in your tracks.

The first thing that hit you was the heat. Your room always ran a few degrees warmer than the rest of the compound–partly because of the old HVAC in this wing, and partly because you liked it that way. It was cozy.

The second thing that got you was the sight of Bob.

He was asleep on his stomach, sprawled across the middle of your bed like he had slowly melted into it. His broad shoulders stretched across the mattress one arm tucked under your pillow, the other draped loosely across it like he had purposely fallen asleep like this–with his face smushed into the corner of it. The sheets had twisted around his hips–barely clinging to the edge of the dark grey boxer briefs he was wearing, the elastic just visible beneath the soft crease of his lower back. His hair was a mess of light brown, mussed-up locks, pointing out every which way like he had run his fingers through them a few times.

The soft glow of your bedside lamp–the kind that automatically flicked on to its lowest setting when you entered–cast him in warm amber. His skin looked almost sun-kissed in it, flushed faintly at the back of his neck and the slope of his spine. He was breathing slow and deep, so still and peaceful it almost felt wrong to look at him too long.

Your hand was still curled around the doorknob, but your heart had already stepped into the room.

Bob was here. Asleep in your bed, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And something about that–about the ease of it–unraveled you more than anything else had all week.

You slowly eased the door shut behind you, careful not to let the latch click too loudly, and took one silent step inside. The scent hit you next. Not just the familiar blend of your detergent and body wash–but something softer, earthier.

Sage.

You turned your head slightly, and there it was–your little ceramic humidifier, the one shaped like a curled-up fox, softly misting by the dresser. The blue glow around its base was steady and calm, casting soft shadows across the wall behind it. You hadn’t used it in weeks. But now it was on. Filled. Set to the exact setting you always used when you had a headache or couldn’t sleep.

Your brows knit gently together.

Your gaze drifted lower–to the corner of the room where you normally threw your clean laundry in a pile you meant to fold but never did. But the pile looked…Different. Smaller. Neater. Not folded, exactly, but gathered. Arranged in the exact order you usually pulled from. Undergarments on top. Tanks and sleep shorts just beneath. Even your favorite oversized tee–the threadbare Stark Expo 2019 one–was sitting on top, freshly laundered and smelling faintly of lavender-softener.

”Well…I’ll be damned.” You whispered to yourself, because you didn’t remember doing all of that before you left. You slowly shrugged your bag from your shoulder and set it down near the desk, careful not to make a sound. Your eyes lingered on the little details around the room–how the cord for your phone charger had been looped up neatly instead of left in a nest on the floor, how your glass of water had been refilled with ice and placed beside your nightstand book, how even the trash can had been emptied.

He hadn’t just been waiting for you.

He’d been looking after you.

You toed off your boots and unzipped your suit with aching, quiet fingers, each movement deliberate. You peeled it off your body, layer by layer, until you were left in just a sports bra and a thin pair of cotton briefs. You crossed the room slowly, the floor cool under your bare feet, and slipped into the en suite with a practiced ease, fingers grazing the wall as you flicked on the light.

You immediately noticed the warmth–thick and faintly humid, clinging to the corners of the tile like the room had been wrapped in a blanket not long ago. It smelled like steam and soap and something else. Something sweeter.

You stepped towards the shower and breathed it in more fully.

Raspberry and basil.

Your shampoo. It was a weird scent combo, one you’d picked half on a whim and half because it somehow stuck in your head every time you used it–bright and green, but soft, with just enough fruit to make someone lean in and ask what it was. You hadn’t brought any with you on the mission.

But now… it was definitely lower than you remembered leaving it.

Your fingers brushed the bottle on the corner shelf. Same with the conditioner. Same with the body wash. All just slightly more empty than they should’ve been. The labels slick with residual condensation, freshly handled.

Your gaze flicked to the sink.

There were tiny flecks of stubble around the drain–barely noticeable unless you were looking for them. Not quite enough to be careless. Just enough to suggest he’d shaved in a rush and hadn’t cleaned up every last piece. Bob always got a little flustered around mirrors. Too many thoughts. Too many selves. You didn’t blame him for not scrubbing them all away.

You leaned on the counter, steadying yourself, and your eyes landed on something else.

His toothbrush, tucked neatly beside yours, with the bristles still wet. You stood there in the bathroom for a long moment, staring at the two toothbrushes resting side by side like they’d always been meant to share that ceramic cup.

Bob hadn’t just been sleeping in your room.

He’d been living in it.

Showering here. Shaving here. Moving around your space with the kind of familiarity you only afforded yourself. Like he hadn’t just been borrowing your room–he’d been waiting in it. Curling himself into the folds you left behind. Slipping quietly into the corners of your routine without disturbing the rhythm, like he’d always known how to match your pace.

And maybe that was what made your chest ache the most.

The realization that he must’ve missed you just as much as you missed him.

Maybe more.

You reached for the shower handle before the weight of it could settle too deep in your bones. The pipes didn’t groan like they normally did, the water just rushed out hot and steady from the spout, steam blooming instantly against the mirror. You peeled off your sports bra and underwear, letting the warmth wrap around your tired limbs as you stepped under the stream.

You tilted your head back, letting the water run down your scalp and over your face, washing away the grime of the last forty-eight hours in one long exhale. Your fingers found the raspberry and basil shampoo, and you worked it into your hair, the scent unfurling in the steam like something sacred. You scrubbed until your scalp tingled, until your shoulders started to loosen under the weight of water and familiarity.

Then came the conditioner, and the bodywash. Each ritual was a little slower than usual, like you were moving through molasses. Your body still felt heavy, but your mind was beginning to quiet. The mission was over. You were home. And Bob was here.

You turned off the water and stepped onto the warm tile, steam curling off your skin in soft ribbons. The mirror was almost completely fogged now, but you wiped a space clear with your palm, squinting slightly at your reflection.

Right at your hip you could see the faint marks of where Bob had bit before you had left, he had said it was something for you to look at when you wanted to think of him. He had this weird thing nowadays where he liked seeing and making little marks on you so you thought about him more than you already did.

A few fresh cuts traced the edge of your shoulder and collarbone–scrapes from the last scuffle, nothing major. A deeper bruise bloomed under your ribs, the kind you’d probably feel more tomorrow. You touched it lightly, then imagined what Bob’s face would look like when he saw it.

He wouldn’t say much. He’d just look. Quiet, brows drawn. Probably reach for you and press his hand there with too much care, like he thought touching it too firmly might break something else.

You grabbed a towel and wrapped it around your body, using a smaller one to pat your hair dry until it stopped dripping. Then you fluffed it with your fingers–messy and soft, but clean–and stepped out into the bedroom.

He was still sleeping, curled around your pillow, the sheet tugged a little lower now, just enough to reveal the defined line of his waist and the way his spine curved like a comma. You let your eyes linger for a breath longer, then padded quietly to the corner of the room where he’d left your clothes.

The sleep shorts were exactly where he knew you liked them. The old blue t-shirt–the one that had started out as his and somehow ended up permanently yours–was still warm from the dryer.

You slipped the cotton over your head and let it fall just past your hips, then tugged the shorts on. The waistband sat soft against your skin, familiar and easy.

You stood there for a second, just breathing, before folding up your towels and stacking them neatly on the edge of your desk.

Without another sound, you padded across the room and eased onto the bed beside him, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. The familiar dip of it welcomed your weight, and you tucked yourself close to his side, your knees brushing the outside of his thigh.

For a long moment, you just watched him.

His lashes cast faint shadows against his cheeks, and there was a tiny crease between his brows like even in sleep he was thinking too hard. The slope of his nose was soft from this angle, and the corner of his mouth was slack, open just enough to let out the faintest exhale.

You leaned forward slowly, and bit his shoulder, gently.

Right on that spot you knew was sensitive–where the muscle met bone, where he always twitched a little whenever your lips lingered there too long.

“Mmph–Ow?” He groaned, more confused than hurt, shifting with a sluggish twist beneath your mouth.

You grinned and pressed a soft kiss to the spot. “Hey, Robert.”

Bob flinched at the sound of his full name, then jolted upright halfway before fully processing–head lifting, eyes wide and blinking blearily through the low amber light. His arm buckled slightly beneath him as he tried to catch himself, sheet slipping further down his waist.

“Wh–What the hell–Y-You’re—you’re back?” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

You laughed, hushed and breathy, and cupped his shoulder to steady him. “Careful, you’re about to fall off the bed.”

He blinked again, jaw slack, still halfway tangled in the blankets and now completely upright. “You–you weren’t supposed to b-be back ‘til Friday.”

“I wasn’t,” You murmured, leaning in closer, brushing your nose along the line of his neck. “But I couldn’t sleep.”

His breath hitched as your lips ghosted over his pulse point.

“Jesus,” He whispered, his hand finally rising–tentatively–to cup your waist like he needed to ground himself in the fact that you were real and he wasn’t hallucinating that you were here. You kissed his shoulder again, then nudged your nose against his ear

“Missed me?” Bob let out a short, almost disbelieving laugh–still breathless, still flustered.

“I–I’ve been sleeping in your room like some sad l-lost dog for four nights.” You smiled against his skin.

“I noticed.”

“I wasn’t trying to–like–move in or anything, I just–your pillow still smelled like you and I–” He cut himself off with a quiet groan and buried his face in your neck. “God, this is embarrassing.” You smoothed your hand along his spine, fingertips dragging lightly through the dip of his lower back.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s sweet.” He went still at that, and then returned his eyes to you, his blue irises shimmering in the dim lighting.

”Yeah?” You smirked, nodding.

”Very sweet.” Bob’s cheeks flushed with that familiar, helpless shade of pink, as he ducked his head slightly, eyes dropping, but you reached for him before he could retreat into himself again. Your fingers curled gently under his smooth chin, coaxing his gaze back to yours, and then, with the softest pressure, you turned his face fully toward you.

His eyes searched yours for the briefest second–barely a breath–before you leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t rushed or careless or clumsy. It was deliberate. Slow at first. Lips brushing lips, once–then again. The kind of kiss that says I remember how to do this. I missed this. I missed you. You angled your mouth against his, deepening it with a quiet sigh that tasted like relief and heat and the week you’d spent without him.

And Bob–God, Bob melted.

Like every bone in his body gave up the fight.

He kissed you back with this kind of overwhelmed gentleness, like he didn’t know how he’d gone a week without this and now he never wanted to let go. His hands found your hips–tentative at first, then a little more sure. He took the pillow and threw it off the side of the bed, before tugging you closer across the bed until you were flush against him, your thigh slotted between his legs.

His lips parted, and yours followed.

Tongues brushing, slow and wet and warm, the kiss deepening with each pass. You felt his breath stutter against your cheek when you nipped at his lower lip, felt the quiet rumble of a groan that built low in his chest and echoed into your mouth.

You threaded your fingers into his hair, tugging gently–just enough for him to gasp into you.

And then he pulled back, barely. His forehead resting against yours, his mouth still parted, pupils blown wide.

“D-Don’t you wanna get some sleep?” He asked, voice rough and frayed at the edges. “You’ve gotta be–exhausted.” You gave a slow smile, your lips still ghosting his.

”I’ll sleep once I’ve got your hands all over me again.” Bob barely registered the words before instinct overtook him.

Your breath had just finished ghosting over his lips when his hands suddenly clutched your hips tighter, and he moved–rolling fully over you with a low, needy groan, pressing you flat against the mattress in one fluid, desperate motion. The way his body stretched over yours, warm and solid and half-draped in nothing but those threadbare grey boxer briefs, made your breath catch with something between a gasp and a laugh.

He was already panting softly, like he hadn’t realized how much he needed this until the second it was offered. His mouth crushed against yours, wetter now, hungrier–kisses landing messily on your lips, your cheek, your jaw, like he couldn’t decide where to start. His hands roamed beneath your shirt without hesitation, dragging up from your hips to your waist, thumbs skating along your ribs like he knew exactly where you wanted to be touched–because he did.

“Y-You’re too dressed,” He mumbled against your mouth, voice ragged and impatient. “How’re y-you still dressed?”

You giggled, tilting your chin back as his lips moved down your neck. “You’re not exactly making it easy to take anything off.”

“’Cause I missed you,” He whined, shameless now, fingers curling around the hem of your shirt and tugging it up in soft, slow inches. “God, I-I missed you and y-you smell like–” You ran your hands down his back, nails grazing his spine.

“Like my shampoo that you’ve been using?” You teased breathlessly, interrupting him. Bob froze for half a heartbeat, then nuzzled deeper into your neck with a groan that was far too pleased.

“Told you I missed you,” He whispered. “You were everywhere in this room but not in it and I just–crap, I needed something.”

His hands slid fully under the shirt now, palms spreading wide over your stomach, smoothing over old scars, faint bruises, soft skin. And then, as gentle as ever, he pulled the shirt up and over your head with one smooth motion and tossed it aside onto the floor.

Lit only by the bedside lamp, his eyes roamed your bare skin like he hadn’t seen it in years. His hands followed his gaze, mapping every familiar slope like he was making sure nothing had changed while you were gone. He cupped your chest with a low, smooth sigh, brushing his thumbs gently over your nipples until you arched into him.

“Still like that?” He murmured, teasing and a little breathless.

“Always,” You whispered. Bob leaned in slow���eyes still dark and wide, lips slightly wet and parted–and pressed a kiss right between the swell of your breasts, leaving a little saliva mark. Then he put another just a little lower, and another.

Your breath hitched as his mouth found the delicate skin at the top curve of your breast, and he sucked gently–just enough for you to feel the sting start to bloom beneath his tongue. His hands cradled you, thumbs brushing under your ribs as he worked his way over the flesh, kissing, mouthing, biting just lightly until you were arching beneath him.

Then he took your nipple into his mouth.

A low, broken moan spilled from him the second his tongue flicked over it–like he couldn’t believe how good it felt to be this close again. He sucked slowly, then a little harder, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp, to make your back bow and your fingers tangle in his hair. His hips rutted forward–slow and clumsy at first, then more deliberate. You felt the hot, heavy pressure of his cock through his briefs as it ground against your core, the friction heady and frustrating in the best way.

“God…” He gasped against your skin, mouthing down the side of your breast now. “I-It’s like y-you’ve been gone for y-years.”

His breath was ragged now, teeth sinking into the underside of your breast to leave another mark–deeper this time, and you could feel it purpling as he pulled off. You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders.

He finally pulled back, lips swollen, pupils blown, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. His gaze roamed down your body again–hungry, frantic, and impossibly tender all at once–until it landed on your hip. His thumb skated over the spot.

”I-It’s gone,” He murmured, almost to himself. Your brows furrowed faintly, pushing his hair out of his face.

”What is?”

“The mark I left.” He glanced up at you, a little shy, a little sheepish. “The one I bit into you before you left. I thought maybe it’d still be there…”

You let out a soft laugh, cupping his hot and flushed cheek. “Well, yeah, it healed. It’s not like you can’t give me another one.”

That made his breath hitch.

His eyes darkened just slightly as they dropped back down to your body. “Yeah?” He murmured.

You nodded slowly. “I liked looking at it when I missed you.”

That shy smirk tugged at his lips, the kind that said he was blushing way harder on the inside than he was letting show. Then, without another word, he slid down your body, pressing a few scattered kisses along your stomach until he reached the dip of your hip. He nudged your sleep shorts just enough to expose the skin he wanted, the cotton bunched under his thumbs as he settled between your thighs, his breath fanning warm over your bare skin.

“I’ll make you another one,” He whispered, lips hovering. “Same spot. So you remember.”

The words were almost respectful–but the way he said “remember” made your stomach clench. Like he wanted to brand the memory into you.

Then his mouth sealed over your hip with purpose.

You felt the wet press of his tongue first, lapping softly at the curve of your hip. Then his lips closed over the spot, sucking gently at first–just enough to make your breath catch–before his teeth scraped down with delicate precision. A faint sting bloomed beneath his mouth as he bit just a little harder, pulling the skin between his lips and sucking until heat flared beneath the surface. His hands held you steady by your hips, thumbs pressing into the sensitive dips beside the bones as his mouth worked the mark deeper.

It wasn’t just about the pain–it was the way his tongue soothed the sting after, the way he breathed against you like he was trying to worship this piece of you. Your fingers slid into his hair, jaw slack, body arching into his hold as a slow whimper slipped from your throat. Just like him you enjoyed the process, it was something Bob found out he took pride in doing, it was something only the two of you knew about and that was just scripture at this point.

Then, finally, he pulled back.

Your breath stuttered. His eyes were glassy with heat, lips slick and swollen, pupils wide.

“L-Look,” He whispered hoarsely, leaning aside just enough for you to lift your head and follow the trace of his finger. The mark was already starting to darken–a perfect bloom of bruised skin, flushed deep and raw at the center, fading at the edges like a watercolor stain. Right over your hipbone, exactly where the last one had been.

Your mouth curved into a smug, breathless smile.

And Bob looked absolutely wrecked by it.

You could feel him throbbing against your thigh–hard, heavy, leaking precum in his boxer briefs–and you swore his pupils dilated even more when he saw you smile. His hands trembled just slightly on your hips, the press of his fingers tightening like he wanted to sink into you then and there.

Then, his voice–raspy, shy, so damn sweet it made your chest ache:

“C-Can I take these off?” His fingers tugged lightly at the waistband of your sleep shorts. “W-Wanna…Wanna u-use my mouth. I mean–on you. Go down on you. I–God, I just wanna taste you, I missed you so bad I–” You nodded before he could combust, your hand cupping his cheek again as your thumb brushed across his flushed skin.

“Yes,” You murmured. “Please, Bob.” He exhaled like he’d been punched in the gut. His hands slid lower, slow and reverent, thumbs catching beneath the waistband as he eased your shorts down your legs.

The cotton left your skin with the softest whisper of friction, and then he hooked them around your ankles, slow and careful like he was undressing something sacred.

He didn’t throw them right away. He held them for a second—bunched in his hand—before finally letting them slip from his fingers and fall somewhere behind him with a soft thud. His gaze flicked up.

You’d opened your legs for him.

And that alone nearly broke him.

His breath hitched audibly, chest rising sharp as his hands found your thighs and pushed them open further—just enough for him to settle between them. His pupils were blown wide, lashes fluttering as he took you in, lips slightly parted like he wanted to say something and couldn’t quite remember how to form the words.

But then he did speak.

Barely louder than a whisper.

“F-Fuck… you’re already wet…”

His eyes were locked on the slick sheen between your thighs, his voice shaking with awe and arousal. “I-I didn’t even touch you yet.”

You smiled, breathless, threading your fingers into his hair. “You don’t have to, Bob. I’ve been thinking about this since I left.”

A groan caught in the back of his throat. He dipped his head low, kissing your inner thigh with reverence, lips soft and warm as he moved closer. Another kiss, higher now. Then another. A gentle scrape of teeth. He sucked lightly at the skin just above your knee, then further up–just below the edge of your heat–where he bit down softly and hummed against you.

“G-Gonna mark you here,” He murmured, voice raspy. “Only I’ll know it’s there.”

You felt the nip, the suction, and the soothing stroke of his tongue right after. A shiver ran through your whole body.

He moved higher, lips brushing the crease where your thigh met your pelvis, then gently slid your legs up–guiding them over his shoulders with hands that couldn’t stop shaking. He adjusted slightly, nestling his chest between your thighs, the warmth of him blanketing everything.

And then he looked up at you, utterly flushed, breath unsteady, eyes glassy with lust.

”I-I’m gonna take my t-time…I w-wanna s-savor you.” You nodded, unable to speak, and then he lowered his mouth.

The first lick was slow. Flat and deliberate, his tongue dragging up your folds with aching precision. His groan vibrated into you, low and desperate, like your taste knocked the air from his lungs.

He did it again, slower this time–parting you with careful fingers, exposing your clit, and flicking his tongue over it with gentle laps that made your hips twitch. His hands slid up under your thighs, holding you down, anchoring you as his mouth worked with focused hunger.

He kissed your folds like he loved them–soft and wet, teasing swirls of his tongue punctuated by firmer, sloppier sucks to your clit that had you gasping and writhing. He moaned into you every time your hips jerked against his mouth, like your pleasure was feeding him.

And then–his fingers joined the fray.

He eased one inside you slowly, watching your face the whole time, the stretch just right as you clenched around him.

”Mmm…P-Perfect…” He whispered, barely audible over your breathless moan. He added a second, curling them expertly. You felt the exact spot he was searching for as he pressed deeper, stroking in tandem with the suck of his mouth on your clit. The pace built gradually, maddeningly patient. He knew your body too well. Knew the rhythm that made your thighs start to tremble, knew when to ease off just a little to keep you right on the edge.

He licked you like he was starving, but careful. Worshipful. Like every stroke of his tongue was another way of telling you he missed you, needed you, belonged to you.

One of your hands gripped the pillow behind your head, and the other continued to tangle in his hair, fingers twisting in his soft curls as you gasped out his name.

“B-Bob–”

He groaned again, rutting slightly into the mattress, his own arousal completely unchecked.

“T-That’s it,” He rasped between licks, voice wrecked. “S-Say it again. Lemme h-hear it while I’ve got you falling apart on my mouth.”

And you did.

Because he earned it.

And you were already so close, the coil in your stomach burning with every wet, deliberate flick of his tongue, every curl of his fingers pressing into that perfect spot again and again–

Until everything snapped.

Your back arched. Your thighs shook around his head. His name spilled from your lips again and again like a prayer as your climax crashed over you–hot, electric, and overwhelming.

But Bob didn’t stop.

He moaned into you deeply, slowing only enough to ride out every pulse, every shudder, licking you through it with open-mouthed reverence until you were trembling under him, breathless and overstimulated.

Bob stayed nestled between your legs for a long moment, his cheek resting against your thigh like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you just yet. His chest heaved softly, trying to catch up with the rhythm your body had demanded from him.

And then—still dazed, still breathless—he lifted his head.

His fingers slipped from you slowly, soaked and trembling. He held them up for a second, watching the wet glisten in the low light like he still couldn’t believe how much of you he had, how deeply you let him in.

Then–slowly, modestly–he brought those fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.

One at a time.

He sucked the taste of you from his knuckles with a low, helpless groan, like he was starving, like your pleasure was some kind of sustenance he hadn’t been able to live without all week. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes fanning his cheeks as his lips sealed over the pads of his fingers and pulled back with a soft, slick pop.

Then he looked up at you again–totally flushed, lips wet, curls wild and clinging to his forehead. And he smiled. Just a little. Like he couldn’t help it.

“God, you taste so good,” He rasped, voice nearly broken from the effort of holding back. “Y-You always do. I c-could stay down here forever…”

Your heart gave an answering throb–not just at the words, but the way he said them. Like he meant it. Like it wasn’t just about lust or pleasure or instinct. It was something needful, something devotional.

He pressed one more kiss to your thigh. Then another. His mouth moved slowly, lips soft against your overstimulated skin, kissing up toward the inside of your knee. He nuzzled into the crease where your thigh met your hip, resting there again like he was grounding himself.

“You’re…You’re s-so beautiful,” He whispered, almost shy. “I-I missed every inch of you. E-Every sound, every taste, every time you grab my hair like that–I missed all of it.”

Your fingers stayed tangled in his curls as his eyes met yours–blue and wide and still a little dazed, pupils rimmed with something darker, deeper. You stroked his scalp gently, thumb brushing just behind his ear.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” You said softly. Bob blinked like he didn’t understand the language.

“You’re so fucking good to me, Bob. That mouth of yours should be illegal.” You tugged his hair lightly for emphasis. “You take your time. You listen. You always make me feel like I’m the only thing you’ve ever needed.”

He whimpered at the comment, his cheeks going a deeper shade of red..

Then, quietly, with that fragile edge still in his voice: “C-Can I…Can I be inside you now?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes. God, yes. I want you.” He didn’t say anything after your “yes”—he didn’t have to. The air shifted the second the words left your lips. Almost in a trance, he pushed himself up on trembling arms, body sliding from between your legs just enough for his hands to tug down the waistband of his boxer briefs. He hooked his thumbs beneath the elastic, dragged them over the swell of his hips, and pushed them past his thighs. They caught for a moment on the curve of his ass, then fell to the floor with a soft thud. You could feel your mouth water at the sight of how hard he was–thick and flushed and leaking at the tip, his cock curved toward his belly with a kind of desperate heaviness.

He didn’t pause. Didn’t ask if you were sure again. Didn’t stutter.

He just moved.

Climbed up over you with deliberate grace, his skin flushed and hot, his mouth parted as he kissed a slow trail up your body. Over your thighs, your stomach, your ribs. Each kiss was lingering, lips wet and reverent, like he was soaking you in. He kissed the underside of your breast, then the curve of your collarbone. Then your jaw. Then–

Your mouth.

It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t rushed. It was hot. Slow. Deep. The kind of kiss you don’t come back from.

His lips opened against yours, his tongue brushing yours, breath catching like he couldn’t get close enough. One of his hands cradled your cheek, thumb stroking just beneath your eye, and the other curled beneath your knee, hitching your leg up around his waist until your hips aligned.

Your hand slid down his back, dragging your nails softly along the ridge of his spine. “You’re so beautiful like this,” you whispered between kisses. “So hard for me already. God, I missed feeling you like this.”

He moaned–full-throated, broken–and rutted into you once, the tip of his cock slipping along your slick folds, just barely brushing your clit.

“I’ve got you,” You whispered, cupping his face. “You’ve always been mine.”

That did something to him. You saw it in his eyes–the shift.

The way the stutter disappeared. The way his jaw set. The way his gaze sharpened like lightning behind glass, the little shimmer of gold behind the ring of blue.

It wasn’t just Bob now, it was also the Sentry.

When he looked at you now, it wasn’t uncertainty. It was awe. Command. Like he could tear through the world but would rather be on his knees between your legs, or buried inside you, trembling with the effort of holding himself back just enough not to worship you into pieces.

“Please,” You breathed. “Need you inside me.”

His voice was lower now. Clear. Quiet. Controlled.

“Spread your legs a little more.”

You did, instantly. The commanding tone–still soft, still reverent, but sure–went straight to your core.

He guided himself forward with one hand, the other still cradling your thigh. And then–slow, deliberate–he pressed in.

The stretch was perfect. Your mouth dropped open in a gasp, and his eyes fluttered shut, forehead dipping down to press against yours. He groaned, low and long and helpless as your walls clenched around him, welcoming him home.

“Mmm… So tight… So wet… I forgot how good this felt,” He whispered, his voice wrecked but steady. “You feel like you were made for me.”

”I am…” You responded, your hands threading through his hair, “No one fucks me like you do. No one fills me like you do, Bob. You’re so deep already and you’re not even close to bottoming out…You’re just so fucking perfect.” Bob’s eyes fluttered closed at your words, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he pushed a deeper inside you, until he was fully seated–hips flush against yours, breath shuddering like he was trying not to lose it.

His voice came out strained, barely above a whisper.

“You know that’s gonna get to his head, right?”

Your breath caught, and a slow, knowing smile curled on your lips. You didn’t pretend to misunderstand. You just tilted your head slightly, brushed your nose against his, and played it innocent.

“Hmm?” You asked softly, letting your hips roll up ever so slightly against him, just enough for both of you to feel the perfect stretch again. “What will?”

Bob groaned–deep, desperate–and dropped his forehead against your shoulder for a second like he was trying to physically hide from the pull inside him.

“The way you talk,” He rasped. “The way you say I’m perfect. T-That I fill you just right. You know what that does to him…”

You kissed the curve of his jaw, slowly. “Do I?”

He pulled back to look at you, his eyes now shimmering with something gold at the edges, flickering like lightning underwater. That flicker. That edge. The Sentry wasn’t in control–not yet–but he was listening. And Bob knew it. Felt it.

“I-I don’t think you realize how close he is sometimes,” He murmured, one of his hands sliding up your side, over your ribs, until it cupped your throat. He didn’t squeeze. Just held you there–warm and firm, like a tether. “It’s like…Like you say the right thing and it just flips a switch.”

You blinked up at him, breath catching as his thumb brushed under your jaw.

“Maybe I like flipping it,” You whispered. “Maybe I want both of you.”

That broke something.

Bob’s pupils blew even wider, mouth dropping open slightly as he stared at you like you were the most dangerous thing he’d ever seen.

And then he moved.

In one swift motion, he slid your legs over his shoulders, folding you tighter beneath him. The new angle had his cock hitting deeper–hot and full and unbearable in the best way. You gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders for purchase as he drove forward with a slow, powerful thrust that made your back arch off the mattress.

He groaned, long and low, hips beginning to snap into you with more force now, still controlled–but rougher. Needier. His grip on your neck stayed steady, anchoring you, his other hand gripping the edge of the mattress like he needed it to keep from breaking apart entirely.

The kiss that followed was messy–hungry and open-mouthed, more teeth than lips. His tongue was everywhere, licking into your mouth with urgency, nipping your lower lip between groans that sounded more like growls now. His hair was falling into his face, damp with sweat, and your nails dug into his shoulders, raking down his back when he hit just the right spot again.

“Oh my–fuck, Bob–” You cried out, legs trembling where they were braced on his shoulders. He was fucking you deeper now, each thrust dragging moans from your throat that echoed in the warm, hazy dimness of the room.

“You wanted this,” He gritted out against your lips. “Y-You wanted him. This is what happens—fuck—w-when you tease him.”

You moaned at the words, high and desperate, your nails leaving crescents in his skin.

“God, yes, that’s what I wanted–want both of you–don’t hold back—”

That lit something behind his eyes.

His hand squeezed your throat gently and he kissed you again, rougher this time, teeth catching your lip before dragging it between his.

“Then you’re gonna take everything,” He growled against your mouth, “Everything…You hear me?” You nodded, gasping, legs clenching around his shoulders.

“Yes–yes, Bob–please—”

And he gave it to you.

All of it.

The Sentry’s strength and language. Bob’s tenderness. That perfect, devastating mix that only you seemed able to call forward.

His thrusts slowed for just a second—just enough for him to look down at you again, to see the way your mouth hung open, the way your eyes fluttered, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed a breath. His hand was still resting there, warm and firm around your neck, and now he adjusted—his fingers splaying wider across your pulse point, thumb brushing up to trace your jaw, not to control you, but to feel you. To feel the way you beat under his touch. To know you were alive beneath him, trembling and taking everything he gave.

“Feel that,” he whispered, voice hoarse, lips inches from yours. “Your pulse…fuck… it’s so fast.” His thumb pressed just slightly beneath your ear, right where your heartbeat thrummed the loudest. “You do that to me too. Every time.”

Then he kissed you.

Not sweet. Not soft.

Dirty. Starved.

His tongue slid over yours, wet and insistent, lips parted wide as he devoured the sounds you made. He kissed you like he was drowning and your mouth was the only place he could breathe. It wasn’t clean—there was nothing neat about it. It was spit-slick, breathless, interrupted by moans and the shiver of his hips driving into yours. His body pressed you deep into the mattress, your legs still curled up over his shoulders as he leaned forward to pin you there—completely under him, beneath him, owned by him.

His hand never left your neck. It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t tight. But it was grounding. Possessive. Like he needed that connection as much as he needed to be inside you.

“Y-You feel so fuckin’ good,” He panted into your mouth, hips jerking deeper, the head of his cock nudging places inside you that made your vision blur. “Clenching so tight around me—so fucking warm—I c-can’t…”

His voice cracked.

And then his hand slid down your body.

Still shaking, still careful. He found your clit with two fingers, thumb slipping low, and began to rub tight, perfect circles–just like he knew you needed.

“Come for me,” He whispered. “Please. Please come for me—I-I need to feel it.”

You whimpered, your body jerking beneath his, the stimulation dizzying—too much and just right at the same time. The stretch of him. The wet heat of his mouth still ghosting your lips. The slow, brutal way his fingers worked your clit with focused desperation.

And then it hit you.

The orgasm ripped through you like a lightning strike–sudden and overwhelming. You cried out, voice cracked and strangled, legs tightening around his shoulders as you pulsed around him. Your entire body arched, back bowed off the mattress, hips lifting to meet every thrust with frantic desperation as pleasure shattered through your core.

“Oh…Oh my–” Bob choked, the way your walls spasmed around him making his rhythm falter. “God–you’re s-so perfect–I can’t–”

He buried himself to the hilt one final time and came with a deep, broken groan, his whole body shuddering.

His forehead collapsed to your shoulder, hand still clutching your throat, not tight–just present. Just there. His hips jerked twice, thrice–instinct driving him as he moaned into your neck, hot and helpless. His cock throbbed inside you, spilling deep with every ragged, breathless cry he let out, each one softer than the last.

He didn’t move for a long moment–just stayed there, trembling, his full weight settling over you. His lips pressed into your throat. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

Still inside you.

Still hard.

Still shaking.

And then–you felt it.

Another slow thrust.

Not desperate. Not sharp.

Just a gentle roll of his hips, pressing his cum deeper inside you, pushing it further with quiet reverence.

“J-Just wanna…Make sure you keep it in you for a bit,” He whispered hoarsely, breath hitching as your body clenched again around the overstimulated head of his cock. “You feel so good when you come…” You moaned softly, your fingers stroking through his hair as he pulled back just slightly–just enough to look at you. His eyes were glassy. Blue and clear, with no gold in sight. Just Bob. Just yours. You grinned, breath still coming in short, shallow waves as he looked down at you–his hair tousled, skin flushed, lips kiss-bitten and wet. You reached up, cupped his jaw gently, and traced your thumb across the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t suppose that means you’re trying to knock me up, huh?” Bob’s eyes widened instantly, that unmistakable Bob expression washing over his features—equal parts scandalized, panicked, and completely enamored.

“Wh–I–I didn’t–I mean–was that–oh my God.” You burst into a soft laugh, biting your lip as he stammered, his face flushing deeper with every attempt at forming a coherent sentence.

“I’m kidding, Bob, you know I’m on birth control,” You whispered, giggling, dragging your fingers slowly through the sweat-damp curls at the nape of his neck. “Jesus, you’re cute when you malfunction.”

He gave a low, breathless groan and shook his head like he was trying to will his brain back into function, but then he leaned down and kissed you again–this time slow, warm, melting into the shape of you with that unmistakable Bob tenderness.

It was his kind of kiss.

Not the Sentry’s. Not some thunderous, desperate thing.

But soft. Full. Devoted.

Like you were something he’d missed every second of the week you’d been gone and needed to relearn with his mouth–your taste, your sighs, the way your bottom lip always trembled just slightly when he kissed you slow enough.

You sighed into it, and his hand slid from your throat to cradle your cheek again, thumb brushing just beneath your eye as his forehead touched yours.

“I–I could’ve said something better than ‘don’t you wanna sleep,’” He mumbled, sheepish, his lips still ghosting yours. “That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever said.”

You chuckled again and nudged his nose with yours. “You say a lot of dumb things when you’re half asleep and hard.”

Bob gave a mortified little noise in his throat and hid his face in your neck, but not before you caught the faint smile tugging at his lips.

You felt his hand drift down your arm, then settle on your waist as he drew small, grounding circles against your skin. His voice was quieter now, steadier–like the heat had cooled just enough for the weight of it all to settle in.

“Do you need anything?” He asked gently. “Water? A warm towel? Another orgasm?” He said it half-teasing, half-hopeful, with a lopsided grin you could feel against your skin.

You smiled, eyes fluttering closed, your fingers lazily dancing across his spine.

“Just this….This is perfect” You whispered.

And Bob–sweet, sincere, utterly yours–wrapped his arms tighter around you and whispered back, “Okay.”

[ama3003]

You Caught Me

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're Valentina's assistant, and somehow, you manage to fall in love with a certain Congressman.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!! I have seen Thunderbolts* on Thursday (amazing btw) and have been craving Thunderbolts!Bucky. Also reader is like 25.

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

You worked your whole life to get here. Straight A’s, a top-tier college, a string of impressive jobs that made your parents brag to their friends.

But that wasn’t the point. You didn’t do all of that just to climb a ladder. You wanted to help people. To actually do good. To give the voiceless a voice, to step in where others wouldn’t. You wanted to make the world better, even if it was just piece by piece.

That’s what led you to OXE. And eventually, to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

Or, more accurately, to being her assistant. Though calling it that feels like selling it short.

You’ve been working with her for a few years now. From the very beginning, she seemed to like you. Said you reminded her of herself. You’re still not sure if that was a compliment or a warning.

Valentina can be cold. She’s sharp, calculated, sarcastic to the point of painful. Some of her decisions don’t exactly land on the moral high ground. But she took you in, brought you closer, taught you how to survive in a world most people don't even know exists. And you’ve done things others your age only dream about. You were actually making a difference.

But now everything’s falling apart.

She’s under investigation. Impeachment is on the table. And you’re left trying to put out fires.

You’d been tense the entire hearing. And not the kind of tension that goes away with a few deep breaths. This was chest-tightening, eye-twitching, every-decision-matters tension.

Your job was on the line. Everything you’d worked for — or convinced yourself was worth it — was balancing on Valentina’s ability to lie with a smile.

She was performing. You were managing the fallout.

Your eyes kept drifting — trying to find some kind of anchor. And that’s when you caught a pair of them.

Blue. Cold but curious. Watching.

Congressman Bucky Barnes.

You met his stare, held it a second longer than you should’ve, then forced yourself to look away. Whatever that was — whatever he was trying to read — you didn’t have time to entertain it.

Then Valentina dropped the line you’d been dreading: “By all means, dig as deep as you like. I promise—there’s nothing to find.”

You knew that tone. It meant you had twenty minutes to erase every breadcrumb.

By the time the hearing adjourned, you were already outside, typing fast, juggling secure files and decoy trails on your tablet. You barely noticed the footsteps until—

“Y/N?”

You looked up, and there he was. Again.

That same cool stare, now paired with a too-casual smile.

“Congressman Barnes,” you said smoothly, tucking the tablet under your arm. “Nice to officially meet you. I’ve heard...great things.”

“I doubt it. Also, please just Bucky,” he said, offering a hand. “Unless you want to start talking tax policy — then I’ll put the tie back on.”

You cracked a smile and shook his hand. Firm. Warm. Too steady.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing back toward the hearing room. “I mean, what happened in there was... honestly? Kind of worrying. Extremely worrying. Kind of concerning if you ask me...in like a worrying way.”

You tilted your head. “You mean ‘concerning,’ or ‘I’m building a case against your boss’ worrying?”

He blinked. Didn’t expect you to hit back that fast.

You smiled politely. “No need to dance around it. I’m sure you’ve got a folder somewhere with Valentina's name on it.”

His grin crooked slightly. “Maybe. It’s a very organized folder. Color-coded tabs.”

“She always did love being underestimated,” you said with a shrug. “O.X.E. has nothing to hide, of course.”

He didn’t argue, but the look he gave you said he wasn’t buying it.

There was a beat of silence, and then he glanced over your shoulder — where Valentina was watching the two of you, pretending she wasn’t.

“She always stare like that?” he asked casually.

“Only when she thinks someone’s wasting my time.”

“And am I?”

“Depends on why you’re really here.”

He smiled. “Okay, fine. I’m new to D.C. First term, still finding my way. Thought maybe... you could give me a tour. Show me the non-corrupt parts.”

You laughed softly. “That’s a short list.”

“Still. Monuments, museums, a little fresh air — maybe a conversation?”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Right. A conversation. Just two people talking. No ulterior motives, no recording devices, no traps.”

He held up his hands. “I left the wire at home.”

You smirked, but you didn’t let it reach your eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” he said. “Just... improvising.”

You leaned in just enough for him to know you were done playing. “You’re fishing, Congressman. I’m just not the one you’ll catch.”

He opened his mouth — maybe to protest, maybe to flirt again — but you stepped back as Valentina waved you over.

“You're a very good-looking man,” you added, softer now. “And I appreciate the effort. But whatever you’re hoping to dig up from me? You won’t get it over coffee and small talk.”

A beat passed between you.

Then you gave him one last smirk, turned, and walked back toward Valentina — leaving him standing there, watching.

And even though you didn’t look back, you knew those blue eyes hadn’t moved.

*******

You had three things on your mind.

Shut down headquarters.

Erase every trace of Project Sentry.

Clean up Valentina’s reputation before the whole thing implodes.

And somehow, you're doing all of that in a dress and heels at a fundraiser.

“Honestly, Y/N, you have such an amazing brain,” Valentina says, her smile more calculated than warm. “Putting this fundraiser together? Brilliant move. This has to sway at least some of the votes.”

“Thanks,” you reply, quickly scrolling through your tablet. “I’ve categorized the guest list: influencers, allies, and the undecideds. Left off the hard no’s. No point wasting time. I just sent the files to you.”

“Perfect. Do I need you for anything else?”

“No, you should be good. I’ll stay close though. Just in case.”

“Smart. Stay where I can see you. And hear you. Actually, just don’t go far,” she says, already turning to work the room. “Time to network.”

As soon as she walks away, you exhale, realizing you hadn’t even noticed you were holding your breath.

This job is not for the weak. Especially not under someone like her.

You glance around the room, taking in the glittering lights, expensive suits, and fake smiles. Your eyes find Valentina again, instinctively keeping track of her. Then they drift to the large Avengers logo on display at the front of the gala.

You were still a kid the first time you saw the Avengers on screen. They were larger than life. Heroes. They saved people. They made things right.

Now? You’ve seen the world fall apart more times than you can count. And more often than not, no one shows up to fix it.

That’s why you’ve stuck by Valentina. Why you’ve been willing to blur the lines. The world still needs saving. People still need heroes.

They just don’t always look the way you imagined.

“You know,” a voice says beside you, calm but unmistakably familiar, “this whole gala is impressive. The Avengers memorabilia is a nice touch.”

You turn and see him. Congressman Bucky Barnes, standing just a few feet away, his gaze locked on the towering Avengers "A" on display like it still meant something.

“Valentina thought it would help raise awareness,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral, polite. “Tie the past to the present. Nostalgia works.”

You’re careful with your words. You know why he’s here, what game he’s playing. And more importantly, you know where your loyalty lies.

He glances at you now, the full weight of those ice-blue eyes meeting yours. “Awareness for what, exactly?”

You offer a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “The mission has always been simple. Help the people. The world’s been falling apart, and heroes… they’ve disappeared. People need someone to believe in again.”

He nods slowly, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “Again, call me Bucky. Also, that was good. Very rehearsed. Very polished. Bet Valentina was proud of that one.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m just here for the hors d'oeuvres,” he says, voice smooth, but you catch the edge underneath it.

You take a step closer. “Look, Congressman Barnes. I know your history. And we both know what happens when evil comes and no one is there to stop it. OXE is trying to prevent that. Everything we do is for the people. Valentina’s impeachment? It won’t go anywhere.”

Even as you say it, there's a flicker of doubt. Small, but there.

He studies you for a moment before pulling a card from inside his jacket and holding it out.

“What’s this?” you ask, accepting it cautiously.

“My direct line. In case you remember something useful.”

You blink at him, caught slightly off guard by how calm he is. How sure.

You move closer, slow and deliberate, then reach up and tuck the card neatly into his chest pocket. “I don’t know what you think you’re implying, but I don’t appreciate it."

The two of you lock eyes, silence stretching between you. Not hostile, exactly. But charged. Neither of you blinks.

Then your phone buzzes.

You glance at your phone. Valentina. Of course.

You slip it back into your pocket and look up at him one more time.

“I have to go,” you say, steady. “Enjoy the rest of the gala, Bucky.”

Your smile is polite, but your eyes stay sharp. You turn and walk off without waiting for a response, the sound of your heels swallowed by the noise of the event.

Behind you, he watches you disappear into the crowd, quiet and thoughtful. Then, without a word, he finds himself slipping the card into your bag later in the night. Not for pressure. Not even for leverage.

Just in case.

And whether you used the card or not—that was your choice. Bucky just hoped he’d planted the seed.

Later that night, you sat beside Valentina in the back of a sleek black car, the city lights flickering across her face as she debriefed the night with a grin.

“I think that went incredibly well,” she said, proud and pleased with herself. “Honestly, I’m so proud of us. Oh—hand me my tablet. I gave it to you earlier when Gary started sniffing around asking too many questions.”

Your fingers found something thin. Smooth edges. Not the tablet.

The card.

Bucky’s card.

Your stomach tightened, just for a second.

He’d slipped it in without you noticing. Of course he had.

You stared at it between your fingers. You should’ve tossed it the second you felt it. Should’ve never looked at it again. But something kept your hand still.

“Y/N?” Valentina’s voice cuts in, sharp and expectant. “Tablet. Me. Now.”

You snap out of it, quickly pushing the card deeper into your bag before pulling out the tablet and handing it over.

She doesn’t notice. She’s already scrolling.

You tried to focus on the night’s success, the way people clapped when Valentina spoke, the headlines you knew would be glowing by morning. But that card was still in your bag. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About the look in his eyes.

About the weight of what he said.

Maybe—just maybe—he really did get in your head. And maybe that seed he planted was already starting to grow.

*********

You’d made a mistake. A big one.

And you knew it.

Your heart raced as you paced the cramped hallway, mind spiraling. You'd believed you were making a difference—helping Valentina clean up her reputation felt like part of that. She said she needed you. That this was how things got done. So you listened.

Then she told you to burn the loose ends. Literally burn them.

Human beings.

And still, you followed orders. You rationalized. You looked the other way.

But the plan didn’t go as expected. They didn’t go quietly.

They were fighting back.

And Valentina didn’t like that.

Now a SWAT team is going to finish the job.

You couldn't let them die. You knew their names. Their stories. You didn’t believe they deserved this—not like this. Maybe it was too late to save them all, but maybe you could help save others.

Maybe there was still a chance.

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You dug into your bag, searching through the chaos until your fingers found it. That damn card.

You stared at it for a beat. Then you called.

It rang once. Then again. And then he picked up.

“This is Y/N,” you said before he could get a word in, your voice low, rushed, almost breathless. “I’ve, uh... been thinking. Remember that tour you wanted? You were right. Since you’re new to D.C., I figured—why not? Let’s hit the monuments. Maybe a museum. Or... I don’t know. Just talk. Just you and me.”

There was a beat of silence.

“A chat?” Bucky’s voice came through, teasingly. You started biting your nails, heart pounding. “Yeah. I’m down for a chat. When and where?”

Before you could answer, Valentina’s voice sliced through the hallway outside.

“I swear to god, Y/N, do I have to spell it out for you? You're coming with us. Get your ass in the car. Who else is going to make my coffee right? I swear, you Gen Zers make me want to throw myself off this damn building.”

You went silent, your jaw clenched. Bucky didn’t say anything either, but you knew he heard it.

Everything inside you was pulling in different directions. Guilt. Fear. Fury. Shame.

You swallowed hard.

“Look…” you whispered, voice shaking a little. “I’m sorry about the last few times. You were right. You were always right. I was so stupid. She doesn’t care about the world. She just wants the glory.”

You were rambling now. You always did when your anxiety started creeping up your throat.

“Whoa, hey—slow down, sweetheart,” he said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just tell me what I need to know.”

But before you could speak again, Valentina shouted your name, louder this time.

You turned slightly, lowered your voice again.

“Do you have an iPhone?”

“No. Samsung.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course. “Do you know how to track a phone?”

“I mean, yeah. But I don’t really do that anymore.”

“Well... start doing it again.”

You paused, then added quietly, “I have to go. Track my location. You'll get your answer.”

Then you hung up.

You let out a long breath, pushed the card deep back into your bag, and ran toward Valentina’s voice.

Hoping Bucky understood.

**********

You were pacing again. Nerves buzzing. Mind racing. You were worried about the others. They escaped when Bob distracted them. Then they couldn't find them. But something told you Bucky had gotten to them first. You could feel it in your gut.

He pulled through. Of course he did.

But now… there was a new problem.

Bob.

The new guy. The unstable one.

He wasn’t like the others. Something about him was off from the start. Too volatile. Too quick to react. And now he had powers — real powers — thanks to Valentina.

She said he was the future. Said he was the key.

But all you saw was a ticking bomb with a name tag.

He didn’t need power or exposure. He needed help. And if no one stepped in soon, he was going to destroy everything — maybe even himself.

You ducked into a quiet hallway, slipped into an empty supply closet, and dialed Bucky’s number with shaking hands.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Y/N,” he said, breathless like he’d been mid-action. “We’re good. I got them. Everyone’s safe. I’m keeping them under wraps as witnesses, so we’re covered. You did the right thing calling me. Thank you.”

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall.

“No,” you said softly. “Bucky, there’s more. A lot more.”

There was a pause.

“Talk to me.”

“She did it,” you whispered. “She actually made one. A super soldier. His name’s Bob.”

“Bob?” he repeated, half in disbelief, half already bracing for what was coming next.

You could hear background chatter on his end — voices muttering “Yeah, Bob,”

“Yes. Bob the super soldier. He’s... not stable, Bucky. He’s got powers, strength, speed — but his head isn’t right. He’s spiraling, and Valentina’s using him like he’s a tool.

You were rambling now, the anxiety bubbling up in your chest.

“She’s restarting the entire program, and this guy — he’s the prototype. And if she gets away with this, there will be more. Stronger. You have to stop it before it turns into something we can’t come back from.”

There was silence on the line. Then you heard him moving, footsteps pacing across concrete.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m coming. I’ll handle it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” his voice softened, “are you okay?”

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted, voice cracking just slightly. “Everything I worked for is going to be for nothing. I'm freaking out.”

“You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”

“I can't tell my friends or family.” you said, quieter now. “I already feel guilty and shameful enough. They would just make me feel worse.”

Another pause. Then softer, “Y/N... I meant what I said. You did the right thing. And I’m proud of you. Really.”

You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Thanks. That means more than you probably realize.”

“I realize it,” he said. And it was quiet, but it hit you harder than it should’ve.

You hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Are they okay? The others?”

“They’re safe. A little roughed up, but they’re going to be fine.”

“Good. That’s good,” you said, exhaling. “I should go. I’ll keep feeding you updates when I can. Just… get here fast, alright?”

“Okay,” He finally whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”

You hung up and slipped the phone back into your pocket before walking out the door. You immediately froze when your boss stared at you with raised eyebrows.

“Well,” she said coolly, “out of everyone, I never thought you would be the one second-guessing your work.”

You didn’t flinch. Not this time. “Giving Bob those powers? It’s reckless. And you know it.”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head like you were some disappointing intern instead of her right hand. “I’m not going to argue with you, kid. I like you. I really do. You’ve done exceptional work—with me. For us. That’s why I’m giving you a little time to get your head on straight.”

Your jaw clenched. You said nothing.

“But,” she added, stepping a little closer, lowering her voice, “don’t let Barnes cloud that beautiful brain of yours. He’s a distraction. A loud, inconvenient one. And he’s getting in the way.”

You met her gaze evenly, letting the silence stretch.

Then, without a word, you grabbed your purse and walked past her—heels clicking, spine straight.

You needed to find Bucky.

*********

"Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers."

After countless photos and a barrage of questions, you kept your smile steady, doing your job one last time.

“Thank you all for coming,” you said with calm finality. “Photos and questions will stop here. I’ll be in touch about the next press briefing soon. Seriously—thank you again.”

You gave a polite nod as Valentina waved beside you, her signature smirk in place.

As the crowd began to disperse, you turned your attention to the Thunderbolts. With a gentle but firm push, you guided them out of view, away from the cameras. And then—without thinking—you grabbed Bucky and pulled him into a hug.

You couldn’t stop yourself.

You’d been searching for him. Panicking. Lost. The last image you had was of him stepping into the Void. The moment his silhouette became just that—a shadow—you screamed his name. And then… nothing.

You thought you’d lost him.

But now, here he was. Alive. Solid. Real. And all the emotions you’d buried came rushing back.

You knew there was something between you—something electric, something raw and waiting. It had barely started, but it already meant something. And for a bit, you'd been mourning the future that never got a chance to begin.

Now, you didn’t have to mourn anymore.

The moment stretched. Everyone around you went quiet. You barely registered your boss muttering an uneasy, “Oh dear.”

Bucky froze, stiff in your arms. He glanced around, uncertain. John gave him a look before mimicking hugging someone. Alexei flashed a thumbs-up. The girls? They just smirked.

“I saw you,” you whispered, pulling back just slightly. “I saw you walk into the Void. You became a shadow. I—I was trying to find you, and then you pulled that crap. What the hell, Barnes?”

He opened his mouth, but you beat him to it—stepping back before he could even return the embrace.

“I’m okay,” he said gently. “I swear, I’m fine.” He just wanted you back into his arms.

“You still scared the hell out of me,” you said, your voice breaking just a little. “I thought you were gone for good.”

Bucky's expression softened. “I’m not going anywhere. You still owe me that tour, remember?”

You laughed—half out of relief, half because it suddenly felt so easy to breathe again. You stepped closer, pulled him into a kiss, and he kissed you back without hesitation. Sparks. Heat. Home.

When you finally pulled away, smiling, you whispered, “Looks like you caught me.”

He grinned. “Looks like I have.”

Then you kissed again.

A loud groan broke the moment. “I feel like I’m gonna barf,” Val muttered.

“Shut up, Val,” the entire team replied in unison.

[wqnsho]

resurface | kang dae-ho x gn! reader

*.✧ synopsis: after years of heartbreak and betrayal, you’ve learned to bury your emotions to survive. but when your high school sweetheart, kang dae-ho, unexpectedly appears in the deadly game you're also in, the walls you built around your heart begin to crack. As past and present collide, survival becomes about more than just staying alive *.✧ word count: 10.1k (yeah) *.✧ warnings: squidgame season 2 spoilers, violence, death, trauma, toxic relationships, cursing, fluff, angst. your number is 389. *.✧ note: dae-ho won against in-ho by just .2%! thank you all so much for the support. my in-ho fanfic reached 1K notes already, while 1k+ of you participated in my poll! I'm very thankful for the support :> i was in the middle of editing in-ho's fic when the polls finished, when i saw how close the votes were i laughed. luckily i only needed to tweak a bit in this fic for it to be done. enjoy reading!! >:) dae-ho is such a cutiee!! long italicized texts are flashbacks. masterlist | request here

“Shit, I just moved didn’t I?” Player 196 asked in a lighthearted tone after swatting the bee that landed on her. Before anyone could answer, she dropped dead to the ground, a bullet from god knows where piercing through her skull.

The area erupted in chaos as players realized the horrific truth: to be eliminated meant death. Others tried to make a desperate run for it, while some froze, paralyzed from fear, and you were one of them. 

Your eyes trailed down to the corpse laying a few feet in front of you. Your heart dropped. That could’ve been you.

You should've trusted your gut. You should’ve known that whatever bullshit that shady man in a suit said was too good to be true. But here you were, paying the price of your stupid decisions.

The air was thick with panic as a bloody massacre unfolded before your eyes. People who ran got shot left and right, while those who stayed survived. Once it cleared those who moved, the mechanical doll turned around, its eerie voice rising in song. The players were too stunned to move. Only one person had the courage to act—Player 456. With unwavering resolve, they ran ahead and instructed you all to hide behind someone bigger than you.

The rest of you followed suit, moving quickly. You ended up behind Player 230—Thanos, a rapper drowning in 1.19 billion won of debt. You didn’t trust him, and your instincts proved right. As the game progressed, he shoved people ahead of him, ending their lives without hesitation. Yet, you had to give him some credit: the man could hold a pose.

One by one, players crossed the finish line. As the timer reached 0, the hellish game finally ended. You were shaking, your body trembling with the aftershock, but at least you were still alive. The guards escorted everyone back to the main area, where the survivors collapsed to their knees, begging for mercy, begging to go home. You could hear them, desperate, pleading. It was almost unbearable.

“There must’ve been a misunderstanding,” the square guard���s voice rang out, cutting through the despair. His tone was flat and devoid of emotion. “We are not trying to harm you. We are presenting you with an opportunity.”

His words did little to reassure anyone. Your eyes rolled at their response. Misunderstanding my ass! The chance of survival, of escape, felt more like a cruel joke than anything else. But before the guard could continue, a voice rose above the rest, sharp and commanding.

“Clause three of the consent form!” Player 456 called out, his voice filled with defiance.

Everyone turned to look at him, some surprised, others hopeful. You were no different. You hadn’t expected anyone to stand up in this situation. You didn’t even know what clause three was, you skipped that part and immediately signed the form, but there was something in the way he spoke that made you believe he knew more than the rest of you.

“The games may be terminated upon a majority vote, correct?” he demanded, his eyes never leaving the guard.

The square guard responded without missing a beat, his tone unchanged. “That is correct.”

“Then let us take a vote right now,” Player 456 pressed, his voice firm and unyielding.

There was a brief silence before the guard spoke again, acknowledging the request with a chilling calmness. “Of course, we respect your right to freedom of choice.” He paused, and in that moment, you could feel the hope that had been buried deep inside everyone start to stir. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “But first, let me announce the prize amount that has been accumulated.”

With the press of a button, the room shifted. The cold, sterile space took on a strange new color, bathed in a soft, eerie glow. A massive piggy bank, almost comically large, descended from the ceiling, its mechanical limbs creaking with the weight. The sound of bills filling it echoed through the room, a surreal sound that only added to the strangeness of the moment. It felt like something out of a twisted casino, a game that didn’t care about the lives it destroyed, only the money it could accumulate.

“The number of players eliminated in the first game is 91,” the guard continued, as the money filled the piggy bank at a steady pace. “Therefore, a total of 9.1 billion won has been accumulated. If you choose to quit the games now, the 365 remaining players can equally divide the 9.1 billion won and leave with your share.”

“How much is that?” Player 100 asked.

“Each person’s share would be 24,931,500 won,” the guard answered flatly, almost as if it was an insignificant amount.

You could hear the gasps of disbelief that rippled through the crowd. It was hard to wrap your mind around it. You almost died for that? The amount seemed insignificant compared to the terror you’d experienced. You could hear others murmuring, their frustration and disbelief growing louder. What good was 24 million won when you had been pushed to the brink of death, when you had witnessed so much suffering?

“Twenty million? You said 45.6 billion!” Player 230 shouted, his voice filled with outrage.

The guard’s response was cold, calculated. “The rule was that a hundred million won would be accumulated for each eliminated player. If you choose to play the next game, and more players are eliminated, the prize amount will increase accordingly.”

The answer felt hollow, like an empty promise that was meant to keep you on the hook.

“Then how much will it be if you survive until the very end?” someone asked, their voice tinged with desperation.

“As I already told you, the total prize money for all 456 players is 45.6 billion won. Those who make it through all six games will equally divide the 45.6 billion won.”

A hush fell over the room, as the reality of the prize set in. 45.6 billion won. It was an obscene amount of money. The sum felt impossible, unreal. But at the same time, it was exactly what so many of you needed. The temptation of that massive prize loomed in the air, a beacon in the darkness. Could you really leave with only 24 million? Was that all your life was worth?

“So, if you’re the only one to survive, you get 45.6 billion won?” Player 230 asked, as if the question needed to be confirmed, just to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood.

“That is correct,” the guard answered, his voice detached, like it was just another part of the game.

For a brief moment, the room seemed to breathe in unison. The weight of the prize, the gravity of the situation, pressed down on everyone. People began to murmur among themselves, the excitement in their voices unmistakable. The idea of that unimaginable sum of money—more than they had ever seen in their lives—became a tangible thing in the air. People who had been trembling in fear moments before now looked around, their eyes glinting with a new kind of hunger. The atmosphere shifted, the air thick with the scent of greed and desperation.

“So we can take a vote again and decide to leave after the next game?” someone asked, voice laced with uncertainty, but also with a flicker of hope.

“As promised in the consent form, you can take a vote after each game and decide to leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point,” the guard confirmed. “We always prioritize your voluntary actions.”

The voting began, and the room filled with tension once again. Player 456  was the first one to vote. He stepped forward, pressing X without hesitation. Others followed, some pressing X, others O. When your turn came, you felt your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t hesitate. You stepped forward, pressing O with a sense of finality, the sound of the button clicking louder in your ears than it should have been. You placed the patch on your jacket, marking your decision, and walked back to your side of the room.

You didn’t look back.

You weren’t sure when you had made up your mind, but the choice was clear. Despite everything, despite the fear gnawing at the edges of your resolve, you knew you couldn’t walk away now. 

Out there, in the real world, the debt that had dragged you into this nightmare would still be waiting. The vultures would circle, just as they always had, but now you could fight back. You could take a step toward something better. The thought of going back to the crushing weight of your debts, to the life that had led you to this point, filled you with dread. There was nothing for you out there anymore.

The prize, the money, the possibility of escaping this endless cycle—this was the only chance you had left. There was no turning back now.

As much as you sympathized with those who wanted to leave, You just couldn’t. Here, at least, there was hope. A sliver of it. And if you survived, you could finally break free. You could pay it all off. You could start over. For the first time in what felt like forever, you had a chance—one that you couldn’t let slip through your fingers.

Your gaze wandered to the others, watching as they made their decisions. Some pressed X with shaking hands, their faces filled with desperation to leave and go home. Others pressed O with grim determination, their eyes locked on the future, no matter how uncertain. And yet, the overwhelming weight of it all crashed down on you again, heavy and suffocating.

You looked up at the piggy bank hanging high above, its golden glow mocking you with promises of salvation. If you made it—if you became the lone survivor—you’d earn it all. 45.6 billion won. Enough to erase every debt. Enough to silence the loan sharks who haunted your dreams. Enough to leave it all behind and disappear.

But as you stared at it, bile rose in your throat. Was this all your life had become—fighting for money, sacrificing everything just to survive? Your stomach twisted as your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms.

Reaching for your necklace, you clutched it tightly, the familiar weight grounding you for a moment. Its warmth offered a flicker of comfort, but even that couldn’t silence the emptiness creeping in. Here, hope felt like a dangerous thing to hold onto.

Out there, you had nothing. No one. Over time, everyone had given up on you. Your friends had drifted away, unwilling to carry the weight of your problems. Your family had turned their backs, tired of the chaos and the shame. And then there was... him.

He left without a word. No explanation, no goodbye. Just gone, as if you had never mattered at all.

When he disappeared, it felt like the last thread holding you together unraveled. You tried to move on, to make sense of it, but the truth was simple: no one stayed. Out there, you were invisible—a burden no one wanted to carry.

But here? Here, you had a purpose. As twisted and brutal as it was, the games gave you something to hold onto. Every step forward felt like proof that you could still fight, still matter, even if it was only to yourself.

You tore your gaze from the piggy bank and stared down at your shoes. It used to be white— pure. Now it’s scuffed and worn, much like you. Each scratch and stain told a story of a life lived in survival mode, clinging to scraps of hope. You couldn’t help but wonder—if you walked away now, what would be waiting for you? Nothing but the same endless cycle of despair.

At least here, you had a chance. A sick, twisted, blood-soaked chance.

And that was more than the outside world had ever given you.

In the midst of your inner turmoil, you didn’t notice someone standing beside you. They were looking at you, as if they wanted to make small talk yet didn't know how.

There was something bugging Dae-ho and he didn't know what it was. He couldn't stay still, couldn't think properly, couldn’t stay calm. He desperately needs a distraction, and he needs it now. But what could he possibly do? He can't just slap himself or shout. No way, that's too embarrassing. 

The male thought deeply before an idea popped up in his head. Eureka! He could try and talk to someone! His excitement died down as fast as it came. Yeah, he could try and talk to someone but who? His eyes scanned the crowd. To his dismay, most of the people surrounding him were scary oldies, and he was not willing to take the risk. He looked to his left, spotting a full head of hair. 

His gaze landed on you. You're young, he thinks— the white spots in your hair were less than those around him. He felt a little nervous, unsure of how to approach you, but he had no choice. This was his chance.

He coughed lightly, a test to see if you would notice him. 

No response. 

He tried again, this time a bit louder. 

Still nothing.

He began to get irritated, were you deaf or something? Shaking his irrational thoughts, Dae-ho got ready to fake cough again.

Then, out of nowhere, an old man in front of him turned and glared, sending a shiver down his spine. The male stopped, his face flushing. He needed to stop being a coward. He steeled himself, like the marine he was before doing it the right way.

He then stared at your unresponsive figure with intense, wide, and bulging eyes hoping that you would feel his intense stare and finally look at him. When that didn’t work, he began chanting “Hey! Look at me!” in his head just in case you were a mind reader. 

To nobody's surprise, his ‘plan’ flunked. Letting out an audible sigh, Dae-ho shook his head. He stopped being a wuss and garnered courage like a true marine. He should just approach you the right way, a single tap on the shoulder wouldn't hurt anybody right? Right.

As soon as his hand touched your shoulder, you ducked down and sneezed—an odd timing. He froze, unsure whether this was a sign to stop or if you were actually a mind reader and was avoiding him. But before he could pull his hand away, you reverted back to your original position— bumping into his outstretched hand.

He jumped back, startled. His cheeks flushed again as he realized he’d intruded on your space. In a sudden burst of nervous energy, he bowed deeply— a perfect ninety degrees, his hands clasped in front of him.

“I’m really sorry! I didn’t mean to... you see, I was feeling a little bored and wanted to talk to someone. Between you and me, I don’t want to talk to some old gray-haired people in debt. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable, you’re free to slap me and ignore me!”

He spoke in one long breath, the words tumbling out faster than he could control. Then, he froze, bracing himself—waiting for a slap, a harsh word, anything to tell him he had crossed a line. Or maybe, just maybe, he was waiting for you to give him a sign that it was all okay. The silence that followed was suffocating, hanging between you like a heavyweight, neither of you dared to break.

When you didn’t respond, he began to doubt himself. Was this a joke? Was he imagining everything? Had he pushed too far?

And then—

“…Dae-ho…?”

The silence that was there from the beginning stretched even further as Dae-ho froze, his heart pounding. He could feel his chest tightening with every breath, his thoughts spinning in circles. Was this really happening?

He slowly lifted his head, praying, hoping that what he was thinking wasn’t true. His eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign that this was just some cruel illusion. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, but it didn’t help. You were still there, staring back at him, just as real as the cold walls of the room around him.

“[Name]...”

How could this be real? The years apart, the silence, the pain—it had all carved its place deep inside you, wounds that never fully healed. And yet, here he was, standing before you like a ghost dragged from the past to haunt you. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

You stared at him, unable to look away, yet every second felt like a fresh wound. How could he just stand there, shaking and silent, as if you weren’t the one left to pick up the shattered pieces of your life when he walked away? Your chest tightened, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

He looked so different, yet so heartbreakingly familiar. Those same eyes that used to meet yours with warmth now avoided your gaze like a coward. The same hands that once held yours trembled at his sides, as if they carried the weight of something unsaid.

You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers to the questions that had haunted you for years. Why did he leave? Why didn’t he say goodbye? The questions burned in your chest, but no words came. The silence between you was louder than any explanation he could give—louder than the ache of the years he left you to carry alone.

And yet, some small part of you hated yourself for hoping, for wanting him to say something that would make it all make sense. But as his lips parted and nothing came, his silence was louder than any excuse could ever be.

Cheers suddenly filled the room as the two of you looked away from each other. Looking at the scoreboard, you released a sigh of relief as O won, meaning the games would still proceed. 

Following the guards orders to disperse, you walked away as fast as you could. You needed to run away for a while, away from everyone, away from him. You weaved through the sea of players, ignoring the chaotic mix of relief and despair filling the room. Every step felt heavier, your mind still reeling from the sight of him. Why here? Why now?

Your chest ached. The large room offered little solace, the murmur of restless voices and distant footsteps a constant reminder of where you were. You sought refuge in the thin, scratchy blanket of your assigned bed, pulling it over yourself as if it could shield you from the weight pressing down on your chest.

Laying in a fetal position, you tried to steady your breathing, to stop the trembling in your hands. But his face—his eyes—kept flashing in your mind, a painful reminder of everything you thought you’d buried.

Anger simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. You clenched your fists, an attempt to stop the tears from flowing. But no amount of control could erase the gnawing ache in your chest.

“[Name]...”

The voice froze you in place. 

“Can we… talk?” His voice was quiet, almost pleading.

Under the covers, you exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep your tone steady. “What’s there to talk about, Dae-ho?”

His jaw tightened, and he took a cautious step closer to your bed. “I… I didn’t think I’d see you here. I didn’t think I’d see you again at all.”

“Neither did I,” you replied curtly. “And yet, here we are.”

He flinched at your words, guilt flashing in his eyes not that you could see it. “I know I owe you an explanation.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “An explanation? After all these years? After you disappeared without a word? You think I need that now, here of all places?”

His lips parted as if to argue, but he stopped himself. Instead, he looked down, his hands gripping the fabric of his jumpsuit. “I wanted to explain. I really did. But I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t know how?” you repeated, incredulous. “You didn’t know how to tell me you were leaving? That you were giving up on us? That you—”

Your voice cracked, and you stopped, swallowing the lump in your throat. You refused to let him hear you cry. Not here. Not now.

“I didn’t give up on you,” he said softly.

His words hung in the air, but they did nothing to soothe the ache inside you. You shook your head once more, your voice trembling. “You left me alone, Dae-ho. You walked away without a word, and you left me to deal with everything by myself. Don’t tell me you didn’t give up.”

Silence followed, thick and suffocating. You could feel his eyes on your figure under the covers, before hearing footsteps walk away. You didn’t expect much, knowing that all he does is run from his responsibilities. But why did it still hurt? 

As you went to collect your dinner, you couldn’t help but overhear familiar laughter. Laughter that you used to love listening to. Silently gazing at Dae-ho’s figure, you watch in silence as he makes small talk with a group of men in the corner of the room. A small smile crept up your face, even after all those years he still has his charming laugh. You moved your gaze to the guard as they handed you your food, with a small bow you thanked them before going back to your bed. 

Looking at him one more time, your eyes widened in surprise as a set of eyes clashed with yours. Thankfully, it wasn’t Dae-ho. It was 001. There was something in his stare that made you scared. Maybe Dae-ho told them about your history and now they were angry at you, either way, who were you to care? You broke eye contact first, setting your gaze elsewhere as you retreated back to your assigned bed. Little did you know Dae-ho was doing the same, looking at you with longing eyes every time you had your back turned from him.

The next day came quickly, the game even quicker. You convinced a group to let you join their team with your gonggi skills. They were reluctant at first but had no choice but to let you in as the timer was nearing its end. Your team went through the games with ease, everyone was a pro on the games— you included. 

As the guard placed the table in front of you, you and your team squatted, the familiar weight of the stones in your hands grounding you. It reminded you of something, something far simpler, back when you were young.

“The slowest will have to buy the winner dinner, deal?” you said with a playful grin, your voice filled with mischievous confidence as you laid out the challenge.

Dae-ho’s eyes widened, shaking his head dramatically. “That’s unfair! You only say that because you’re a pro at gonggi!” he shot back, his voice half-laughing and half-complaining, clearly trying to defend himself.

Currently, the two of you, still in your high school uniforms, are sprawled on the floor of your room, surrounded by an amusing mess of half-done activities. The afternoon had been a carefree escape from schoolwork and responsibilities, as you had decided to skip school for the day. Your parents were away, so you had the house all to yourselves.

The floor was scattered with papers, a few textbooks left open, and snacks you’d absentmindedly snacked on while getting lost in your own little world. Dae-ho’s hair was a chaotic mess of clips, ties, and failed attempts at creating something resembling style. 

Meanwhile, your face was painted with makeup. Your eyes were covered in uneven eyeshadow, and your lipstick had smudged onto your cheeks in a way that had you wondering if you'd even be able to wash it off later. It was ridiculous, but it was also perfect. There was no need for perfection when you were together, just moments of unfiltered fun. You didn’t mind looking silly—it was a shared experience, after all.

You leaned back on the floor, hands resting behind your head, watching him with an amused expression. He had always been competitive, and you knew he wouldn’t let this challenge slide without giving it his all. But you also knew he wouldn’t back down.

"You're just mad because I'm about to beat you,” you teased, raising an eyebrow and holding the gonggi stones in your hand. “I’ve got this in the bag."

Dae-ho let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be defeated, but his eyes betrayed him—the challenge was on. “Fine. The loser buys the winner dinner.” he said, as the fire in his eyes burned brightly.

You smiled, leaning closer and placing the stones carefully in front of both of you. “You’re on,” you replied, your voice light but determined.

The game, which was just supposed to be a simple way to pass the time, had suddenly become a full-blown competition, complete with stakes. Dae-ho didn’t like losing, and you knew that meant he would give everything he had to win, but you weren’t going to make it easy for him.

With that, the tension between you both shifted. You could feel the energy change as you both focused on the stones in front of you, your hands hovering over them, ready to begin the game. The silly banter was still there, but now it was mixed with a more serious undercurrent—a challenge that was both fun and a little bit intense.

Dae-ho glanced at you once more, his expression playful but competitive, and you could see the slight smirk forming on his lips. “Get ready to buy me that dinner,” he said with mock confidence, ready to show you he was the better player.

You laughed, shaking your head. “We’ll see about that, Dae-ho.”

And with that, the game began, the stones flying through the air as you both competed to see who could win the challenge, the promise of dinner hanging in the balance.

After breezing through the first rounds, you placed all the stones on top of your hand, heart racing. You nervously exhaled, forcing yourself to focus.

“I’m honestly jealous of your gonggi skills,” you admitted, leaning back in your chair as you sat beside Dae-ho at your favorite hotpot place, a small smile playing on your lips as you stirred your bowl of soup.

Dae-ho, who had just taken a sip from his drink, blinked at you in mock surprise. “You? Jealous of me? You’re the one who won!” he said with a playful glare, his tone lighthearted.

You laughed softly, shaking your head at him. “Not that part, silly! I always notice that you always catch all five stones with ease. Even if I’m fast, I still mess up once in a while.” You looked down at your half-eaten bowl, the warmth from the hotpot filling your chest, but it wasn’t just from the food—it was the company that made everything feel so right.

Dae-ho’s expression softened as he put down his chopsticks, giving you his full attention. He nodded thoughtfully, then smiled, and for a moment, you felt as if the world outside didn’t exist, just the two of you, sharing this simple, quiet moment together.

“Well, my lovely [nickname],” he said, his voice taking on that playful, teasing tone you knew so well. “I can always tell you a trick,” he continued, raising an eyebrow mischievously. “But it’ll cost you. My secrets aren’t free, you know.”

Your curiosity piqued, you tilted your head, giving him a playful. “Go on, then.”

Dae-ho’s smile widened as he turned his cheek toward you, tilting his head just enough to make it clear what he wanted. You giggled, rolling your eyes but giving in, leaning forward to place a soft kiss on his left cheek.

He grinned, the sparkle in his eyes making your heart skip a beat, and without missing a beat, he pointed to the other side, silently asking for more. You couldn’t help but smile, kissing his right cheek just as lightly.

Then, Dae-ho tilted his head again, offering his forehead with that trademark mischievous smile. “And this one?” he asked, his eyes glinting with excitement.

You didn’t even hesitate, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on his forehead, your heart fluttering in the simple affection. It felt like the most natural thing in the world, and the more you kissed him, the more the world around you faded away.

He stretched his hand out next, offering the back of his left hand with an expectant grin. You chuckled at how silly this game was becoming, but you still kissed it gently, your heart swelling with warmth. His grin only grew wider, and before you knew it, he was extending his right hand, offering it up for another kiss.

You kissed it too, your heart fluttering again at how effortlessly he could make everything feel so special. Each little moment, each silly gesture, you loved it all.

Finally, with that signature grin of his, Dae-ho turned fully toward you, his eyes sparkling with playfulness. “And this one?” he asked, tilting his face toward yours, the question hanging in the air like an invitation.

Without even thinking, you closed the space between you and kissed his lips, a soft, lingering kiss that felt full of promise and affection. The moment was so pure, so simple, that it left you breathless in the best way. Nothing mattered but the two of you, sharing this quiet, tender connection.

Dae-ho smiled against your lips, his arms subtly drawing you closer as he pulled back just slightly, a lovestruck expression on his face. “You’re the best, [nickname].” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he nuzzled you gently. His voice was soft and full of affection, and you couldn’t help but smile back, your heart swelling with warmth.

You leaned in, your voice teasing. “So? What’s the trick?”

Dae-ho let out a dramatic sigh, pretending to be exasperated but still smiling. “Can’t I have a lovely moment with you?” he asked, his tone light and affectionate.

“Dae-ho.” you said with a small laugh, nudging him playfully.

“Fine, fine! You’re a party pooper!” he joked, giving you a nudge back before getting serious. He shifted slightly, sitting up straighter and showing you a more focused expression. “Alright, listen carefully.” He mimicked the motions as he spoke. “What I do is first calm myself down. Inhale... and exhale.” He demonstrated the breathing technique, his chest rising and falling slowly. 

He paused before looking at you expectantly. Rolling your eyes, you copied his movement. Inhale and exhale.

Satisfied, he continued. “Once you find your peace, you put all your might in your palm so the stones don’t fall. Strong foundation.”

You nodded, watching him carefully. “Got it,” you said, your gaze fixed on his hands as he continued with his instructions.

He smiled, clearly pleased by your attention. “Then you throw your hand upwards—just right. Not too low, not too high,” he said, raising one hand and showing you the perfect motion. “Count one...” He paused dramatically, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Count one,” you repeated, laughing softly at how serious he was being, yet how cute he looked while teaching you.

“Then catch!” 

You threw your hand up. It felt natural. It felt right. The stones landed, and you caught them all in one smooth motion.

“Hey! I caught it on the first try!” You grinned, excitement rushing through you. You looked up, expecting to see Dae-ho’s proud smile, the one that always made your heart race.

But instead, you met the cold, expressionless face of a guard. Reality hit like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t Dae-ho. This wasn’t your favorite hotpot place.

Your heart twisted, the warmth you replaced by the emptiness of this place. You tried to smile, but it felt hollow. The distant cheers of your teammates did nothing to drown out the silence in your mind.

You couldn’t shake the memory, his teasing smile, his quiet words, the way his lips brushed against yours. Those were moments you could never go back to. As you moved on to the next station, the sting of that memory lingered, sharp and painful. The sweetness was gone. It was just you, alone in this game, with no place for memories of simpler times.

Everything was a blur after that, your mind occupied by what happened during the second game. Gonggi was something you always bonded over, and that game brought unwanted memories back. It got to a point wherein the way you’d always made decisions, small or big, was by playing gonggi. Where to eat? Play gonggi. Who’s paying the bill? Gonggi. 

But now, as you lay at your bed, staring at the ceiling, it wasn’t the same. Your mind wandered back to that moment, remembering his smile, the way his eyes would soften when he looked at you. That warmth, that sense of belonging, was gone. The past felt distant, like a dream you couldn’t hold onto anymore.

You closed your eyes, trying to push the memory away. Suddenly, the light went out. 

The light went out? That wasn’t right.

You opened one eye and saw Dae-ho standing above you, looking down at you with that nervous, familiar expression.

“Congrats, [Name]. I knew you could do it.” he said softly.

You looked up at him, emotions swirling in your chest. “Congrats also, Dae-ho.” you replied quietly. 

You stared at him as the weight of everything hung heavy in the air between you. You had so many emotions running through your veins—hurt, betrayal, confusion, anger—and yet, here he was, standing in front of you, trying to explain himself, trying to make sense of everything.

“[Name]... Please, talk to me.” he repeated, his voice soft but desperate.

You didn’t move at first. The space between you, filled with so many unspoken words. Finally, you stood up, leading him to a quiet corner between the bed frames, away from the chaos. The moment felt strangely intimate, but so far removed from anything you could have ever imagined.

Dae-ho was the first to break the silence, his voice shaking with the weight of his confession. “I didn’t want to leave, [Name]. I didn’t... but I had no choice.” He paused, his face twisted with guilt as he rubbed his hands together nervously.

“My father...” His voice cracked as he spoke, his words thick with regret. “He was... always trying to control me. Pushing me into things I didn’t want. He never let me make my own decisions. But when it came to you... he saw how much I cared. He saw how soft I was because of you, and he hated it. He thought I wasn’t strong enough to survive—how I wasn't becoming a real man, so he sent me away. He made me join the Marines. He didn’t even let me choose. I tried to fight him. I tried to say no, but he didn’t care.”

You felt your heart break all over again. “But... Why didn’t you fight harder for us? Why didn’t you try harder to stay? To... tell me?” The words were out before you could stop them, and they stung more than you’d expected.

“I... I couldn’t,” he whispered. “He had me. I thought if I left, if I did what he said, it would all be over. That he’d leave me alone. But when I came back, you were gone. I couldn’t find you. I looked for you everywhere, [Name], but you and your family were gone. And I thought... I thought I lost you forever. And I couldn’t fix it.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from crying. “But you didn’t even try to find me, Dae-ho. You just... disappeared. I waited for you. I thought I was worth waiting for, but you made me feel the  opposite. You just left, and I had to pick up the pieces of my life without you.”

“Please don’t say that. You are worth fighting for [Name].”

His eyes filled with sorrow, and he reached out for you, but you pulled back slightly, not ready for his touch just yet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I could make it right when I came back, but... it wasn’t the same. And now I’m afraid I’ve lost you for good.”

Your chest tightened, and you fought to keep your emotions in check. “You didn’t lose me, Dae-ho. If anything, I still think about you. Every street I walk, every place I visit. I always tried to find any sign of you. You just… you never gave me a chance to be part of your life anymore. I can’t just go back to how things were. I can’t pretend everything’s okay, because it’s not.”

“I understand,” Dae-ho said quietly, his voice laced with sincerity. “I know you’ve been through so much. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you before, but I’m here now. Let me make it right. Please…”

He paused, swallowing hard before speaking again, as if the weight of his words was too heavy to bear. “If you just vote to go home, we can leave all this behind. We don’t have to keep playing. We can go back to the way things were. We can be free. We can live together.”

His words hit you like a punch to the stomach, leaving you breathless. You couldn’t wrap your mind around what he was asking. He wanted you to vote to go home? That’s all it took? To end this nightmare?

You took a step back, your heart hammering in your chest. The sudden flood of emotions was overwhelming—confusion, anger, hurt, all rolled into one. “Is that what you think this is about, Dae-ho? You think you can just tell me to vote to go home and everything will magically go back to normal? That we’ll just go back to living in some fairy tale together?”

His face faltered with guilt, but you couldn’t stop yourself. The words were already tumbling out, and the anger was building with each second. “You have no idea what it’s like for me out there. I don’t have anything left. No family. No safety. No way out. If I leave without the money, I’ll be dead before I even make it out of the game. The people who own me—they’ll come for me. They’ll end me.”

You couldn’t stop the rise of panic and fury in your voice. “You think voting to go home is going to fix everything? Do you think that’ll save me from what’s out there? You think that’s going to protect me?”

You were shaking now, your words louder, sharper with each passing second. “I’m not here by choice. I didn’t sign up for this game to have some fun. I’m here because I have no other option. I need the money. I have to win. I don’t have the luxury of walking away. If I don’t make it, I’m dead. They’ll take everything I have left. They’ll take my life. And you want me to just throw that away?”

His face went pale, his hands trembling as he reached out, but you stepped back, your emotions running too high. You were drowning in your own fear, your own anger, and he was standing there, asking for something you couldn’t give. Not now. Not when your very existence was on the line.

“I’m not going to die for you to feel like you’ve done something good,” you spat, your voice cold and full of finality. “I’ll keep playing. I’ll keep fighting. I’ll keep voting O if that’s what it takes to stay alive. Because I don’t have the luxury to just quit. I don’t have the luxury to go home. If I die here, then I die here. But at least I had a chance. A chance to keep living.”

You could see the regret flooding his face now, the guilt in his eyes clear as day. But it didn’t matter. You had already crossed the line, said everything you needed to say. The wound had already been made, and nothing would heal it now.

“They took everything from me,” you whispered, voice cracking with the weight of the confession. “I don’t have anything left. This game, this nightmare is all I have. If I leave without any money, without anything... they’ll take me. They’ll take my life.”

His expression was full of pain now. The words hit him hard, and you saw the guilt swirling inside him. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came. You saw the regret in his eyes, the apology he couldn’t voice—but it was too little, too late.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered finally, his voice thick with regret. “I never meant to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was this bad. I didn’t know you were fighting for your life.”

You shook your head slowly, stepping back from him. “You didn’t know? You never bothered to ask. You didn’t care enough to understand what I was going through. You just assumed everything would be fine, that we could go back to normal. But you didn’t ask, Dae-ho. You didn’t care.”

His face crumpled with the realization of what you were saying, and the weight of your words hit him like a ton of bricks. But you didn’t care. Not now. Not when you were holding on to the one thing that mattered to you right now—your will to survive.

“I’m sorry, Dae-ho,” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips, but full of emotion. “But I care about surviving. I care about living. And if I have to vote O, if I have to keep playing to do that, then that’s what I’ll do.”

For a long moment, you stood there, facing each other in the silence, your hearts both full of unsaid things. But the anger slowly began to fade, replaced by a deep sadness, a sorrow that neither of you could fix.

He stepped closer to you, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry... I never wanted this for you. But I’ll always be here, [Name], even if you hate me for it.”

You looked at him one last time, the weight of everything you had said sinking in. And for the first time in a long time, you let the tears fall—not from anger, but from the overwhelming fear of it all. The fear of what your life had become, of how far you’d fallen, of the choices you had to make that never felt right.

Dae-ho stared at you as you quietly wept, his heart breaking at the sight of your pain. Without a second thought, he reached out, pulling you into his arms. He wrapped you in the comfort of his embrace, guiding your head to rest against his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

He didn’t speak at first, just held you tightly, as if trying to shield you from the world, from everything that had happened, and everything you feared. His hand gently rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles, offering what comfort he could in that moment.

“I’m sorry… I know I can’t take away all the pain,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “But I’m here, [Name]. I won’t leave you. You don’t have to go through this alone anymore. Please... just let me be here for you.”

You clung to him, not knowing if you wanted him to fix everything, but just needing the solace, the warmth that came with knowing he was still here. Still trying. You didn’t know what the future held, or if you could ever truly forgive him for the past, but in that moment, you allowed yourself to feel something you hadn’t in so long—comfort, even if it was fleeting.

He tightened his hold on you, letting you cry, never pushing you away. “I’ll always be here. I promise.”

You didn’t know how long it had been, but eventually, the tears started to slow. The tightness in your chest eased just a little, and you found yourself breathing a bit easier. Dae-ho, still holding you gently, never let go. He simply let you rest against him, giving you space to process everything, even if that meant staying silent for the moment.

You looked at him, your chest heavy with everything you’d just let out. “I’m sorry too,” you murmured, voice low and shaky. “I... I didn’t mean to lash out like that. I was just... I don’t know. I was scared. I couldn’t—couldn’t bear the thought of losing everything. But I shouldn’t have said those things.”

Dae-ho shook his head softly, his fingers brushing your cheek again. “No... I deserved it. I made you carry too much, and I never gave you the chance to say how you really felt. I was so focused on my own guilt, I didn’t see how much I was hurting you.”

The weight of the words sank in, and you felt a tear slip down your cheek, though this one wasn’t filled with anger—it was filled with a sadness you hadn’t let yourself fully feel until now. “We both messed up,” you whispered, the ache in your heart growing.

Dae-ho’s gaze softened, his hand gently squeezing yours. “But I’ll try to make it right. I don’t know if I can, but I’ll keep trying, [Name]. I’ll stay by your side, no matter what.”

You took a shaky breath, finding comfort in the sincerity of his words. “I don’t know where we go from here, but... I can’t pretend like it’s all fine. I need time.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll give you all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just... sorry. For everything.”

The air between you was thick with unspoken apologies, regrets, and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, you could both find a way to heal from this. You both had a long road ahead, a game to survive. But for now, the silence was no longer heavy with tension. Instead, it was filled with a quiet understanding, one that neither of you had expected to find, but one that was slowly, carefully beginning to piece things together.

"This time, the vote will begin with Player 001. Player 001, please cast your vote."

The moment the announcement was made, you felt a cold shiver run down your spine. Voting had begun. This time, you were going first—before Dae-ho. He stood beside you, his presence steady and calming, but there was an undeniable tension in the air. His hand brushed your back, the soothing gesture almost feeling out of place in this chaotic, life-or-death situation.

“Choose what you need,” Dae-ho whispered, his voice soft but full of sincerity. “Don’t worry about me. I won’t be mad.”

His words settled over you like a gentle blanket, but they couldn’t remove the weight of the decision you had to make. To survive, to keep moving forward, you knew you had to vote for O. You had to keep playing if you wanted a chance at surviving, but even as you stood in front of the voting machine, you felt a sickening sense of dread.

Was it really worth it? Pushing yourself, forcing the belief that survival was your only option, knowing the outside world would swallow you whole. What was the point of living if the only person who ever made you feel truly alive has always been Dae-ho? The thought echoed in your mind, and the walls of the room suddenly felt like they were closing in around you. Dae-ho had become your anchor in this madness—your reason for pushing through.

But now, you had to choose. You needed to choose for your own survival.

Your finger hovered over the button for O, but then you thought about everything you’d been through, everything you’d sacrificed already. At that moment, it was no longer just about survival. It was about the life you had left to live. You didn’t want to keep going without him.

X.

You slammed your hand down on the button, your choice made in an instant. The harsh reality of it stung as you tore off the patch you had placed on your jacket earlier, replacing it with a new one. As you made your way to the X side of the room, your heart felt heavy, but there was a strange sense of finality to it. You have made your decision.

You couldn’t help but look over at Dae-ho. The surprise on his face was so pure, so raw. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape, like a fish caught out of water, and the shock in his gaze hit you harder than you expected.

Despite the tension and the gravity of the moment, you found yourself quietly laughing at him, unable to hold it in. The absurdity of it all—of choosing to walk away from everything that had kept you going—made you want to laugh and cry at the same time. God, you felt like a fool. After your dramatic show earlier, how you had confidently claimed that you would continue voting O, ready to survive, ready to keep playing. Yet here you were, choosing X, choosing to stop. Choosing him.

Dae-ho just stood there for a moment, still processing, before going up the platform to vote. His footsteps were slow, deliberate, as if he were trying to piece together what had just happened. You couldn’t blame him. The moment was so surreal, so at odds with everything you’d said before. 

You watched him, heart hammering in your chest as he stood at the voting machine. His back was turned to you, but you could almost feel the confusion radiating off him. His hesitation was palpable, and you wondered if he understood. If he saw why you made the decision you did.

The sound of his vote pressing echoed in the silence, a soft click that seemed too loud for the room. He immediately walked to where you stood, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered. “Why... why did you choose X?”

The answer was too simple, too complicated, and maybe too painful to say out loud. Instead, you gave him a small smile, one that held so many unsaid things. “Dae-ho, I’ll always choose you.”

In the end, your vote didn’t matter. Since O won by a landslide, the next game was inevitable. But for the first time in days, or maybe even years, you found yourself smiling—a real, genuine smile—as you were introduced to Dae-ho’s little group. You exchanged pleasantries, introduced yourselves, and felt something warm stir inside you.

The following day came quickly, and with it, the next game. One moment, you were lying in bed, your mind running wild with the uncertainty of what was to come. Next, you were on a spinning platform, waiting for the music to stop. Your eyes immediately sought out Dae-ho, and when you met his gaze, he reached for your hand, gripping it tightly, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, a promise in his words. “I won’t let go.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I know.”

The rounds passed, too smoothly, almost disturbingly so. You all survived the first four rounds with ease.

But everything was about to change. 

7.

“Five women, and two men. Go!” Gi-hun’s commanding voice cut through the noise, demanding attention. Without hesitation, 007 shot his hand into the air. “I’ll go with my mother!” he announced, stepping forward. Gi-hun nodded, relieved to have a volunteer. He scanned the group again, waiting for the next person to step up.

Dae-ho raised his hand, his voice strong as he called out, “We’ll go!” He pulled you closer to him, offering a small smile that was laced with worry. His eyes betrayed his calm demeanor, revealing the weight of what was happening. The air around you both felt heavy with the uncertainty of the situation. Still, you clung to each other, walking together toward the door.

Your group of seven—007, 149, 120, 095, Jun-hee, you, and Dae-ho—ran toward the nearest empty room. The sound of your hurried footsteps echoed in the tense silence. But just as you were about to step inside, something caught your eye and made your heart drop.

Player 095, frail and struggling, was being shoved aside by a group of players. Seeing her so helpless, you couldn’t just stand by. Without thinking, you yanked your hand from Dae-ho’s grasp and rushed to her side.

Dae-ho’s heart skipped a beat the moment he felt the loss of your hand. Panic surged through him. Where did you go? He scanned the chaos around him, his eyes frantic as he searched for you in the crowded room. His heart tightened when he saw you helped 095 into the room, making sure she was safe. He could see the determination in your eyes as you ensured her well-being, but once it was your turn to come into the room, to rejoin him, disaster struck.

A group of four players, each desperately fighting for their own survival, barreled into you.

The impact was brutal. Your body was slammed to the ground with overwhelming force. Everything around you seemed to blur and slow down as you hit the floor, your breath knocked from your chest in a violent rush. A sharp wave of pain shot through your body—your limbs aching, your head spinning—but strangely, you couldn't feel it all at once. The shock of the fall seemed to disconnect you from your body, like you were floating in a painful haze.

In that split second, time seemed to stretch out. You felt a sudden sense of numbness as your body tried to process the damage, and your heart raced as you struggled to breathe. Your vision blurred, and for a moment, you feared that you wouldn’t be able to get up again. But then, the rush of adrenaline kicked in.

Determination surged through you like a lightning bolt. You couldn't afford to stay down. You had to survive.

You pushed yourself off the ground, ignoring the throbbing pain in your limbs, and scrambled to your feet. Gritting your teeth, you ran with every ounce of strength you had left, your focus fixed on the door. You had to get inside—it was the only chance left. The room was just a few feet away now, but each step felt like an eternity as you sprinted, your legs shaking with exertion and fear. Every part of you screamed for rest, but you couldn't stop. Not yet.

"[Name]! Let’s play Mingle!" Dae-ho’s voice rang out with excitement, pulling you out of your thoughts. You raised an eyebrow, already knowing his playful nature.

“With just the two of us?” you asked, teasing him. A grin tugged at your lips despite yourself, knowing that whatever he had planned would likely be a mix of fun and absurdity.

“Well...” Dae-ho scratched the back of his neck, pretending to think deeply, but the mischievous glint in his eyes gave him away. He was already scheming.

It was your third anniversary together, a day you both decided to celebrate in your usual style: by skipping class and spending it alone in your room. Both of you were still wearing your high school uniforms—uniforms that no longer felt like the serious attire they were supposed to be. The two of you had spent countless afternoons like this, laughing and simply enjoying each other's company, without a care in the world.

“I’ve got it!” Dae-ho suddenly exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he dashed to your bed. He scooped up a handful of stuffed toys with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Let’s use our children!” he declared, holding them up like he had just discovered the most brilliant idea.

You stared at him, your laughter bubbling up instantly. "Our children? Really, tiger?" you chuckled, wiping away the tears that had already begun to form from laughing too hard.

"Hey, don’t laugh! This is serious!" he protested, feigning offense, but you could see the twinkle in his eyes that told you he was only pretending to be upset. He adjusted the toys in his arms, a determined look on his face.

“Alright, fine,” you replied, still laughing but wiping your eyes. “Let’s play.” You were already game—who could resist when Dae-ho was this excited?

Dae-ho carefully arranged the toys in front of you both, giving each one a position with a level of care that made it clear he was taking this game very seriously. “Okay. For this round… Three!” he announced dramatically, holding his hands out in front of him like he was preparing to start a battle.

You didn’t even wait for him to finish before snatching up two of the nearest toys. His jaw dropped in mock betrayal, and he huffed loudly, feigning offense. "Not fair! You should partner with me. Always!" he said, acting like you had broken some sacred rule.

You stuck your tongue out at him, teasing. “Stop being a sore loser! I’m just playing by your rules.”

"Fine," he grumbled. He pouted dramatically, a little over-the-top for someone so competitive. He then scurried around the room, gathering two more toys to prepare for the next round.

The game continued in the same playful vein, with the toys being eliminated one by one. The room filled with the sound of laughter, teasing, and mock outrage as each round got more dramatic. The toys “lost” in ways that made no sense, their plush bodies being thrown to the side in exaggerated defeat.

"For this round,” Dae-ho said, his voice suddenly turning serious. “Two!” He gave you a look, as if to challenge you to keep up with him.

You smirked, ready to grab him this time. But before you could react, he swooped down and grabbed the last remaining toy, holding it close to his chest with a triumphant grin. “Hey!” you cried out in mock outrage, throwing your hands up.

"Sore loser!" he teased, clearly pleased with his victory.

You crossed your arms, pretending to sulk. “Whatever.” you muttered, rolling your eyes for effect.

Dae-ho chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. He set the toy down, then knelt in front of you. “Wait, wait, don’t be mad!” he said, holding the toy up to his face like a little puppet. He moved its tiny arms in a dramatic fashion, as if it was trying to “walk” toward you.

"Eomma! Please don’t be angry at Appa! Pleaseee!” he said in a high-pitched, exaggerated voice that made you burst out laughing.

Your faux anger crumbled immediately, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his antics. He was ridiculous—and that was one of the many reasons you loved him.

Still holding the toy, Dae-ho slowly lowered it from his face, a more tender look in his eyes. You hadn’t noticed at first, but there was a delicate necklace hanging from the toy’s tiny paw. Your breath hitched as he gently removed the necklace and held it out to you.

"Here," he said softly, his voice unexpectedly gentle. You could feel the warmth in his words as he looked at you with such sincerity. Without warning, he leaned forward and clasped the necklace around your neck. The touch of his fingers against your skin sent a shiver through you. "Happy anniversary, [Name]."

For a moment, your heart skipped a beat as the rush of emotion hit you unexpectedly. His gesture felt like everything—a simple, yet deeply meaningful way of showing how much he cared. You blinked back the sudden welling of emotion in your chest.

Before you could stop yourself, you threw your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his lips in gratitude. You then buried your face in his shoulder, hiding the emotions that threatened to spill over.

“Thank you.” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin.

Dae-ho chuckled softly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, comforting hug. “Anything for you.”

In that moment, everything else faded away. There was just the two of you, wrapped in each other's warmth, sharing a quiet, simple happiness that felt bigger than any words could express. Time seemed to slow down, and you didn’t want to think about anything else.

As you pulled back, your laughter bubbled up again, light and carefree. You couldn’t resist teasing him once more. “You’re still a sore loser, though.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dae-ho replied, rolling his eyes but still grinning. “But you love me anyway.”

You smiled, your gaze softening as you looked at him with affection. “I do. Now help me with this necklace!”

Your hand stretched toward the door, the cold metal just within reach. 

Then everything went silent.

[justsomestuffreally]

I think the Batkids reaction to a Bruce who isn't de-aged to 8 but rather 29 (pre-Jason death, post his adoption) would be fascinating. 

Their reaction would vary wildly:

Dick: Oh. Bruce is soft again. Bruce calls them ‘chum’ and ‘buddy’ and gives head pats for no reason. He still isn’t perfect, his communication skills are still a work in progress, but compared to his future self? Without actively dying Dick is hugged plenty. Bruce asks him to go to the zoo, unrelated to any case, just to spend time together. Dick is hit with more nostalgia and longing for the past than he knows what to do with.

Also notable: his dad is younger than him. That is something. Second, holy existential crisis Batman, his dad is younger than him and already one adult and one teenage kid??? Dick is not ready to feel this old yet. Third, Dick has absolutely no idea how Bruce managed to stay patient through his no-pants years. He is going to thank reason every day from now on that Damian wears full protection.

Jason: After his death and League he clung to an image of Bruce. One many tried to beat out of him, but he still kept it somewhere close to his heart, buried deep enough even he couldn’t see it. When he came back Bruce wasn’t like this idea of him. How stupid of him to believe the mind of a traumatized kid. Trying to create one good thing before the kid drew his last breath. Making up memories that never even existed.

But they did. Every smile and hug and even his words reflect the image tugged safely against his still-beating heart. His dad very clearly, very deeply loves him. Which is so much worse. Because he can understand why a Bruce, who never cared, didn’t kill the Joker. But he cares. So why the fuck did he not kill the Joker?

Tim: The reason he joined the family, the reason why he became Robin in the first place was because he saw a problem when Bruce started self-destructing and thought ‘Someone needs to fix that!’. Therefore he went and collected Dick, who didn’t seem keen on fixing it. So, the job fell to him to fix it.

He thought he did a good job, he thought he fixed the problem. Except now he sees who Bruce was, and he knows he failed. Their Bruce is less soft, less affectionate, less like he was before. Batman needs a Robin and Tim didn’t manage to be good enough of one to save him. 

[Or: Tim has a guilt complex a hundred miles wide and blames himself for things that aren’t his fault part 52]

Steph: Jason and she are very similar. Both come from the Narrows, both have a mother addicted to drugs and a shitty father. The differences start when Steph keeps waiting on the roof of their apartment for Batman to whisk her away, while Jason tries to steal the tires of the Batmobile and is taken in.

When Steph started out as Spoiler Bruce tried to keep her off the field, and obviously this one would too (even if he would probably be less paranoid about it), but she knows this Bruce would have also taken her in. This Bruce would be the father she always wished for when she sat on their roof and couldn’t see any stars. 

And she didn’t get to have this because Jason went ahead and died. (Of course, she knows she isn’t fair to the guy. Dying isn’t fun… And she knows the only reason she lived is because he died. When Batman rescued her from Black Mask she was in such terrible shape that Leslie managed to convince the World’s Greatest Detective that she died. If Jason hadn’t died Bruce wouldn’t have been as paranoid, wouldn’t have noticed her missing so soon, wouldn’t have been as urgent in his response. Would have been just a minute slower, a minute which would have killed her. Just as it had Jason.)

For her, this Bruce is a distorted mirror into a past which never was. 

Cass: This Bruce and B are not the same person. They don’t move the same. In a fight, this Bruce is younger, faster, stronger. Doesn’t compensate for a previously broken spine. Less experienced. Still one of the most experienced she knows, but less. 

He still moves differently, outside a fight, less pain. More likely to engage in physical affection, more likely to hug and pat and talk. He talks more than B. B knows what she means without words. This Bruce doesn’t.

She likes this Bruce, warmth, and softness. But not as much as B. He knows what she means, when she wants a hug, when she tells him ‘I love you’ without words. B doesn’t need words. This Bruce doesn’t know her, doesn’t communicate like her. She wants B back.

Damian: At first, when this version of his father seemed uncanny and oddly familiar, he assumed it to be due to the stories of his mother. After all, she always told him tales about his father. He simply did not have the frame of reference to understand the kindness she spoke of. Clearly, the clash between the ideals of the League and the ones of his father causes these feelings, just as they did when he first entered the manor.

He presumed this to be the case until one day on patrol Batman laid a hand on his shoulder and told him he did a good job after no particularly impressive fight and he nearly called him ‘Grayson’. Because the stories of his mother may have painted the picture of this version of his father, however, it wasn’t what made it familiar; no, he knew this kindness. These hugs and compliments one would bestow upon a child. Compliments which, despite the indignity, still warm him. Because Grayson learned how to be a… caregiver from his father.

His father used to be like Grayson, used to be until his grief hardened him. Damian could have had this. Damian could have a brother and father who would- But he doesn’t because of Todd. He loathes Todd. Loathes him for ruining the life he could have had.

Why did he die anyway? Damian certainly wouldn’t have a problem escaping bonds created by the Joker, Damian would have disarmed the bomb in time, Damian would have never thrown this life away like he did.

[Or: Damian is a child who was raised by assassins and has unreasonable standards for fighting abilities and also is a child who needs to focus his rage on someone.]

Duke: He was neither there before Jason died nor in the aftermath [according to my math he was around 4 when Jason died] he joined the family when Jason was already back for 4 years or so. He mostly skipped all the drama. For him, Bruce is the way Bruce is because he is Bruce. It’s weird to see him so different, to see how grief shaped parts of Bruce which Duke assumed were just Bruce things.

He’s glad this Bruce is brighter, or not because it just highlights how much that light will dim? Who knows, certainly not him. 

What he does know is that, with their Bruce, he has a distance which, with his parents still alive, he appreciates. With this Bruce, he can understand why Dick struggled so much whether he wants to be his ward or son, how he doesn’t want to replace his parents but still have this Bruce as a dad. It definitely explained the ted talk Dick tried to give him after Bruce officially took him in as a ward.

He likes this Bruce well enough, but he doesn’t necessarily want him to stay this way. Yes, their Bruce is less happy, less open but he did heal, he did grow. Duke met a Bruce who tried to learn from his mistakes, learned to communicate better, and learned when to pull and when to push. For Tim, Damian, Dick, and certainly Jason there is too much baggage, too much history in their relationships, it’s difficult for them to ever move past- anything really.

Sure, when Dick and Bruce are on the same page they are essentially invincible but then the past catches up again and they don’t talk to each other for months. And honestly? Apart from Cass, Duke’s pretty sure he has one of the best relationships with Bruce simply because he got to know him at a better time.

Duke doesn’t mind this Bruce. But their Bruce loved Jason, cared for him so deeply the scars still show to this day. And he still chooses to open up again even if just a bit by bit. Even if just Duke can see it. He is used to being the only one that can see.

And maybe knowing this care extends to him, this love even grief can’t shake? Maybe it makes him feel just a little bit safer, a little bit warmer, a little bit brighter.

[mariasont]

hi bby, i also have another idea! <3

it’s a song inspired fic with spencer or hotch and bimbo!reader and how they are in the office when they first get together and maybe some moments before they do!!

the song i was thinking of is birds of a feather by billie eilish and you can choose either hotch or spence bcuz i can’t decide, lol

anyway ily and i’m so glad you’re doing better and it’s so lovely to see you here again!! <33

BIRDS OF A FEATHER - S.R

a/n: i just need you to know you are literally the backbone of my fics i swear!!! ur requests are always my favorite <3 but anyway ilysm and i'm so happy to be and so happy to fufill your request, i hope you like it!! :)

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

warnings: clingy!reader, dramatic gf calm bf best duo, established relationship, tooth rotting fluff, idiots in love

wc: 1k

You'd lost count of how many times you'd checked the clock. Five days without Spencer felt like an eternity. You weren't sure how people survived long-distance relationships. 

You’d tried everything to distract yourself. A true crime documentary had seemed like a good idea, something to make you feel like Spencer was still close, in that nerdy, FBI way of his, but it turned out to be too scary (and okay, a little boring). You’d spent most of it hiding behind a pillow, silently debating whether the narrator’s voice was creepy or just British.

All you could do was scroll on your phone and pout at the clock, wondering if maybe, just maybe, you'd somehow willed time to speed up since the last time you looked. Spoiler, you hadn't.

By the time you heard the jingle of keys outside the door, you were practically vibrating with excitement. You shot off the couch so fast you nearly tripped on the blanket you'd be wrapped in all night. 

The lock clicked, and there he was, Spencer, with tired eyes and messy hair, his satchel hanging limply off one shoulder like it weighed more than he did. He looked exhausted but perfect, the way only Spencer could.

"Spence!" you squealed, launching yourself at him before he could even get through the doorway.

"Hi," he murmured, wrapping his arms around you as you buried your face in his chest. He smelled faintly of coffee and something antiseptic, but underneath it all was that comforting, familiar scent that was just him.

"I missed you, too."

You buried your face in his chest for a moment, breathing him in like you could bottle the feeling and save it for later. Then, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, you gripped his jacket tightly.

“You better have. I’ve been losing my mind waiting for you.”

Spencer’s lips twitched into a tired smile. “Losing your mind? Sounds serious. Should I be worried?”

"Definitely," you said, nodding earnestly. "I've been so bored, Spence. I started talking to myself, like, full on conversations. And I'm not as smart as you, so they weren't even good conversations."

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing slow, soothing circles against your hip. “I’m sure they were better than you think.”

You stepped back and began tugging his jacket off, shooing him toward the couch. He followed without a word of protest, letting you fuss over him.

“You look so tired, baby,” you said, plucking his satchel off the floor and setting it aside. “Did you eat? You better have. I should’ve made something, but I didn’t know when you’d get here, and I got distracted, and —”

Spencer's hand caught yours, making your mouth snap shut. His fingers were warm, and the way they curled around yours was enough to make your brain go fuzzy for a second. 

"I'm fine. Really."

“You don’t look fine,” you said, wrinkling your nose at him. “You look all…” You waved vaguely at his face. “Work-y.”

“Work-y,” he echoed, his lips twitching into a small, tired smile.

“Exactly,” you said, nodding as you plopped down beside him and immediately curled into his side. Your arms looped around him, holding him tightly, as though he might vanish if you let go.

Spencer let out a soft sigh, leaning into your touch. 

“You’re very clingy tonight,” he teased, though the way his arm came up to pull you closer told you he didn’t mind.

“Obviously,” you replied, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in forever. I missed your face. And your hair. And your nerdy little brain. Especially your nerdy little brain.”

He laughed quietly. “My brain missed you, too.”

“Good,” you said, tilting your head to press a kiss to his jaw. “Because I’m not letting you go anywhere for at least... three days. Maybe four. You’ll just have to solve crimes from here.”

Spencer hummed, his fingers continuing their gentle movement. “I’m not sure the FBI would agree to that.”

“Then they’ll have to fight me for you,” you said with a dramatic huff, crossing your arms. “Honestly, I could probably take Hotch in a fight. He doesn’t look like he’s had a good night’s sleep since, like, 1999. One shove, and he’s done for.”

Spencer laughed, his chest shaking against yours. “You’d shove Hotch? I think that’s a violation of multiple workplace policies.”

You grinned, tilting your head to look up at him. “It’d be worth it. You’re way more important than some dumb policies.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Terribly in love with you,” you said, your grin widening as you leaned forward to nudge his nose with yours. “Now, scoot over. I’m not comfy enough.”

Before he could ask what you meant, you were already moving, shifting to climb into his lap with zero hesitation. Spencer blinked in surprise, but his hands instinctively came up to steady you, one resting on your waist while the other settled on your thigh.

“You could’ve warned me,” he murmured, though his lips quirked into a small smile as you tucked yourself against him like a human blanket.

“Where’s the fun in that?” you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning your forehead against his. “Besides, I missed you too much to sit all the way over there.”

Spencer let out a soft, breathy laugh, his nose brushing yours as he adjusted to your weight. “You don’t think this is a little excessive?”

“Excessive? No. Necessary? Yes.” You kissed the tip of his nose, grinning when his cheeks flushed a faint pink. “You’re my boyfriend, Spence. This is part of the job description.”

He shook his head, but the way his arms tightened around you gave him away.

“Love you,” you said in a sigh, nuzzling closer to him.

“I love you too, angel,” he said. His hand moved to cup the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair. “I love you more than I can put into words.”

Spencer let out a long breath, his head resting back against the couch as his hands stayed comfortably on your waist. 

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?” you teased, though you didn’t move an inch from where you were nestled against him.

“Maybe,” he murmured, his voice low and a little gravelly.

“Good,” you whispered, your cheek pressed to his. “That means you’re staying right here.”

He didn’t answer, but the way his arms tightened around you was more than enough.

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[yyuangss]

MORE GIRL TALK ! ( STAR RAIL MEN )

SUMMARY ! march 7th finds out you like someone. and as your best friend, it’s only right that she has to give her input on whether or not she approves of him.

NOTES ! part one of girl talk (dan heng, caelus, sampo, jing yuan, and argenti). need hoyo to give the biggest girl’s girl they’ve ever created a bff asap. she deserves it after everything she’s been through 🫡 this goes out to that one anon. if you’re reading this, i added a bonus for you <3

TAGS ! reader is not the trailblazer. contains gepard landu, dr. ratio, aventurine, and boothill. possible spoilers for penacony quest in aventurine’s part, tried to keep it very vague and minimal. feelings are mutual on both ends.

march 7th’s thoughts on . . . GEPARD LANDAU !

the biggest mistake you’ve made is telling march you have feelings for the captain of the silvermane guards. because now she’s made herself the conductor of the express, switching course to jarilo-vi, crash landing terribly, and running all the way to serval to ask if gepard has feelings for you. march always assumed there might have been some mutual pinning from gepard’s side. he probably thought he was the best at hiding his feelings, except it didn’t help that he constantly shielded you whenever you were at risk of being at harms way. which in her opinion means he’s willing to protect you no matter what. this trait was very important and she will not let you pass up on that opportunity. according to serval, gepard had already confessed to his sister how he felt towards you and was too shy to admit it. once she confirmed his mutual feelings, serval and march are on matchmaker duty.

march 7th’s thoughts on . . . DR. RATIO !

march does think that ratio is mean and extremely talkative. she also believes him to be selfish. there’s already a negative perception of him in her mind. though, her opinion on him is only based off the first time the express met him. compared to you, she hasn’t gotten the chance to truly know him (not that she really wants to). so, march says her judgement is biased and null in this case. she hears a different side when you’re in her room, telling her all about him and how he’s incorporated you into his very busy schedule. and it’s proven to her whenever ratio boards the express for the sole purposes of visiting you. or he’s arriving at the space station around the same time the express gets there, despite having prior plans made. march is very suspicious how the two of you aren’t dating yet. actions speak louder than words and ratio’s actions make her very impressed.

march 7th’s thoughts on . . . AVENTURINE !

march won’t lie, she has heavy mixed opinions for aventurine and still doubtful of him. it’s possible that the entire astral express would share these mixed opinions if you told one of them. on one hand, she’s grateful for all the help he aided with. had he not been there, you all would’ve never gotten into penacony. she’s surprised to hear you ran into him several times when you were exploring. it’s where you got to know him while he showed you around, taking you to all the best sight seeing locations. aventurine didn’t waste a second to express his interest in you. even after what happened with him before the final battle in penacony, he still showed that same interest. which is why march doesn’t know why you’re wasting time telling her about your feelings towards him when you should be admitting them to aventurine instead. her mixed opinions will still be present. once she gets to know him like you did, they’ll eventually fade and she’ll be less on the weary side.

BONUS !

dan heng’s thoughts on . . . BOOTHILL !

“oh.” is all he says. dan heng is not very vocal, so his expression and body language tell you all you need to know. in this case, a raised eyebrow and a skeptical look forming on his face. he’s not really interested in this type of talk and that’s one of the main reasons. still, as your closest friend, dan heng doesn’t want you to think that you and your feelings aren’t important to him. his quiet demeanor makes him more observant. watching you and boothill interact makes dan heng realize how truly oblivious you are. it’s clear as day that the interstellar cowboy is interested in you. unless he’s the only person who has caught on to the mutual feelings. but there’s no way especially with all the darlin’s and sweetheart’s boothill calls you. either way, in his opinion, you should be with who makes you happy and dan heng won’t stop you from that. will bluntly expose yours and boothill’s attraction if either of you take too long.

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝒿𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝜗𝜚 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝑜𝒾𝒸𝑒! 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝑒𝑜

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Oh boy… the two most possessive men in the whole damn game? Jealous!Sol & Jealous!Geo x Reader? Buckle up because this isn’t just a love triangle—it’s a full-on battlefield.

However, can't blame you for just messing around, testing the waters, seeing who got more jealous… and playing with fire gets you burned. You’re stuck in the middle, questioning every life choice that led you here.  

What could possibly go wrong? (Spoiler: everything.)

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Anonymous! if you don't mind writing it, but jealous geo and sol, please??😭 Like they both like readers and are just silently jealous of one another? I am in desperate need of more fics of them interacting 🤧

Honestly, apologies in advance—I don’t sugarcoat things. A lot of my writing is rooted in realism and what I’m comfortable exploring. Soooo, if you were hoping for a lighthearted take… no chance.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

Jelly.

By definition, jelly is something sweet. A glossy, semisolid spread made from fruit juice and sugar, boiled to a thick consistency. Some people like sweets. Some don’t. But jelly can also mean jealousy. That gnawing feeling of wanting something—someone—that belongs to someone else.

And in this case? That something was you.

Not a thing, not an object, but damn if it didn’t feel like you were the prize in some unspoken battle. A war waged in subtle glances, clenched fists, and an underlying tension so thick it could choke the air out of a room.

And the worst part? You never asked for this.

Okay, maybe you did lie—just a little. But you sure as hell didn’t expect the weight of two unreadable stares pinning you down like prey, like you were something to be fought over.

Not the way Sol’s fiery red-orange eyes would zero in whenever some random guy so much as breathed in your direction, his expression eerily blank, but his fingers twitching like he was already mapping out a murder scene in his head.

And definitely not the way Geo, with his usual I-don’t-give-a-fuck aquamarine gaze, would suddenly become conveniently absent the moment on the same random guy—only for poor bastard to show up the next day with a busted nose and now suddenly doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.

Okay, maybe you like this…

Because—let’s be real—having two tall, hot men practically fighting for your attention? Yeah… yeah, that was kinda hot. And a little pathetic. But were you about to stop them?

Absolutely not.

So far, Sol and Geo hadn’t actually thrown hands at each other yet, probably because they still wanted to stay on your good side. But whenever you were with one of them, the other just happened to be around, watching, lingering, acting like your personal shadow.

Meanwhile, some poor random guy so much as breathes in your direction, and suddenly, it’s a whole different story. If there was one thing you could count on, it was that Sol and Geo had very different ways of dealing with people who dared to show interest in you.

Sol? Oh, he didn’t just get jealous—he lived in it. Stewed in it. Let it simmer under his skin like a slow-burning fire, always one spark away from an explosion. It didn’t matter how harmless the situation was. Some poor, clueless guy so much as breathed in your direction, and suddenly, the whole atmosphere shifted.

Like earlier, when you were just trying to study in the library.

“Who was that?” Sol asked, voice eerily calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that told you he was already two seconds away from tracking the guy down.

You didn’t even look up from your notes. “Don’t know. Just some guy.” That was, of course, the wrong answer.

Sol leaned in slightly, red-orange eyes narrowing. “He called you pretty.”

You finally looked up, raising a brow. “And? I am pretty, the hell.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t even crack a smirk. Just drummed his fingers on the table, his gaze locked onto the exit like he was memorizing the dude’s last known location.

You had no doubt that if you gave him a name, he’d find some way to make sure the guy never spoke to you again.

Geo, on the other hand? Possessive, sure. But jealous? Not really. If anything, his reaction was less ‘Who the fuck does this guy think he is?’ and more ‘Why the hell are you entertaining this bullshit?’

Like when you went to watch him practice archery after class. You’d barely been there ten minutes before some guy strolled up, all confidence and cologne, asking for your number like Geo wasn’t literally holding a weapon in his hands. You were scared for him.

You were about to respond—probably to reject the guy, but you had been taking your sweet time with it—when a sharp thunk split the air.

The guy flinched, eyes wide as he turned to see an arrow buried into the tree right next to his head.

Geo, standing a few feet away, barely spared him a glance as he reached for another arrow. “Oops,” he said, deadpan. “Must been the wind...”

The guy was gone instantly, practically tripping over himself as he made his escape.

You turned to Geo, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

He finally looked at you, one brow raised. “What? I didn’t do anything.” Yeah. Sure.

At this point you was probably wondering, ‘Oh my, oh my, if Sol and Geo are on good terms with you, do they ever have beef like you said? Or do they just straight-up ignore each other?’

Well… kinda.

It’s less of a mutual rivalry and more of a Sol has serious, undying beef with Geo, while Geo, in true Geo fashion, just casually ignores Sol’s entire existence.

Of course, you’d never hang out with them at the same time. That would be a death wish. You like your life drama-filled but intact, thank you very much. So, you very intentionally avoid situations where they’d have to be in the same room for longer than five seconds.

You keep your time with them separate—Sol on one day, Geo on another. Sol is more of your side friend group situation, hanging out with Hyugo, doing whatever chaotic shit they get into.

Meanwhile, Geo? He’s part of your main friend group—the one you’re actually seen with most of the time, which includes Brittany, Jericho, Jess, and Daryl.

However these been some days you’ll hang out with them along, just you and whoever. And because of this, there are definitely moments where you’ve caught Sol and Geo being jealous of each other.

Like the time you mentioned hanging out with Geo over the weekend, and Sol immediately went all dark and broody, arms crossed, staring at you like you’d just told him you were getting married and moving across the country.

“You spend a lot of time with him,” he muttered, voice low.

You blinked. “Yeah? And?”

“And I don’t like it.” Well... At least he was honest.

Geo, on the other hand, had a way of casually throwing shade when he wanted to. Like when you showed up to hang out with the main group after spending time with Sol.

“Didn’t think we’d see you today,” Geo remarked, arching a brow. “Figured you were off cutting your wrist with him.” I’m sooo sorry if this offensive to anyone.

You snorted awkwardly. “We were just hanging out.”

“Mhm. Sure.” He sipped his drink, giving you the most judgmental side-eye.

At the end of the day, you could ignore their little jealousy fits, but one thing was clear—Sol definitely had beef, and Geo just enjoyed playing unbothered while lowkey stirring the pot.

Then, so let’s talk about territory.

And let’s start with Sol.

Why Sol? Oh, I don’t know—he was fucking obvious.

He wasn’t subtle, and he didn’t care to be. You’d always catch his hand slipping around your shoulders, fingers ghosting over your waist—especially when Geo or your main group of friends were around. He didn’t just exist near you; he occupied your space, like some territorial cat refusing to let anyone else so much as breathe in your direction.

His touch? Not soft. Not casual. Possessive. Like he was making a statement without saying a single damn word.

It didn’t matter where you were—hallways, lunch, walking to class—Sol made sure everyone within a ten-foot radius knew exactly where you stood. And, more importantly, where he stood.

Right. Next. To. You.

Then there was Geo. He didn’t need all that. Where Sol was all hands-on, in-your-face, look-at-me-touching-you, Geo was smooth. Subtle. Calculated. Too composed for his own good, always watching, always analyzing.

He didn’t hover. He didn’t grab. He didn’t need to.

His presence alone was enough to send the message. The way he carried himself across campus—untouchable, like the world bent around him. When it came to you, he had his own ways of making sure people knew.

For example: the damn hoodie situation.

You didn’t even ask for his hoodie, but that didn’t stop him from throwing it on your face like you barely caught it. Cold? Hoodie. Raining? Hoodie. Forgot your jacket? Guess what? Hoodie. And it wasn’t just about keeping you warm—no, no. This was branding. Because that hoodie was his. And when people saw his deep-ass purple hoodie on you, it was like a silent warning: Don’t even try it.

And let’s not pretend like Geo didn’t notice when Sol was all over you. This man has SHARP EYES. But he’d play it cool, act like he didn’t care, keep his distance. But you knew he saw it. You could feel his eyes, sharp and assessing, calculating like he was taking inventory of every single move Sol made.

Now, if Sol ever really overstepped?

Oh, Geo would totally make his move. Not in front of you, though—he was way too clever for that. He didn’t need to start a scene. He didn’t need to flex his dominance in public.

Like for example, you’d start hearing rumors. Some random dude who tried to shoot his shot with you mysteriously walking around with a black eye or a swollen nose. The whispers would be everywhere. “Who the hell messed his ass up?”

And you’d know It was Geo. Handled quietly. Efficiently. Discreetly.

And if, by chance, you happened to notice the faint bruises on Geo’s knuckles the next day? Well. That was just something you didn’t bring up. Ever.

So, again, after everything, how do you feel about being possessed over by two men?

Like, at the end of the day, you were trapped—trapped between their heated stares, their possessiveness, their absolute refusal to let you exist without them staking their claim.

And you?

Oh, you were loving it, all in honesty.

What? If they were gonna play this game, you might as well play along. Hell, you held all the cards. You were the one pulling the strings, keeping them both on their toes, watching as they silently (and not-so-silently) battled for dominance over you.

Geo wanted to act all calm and cool?

Like he was above all of this? Fine. Let him pretend. You knew exactly what buttons to push to make him show his hand. A little too much laughter when another guy paid you a compliment. Casually mentioning how Sol was so protective over you. Flashing him that innocent, knowing smile whenever he tried to act like he wasn’t watching your every move.

And Sol? Sol was easy.

If he wanted to claim you with his rough touches, his dark glares, the way his arm would tighten around your waist just a little too much whenever another guy so much as looked at you—then you’d let him. But only just enough to keep things interesting.

Because you weren’t about to make this easy for either of them.

You’d walk into the room wearing Geo’s hoodie—just to watch Sol’s jaw clench. You’d let Sol touch you in front of Geo—just to catch the way his fingers twitched, his lips pressing into a thin line. You’d let their possessiveness fuel the game, and oh, was it a fun game to play.

Because at the end of the day, again...

You were the prize. And you knew it.

And what better way to start than with Geo?

Again, Geo was the kind of guy who never had to try too hard. Everything about him exuded effortless control—his tailored clothes, his rich upbringing, the way his hair was always just right like he walked straight out of some high-end fashion editorial.

Bilingual, top of his class, a sharp mind that dissected everything in the room before anyone even realized they were being watched.

Now, you wouldn’t call him perfect, but he was definitely a step above the average man. And that, in itself, was dangerous. Because Geo wasn’t just good at handling himself. 

He was good at handling you. PFFF, I love this man.

And it was funny, really. He liked to act like he didn’t care—like he wasn’t watching your every move, like he wasn’t quietly attuned to your habits. But that was the biggest lie of all.

Geo noticed everything.

He knew when you were irritated before you even sighed. Knew you were hungry before you even glanced at the menu. Knew what to say to make you laugh, even when you swore you weren’t in the mood. He was calculated—never too distant, but never too obvious.

You knew exactly how to use Geo’s attentiveness to your advantage. He was clever, a little too clever sometimes, but that made him so much more fun to tease. So, when you casually invited him to hang out during one of your long gaps between classes—just the two of you—you made sure Sol was close enough to overhear.

You didn't even have to try hard.

Sol always seemed to be near where you were. Always.

He had this uncanny ability to be in the right spot at the right time. You'd find him lingering in the background, sometimes in doorways, sometimes leaning against walls like he was just passing by, yet always managing to stay just out of sight, barely making his presence known. The look in his eyes, though? You couldn’t miss it.

You watched as his gaze snapped to you the second you leaned in closer to Geo. His fingers twitched like he was holding back some kind of primal urge to pull you away from Geo. But he stayed still, just watching, quietly simmering with frustration.

When Geo agreed, his voice casual and smooth, "Sure, I got nothing better to do," you could almost feel the storm brewing behind you.

And you loved it.

You chose the place carefully. A small bakery, nestled just off-campus. It was cozy, and intimate, yet open enough that no one could barge in without causing a scene.

You knew Sol wouldn’t come in unless he had a reason—he wasn’t stupid, after all. It was one of those rare moments when you actually wanted some peace, to be able to enjoy your time with Geo without the constant interruption of Sol’s overbearing presence.

Geo sat across from you, his posture impeccable, legs crossed and back straight as if he was molded into the seat. His hands rested lightly on the table, fingers tapping softly, the rhythmic sound of it mingling with the soft hum of campus life around you.

Students typed away on their laptops, murmured conversations floated around you, and the occasional professor huddled in the corner grading papers. The place felt like the calm center of a storm—a comfortable space for both of you.

He looked at you, curiosity flashing in his eyes. "Why'd you pick here?" he asked, voice low, yet that sharp edge still noticeable beneath his calm facade. He propped his chin in his hand, elbow on the table, his fingers tapping idly against his cheek.

You shrugged, playing it cool. “I don’t know. The only place I can think of.”

Geo’s lips twitched then sighed, "Okay." His tone was amused, but there was an undeniable hint of intrigue there.

You both sat there for a moment, letting the tension simmer. Then, as if by instinct, Geo stood, his movements graceful and effortless. "You want anything? I'll pay" he asked, already moving toward the counter before you could even respond. See, what a man, he's paying already AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN HAVE TO ASKKK.

Minutes later, he returned, sliding your usual drink toward you—no questions asked. It was like he had memorized your preferences by heart. He placed a small plate beside it too, something extra—probably dessert, because he knew you liked sweets, and his attention to detail was uncanny.

You reached for it, your fingers brushing his in the process. It wasn’t intentional, but that fleeting touch sent a ripple through you. For a moment, neither of you pulled away. 

Geo’s gaze flickered to your hand again, sharp and perceptive.

"Your hand," he murmured softly, his voice taking on that subtle edge of concern. His eyes dropped to the small scrape, and for a second, you felt like it was more than just a casual observation—like he was searching for something beneath the surface.

You blinked, unsure how to respond. "You can see that?"

You had almost forgotten about the scrape, honestly. It had happened the day before when you’d tripped going up the stairs—nothing serious, just a small misstep as you were rushing between classes. You remembered cursing under your breath as you caught yourself on the railing, but the scrape was just a small inconvenience, easily forgotten in the chaos of your day.

Geo didn’t answer immediately. His fingers reached out, slow and measured, brushing across the skin of your palm where the scrape had left a thin red line. His touch was light at first, just skimming over the wound, but then it became more deliberate, more intentional as if he was examining it for signs you couldn’t even see.

His fingers tilted your hand gently, his touch soft but firm, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver up your arm. The way he lingered, taking his time to inspect the scrape, felt almost… protective.

It wasn’t just the act of touching you—it was the focus, the way he seemed to memorize the small details, the way your skin felt against his. Holy shit.

"What happened?" He asked. Then, when his eyes lifted to meet yours again, the intensity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. There was something more than concern there—something deeper, something soft that you couldn’t quite place.

"Why are you looking at me like that? The fuck," he asked his face now in disbelief, voice very much audible. His tone was almost conversational, but there was an edge to it, an unspoken command.

It was your face. And I MEAN YOUR FACE, eyes were shocked, and lips were barely open, still showing teeth. You hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the question. For some reason, you felt like you were being tested—like he wasn’t just asking about the scrape, but about you.

"It's nothing." You said, looking away, rather annoyed. Like damn, he always messes up moments like this. "To answer your question, I tripped going up the stairs yesterday," you said, your voice soft, trying to make it sound casual. "Nothing serious. I just lost my balance, and scraped my hand a little on the railing."

Geo didn’t respond right away. He just continued to watch you with that unreadable look in his eyes, like he was trying to figure out something you hadn’t said. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles again, slow and deliberate, and you felt the heat of his touch linger long after he pulled his hand away.

“I’m fine, really,” you murmured, trying to brush it off, but the way he held your gaze made it feel like there was more to this—more to him—than just a simple question about a scrape.

“Okay, if you say so,” he said, his voice low, his thumb lingering a moment longer as though he was reluctant to let go. The space between you seemed to shrink with every passing second, and you felt an undeniable pull, a magnetism that you weren’t sure you could escape. 

And as he finally pulled back, letting your hand slip from his, you couldn’t help but feel that odd, electric tension still hanging in the air. If your heart skipped a beat at the lingering warmth from Geo’s touch, well… that was between you and him. 

The next day, you were sitting next to Sol, his usual spot on the college roof where he always claimed the corner near the ledge, as his friend Hyugo went to town on the packed lunch Sol had made for him. 

You could feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. Sol was pissed—furious, to be exact—but he wasn’t going to tell you that. Not directly. Oh no, that wasn’t his style. He wouldn’t admit to stalking you hanging out with Geo, not even in the vaguest sense. So, you had to work for it.

You hadn’t even taken a full bite of your food before Sol was already speaking. "You made lunch today?" he asked, his voice far too casual. But you could hear the undercurrent of something. Was it jealousy? Possessiveness?

You paused, spoon halfway to your mouth, and gave him a look so casually, "No, Geo made it for me," you answered nonchalantly, barely glancing at him.

That stopped Sol cold. You saw his grip on his water bottle tighten, his expression faltering for just a moment. 

Hyugo, who had been enthusiastically chewing his food, even slowed down to glance at the both of you, like 'bitch what?'. "My little brother??" He blinked, the surprise in his voice unmistakable.

"Yeah," you said with a shrug, pushing your hair back out of your face. "We went out to a bakery yesterday. We had leftovers, so Geo made this for me and added his own cooking. Claim he had too much but I know he's lying,"

You made a show of taking a bite of that food, GEO's FOOD. Trying to act casual, but you could tell Sol was barely holding it together. His face remained unreadable, but you could practically feel the simmering irritation in the air.

"H-Have fun?" Sol’s voice suddenly went tight—too tight. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze flickered between you and Hyugo as if he were struggling to hold back something.

You grinned, knowing exactly what was happening. "Yup."

Sol’s grip on his water bottle tightened even more, the plastic creaking under his fingers. "Really?" His voice was lower now, tinged with something darker. The possessiveness was unmistakable.

You leaned back slightly, savoring the moment. "Mhm. Geo’s actually pretty great company, you know."

And that was it. That was the exact moment you saw something snap in Sol’s expression. His jaw tightened, muscles twitching with barely contained rage. His gaze darkened to something dangerous, something you didn’t quite recognize but felt all the way down your spine. His hand, which had been resting on the ledge beside you, clenched into a fist, almost as if he were physically fighting the urge to pull you closer.

You could practically feel the heat radiating off him, the raw jealousy simmering beneath his calm exterior. 

Next was Sol, of course.

You see, Sol was on the opposite end of the spectrum in terms of lifestyle compared to Geo. Dyed hair, dark clothes, the entire emo aesthetic. But damn, despite all that edge, Sol never failed to make your jaw drop with the simplest actions. 

The way he carried himself, that intense gaze, the way his presence seemed to swallow the air around him. He was a walking contradiction—grungy yet perfectly composed, dangerous yet captivating.

You watched him for a moment, letting the silence stretch between you. Then, leaning slightly toward him, you tilted your head, voice light as you broke the tension. "So, Sol... what are you doing tonight?"

He glanced at you quickly, but then his eyes slid back toward the ground, pretending to be nonchalant. "Nothing, why?" His voice was cool, but you could tell he was listening, waiting for your next words with that quiet intensity of his.

"How about we do something together?" you asked casually, making sure to catch his gaze, letting him know this wasn’t just an idle suggestion. "A little... escape from the usual?" For a split second, you saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes—he wasn’t sure if he should be pissed or if he was genuinely interested. 

You leaned in a little closer, watching his every move, waiting for the shift. "Maybe the arcade? Or the rooftop bar downtown?" you continued, a playful grin tugging at your lips as you named the places that were always ‘off-limits’ in some way—places where neither Geo nor any of his calculated controlled habits would be there to shadow you. 

You could feel Sol’s pulse race, his curiosity piqued, but you both knew he wasn’t going to admit it.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. You waited, knowing Sol was contemplating the idea with that unreadable look on his face. Then, with a slight shift in posture, he leaned back, crossing his arms. "Why not both?" he finally said, his voice low and laced with that underlying tension.

You couldn’t help but smirk, a triumphant little rush sweeping over you. "Thought you’d say that."

He tilted his head at you, a challenging gleam in his eyes. "You’re lucky I’m in the mood for it."

But you knew the truth: he wasn’t just in the mood for it. Sol was making this choice for a reason. He was staking his claim, showing you exactly what you meant to him, even if he wasn’t saying it outright.

"Let’s go then," you said, pushing up from the ledge and grabbing your bag. "I’ll drive."

You and Sol ended up at the arcade bar, the dim lighting, neon signs, and the sounds of games and laughter buzzing in the background. The place was filled with the usual mix of drunk college kids, rowdy groups playing shooting games, and couples lost in the flashing lights. The air smelled faintly of beer and popcorn, and the low hum of music blended with the clinking and clattering of game machines. 

You walked up to the claw game, your eyes immediately spotting a small plush sitting just out of reach, nestled between other stuffed animals. A mischievous grin tugged at your lips as you studied the claw’s movement. 

"Can you get it for me, Sol?" you asked innocently, but there was a hint of playful challenge in your tone. 

Sol raised an eyebrow at you, his lips twitching into that familiar, knowing smirk. "I’m not your personal claw machine expert, you know."

"Oh, come on. You’re good with your hands, aren’t you?" you teased, turning your head to meet his gaze, making sure he saw the way your fingers twitched at the machine's controls.

Sol didn’t reply right away, just watching you, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. His gaze followed your every move, always studying you like you were some kind of puzzle he couldn’t quite crack. You didn’t expect him to move just yet, though—because you had a plan. 

The claw machine was already set up for failure in your favor. You purposefully timed your moves to keep missing the plush, missing the claw’s target by mere inches each time. It was an art at this point, a silent dance between you and the machine. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Sol stepping up behind you. The warmth of his body pressed against yours for just a moment, the heat of him radiating even through the buzz of the arcade. His breath was warm against your ear, and you could feel his chest rise and fall just behind you as he watched, his body too close for comfort, too close to be innocent.

“You’re missing the timing," Sol’s voice was low, almost a growl, as he leaned down just enough for his nose to brush against the side of your hair. You could feel the weight of his presence behind you, feel the way his hands hovered just above yours, ready to step in if you let him. "You need to wait for the claw to line up perfectly before you move it. Let it hang for a second longer."

You shivered slightly, the sound of his voice in your ear making something inside you stir. The combination of his closeness and the tension from the game made your heart race, your hand still hovering over the joystick.

"Show me," you murmured, your voice a little more breathless than you intended, the excitement of the moment taking over.

Sol didn’t hesitate. His hand brushed over yours, his long fingers wrapping around your wrist as he guided your movements, his body pressing further into yours. The subtle brush of his chest against your back made your breath hitch in your throat.

He adjusted your grip on the joystick, his fingers briefly brushing your skin as he gently moved your hand to line up the claw with the black cat. His breath, warm and steady, ghosted against your ear as he spoke again, a soft command mixed with a hint of amusement. "Now, wait for it…"

You could feel his heart beating against your back, a steady rhythm that matched the growing tension in your chest. His thumb brushed over your wrist lightly as you waited, the seconds dragging on forever.

And then, in a move so precise, you almost didn’t see it, the claw dipped down, catching the plush perfectly. You both watched in silence as it rose, bringing the plush toy closer and closer and finally dropping it into the prize chute. "Got it," you said, the words almost a whisper but filled with a triumphant smile. 

Sol stepped back, his body leaving a sudden chill in the space where he’d just been pressed against you. You turned to face him, only to see the satisfied, yet somehow unreadable expression on his face.

He didn’t say anything at first, just watched you as you picked up the plush, holding it in your hands like it was some kind of prize—not just the one you won from the claw game.

"You’re welcome," Sol muttered under his breath, but the way his gaze lingered on you, the way his lips barely twitched into something close to a smirk, told you everything you needed to know.

The next day, after classes, you found yourself lounging in the usual spot outside the campus café, the one with the low-sunk benches and worn-out cushions, perfect for chilling when the afternoon sun warmed everything just right.

Crowe and Geo were the only ones free—everyone else was busy with their own afternoon classes, leaving the three of you with some time to kill. 

You’d already had your morning classes earlier, just like Crowe and Geo, getting the heavy lifting out of the way so you could enjoy the rest of the day without the looming shadow of assignments or exams. It was quiet, just the hum of conversations from other students and the occasional passing car. 

Crowe casually leaned back in his seat, fiddling with his phone, but then his gaze landed on the plush you had won at the arcade bar last night. The small plush sat beside you, nestled in your arms. It was barely noticeable unless you were paying attention, but Crowe definitely noticed.

"You went to the arcade bar last night, huh?" he remarked casually, lifting an eyebrow as his eyes flicked over to the plush. "Looks like you had fun. You win that?" He pointed to the black cat in your lap, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You smirked, leaning back against the seat as you shrugged. "Yeah, had a pretty good time." You could almost feel Crowe’s curiosity growing, but you didn’t give him too much to work with. You weren’t sure if you were ready to delve into the details of your night just yet.

But before you could say anything else, Geo, who’d been unusually quiet up until now, spoke up, his tone casual yet probing. "Did you go with Brittany?" he asked, his gaze flickering briefly toward you as he leaned forward slightly.

You tilted your head, giving him a sideways glance. "No," you replied with a small, knowing smile. "I went with Sol."

Crowe’s eyes widened slightly at that, his interest piqued. "Sol?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "The guy you partner up with in your art gen ed?"

You nodded, glancing at Geo from the corner of your eye. "Yeah. That's him."

For a moment, the conversation seemed to stall. Geo’s expression didn’t change, but you could feel his energy shift slightly, the subtle tension in the air thickening. His eyes remained cool, distant, like always—but there was something just beneath the surface. A flicker. A brief crack in his calm, and then it was gone, leaving you wondering if you’d imagined it. 

Crowe, however, seemed much more openly intrigued. "Didn't know you two hung out like that," he said, still grinning. "Interesting."

You met Geo's eyes again, but this time, he was looking at the table, fingers tapping lightly against his cup. His face was as unreadable as ever, but the way he had asked about Brittany—so focused, so sharp—left you with a sense of unease. It was subtle, but there.

You couldn’t help but watch him for a beat longer than necessary, but Geo’s cool demeanor didn’t crack. If he was feeling anything, he wasn’t showing it.

"Yeah," you said again, your voice quieter now as you let the weight of your words sink in. "Sol’s... something."

Crowe raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Something, huh?" He leaned in a little closer, his playful teasing tone back. "Sounds like you're keeping some secrets from us."

You just shrugged again, keeping the mystery between you all. You didn’t need to explain yourself. Not yet, anyway.

The rest of the conversation drifted off, but you could feel Geo’s eyes flicking to you every so often like he was sizing something up. Whether it was the situation, you, or something else entirely, you couldn’t quite tell.

But for now, you weren’t going to push.

After all, this had been going on for months now—stretching into the current year. Geo and Sol—two men who had wormed their way into your thoughts in ways you couldn’t quite understand. It wasn’t just when you were around them.

No, their presence lingered even when they weren’t there, like an unshakable hum in the back of your mind. It circled you constantly, like an orbit you couldn’t escape, especially as you sat in bed late at night, trying to focus on your homework.

Every time you’d start to make progress, one of them would pop into your head, their images uninvited and persistent.

Sometimes, you'd find yourself imagining them both vying for your attention at once—Geo, with his cool, almost aloof demeanor, and Sol, burning with that raw, intense energy he always carried.

You’d picture them both charming you at the same time, competing for your affections in some twisted game. You’d have to smack your head with a pillow to shake the thought loose, as if physical force could snap you back into reality.

Geo: the silent, brooding menace who could make you feel like the only person in the room with just a glance.

And then there was Sol: the human equivalent of a forest fire—intense, consuming, and just a little bit unhinged.

Each of them pulled at your heart in a very different way, and frankly? It was ruining your life.

Class should’ve been simple, but nope. Your mind kept spiraling between the two of them like some shamelessdaydreamer. This was supposed to be a harmless little game—a fun flirtation. You weren’t supposed to actually catch feelings.

And yet, here you were, caught in a ridiculous mental tug-of-war. You knew you couldn’t have both. You weren’t thatkind of person. Right?

…Right?

But the thought just wouldn’t leave. It sat there. Mocking you.

You groaned, running a hand down your face. It’s not like you could just—

…Oh god.

You couldn’t have a threesome with them.

That was insane. Insane.

You let out a quiet, awkward laugh at the mere idea of it. Geo and Sol? Together? Working together? As if. Those two could barely exist in the same airspace without someone looking ready to throw hands.

They’d sooner kill each other than ever—

…

Unless…

Before you could delve deeper into that increasingly absurd—and wildly tempting—thought, a voice cut through your spiraling thoughts.

"Hey, you good?"

You blinked, snapping back to reality, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. There was Sol, standing over you, his pen set down on the table in front of you. His hand—big and warm—reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear with a simple, almost gentle touch. 

It was something so small, so subtle, but it completely threw you off. 

Your breath caught in your throat, and you had to cough to cover the sudden rush of heat flooding your chest.

Shit.

"You sure?" Sol’s voice was low and steady, but there was a note of concern in it that caught you off guard. His eyes lingered on you, studying your face, as if trying to decipher what was going on behind your cool exterior. "That look on your face says otherwise."

You quickly shook your head, trying to brush it off, though you knew it didn’t quite work. “I’m fine, really,” you said, though your voice had a slight edge to it—irritation creeping in. Why was he always so perceptive? It made you uncomfortable.

Sol didn’t buy it. Of course, he didn’t. He stood there, watching you with that intense gaze of his, making you feel like he could see right through you. Maybe you weren’t fine. Maybe the situation was more complicated than you'd like to admit, and maybe, just maybe, he was the one who could throw you off balance with just a touch.

But no, you wouldn’t let him know that. Not yet. You were fine.

You were just… fine. Right?

Fuck no.

Art class ended, and the moment the bell rang, you bolted out of the classroom, making a quick escape. You needed to get away—fast. The building seemed endless, but you were determined to make it out as you pushed the glass door open before you ran into anyone who would slow you down.

But as you rounded the corner, you collided with something—no, someone. Strong arms caught you before you could stumble back. You looked up to find Geo standing there, an unreadable expression on his face, clearly waiting for you.

“Watch where you’re going,” Geo said, his voice steady, though there was an edge to it as he held you firmly. “Could’ve fallen.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat from the sudden closeness. “I know,” you muttered, pulling away from his grip. But as you tried to step back, you could feel his gaze on you, like he could read you better than anyone else. 

Oh shit.

“Something wrong?” Geo asked, his tone softer, more probing now. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face.

You didn’t want to deal with this. Not here. Not with half the school walking by, eyes glued to the scene. You couldn’t bring yourself to make this anything public—not when the whole damn hallway was buzzing with life. You didn’t want to be an exhibit. 

“Nothing,” you snapped, avoiding his gaze as you turned to walk away, trying to make your steps as quick and purposeful as possible.

But of course, Geo wasn’t the type to let things slide. You could feel the weight of his footsteps behind you, steady like he wasn’t planning to let you go that easily.

You kept walking, the distance between you and him narrowing as he caught up with you, his presence heavy in the air.

“Don’t think I’m letting this go,” he said, his voice low and knowing. 

You almost wanted to tell him to drop it. To stop following you. But you couldn’t find the words. You’d rather deal with this alone in your studio apartment at your dorm building. Maybe just let the work pile up, let the hours drag on. You didn’t want to have this conversation—not now, not in front of everyone.

But as Geo walked behind you, you knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let you hide from it.

You walked briskly toward your dorm, eager for the quiet refuge of your room. The noise of the campus buzzed around you, but you barely registered it. You needed a moment to think, to breathe, to escape the tension that had been building all day.

Just as you rounded the corner, ready to slip inside the safety of your dorm building, your luck completely betrayed you.

Sol stood in front of the door, arms crossed, his usual playful smirk replaced by something that looked almost like frustration. Behind you, you could feel Geo’s presence, steady and unyielding.

He’d caught up to you.

“Can I help you?” you muttered, not bothering to hide the irritation in your voice as you stopped short, staring at Sol’s casual stance.

Sol’s eyes flickered to Geo for a moment before focusing back on you. “So, what’s going on?” His voice was laced with amusement, but there was a clear edge to it, like he knew something you weren’t saying.

Geo didn’t speak at first, standing just behind you, as if guarding the space between you and Sol. He wasn’t making any moves to push past, but his presence was unmistakable, like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

You took a deep breath, hoping the annoyance that flared in your chest didn’t spill out as you spoke. “Nothing’s going on,” you said with heavy sigh, “I’m just trying to get to my dorm.”

“Oh, you’re trying to get to your dorm?” Sol repeated, his eyebrows lifting slightly, a mock sweetness to his voice. “How convenient. He’s with you.”

Geo shifted slightly behind you, his gaze on Sol but saying nothing. His silence was suffocating, like the calm before a storm, but you didn’t want to deal with it.

Not now. Not here.

“Seriously,” you said, your voice tight, trying to push past the bubbling frustration. “I’m not in the mood for this, okay? I’m not doing whatever game you two are playing. I just want some space.”

Sol stepped forward, blocking your path. “But space from what? From me? Or from Him?” He said, more like in a worried tone.

Your heart skipped, and the tension in your chest built up again. You had no idea what either of them wanted—if they were trying to get under your skin, if they were genuinely concerned, or if they just liked messing with you. 

Either way, you were getting frustrated.

Geo finally spoke, his voice low and even. “There’s right. If they want space, they should get it.”

Sol’s gaze shifted to him, then back to you. His lips pressed together in the way he did when he was trying to hold back. But the tension between them was palpable. You could feel the pull of it, both of them watching you, waiting for something. You weren’t sure what it was, but you knew you didn’t want to find out.

“So what’s it going to be?” Sol asked, his tone still light but sharper now, like a blade hidden under velvet.

You were fucked, weren’t you? 

Stuck between two guys who couldn’t seem to let you be, two men who both knew how to get to you in different ways. And for once, you didn’t know how to escape it. You didn’t know how to get them both to leave you alone. 

You had to choose your next words carefully, but for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure what the right choice even was.

The silence hung thick between you, Sol and Geo, both of them locked in a battle of wills without saying much—yet it felt like everything was being said. You could feel the tension in the air, thick enough to suffocate.

Then, with the smallest crack in the quiet, it started.

“You can’t seriously be this fucking oblivious, can you?” Sol’s voice was sharp, a knife-edge cutting through the air. His eyes flared with a familiar anger, but there was something else there now—something that definitely screams jealousy.

Geo didn’t back down.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His voice, obviously sturdy just annoyed.

“Oh, you’re really gonna act like you don’t know now?” Sol snapped, taking a step forward, his gaze never leaving Geo. "You can clearly see they not some fucking toy for you to keep playing with. Can’t you see there’s already fucking exhausted from all of this? From you”

The words hit like a punch, but they weren’t aimed at you—not directly. Still, you could feel the weight of them, as if they were pulling you in, squeezing tighter and tighter.

You stood there, frozen. 

Your thoughts swirled in your mind—fuck this, you can’t deal with this now. 

You wanted to scream, to tell them to shut up and let you go, but the words never came. Instead, you just stared at the ground, feeling the pressure of the moment pressing down on you.

“Exhausted?” Geo’s scoff was low, almost bitter.

“They haven’t said a word to me about being tired of anything.” His eyes flicked to you, but for once, you didn’t meet his gaze.

You couldn’t. It would make it worse.

it wasn’t long that your name fell upon Geo lips, looking down at you, you refused to look before he for you face to look at you.

"You have something to tell me?” Geo asked.

Fuck. Things are definitely worse now because with that sudden touch oh Sol? Yeah, he’s not having it anymore.

“Hey get your hands off them” Sol’s voice was nearly a growl now, and you could feel the heat radiating off him like he was a flame ready to burn everything down.

"I’m not letting you have them.”

Geo’s response was immediate, and the words were like steel. “Oh, I don’t have to take anything from you. I’m not the one chasing them around pretending to be thier fucking savior.”

You winced at the word savior. It felt like everything was crumbling in on itself. The walls that you had spent so long trying to keep up—between them, between your feelings, between yourself—were crumbling into dust.

And you didn’t stop them. You didn’t say a word. The argument, as much as it was annoying you, felt easier than breaking the silence. It felt better than picking a side, better than making this worse.

Instead, you just stood there, eyes glued to the floor however listen with your heart racing as the fight between them escalated. Every word, every accusation, every harsh tone felt like a dagger.

This is your fault, isn’t it?

Playing a game between two possessive men... 

Yeah, you definitely fucked things up.

Sol stepped closer, his eyes flashing with a fierce intensity. “I’m not their savior. I just wanna make sure that they’re okay, you’re the one that’s stressing them."

Geo took a step forward, closing the space between them. “And who exactly said that? Last time I checked, you do not speak for them. How long are you gonna act like they belong to you, delusional ass.”

You could feel your pulse quicken as the anger between them seemed to rise, boiling over, threatening to explode. You were caught in the middle, a bystander to a fight that you caused.

And still, you did nothing. You didn’t speak, didn’t intervene. You just stood there, your heart hammering in your chest, trying to fight back the suffocating wave of frustration, fear, and exhaustion.

“Stop it,” you finally whispered, so quietly that neither of them seemed to hear it at first. But they were both too deep in their argument to notice.

"Stop," you said louder this time, your voice shaking but firm. “Just stop. I don’t want this.”

Geo and Sol froze at the sound of your voice, both of them pausing mid-sentence, and for a moment, you thought that maybe—just maybe—they might listen. But then Geo’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes filled with something unreadable.

“Look, I don’t need your help, either of you. I’m just… I just need some fucking space,” you said, your words sharp and exhausted, finally breaking the dam of silence that had been holding you in place.

You didn’t want to explain yourself anymore. .

Geo and Sol exchanged a brief, tense glance, but neither of them moved.

Your voice cracked slightly as you took another step back. “Please. Go away…”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and walked away, the weight of their eyes on your back like a burning brand. The silence between you all lingered as you left them standing there, words unfinished in the air. 

You didn't know what would come next, but for now, you needed to be alone.

You slammed the door behind you, leaning your forehead against the cool wood for a moment, just to collect yourself. The weight of it all hit you then—every little mistake, every decision that had led to this point. Slowly, you slid down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as if holding yourself together was the only thing left you could do.

You hated this.

Hated the mess you’d made.

Hated that you thought you could handle it, that you could juggle them both without consequences. The worst part? You didn’t even really know what you were hoping for—what you thought would happen. You had an idea, but now that you were here, it felt like you’d just stepped into your own trap.

You cared for both of them, deeply. And as much as that made your chest ache, you couldn’t forget that they were adults, just like you. They were capable of making their own decisions, and this mess? It was your doing. You let it spiral. 

With a deep sigh, you finally pulled off your shoes and tossed them aside, already thinking about the shower you desperately needed. Maybe, just maybe, they'd be chill by the time you were done. 

But, fuck, who were you kidding?

This was far from over.

Meanwhile, Geo exhaled sharply through his nose, the tension in his shoulders growing with every missed shot. The arrow barely scraped the target this time, and he clicked his tongue in frustration.

It wasn’t like him to miss. His hands were steady, his breathing controlled—but his mind? His mind was an absolute mess.

Because of you.

Five damn calls. Five times he let it ring, only to get nothing in return. He had half a mind to try again, but instead, he shoved his phone into his pocket and shot off a final text.

I’ll leave you alone.

And yet, the moment he sent it, he regretted it. He didn't want to leave you alone. That was the whole problem, wasn’t it?

Before he could dwell on it, a voice cut through the air.

“So, you think you’re funny, huh?”

Geo didn’t even flinch. He already knew who it was before he turned his head. Sol was standing in the archery room now, door shut behind him, posture loose but his eyes sharp.

Geo rolled his eyes, lowering his bow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, emo.”

That was the last straw.

In a blink, Sol had grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward, their faces inches apart. Geo barely had time to process the shift before Sol’s voice came low and dark.

“Don’t start that ignorant bullshit,” Sol growled, fingers tightening in Geo’s shirt. “I know exactly what you’re doing. You’re trying to make me look like an ass.”

Geo let out a breath of laughter, cool and effortless, but there was an edge to it. “Me? I didn’t do anything.” His smirk deepened the glint in his eye anything but apologetic. “You do that enough as it is.”

Sol’s grip tightened, knuckles whitening. His eyes were burning, brimming with something dangerously close to fury.

Geo just sighed.

Sol’s jaw twitched, his fingers still tight in Geo’s collar as he narrowed his eyes. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" His voice was low, filled with jealousy. "You’re obsessed. You keep trying to prove you’re better than me—so much so that you’d stoop this low?"  

Geo let out a quiet scoff, his expression unreadable. "Obsessed?" He tilted his head slightly, considering the word. "If I were obsessed, you wouldn't even be able to breathe near them." His voice was smooth, even. "I trust them. I respect them. That’s what this is. You? You just want control."  

Sol's grip wavered for half a second before his teeth clenched. "That’s some bullshit ass-kissing if I’ve ever heard it."  

Geo’s smirk barely faltered. "And yet, you’re the one constantly up their ass for attention." He leaned in just slightly, voice dropping lower, colder. "How about you try treating them like a normal person instead of acting like you own them?"  

Sol's expression darkened, however Geo didn’t move, didn’t even blink.

Damn, he really don’t care nonchalant ass.

Then, with deliberate slowness, Geo reached up and pried Sol’s fingers off his collar, brushing himself off as if the whole thing had been a minor inconvenience.  

"I’d say grow up," Geo muttered, turning away, "but we both know that’s never happening."

Sol let out a short, humorless laugh. "I have no problem settling this with my fists, you know." His tone was sharp, a direct challenge.  

Geo rolled his eyes, unimpressed. "Right, because that’s always worked so well for you." He adjusted the strap on his archery gear, not even looking at Sol as he spoke. "You can threaten me all you want, but we both know neither of us would like where that road leads."  

Sol’s fingers twitched. His patience was razor-thin. "Tch." His brows furrowed, annoyance flickering across his face. "You always got that smug, rich asshole act going, huh?" He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "News flash, dude—just because you’ve got money and pretty looking doesn’t mean you're better than me."  

Geo finally turned to face him, completely unfazed. "Never said I was." He packed up the rest of his things, moving with an infuriating amount of calm. Then, as he reached the door, he paused. Looking over his shoulder, he sighed.  

"And?" His voice was light, almost teasing. "At least I’m not some crazy ‘yandere’ lover."  

That was it. Sol’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. 

Oh, this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Neither of them were backing down.  

Not until you choose.  

You stepped outside, and the cold hit you first—a stark contrast to the warmth of your dorm, where you had been holed up for the past week. The wind carried the faint chatter of students, the distant sound of traffic blending with the occasional echo of laughter.

The familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee from the campus café lingered in the air, but even that didn’t soothe the tension coiling in your chest.  

The campus felt the same, unchanged as if the world had continued spinning without you. And yet, to you, everything felt different. The space between each step felt heavier, your mind was unwilling the overthink thoughts.

You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, fingers clenching the fabric as you moved toward the main part of campus. It should’ve felt freeing, stepping out again, stretching your legs after days of isolation. But instead, a strange unease settled in your gut, an unshakable tension that refused to leave.  

You sighed, pulling out your phone, and you flicked through your notifications.  

Missed Calls: 15+

Messages Unread: 10+

Both are from Sol and Geo.

You sighed, rolling your eyes at yourself. You really should call them back.  

But which one?  

If you called Geo first, Sol would find out—one way or another. If you called Sol, Geo would know. Those two could be halfway across the world from each other, and they’d still figure it out.  

Just your luck.  

You stared at your phone, thumb hovering over the screen. A part of you thought about just ignoring them both for another day—but you already knew that wouldn’t last.  

So...

Who first?

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

You inhaled deeply, feeling the moment's weight settle over you as you stared at Sol’s contact on your phone screen. The decision to finally call him had been a long time coming, but now that it was here, your stomach churned with the uncertainty of what might follow.

You tapped the screen, watching the call ring, each second stretching longer than the last.

The phone barely rang twice before he picked up.

"You finally decided to call," he said, his voice lower than usual—quieter, almost softer, but there was an edge to it. Not anger. Not relief. But something else that you couldn’t quite place. The words hung in the air, a strange mixture of resignation and something else that made your chest tighten.

You hesitated, guilt gnawing at your insides. You’d kept your distance for so long. Too long. And now, hearing his voice—so calm, but threaded with an unmistakable undercurrent of tension—it felt almost like a punch to the gut. "Yeah. I figured it was about time," you said, your voice steady despite the roiling anxiety beneath the surface.

There was a long pause on the other end, just the faintest sound of him exhaling—a sigh of sorts. You could almost hear the weight of the silence before he spoke again. 

"You okay?"

The simplicity of the question threw you off. You expected sarcasm, irritation—hell, even some passive-aggressive jabs would’ve been easier to handle. But this? It was genuine. A rawness in his tone that cut through everything else. He was asking, not because he wanted something, but because he actually cared. And that scared you.

You swallowed, fighting the lump in your throat, unsure of how to answer. "I—yeah. I just needed time," you said, the words coming out quieter than you intended.

"I get that now," he replied after a beat, the faint rasp in his voice betraying something deeper. "But I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t like it."

His honesty hit you harder than you expected. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but somehow, it felt like a relief. Sol wasn’t the type to mince words, and in this moment, you knew exactly where he stood. You weren’t sure what you were expecting from this conversation, but it was clear that what you’d put off for so long was finally catching up to both of you.

There was another long silence, the kind that settled heavy between you, and you could almost feel him on the other side of the phone, waiting, unsure of what you were going to say next. 

"Can we talk?" you asked, the words leaving your mouth before you could second-guess them. The finality of it surprised you—this was it. The moment you’d both been dancing around for too long.

Sol was quiet for a second, the kind of silence that stretched just a little too long, leaving you hanging on the edge of the conversation, wondering if you’d pushed him too far. You held your breath, waiting. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, though still laced with that familiar edge of uncertainty. 

"You sure?" he asked, the words carrying a subtle weight, as though he were wondering if this was something you both could handle.

"I wouldn’t be calling if I wasn’t," you replied, your voice firmer now. You weren’t going to back down. You needed to talk. You needed answers. And maybe, just maybe, you needed him.

There was a shift in his tone, like a decision had been made. A soft exhale followed by the sound of movement on his end, maybe him shifting in his seat, maybe running a hand through his hair. You could almost picture it—Sol, leaning back, thinking, processing everything that had happened. 

"All right," he said finally. "Art classroom. After classes. The door’s open."

The way he said it made your heart skip. It wasn’t just an invitation—it was a call to meet, a place where things could be sorted. He wasn’t forcing it, but there was no mistaking the gravity in his words. He wanted to talk, too.

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. "Okay," you replied, the single word carrying more weight than anything else you could’ve said.

"Good," Sol responded, his tone softer now. "See you then."

The call ended with a click, and for a moment, you just stood there, holding the phone in your hand, staring at the screen. You didn’t know what would happen next, but you couldn’t keep running anymore. Whatever was between you and Sol—it was time to face it. 

Whatever happened, you would figure it out.

With a heavy sigh, you set the phone down, bracing yourself for whatever this conversation would bring. You couldn’t avoid it any longer.

The air outside was crisp, the warmth of the midday sun barely cutting through the lingering chill of early spring. Students filtered across the courtyard in waves, either rushing to their next class or loitering in clusters, laughing and chatting like nothing in the world could touch them.

You wished you could feel that kind of ease right now. Instead, the weight of unfinished business pressed against your chest as you stepped out of the building, prepared to put as much distance between yourself and the past week's tension as possible.

Then you saw him.

Geo.

Leaning against a pillar near the main walkway, his phone in hand, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t looking at you—not directly—but you knew him well enough to recognize the way his posture shifted, the subtle tilt of his head.

He’d been waiting for you. Your stomach tightened. Great.

Your grip on your bag strap tightened as you debated walking right past him. Maybe he’d let you go. Maybe you could avoid whatever this conversation was going to be—at least for a little longer.

But you knew better.

Geo wasn’t the type to let things slide, not when something was clearly bothering him. And sure enough, just as you tried to step around him, his voice cut through the noise of passing students.

"Hey."

You exhaled sharply, stopping in your tracks. “Hey, Geo.”

Finally, he lifted his gaze. Sharp, assessing—searching.

For what? You weren’t sure.

Whatever he saw in your face made something in his expression tighten, but he didn’t press immediately. Instead, he pushed off the pillar with an easy, practiced motion, sliding his hands into his pockets as he fell into step beside you.

Like this was normal. It wasn’t.

The silence stretched between you both, thick and heavy. You weren’t sure what to say, and for once, Geo didn’t immediately break it with some casual comment.

Then, a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"Okay, this is getting awkward as hell."

You turned to see Crowe standing a few feet away, arms crossed, one brow arched in amusement.

Geo scoffed. "No one's talking to you, Jericho.”

"Yeah, well, someone's gotta say it," Crowe shot back, stepping closer. He looked between you and Geo before sighing. "All right, real talk? You two need to clear the air, 'cause this weird-ass tension? It's making everyone uncomfortable."

Your stomach twisted. You knew it. Of course, the group had noticed. Even if you had spent the past week avoiding everyone, the energy between you and Geo—between you, Geo, and Sol—had lingered like a stain.

You exhaled sharply. "Crowe, not now."

"Then when?" Crowe challenged. "You can’t keep dodging this forever. And I know damn well Geo won’t drop it."

You flicked a glance at Geo, and sure enough, he was watching you carefully. He hadn’t denied it.

You rolled your shoulders, trying to shake the weight pressing down on you. “I just—” You cut yourself off, sighing again.

Geo spoke then, low and even. "I just want to talk."

It was that simple. Yet, it wasn’t.

Crowe tilted his head, giving you a pointed look. "So?"

You hesitated. You had already agreed to see Sol later. Adding Geo into the mix now? It felt like asking for trouble.

But at the same time…

You swallowed. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Geo nodded once, slipping his hands into his pockets. Crowe grinned like he had just won something.

"Good. Now, I’m gonna leave before I end up in the middle of some dramatic lovers' quarrel." He spun on his heel and walked off, muttering under his breath about “...people and their complicated ass relationships.”

You took a slow breath, turning to Geo. “Where do you wanna do this?”

He gestured ahead. “Walk with me.”

You nodded. And with that, you fell into step beside him, feeling the weight of everything unsaid press down on you. Geo's silence as you walked together was unnerving, but not unusual. You had known him long enough to recognize when he was working something out in his head, dissecting information and piecing together a bigger picture.

And then—

"You're going to see him, aren't you?"

You froze for half a second before narrowing your eyes at him.

“How do you—”

Geo sighed, but there was no amusement in his expression.

"You just gave yourself away."

Fuck.

You clenched your jaw, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “.....I have to talk to him,” you admitted, voice measured.

Geo hummed, as if considering something, then tilted his head. "Because you like him?"

That stopped you. You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The words were there, pressing against your tongue, but they refused to come out.

Geo exhaled sharply, leaning his head back before looking at you again, his usual cool demeanor cracking just slightly. "You need to stay away from him." His voice was firm, but not commanding—like he was trying to warn you rather than control you.

"He’s not what you think he is."

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “Oh, what, you’re jealous now?”

Geo didn’t react right away, just watching you with an unreadable expression. You turned to leave, deciding you were done with this conversation, but before you could take more than two steps, his hand caught yours.

Not forcefully. Not to restrain. Just… holding.

You hesitated, glancing back at him. His fingers were warm around yours, his grip firm but careful.

Geo clicked his tongue in irritation. "I'm serious." His voice lost its usual arrogance, dipping into something quieter, something almost… uncertain. His brows pulled together just slightly, frustration flickering in his expression before he masked it again. "Believe me."

You hesitated, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. Geo wasn’t the type to plead, not like this.

Your fingers twitched at your side before you sighed, shaking your head. “Geo.” Your voice carried a tired edge. “I’m gonna see him. Whether you like it or not.”

His jaw clenched. "Use that brain of yours, dumbass," he muttered, irritation bleeding into his words. His usual smugness was still there, but it was strained—forced. "You can see it, can't you? That emo-ass dude isn't a good person."

You met his gaze, expecting the usual annoyed expression, the knowing glint in his eye. But there was none of that. Just something kept inside, something restless.

Still, you shook your head, unwilling to back down.

"I’ll figure things out myself."

Geo scoffed, but it lacked its usual bite. "Fine. It's your funeral," He didn’t stop you. Just shoved his hands into his pockets, watching as you walked away—like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how.

The sun had already begun to set when you strolled to the art building, the cool evening air wrapping around you in a bracing hug. The campus was quieter than usual, the incessant buzz of student chatter silenced by the soft murmur of distant conversations and the occasional crackle of leaves.

You walked down the corridor, your footsteps rustling softly against the floors, and arrived at the door to the art studio.

You paused for a single second, your hand hovering over the doorknob, before turning it and entering. The room was little illuminated, the golden yellow tones of the dying sun seeping in through the high windows, lighting the lengthening shadows thrown across the scattered easels and unfinished works.

The smell of paint and graphite filled the air, a welcome familiarity. The soft rumble of a heater vibrated through the room, and the soft whisper of papers as someone shifted around was the only sound.

And there he was.

Sol was sitting on a stool in the center of the room, a sketchpad resting on his knees. His dark hair fell just a little too long over his eyes, his usual brooding expression eased in concentration. He didn't even notice you at first, completely absorbed in the pencil gliding across the paper.

You stood there for a moment, watching him, the way the soft light caught on his face, the tension in his posture, the slight frown of concentration as his hand glided with practiced ease.

It was like a moment frozen in time. 

You almost didn’t want to interrupt him. But then, just as you made a move to step forward, Sol looked up. His eyes met yours with that piercing gaze of his, dark and unreadable for a brief second. He blinked, his pencil pausing mid-air, and for a moment, you both just stared at each other.

He stood up slowly, pushing the stool back with a faint scrape of metal against the floor. His movements were deliberate, almost hesitant, as though he hadn’t quite expected you to actually show up. He stepped toward you, and you could feel the weight of his gaze settle on you like a heavy cloud.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Sol said, his voice low and slightly rough, like he had been waiting for this moment for a while. He took a few steps closer, his hands shifting awkwardly, unsure of what to do with them.

You didn’t answer right away, still trying to calm the nervous flutter in your chest. The tension between you two was thick enough to cut with a knife, but you had come here for a reason, and you weren’t going to back out now.

“Sol…” you started, your voice almost too quiet against the stillness of the room. You cleared your throat, meeting his eyes. “We need to talk.”

His expression shifted, ever so slightly, but you could tell he understood what you meant. There was a moment of hesitation, his lips pressing together tightly, before he nodded once, slowly.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice steady but with an undercurrent of something unreadable. “We do.”

He didn’t say anything else, just stood there for a second, letting the silence stretch out between you both. The space between you was intimate in a way that was almost suffocating, but you didn’t back away.

“I guess…” Sol started, breaking the silence with a soft chuckle, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s a good thing you came. I didn’t have anything better to do.” He paused, running a hand through his hair, his expression turning more serious.

“What exactly do you want to talk about?”

You chuckled softly, the sound almost a little hollow in the heavy atmosphere of the room. The absurdity of it all hit you then—how this had escalated, how you’d been caught between two men who seemed to be competing for your attention in ways you couldn’t quite understand or even fully control.

You couldn’t help but find it almost funny, the way both Geo and Sol had turned their jealousy into some kind of twisted competition, each trying to outdo the other. It had felt like a game at first, but now? Now, it was starting to weigh on you.

"You know," you said, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as you finally broke the silence, "...it’s funny. The way you and Geo both get all... jealous. Like you both think it’s some sort of competition to see who can make me crack first."

Sol’s eyes narrowed slightly, a shift in his expression that you recognized. But you weren’t done yet.

"You both get under each other’s skin so easily, and it's... honestly kind of funny watching you two try to outdo each other," you continued, leaning against the edge of a nearby desk, arms folded. "But it’s exhausting too, don’t you think? Playing these mind games."

Sol stood there, jaw tight, his hands twitching by his sides as if he were trying to hold back whatever he wanted to say. His silence only fueled your need to vent more.

"Who’s more jealous?" you muttered under your breath, the words slipping out before you could even stop them. "You? Or Geo?"

Sol’s expression didn’t shift. He was standing there, his eyes scanning you, but you could see the flicker of frustration in them.

You could feel the tension rising, but you didn’t want to be here anymore—not like this.

The whole situation, the constant pull between them, was overwhelming, and it wasn’t just because they were being possessive. It was because you cared about both of them in ways you didn’t know how to explain.

You paused and shook your head, dropping your arms from your chest. “You know what? I can’t do this anymore.”

Sol’s gaze softened just a fraction as you spoke, and he stepped a little closer to you, though he was still keeping a distance. “Can’t do what?” he asked, his voice quieter, less biting now.

You sighed, your mind spinning. "I don’t want to be a part of this game anymore. The whole back and forth, the jealousy. I need peace." Your voice cracked slightly, and you hated how vulnerable it made you feel. "I don’t want to be the prize in some stupid contest."

Sol’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable. There was a long, heavy pause as you stared at him, fighting the urge to turn away.

“You’re here to let me down, then?” he asked, his voice rougher now, a hint of something darker in it that sent a chill down your spine. He was looking at you like he didn’t know what to make of you anymore.

"No," you said, shaking your head quickly. "I’m not here to let you down." You took a breath, steadying yourself before continuing.

"I just… I like you. I do." You started.

"I like you more than I care to admit, and that’s the truth."

There. You said it. Happy?

Out loud, right in front of him. Sad?

You had to admit it at some point, and there was no better time than now. It felt like a weight lifted off your chest, though the air still felt thick with tension.

Yeah, you lowkey still cared for Geo, but when it came down to it, you realized it was Sol you were drawn to the most.

His intensity, the way he never seemed to need to explain himself, the way he got under your skin without even trying—it had all tangled together in your mind in ways you couldn't ignore anymore.

Sol stared at you for a long moment, his gaze softening just slightly, but still guarded. He didn’t speak right away, and the silence between you both felt suffocating. His eyes flickered between your face and your lips as if trying to read you, understand you, but it seemed like you had caught him off guard.

"I..." he started, then paused, like he was choosing his words carefully. "You don’t know how fucked up this is," he muttered under his breath, his voice low. "I didn’t think you’d actually come here and say that."

You could feel the weight of the moment pressing in, everything hanging between the two of you. But you didn't regret it. Not really.

“I needed to say it,” you whispered, your gaze meeting his with as much certainty as you could muster. "I’m done with the games, Sol."

He took a step closer to you, his hand reaching out, but he didn’t touch you—not yet. He was still watching you, trying to figure out where you stood, and where this would go next.

Then suddenness of Sol’s movement caught you completely off guard. One moment, he was standing in front of you, his expression guarded and intense, and the next, he had you in his arms, lifting you effortlessly off the ground.

Before you could react, he spun you around and placed you against the cold surface of one of the long tables in the empty art classroom. The sound of it echoed in the otherwise quiet room, but you couldn’t focus on that. 

All you could focus on was him. 

His body was pressed against yours, pinning you down, and you felt the heat radiating off him. The sharpness in his gaze was unmistakable, his red-orange eyes darker now, filled with something you couldn’t quite name but could feel in your bones—a hunger, a possessiveness. He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear, and you froze, caught in the intensity of the moment.

"Sol," you whispered, your voice shaking with a mix of uncertainty and something else, something you couldn’t quite understand.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his hand grabbed your wrist, holding it down on the table beside you with a strength that left no room for resistance. You could feel the pressure of his grip, the way he was keeping you in place, making sure you didn’t move. His thumb brushed lightly over your pulse, sending a chill through you as his gaze lowered to your lips.

"I’ve been waiting for this," he murmured, his voice rough, as if it were a secret he’d been dying to share. "I should’ve made you mine sooner, pumpkin. Shouldn’t have let you slip away, should’ve known you were mine from the start."

Before you could respond, before you could even process the words, his lips crashed onto yours. It was fierce, desperate, and possessive, his kiss taking control immediately. His mouth was hot, demanding, and he pulled you closer, using his hold on your wrist to keep you trapped beneath him. 

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips moved against yours, and the more you tried to breathe, the tighter he pulled you. His body felt like a weight on top of you, keeping you locked in place. You tried to pull away, to create some distance, but his grip on your wrist tightened, and he growled low in his throat, making it clear that escape was not an option. 

Sol pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that made you shiver. His breath was coming in shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling as he stared down at you, his lips still slightly parted from the kiss.

"You’re mine now, pumpkin," he murmured, the words soft—too soft—but laced with something undeniable. Something that curled around you like chains, invisible but unbreakable. His fingers brushed against your skin, gently, but you knew better. There was nothing gentle about him, not when he looked at you like that.

His eyes, dark and unwavering, held yours captive. “I’ll keep you close. Not Geo, not anyone… Just me.”

The way he said it, sweet like a lover’s promise, yet suffocating in its certainty, sent a slow, creeping shiver down your spine. This wasn’t affection. It wasn’t even love. It was something else—something unshakable, something that left no room for escape.

His hold tightened, his lips ghosting over your ear as his breath fanned against your skin. “I’ll make sure you never forget that,” he whispered, the words sinking in like a vow, like a sentence.

Your breath hitched. The room felt smaller. His grip on your wrist, the weight of his presence—everything about him pulled you deeper into something you weren’t sure you’d ever get out of.

Sol wasn’t just the man you liked anymore. He was something more, something dangerous. And as much as you wanted to fight it, to pull away, the terrifying truth settled in the pit of your stomach.

You weren’t going anywhere.

Not unless he allowed it.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜 

He's longer; sorry, I’m biased.

You stared at your phone for a long moment, the weight of your decision pressing down on you. You had spent the last week cooped up in your dorm, tangled in your own thoughts, unable to find peace with yourself or with them.

Sol and Geo... the constant pull between them had turned everything into a confusing mess. 

But now? You needed clarity. You needed someone who wouldn’t add more fuel to the fire, someone who would just listen without trying to one-up the other. Maybe you were kidding yourself—because this was Geo, after all. But you needed this.  

Taking a deep breath, you hovered your fingers over the screen, glancing at the missed calls again. Your pulse was racing, the anxiety of the choice settling in your chest. The last thing you wanted was to face this alone—but you also didn’t want to avoid it.  

After what felt like an eternity, you made the decision.

You called Geo.  

It rang one time before his voice answered, and you immediately felt the coldness in his tone, like he doesn't care but he's been secretly been waiting for this call.

“Hey, you cool now?”  

Yeah he's definitely upset but also quiet concern hidden beneath his brooding ass personality.

You rolled your eyes but also tried to steady your breath, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. You didn’t know how to explain it, so you didn’t try to. Instead, you just said what you needed to say.  

“I... I need to talk to you. Can we meet somewhere?”  

There was a pause on the other end, and for a moment, you wondered if he was thinking it over. But he didn’t push for more information. He simply agreed, his voice calm and understanding.  

“Sure. Where do you want to meet?”  

You bit your lip, a brief moment of indecision hitting you. But then it came to you. "Where you at?"  

He paused for a beat before replying, “About to start classes, but later I have archery practice.”  

“Bet,” you said, your voice steadying. “I’m coming when you have practice.”  

Before he could say anything else, you hung up. The decision felt sudden like you were just throwing yourself into the unknown, but there was a strange sense of relief mixed with it.  

Damn, that really overwhelmed you.  

You leaned back against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment. The tension that had built up over the past few days began to loosen slightly—though you weren’t fooling yourself. There was still so much left unsaid.

The afternoon passed in a blur of lectures and assignments. Your mind kept wandering to your phone, to the call you had just made to Geo. Every time you tried to focus, the weight of everything from the past few weeks came crashing down on you again, clouding your thoughts. You hated the feeling of being so torn, but there was little you could do to change it now.  

After your last class, you quickly went to the campus snack shop. You grabbed a bag of chips and a couple of candy bars, trying to grab a bit of comfort before meeting up with Sol and Hyugo for lunch. The campus was busy with students, the energy of their conversations filling the air, but you felt strangely detached from it all.  

You reached the stairs leading to the roof, where you were supposed to meet them. The familiar sight of the door at the top of the stairs felt almost comforting, like a safe haven. But when you pushed the door open and stepped onto the roof, you only saw Sol.  

You paused, momentarily confused. 

The quiet hum of the city outside the campus walls mixed with the soft sound of wind brushing against the roof, creating a peaceful atmosphere that contrasted sharply with the chaotic thoughts swirling in your mind.

But Sol?

He was there, leaning against the railing, his eyes fixed on the horizon. His usual sharp, confident demeanor softened in the warm sunlight, and there was a rare stillness about him, something you didn’t often get to see.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, but you quickly shook it off, determined not to let yourself be distracted. You needed to focus, to stay grounded, even though everything felt like it was slipping away.

“Hey,” you called out, your voice cutting through the quiet air.

Sol turned to face you, his eyes scanning you for a moment, his gaze lingering longer than usual. You noticed the faint shadows beneath his eyes, signs of something deeper—a weariness that didn't quite match his usual carefree attitude. He straightened up slowly, a smirk forming at the corner of his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar teasing edge, but something about it felt off.  

You rolled your eyes, pulling out the snacks you’d bought and handing him a bag of chips before grabbing one for yourself. “I bought lunch. Where’s Hyugo?” you asked, looking around, expecting to see him somewhere nearby.

Sol’s smirk faltered, and he shifted his weight slightly, eyes briefly flicking away as if he were debating whether to say something. “He’s upset at me,” Sol said, his tone flat, almost defensive.

You blinked, caught off guard by the admission. “What? Why?”

Sol didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he leaned back against the railing, his eyes studying you for a moment as if he was weighing how much he wanted to reveal. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, but there was an edge to his voice now, something that made it clear there was more to the story.

You stared at him, wondering if you should press further, but before you could, Sol asked, “Are you meeting up with Geo today?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated. 

The look in his eyes was tried, searching. It was as if he already knew the answer, but he was waiting for you to say it. You felt a wave of unease wash over you. Should you lie? Should you be truthful? You knew that whatever you said, Sol would know eventually through, and yet, you didn’t want to push him further.

You swallowed, unsure how to respond. Finally, you gave a small, uncertain nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah...” you said, almost as though you were answering a question you hadn't been ready to face.

The silence hung heavy between you and Sol, the wind carrying a cool edge that seemed to make everything feel even colder. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t even flinched as you shifted uneasily beside him, and when he spoke again, his voice was more urgent than before, more desperate.

“Don’t meet with him,” Sol said, his tone low but intense, like a warning. He was staring straight ahead, hands gripping the railing a little too tightly. 

You look at him, lost as hell, "What—" He cuts you off.

“He is from that rich society that happened to be kicked out of, and you know what that means."

You shrugged your shoulders and shook your head.

You didn't say anything. Ngl let's just hope he doesn't crash out.

"Long story short, you don’t belong in that world. It’s all fake, all about status and image. Why do you want to be with someone like that? Someone who looks at everything like it’s just a game for him?” His voice was laced with bitterness, the words tumbling out in a stream of disapproval, each one landing with a weight that made you feel suffocated.

You could feel his words digging into you, his frustration and anger clear, as though he had been holding this in for too long. The more he spoke, the more you could hear the layers of jealousy and resentment hidden beneath the surface.

“Why are you even considering him?” Sol went on, his eyes now locked on you, sharp and accusing. “You think he’s different, but trust me, he’s not. He’s nothing but a walking reflection of everything that’s wrong with that world. You’re just another thing to him, a new toy to play with before he gets bored. And you—”

Sol paused, his voice dipping, almost as if he was struggling to keep control of his emotions, “You’re smarter than that. You deserve better than to be some rich boy’s little distraction.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, the frustration boiling inside you. You had been hearing this for days, and it was starting to feel like a broken record. His words kept echoing in your head, over and over, but with each passing second, it became harder to listen. 

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Are you good?” You finally blurted out, your voice sharp with irritation, cutting through his tirade. “Are you seriously obsessed with me or something?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them, the question hanging in the air between you two like a live wire.

Sol’s expression faltered for just a moment, his eyes flashing with something unreadable, something that was maybe a little too close to the truth. But then, without warning, his face hardened again, the smirk returning to his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Sol muttered, more to himself than to you, turning his attention back to the skyline. His posture became stiff again, his shoulders drawn tight like he was bracing for something.

“You’re better off without him. Trust me on this.”

You felt your chest tighten as his words hung in the air, the tension between you thickening. A part of you was almost shocked that he’d go this far, but at the same time, you could sense that this wasn’t the first time he’d crossed a line like this.

His possessiveness, his obsession, it was always there, lurking just beneath the surface. 

You could feel it now, the weight of it pressing down on you.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the anger and frustration bubbled to the surface. "You're worthless," you spat out, the words sharp, like a knife cutting through the silence. "I don’t know what the hell you think this is, but I’m not yours. I’ll never be yours." Your voice trembled slightly, not from fear but from the sheer overwhelming weight of your emotions.

For a moment, Sol didn’t react.

He just stood there, his back turned to you, staring off into the distance, the wind tousling his hair. But you could feel the shift in the air, the subtle way the space between you seemed to shrink like he was about to snap.

And then he turned to face you, his eyes darker than before, something almost predatory in his gaze. He stepped forward, closing the distance between you, his hand reaching out to gently, but firmly, take hold of your wrist. “Don’t say that,” he whispered, his voice low and almost dangerous, the words leaving a chill in the air. 

“You’re supposed to be mine, Pumpkin.”

He looks at you deeply, "You just don’t know it yet.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. For a split second, you almost felt like you were suffocating, caught in the intensity of his gaze and the suffocating grip he had on your wrist.

A part of you wanted to pull away, to fight, but another part of you—perhaps the one that was tired, exhausted from all the confusion and the constant pull between him and Geo—like shit this was tiring.

But Sol wasn’t going to let you go that easily.

“I can't see him.” His voice was soft, but the underlying threat was unmistakable. “You belong with me. You know that, don’t you? You feel it, too. You can’t deny it, not with how you look at me.”

The words burned through you, and despite everything, you felt a sick sense of dread settle in your stomach. “Stop,” you said, your voice trembling, trying to pull away from him. “You’re insane. You don’t own me. I’m not your fucking possession.”

Sol didn’t let go. His grip tightened just enough to make you wince, “You think I’m crazy?” he asked, his lips curling into a twisted smirk. “You have no idea, do you? I’d burn the world down just to keep you. And you want to play these games with him?” He stepped back for a moment as if letting the words sink in. 

“I thought I was so lucky you gave me a chance.”

There was a moment of silence, the weight of his words hanging between you, before he suddenly broke the fourth wall, his voice shifting slightly as if addressing something outside the moment, outside of reality itself.

“You think you can just walk away from this?” Sol’s voice was sharper now, more knowing, as if speaking directly to the reader, to the reality that existed beyond the world you were in. “Do you think you can make decisions like this without consequences? Without me getting involved?” His eyes gleamed with something unsettling. 

“You can’t run from me, not anymore.”

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as if it might burst from the pressure building inside. The world around you seemed to warp and distort, the edges of reality blurring. 

You were lost—completely and utterly lost. 

You’d thought you understood what was happening, but now, with Sol so close, his words was filled with something sinful and desperate, it was all unraveling in a way you couldn’t make sense of.

The way he looked at you, the way he gripped your wrist like it was his lifeline, it was suffocating. His gaze held something twisted, an obsession that felt too intense, too real.

Why have you been dumb until now? This wasn’t just a simple crush or playful teasing. This wasn’t just a guy who wanted to be close.

No. Sol was obsessed.

And it scared you.

You tried to pull your wrist free, but his grip was tight. The words on your lips were desperate, but they felt so small against the weight of his presence. “This isn’t right,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

Sol didn’t respond immediately. He only stared at you, his eyes darkening, as if weighing your every word, your every movement. “You don’t get it, do you?” His voice was low, but there was an edge to it. “I need you. I’ll always make you see. I'll be good, you can do whatever you want to me, use me, hurt me, please”

The words Sol had thrown at you hung in the air, thick and suffocating, making it hard to breathe.

"Pumpkin, please don't pick him." not like I can anyway in the game.

You felt paralyzed, trapped by the weight of his obsession and the raw, unhinged look in his eyes. 

Was this really happening? Was this the mess you’d walked into, too blind to see the signs before?

Your thoughts spiraled, emotions crashing together like a storm you couldn’t outrun. But before you could sort anything out, the air shifted. The tension in the room grew thicker, a new presence making itself known.

Geo.

He appeared in the exit stair doorway, his posture rigid, like he was ready to explode at any second. But it was his eyes that caught your attention, locking onto Sol with a cold, seething intensity that matched the storm brewing between them.

“You’re really fucking crazy, huh?” Geo’s voice was sharp, his words cutting through the charged silence. His gaze never left Sol, as if daring him to say something back.

You tried to back away, finally pulling your wrist free from Sol’s grasp, but your legs were weak, your body trembling with the adrenaline coursing through you. You couldn’t think straight. You needed space; you needed air. But there was no time to escape.

Because Sol’s gaze never wavered, and Geo’s words had already ignited something in him.

“Stay the fuck out of this,” Sol growled, his voice low and dangerous. There was a flash of rage crossing his features, and you knew in that instant that things were about to escalate. 

“You don’t get to come in here and play the knight.”

Geo didn’t flinch. If anything, he seemed even more determined. “You’ve already crossed every line. Just back off, she doesn't want you, peasant,” His voice was calm, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed the storm raging underneath.

“I won’t let you fuck with them any longer.”

And just like that, it was like the dam had broken. Crash out time!!

Sol lunged first, moving quickly, too quickly for you to process. He slammed into Geo with all his weight, pushing him against the nearby wall, and you couldn’t help but flinch at the sound of their bodies colliding.

Geo’s arm shot out, blocking the punch that Sol aimed for his face, and for a moment, they were locked in a brutal, silent struggle.

“Get the fuck off me,” Geo spat, trying to shove Sol away, but Sol was relentless, throwing punches with a viciousness that you didn’t know he had in him—no, no that's a lie, you been know just didn't question it AKA minding your business.

The rooftop felt like it was closing in around you—like no matter how open it can be, the sounds of their fight echoing in your ears as you stumbled backward, not sure whether to intervene or to run.

But you couldn’t move. You were stuck.

Sol was stronger than Geo in this moment, using the element of surprise and his sheer intensity to overpower him. Geo grunted as Sol’s fist connected with his ribs, however Geo wasn’t backing down either. He fought back with the same brutal force, each strike punctuated by curses and gritted teeth.

“You think you can just take them from me?” Sol snarled, his words slurring with anger. “I told you, they’re mine. I don’t care what you think, you don’t deserve them.”

“You don’t own them, Emo!” Geo shouted, his voice breaking with frustration. “Stop acting like you have some fucking right to control them. They’re their own person. You’re the one who needs to back the hell off.”

Geo’s fists collided with Sol with a brutal force that made your stomach churn. You watched in stunned silence as Geo moved with precision and anger, his strikes landing one after another. 

Sol, once so confident, was now crumpled on the floor, his face swollen and bruising almost immediately. A deep purple and blue marred his features, his lip split and his cheek reddened from the force of the blows.

He tried to get up, and retaliate, however Geo’s rage was unstoppable. Sol was no match for him now, not when the fury in Geo’s eyes burned like a wildfire.

Geo didn’t even give him a moment to breathe. T-T

With each punch, the sound of their struggle echoed throughout the room. And when it was finally over, when Sol lay crumpled on the ground, barely able to move, Geo stood over him, chest heaving with the exertion of the fight. His fists were bloodied, but his gaze never wavered from Sol, whose body remained limp on the floor, groaning in pain.

Geo didn’t seem to care.

After a long, tense pause, Geo finally backed away, his hands shaking but his expression cold and controlled. He didn’t say a word, just took one last look at Sol—who was too beaten to even raise his head—and turned toward the door. He walked out with a calmness that betrayed the chaos that had just unfolded. 

The fight had been fast, efficient, and brutal, and now it was over.

You stood there, frozen, trying to process the madness of the situation. The intensity of everything—Geo’s rage, Sol’s obsession, the violence—made your head spin. None of this was supposed to happen. This wasn’t the outcome you imagined when you first started this twisted game. 

You just wanted to see how far it would go, how much each of them would fight for your attention, for your love—not actually fighting for real, for whatever the hell it was they were after. Oh yeah, you...

But like you had no idea it would spiral into this.

Now, you were sitting in a private room at the police station, the air thick with tension. The officers sat across from you and Geo, their eyes focused on the both of you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Your mouth felt dry, your thoughts a jumbled mess. 

You didn’t know how to explain what had happened, how it all went wrong. It was too much. 

Too fast. 

You didn’t have the words.

The room was silent except for the low hum of fluorescent lights above, the officers waiting for some kind of answer, some kind of explanation. But you couldn’t give them that. You couldn’t even explain it to yourself. Your mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything. 

The fact that it all started with some stupid game—a game to see which of the two would get jealous first—felt utterly ridiculous now. It was supposed to be harmless. You didn’t think it would turn into something this twisted.

But here you were, sitting next to Geo, whose face was unreadable. His expression was as cold and detached as ever, but you could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him, too. His knuckles were bruised, his chest rising and fell with each deep breath. He didn’t regret what he’d done, and part of you couldn’t blame him. 

Sol had crossed too many lines. 

But it didn’t make it any easier to process.

You shifted in your seat, avoiding the officers' eyes, your mind spiraling out of control. You wanted to say something, wanted to explain it all, but the words wouldn’t come. 

Everything felt so... out of place. 

The fight between Geo and Sol had been violent and unnecessary, yet somehow, it felt inevitable. 

This was what it had come to. You had pushed it, tested the boundaries, and now the damage was done.

The officers exchanged glances, their patience wearing thin just by looking at you. They know you were holding some information back, but you didn’t have the proper answers they were looking for.

How could you? Like its very much embarrassing to say, 'Hey I was two-timing these dudes and this led to them fighting,' that isn't the full truth but that's how they would sum it up in the file report.

Like you didn't expect things to get so out of hand. You didn't expect Geo to beat Sol into the fucking ground or why Sol had become so obsessed with you in the first place.

You were so over everything at this point.

“Please,” one of the officers finally spoke, his voice gentle but firm. “Can you tell us what happened here? What led up to this?”

You hated how weak you felt, how lost. You couldn’t explain it.

You couldn’t even explain to yourself how you had allowed this to happen. The moment you’d let your curiosity get the better of you—this was the result.

You just shook your head, the overwhelming sense of regret and guilt crushing you. You didn’t have the answers. 

No—you didn't want to answer.

And even if you could, they wouldn’t make this any easier to process.

Geo’s eyes remained fixed on you, his usual cold demeanor softened by something you couldn't quite place. It wasn’t pity—at least, not the kind of pity that made you feel small—but it was something else. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t frustrated. 

He was just... there.

When the officers started to ask more questions, Geo spoke up, his voice surprisingly calm as he interjected.

"Look he put his hands on them. And I just stepped in to stop him." His tone didn’t leave room for debate, his usual sharpness replaced by something quieter, more protective. "I don't have a clue why he's so... obsessed with them, but what's done is done. You have him arrested for assault, sexual harrsment and etc. What more do you?"

The officers froze at Geo's words, he didn't say much at the start—perhaps he could tell you were sitting at a police station for like three hours now and all you wanted was to leave.

"You have all the evidence. That enough. We'll leave now."

The officers exchanged a look, but they didn’t argue. They nodded, acknowledging Geo’s request, and you could hear the soft scrape of the chair as one of them stood up. As you left the station, the weight of everything that had happened crashed down on you like a flood.

It was all too much.

You didn’t speak on the way back to your dorm. The car ride was silent except for the faint hum of the engine, and every minute felt like it stretched on forever. You didn’t know what to say to Geo, didn’t know what to say to yourself.

You were lost—dazed, even. What had you done?

Everything had spiraled so far out of control that you couldn’t even find the starting point anymore.

When the car finally pulled up to your building, you didn’t even wait for Geo to open the door. You got out quickly, the silence between you both louder than anything. You didn’t even feel like you had the energy to say goodbye. You just wanted to retreat, to disappear.

You made your way up to your single studio apartment, the familiar surroundings almost too much. The kitchen passed in a blur as you shuffled into your small, cramped living space. You threw your bag on the floor with a dull thud before collapsing face-first onto your bed. You didn’t even bother pulling the covers over you.

You just lay there, unmoving.

Geo stood in the doorway—guessing that he followed you. Wait, you checked him in at the desk, right? Anyway, watching you. The door clicked shut behind him, but he didn’t approach.

He knew better than that. There was something almost resigned in the way he stood, his hands in his pockets as he regarded you.

"I ordered food for you," he said, his voice quiet, almost a whisper, like he didn’t want to disturb the fragile silence that had settled between you. "...I'll stay. If you’re scared, like if that's what you need."

You didn’t respond. 

The weight of everything felt like it was suffocating you, and you didn’t have the words to explain it—not to him, not to anyone.

You felt stuck like the ground beneath you had turned to quicksand. The guilt gnawed at you, but the numbness in your chest was worse. You wanted to feel something—anything—but all you could muster was a hollow emptiness that made your heartache.

You heard Geo’s quiet footsteps echo in the room as he carefully took off his shoes and placed them by the door. It was such a small thing, however the gesture felt oddly intimate like he was respecting some unspoken boundary. 

He stood there for a moment, looking at you, before he made his way over to the edge of your bed. You watched him, feeling a strange mix of relief and discomfort, as he knelt in front of you, his back straight and his posture solid.

You clutched the pillow tighter, a weak shield against the confusion that was swirling inside your head. You didn’t know what you needed right now. You didn’t know if you wanted him to say something, or if you just needed the silence. You wanted so badly to scream at the chaos in your life, but the exhaustion had drained all the energy from your body.

Geo glanced down at your bed, then back at you, a slight frown pulling at his features. “I don’t want to sit on your bed,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “I’ve been outside. You shouldn’t be either, you're covered in germs,”

Suddenly, the absurdity of the situation hit you.

The idea of Geo being so considerate after everything that had happened between you two made something inside you crack. You let out a small laugh, a soft chuckle that bubbled up from nowhere as the tension in your chest finally found a way to escape. 

Geo froze, his brow furrowing in surprise as he processed the sound. “What...?” His voice trailed off, confused. He hadn’t expected it, clearly.

You shook your head, trying to stifle another laugh. “It’s just... you’re so serious sometimes,” you muttered, shaking your head again, trying to collect yourself. “Like, we’re in the middle of all this... shit, and you’re worried about sitting on my bed? It’s just funny.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, the question heavy with something more than just casual curiosity. He wasn’t asking to pry—he was asking. After all, he cared—in his own way, because he wanted to know if you were all right, even though everything around you was in pieces.

You hesitated, your chest tightening as you tried to push past the numbness, to find the words that would make sense of the chaos inside you. It wasn’t easy. You felt like you were wading through a thick fog, unable to see the shore, unable to find your way out.

You didn’t know what to say. 

You didn’t even know what you wanted anymore.

“I don’t know anymore,” you whispered with a dry laugh, your voice barely audible as the weight of everything hit you all at once. 

Geo sighed, and he stayed where he was, kneeling in front of you. He just watched you, waiting for you to find the words, letting you process everything at your own pace. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy, but somehow it was comforting. 

You exhaled sharply, leaning back against the bed, clutching the pillow in your arms like it could somehow anchor you to the present.

“I don’t know when it all got so messy," you began, your voice unsteady, the words tumbling out in a rush like you were trying to explain something to yourself as much as to him. “It all started because… I wanted to see who was more jealous, you or Sol. It was stupid, I know. I thought I could handle it, keep it all under control. I thought I could play this game and walk away without getting caught up in it.”

You paused for a second, feeling your pulse quicken as you tried to make sense of everything, but the more you spoke, the harder it became to breathe. The confession felt like it was suffocating you, but you couldn’t stop.

“You know how it is. Just a stupid game. I thought I could just sit back, watch the both of you get all worked up, and have a laugh. But it... It didn’t go the way I expected. I didn’t expect to care. Not about him—not about Sol, I mean. And sure as hell not about you.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head as you glanced at Geo, unsure of what exactly you were trying to say. But the confusion, the mess in your head, only seemed to spill out more the longer you spoke.

"I was trying to keep control. You know, like always. But the more I played this game—god, the more it twisted everything around. I started getting feelings. First, it was just... Sol, and I thought I could push it aside. But then... it was you."

You stopped, your voice faltering. “I didn’t think I could get feelings for you, not after everything. You’ve got your own shit going on, and so do I, but here I am. And I’m not sure who’s worse. Me, for getting this deep, or you for dealing with me through all of it.”

Geo didn’t interrupt, though you could see the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers curled into a fist for just a moment before he relaxed them. His eyes were on you, unwavering, and it only made the confession feel like it was digging a hole deeper inside your chest.

"You can judge me for it. I don’t blame you if you do. You always do," The words came out bitter, almost accusing, like you were daring him to reject you, to call you out for being weak.

"I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Geo. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to feel. This whole thing was supposed to be a game, a stupid little test to see who cared more, but here I am—lost. And I don’t know how to fix it."

Your throat felt tight as you swallowed down the question clawing its way up. But eventually, the words spilled out before you could stop them.  

“Do you… do you hate me?”  

For a moment, there was only silence. Thick. Heavy. Unforgiving.  

You didn’t look at him—couldn’t. You were too afraid of what you’d see in his face. Fear? Disgust? Or something worse?  

Geo didn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze flickered away, shifting toward the floor, his jaw tightening just enough for you to notice. He wasn’t one to hesitate, wasn’t one to falter, and yet, here he was—pausing.  

The silence stretched, each second pulling at your nerves like frayed threads.  

Then, finally, he exhaled, slow and measured, before looking back at you. His expression wasn’t cold, but there was something guarded about it, something that made your chest ache.  

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he admitted, voice quieter than before. “If you’re asking whether I’m pissed? Yeah. That game you played was soo shitty and wrong. But If you’re asking if I regret meeting and talking to you...”  

He sighed, looking away, "No. I don't."

Your breath caught by your lip, eyes widened as you lifted your body to look at him.

“Like hating you?” He shook his head, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I couldn’t even if I tried. And trust me, I've tried.”  

He shifted near you again, the weight of his presence steady, grounding. And despite everything—the chaos, the mistakes, the games you played—you found yourself leaning just a little closer.  

Your lips parted, the question forming before you could stop it. “Then...”  

He hummed, his gaze steady on you.  

“Do you… like me?” The words left your mouth before you could second-guess them, before you could convince yourself to let it go. You already felt exposed enough, but if you were drowning, you weren’t going to do it alone.  

Geo didn’t flinch, but you saw the way his jaw tensed ever so slightly. That careful mask of his wavered just for a fraction of a second. Then, like clockwork, his face turned slightly red—shocking…

“I like a lot of things,” he said smoothly, stretching his arms above his head, his voice full of deflection. “My time. Plants, archery...”  

You narrowed your eyes, not amused. “Geo.”  

He sighed through his nose, gaze flicking away for a brief moment before locking back onto you. “And maybe you talk too much.”  

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head. “That’s not an answer.”  

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”  

You stared at him, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. He was doing this on purpose, keeping things just vague enough to avoid saying anything real. You wanted to pry it out of him, force him to admit it, but at the same time…  

Geo wasn’t the kind of person you could force anything out of.

He’d say what he wanted when he wanted.

That was just who he was at this damn point.

You let out a sigh, something between acceptance and resignation. “Fine. Be stubborn.” You turned your body slightly, facing him fully. “But I don’t need to hear it. I already know.”  

Then, before he could react, you jumped forward, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pulling him close in a tight embrace. Geo stiffened for a moment, caught off guard, but he didn’t push you away. Instead, you felt his arms slowly wrap around your waist, holding you steady, his warmth grounding you in ways you hadn’t expected.  

Then, before you could stop yourself, you kissed him.  

It was quick at first, just a light brush of your lips against his, testing the waters. But the second you felt him respond, his lips pressing against yours just as gently, something inside you caved.  

The kiss deepened, slow and careful, neither of you rushing, just feeling. His hands stayed light on your waist, not pulling, not taking—just holding. Like he was afraid of breaking the moment, of breaking you.  

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer. Geo’s breath hitched slightly before he tilted his head, his lips moving against yours with more certainty now, but never rough, never greedy.  

It was nothing like the game you had been playing before—nothing like what had happened with Sol. This wasn’t about control, about jealousy, about winning. 

It was just real.  

You pulled away first, your forehead resting against his, your breathing slightly uneven. Geo’s hands were still resting on your waist, his thumbs absently brushing against the fabric of your shirt.  

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the room feeling quieter than it had before.  

Then, suddenly, Geo pulled back, reaching into his pocket and checking his phone. He sighed dramatically. “Well, that was good timing.”  

You blinked, still dazed. “What?”  

He held up his phone, showing you the screen. “Food’s here.”  

You let out a surprised laugh, shaking your head. “Are you serious?”  

“Dead serious.” He stood up, stretching before glancing down at you. “Unless you wanna keep making out and let the delivery guy starve outside.”  

You rolled your eyes, a small smile pulling at your lips despite everything. “Go get the damn food, Geo.”  

He gave you one last look—something soft, unreadable—before turning toward the door. And even as he left, you could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin.  

For once, you weren’t overthinking; he's yours.

[writeyouin]

Oo I got something for TFO

If possible would you be open to doing a human s/o with D-16? Like the human came from another planet that was destroyed and they got stranded on Cybertron and somehow managed to end up in Iacon city?

D-16 (Megatron) x Reader – The Creature From Another World - Part 1 of 2

A/N – This is so much longer than I thought it would be. I think it may be the most fun, silly fic I’ve ever written and I am so happy that I got to write it. Also, SPOILERS FOR THE END OF THE TRANSFORMERS ONE MOVIE IN THE FINAL SEGMENT!

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

It was all Orion’s fault. Everything that was likely to get D-16 in trouble was his fault. It was always, ‘Hey, what if we searched the tunnels for something even more valuable than energon?’ Or ‘You want to come into the archives with me? Of course, I have a permit. It’s not like I would try breaking in… again.’

This time, the line that was sure to get D-16 into trouble was, “Hey bud, don’t tell anyone but I got us a pet!”

D-16 rubbed his helm exasperatedly, “A pet, Pax! Why can’t you just obey the rules for once.”

“Hey, there are no rules against keeping pets,” Orion said excitedly, heading over to his locker to retrieve the creature in question.

“Of course there aren’t! Because no one would be stupid enough to keep one!”

“You just haven’t seen it yet. It’s really cute.”

“I hope your spark eater tears off your face, Pax. I really do,” D-16 deadpanned.

“Not a spark eater,” Orion chuckled, then he began whispering into his locker, “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt ya, little cutie. That’s it, settle down now.”

D-16 shook his head, “You’re gonna get demoted all the way down to the 40th sub-level and when you do, I’m not gonna save your sorry aft. Besides Pax, there isn’t enough energon to go around as is. How’re you gonna feed a pet?”

“That’s the thing,” Orion said eagerly. “It doesn’t fuel up on energon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. What kind of thing doesn’t need energon?” D-16 asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him as he tried to peek over Orion’s shoulder at the so-called ‘pet’ he was trying to grab.

He heard some scrabbling, Orion said some more soothing words and then Orion turned around, holding a creature half his size around the waist in both servos.

“D-16, meet our new pet, Minitronus.”

“Minitronus!” D-16 said excitedly. He knew Orion had only picked the name to foster his attachment and ensure that he kept the creature a secret.

D-16 got close to Orion’s pet, resting his hands on his thighs as he bent down. “Whoa, what is it?”

“C’mon D-16. If you don’t know, I’m not gonna tell you.”

“You have no idea, do you.”

“Not a one.”

The creature chittered angrily, pushing at Orion’s servos.

“It looks angry,” D-16 observed.

“It’s just getting used to us. That’s all.”

Orion began stroking at the creature’s head.

“Okay Pax,” D-16 said, resigning himself to Orion’s crazy new pet, as he knew he would from the start. “C’mon then. Tell me all about it. What does it eat? Where’d you find it? And most importantly, how’re we going to keep it a secret?”

“Hey! I said HEY! YOU UP THERE! STOP PETTING ME! I’M NOT AN ANIMAL, YOU BIG DUMB IDIOT!”

The giant metal man smiled at you affectionately, opening his mouth to say something you couldn’t understand. It all sounded like scraping metal and electrical noises and you couldn’t make sense of any of it.

Ever since the Quintessons had abducted you, your life had been nothing but trouble. You were their prisoner but when they found out your planet had nothing of worth, they decided it would be better to experiment on you. The only consolation was that you could at least understand the Quintessons, who had multiple translator devices on their ship.

You were very fortunate that the Quintessons didn’t view you as a threat since they didn’t bother keeping you in any kind of high-security prison and so you managed to escape before they did anything too terrible. The worst you suffered were a few zaps from a weak cattle prod, probably testing your nervous system.

Yet, having escaped the Quintesson ship, you had landed yourself into deeper trouble. You had found yourself on a living metal planet, and though a few plants grew on the ever-transforming surface, the pocket computer you had stolen from your captors informed you they were poisonous.

Fortunately, you had thought a few things through regarding your escape. You had managed to grab a backpack, stuffing it full of provisions and interesting gadgets. The food was stored in dehydrated cubes so with proper care, it could last you months, maybe even an entire year. The backpack also contained a device to keep you warm, a cube that turned into a forcefield when thrown to the ground, and most importantly one of the translators that had allowed you to understand the Quintessons along with a few other gadgets.

However, despite your planning, things hadn’t gone very well for you. After touching down on the planet, you boarded a train that you hoped would take you to civilisation, and while it did take you to a city underground that was more beautiful and advanced than you could imagine, it was clear that the alien life-forms there had never seen an organic creature before.

The few you tried to talk to initially screamed as if you were vermin and tried to blast, stab, and crush you in succession. As you scrambled for your life, you took a kick to the back, saved by your pack which had broken your much-needed translator.

You ran and hid, keeping out of sight and soon you started feeling like the vermin the metal people viewed you as. You learned quickly to keep out of sight and made your way to where there were fewer bots, spending many quiet hours either sleeping in vents or trying to repair your translator with the limited knowledge you had.

Yet, your luck couldn’t last forever and eventually, you ran into a vent that turned out to be a transportation tunnel to and from the mines. It was there that Mr Big-Red-Idiot-Bot caught you and took you to the charging bays. At first, you thought your luck was turning around and that he was going to take you to someone who would be able to understand you since he was obviously trying to be gentle with you. Then it became clear that he just thought you were some kind of stupid animal in need of care and he adopted you as his pet.

“What are these things?” D-16 asked, gently lifting your top.

You slapped at his servo, swearing at him even though he couldn’t understand you. Orion laughed, “I don’t know, but that’s how it reacted to me too. I think they’re to keep it warm. Either way, it doesn’t like it when you touch them. Oh, and hey, check this out, it does tricks.”

Orion shoved you back into his locker where your bag was. You ran to your pack, hurriedly grabbing your broken translator and showing it to the new grey bot. You had tried repeatedly showing it to Big Red, but he didn’t get what you were trying to do and always just laughed at you.

“What’s it holding?” D-16 asked.

“Playing with some scrap metal. Isn’t that cute? It has a favourite toy! I think Minitronus might have belonged to someone else once because it has all these adorable toys in there and it can make its own fuel.”

You sighed. Clearly, the grey bot was no better than Big Red, but at least he wasn’t trying to kill you. You shook your head and began searching your pack for some tools to repair the translator. Upon seeing you grab a screwdriver, Orion took it from you.

You yelled a few more insults, demanding it back but Orion just teased you, holding it just out of reach.

“Aww does Minitronus want the toy? Do you? Do you? That’s it, reach for the toy. Grab it.” He cooed.

D-16 rolled his eyes, amused by both Orion and his new pet. He snatched the miniature ‘toy’ screwdriver from his friend, handing it back to you. “Don’t tease it, Orion.”

You nodded gratefully at D-16 and he ruffled your hair. This time, you didn’t bother insulting him since he had given you what you wanted.

The work alarm went off overhead and Orion slammed his locker shut just in time for the influx of workers to come through the shared stasis bunker on their way to work. D-16 tried to fight against the crowd to stay by the locker but Orion pulled him into the fray, muttering that it would look suspicious if he wasn’t at work on time.

“But what about- Will it be okay in there?” D-16 whispered as they headed into the lift.

“Sure,” Orion said from the corner of his mouth, trying to be quiet. “It’s been in there for days and it's been fine.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Now be quiet and act normal.”

D-16 smiled and gave a small awkward wave to a bot in front of him who was observing the pair with a raised optical ridge. Over the years, Orion had caused more than his share of trouble so D-16 was used to the scrutinising looks from others, though he always got nervous when they both had something to hide.

You sighed and rested your hands on your hips. It was awful being constantly stuffed in a locker, especially since Big Red didn’t seem to think things through. He shoved you in your new ‘home’ whenever other bots were around or when he went to the lift which you assumed meant he was working. The problem with that was that his species didn’t tire easily and could work a very long time, and with this being what you could only assume was the poorer part of the city, there were always other bots around. You had to get your translator fixed quickly, or else you would spend the rest of your life in the locker. Still, things weren’t all bad. It was warm and safe. You often used your backpack as a pillow, sleeping through the first few hours before getting back to your repair work. You had privacy and a personal collapsable service suite that pulled moisture from the air so you could drink or shower - it even took care of your waste by vaporising it; alien inventions sure were convenient. Besides, now the other bot knew about you too, and perhaps he could help you. Resignedly, you set about keeping to your normal routine and began some light repair work, too awake to rest now. You only wished you knew what you were doing and that you had even the faintest idea on how to fix alien technology; your life depended on it.

Orion and D-16 were the first up and out of the elevator, avoiding the usual crowds by skipping the last few minutes of work with a lame excuse about being called upstairs. Honestly, the pair got into so much trouble they were often called up to meetings with higher-ups for tellings-off, which Orion usually tried to talk his way out of, and so nobody so much as batted an optic when they left.

Upon getting up to their quarters, Orion and D-16 were both relieved to see that the rotation team had already filed out, presumably having taken one of the other lifts to a different mine. Orion ran to his locker and hurled it open.

“Aww, look,” He pulled D-16 close to get a good look at you. “Minitronus is recharging. Hey, do you think it’s dreaming of us? Pets do that, right? Dream of their owners?”

“I mean, if Minitronus is thinking of me, that’s a dream. If it’s you, it’s a nightmare.”

Orion elbowed D-16 in the chassis then reached in to grab you.

D-16 pulled him back, “Whoa hey, don’t wake it.”

“We have to. It’s time for walkies and this is the only time we can get out of here quietly before the others catch up.”

Reluctantly, D-16 let Orion go.

You jolted awake, terrified until you remembered where you were and that you were now the ‘pet’ of an advanced alien. You settled groggily in his arms, wondering what he was going to do with you now.

He proffered you some words that sounded like two lawnmowers smashing together, but by his expression, you could tell he was happy. Then he jostled you, miming something you couldn’t understand until it was too late.

You scowled at Big Red with your arms folded, too insulted to even try yelling as he tugged you along an empty alley on your new wire lead.

This was a new low.

“I don’t think Minitronus likes walkies,” D-16 commented as you dug your heels into the floor, trying to hold your ground.

“Nonsense,” Orion said, trying to be gentle as he pulled at your lead, making you stumble forward, “It’s just not used to it yet.”

D-16 patted his thighs, “C’mon Minitronus. That’s it. Here Minitronus. Minitronus.”

After a few more attempts, you realised that the gentle electrical hum Grey kept repeating must be his name for you. Huh… Well, at least the repetition meant they had a stable language.

You listened again and tried to mimic the sound, making both bots pause to look at you.

“Did it just…?” D-16 asked, pointing at you.

You mimicked the sound again.

“It did,” Orion agreed. He ran over to pick you up, spinning you in his arms, “Who’s a smart Minitronus, huh? Yes, you. You are!”

Although your mimicry had been good, it wasn’t quite enough to convince them that you were sentient. Rather, they were looking at you like a parrot who had picked up a new phrase. Instead of repeating your name, you had managed a babyish mumbling somewhere close, that sounded more like Mini–Tron.”

D-16 beamed and petted your head, quickly coming to love his new pet. Orion was right, it was smart and cute.

“That’s so cool, I wonder if we can teach it more words.”

“I’m definitely teaching it swears,” Orion laughed.

Eventually, the pair headed back to the underground, with Orion heading in first, making sure everyone was recharging, before signalling for D-16 to follow with you.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t put me back in the locker,” You whined as you were placed on the top shelf.

“Oh no, don’t cry,” D-16 begged, listening to you pitchy chittering. He held a digit to his lips, shushing.

“You two will be gone for ages, what between sleeping and working, and it’s dark in there,” You continued, even though he couldn’t understand you.

You only stopped talking when he held you against his chassis, petting your head. You sighed in understanding. He was trying to keep you safe; this was all for your own good.

‘Okay,’ You thought, feeling strangely comforted by Grey’s actions. ‘If this is how it has to be for now… Okay.’

Orion gave an enthusiastic thumbs up to D-16, glad that he had managed to keep your mewls under control.

“Goodnight, Minitronus,” Orion whispered before shutting the door.

“We love you,” D-16 added.

You shook your head after the door shut; life was going to be interesting with those two.

“PAX!” Elita-One shouted, jetpacking up the empty elevator shaft to catch up with Orion and D-16 who had stolen away from work early for the third time that week.

Orion held you behind his back, hiding you just in time before Elita got in his face.

“Captain, what a surprise!” Orion grinned cheekily, already trying to smooth-talk his way out of the situation. “Me and D-16 were just saying what a great and wonderful leader you-”

“Can it, Pax!” Elita glowered. “I’ve had just about enough of you. It’s bad enough that you’re a troublemaker but now, you’re dragging D-16 down with you and- what’s behind your back?”

“My back? Nothing at all,” Orion shoved you into D-16’s open arms, and he in turn hid you behind his leg, trusting that you wouldn’t run away if he wasn’t holding you.

Elita grabbed hold of Orion, slamming him into the lockers, her eyes narrowing when she didn’t see anything worth hiding. She glared at D-16 who held up his servos in a shrug, gesturing to Pax who was already babbling about how strong she was and how no other Captain had had the strength to throw him so hard.

While Pax created a distraction and Elita-One continued her tirade against him, D-16 shuffled backwards, sneaking you out for your daily walk.

You had grown used to the routine now, learning the building’s alarms that marked the beginning or end of a shift. When it was coming time for Orion or D-16 to take you out, you always hitched on your backpack, just in case you needed anything, though you had long since learned not to work on your translator in front of Big Red, since he kept assuming it was a toy and continually threw it for you to fetch. Honestly, he was doing even more damage to the already broken machine, and it stressed you out constantly whenever you were forced to catch it before it hit the ground.

When you and Grey were alone, you always did repair work at the end of a walk, since he would take you somewhere quiet to rest for a while.

You had been living with the pair for just over two months now and in that time a few things of note had happened.

First, they had entrusted knowledge of you to a few of the others in their ‘platoon’ or whatever the group they worked in was called. This had happened after an incident wherein you had escaped your locker to explore and a silver and blue bot with a passion for dance stumbled into you and squealed. Big Red, and Grey hurried to your rescue and had to explain their ‘pet’ to him.

This led to you being the worst kept secret in the mining facility, though it was bound to happen eventually with so many bots living in close quarters. However, all the mining bots found you sweet enough and they all had a code of honour that meant they kept you secret from anyone with authority like Elita-One or any of the other captains.

Yet, while everyone knew about you and you were generally allowed out of the locker most of the time, it was still only Orion or D-16 who took you out, and they still tried to get out of work a tad early to check on you.

One of the other changes in your life was the delivery of a big bundle of wires as ‘toys.’ That was another word you had learned to mimic since Orion kept bringing you play-things and repeating the Cybertronian equivalent.

This happened after you kept picking up pieces of scrap wire on walks, taking them with you so you could use them in your repair work. At first, Orion and D-16 took them off you, afraid you would hurt yourself somehow, but when you kept collecting them and fought hard to keep the few you had, they assumed it must be a normal nesting behaviour and brought you a great deal more than you needed.

You were delighted with the gifts and hugged both bots for it. Then, after saving the few you needed for your translator, you weaved the extra wires into a new over-shirt. It was uncomfortable, but quite practical since your jumper was wearing away and you needed a new one to keep decent when you were washing your actual shirt.

Another problem to occur was your hair. In your time with the bots, it had grown very long, and much to your bemusement, Orion had tried cutting it. The whole thing had gone disastrously, and you suddenly understood those dogs that got terrible haircuts because they tried to escape their groomers; you could only be thankful that the bald patch was beginning to grow back.

The final change was Grey’s idea. He felt confident that you were well trained since you now responded to your name, paying attention when you were called through the miners’ hab-suite. Because of your actions, he often let you off-lead, which you were immensely grateful for. He rarely put the lead back on you unless he thought something was unsafe, so whenever it went on now, you clambered onto his shoulder, trusting that he would take you home and away from danger quickly.

It wasn’t a perfect life, but things were slowly improving. You could only hope that your lucky streak didn’t break and that you would be able to communicate your needs fully before the year was up.

D-16 sighed, sitting on the side of a tall building overlooking the city with you in his lap. You were content to let him pet you while you toyed with your translator. You went in an almost trance-like state whenever you tinkered with it now, honestly not expecting anything to come of it but needing to work all the same.

He continued speaking in his gentle, rhythmic noises and you hummed as if you understood, pressing a wire down with the flat of your screwdriver.

“- and that’s why I know what we’re doing is important. Even Sentinel says so. Us miners, we’re keeping Cybertron alive,” D-16 said proudly.

“Who’s Sentinel?” You asked absentmindedly.

D-16 screamed, accidentally throwing you off his lap.

“Hey, be careful!” You scolded. “You could have dropped me over the edge.”

You picked up your translator and brushed yourself off.

“Minitronus, you’re talking!” D-16 accused.

“Yeah, well so…are… Oh my God, I did it!” You breathed. Then you punched the air excitedly, “I DID IT!”

“WHAT IS GOING ON? HOW ARE YOU TALKING?!”

“I fixed my translator,” You squealed ecstatically, waving it in front of D-16.

“Your- Your toy?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, practically bouncing on the spot.

“This is impossible. You- You’re our pet!”

“No. Not a pet. Not anymore. I’m (Y/N). Okay, (Y/N),” You repeated your name slowly, trying to get it through to Grey who still looked panicked.

“Primus, this is insane.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“You’ve got to explain everything to me, right now.”

“Okay, sit down,” You patted the ledge.

D-16 did so, and you jumped back into his lap.

“What’re you doing? You can’t sit there now. You’re not an animal.”

“Hey,” You pushed against his servo, staying stubbornly in place, “I’m not going back on that ledge, I could fall.” “Fine,” D-16 relented. He went to pet your head again then stopped himself, keeping his servos stiffly by his sides. “As long as you explain yourself, you can sit wherever you want.”

Having told D-16 everything and had him explain a few things in return, things thankfully changed. Initially, things between you and all of the mining bots were awkward, with haunted comments from some of the bots like, ‘It saw me in the wash racks,’ or ‘I can’t believe I tried to rub its belly… No wonder it slapped me. Oh. Oh no.’

Once everyone got used to the idea, your life improved. You were still kept secret since none of the miners knew how the higher-ups would react to an alien species, but with some ingenuity and a few favours exchanged for information about your species and planet, they all came together to transform your locker into a proper living space, complete with all the amenities they could manage to scrape together. They even began forming a plan to try and have you off-planet and en-route somewhere you could survive before your supplies would run out.

After D-16 and Orion were over the weirdness, you still had them take you on your daily excursions, sans the lead since you were no longer their pet. Orion managed to laugh about the whole thing, but D-16 grew to be even more strained around you. However, you didn’t get to ask him about it till you were next alone with him, which was a long time afterwards.

“So… Do you hate me now?” You asked him one day while he walked a few paces ahead of you, keeping an eye out for anyone who he would need to hide you from.

“What?” D-16 sputtered. “I- I don’t-”

“It’s okay,” You smiled easily. “It’s a strange situation.”

D-16 felt his insides squeeze. He had held onto you while you slept. At the time, he thought you were cute. Now though… You were still cute when you slept, but it was a different kind of cute – Softer, somehow.

“I told you everything,” He sighed, defeatedly. “My life, my dreams, my fears.” He shook his head, continuing mournfully, “And you didn’t understand any of it.”

“Not true,” You contradicted, running to stand in front of him.

He watched you warily.

“I might not have known what you were saying, but I did understand you. Your tone, expressions, the sound of your voice. I understood more than you think.”

D-16’s spark pulsed.

“Let’s go home,” He said quickly, turning on his heel and walking away from you.

The two of you had to go where you wouldn’t be alone or things would change again.

D-16 was falling in love with you and he couldn’t let that happen. There were too many unknowns and he had his planet to think about. He was a miner – the life force of his planet. That’s what Sentinel Prime always said, and work came first.

Besides, you weren’t going to be on Cybertron forever. You couldn’t be. Once your supplies ran out, that would be it for you.

D-16 couldn’t get attached. It wasn’t like you were a pet anymore. You didn’t belong to him, even if he wanted you to.

You ran through the destruction of Iacon City, terrified by everything that was happening. Honestly, you had missed most of the events leading up to it, having been stuck in Sentinel’s tower, but you had seen the so-called Prime torture and brand D-16.

Afterwards, you tried to find him or Orion, but you were small and Iacon was big and the city was collapsing around you.

You screamed as you were grabbed seemingly from nowhere and looked up to see D-16, though he looked slightly different thanks to the new infusion of Megatronus’ T-Cog which you hadn’t seen him take from Sentinel’s corpse. Also, there was one other change – his angry red optics, which bore into you.

“D-16,” You shouted, “What’s going on? Where’s Orion?”

“Orion is dead,” He growled. Though he had made a promise that nobody else would be deceived, you needed to hear that lest you side with Orion over him. Besides, it wasn’t a lie. Orion was dead – Dead, and replaced by Optimus Prime. “And my name is Megatron.”

“Orion- Orion’s dead,” You repeated, too shell-shocked to even cry at the moment.

“Yes,” Megatron glossed over your emotions, far too focused on his rage as he transformed around you, keeping you safe inside his alt-mode. “And we’re leaving.”

“Where are we going?”

“To war!”

Yet, even as Megatron burned with hatred and his desire to bring down the corruption that fuelled his planet, he was already reading the intel sent by the disgraced High Guard, informing him of several nearby planets where you would be able to get the organic fuel you required to stay online.

Megatron had lost everything. He was not about to lose his beloved pet too. You were his, and you always would be.

A/N - Hey, I worked really hard on this so please comment, or at the very least reblog. Likes aren't enough anymore guys, they just aren't.

[stylesispunk]

The days of you and I | part 1

Jackson!Joel Miller x fem!reader

series masterlist | next chapter

Summary: After Joel’s near-death, you stay by his side, refusing to leave him behind. You both confront the weight of what’s been done and what it means to still have each other for now.

w.c: 4,5k

warnings: angst, mentions of murder and revenge, emotional trauma, grief trauma, survivor's guilt, discussion of death and loss. It contains spoilers from season 2 of the last of us. No proofreading because, you know.

Note: Remember this story is a sequel of this one shot "What remains of us" or you can ignore it and keep reading this one haha.

A/N: Okay, hello. This is a new Joel series because we love Joel here, and he is alive and recovering. This series will have angst, and the topics followed throughout the story will hold onto the path of healing after a traumatic event for the characters. I already have the end for this series, so everything will lead to it. I hope you like it and stay here to read it. Reblogs are really important, and I appreciate them. I'm gonna be out for a days because I have to put an end to the semester before winter break and do my teacher duties.

Also, I created an AO3 account, and I'll be posting fics there too from now on.

The hospital room was very quiet. With that eerie absence of sound that you could feel penetrating your bones, damaging the inside of your body with a pain that pierced your body, seeped into your soul, and oppressed your heart.

Joel still woke up to that silence, as if was chocking him to death and he had decided he have had enough of it.  to the distant hush of an early morning, and a world that carried on without him. The sharp sting in his ribs reminded him he was still alive, though some days, he wondered what for.

His eyes opened slow, the weight behind them too heavy to lift at once. The ceiling looked the same as it had for the past week, wooden beams, a single hanging light. He’d spent more hours staring at it than sleeping. The painkillers dulled the sharp edges, but nothing softened the hollow inside his chest.

And you were still there.

Your silhouette sat by the window, curled into the old chair like you belonged there. As if you were stuck. A book half-read on your lap, a cup of cold tea nearby, and that same tired crease between your brows you probably didn’t know you had. You looked so small in the pale dawn light, so goddamn stubborn.

He should’ve been glad. Grateful you hadn’t left.

But this morning, something cracked inside him.

It wasn’t relief that filled him. It was grief.

His bones were still aching, his legs dumbed under the cover. He didn’t feel like a man no more, but as a lifeless lump lying in bed.

And you deserved better than this version of him, this half-broken thing stitched together by other people’s hands, carrying the weight of mistakes that couldn’t be undone. Joel wasn’t the man you met. Wasn’t the one who held you like you were the only good thing left in the world.

And seeing you here, still choosing him, hurt worse than any wound that other girl that beat him almost to death had left behind.

He swallowed hard, voice rough and unused.

“You don’t need to stay here all the time, you know?”

The words came out more bitter than he meant them to, tasting like rust and regret.

Your head turned, soft eyes finding his. That damn look, the one that exactly saw right through him, the one that made him feel like a man again for a moment.

And for a second, Joel wished you’d leave.

Because it would be easier than losing you piece by piece like this.

You smiled, small but steady, like you always did when you noticed he was awake. That damn smile, it cut through him every time.

“Took you long enough to wake up again,” you murmured, the softness in your voice brushing against the raw places in him he tried to keep buried. You crossed the room, moving to his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it hadn’t been three weeks and one more of watching him drift in and out of fevered sleep and silence.

“You must be feeling tired,” you said, fingertips brushing through the strands of his hair, pushing them gently from his forehead.

Joel didn’t move, but his throat worked around a swallow. It wasn’t fair, you being so gentle. Wasn’t fair that after everything, you were still here, speaking to him like he was the man you remembered, not the one lying broken in that bed.

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning, barely, into your touch before forcing himself to pull away. His jaw clenched.

Reality blurred at the edges; every breath thick with a kind of grief he didn’t know how to name. Time didn’t move right in this room. It stretched too long, like a cruel joke, dragging him through the sharp fragments of what he used to be.

He wasn’t mad.

He was devasted.

He felt ashamed of the man he was now.

He never experienced a physical pain like this. One that burned inside and out his body.

He hadn’t even noticed his hand was clenching around nothing.

How he could even be useful for this town now that he was gone. Everything left was limb laying on a bed with nothing left but a void consuming him as a whole.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, the coppery tang of blood grounding him for a second. His voice, when it came, was cracked and quiet.

“You shouldn’t… shouldn’t waste your time on me, darling.”

A bitter, broken kind of truth. But in his heart, he knew it would be worse than dying to watch you stay, wasting your life on him.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull your hand away, even when his words hung heavy in the air between you like a noose. If anything, your fingers curled more firmly into his hair, a tender anchor to a man too lost to realize he was still here, still tethered.

“I’m not wasting anything,” you said softly, the words steady even as your throat threatened to close around them. “You’re here, Joel. That’s enough.”

He gave a ragged breath, like he wanted to laugh, wanted to scream, but all that came was a low, broken sound somewhere deep in his chest. His gaze dropped to the space between you — his hand, bruised and shaking, lying useless on the blanket.

“Don’t deserve you sitting here, watching this,” he muttered, voice hoarse, eyes hot though no tears came. Couldn’t remember the last time they had.

A long, aching silence stretched between you.

You could feel it, the war inside him. The part that needed you close, needed your touch, your voice, like it was the last thing tethering him to this side of the dark. And the other part, the one too proud, too broken, too wrecked by shame to let himself have it.

But you’d made your choice the moment he opened his eyes a week ago.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said. Not a promise you made lightly in a world like this.

Joel closed his eyes again. He didn’t answer. But for the first time in days, his hand moved, slow, halting, to brush against yours.

“Did you… really take them all?” he rasped.

Your heart clenched, but you didn’t look away. Couldn’t.

You gave a small, steady nod.

He swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw twitching. His gaze dropped for a second, his hand flexing weakly against the sheets.

“I don’t regret it,” you said at last, the words steady despite the ache in your chest. “No one deserves what they did to you.”

There was a storm behind Joel’s eyes, a thousand things he wanted to say, but his throat burned too much to let them out. Anger, grief, guilt, some twisted kind of gratitude. It tangled up inside him like barbed wire, tearing at every soft part he had left.

“You didn’t have to…” his voice broke, low and pained.

“I know,” you whispered. “But I would do it again.”

Your fingers brushed against his, and this time, his hand turned, weakly curling around yours. A tremble ran through him, and you felt it in your bones, the weight of his shame, the depth of his sorrow, and somewhere, buried beneath it, the fragile pulse of the man you knew still fighting to breathe.

But the love you felt for him, that was enough to send you into a spiral, where nothing else felt real but the desperate need to save him, the desperation of not losing him because that would have meant losing yourself that day.

Neither of you spoke for a while after that. The room was heavy with the things you didn’t need to say.

You didn’t look away from Joel, but you felt the shift in the room, the familiar presence of Tommy as he stepped in.

“Hey,” Tommy’s voice was rough, softer than usual, like he was afraid to break whatever fragile peace hung in the air. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You lifted your head, your fingers gently slipping from Joel’s, though his hand lingered in the empty space you left behind.

Tommy gave a small nod toward you. “Gail’s waiting to see you. Said whenever you were ready.”

Your stomach twisted, a cold unease settling in your chest. You gave Joel one last look, brushing a thumb over his hand before pulling away completely.

“I’ll be back,” you whispered.

Joel didn’t answer. Just stared at the ceiling, eyes distant.

As you stepped out, Tommy caught your arm, just briefly, his hand firm but kind.

“I’ll stay,” he murmured. “Not gonna leave him alone.”

You gave him a grateful, weary nod and left, the door shutting quietly behind you.

The room felt emptier after you were gone. Joel let out a slow breath, eyes closing for a moment before shifting to glance at his brother.

“Gail?” Joel’s voice was rough, but clearer now. “She… she going to therapy with her?”

Tommy rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, sighing as he sank into the chair by the bed.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Doctor says it might help. Been… hard for her since it happened. It isn’t just you carrying scars, brother.”

Joel looked away, his throat working around another swallow. The word therapy felt foreign in his mouth, like it belonged to a world he’d never stepped into, one too far gone for men like him.

Joel stayed quiet for a long time after Tommy spoke, the words circling in his head, refusing to settle. His gaze lingered on the window, on the way the morning light edged in like it didn’t belong here.

Then, rough and low, he broke the silence.

“Was she…” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat, hating the weakness there. “Was she hurt? When… when they brought me back?”

Tommy’s face shifted, the answer already written in his eyes before he spoke.

“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “She… she had some bruises. Took a hit to the side’a her face, couple more on her ribs. And there was a wound on her abdomen.”

Joel’s stomach turned, a cold, sinking dread washing over him.

“Abdomen?” he rasped, his hands curling weakly into fists against the blanket. “Christ.”

Tommy sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand over his face. “She didn’t give a damn about it. Wouldn’t let anybody touch her. Wouldn’t even let them clean her up ‘til you were stable. Sat right there in that chair covered in her own blood and yours, talking to you like you could hear her.”

He shook his head, a ghost of a sad, fond smile on his face.

“Would’ve fought off half the town if anyone tried to pull her out of here.”

Joel closed his eyes, the guilt pressing so heavy against his chest he thought it might crush him. A sharp breath rattled through him, his throat burning.

“Goddamn fool,” he muttered to himself, a tear he’d never admit to stinging behind his eye.

“She loves you, you know,” Tommy said quietly, watching his brother’s face. “Way you do her. There is no shame in letting people love you, Joel. Even if it hurts.”

Joel didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not with the knot in his throat, not with the war inside his chest.

But his hand flexed again against the sheets reaching for something, for someone, perhaps you.

The silence thickened again, the kind of quiet that settled deep in your bones. Tommy stayed still, letting Joel sort through whatever storm was building behind those weary eyes.

Then Joel spoke, voice low and cracked, like gravel scraping out of his throat.

“She killed… all of ‘em.”

Tommy’s jaw tensed. He stared down at his hands, lacing his fingers together like it might steady him.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Every last one of ‘em.”

Joel’s throat worked around a swallow, his gaze distant, unfocused, like he was seeing it happen even if he hadn’t been awake for it. Like he could feel the blood she spilled on his behalf soaking into his hands too.

“I should have been the one…” Joel’s voice broke at the edge, bitter and aching. “Should’ve finished it. Not her. Not—”

“She didn’t leave you a choice, Joel,” Tommy cut in quietly, but firm. “You were barely breathing. We didn’t know if you’d make it. You almost died on her arms that night.”

Joel gave a humorless, broken kind of laugh, but there was no light in it. Just sharp edges.

“And now what?” he muttered, a tear sliding down his temple he didn’t bother to wipe away. “She got their blood on her hands. Because of me.”

Tommy leaned forward; his voice steady in that way Joel remembered from years long gone, before the world turned to shit.

“She doesn’t regret it,” he said. “You know that. And neither would I.”

Joel’s eyes finally met his brother’s. A flicker of something there. Grief. Fury. Love. Loss.

“But I do,” Joel whispered. “I regret that she had to.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his throat bobbing.

“You’re not the only one with scars, brother,” he said softly.

“I don’t regret it,” you said, voice steady, though your chest ached with the weight of it. “No one deserves what they did to Joel.”

Gail’s brow lifted, arms folding across her chest. “Murder?” she challenged; one word sharp enough to cut.

You didn’t blink. “Murder’s a simple act these days. Torture?” Your voice turned cold, almost unfamiliar even to yourself. “That’s another thing.”

A beat of heavy silence stretched between you.

“Murder is what Joel committed when he blew my husband’s head off,” Gail snapped, her voice brittle, laced with venom, old grief that still clung to her like a second skin.

“It’s not the same,” you bit out, shaking your head.

“It is,” Gail said, stepping closer. “The only difference is you had the chance to save him. If you hadn’t, Joel would be dead right now. And you’d be mourning him like I mourned mine.”

A fury you hadn’t felt since that day surged hot through your veins. You took a shaky breath, eyes narrowing.

“Fuck you,” you hissed. “You don’t know him. You don’t get to talk about him like that.”

Gail’s face didn’t move, but something in her gaze flickered, something dark, bitter, and quietly resigned.

“I know enough,” she murmured. “Enough to understand what kind of man survives in a world like this. And what kind of woman kills for him.”

You held her gaze, unflinching, the burn of unshed tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, though your face gave nothing away.

“I’m not sorry,” you whispered. “And I never will be.”

“You don’t get it,” you murmured, voice breaking just enough to betray the rawness beneath your fury. “My life would’ve ended.”

The words hung there, fragile and furious all at once.

You swallowed hard, fighting the tremor in your throat. “When they took him… when I saw what they did… there wasn’t a world left for me after that. So don’t stand there and talk about men surviving and women killing like you understand a goddamn thing about what it feels like to have your heart ripped out of your chest and left bleeding in the dirt. Because you’ve been behind these walls, safe, without knowing what it’s like out there.”

Gail’s brow twitched; her gaze steady but dull. “Do you think I haven’t lost people? Do you think grief makes you special?”

“I didn’t say that,” you shot back, your voice tight, shaking now. “I’m saying you didn’t see him. You didn’t watch them tear him apart. You didn’t hear the sounds he made. And you sure as hell didn’t have to put him back together.”

Her jaw clenched. “And now what? Do you think murder fix it?”

“I don’t care if it does or doesn’t,” you spat. “I care that they’ll never touch him again. That they won’t look at Ellie. That no one here will whisper about how Joel Miller should’ve died that day.”

Gail scoffed, a bitter sound. “And what about you? How can you carry this and walk around like it won’t eat you alive?”

“I don’t care,” you said, low, certain. “I care about him.

A beat of silence.

“You think that makes you strong?” Gail asked quietly.

“No,” you whispered. “It makes me his, as I’ve always been.”

Gail’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You talk like that’s a badge of honor.”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “It’s not. It’s a fact.”

She tilted her head, watching you like someone examining a wound too deep to close. “What if you drown into this?”

“I’ll try to save myself” you shrugged.

Another pause. The room felt too small, thick with old grief and new wounds, neither of you willing to be the one to walk away first.

“I loved Eugene so much” Gail said, her voice rough. “And when he died, it didn’t turn me into this.”

You met her eyes, unflinching. “But it made you bitter towards Joel.”

Gail’s jaw tightened, something sharp flickering in her gaze. “He made choices. Ones that cost people their lives. Good people. You act like he’s some goddamn martyr, but he isn’t.”

“And neither was Eugene,” you shot back, your voice low and steady. “Do you wanna talk about choices? Fine. Joel made his. I made mine. And you? You’ve been standing behind walls judging the rest of us ever since we arrived.

Her nostrils flared, a bitter breath leaving her. “I don’t have to like what this world turns people into.”

“Neither do I,” you murmured. “But I’ll fight for the one thing in it that still means something to me. That’s the difference between you and me, Gail. You buried your heart with Eugene. I’m not ready to bury mine.”

A long, heavy silence stretched between you, the old ache of loss clawing at both your throats. And for the first time, Gail didn’t have a sharp reply. She just looked away, jaw clenched, and you took your opening.

You didn’t say goodbye. You just left.

You made your way back through the hallway, your steps slow, heavy, like every word from that conversation with Gail was still clinging to your skin. The air in Jackson felt colder somehow, like the whole town was holding its breath, waiting for something none of you could name.

As a town, you were still recovering from that day.

When you reached Joel’s door, you didn’t push it open right away.

You stood there, hand hovering by the frame, heart hammering against your ribs because, god, he was still here. Still breathing. Still alive.

And it didn’t matter how broken or battered he was, how much rage or guilt sat behind those tired eyes. It was him. And that was enough for you.

Inside, you heard the low murmur of his voice, raspy, weighted with a pain he never used to let anyone hear.

“But how is she really doing?”

“She’s… holding up,” Tommy answered, voice cautious. ”

Joel let out a rough, broken sound. Not quite a sigh, not quite a sob.

“If you ask me, you’re lucky she’s still here after what this world’s done to both of you.” Tommy said.

There was a pause, then Joel spoke again, softer this time, like he wasn’t sure he meant to say it out loud.

“I just… I don’t want her staying because she feels like she has to,” Joel muttered, his voice rough, almost cracking. “She should go, Tommy. Find something better. Hell, anyone better than… whatever I am now.”

Your stomach twisted. A sharp, cold ache settling beneath your ribs. You stayed frozen at the doorway, your hand tightening around the frame, every part of you aching. You didn’t mean to listen, but it was too late. The words were already carving themselves into your chest.

“She’s not here out of obligation.” Tommy said, his tone harder than before. “What would you do if you were her?”

Another pause.

Joel let out a humorless, ragged chuckle, and it hurt to hear it. “It’s not fair.”

“But she gets to decide what’s fair,” Tommy shot back. “And so far, she has decided it’s you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, blinking fast against the burn in your eyes. Your heart hammered in your chest so loud you were sure they’d hear it.

You needed one more second to pull yourself together. To bury the hurt his words left behind, not because you doubted him, but because you knew where they came from. The same place you’d been sitting in since the day you saw him bleeding out in the dirt.

You swallowed down the knot in your throat, forcing your face into something steady, or close enough to pass for it. Then, with a breath you weren’t sure reached your lungs, you pushed the door open.

“Hey,” you said softly.

Both their heads turned. Joel’s eyes landed on you first, and for a split second, something in them broke open. A flicker of guilt, sorrow, and something heavier, like he knew you’d heard more than you were meant to.

But you gave him a small, careful smile, pretending the sting behind your eyes wasn’t there. Pretending your heart wasn’t in pieces on the floor between you both.

Tommy cleared his throat, glancing between the two of you. “I, uh — I’ll give you a minute.” He patted Joel’s shoulder, murmured something you couldn’t catch, and brushed past you on his way out.

The door clicked shut.

Silence stretched thin in the room, heavy like storm air. Joel shifted uncomfortably on the bed, his hand twitching against the blanket. He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

You crossed the room, sitting down on the edge of the mattress by his side. Close, but not quite touching.

“I was thinking…” you began, “I could ask the doctor if you can leave the hospital and go back home. We surely need to make some changes there with the bed and—”

 “Stop it.” He cut you off, his voice rough but firm. “I’m not going anywhere right now.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sharpness. “Joel—”

“No.” He shook his head, eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite name. “Not until I’m ready. And right now, I’m not ready to face that.”

The weight in his tone pinned you still. You wanted to argue, to tell him that staying there wasn’t helping him heal, but the raw edge in his voice stopped you.

Instead, you just nodded slowly. “Okay,” you said softly.

He didn’t answer, just closed his eyes, the tension in his jaw slowly easing into something like resignation.

You settled into the chair beside his bed, not bearing the closeness anymore, the quiet between you thick but familiar. Your fingers absentmindedly traced the worn edge of his sleeve, as if hoping to stitch together the frayed pieces of him with nothing but touch.

Joel’s breath was shallow, uneven, and you could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying pressing down on the room. The man you knew, the one who’d fought through hell and back was here, but buried beneath layers of pain and doubt.

“I’m scared,” he finally muttered, voice rough and low. “Not of dying... of what’s left after.”

Your heart clenched. “You’re not alone in that,” you whispered. “You know that.”

“What you did—” he began “I didn’t deserve to be saved, baby.”

“I made my choice.” You replied, eyes watering.

Joel’s gaze dropped to your trembling hands, then back up to your face, searching.

“I’m broken,” he said quietly, voice cracking. “Not the same man I was before.”

You shook your head gently, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You’re still him,” you insisted, voice firm but tender. “Wounded, maybe. Scared, sure. But still you. And I’m still here.”

A long pause stretched between you, filled only by the faint rhythm of his labored breathing.

Joel’s eyes glistened, a shadow moving through them as he let out a shaky breath.

“What you did… it’ll haunt you,” he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel. “Same way Salt Lake haunts me. What I did to those Fireflies… what I took from Ellie. Thought I was saving her. Thought it was worth whatever price.” He swallowed hard, jaw trembling. “But it never leaves you. Never lets you forget. Look what they did to me.”

You didn’t flinch. You leaned in, your hand finding his cheek, thumb brushing against the rough line of his beard.

“No,” you said softly, steady. “It won’t haunt me, Joel.”

He blinked, as if the words knocked something loose inside him.

“Because I know what we do,” you continued, voice trembling but certain, “when we love someone enough to tear the world apart for them. I know what it means to save the person who’s your whole heart. And I’ll carry it. All of it. And I won’t regret a single thing.”

His eyes closed, a tear slipping down his temple, and for the first time in too long, he didn’t look like a ghost of himself. He looked like Joel.

“Goddamn you,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t deserve you.”

“I’m not letting you go,” you said, leaning your forehead to his.

His breath hitched at the sound of your voice so close, your warmth grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“Baby…” he rasped, like it hurt to say it, like it was both a confession and a plea.

You hushed him gently, your hand brushing through his hair, your forehead still pressed to his.

“It’s gonna take time to heal,” you whispered. “I know that. I’m not asking you to be okay tomorrow, Joel. Or next week. Or even next year. I just need you here. With me. However, you can manage.”

His fingers, still weak, clung to yours like a lifeline. His voice cracked as he spoke again, rough and small.

“I won’t be able to protect you.” You felt it in the way his words splintered under the weight of his shame, the jagged edges of the man he used to be catching against what was left. His eyes searched yours, desperate and hollow all at once.

“I won’t be able to protect you,” he repeated, voice breaking like a man confessing to a sin he could never undo as he closed his eyes. “Not like before. Not the way I should do.”

You swallowed hard, a tear finally slipping free, tracing down your cheek as you gripped his hand tighter, like you could anchor him to this moment, to you.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, voice trembling but certain. “You protected me for so long, Joel. Longer than anyone else ever did. It’s my turn now. I don’t need a gun in your hand to feel safe. I just need you. That’s it. I just need to feel the beating of your heart under my hand to know you’re still breathing with me.”

His throat worked around a choked sound, his other hand weakly lifting as if it wanted to touch you but couldn’t quite make it, so you guided it to your cheek, holding it there like it was the most precious thing in the world because that’s how it felt.

“I’m still yours,” you whispered against his palm. “Always. However, you come back to me.”

tags 💌: If you want to be removed or you're not interested in the story anymore, please tell me so I can remove you. :)

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@vanishintoyoubby

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 || 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ Right after Lucy breaks up with Harry, he is left with an extra ticket to Iceland, so he invites the most unexpected person to go with him: you, Lucy’s sister. Only to return to New York and learn that he knocked you up.

warnings_ age gap (unspecified), spoilers for the movie, pregnancy, angst, they fuck and then it’s slowburn, fluff, Lucy and reader kinda have beef (but they love each other), NO PROOFREAD, BEWARE (I’ll edit grammar and blah blah later okay?)

Notes_ just please listen in order while reading:

1. Relationships

2. So Close

3. Guess You Could Say I’m In Love

4. My Baby (Got Nothing At All)

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 Pedro

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ

It was the perfect night of extremely late spring, when it was not cold anymore but you still needed a light jacket. You had been out, leaning against the railing of a bar, smoking and looking at the passing city.

You heard the door opening and when you turned to look over your shoulder, you spotted Harry: your sister’s new boyfriend.

He also noticed you and barely smiled at you before walking closer. He was on a phone call, something about a meeting and appointment.

“Work call?” you asked after he hung up.

“Yeah. Lucy didn’t mind” Harry said and you allowed yourself to groan and roll your eyes at his words.

“Let me guess. She was talking with John?” you asked, and Harry seemed embarrassed, but he disguised it so well that he nodded.

“That woman is all talk-talk and no moves”

“I guess you’re her-“

“Lucy is my sister” you revealed to the man. “Well, my half-sister”

“I see, and… Why do you say that? About her?” He asked, making you sigh.

“You’re dating her. I don’t want to spoil your relationship” Harry chuckled, he stepped closer, also leaning on the railing like you.

“Swear I won’t tell…”

“Pinky promise?” You offered your pinky finger and he twirled his around yours. You spotted his gold ring and you finally confirmed that he was actually very rich.

“Pinky promise” he swore.

“Lucy claims she wants to secure a partner with money rather than loving them. But I know she yearns for sickening love”

Harry as the smart man you knew he was, understood quickly. Didn’t say anything, but you knew he would start thinking about your words eventually.

“What about you, kid? Do you want sickening love?” He asked and you crossed your arms, looking down at your boots.

“I once experienced it, as a teenager. But now… Not so sure. I don’t know if I have it in me anymore”

“We find it…”

“Childish” you finished for him.

Both of you smiled at each other.

…

You weren’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing that NYU hired you to be an advisor just weeks before the spring semester was over. With so much free time, you found yourself going to dance classes for adults and getting a volunteer job at your local library.

It was early in the morning when you had just finished getting ready to go to the library when your phone vibrated.

An unidentified number appeared on the screen and you debated whether to answer or not. You decided to pick it up, since it could be related to work.

“Hello?”

“It’s Harry…”

You frowned confused. Why was your sister’s boyfriend calling you? You had barely spoken to him before and after the night at the bar.

“Harry, hi. How did you get my number?”

“Your number is on the staff members list of NYU” he said and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Right. Well, How can I help you, dear?” You had no idea why he was calling. Lucy and you weren’t as close as it appeared.

She was the big sister and since your father preferred your mother before hers, it was not a secret in the family that you slowly became the priority.

You had just finished college unlike Lucy, who was a dropout. You barely had ex-boyfriends and couldn’t care less about dating, compared to her.

“I know this might sound weird…” he started, making you press the cell phone harder against your ear and cheek. “Lucy just broke up with me and we were supposed to take a flight to Iceland in the evening. And… She’s gone. I have this extra ticket and since you two have the same last name- I thought…”

You stopped listening to whatever he kept saying. Only focusing on the first part.

What would you do in Iceland with your sister’s ex-boyfriend? You didn’t know.

Then you thought about Harry himself. You barely knew him, he was wealthy, and apparently perfect according to Lucy.

Wouldn’t he prefer to take a model or fitness queen with him? And beyond that, Did he tolerate you enough to invite you?

“Harry, Are you sure? Cause-“

“Please, say yes. I can get you a room of your own and-“

“Perfect. I’ll send my driver to pick you up at 4:00. In the meantime I’ll put your name on the ticket” Harry said with evident optimism. “You have a passport, Right?”

“Yes, I have a passport” you confirmed with a smile.

“Great, I’ll see you later, kid” and he hung up.

You sighed, confused, happy, and overwhelmed. You weren’t sure why you said yes, you weren’t even sure if you completely liked Harry and you definitely weren’t telling anyone.

You went to grab your passport with the fear of finding it wasn’t expired. And when you saw it was all under control, you smiled.

It was a trip to the unknown. But you weren’t scared. In fact, you were curious about knowing better Harry and why Lucy broke up with him.

…

He was actually perfect. Harry went straight to see if the luxurious hotel in Reykjavík could give him another room for you. To his dismay, nothing could be done, but you assured him it was okay.

Sharing the same bed was not an issue. Not when the bed itself was bigger than any bed you had seen before.

He booked a private trip to walk inside a volcano and then, he rented a private spot in the Blue Lagoon, where hundreds of tourists waited to get a relaxing time in the waters but you two passed through all of them like nothing, as if Harry owned the place.

It was a medium-sized pool with amazing views of the mountains covered in green fawn and the gloominess of the surrounding water. You felt like a child, like a Nordic mermaid.

Harry had been nice, giving you hundreds of compliments and sharing light talk. He was very handsome, you noticed when he entered the pool. He had two scars in his thighs and you wanted to ask about it but you didn’t want to make him feel awkward. His wet hair made him look younger, but his fit appearance did all the work.

And as you enjoyed the feeling of swimming and basically savoring the water, Harry could only eye you with curiosity. And you wondered if he was noticing how childish you could be.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I love the water” you admitted, finally taking a seat instead of remaining wandering. Your cheeks disgusting the embarrassment as they already were red from the vapor of the waters.

Harry only offered you a brief smile.

“I don’t mind that you’re enjoying this”

“I never thought of visiting Iceland before” you admitted, looking at the portrait views of the place. “I’m ignorant of much of the beauty the world has to offer”

“Where do you want to go? Paris?” You chuckle, shaking your head.

“I mean of course I want to go to Paris but I’ve always had a thing for Italy and Japan” you admitted. “And lately I’ve thought about how much I’d like to go to Malaysia”

“Malaysia?” Harry asked with genuine interest as you nodded.

“Yes, it’s perfect”

“I never thought about it” you shrug at the man sitting across from you.

“I can’t believe Lucy wasted the opportunity to experience something like this…” you said and Harry seemed to get thoughtful. He turned away from you, his arms leaning on the rocks and looking at the biggest mountain in the place.

“You were right…” he said taking you by surprise.

“I was?” You asked with shyness, thinking maybe you’d gone too far.

“Yeah, about her wanting sickening love…” you didn’t know if it was correct to ask for more details, but Harry spared you the silence. “I can’t love so easily, I just want companionship and stop hearing my mother that she wants me to marry”

“Then find someone who also just wants companionship. No actual love and pointless sweet nothings” you said taking a place beside him, feeling your muscles relaxing thanks to the water.

Harry turned to his left to eye you. He smiled and chuckled.

“You’d make a hell of a good wife for my mother” You shook your head, chuckling as well.

“Oh my god, Why?”

“She and my dad have a chunky age gap. She always tells me to date younger women…”

“Well, most relationships with age gaps don’t work well. But there are somewhere… the relationship sticks” you started, trying to choose the right words. “I hope that yours sticks too”

Both of you smiled at each other.

…

The dinner was great. You were surprised at how great you got along Harry. He was older and had more experience in every single aspect but he listened to your stupid bullshit and followed along. Just like you listened and asked about his stuff. It was like actually befriending someone. But in the middle of a Scandinavian five-star dinner and Vínarbrauð for dessert.

Then both of you wished good night to each other and went to bed. He never made you feel awkward or obligated to do anything and you loved it.

But you couldn’t sleep. Harry had been rolling over the bed for hours. You didn’t mind, but you grew curious as to why the sun was still up. Until you are seated on the floor, looking at the balcony and you remember it was a time of the phenomenon called Midnight Sun. The sun barely set over the horizon.

The sky looked red, purple orange, and with hints of magenta, with the rest almost completely dark. You couldn’t recall a sunset as beautiful as that one in Iceland.

“Can’t sleep?” Harry asked, startling you.

“You scared me, shit. But… No, for some reason, I cannot”

“Jet lag. I can’t sleep either”

His dark grey pajama pants and black t-shirt made him look cozy, even worthy of cuddles, but as the non-love person he was, you knew that’d be hardly a reality.

“We can postpone tomorrow’s agenda”

“No, I’m fine. You planned out everything already, I can’t make you cancel or postpone….” Maybe you sounded a little too hysterical, but you felt slightly entitled to enjoy everything Harry had planned for the trip. Even if it was meant to be for your sister.

Anyone would’ve said it was morally wrong and imprudent to accept the trip invitation. But… Why not? Harry was great and he wanted company. You thought he offered the ticket to you because it was cheaper to change first names and leave the same last name.

“You can say no, y/n. The fact that I have you here with me doesn’t mean you have to accept everything I planned” Harry said with a kind smile. One that made you realize he was a really good person.

Perhaps Lucy was right: he was perfect.

“You’re far too kind, Harry. I swear I’m insisting because I want to enjoy this trip” You lied in the slightest, but Harry didn’t seem to notice.

“Good girl,” he said patting your head and you playfully yanked his hand.

“I’m not a dog, man” Both of you chuckle until there are those smiles again.

Since that night in the bar, you felt some peace when that exchange of smiles happened. And you felt it again in that hotel, in Iceland.

“Maybe it was meant to happen this way” Harry said looking at the still Midnight Sun. “To have you here and not Lucy…”

“Could be destiny telling you to have a female younger friend”

“Or you just wanted to save money on the extra ticket” Upon hearing your words, Harry started cackling, which made you smile confused.

“You think I did it to save money?” You nodded and he kept laughing.

“I knew you were rich but no this reach”

“That gives me more points, right?” Then you cackled, patting his knee.

“You seriously have been brainwashed”

“Why so?”

“This thing about dating being a business” you said with a slightly frustrated tone. “It’s all total bullshit, just find someone who you enjoy spending time with, don’t cheat on them, and call it a day”

“So if I wasn’t rich, Would I still be a fair option for you?” Harry asked.

“You’re good-looking. Despite being older than me, you’re hot so… That’s a good start for me, so yes”

“What about being shorter?”

“Why? You had the limb lengthening surgery?” You asked and he remained quiet, looking at you deeply in the eye. So you started cackling again.

“For real?” Slowly, he nodded with genuine shyness.

“Oh my god. If you were my boyfriend, this where I kiss your cheeks, tell you I don’t give a fuck but make fun of it for the rest of our time together”

Harry only glared at you with a little smile. The faint light of the room is getting brighter as the sun would soon start to rise again. But Harry thought you looked radiant, with no makeup or trying to make yourself look desirable. At one moment he thought he would regret taking you with him. But he was glad since you were good company.

“That’s it. Now you know my darkest secret, now you’re entitled to be my friend forever” he joked, so you offered your hand.

“Friends forever, then…” you said, shaking his big and warm hand.

He didn’t let go of your hand at first. And when he did, his fingers passed to caress your cheek, testing the skin of it. It took you by surprise, but you found yourself leaning closer to him.

As he started to lean as well, you thought twice if it was a good idea. But there wasn’t much to think about when you already had Harry’s lips on yours.

By the way, his lips tried to take complete control, you understood that Harry was a dominant lover. He wanted the power of giving pleasure and when you started to feel his weight pushing you backward, you also understood he was more interested in your release rather than his.

“Harry…” you whispered before leaning backward completely.

“Should we stop?” He says on your lips, his hands stopping their movements in your hips.

You instantly missed the way his thumbs caressed your hip bones, the ache between your legs growing at a desperate speed.

You finally got on your back, your right hand barely touching his chin. His beard tickled you and when he accidentally moved his head, you touched his lips, so you pushed him, urging him to kiss you again.

“Do you have condoms?” You asked, trying to articulate coherent words as Harry pushed your shorts aside, quickly feeling how you weren’t wearing any underwear. He gasped and gave your wet lips a soft pat before nodding as you moaned for the first time in the night.

“Yeah, in one of my bags” you nodded back, trying to focus on getting the protection first. But dear lord, his fingers rubbed you so well, expertly gathering your crystal clear juices and making a wet mess in your clit. Your legs opened wider by instinct.

“Go and get the damn condom before I start getting wetter and needier” he smirked and when you thought he was going for the condoms, he slid two of his clean fingers in your mouth.

“I think, you come first and then I get the condoms” It shouldn’t have turned you on how bossy he sounded. You were pretty boring when it came to sex, but… What were you seeing in Harry that he was making you feel so aroused?

“Now, suck my fingers while I use the rest on your pretty cunt” You moaned in his fingers and closed your eyes when he started fingering you. All the time comes to remember the damn condoms.

It was safe to say that neither of you remembered the booked whale sighting tour for the next morning.

…

Was Harry your friend, friend with benefits, lover? You couldn’t tell.

Iceland was a dream. It made you feel sad to return to New York. But as the days passed, you quickly got back to your old routine and self. You remember your life was also great with no man sleeping by your side, dealing with debts, and not having five-course meals.

Until he called. Exactly two weeks after returning home.

“Am I talking with the most optimist woman in New York?” You smiled, remembering how Harry started saying you were too optimistic while trying different things in Iceland. Or when things got a little rocky after visiting a melting glacier.

“I believe that optimistic woman stayed in Iceland, sir” he chuckled and it made you smile wider.

“I should’ve called sooner, but I was so busy. How are you, kid?”

“It’s okay, I get it. I’m fine and you? How is job and life going?”

“Things are fine. Things are fine…” he repeated.

There’s a comforting silence for a couple of seconds. You heard the birds near your window and the sound of traffic down the block.

“So… We should see each other one of these days” you felt your heart pounding, fluttering, and sending shockwaves through your body. The same thing that happened with people who made you happy. You couldn’t tell but you really wanted to befriend Harry.

“Yeah, we should hang out or something” you agreed quickly.

“Great, I will call you soon…”

“I’ll be waiting. And Harry?”

“Yes, darling?’

“Thank you for everything”

“You thanked each day. I know…”

You hung up with a big big big smile.

…

Three weeks later, life inverted, in the most twisted and unexpected way.

You had declined each call from Harry Castillo, you were with a confectioner to get a dress for Lucy’s wedding with John. And you were six weeks pregnant.

It all started the weekend after Harry called. You have a cozy Saturday alone at your apartment and decided to have wine. It tasted great but you felt odd. And the next morning, the nauseous feeling started.

Two negative pregnancy tests later, you still felt sick. So you started ignoring Harry until you knew with certain details if you were pregnant or not.

Turns out you were, you needed thousands of vitamins to have a healthy pregnancy and apparently a husband or at least a boyfriend. You didn’t know what to do.

You didn’t even know if Harry deserved to know.

In Iceland, you saw how he placed the condom each time he was about to fuck you. Each time he trusted you, you wished he wasn’t wearing a condom so you could feel better that delicious vein his cock had. What was the point then?

It didn’t make sense. But there was a creature that didn’t even look like a fetus yet inside your womb.

When Lucy came to your place with the news that she was getting married to John, you genuinely felt happy for her. But even better for John because you knew him since you were a teenager and he was a great man, only that he needed to get a better job.

Lucy asked you to be her bridesmaid and you couldn’t say no. Because for the first time, you felt light while being with her, you couldn’t ruin things. So you didn’t tell her you were pregnant.

And horror of horrors, the day of the wedding, when you were ready with your bridesmaid grey dress while trying to get a cab, you found Harry leaning against a ridiculously expensive car, his driver ready to any command of his.

The color in your face drained. You gripped your purse tightly. He was wearing a suit and looked sad.

“You look very pretty�� was the first thing he said, almost making your eyes grow wet.

“Harry…” you said.

“I called…”

“I know” you admitted with shame.

“Then why you didn’t answer any of my calls?”

“I’ve been sick” his expression changed, from dissatisfaction to worried.

“What? Are you okay? Is it serious?”

“No, uh… anemic breakdown and a meltdown combined” It wasn’t a complete lie. You were anemic and you had a meltdown. You were only skipping the part of Harry’s child growing inside you.

“I’m truly sorry. I know it was stupid but-“

“Hey, it’s okay. But you worried me, next time you tell me. Talk to me, I can’t cook but I’ll try and I can get you the best medicine”

Your eyes finally grew wet, but you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“I wish I could hug you right now”

“You can hug me, I don’t like love, but I’m human, dear”

You crashed into his arms and called it pregnancy hormones, but you kept holding Harry so dearly that you forgot about so many things while doing so. Except that, you felt worse for keeping the most important thing from him.

“We’re good then. And why are you so nicely dressed, little lady?” The nickname made you punch his arm as he made you spin around once to pay attention to your dress.

“Lucy is getting married” you revealed.

Harry couldn’t hide his shock.

“Really? With that actor?” He asked with pure curiosity. “What was his name? Uh-“

“John…” you told him and he nodded. “They’ll have a communal wedding and I’m the bridesmaid”

Harry subtly looked up and down at you, he was relieved to hear that you were not actually avoiding him. It was so weird that he was actually interested in you when he never pursued young women.

And it felt even better to not really care about Lucy’s love life.

“Can I take you to the wedding then?” He asked with a gorgeous spark in his eyes.

You weren’t sure if it was the best idea, but you couldn’t say no at that moment.

“Yes, you can” Then he opened the door of his car for you and the ride was comforting. You easily avoided sharing too many details about your sickness with Harry, but it didn’t mean you weren’t slowly feeling anxious about the whole issue.

When he dropped you at the place, you just couldn’t tell Harry to leave.

“We are going to have a little party at Lucy’s mother’s place upstate after the wedding. Do you want to come?” You asked feeling shy and small. He could’ve easily rejected you but he only smirked and started walking you toward the entrance, offering his arm,

“If Lucy and John have no problem. Then yes…”

“I hope not…’ but you knew it could get a little awkward.

And so it did, the moment Lucy appeared in a simple but beautiful wedding gown along with John, the smiles dropped when they looked at Harry.

“What did I miss?” She asked as she hugged you briefly.

“Uh, I wanted to say it sooner. But we’re…” In fact, you were clueless about your status with Harry. But soon he answered for you.

“We’re seeing each other,” Harry said, gently squeezing your arm. It took you by surprise and a little smile appeared on your face.

“She’s barely out of college” Lucy commented, sounding a little too judgemental.

“I know, she works at NYU” Harry answered, not feeling threatened at all.

So cynical, but polite and confident. That was Harry trying to not let the tension escalate between him and Lucy.

“And that’s great. If they get along, that’s also great. Right, Lucy?” John also tries to lighten the mood.

As Lucy was still eyeing Harry, you started to feel nervous. So John, took you by the arm.

“Hey, y/n. Why don’t you pick our seats?” You nodded immediately, but you didn’t want to let go of Harry, until you looked up at him and he offered a warm smile with a tilt, urging you to go with John.

“If you break her heart-“ Lucy starts, pointing at Harry with defiance.

“You know I won’t” he interrupted her.

And the truth was that Harry had so many points in his favor.

“Fine, go and sit with her”

…

It was a beautiful and humble party in a modest house. You remembered a few Christmass spent at that house: blue with white facades and too many flowers.

You forgot about a lot of Lucy’s family, and seeing them again was nice. She genuinely looked happy and relaxed. You knew she quit her job as a matchmaker and was trying to simply help plan weddings.

And it resulted in curious how hers was so light, classic, and homely.

Harry seemed to get along with the party, you wondered if he would feel like an outcast since it wasn’t a luxurious wedding, and it surprised you that he embraced humility as if he wasn’t part of the richest families in New York.

“So… you and Harry?” Lucy asked as soon as she appeared to take a seat beside you.

You sighed, nodding while watching Harry dancing with Lucy’s grandmother.

“I mean, I don’t know if we’re a thing but… is something”

“How couldn’t you tell me?” It was unsure if she was just curious or resented, but you wished it was just doubt and shock.

“I- I don’t know, it just happened”

“You’re aware that he’s older, avoidant and dominant. Right?”

“Lucy, I’m well aware of that. It’s not like I’m marrying him” Suddenly you felt irritated by his accusing tone. And you didn’t want to fight but as she kept bombarding you with comments, you started feeling anxious.

“Oh, you would. With all the materialist things he can get you. You’d hardly be willing to leave him…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lucy finally snapped out of it, she realized she was getting on your nerves.

“You can never be happy for me, it’s always judge and judge and judge. My god, Lucy, just let me live the way I want!”

“…y/n” Lucy grabbed your hand, placing the free one on your cheek.

“You’re pale. Are you okay?” She asked with worry.

At that moment you realized your hands were turning numb, your vision was getting blurred and you could only hear a pitch, Lucy’s voice sounding distant.

Then nausea started its way through your chest and throat.

“My blood pressure is dropping”

Lucy yelled, calling for John.

Lucy’s mother, John, and Harry gathered around you.

You couldn’t see well but you knew Harry was right there, telling you to breathe and asking for water for you.

“Is she sick?” John asked, fanning you.

“Maybe she’s dehydrated” Lucy commented, debating whether to call for an ambulance.

You looked very pale and you couldn’t even lift your hands anymore.

“Dear, Are you pregnant?” Lucy’s mother asked you with a relaxed voice.

You distantly heard her and started nodding.

“You got my sister pregnant?” Lucy started screaming at Harry. John was trying to calm her and the rest of the guests were looking at each other in confusion.

“Harry, get her inside the house, please” Lucy’s mother had always been nice to you, despite not getting along with yours, she was always kind and soft-spoken to you.

You barely felt Harry carrying you all the way from the backyard to the living room of the house.

…

The sound of water being poured finally made a return to reality.

Harry handed you a cold glass of water and you thanked him.

“Do you feel a little better?” you only nodded, looking for any sign of anger from him. But Harry looked calm, he got on his knees, facing you and looking so deeply into your eye that sent shivers through your spine.

“Is it true? You’re actually pregnant and is mine?”

“I- Yes…” you admitted, lowering your head.

‘And you weren’t going to tell me?”

“I wasn’t sure. I don’t even know if I’m having it…”

“How far are you?” His eyes felt heavy on your still flat stomach, with no specific emotion on his face.

“About six weeks…” the air felt thicker but not suffocating.

Harry remained calm, making it harder for you to understand what he was feeling.

“Harry, I don’t want to ruin anything. I really like you and I enjoy your company. This was an accident…”

“A one-of-a-kind accident,” he said, and his attempts to joke, made you feel less stressed out.

The condoms were fine. But he didn’t doubt some had a defect. That’s why only dated women who were on birth control. But… he couldn’t judge you, you were in your right to stay out of it. In fact, Harry admired you for opposing it, but it came with a great cost. And for some reason, he couldn’t be angry.

He was not getting any younger, his mother would hate the idea of him getting a woman pregnant before putting a ring on her finger. But he liked the idea.

“I’ll respect whatever you choose to do. But I’d like you to keep it, let’s have a kid. I promise we’re going to be fine”

Finally, you felt like you could breathe again. Not really because you desired to become a mom. Or because you wanted to tie Harry to you. But because now you had an answer. It was your time to choose.

“Are you sure?” You asked leaning forward, very few inches of distance between you and Harry.

“Yeah, I am,” he said before caressing your cheek. “I’m going to take care of you so well, darling”

Lucy saw the exchange from afar, from the sprint door his mother had in the kitchen. She found herself smiling. And accepting her maths was once again wrong. You and Harry Castillo made a match.

…

[ First Trimester]

The whole place smelled like chicken broth. You were drinking hot hibiscus tea while flipping through a fashion magazine.

“Holy fuck…” you heard from the kitchen. At first, it startled you but then, you started chuckling.

“Are you okay there?”

“Everything is fine, sweetheart”

Harry was attempting to cook for you. You were three months pregnant, he was coming at least three times per week to see you. But when you faced a whole entire week of nausea and vomiting, he stayed the whole week.

Slowly, you were getting used to having him in your life. The only bad thing was that you two had never defined the relationship. And you weren’t desperate to do so, but it was odd whenever an old lady asked if you were Harry’s wife.

“Dinner is ready…” Harry announced.

You made it to the kitchen and he had placed two bowls of chicken broth along with cranberry juice glasses. You stared at the scene in awe.

“We can order delivery if you don’t like it”

“No! Harry, don’t! It smells great!” you reassured him, caressing his hand.

He would never pressure you. But as Harry saw you slurping at the soup and engaging in whatever conversation he brought up, he wanted to make you consider marriage.

He was growing too comfortable with you.

He wasn’t in love and doubted he’d ever be. But felt nice, having a couple without a facade.

…

[ Second Trimester ]

Hospitals made you uneasy. Not even clinics were as terrifying as big white sanitizer-smelling hospitals. But there you were leaning in a cold bed with Harry sitting beside you.

It was the fifth-month appointment and so far, everything seemed to be going well. The nausea stopped and so the hormones became overproduced. You started staying some days at Harry’s penthouse and he got you a full maternity lingerie wardrobe to wear for him. It was silly, but you two had so much fun despite not being an ordinary couple. The relationship was still undefined, but it was too good, so you avoided the subject as much as he did.

“Alright, parents. Are we ready to know the sex of the baby? Or would you like to print the results?” The nice old doctor asked.

Harry and you exchanged looks before smiling at each other, nodding at the same time.

“We’d like to know now…” you said at the doctor. She was one of the best in New York and Harry easily got you an appointment with her during the second month of the pregnancy.

“Alright then… Let’s see” the cold gel in your womb almost made you squirm. But the warm touch of Harry’s hand on your shoulder relaxed you.

Through the echography, you start to see faint parts of the baby’s body. The head, what seemed like an arm and leg, and then… you squeezed Harry’s hand.

“It’s a girl, congratulations!” The doctor yelled. “I’ll go print some pictures and then I’m back to clean your belly.

You smiled again, and then Harry leaned closer, kissing your cheek.

“You heard that, baby? We’re having a girl…” Harry whispered in your ear, making you blush and caress his knuckles.

You were becoming addicted to him. But you knew it had to be the pregnancy playing with your emotions.

…

[ Third Trimester ]

Charlotte; Harry’s sister-in-law offered and insisted on throwing you a baby shower. You couldn’t say no, but you warned her how you wanted to be a casual party with no storks and sandwiches and games.

And it worked out.

She rented a rooftop that felt like a dream despite not being too ostentatious. There was pink everywhere, but it wasn’t blinding. People congratulated you and Harry and constantly asked if you two would get married. Others are reserved to compliment your outfit. You picked a sundress with comfortable heels, curled hair, and orange makeup. Your belly popped out weeks ago, and by the time of the baby shower, you were seven months pregnant.

And you were scared. Not because your due date was approaching, but because you were utterly in love with the father of your baby.

The sickening love knocked at your door and didn’t seem to want to leave.

Harry looked gorgeous as ever, he was in dress pants in sand color with a salmon pink shirt. He was proud of being babygirl father-to-be. And that was one of the many reasons that made you feel like you couldn’t live without him.

The cake was cut and some guests had already left, but there was a song from The Ronettes that Harry and you loved, so he asked if you wanted to dance with him.

“Charlotte outdid herself with this shower” you commented while placing your head on Harry’s chest.

“She did. Everything was nice…”

“Pink suits you” you dared to tell him, which made him laugh.

“Really? I never wear pink. But I’m getting used to it” his comment made your heart flutter.

“Same for me” you admitted.

“Be for real, baby. Everything fits you…”

“Even this bump between us?” The hand on your shoulder came to rest on your belly.

“That only makes it more special” Your smile was overflowing.

And just when he said that the baby kicked.

Harry felt it and sighed in disbelief. He couldn’t believe he was going to ask Lucy to marry him.

After you, nothing would ever top the feeling of having a woman like you in his life. And to your luck, he was also scared to be falling in love with you.

…

You were late. Harry was about to call you to see if everything was okay, and then you knocked on his door.

“Why are you sweating so much?” Harry asked upon opening the door.

“I came all the way here from my place walking?” you revealed and Harry huffed in disbelief.

“Are you insane? Why would you do that? You’re pregnant, y/n!” Harry pushed you inside his penthouse.

“Harry, I’m being too lazy, I can’t even hit my usual gym routine anymore”

“You’re insane. My baby girl must be so tired” You grew accustomed to having him kissing your bump whenever you two reunited after days of not seeing each other.

“Your baby girl was screaming, begging for a trip”

“When she’s at least four months old, I’m taking my girls to Malaysia like you always wanted” You wanted to rip your heart out and stop seeing him as the most perfect human being.

You wanted to scream you loved him. But you weren’t sure if Harry broke his boundaries like you did.

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to. You deserve it” Slowly, he dragged you to the kitchen, showing you delivery food bags and a pizza box.

“Now, we’re going to clean you up a little bit and then we’ll have a nice dinner and then watch those horror cases you like to see” he started kissing your neck, aiming at your melting point, you gasped, immediately getting turned on.

“Are you sure getting me cleaned is the first thing we’ll do?” Harry chucked, spinning you to kiss you on the lips.

“I can clean you and have a nice time with you at the same time, doll” It was a promise. He washed your hair and then gave you your head. Great communication, promising goals, nice sex. Harry was able to give you the world even if you ignored his money.

…

The moment you felt the bed wet, you got so embarrassed that you almost cried. But soon you started feeling contractions. The pain is ten times worse than the darkest periods of a year.

You looked at the clock and it was 5:00 am, Harry soon was awake as well.

“Are you okay?” He asked, yawning before sitting to take a better look at you.

You wanted to answer, but you let out a big moan of pain.

“No… I think she’s coming today, Harry” he stood up only to come around the bed and sit beside you. “Harry, it hurts too much!”

“Hey hey, baby. Look at me please” You struggle, but you do as he says. “Breathe, just like in the courses we took. Breathe…”

Trying to find some peace, you sigh, holding his hands and expecting the pain to pass.

“You can do this. You will bring our babygirl today and it’s going to be fine” You start nodding with tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

It’s too much happening at the same time. But there is your Harry holding onto you and urging you to keep going at the same time.

You need to tell him. To say-

“I love you” both of you say at the same time.

…

June, June, June, June…

That was all you could say. Over and over again. Ever since you woke up, she was already dressed in a pink onesie with an embroidered duck and gloves covering her tiny hands.

She had a head full of golden hair and had the same kind of eyes as Harry. She was born in the evening and smelled so unique that made you kiss her temple over and over again.

The moment you pushed her out of your body, you fell asleep and the rest of the day was blurry.

“She’s perfect. Isn’t she?” You asked the following morning. Harry hugged you from behind, feeling your body covered in bandages.

“And she smells perfect” Harry replied, feeling your body against his. You threatened to get surgery if your body didn’t return to normal after a year of giving birth. But Harry reassured you that he would love you no matter what.

“Here…” Harry offered you an envelope and it made you frown.

June was asleep, her soft breathing making you look at her like being under a spell. But Harry was still your core shaker. You opened the envelope and gasped in surprise.

Three tickets to go to Malaysia in the fall.

“Harry…” before you could speak, he hushed you.

“One thing in exchange…”

“Yes, dear?”

“Marry me” he told you with a big smile on his face.

Your cheeks burnt and you started giggling, only to end up crashing in his arms and kissing him all over his face.

“Sure”

“Sure that’s all you’ll say?”

“What else do you want me to say?” He rolled his eyes and hugged you tightly against his chest.

“God, I love you”

“June and I love you too, Harry” you assured him, hearing his heartbeats.

“So much?”

“Maybe a little too much, baby” you concluded.

_________________________________________

Taglist: @mirandablue1 @hopperbopper @aeriaselle1711 @persiar9 @qtmoonies @isa942572 @luvrrish @chewie-bars @particularlypuppetry @sweetlovepascal @samslvrgirl @holydreamflower @hummusxx @llamaproblem @sydneyandioop @gretagergwigsmuse @callmefroggy10 @withakindheartx @everandforeveryours @qyoongi @umadirectioner @bellatopo25 @dilfs4life69 @inlovewithchrisevans123 @littlemisslovesjpbp @arcticversed @maniac-penguin @destinythepanda

[em1i2a3]

I Wanna Get Lost With You

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry/The Void x Stark!Thunderbolt!Reader

Summary: After a rough night, you find yourself with a rare day off–the one that you take on the same day every year in memoriam for the fallen. So you head into the city to spend your feelings away on the only thing that makes sense to you: gifts for your favourite team of scrappy anti-heros…And Bob.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Spoilers for Thunderbolts because everyone from Thunderbolts is in this and is involved and there is events from the movie that are mentioned :). Fluff, a hint of angst (because of the reader having a rough night…and a rough couple of years in general), Brief Mentioning of Grief and Loss, Bucky is kind of a reluctant father figure to the reader, Bob is Bob and he’s a softie who’s seen it all, Reader and Bob have an established friendship, Smut.

Smut Warnings: Hot and Heavy Makeout Session, Grinding, Cuddling with Some ✨Spice ✨(ahem…Fingering and handjobs lol), Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all, you know the drill), Bob is a softie, reader knows what she likes (a bit of a soft dominant vibe but not really). This is like a mix of comfort sex, and like purely desperate sex, you’ll see, you’ll see. Lol, Aftercare (because that’s hot too)

Author’s Note: This request was given to me by @xlittlemissydjx and I just had to do it when I read it (I also accidentally deleted the request by accident lol). I really expanded the landscape of it though, but I hope it meets what you were looking for :). Thanks I know I have a lot of pending part 2’s of one-shots, but I really couldn’t resist the opportunity to put a little bit of everything into this story, Angst, Fluff, and Smut. The holy trinity lol. Enjoy :))

Note About Requests!!!: I’m working through them! I have about 14 things I need to do! So be patient! They should all be done at varying times within the next week and a half (I get in the zone enough to get two a day out so hopefully that can help!)

Word Count: 18,416 (…Wow)

You had been tossing and turning all night, and it showed the second you stepped into the kitchen that morning. It was written in the heaviness of your steps, the way you continuously readjusted your sweater as if it was too tight–even though it was two sizes too big–, and it was painted across your eyes with the faint smudge of exhaustion that clung to the corners of them.

You had your tells–the little things that gave it away, and the team knew all of them. They knew when you didn’t get enough sleep, or when you didn’t get any sleep at all. You didn’t even have to say a word to them, they could just gauge it from your facial expressions. If you weren’t your usual chirpy self–the version of you that compensated your sadness with jokes and filled the room with noise–they knew what they were in for.

And today? You hadn’t said a word.

The moment you walked into the kitchen though you were pulled into the chaotic scene unfolding in front of you, as the scent of scorched butter hit your nose.

“I told you to spray the pan, Bob. Did you spray it or not?” Walker’s voice rang out, sharp with his distinct signature brand of early-morning frustration. He stood by the oven, hunched over it with a spatula in his hand wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and a “Grill Sergeant” apron. Bob stood a few feet away, sheepish and visibly wilting by the tone that Walker was taking with him. His shoulders were hunched forward, and his fingers were busy wringing the hem of his flour-streaked sweater–the nervous habit he hadn’t kicked.

Over the past few weeks, Bob had started volunteering for kitchen duty more and more–not because he was good at it, because unfortunately he wasn’t and everyone had learned it the hard way–but because he liked the idea of it. Of helping. Of contributing back to the compound as he was in his recovery process from his incident in New York. He had also mentioned to you in passing that it helped him feel like he was normal again, and it reminded him of the simpler times.

But now, with flour scattered everywhere, batter dripping down the front of the counter, and Walker looming over him with the interrogating questions, he was clearly second-guessing his life choices.

”I…I thought I did.” He mumbled, looking around the kitchen, “I could’ve sworn I had the can in my hand.” He whispered, confused.

”Then what happened, hm?” Walker questioned, “Did the damn thing disappear out of your hand or something?” You reached up to rub the tiredness out of your eyes, letting out a sigh, which got the room's attention almost instantly–like you sucked the air out of it.

“Walker, what have I said about taking it easy on Bob, for the love of God.” Your voice wasn’t loud, because it didn’t need to be. Even with being the youngest in the group, you were seasoned enough to be feared, especially by Walker–which was always surprising for the ones who would see the both of you interact.

Bob looked over at you immediately the moment your voice broke through the room–firm and quiet, how you always were–and just like that, his posture shifted. Not completely–he was still wringing the hem of his sweater and looking sheepish–but something in him softened.

You always did that to him. You walked into a room, and it was like the gravity in the room shifted. You were never loud with him, your energy was controlled, but even if you were the loud person that you were around the others, Bob still lit up, in the same way a quiet house lights up when someone finally opens the blinds. His breathing got a little easier. His shoulders dropped just a little lower. Like he knew–even without words–that if anything ever went wrong, you’d be there to shield him from the worst of it.

And you always were, since the day you met in the O.X.E Vault, the day things changed for you–for the better of course.

You defended him the way no one else really did. The way nobody else really could replicate. You caught every nervous tick he had, you knew when to pull him out of situations he couldn’t handle, and you filled in his silences when he got overwhelmed and went quiet, answering hard questions for him with that calm, dry tone that let everyone know there were lines that were crossed.

You didn’t baby him, but you stood with him.

And Bob–who had spent so much of his life being pushed to the side, forgotten, or abused–had never really known what it was like to be protected like that, and he paid you back in the only way he knew how; by being your constant. A little planet in your very tight orbit, always trying, always showing up, always offering whatever soft, steady care he could muster.

You would say you took care of him in public, and he took care of you in private.

You’d never talked about it–not in direct words–but the arrangement was understood. He knew when to slip a cup of tea into your hand on the nights when your hands shook too hard to make one yourself. You knew when to plant yourself between him and a room full of sharp voices. He knew when to knock gently on your door and ask if you’d eaten. You knew when to tug him by the sleeve and get him out of conversations that made his breath short and his voice crack.

‘Hey, there’s only so many ruined breakfasts a man can take before he snaps.” Walker replied, holding up the pan that had what looked to be a burnt pancake glued onto it, “Look at what he did. This is literally my last one.” You didn’t even flinch. You gave the pancake a passing glance, then turned your attention back to Walker, your arms loosely crossing over your chest.

”And yet somehow the world keeps spinning, Walker. Why didn’t you take the harder stuff if you knew there was a possibility of Bob ruining your prized pan?” There was a long pause, until Walker held his hands up in mock surrender.

”Fine…Fine…You’re right. I’m sorry.” You raised an eyebrow.

”And apologize to Bob.” You added, watching Walker glance sideways at him.

”Sorry, Bob.” Bob gave a quick, awkward nod.

”It’s okay…” He whispered under his breath.

You didn’t wait for the rest of the interaction to be done, as you walked from the entrance of the kitchen and made your way toward the fridge, cracking the door open to grab a chilled bottle of water. The cold bit into your palm–and you lingered there for a moment, letting the cool air brush over your skin before closing the door again.

You stepped towards Bob then.

”You good?” You asked, voice low now, like it was just meant for him. He nodded, hesitating for only a breath.

”Yeah…I-I didn’t mean to screw things up so badly…I was just trying to help.” You let out a quiet sigh. The kind that carried the tail-end of exhaustion and affection at the same time, in equal measures, giving Walker a death stare, before reaching out to Bob, patting the side of his arm. It wasn’t too soft, nor too hard–it was just right to comfort him.

“Well,” You murmured, letting a touch of warmth back into your voice, “Go help by setting up the table, okay? I’ll order some food for everyone, and if you hear Walker screaming for his life, just ignore it.” This drew out a laugh from Bob–small and unguarded, a little surprised, like he hadn’t expected it to break free from his mouth in the way it did. It wasn’t loud, but it was full-bodied and real, the kind that deepened the flush that was always on his cheeks. Walker furrowed his brow from where he stood.

”What was that?” You didn’t answer him, you were already pulling your phone from the front pocket of your father’s hoodie, tapping through the food delivery app with the kind of speed that only came from someone who routinely cleaned up the emotional aftermath of other people’s messes.

”Nothing, I was just telling Bob I’m ordering breakfast for everyone, hope you like hash browns.” You said flatly, your tone disinterested as your thumb hovered over your usual go-to breakfast place, the one that you used to go to on your birthday.

Bob, still smiling faintly to himself, took this as his cue to duck out of the kitchen without another word, moving towards the dining area with a new sense of purpose. Walker watched him for a second as he left the room, leaving the two of you alone together, before shaking his head.

”You’re too soft on him.” You didn’t look up from your phone as you added seven orders of bacon to the cart.

”I’m just going to give you a friendly reminder that he helped us out of the Void and bought us time to save him, and another reminder that he saved our lives at the vault too. We owe him the softness, and the stability.” Walker sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was trying to physically scratch the tension out of his spine.

”Still. The guy’s not made of glass. I think you forget that he beat the shit out of us in this very tower.” He shot back, which made you look up from your phone.

”That was the Sentry. You know that. And you only bring that up because you’re still butthurt that your shield hasn’t been fixed.” Walker grunted, caught somewhere between irritation and reluctant defeat. He shook his head again, slower this time, then dropped his spatula into the sink.

”Fine…You win.” He muttered.

”I always do,” You replied, looking back down at your phone to add three extra croissants to the order just in case someone got picky, going to check out.

”You gonna be in the training room later, thought we could spar together.” You paused for a second, glancing up at him for a moment, before processing your order and locking your phone, sliding it back into the hoodie pocket.

”No,” You said simply, turning the cap off your water, taking a quick sip, letting the coolness spread across your chest, “It’s my day off.” You added, which caught his attention immediately.

”Off? You don’t take days off.”

“I do today, we haven’t known each other long enough for you to see me take a day off anyways…So why is this such a surprise?”Walker furrowed his brow a bit.

”It’s just a bit weird, taking a random Tuesday off, what’s the occasion?” You met his eyes, almost annoyed by the line of questioning.

“It’s just for me, that’s all.”

——————-

After cleaning up everyone’s plates after breakfast, you collected your keys from the dish on the counter and slipped them into your pocket. No one questioned you. No one stopped you.

Bob had been in the middle of rinsing out the orange juice glasses, sleeves damp with his concentration fixed on the smallest marks, like he was trying not to think too hard. You gave him a soft pat on the back as you passed. He didn’t turn, but you felt the way he leaned into it, a silent acknowledgement.

You didn’t say goodbye. It wasn’t that kind of day.

Instead, you made your way down the corridor, past the glass-paneled lounge where Yelena and Ava were arguing over something that sounded like movie night logistics, and past the half-lit training room where the mats were still scuffed from the week before.

The elevator greeted you with a soft ding, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the main lobby, knowing you had to make a stop before travelling into the heart of the city. The doors slid shut in front of you, sealing off the noise of the compound, and the silence that followed settled in your chest. The elevator hummed quietly beneath your feet, the numbers ticking down slower than usual, like it knew what kind of day it was for you.

When the doors finally opened, the lobby was quiet. You stepped out quickly, turning on your heel to go down the hallway that was right beside the elevator. It was silent, cleaner than the rest of the compound, and dimmer–there was less foot traffic so that’s why it was normally lit like a mortuary. The air down this hall always felt heavier, because it was the lead up to something you visited frequently.

Your boots echoed against the polished tile, until the corridor opened into the memorial wing. A long, curved hall with framed photos and holographic projections lining both sides–names etched into the glass like ghosts.

The “Hall of the Fallen,” they called it. A name you hated to say out loud, because to you they were your people.

The entire wing had only come to be because you forced it into existence. During the final round of renovations, when Valentina wanted the east wing reserved for press briefings and high-tech sparring simulations, you had walked into her office, dropped a folder full of lawsuit drafts onto her desk, and told her plainly that if your father didn’t have a place in this building, neither would you. You knew you sounded out of line, but because the tower used to be his, you thought the leverage would be something to hold over her head.

“I will sue you into the sun,” You had said calmly, “And I’ll have Pepper on the line within the hour to back me.”

So she relented.

And now… Here it was.

Each section of the wall was backlit in soft amber light. Not cold and sterile, but warm–like candlelight. Like the kind of lighting your dad always insisted on in the Tower because he said it was more comforting and less lab-like.

Your eyes tracked instinctively toward the far right. You never had to look for it, because you knew exactly where he was, call it a daughterly instinct.

The large framed photograph of Tony Stark stood in front of you. No helmet, no Iron Man suit. Just him, in a slightly crooked tie and a hand resting on your shoulder. The image had been cropped, but you remembered where this was taken. He’d been giving a press conference and you snuck up beside him mid-speech. He had rolled his eyes and laughed, pulling you into the shot like it was nothing.

You slowly stepped forward, putting out your hand to reach for him, but before you could, you noticed someone already standing near the center of the hallway, facing a different frame.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Hands tucked deep in his jacket pockets, hair slicked back like he was going for a meeting…Bucky.

He didn’t turn at the sound of your steps. He didn’t have to. He knew you would be here. It was the anniversary of your fathers death after all.

He was standing in front of Steve’s photo–head slightly bowed, jaw clenched, like the weight of all the memories he had with him had curled itself around his spine and wouldn’t let go.

You approached him slowly, your boots muffled now by the soft carpet that lined the central arc of the memorial wing. Bucky hadn’t moved, his eyes were locked on the image of Steve–clean-cut, square-jawed, with his warm smile forever frozen in time. You stopped beside him to stand shoulder to shoulder.

For a few moments, neither of you said anything, you just stared at the photo, breathing deeply, in reflection of the moments you all got together. After a minute you cleared your throat, pushing the lump to the side so you could speak.

”You missed breakfast.” Bucky let out a slow breath through his nose.

”Didn’t really feel like having pancakes today.” You cracked a small smile.

”Wasn’t pancakes…Bob ruined Walker's last pan by burning them.” His lip twitched just a little.

“Sounds like I didn’t miss much then.” He said, the ghost of a smile flickering at the corners of his mouth before fading again. The silence between you returned, but it wasn’t empty–it was heavy. Full of everything neither of you had ever needed to say out loud.

Your eyes lingered on the picture of Steve for a moment, before shifting sideways to study Bucky instead. He looked older in this light. Not tired–just…Quieter. Softer around the edges in a way that only grief can carve into a man.

“How long have you been down here?” You asked.

”About thirty minutes, I had a meeting today actually so that’s also why I missed breakfast.” Bucky shifted his weight slightly, eyes still trained on the photo, “Didn’t think I’d end up staying this long, but you know…Memories make you lose track of time.” You nodded slowly, getting a bit closer to him, slipping your arm into his, feeling the coolness of his vibranium radiating through his jacket. He let out a slow, steady exhale, letting your hand rest there, and in that small gesture, you felt the quiet return of the role he’d carved out between the both of you–it was reluctant at first, but unshakable now.

”You know…” You murmured after a beat, “He would’ve been really proud of you.” Bucky didn’t speak right away, but you could see his jaw clench at your words, before nodding.

”Tony would’ve been proud of you too.” That made you scoff, but softly. You looked down at your boots, your fingers curling slightly around the curve of his arm.

”Definitely not,” You said with a dry laugh, “I don’t think he ever intended on me being on a team like this…Or carrying on his legacy at all, really. Especially not with how I started this…With Val and everything.” You added.

”We all do stupid things sometimes, but now you’re a part of something bigger than yourself. I’m telling you…He would’ve been very happy to see you in action.” You looked down at your feet, with a soft smile coming up on your face before nodding.

It hit you again–like it always did this time of year–that Bucky had become the closest thing you had left to family. Apart from Pepper and Morgan, he was the only one that truly stood by you. This year was different of course, especially with your new teammates, but it made you think back to how far the both of you truly came.

Because it never started that way. In fact, you didn’t think Bucky would’ve offered you the protection he did. He was quiet and watchful, always keeping people at arm’s length. But something changed at your father’s funeral.

He found you that day–after the speeches and the silence, after Pepper had walked Morgan inside of the house to make her some food and Rhodes offered his condolences. You were standing by the water, not crying, just looking out onto the way the sun was setting, wearing one of Tony’s old jackets because it still smelled like his aftershave.

You didn’t even hear Bucky approach until he was beside you, and when he spoke, it was the only thing that had cut through the fog in your brain that day.

“If you ever need anything…” He said, quietly, like it wasn’t a promise he had been planning to make, “Anything at all…I’m one phone call away. No questions asked.” You had looked up at him, surprised that he was even talking to you, especially after everything that had happened between him and your father, but all you did was give him a nod, and a thank you.

Then, four years later, when you found yourself stuck in the desert with Walker, Ava, and Yelena, after escaping the death trap that was the O.X.E. Vault, and witnessing Bob turn into a human asteroid, you had pulled out your phone and dialed his number.

You remembered the look on Walker’s face as you pulled out your phone and started dialing.

”Who the hell are you calling in the middle of the desert?” You looked up at him, shielding your phone away from him.

”My emergency contact…Someone who’s not going to let us die out here.” You muttered, putting the phone to your ear. It only had to ring once, before he picked it up.

”Y/N, hey, you think I can call you back in a few minutes.” He said, like he was in a rush, like he was packing.

”Bucky, I’m in trouble.” Walker’s face had immediately dropped, his mouth opening slightly. Yelena had seen the look, and she had whispered something to him, not understanding the visceral reaction.

“Bucky!?” Walker exclaimed, you looked over at him confused, pressing your finger to your lips–afraid that his voice would echo through the open space and gain some sort of attention possibly.

”…Y/N…Was that John Walker's voice that I just heard?” Your brows furrowed, still trying to piece together what the hell was happening.

“Y-Yeah. Listen, we don’t have time to go into details because I need to conserve my battery, but we are in a desert in Utah, and we’re lost. I need you to help me…Will you please help me?” He had already been packing his motorcycle to start making his way over after receiving a call from Mel with her coordinates, and immediately he started connecting the dots that you were somehow involved. Before the line of questioning even left his lips, he remembered what he told you at the funeral and reluctantly spoke.

”Okay. I’ll track your coordinates and be there as fast as I can, just…For the love of God stay safe.” You nodded.

”I will, I’ll see you soon…Thank you Bucky.” Then you hung up the phone.

”How the fuck do you know Bucky Barnes?!” Was the first question out of Walker's mouth.

Then all the details were out in the open for everyone to know; how you knew him, how you were Tony’s daughter, how you joined Val’s list of operatives because you felt like you wanted to do something and she offered it to keep you busy. You were surprised that your identity wasn’t known to the group, so it was a relief when they quietly gave a nod to you almost as if to say they were sorry for even asking. Then the unplanned limo pickup from Alexei had happened, which intruded on the plans a little bit and ended with you having to reset your own shoulder, but to be reunited with Bucky Barnes was a heaven sent.

“Been watching you on TV at those congress hearings, congratulations by the way.” He let out a soft laugh at that comment, adjusting your shoulder into the proper position.

”Yeah well…I guess a lot of unexpected things have happened over the past couple of years.” He said, still a bit concerned with the details on how you somehow got wrapped up in all of this. But once again, he said no questions asked and he stuck to it.

Now as you stood side by side today though, it was easy to say that he was like a father figure you never thought you would have again, and you were grateful for all of it, regardless of how it fell into place.

”…I sometimes wish he got to see me with you guys too…” You whispered, breaking the silence. Bucky glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

”I’m telling you, he would’ve liked it. Sometimes when I see you at briefings you have the same mannerisms he had, same attitude and stuff. I was never really around him but I heard stories from Steve. It’s like you’re a carbon copy of him in female form.” That drew a soft laugh out of you.

“While I do appreciate being compared to him, I can never be as good.” There was a pause, and he sighed.

”There’s no ‘good’ kid…You’re doing the best you can with the cards you’ve been dealt. And I’m proud of you, we all are, even though none of us really say it often enough.” Bucky’s words settled into your chest like something warm and grounding, something heavy in the best possible way. You blinked a few times, swallowing the knot in your throat before it could turn into something embarrassing, and that’s when an idea popped into your mind.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment longer, just breathing. Just being.

Then, slowly–almost uncertain–Bucky shifted, and his arm moved around your shoulders. He didn’t pull you in abruptly. He didn’t force the moment. It was gentle. Intentional. Like he was offering the hug, not giving it. It was something Bucky rarely did, but in a moment where comfort was needed he would push the discomfort off for you.

You leaned into it immediately.

Your arms came around his middle, anchoring yourself to the familiar weight of him. You didn’t close your eyes, but you let your cheek rest against his chest and took a breath. He smelled like leather and clean soap, and the faint trace of a piney cologne he always insisted he didn’t wear. You both stayed like that for a few beats–just enough to feel steady again.

“Thanks Buck,” You mumbled, your voice quiet.

“Anytime,” He replied, equally soft.

You pulled back, brushing your sleeve against your face subtly wiping a small tear that was forming in the corner of your eye as you stepped away.

“Alright…Enough with the sappiness…” You sighed, your tone turning a bit lighter now, “I’m heading into the city to do a bit of shopping therapy…” Bucky arched an eyebrow.

”Shopping therapy huh? Guess it’s better than drinking. And you’re going without your second shadow?” You looked at him confused.

”Who?” Bucky gave you a look, one of those deadpan, all-knowing stares.

”Bob,” He responded, “You think he’s not going to notice that you’re gone for the whole day?” A guilty grin tugged at the corner of your mouth. Everyone knew how close you were to him, but Bucky was the one person to know how deep it truly went, how much Bob actually knew about you, down to the little details, and the darkest parts.

”I slipped out while he was rinsing the glasses, I figure I’ll have about an hour of radio silence until someone calls to tell me he’s looking for me.” Bucky huffed a dry laugh through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

“I’ll shoot let him know of my whereabouts in a bit…Don’t worry.” You promised, stuffing your hands into your hoodie pocket. “Just wanted a little time to myself. Got an idea I need to run with, and I think it’ll help.”

He didn’t press for more. He never did. That was the good thing about Bucky–he could read you like a book, but he only turned the pages when you were ready.

“Well,” he said after a moment, adjusting the collar of his jacket, “Don’t get lost in any candle shops.”

“No promises.”

You turned to go, but paused halfway down the hall and glanced back. He was still standing there in front of Steve’s photo, hands back in his pockets, eyes distant. You softened.

“I’ll be back later tonight. Might be close to dinner, maybe after. But tell the others not to start movie night without me.”

Bucky nodded, glancing over his shoulder.

“They’ll wait,” He said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

You offered him a small smile–one of the rare, real ones–and gave a little wave as you turned and headed out.

The elevator doors closed behind you with a soft ding, and for the first time that day, you felt the flicker of excitement hum through your chest. You weren’t sure exactly what you were looking for yet–but you were going to find something for each of them. Something thoughtful. Something that said thank you for being here, for staying, for putting up with me.

Even if you’d never say it out loud.

———————

You had returned that night thirty minutes after dinner was wrapping up. Everyone was still mingling in the kitchen, the remnants of takeout cartons and half-eaten desserts scattered across the island, but when the elevator dinged, every head instinctively turned toward the hallway.

When the doors slid open and you stepped out–flanked by two interns struggling with your overflow of tissue-paper-filled bags–you didn’t even get a full step before you called out.

“Everyone stay in the kitchen! No peeking!” You warned, your voice commanding but playful. “I’m serious, if I catch one head in that hallway, I’m throwing dessert in the trash.”

That got a ripple of muffled laughter from the group.

“You act like we don’t eat dessert before dinner,” Yelena shouted back.

Despite your warning though, Bob didn’t get the memo.

You barely made it halfway to the living room, with the interns trailing behind you, when the sound of socked feet came pattering rapidly around the corner.

Bob appeared, cheeks flushed, his light brown hair a little mussed, his eyes wide and brimming with unfiltered concern. He wore a pair of black sweat pants and an oversized dark grey sweater that covered his broad frame, it made him look fragile and small–even though beneath his clothes it was far from the image he was trying to portray. You had caught glimpses of his body in little increments, sometimes by accident you would walk in as he was pulling on his shirt and you’d catch the lean muscles on his back flexing, once you saw his abs when he reached up to grab something, and once in a while you’d catch him with his sleeves rolled up, and you’d see the cool blue veins that rose from the planes of his forearms. Sometimes you wished you’d see more of him, but you were fine with what you had the privilege of seeing. He looked like he’d been waiting by the kitchen threshold all evening, just listening for the elevator.

“Hey—are you okay?” He asked, his voice already rushing. “I—I remembered what day it was, and I didn’t know if you wanted space or if you wanted company, but then you left without saying anything and I didn’t wanna crowd you but—”

“Bob!” You cut in quickly, spinning around to shield the bags with your body. “Close your eyes!” He startled like someone had set off a firecracker behind him.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He blurted, immediately slapping his hands over his face. “I didn’t see anything! I swear…I only saw you, not the-uh-the stuff-whatever the stuff is…”

You let out a long sigh, shaking your head as one of the interns behind you adjusted their grip on a delicate gift bag.

“Here,” You whispered to them, handing off what you were holding. “Take these into the living room...And thank you again for the help, oh and make sure the box is put in my room okay? First on the right.”

“No problem.” The intern nodded, already moving with the caution of someone who had been thoroughly briefed with the other intern trailing behind.

Once your hands were free, you turned back to Bob. He stood perfectly still with his palms mashed over his face like a kid in a surprise party gone wrong–lips pressed into a worried line, shoulders a little too rigid. You let out a soft sigh, stepping towards him–knowing you scared him a bit– and reached up for his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face slowly.

”You can open your eyes now…I didn’t mean to scare you…I just have a surprise for everyone. Sorry…” You said gently, watching as his lashes fluttered open, his eyes instantly meeting yours, with that all too familiar look–soft and worried and wired, like he had been on the edge of his seat waiting for your return.

”I-It’s okay…I was just…I was w-worried about y-you. I remembered what today was after Walker mentioned to me that you took the day off…And I felt like such an idiot f-for not che-.” Bob’s words halted immediately when your fingers touched his lips–just two of them, soft but still–to quietly tell him to stop talking. His breath caught in his throat, and you could feel the way his shoulders tensed under your touch, frozen like a deer in headlights. His eyes went wide, and then slowly his cheeks flushed a deep, unmistakable red, blooming from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears.

It was the kind of color that told you everything without a word.

You didn’t tease him for it. You didn’t move your hand right away either.

You just held his gaze, steady and gentle, letting the silence do the heavy lifting.

“I’m okay,” You whispered, your voice barely audible above the distant murmur of the others in the kitchen. “Really.”

His brows drew together just slightly, like he didn’t believe you entirely, like he was still cataloguing every detail of your expression for proof. But your hand stayed right there between you, steadying the weight that always seemed to pile up in his chest when he couldn’t fix things, or make you feel better.

You felt him breathe in–and that tiny shift, that barely-there exhale through his nose, was the signal that he heard you. That he believed you…Even if just for now.

You slowly dropped your hand, the warmth of your fingers leaving his skin with the ghost of your touch. He blinked, like coming out of a daze, and looked like he didn’t quite know what to do.

“Okay,” He said quietly. He was still flushed, avoiding your eyes, knowing that he just had to take your word for it, even though he knew how much this day was a dark reminder of what you were most ashamed of.

He only knew this because he had seen it.

In the O.X.E vault, after you, Walker, Ava, Yelena, and Bob had barely escaped the incinerator, you had all collapsed into a breathless heap in one of the elevator areas., sweaty, and rattling with adrenaline. No one celebrated. It was too soon for that. Tension still clung to the air like smoke, and the five of you were still strangers.

You had sat against a wall, jaw clenched, blinking through the pain that was radiating from your ribs. The quietness was deafening.

Yelena hadn’t moved much. She sat cross-legged on the far end of the room, her elbows on her knees, and her sharp eyes trained on Bob–who was pacing a few feet away, muttering under his breath. His hands trembled slightly, and his voice barely registered above a whisper, like he was listing something he didn’t want to forget. You couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but just watching him pace in that mint green scrub set, made you tense up, there was just a feeling in those moments that something was wrong.

That’s when you noticed Yelena’s expression. Not skeptical. Not calculating. Just…off.

You pushed yourself to your feet, wincing as your ribs protested, and made your way toward her. She didn’t look up until you crouched beside her.

“What’s going on?” You asked, voice low, “You hurt or something?” Her eyes didn’t leave Bob, when she shook her head at your question.

“I need you to touch him.” She whispered under her breath.

“Touch who?” You asked, shifting on your feet a bit, confused at what she was saying to you.

“Bob.” Her voice was even, but her brows furrowed. “I saw something…But I need to know if I’m just going crazy or if it was real.” You could feel yourself grow more and more concerned just by how shaken up she looked.

”Yelena…What did you see?” She shook her head at you.

”Can you just go do it? Please.” You stared at her for a second longer, then nodded. You didn’t understand it, but something in her voice had pulled up, like she was scared of something. You stood up and dusted your palms off, turning around to approach Bob, who was still pacing back and forth, taking four steps before turning and doing the same towards the other side, whispering to himself still.

Walker and Ava were still talking, strategizing how you were all going to get out, and neither of them noticed when you moved past them. Bob didn’t hear you coming either, he was too wrapped up in his own storm to even see your slow approach.

”Hey,” You said gently. He startled almost immediately, his eyes snapping to you like you had dropped him in a pot of ice cold water, “Do you mind coming with me for a second?”

“I-I’m f-fine.” He replied quickly, a reflexive panic in his voice, like he had done something bad, and he was afraid of being punished. You gave him a soft smile though, almost like you knew you needed to make yourself a little less aggressive, especially after he had seen you go head to head with Walker over something so minor you couldn’t even remember..

”I know, I just want to check something, okay?” He looked down at you with such hesitation that you honestly thought he was going to say no, but even back then he had a distinct soft spot reserved for you. His eyes were an odd shade of blue that day, and you had seen distinct little flecks of what seemed to be an off yellow peering through. Back then you chalked it up to being the lighting.

”…Okay.” He whispered. You gave him a little smile, and took hold of the sleeve of his scrub top, leading him towards the side of one of the concrete pillars, just far enough to shield you both from the rest of the group. The tension in Bob’s shoulders hadn’t eased. If anything, being pulled away from the others made him more rigid, as if you were going to reprimand him.

“You hurt anywhere?” You asked, nodding toward his chest, his ribs, his shoulders.

“No…No…I mean, not really j-just some scratches and stuff b-but I’m okay, r-really.” You squinted at him, and you could see the way his breath hitched in his throat a little, like he was nervous or trying to hide something. Your eyes scanned over his dust covered face, watching him shift uncomfortably, as if being under your gaze felt like he was being smothered.

“Mind if I check?” He looked like he wanted to say no, like he wanted to tell you he was fine again so he could go back to his pacing, but instead, after a beat of hesitation, lifted his arm up slowly to you, with his palm up.

You reached forward slowly, and grabbed his hand.

Then everything slipped.

The world around you–the gritty concrete, the stale air, the faint hum of the vault’s broken systems–all vanished in an instant, replaced by heat, light, and the faint crackle of fire.

Your body didn’t move, but your heart slammed like it was being punched. You knew this place. The ruined battlefield. The shattered husk of the Avengers compound after the snap had been reversed. Twilight bleeding across rubble. Smoke curling in the air. The air was so thick it clung to your skin like regret.

You saw them–Peter, Pepper, Rhodey. All of them gathered around the figure on the ground.

And there he was.

Your father.

Collapsed. Barely breathing. The right side of his face blistered from the energy surge of the Infinity Stones. His arc reactor flickering like the dying heartbeat it had become. His mouth was slack, his breathing shallow.

He was dying.

And you were nowhere near him.

But you had been. You remembered it clearly now, clearer than ever–how you had stepped forward when they pulled him from the wreckage. How you’d seen him, gasping for air. How you’d started walking toward him and then–froze. Stopped in your tracks.

You had walked away.

The grief you’d locked down in the deepest corners of yourself–boxed and buried for years–rushed back to the surface with the brutal weight of tidal force. Your knees hit the ground in the memory, even though your body in the vault hadn’t moved.

Your chest heaved.

Because this wasn’t a memory.

This was your shame.

The moment you’d never told anyone about. The moment even Pepper didn’t know. The moment you abandoned him because you couldn’t watch the man who raised you die.

And now Bob—Bob, who you barely knew at the time—was seeing it too. Sucked into the deepest darkest secret you had. You tried to pull away, but the memory gripped you like a vice.

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut.

Peter was crying.

Pepper leaned in and whispered something too quiet to hear.

And you–you were nowhere near him. You had your hands over your mouth, hiding behind a crumbled slab of wall, like a coward. Crying silently, too ashamed to show your face.

The memory ended like a door slamming shut.

The vault came crashing back into view. Cold. Harsh. Fluorescent.

And you stumbled backward, your hand jerking away from Bob’s as if it had burned you. Your back hit the pillar, hard, and you bent over, one hand gripping your ribs like they were splitting open. You were breathing heavily, but holding back the tears, because you needed to remain strong, you had to or else you weren’t going to get out of the vault alive.

Bob didn’t say anything at first.

He just stood there, his hand still half-raised like he hadn’t realized you’d let go. His chest rose and fell unevenly, not with fear, but with something more fragile—remorse, maybe. Guilt. A kind of stunned softness that only existed in people who had never been given permission to hold something that delicate, and now had to live with the knowledge that they did.

He didn’t look at you right away. He was staring at the spot where your hand had touched his, like it still lingered there.

“I-I’m sorry…” He whispered, which caused your head to snap up at him. You had been expecting confusion. Denial. Questions, maybe. But not an apology.

“I-I don’t know how to c-control it. I didn’t mean to do it.” He said under his breath, kind of like he was muttering it to himself. The strangest thing about it all though was that you didn’t feel angry. You should have. You should’ve been furious that he’d been pulled into something so private. But there was something in the way he looked at you now–like he understood you in a way–that made your breath catch.

“Just…Don’t tell anybody about this.” You said hoarsely, wiping your nose on the back of your sleeve, as you pushed yourself up off the pillar to recover.

”I-I won’t,” He said immediately, “I’d n-never do t-that, I-I promise.” He added, and you believed him.

Even though the moment passed, even though Walker barked something from across the room and Ava told everyone to regroup, even though Bob turned to leave first to give you space–you knew in your gut that it had shifted something.

And now, standing in the present day, in the quiet hallway outside the kitchen, you realized that he really did keep that promise he made all those months ago…But that just spoke to who Bob was, and who he had always been.

——————

The lights in the compound’s living room had been dimmed for movie night, the projector humming softly behind the couch as the team shuffled in with snacks in hand.

You stood in the middle of the chaotic scene of bags and boxes, arms crossed, eyeing them as they made their way over to their designated spots that they typically claimed during movie nights. Yelena kicked her feet up onto the coffee table like it was her birthright. Walker was already grumbling at Ava for stealing the corner seat he liked to stretch out in. Alexei lumbered over with a bowl of popcorn that definitely wasn’t for sharing, and Bucky, as always, took the spot by the far armrest, the one with the clearest view of the exit. Bob lingered near the back of the couch, waiting–always waiting–until he was sure everyone else was settled before choosing a spot closest to you.

You cleared your throat, but it barely registered above the chatter that was happening around you.

”Hey!” You exclaimed, and that’s when heads turned. Walker paused mid-bite. Yelena glanced over her shoulder. Bob straightened immediately like someone had called his full name in school. Even Bucky looked up, one brow arching in curiosity. The projector hadn’t started yet, but the anticipation for the movie had everyone on autopilot. Until now.

“I, uh…” You started, then immediately hated the sound of your own voice. Awkwardly, you cleared your throat, and tried again, “Before we start the movie, I need to say something.” They sat in anticipation, thinking that you were going to announce something either tragic, or shockingly happy. Your hands fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve as you took a breath, the hush in the room now bordering on tense.

“Today’s always been a shitty day for me,” you said simply, and the honesty of it settled over them like dust. “Most of you probably figured that out. Some of you knew… or saw more than you were supposed to.” Your eyes flicked briefly toward Bob, and then back.

“But this year felt different. I didn’t want to sit with it by myself. I didn’t want to spend the day pretending it wasn’t happening just to make it easier to breathe.”

You exhaled.

“And I didn’t want to feel alone. So instead… I went shopping.”

There were a few scattered smiles at that. Ava smirked. Yelena tilted her head. Alexei made a noise that sounded like a chuckle and a snore at once.

“I got you all something. Nothing huge. Just things that made me think of you. Things I thought might make you smile. Because whether you like it or not, you’re my team now. You’re my people–my family. And I wanted to say thank you. For being here. For staying.”

You paused, blinking away the weight behind your eyes.

“For putting up with me.”

There was silence. But the kind that meant something. The kind you didn’t want to break too fast.

Then, you turned to the bags behind you and grabbed the first one.

“Ava,” you said, walking it over. “Noise-cancelling headphones and a pass to a rage room. Because, let’s be honest, we annoy the shit out of you.”

Ava cracked a genuine smile. “They better let me bring my own bat.”

“No promises.”

Next: “Yelena.” You passed her a smaller black box. “New utility belt. And some custom knives and batons I had made. Not saying you need them. But I also didn’t want to find out what would happen if you didn’t have them.”

Yelena grinned, flipping the latch open immediately. “You do love me.”

“Very much.” You replied with a smile.

“Walker,” You said, tossing him a medium-sized box that thunked heavily into his lap. “New pans, and a mini travel sized grill.”

“Thank God,” He muttered, already tearing the paper. “And they’re even better quality than the last ones.”

“Alexei.” You handed off two heavy bottles wrapped in tissue paper. “Vodka. The expensive kind.”

“Oh…Oh this is not going to survive night,” He replied, already cracking the top open.

“I figured.”

Then, you looked at Bucky.

“For you,” You said more quietly, stepping over and handing him a neatly wrapped parcel, “A metal polishing and cleaning kit, so you can stop using the dishwasher on your arm. And I got you an appointment for a bike detailing. Full job. New coat of black, too.”

He blinked slowly, surprised. “You remembered that?”

“You yelled about it for thirty minutes. I’d have to be concussed not to remember.”

He smiled. It was the small kind, but it stayed on his face longer than you expected.

You turned to Bob last, and something in your chest fluttered a little harder than you were ready for.

He was sitting upright, hands folded in his lap, trying not to look too eager, but his eyes flicked up to yours like he was bracing for impact. You walked over slowly, cradling the last item with more care than the others, and stopped just in front of him.

“This one’s for you,” You said gently, and handed him the book.

It wasn’t wrapped. No fancy paper, no ribbon–just a hardcover in a matte finish, with The Creative Act by Rick Rubin printed across the front in clean black letters.

Bob’s eyes flicked down to it. His hands moved slowly, reverent almost, as he turned the book over, like he wanted to feel the weight of it first before opening it. He ran his thumb along the edge before he finally slipped the front cover open–and there it was, tucked just inside the front page.

A handwritten note on a small square of folded paper that you had taken from Bob’s desk when you snuck in just before the movie.

Written in your slanted, slightly chaotic handwriting.

’The real gift is in your bedroom.’ Just the words alone affected him immediately.

His ears flushed red at first, before blooming down to his cheeks, and over his neck like a fire that couldn’t be put out. His eyes darted up to you, then back to the page, like he was checking to make sure if he’d read it right.

Then, with a bit too much urgency, he shut the book. Yelena was already leaning over from her seat to look at him.

”What’d you get?” She asked, her voice laced with amusement, seeing the deep blush that continued to burn on his cheeks.

”Yeah, let’s see,” Walker added, craning his neck, “It didn’t even have wrapping. What is it?” Bob shook his head quickly, holding the book close to his chest like it might be pried from him if he held it out too far from him.

”It’s…It’s j-just a book.” Everyone exchanged glances at one another, then looked over at you, then Bob.

”You’re turning that red over a book?” Ava raised an eyebrow. You watched as Bob sank slightly into himself, clutching the book like it was something far more scandalous than a hardcover on creative philosophy.

“You didn’t even open it all the way, you just opened the cover.” Yelena added.

”I-I don’t have to,” He stammered, adjusting the book in his arms, “It’s o-one Y/N and I saw at the b-bookstore a while ago that’s all.” Now all eyes turned to you. You gave a small, innocent smile.

“It really is just a book guys,” You said simply, meeting their suspicious looks with a calm ease, “Like Bob said…We saw it at the bookstore a while ago and he didn’t buy it. So I just got it for him now. No big deal.” Then you went to the couch to take up your space, looking back at Bob who was already coming to sit in the space that was available beside you. “Now…We can commence movie night.” You added, feeling Bob adjust beside you slightly, bumping his knee against yours almost like he was giving you a nudge, before settling in completely.

——————-

Eventually, everyone fell asleep in their spots apart from you and Bob.

The projector had long since gone dark, the soft white glow replaced by the quiet hush of breath and shifting limbs. The living room had become a patchwork of tangled limbs, half-eaten snacks, and drooping blankets. You and Bob sat in the warm silence at the edge of it all, knees still brushing where they’d been for the past hour.

He hadn’t opened the book again–not since that first flustered glance. But his fingers never stopped grazing the edges of the cover. He was still holding onto it carefully, like it might slip through his hands if he blinked too fast. You leaned toward him slightly, just enough so that your shoulder nudged him to get his attention.

”Hey,” You whispered. He glanced over at you, like he’s been waiting for you to say something because he was too scared to do it himself, “Wanna see your real gift now?” You asked, a small smile appearing on your lips. Bob could feel his heart pumping out of his chest as he began to overheat like a furnace.

“Y-Yeah…I mean…Y-yeah if you’re ready to s-show me.” You rose slowly, careful not to kick over a stray popcorn bowl or stir anyone from their half-snoring sprawl. Your eyes flicked briefly over the room to make sure no one was stirring—Yelena had curled into a blanket cocoon, Walker was snoring like a truck engine, and Alexei’s head had slumped against the back of the couch, drool threatening the upholstery. Bucky’s eyes were shut, but you could tell by the slight twitch in his jaw he was only pretending to sleep, which was typical for him. Turning back to Bob, you extended your hand toward him, palm open, wrist loose.

“Come on,” You whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Just make sure to be quiet cause if they wake up we’ll never hear the end of it.” He nodded–one firm, terrified little nod–and slid his fingers into yours. His hand was warm and clammy, but you didn’t mind the feeling. Quite honestly, you wished he did this more often, because it gave you this ease, the kind that only he truly provided. You squeezed his hand gently before tugging him up onto his feet, and he followed like you’d cast a spell over him.

You led him carefully through the living room, toes skimming across the floor like a cat, weaving between bodies and blankets until you reached the edge of the wing that led to your rooms.

The hallway was dim and quiet, the only light coming from the soft golden hue of the floor runners and the faint spill of moonlight through the high windows. You padded down the hardwood floor hand in hand, every step muffled, every breath shared. Bob stayed impossibly close to you, so close in fact that you could practically feel his breath on your neck, as if putting too much space between the both of you might make the whole moment disappear.

When you reached his door, you stopped just short of the frame and turned to him with a look that was half excitement, half warning.

“Okay, you’re gonna have to cover your eyes.” You whispered, looking up at him with one of the soft smiles you always gave him when you needed him to do something for you.

“W-What? Why?” He asked quietly under his breath, still holding onto your hand, only it was a little tighter now, probably from the nerves that were clawing away in the pit of his stomach.

“Just trust me…You won’t regret it.” Bob let out a quiet, breathy laugh–more like a whimper, really–and gave you the softest, most defeated sigh, like his heart had already left his chest and he was just trying to keep his limbs from shaking.

“A-Alright…” He whispered, leaning just a little closer to you, close enough that you could feel his breath hitting your cheeks, “Just…Just don’t let m-me trip or walk into something…Please.” You gave his hand another reassuring squeeze.

“Hasn’t happened before, and I’m not planning on letting that happen now.” You teased, before softly adding “Now…Close your eyes.” Bob obeyed, raising his free hand over his face with careful fingers, blocking his vision as if you were leading him into a sacred place rather than his own bedroom. You nudged the door open with your foot and gave his hand a gentle tug, leading him across the threshold.

You didn’t need to turn on a light.

His room always felt a little like stepping into a different plane of calm. The kind of space that knew quiet in its bones. Moonlight fell in soft silver lines across the floor through his half-open blinds, slicing the darkness into gentle pieces. The windows of his room were quite large, which was the reason why everyone assigned it to him, because if he ever had an episode and didn’t want to come out of his room, he would at least get some sunlight.

His bed was unmade, but it was clean, it always was–Bob didn’t like messes too much, and the comforter was crumpled in a way that suggested he hadn’t been able to stay still for more than a minute. His nightstand had a glass of water and a half-melted candle that still smelled faintly like lavender, which was something that he had learned calmed him through you. There were books stacked under the window. T-shirts folded too neatly on the open shelves. A jacket draped on the chair in the corner.

His room was basically a manifestation of things he picked up from you and bits and pieces of himself that he couldn’t shake. It was a perfect balance, especially when he was too scared to go to your room when you were out on missions–when he was missing you terribly.

And then–right there in the center of the room, illuminated perfectly by the soft glow spilling through the curtains–was the record player.

Matte black, sleek, minimalist. Quiet in its confidence. It sat on a low wooden console table that you had bought pre-assembled. Beside it, propped open just slightly, was a padded carrying case–and inside there were three of your records that he had constantly put on whenever he would end up in your room: Loveless by My Bloody Valentine, Last Splash by The Breeders, and Elton John’s Self Titled.

On nights like these–when you had nothing to do–Bob would come and listen to a record with you while lying on your bed. The both of you would stare at the ceiling and talk, usually it was about anything and nothing at all, that’s just how it had always been. Sometimes you guys would touch, hold hands just as a source of comfort, but it never went further than that, because neither of you wanted to possibly put the friendship in jeopardy.

Tonight would be one of those nights that you would be able to lie with him thankfully.

You looked up at Bob who was still shielding his eyes even though he was clearly trembling with anticipation. You gave the hand that was intertwined with yours one last squeeze and leaned close enough that your arms brushed.

”Alright,” You whispered, “You can open them now.” Bob’s hand dropped from his eyes like he was lifting the lid on something sacred.

And the second his gaze landed on the record player, his entire face changed.

His shoulders softened, his chest lifted like he’d just taken the first real breath in hours–and then came the smile. Wide, radiant, boyish. One that reached all the way up to his eyes and cracked something open in you.

He stepped forward slowly, like he was approaching something precious. His fingers hovered above the turntable for a moment before he crouched down in front of it, knees tucked in, head tilted with something like awe. The soft light haloed around him, catching on the strands of his hair and the curve of his jaw. You saw his lips part slightly, saw the way he swallowed thickly.

Then his sleeve came up–quick and almost sheepish–and he dabbed at the corners of his eyes with the back of his wrist. He thought you wouldn’t notice if he did it quickly but you knew his tells, and you knew when something was wrong with him. When he let out a small sniffle, you were at his side in an instant.

“Bob?” You whispered, dropping to your knees beside him, voice soft, uncertain. “Hey…What’s wrong?”

He didn’t look at you at first. Just shook his head quickly, eyes still fixed on the player.

“Nothing–Nothing’s wrong,” He said quickly, but his voice cracked halfway through. “I’m just–God–this is…It’s too much.”He whispered to himself, pressing a trembling hand to his eyes again to wipe off another set of tears.

Your brows knit together, and you lifted a hand instinctively, hovering just above his shoulder but not quite touching.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, I just–”

“I love it,” He interrupted gently, finally turning to face you. His eyes were wet, his cheeks flushed, and there was that dazed smile again, wide and aching. “I love it so much.”

You let out a soft, quiet exhale, the kind you didn’t even know you were holding, relieved that you didn’t do anything wrong.

And then–without warning–he leaned into you.

Not cautiously. Not halfway.

Fully.

Bob wrapped his arms around you with all the care and all the weight of someone who had wanted to do it for a very long time. One arm slid around your lower back while the other curled protectively around your shoulders, tucking you against him like you were the only thing he could hold onto. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and you felt his breath hitch against your neck.

You froze for just a second–stunned by the sheer intensity of it–before you melted into him. Your arms wound around his back, your hands gripping at the soft fabric of his sweater. You closed your eyes and held him, not just because you were trying to comfort him, but also because you needed it just as much as he did.

Bob breathed in deeply, inhaling your warmth, and your sweet scent–a mixture of iris and clementines. He said you smelled like summer to him once, and he stuck by that even to this day, because it was intoxicating to him, and it was you…That’s what he liked most.

Your hand drifted up slowly to the back of his neck, letting your fingers brush through his hair with a tenderness so natural it almost startled you. He didn’t flinch, or shy away, instead you felt him melt into you just a little more, like your touch was untying the knots that were within him.

“I-I’m sorry,” He murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder, “I-I didn’t mean to cry…No one’s ever gotten me something t-this nice before.” You let out a soft huff against him, pulling back just enough so you could look at him, your fingers curling gently so you were cradling the back of his head.

”Bob…” You whispered, then smiled with a soft ache, “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m glad it means something to you…” He looked up at you with wide, glassy blue eyes, still watering slightly at the corners.

”It really…It really does…It-It means everything to me Y/N…” He replied.

A silence settled between the both of you in that moment, not awkward but charged–thick with feelings that were just cresting on the horizon. You brought your other hand up to his face, letting your thumb brush along the curve of his jaw before you dropped it to rest over his chest, right where you could feel his heartbeat drumming just under the fabric of his sweater. When you pressed a little harder you could feel the muscle flex against your touch,–a reflex from Bob.

“So…Uh…Does this mean I c-can’t come to your r-room anymore to listen to vinyls?” You raised an eyebrow at that comment, leaning in just a little so your noses were almost touching, as you allowed the edge of your voice to dip playfully.

”Actually…It’s an excuse for me to come in here once in a while.” He was taken aback by your comment, but it had hit him like a lightning bolt.

His mouth parted slightly, eyes locking with yours as if you just upended gravity. You could see when it fully clicked for him–what it meant, what you wanted it to mean. The warmth in his face scattered deeper now, but this time, he didn’t look away.

”W-Well then…I-I think you should use that e-excuse…A-All the time then.” You tilted your head a bit, a smirk coming up on your lips, realizing what he was giving back now.

”All the time hm?” He nodded, keeping his eyes glued to yours, his pupils dilating slightly to adjust more to the darkness, and to take more of you in.

”A-As much as you want Y/N...Every n-night even i-if you want.” Your heart fluttered–too loud, too strong–but you didn’t let it show except for the little smile that cracked wide across your face. You slid your hand up to the collar of his sweater, your thumb running along the thin skin on his neck.

“Well,” You said, leaning in, “Why don’t we start now then…” Bob didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because the second those words left your lips–why don’t we start now then–the air between you changed. Like it folded in on itself. Like the gravity in the room evaporated completely and every ounce of tension that had lived in stolen glances and almost-touches finally snapped tight, pulling the two of you together like you’d never really meant to be apart in the first place.

Your lips found his.

Soft. Certain. Slow at first–just a press. Just a whisper of something that had been waiting so long to be real. Bob shuddered under you, like every nerve in his body had lit up at once. His hands came up instinctively, almost blindly—one settling on your waist, the other cradling the curve of your back like he was afraid you’d vanish.

But you didn’t.

You kissed him again.

And again.

Breathing into each other between the spaces. Your mouths never fully parted–they just shifted, adjusted, and learned. His lips moved with yours like he was starved for the taste, like he had imagined it so many times but never dared to believe he’d ever actually feel it. You felt his breath catch in the back of his throat, felt the way he tensed, and then eased, melting into it like he finally believed it was happening.

When you moved closer to him Bob let out the softest gasp into your mouth, it was barely a sound, but it still hit you like an electric current. You deepened the kiss, tilting your head as your hands slid higher into his hair. You gripped at the soft strands and gave them a gentle tug, just enough to guide his head back just a little–earning a low, breathless sound, stealing it straight out of his chest.

With trembling strength, Bob shifted, pulling you with him slowly until you were in his lap, your knees sliding on either side of his thighs, straddling him. His hands gripped at your hips, thumbs pressing into the fabric of your shirt like you were something holy to him. When your weight settled over him completely it made Bob feel like the world had gone totally quiet–like he could live in this moment and never need anything else for survival.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his as your fingers brushed his flushed cheeks. Bob’s lips were still parted, his breath coming in soft, stuttered exhales that fanned across your mouth. His hands had stilled on your hips, still holding you like he was scared to grip too tightly, like if he held too hard you might vanish again.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, voice low and weighted with something deeper than just desire. Bob nodded immediately, so fast it was almost a flinch.

“Y-Yeah,” He breathed, “Y-Yeah, anything you want–just–God, I want you to take whatever y-you want.”

You smiled, touching your nose to his briefly, before leaning back enough to sit upright on his lap. Bob’s hands stayed where they were, unmoving, as if he was afraid to go any further unless you guided him. And you would. Because this was yours to take if you wanted it–and he had already given it so freely.

Your hands slipped to the hem of your shirt, and you pulled it over your head in one smooth motion. The fabric whispered over your skin as it came off, and you dropped it onto the floor beside you without looking away from him.

Bob’s breath hitched.

You were wearing a thin, slate-colored bra–and barely anything between your body and the chill in the air. The moonlight caught on the curve of your breasts and the subtle rise and fall of your breathing, but it also revealed more than just your skin.

Faint, jagged lines kissed across your ribs and shoulders. Scars from old missions, burns, nicks, remnants of the life you’d led before this–before the Thunderbolts. Each one a story you rarely told. Some puckered. Some silver. A few newer, still healing. They caught the light and glimmered in ways they never had before–because now, someone was really looking at them. You saw Bob’s eyes flicker down over them like he was cataloging each one with the kind of care and thoughtfulness that made your throat tighten.

And then there was the necklace.

Stark tech. Thin chain. Sleek design. The pendant was small, flat, shaped like a coin and glowing faintly from within–pulse blue, soft as breath. It had been a gift from Tony. A prototype for a fail-safe, disguised as a keepsake. Only a few people in the compound even knew it wasn’t just jewelry. You never explained it, never offered context. But you didn’t move to hide it now

His eyes lifted again–tentative, trembling–and met yours. You saw the way he swallowed hard, saw the way he tried to stop himself from looking lower, like he didn’t want to disrespect the moment. But his gaze dropped again anyway, helpless against the gravity of you. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He looked stunned.

“I know,” You murmured, softer this time, like you were trying to soothe the bashful panic behind his wide-eyed stare. “It’s a lot.”

“No–n-no, it’s not–” Bob’s voice cracked as he tried to sit up straighter, his hands tightening a little on your hips. “You’re–God, you’re beautiful, and it’s e-everything I imagined.” You tilted your head to the side, a teasing glint blooming behind your eyes as you traced your fingers slowly up his arms.

”You’ve imagined this?” You asked, voice light but thick with hea, watching Bob’s entire face turn a deeper shade of red in the moonlight, like he was caught committing a crime. His lips parted as he scrambled for a respectful response, but you didn’t give him a chance. You leaned in, lips hovering just above his, your breath slipping into his mouth as you whispered, “What else have you imagined?” Bob exhaled shakily, the sound brushing your mouth. His hands flexed unconsciously on your hips as though trying to ground himself–like if he didn’t hold onto you, he might drift right out of the moment.

“I’ve…” He whispered, his voice barely audible over the heavy breathing the both of you were doing, “T-Thought about touching you…Like t-this.” He began to kiss the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, leaving a trail of heat and wetness from his lips all the way down to your neck, before he opened his mouth against you, right below your ear, placing a lingering kiss that made you push your chest against his with the heat that curled around you.

“I’ve t-though about what your s-skin would feel against m-mine,” He murmured, trembling as his lips traced the column of your throat, “And how you would sound i-if I kissed you h-here…” He added, placing a kiss against your pulse point, listening to the small sigh that escaped your mouth.

His breath was shaky against your neck as his lips lingered at the little patch of skin that thumped against his touch, his nose brushing against the soft dip of your throat while his hands remained firmly planted on your hips–too still, too solid, like he didn’t trust himself to move without falling apart.

But then, as if pulled by some gravitational force he could no longer fight, one of his hands slid upward. Slowly. Tentatively. Fingertips brushing over the hem of your bra, skimming your ribs, following the curve of your waist until they reached the delicate strap resting on your shoulder. His knuckles trembled, but his touch was impossibly gentle, as if even the fabric you wore deserved to be worshipped.

He kissed your jaw again–open-mouthed, soft–and then you felt the light tug at your shoulder as he slipped the strap down. The fabric eased across your skin with a quiet drag, and you shivered beneath it, watching the way his eyes followed the path like it was sacred scripture.

His lips returned to your skin, grazing over the hollow of your collarbone before whispering into it–so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

”C-Can I look?” You nodded.

”Yes…Of course.” You whispered. His hand twitched where it rested at the curve of your spine, and then, with a sort of hesitance that nearly broke you, he slid his hand up to the clasp of your bra, his fingertips brushing clumsily along them, missing the latch twice. You couldn’t help but smile at the fumbling, as he let out a breathy, nervous laugh against your skin, while his forehead dropped to your shoulder in a sheepish show of surrender.

”I-I swear I’m trying,” He murmured, the corners of his lips curling up. You laughed with him, soft and unhurried, before pressing a kiss to his temple.

“I’ve got it,” You said, reaching one arm behind yourself with practiced ease. The clasp gave one tiny click and you slid the loose straps down your arms, letting it join your t-shirt that was beside you. When you straightened back up, bare now in the soft glow of the moonlight, Bob didn’t move at first, he just stared.

Not in a greedy way, not in the way you were used to being looked at, it was with such desire and want it made your stomach turn. Like he was trying to memorize the details of your body so when he closed his eyes he’d be able to picture it.

His hands slid up slowly from your waist, palms wide, cautious, and trembling just slightly as they moved to trace along your ribs. His thumbs brushed upward–barely skimming the outer swell of your breasts–before he let out a long, shaky breath and leaned in. His lips pressed to the curve of your breast, just above your heart, and you felt the sigh leave him as he held you like you were something holy.

You curled your fingers into his hair, watching him.

“Bob…” You whispered, but it was barely a sound.

He lifted his head just long enough to meet your gaze. His cheeks were flushed, his lips already kiss-bitten and pink.

“I-I’ve imagined this so many times,” He said softly, almost apologetically. “But it never felt like this. I-It never felt this real.”

And then his mouth returned to your skin–this time lower.

He kissed across the top of your breast, then the underside, open-mouthed, so gentle you almost whimpered. His tongue barely grazed, only enough to tease, to taste. You felt the warmth of him, the way he held one breast up in his hand with delicate fingers while he mouthed softly at the other. You gasped when his lips closed over your nipple, sucking gently, and your back arched toward him without meaning to.

You slid your hands beneath the hem of his sweater, then under his shirt, fingers meeting hot, bare skin. He jumped slightly at the sudden contact, pulling back from your chest just enough to pant softly against it.

“C-Cold hands,” He whispered breathlessly, grinning faintly against your skin even though his whole body was burning with heat. “Or maybe I’m j-just really warm…” You laughed again, low and soft.

“You are, I think I can even feel your blood boiling.” You joked, keeping your hands under his shirt, palms smoothing across his back and up over the planes of his stomach and chest. You could feel how solid he was beneath you–not just strong, but sensitive, pliant, like he wanted to give all of himself over to your hands, your mouth, your gaze.

And he did.

Bob went back to your breasts, now kissing them between worshipful sighs and breathless, choked words.

“You’re so…So soft,” He murmured against your skin, his lips brushing your sternum. “So warm… I didn’t know it could feel like this. I-I didn’t know it could feel this good just…Just to be close to you...”

You felt a swell of something tender and aching crash into your chest.

You cupped his jaw, tilting his face up so he’d look at you. And he did with red-cheeks, wide-eyes, and lips that were still shining faintly from the saliva that coated them. And then you leaned in again and kissed him—deeper this time. Slower. You pushed your tongue into his mouth, tasting him, letting him taste you.

His arms wrapped tighter around your waist again and this time, he moved.

“C-Can I…” He panted into the kiss, “Can I bring you to t-the bed?”You nodded against his lips.

“Yes, Bob. Please.” He stood slowly, hands steadying you as he rose, and then–without any real effort at all–he lifted you into his arms. You clutched at his shirt as your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, a soft gasp leaving your lips.

”Jesus, sometimes I forget you’re a superhuman basically…” He laughed–nervous but proud that he surprised you with his strength.

”I d-don’t really show it off, so I don’t b-blame you for forgetting.” He murmured, as his skin continued to heat up against you. He walked the two of you the short distance to the unmade bed and lowered you gently onto the cold sheets.

But instead of climbing on top of you, he slid in beside you, curling close–not out of hesitation, but intimacy.

You turned onto your side, your body instinctively seeking him, and hooked one leg over his hip, bringing your thigh around him and pulling him in. The moment he was close enough, you kissed him again–your hands sliding up into his hair, fingers threading through the soft brown strands at the back of his head.

Immediately, he melted into the kiss, groaning softly into your mouth–barely audible, but it vibrated through your chest, and curled low in your stomach– where the tension began to build. Your lips moved against each other in a rhythm that felt like it had been written in the marrow of your bones, like the both of you belonged there together in that moment.

And then Bob pulled back–just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, eating away at the lush blue, his lips were wet and parted as he breathed shallowly, trembling slightly.

”I-I wanna feel everything,” He whispered.

Then with a move that felt bolder than anything he’d ever done, he pulled at the collar of his sweater, pulling it off. The hem dragged over his head, catching slightly on his hair before he tossed it aside, his t-shirt following soon after–slightly rumpled and damp from how hot he was getting.

The moonlight etched the shape of him–slender but strong, pale skin kissed splashed with little drops of freckles and barely-there scars. You saw the muscles move under the skin of his stomach when he breathed in, saw the way his chest rose and fell like he was trying to stay steady in a storm of want.

He slid his arm under your neck and around your shoulders, pulling you close, gathering you into the crook of his body like he needed every inch of contact. Your leg stayed hooked over his waist, your hips now pressed firmly together, heat and need blooming where your bodies touched.

His hand slid slowly down your spine, palm wide, curling gently around the dip of your lower back.

And then he kissed you again.

It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t rushed. It was molten. Deep. Slow and desperate.

You could feel the way his lips moved with a kind of hunger that didn’t want to consume you–it wanted to worship every inch of you.

As your tongues brushed, you shifted your hips, rolling gently against the line of his thigh. His breath hitched, a surprised little gasp breaking the kiss.

And then his knee shifted.

He tilted his leg slightly between yours, giving you the perfect angle to move against him–and you did. Slowly at first. Just the press of your body rocking into his. You moaned softly against his lips as you rolled your hips again, dragging yourself along him with just the right amount of pressure. It wasn’t loud, but it vibrated between your mouths, slipping into him like a secret you wanted him to feel in his bones.

His lips barely touched yours now–just ghosting–warm and open and trembling, like he was terrified to break the moment. You breathed in at the same time he exhaled, your lips parting in tandem, and it felt like you were drinking each other in. Breath passed between you in small, shared gasps, heat curling where mouths nearly met, where words became vapor.

“Bob…” You whispered into him, and his name felt like silk on your tongue.

The air between your mouths wasn’t even air anymore. It was communion. Heat. Exchange. Like you were tethered by the sheer force of needing each other. His nose brushed yours. Your foreheads pressed together. His breath hit your tongue before it hit his own lungs.

And still–you craved Bob’s touch even more.

You reached between your bodies, your fingers skimming over his wrist before curling around it gently. His pulse jumped under your touch.

You guided his hand down until his knuckles met the waistband of your sweatpants. His breath faltered.

“I need more…” You whispered, voice raw and low–on the brink of begging, “Please…”

Bob didn’t speak at first. He just nodded, quickly like that word please had been carved into him. Then, with trembling fingers, he tugged at the tie of your sweatpants, undoing the bow with care, like he was unwrapping something sacred.

As he did, your fingers slipped down to the tie of his–mirroring him. Equal.

He froze just a little.

“W-What…What are you doing?” he asked, voice cracking like a matchstick in the dark.

Your hand kept working the knot, lips hovering over his, your nose brushing his as you breathed:

“I don’t want to be the only one being touched like this.” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, jaw tightening, chest rising as he tried to hold himself together. But your voice–your need–had undone him completely. He nodded again, slower this time, gaze trailing down to where your hands were now at each other’s waistbands.

And then you both moved.

It wasn’t graceful–no art to it. Just need. Just fumbling, frantic hands pushing sweatpants down over hips, wriggling out of the fabric together in a tangle of half-laughs and sharp breaths and grazes of skin.

Your legs kicked the soft fabric off the edge of the bed and his did the same.

And then you were back–wrapped around each other again. The arm beneath your head pulled you in slowly, as his hand splayed between your shoulder blades, fingers curling slightly like he needed to grab onto something to keep him in the moment. Your thigh returned to his hip, locking yourself into him, and the kiss you shared was now pure fire. It was teeth and tongue and breath and a low, desperate sound torn straight from his throat.

You kissed him like you couldn’t get deep enough. Like you’d climb inside his chest if he let you. And he would. He would.

His hand slid up the back of your neck and into your hair as your mouth’s finally slowed, pulling back slightly to breathe. Your lips stayed apart for him, letting a whisper of space between you.

Your noses touched. His forehead pressed to yours. And when you opened your eyes, he was already staring–flushed and wide and wrecked in the most beautiful way.

Then Bob’s hand moved. Slowly. Purposefully.

He brought it to your mouth, two fingers extended–not tentative, but gently.

“Let me,” He whispered.

You nodded, opening your mouth just a little more for him. You took his fingers in without hesitation, wrapping your tongue around them, wetting them with slow, deliberate passes. His eyes fluttered closed, his breath shaking as you sucked softly–just enough to coat them in warmth.

When he withdrew, he immediately slid his hand down. Beneath your underwear.

And when his fingers found you–hot, wet, already aching for him–he moaned into your cheek.

“Oh, God…” Was all he could choke out, as he slid through your arousal, slow and careful, dragging every drop of slickness to your clit in gentle circles. You gasped–your whole body arching forward into him, closing your eyes at the sensation of his fingers against you.

Your hand moved too now–down his chest, over the soft lines of his abdomen–until your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs. He hissed at the contact, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

You found him hard and hot in your hand, thick and twitching under your fingers as you wrapped around him, stroking slow. Just once. Just enough to feel him jump in your palm.

Bob groaned, low and guttural against your skin.

You both moved together, hands working in tandem–your touch on him firm and steady, his fingers stroking you in slow circles until he dipped one inside. Then another. Stretching you gently, curling just enough to make your breath catch, your thighs tremble.

The bed creaked softly beneath you as the both of you writhed beneath each others hands

Skin to skin. Mouth to mouth. You moved together like a tide pull–rocking, gasping, fingers slipping and sliding against one another.

Bob adjusted himself slightly, pressing closer to you, before moving his fingers quicker now–they were still gentle, but there was more purpose to his movements. Like he couldn’t help it. Like your body had hypnotized him into doing exactly what you needed him to do, and his only job was to listen. The pads of his fingers pressed and curled inside you, while his thumb circled your clit with more pressure than before, and the sensation that came from this change bloomed in sharp and immediate trembles.

You gasped–high and sudden–your head tilting back into the solidness of his arm that was wrapped around the back of your neck. Your hand that was wrapped around him, stilled. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

It was too much.

Your free hand flew to his shoulder, fingers digging in, nails curling against the slope of muscle. You clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the bed, to the moment, to yourself.

Bob’s breath caught as he felt you seize around him, as he watched your eyes flutter and your mouth part in a soundless moan that finally broke into a quiet, desperate whimper. His name left your lips like a secret you’d never told anyone else–torn from the center of you. He could feel it, the way your body trembled against him, the way your muscles clenched around his fingers in tight, rhythmic pulses.

And he watched.

He watched you come undone with a look of sheer awe painted across his face. His lips parted slightly, eyes fixed on yours, and then on your mouth, like he couldn’t decide what was more beautiful: the way you looked when you fell apart, or the sound of his name when you did.

Your brows furrowed with the force of it, your thighs tightening around his hips, your breath breaking apart like waves crashing on rock.

Bob didn’t stop—not until he felt you ride the last crest of it, your body softening again beneath him. And when you finally blinked, eyes unfocused and lips still parted, he leaned forward and kissed your cheek. Reverent. Almost trembling.

He withdrew his fingers slowly, gently, like he didn’t want to startle you after such a fragile, shattering moment. You shivered at the loss, and he whispered something into your skin—too soft to make out. But his breath was warm. His lips were warm.

And then he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze.

His hand hovered between you, the slick still glistening faintly in the low light. But he didn’t wipe it away. He just looked at you like you were the most divine thing he’d ever seen.

“C-Can I take these off?” He asked, his voice thick with longing, with excitement, with the weight of everything he was holding back.

His hand ghosted over the band of your underwear, waiting.

You nodded slowly, still breathless, still catching your bearings.

”Yes…Yes please…Please just do what you want to me Bob…I’m already yours.” The moment those words left your lips, one thing inside Bob snapped like a wire that had been wrapped too tight. It wasn’t in a wild, unruly way though. No–this was quiet, controlled, but powerful.

His breath shuddered in his chest as he surged forward to kiss you harder this time, deepening it almost instantly. It was desperate but gently, like he needed to pour all the feelings he couldn’t say into your mouth, into the space between your teeth and tongue and breath.

As he kissed you, his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, dragging the last barrier down slowly, reverently. His knuckles skimmed your thighs, your hips, the swell of your backside. The fabric clung slightly, then surrendered, pooling around your knees before you helped kick it away.

Bob’s hand dipped next to his own waistband, and you could feel the moment he slid his briefs off. The subtle lift of his hips. The faint brush of heat and bare skin against yours. He was pressed close now–every inch of him.

And when you looked down between your bodies, when your eyes caught the sight of him fully bared–his length flushed light red and thick, curving slightly, the tip glistening with need–you felt heat flood every nerve in your body. The moment was more than just physical. It was overwhelming. He was ready, so ready, not just in body but in soul, in the way he looked at you like you were gravity and breath and sky all at once.

Bob swallowed hard, as if he could feel you seeing all of him, as if the intimacy of being witnessed so completely was almost too much to bear.

But he didn’t look away.

Instead, he shifted–slowly, carefully–until he was over you. His hands pressed into the bed on either side of your body, muscles tense as though he were anchoring himself to the world. You welcomed him with a soft sigh, parting your legs wider to cradle his hips, letting him settle into the space that had always been meant for him–since the day you realized you wanted him like this.

He leaned down first–pressing a kiss to your chest. Right between your breasts. Then another to the slope of one, then the other. Then higher. His lips grazed your sternum, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. Each kiss was warm, slow, and sacred.

By the time his mouth found yours again, you were breathless from just the journey of it.

He kissed you with everything. Not just hunger, but reverence. Like your lips were a language he’d studied for years but only just learned how to speak.

And then–without a word–he reached for your hand.

You let him take it easily, watching the way his long fingers wrapped around yours. He brought it up gently, pressing it down into the mattress beside your head, his grip secure but soft–like he wanted to hold you in place but never trap you.

That one motion nearly undid you.

It wasn’t restraint.

It was his way of closeness. The kind that made you feel tethered to him, like your bodies weren’t just aligned–they were entwined, they were marking. Like they were made to be this close. Built for this level of intimacy for only each other.

His forehead rested against yours again. You could feel every exhale fan across your lips.

“I wanna go slow,” He whimpered, voice breaking like dusk light through the curtains. “I wanna…Wanna feel all of you…Every second of you…”

You reached your free hand up to his face, and your thumb brushed across his cheekbone, slow and tender, like you were tracing the edge of a secret only you were allowed to know. His skin was warm beneath your touch–warmer than it had ever been–and you could feel the tremble in his breath as he waited, eyes searching yours like they were the only compass he had left.

“And I want you to lose yourself in me.” You replied. His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment he just breathed like your words had cracked something open in his chest. When he looked at you again, there was something new behind his expression–like awe and fear had melted into devotion.

“If anything becomes too much, you have to tell me…” He said, voice almost broken with the weight of care. You nodded, but your hand tightened in his.

”It won’t…But I promise if it does I will tell you.” He dipped his head lower again, as if he couldn't bear the space between your mouths any longer, and pressed a kiss to your lips again absorbing the softness of them, the warmth. Your hand threaded through his hair, fingertips curling at the nape of his neck, guiding him so he was pressed right against you.

And then–his hand moved down between your bodies. You felt the slow drag of his palm against the outside of your thigh, then the careful slide of his fingers as he reached down and guided himself to you. He breathed out when he felt you coat him, your wetness catching on every ridge of him as he slid himself against your entrance–once, twice, gathering all of you onto him. His body twitched with restraint. His jaw clenched. He pressed his forehead harder against yours as if the contact was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart entirely.

The moment he pushed in, your bodies stopped breathing.

Your mouth parted with a gasp–sharp and soft–as he sank into you slowly, inch by inch, until you felt your body stretch and adjust to every curve of him. Bob choked on a breath the second he felt your warmth take him in, his face screwing up in something between a sob and a moan. His forehead pressed harder against yours, like if he moved any other way he’d fall apart.

“God–oh, God…” He whispered, voice ragged and frayed at the edges. “Holy…You’re…You’re so” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He was too overwhelmed by the feel of you wrapped around him, every pulse and tremble drawing him deeper into the haze of you.

Your hand clenched tighter in his, and you felt the way his fingers locked with yours, grounding himself with your grip as he bottomed out. A low, aching sound slipped from your throat and caught in the space between your lips, and you felt it shake against his mouth as he kissed you again–slow, reverent, his tongue barely brushing yours as he tried to breathe.

“You’re doing so good,” You whispered into him, your voice like silk over fire. “Just stay right there. Just let me feel you…”

He whimpered at that, a broken noise into your mouth, like the praise undid him. He didn’t move–couldn’t, not yet at least. He was just holding himself there, buried inside you, feeling the way your body fluttered around him.

“I-It’s like…Like you’re pulling me apart,” He said, breathless. “And putting me back together all at once…”

His hand left yours slowly, reluctantly, fingers sliding down your wrist with a feather-light touch as he reached for your thigh. You felt it happen in stages–the way his hand cradled the back of your knee, the way he gently guided your leg up higher on his waist, opening you up further, angling himself deeper.

The shift made your breath catch. He slid in even further, the new position sending a wave of pressure right through your core, and you gasped into his mouth. Bob groaned–breathlessly low, lost—and his hips jolted forward once, like he couldn’t help himself.

You could feel him trembling above you, his hand still gripping your thigh like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet.

“I need…” he murmured into your neck, voice barely coherent, “Need to be closer—need to feel all of you.”

“You are,” You whispered back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, holding him close. “You’re already in every part of me.”

He rocked into you, slow at first–agonizing in its care–like he wanted to memorize every detail, every sound you made when he moved. Your bodies stayed pressed together, chest to chest, lips to jaw, gasps shared like breathless secrets.

And then you reached up.

You cupped his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks, until your fingers slid gently into his mouth. Bob’s eyes fluttered open, glassy and stunned–and then he groaned, low in his chest, as he closed his lips around them.

You watched him–watched his lashes flutter, his breath hitch, the way his hips stuttered forward harder now, more desperate, like the taste of you on his tongue had undone something deep and buried inside him.

You moaned at the sight of it–at the way he sucked your thumbs, not rough, but with such reverence you almost passed out, on the brink of obedience.

You slipped your thumbs from his mouth slowly, watching the glossy string of saliva stretch and catch in the moonlight like silk spun from reverence. Bob’s lips stayed parted, his breath hot against your fingers, his tongue brushing the edge of one thumb as you pulled it away. And then, without breaking the contact, you trailed the damp touch down his jaw–soft, deliberate, leaving a glistening line in its wake.

His whole body stilled.

You felt him twitch inside you, felt the sharp inhale he tried and failed to control. And then your fingers tilted his chin up.

“Look at me,” You whispered, your voice low and rich with everything you couldn’t say with words alone. His eyes lifted to yours like he was coming up for air, like your gaze was the only thing keeping him from dissolving into the moment completely. He looked wrecked–beautifully so. Lips kiss-bruised, cheeks flushed to the tips of his ears, pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes completely now. You could see every flicker of awe in his expression, every ounce of need, of surrender. You brushed your fingers along the edge of his jaw, then swept them up into his hair, pushing the sweat-dampened strands from his forehead with aching tenderness. His breath caught when you did it, like your touch alone unraveled something buried too deep for him to reach.

“You’re doing so good…You feel so good inside me, Bob.” You whispered, voice like velvet as your thumbs stroked the sides of his face. His hips stuttered forward—once, then again. A trembling gasp slipped from his throat as he sank in deeper, the pace no longer slow but no less careful. It was desperate now. Steady and aching. Each thrust felt like it was pulled from the center of him, like he was trying to carve himself into your body—leaving a part of his soul there.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room in soft, rhythmic slaps. Your breathing hitched with each one, your legs tightening around his hips to pull him in, to keep him close. You could feel how badly he was trying to keep control, how every movement was threaded with reverence and restraint. But his body–his need–was beginning to override his fear.

And you wanted that.

“Don’t hold back,” You said between soft gasps, brushing his hair back again, curling your fingers against his neck. “I want you to give it to me. Everything.”

His face twisted like he was going to cry. He dipped down and kissed you hard, and sloppily, like he was already too far gone to keep it clean. His tongue slipped into your mouth, searching for yours, and when he found it, he moaned into the kiss like he’d been starving for it. He fucked you through it–deeper now, faster–his hips rolling in a way that had your head falling back onto the pillows.

“Oh God…Oh–fuck–Bob,” You whined, your nails raking lightly down his back. He gasped at the sharp drag, chasing the friction because he liked the burn it brought him.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” He choked, voice breaking as his thrusts grew uneven. “I can’t—I can’t slow down—I n-need—”

”No…Fuck. Don’t apologize you feel so fucking good. Please––Please don’t fucking stop.” You interrupted, desperate now, feeling your stomach twisting into knots. He dropped his forehead against yours again, lips brushing yours with every breath, and drove into you harder. Deeper. Each movement was more desperate, more pleading, as if his body was trying to reach some part of you his words couldn’t. The bed shifted beneath you, the frame creaking, but neither of you noticed. Not when it felt like your souls were colliding.

You felt everything building again, fast–hot and coiled and pulsing at the center of you.

“Bob…” You whimpered, your voice cracking with need, “I-I’m close, I’m so close…” His eyes met yours again–blown wide, glassy, nodding.

“I-I’m gonna come too,” He panted, and then the question tumbled out of him, desperate and ragged–“Where—Where do you want me to…?”

Your body trembled.

“In me,” You breathed, cupping his cheek again, pulling him close, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Inside me, Bob. I want to feel it dripping out of me all day tomorrow.”

And that was it.

Bob cried out–barely a sound, more of a broken whimper–and buried himself to the hilt inside you. His hips stilled with a violent shudder, and then he came. You felt the heat of it, the way his body jerked as he pulsed inside you, moaning your name like it was the only prayer he knew. His arms locked around you, trembling as he held you through it.

And then–seconds later–you followed.

You clenched around him as your body went tight, your back arching off the bed, your lips parting in a soundless cry that turned into a whimper of his name. He felt you come around him, fluttering, pulsing, your legs tightening around his waist as your body shook with the force of it.

He kissed you through the aftershocks–soft and slow now. Like a thank you. Like an apology. Like he was still trying to give you more even after he’d already given you everything. Then he collapsed into your arms, chest heaving, lips brushing against your throat with such tenderness you were beginning to feel overwhelmed by how much he truly cared about you.

And then–out of nowhere–you laughed. It wasn’t loud or mocking. It was soft, breathy, and stunned.

“W-What? What did I––Did I do something?” He asked, lifting his head quickly, eyes wide and flushed with concern. You reached up, still giggling as your fingers gently swept the hair off his forehead.

”No,” You said with a smile so wide your cheeks ached, “No, it’s nothing like that, it’s just…I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner.” You could see the relief in Bob’s eyes when you said it, as he let out the softest laugh. A breathless, giddy kind of noise.

”I-I was so scared to mess the friendship up…” He admitted, his nose brushing yours again, voice low and shy, “But I’ve wanted you for so long…” You nodded.

”I know,” You whispered, kissing his cheek, “Me too Bob.” He let the moment linger for a heartbeat longer, then shifted slightly, wincing as he carefully pulled back. You gasped quietly at the sensation of him slipping out, a hot flutter leaving your core in the wake of it. You tightened your thighs reflexively as you sighed, and Bob caught the look on your face instantly.

“Are you okay?” He asked, concerned now, pushing your hair back from your forehead.

”Just a bit sore,” You admitted, cheeks flushed, “It’s been a while since I…Y’know.” Bob nodded, slowly getting up from the bed, pulling on the boxers he had on before.

”I’ll be right back–I’m gonna grab a warm washcloth, okay?” He said gently, giving you a gentle kiss on your lips, “Don’t move.” You smiled at him.

”Okay.” You whispered, watching his silhouette pad across the room and disappear into the bathroom, as he turned on the pale white light. You could hear the gentle rush of water, the sound of the towel drawer sliding open, and the rustle of cloth.

He returned a minute later, stopping at his dresser to pull a pair of boxer shorts and one of his old, soft t-shirts, before making his way back to you.

“A-Alright,” He whispered, setting the clothes beside you as he kneeled back onto the bed, “You tell me if anything hurts…Okay?” You nodded, watching as he eased your thighs open. You winced slightly at the sting, but bit back a gasp. He brought the cloth between your legs and cleaned you carefully, delicately, like every part of you was sacred. The warmth helped a bit with the soreness thankfully, so now all you felt was the euphoria of the come down.

Once he finished, he set the cloth on the bedside table, then helped ease the boxers up your legs. They were soft and loose around your thighs, a simple comfort, as you lifted your hips slightly to help. He then tugged the shirt gently over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves with a kind of tender concentration like he was worried he might do it wrong.

When it was all done he let out a soft sigh, one full of warmth and the heavy pull of contentment. You were blissed out, sore in a way that felt good. And he was still looking at you with such admiration it made your heart race.

You lifted your arms in front of you.

The motion was simple–gentle, slow, but deliberate. An offering. A request. And Bob’s entire body reacted to it like it was instinct. He didn’t say anything–didn’t need to. His shoulders dipped forward as he crawled up into your arms, letting himself be folded against your chest, nuzzling in like he was coming home. He was careful, even now–making sure his weight didn’t press too much into your legs, tugging the thin top sheet off the corner of the bed before wrapping it loosely around both of your bodies.

He laid his head on your chest, just over your heart, and you felt him exhale fully for what might’ve been the first time all night. His arm slipped around your waist, his other hand curling loosely over your ribs as he pressed his cheek to the center of you, listening.

You held him close, your arms winding around his shoulders, fingers sliding gently into his hair, brushing slowly along his scalp in lazy, thoughtful strokes. He hummed–barely a sound, more of a breath–but it vibrated softly into the shirt you wore.

The sheet was thin, barely a whisper of fabric between you and the cooling air, but you didn’t need more than that. Not when you had this. The weight of him. The heat of him. Bob tilted his face slightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the fabric at the underside of your breast, where your heartbeat fluttered near the surface. You smiled at him, your hand stroking down the back of his neck, feeling the way he melted into you even further.

“Y-You’re amazing Y/N…” He whispered, “And I’m so…So in love with you.”