I Can’t Feel You

Aly, 26 Fandoms<3

[alysaydie]

Anna Marie LeBeau

My Rogue cosplay, at my first ever comic-con!! I want to go to more of these so badly, I truly had the best time. Thinking of getting a Madelyne Pryor cosplay next🖤

[kylorengarbagedump]

Fix Your Attitude: The Masterlist

Hi–here’s the masterlist for Fix Your Attitude per request! My other fics will have a separate post because this thing has a billion chapters.

Wattpad mirror here. AO3 mirror here.

Summary:  You’re an engineer, stationed at Starkiller. You’re desperate for recognition in your career, but issues with your assignment (spoiler alert: it’s the Command Shuttle) end up making you the clean-up crew, instead. Your annoyance with Kylo Ren lands you into some hot water. How many messes is he going to make you responsible for?

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Kylo Ren x Female!Reader

Chapter 1: Remember Who You Work For Chapter 2: I Can’t Be the Only One Chapter 3: It’s You Again Chapter 4: What Names? Chapter 5: Good Girl (NSFW) Chapter 6: I Have to Destroy You Chapter 7: Tell Me You Need It (NSFW) Chapter 8: I Heard You Chapter 9: Your Turn (NSFW) Chapter 10: We’ve Discussed This Chapter 11: Then I Won’t Go Inside (NSFW) Chapter 12: It’s Not Right Chapter 13: This Is Your Punishment (NSFW) Chapter 14: Have You Had Enough? (NSFW) Chapter 15: As Expected Chapter 16: Only Good Girls (NSFW) Chapter 17: What You Deserve (NSFW) Chapter 18: Neglecting Your Assignment (NSFW) Chapter 19: You’re Not Afraid (NSFW) Chapter 20: An Additional Punishment Chapter 21: Begin and End With Me (NSFW) Chapter 22: You Doubt Me? Chapter 23: You’re All I Can Think About (NSFW) Chapter 24: Well, That’s Not Good Chapter 25: Get Away Chapter 26: Try Harder Than That (NSFW) Chapter 27: Let’s Not Talk Chapter 28: Someone Like Me (NSFW) Chapter 29: I Cannot Falter Chapter 30: At Worst, Juvenile Chapter 31: She’s Mine Chapter 32: One Thousand Times Over(NSFW) Chapter 33: You Love This (NSFW) Chapter 34: It’s Not Supposed to Hurt (NSFW) Chapter 35: I Need to Tell You Chapter 36: That’s Irrelevant (NSFW) Chapter 37: Yes, I Was Chapter 38–Finale: The Closest I’ll Come (NSFW)

[dani-onearth]

Masterlist | Kylo Ren & Ben Solo

Feel free to send in requests for Kylo Ren/Ben Solo!

• Smut!

Merciful and Misnamed: Ex-lovers-to enemies-to lovers, angst, slow burn, jealousy trope. Ongoing Series!

Merciful and Misnamed [Part One]: You're his prisoner now, and he doesn't know how to look at you without becoming someone he swore he killed. You're still here and he thinks he saved you but the silence between you is thick with old affection and love. How do you mourn someone that's standing right there?

Merciful and Misnamed: [Part Two]: Power was supposed to erase you from his mind, but you're still here, looking at him like the boy he used to be. You were supposed to hate him enough that he could live with it, but you whispered his name like you never stopped saying it. And he can't stop hearing it. Merciful and Misnamed: [Part Three]: Each time he saves you, his mask cracks a little more. And now, you really saw him. And he let you. Maybe the memory of who he was wasn't dead like he had insisted, just buried, needing a gentle hand to help him come back up to the surface. Merciful and Misnamed: [Part Four]: He left you bruised, hurt, and barely standing. And now he thinks he can just show you warmth in the quiet place he’s given you… but you haven't forgotten what he is capable of. He says you're safe and looks at you like he means it. But trust doesn’t come that easily, no matter how much you want to believe him. • Merciful and Misnamed: [Part Five]: You find pieces of Ben where Kylo Ren is supposed to live, and you're wrapped in warmth that isn't supposed to exist on a ship like this. Touching him feels like you're remembering a version of him that's supposed to be dead. Merciful and Misnamed: [Part Six]: Wrapped in his sheet, you almost forget you were supposed to be at war. For a while, you both believe it could last, but the armor has to go back on at some point. Merciful and Misnamed: [Part Seven]: He saw someone else touch you. Someone else who used to know you. Ben realized it wasn’t just about keeping you safe anymore. It was about not letting anyone else see you the way he does. Not losing you to the version of his past that got to love you without thinking twice. The jealousy burns hot and the walls he spent years building start to slip, one kiss at a time. He knows he’d tear the whole ship apart before letting you walk away.

Requests and One Shots [Kylo Ren/Ben Solo]

Where No One Looks [Part 1]: Requested by Anon - can i request a series (if ure down for it) or even a oneshot about reader being a jedi that was tasked with tracking kylo ren but gets taken by the knights of ren instead. Kylo corrupts readers mind, turning to the dark side basically becoming a sleeper agent . Kind of like the winter soldier, using certain trigger words makes readers mind blank and when reader finally comes to they see all the carnage they’ve caused. (but since readers mind isn’t right, they see nothing wrong with kylo and stay on the finalizer) It’ll be cool if you can add some your own twist and lore to make reader be bad ass

Possessive Kylo x Fem!Reader series: A power dynamic romance between Kylo and his subordinate. Each chapter can be read as a one-shot, but I recommend reading in order for the full emotional arc. Possessive, intense, and only soft for her.

Unauthorized Contact [1]: Requested by Anon - I’m sorry if it’s vague, but could I request Kylo saying the cliche “who did this to you?” line to a soft reader?

• Breaking Point [2]: Requested by Anon - can you PLEASE make a second part of the "who did this to you" fic? maybe some smut if its okay like she's frustrated that he treats her too gently now?? only if ur okay with smut requests

• Hostile [3]: Requested by Anon - Please do more Kylo Smut!! Maybe he gets jealous or something, you can add it to the “Who did this to you” fic if you want too but if you want to do it differently you can!

[muntitled]

𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

All Squid Game characters belong to Hwang Donghyuck

The Salesman (series)

Hangman | Broke girl meets sadistic Salesman, mdni, +18

Tic-Tac-Toe | Every Wednesday your schedule consisted of attending classes during the day, and satisfying the needs of a sadist through the night, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, mdni, +18

Protecting His Investment | No one got to hurt you except him, mdni, +18

Indebted | He wouldn't call it jealousy... He just wasn't very fond of sharing his toys, mdni, +18

Blink Twice | He's pushing your body to its brink, and it's finally giving out. You're rewarded for all your dazzling work ethic with a “nice” dinner. As ‘nice’ as ‘nice’ gets with him…, mdni, +18

Force-Fed | You didn't need a job. Not when you only needed him, mdni, +18

Namgyu

Better than drugs, Reconnecting with your shitty ex boyfriend in the games. mdni, +18

Girl On TV, After being humiliated by his not-so-innocent friends for being far too innocent, you decide not to be such a prude for once in your life, mdni, +18

Playtime, You couldn't kill anyone in Hide And Seek, thank God he's there to help, mdni, +18

[rynwritesstuff]

How Bad Do You Want Me? - Kylo Ren x ResistancePilot!Reader

Kylo Ren x ResistancePilot!Reader

Warnings: NSFW (PIV Sex, unprotected sex, crying during sex lol), Banter, sassy Kylo Ren, sassy Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Before Kylo Ren was Kylo Ren, he was a padawan with you. Before you were a Resistance Pilot, you were a padawan with Kylo Ren. Now, several years later, you've found yourself in the clutches of the First Order, and, of course, Kylo himself.

A/N: May the Fourth be with you! I decided to celebrate my lifelong love for this series by writing some smut lol, as one does. In case you missed it, I created a sideblog (@rainbow-gelpen) so if you wanna see some non-writing shenanigans from me, head on over there for some fun. Otherwise, enjoy the oneshot <3

The room is cold, that is the first thing you note as you come to your senses. When you open your eyes, everything begins to come together in choppy, drawn-out scenes. 

The village, full and dark. The people, afraid and yelling. 

Lor San Tekka, with his small smirk.

Kylo Ren, lightsaber in hand. 

You startle at the image of him and jerk against the restraints on the interrogation chair. You look around the room. No Stormtroopers are in-sight, and you know immediately that this must be intentional. Stormtroopers are so small-minded, so easily manipulated . . . And, after all, Kylo Ren knows that you are a Force-user. 

Yes, he knows you could have Forced your way through Stormtroopers and escaped out of the base with, most likely, very little effort. Your fists clench at the knowledge, already beginning to feel angry with him. You wonder briefly, foolishly, if generals and officers will be sent in soon to try and force the information out of you. And then, you remember who you are dealing with. 

Kylo Ren will want to get it out of you himself. As, of course, a testament to the fact that he simply can. As proof that he knew you once and knows you still. If you know a person long ago – knew every part of them – that does not necessarily fade with time, does it? Perhaps bits and pieces go, but not whole parts. Kylo Ren is still Ben Solo. Ben Solo is still Kylo Ren. 

You stare at the door, willing it to open, daring it to open. You can feel his energy. It is getting closer. He’s so angry, so sad. You can sense it. Gods, you feel sick knowing just how infected he is. You wonder now, just as you have wondered everyday since he burned down the Temple you once shared, if there was ever anything to be done for him, and if you could have been the one to save him from himself. 

You shake your head. He didn’t want saving, he wanted power, and power is what he received. If it meant losing you, he didn’t care, did he?

. . . Did he?

Footsteps come pounding towards you. You still recognize the cadence even after all this time, after all these changes. You know who it is, and you set your eyes on the door again. The durasteel door slides open with a soft hiss, and there he is. Your jaw clenches, standing tall as the door slams down shut again. Kylo stands there for a moment. 

“It is really you,” he says. You glare at him. Anger swells in your chest, that very same anger that you carried with you all that time ago as you watched the Jedi Temple burn down. You remember looking for him, clawing through pieces of wreckage as you searched and called for him. And then there it was, his hand on your shoulder, and you can still remember how the relief felt when it coursed through you.

And yes, you can still remember the betrayal you felt when you realized what he had done. 

You hate that he still has this hold over you, this grip on your heart, your mind. Has nothing changed? Has time not cast its spell? Here he is in his dark clothes – a leather tunic, leather trousers, boots, a cape, a mask, gloves – and still a part of you feels like it has finally come home. 

“I had no idea we had the best pilot in the Resistance on-board,” Kylo speaks again. You don’t stop glaring. If this is the last thing you’ll ever do, you won’t go down easily. You’ll fight him, you’ll shame him, you’ll combat every remark. You owe him nothing, he owes you everything. 

You could have killed him, afterall. After you’d seen exactly what he had done to the Temple, to your fellow Padawans. People were yelling for you to stop him, to trap him, and you . . . Just let him go. You wonder sometimes, even now, how everything may have played out if you had sliced his leg or stalled him or whipped out your own lightsaber. 

There could be peace across the galaxy today if you had not loved him more than the future of your fellow civilians. 

He looks so strong, so powerful. You remember when he was younger, when his muscles weren’t quite so large and his shoulders weren’t so broad. You wonder what he looks like. Is he scarred? Mutilated beyond recognition? Is that why he wears this mask?

“You’re a coward,” you snarl suddenly, unable to stop yourself. Kylo crouches. You can sense the peculiar look on his face from beneath the mask. “Hiding behind a mask. You don’t even have the guts to look at me with your eyes . . . Do you?”

Hesitation. You sense it from him. How odd. 

Then, his hands are lifting and settling at the sides of the mask. He presses buttons at the side, and it hisses as the facepiece unlocks and lifts. Kylo pulls the mask off as he stands once more. He sets it aside, then looks upon you. 

Oh. 

Oh.

This is the face of someone worth losing everything over.

His eyes are angry. His brows are thick. His nose is prominent, his lips are plush. Moles and freckles dot his pale skin. His hair is longer now than it was years ago, but still wavy. Still curled at the ends. It takes everything in you not to let the emotions swell. Perhaps this will prove to be more difficult than you thought. 

Kylo steps forward, and you don’t dare look away. 

“I know the old man gave it to you,” Kylo says. “The map. Tell me where it is.”

You shake your head. 

“You of all people should know that I’m not that easy,” you tell him. The corner of his mouth twitches. You remember the summer you spent with him, drunk in love under the bright stars. Oh, the smiles he’d give you. This is nothing in comparison. 

“Don’t make me fight for it,” Kylo says. He steps forward again. “We both know I’m stronger. I can take whatever I want.”

Your faces are so close. Your hands are clenched into fists, still. You are aching to touch him, to feel his skin against yours. You look at him and wonder how exactly he plans to take this information from you. The truth is that the map is far away from here by now, and on its way to the Resistance with your BB unit. 

You have nothing for him. Even if he finds out about the droid, Kylo and his people will never beat it to the base. Perhaps you are to die tonight at the hands of Kylo Ren. What a heroic way to go. What a beautiful last face to see. 

Kylo brings a large, gloved hand up to the side of your face, not touching you but nearly doing so. The Force hums, then. You grunt as you throw up your mental walls, fighting to keep him out. 

“You don’t h-have to do this,” you breathe softly, straining against the pain. Kylo says nothing, instead pushing harder. You look away from him, and because you do this, you miss the way his bottom lip quivers briefly. He feels it – everything you’ve carried with you all this time.

“You’re so angry,” he says quietly, almost to himself. You shake your head. 

“I-I’ve been captured by your s-slaves,” you quip.

“No,” comes his firm voice. “You’re angry because of what I did at the Temple. Even now, it’s in here.”

“You sound surprised,” you grunt, glaring at him again. His eyes meet yours. “I loved you.”

“You loved what I stood for.”

“I. Loved. You,” you snarl. You shake against the restraints. “Let me out of this wretched thing, face me properly. Or are you too afraid of what I can do?”

Kylo pulls out of your mind. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as he stares at you momentarily. Then, he reaches forward and undoes the cuffs of the interrogation chair. You lunge at him immediately, shoving him so hard that he stumbles back.

You raise your hand to smack him, and he catches your wrists in both of his hands. You knee him in the crotch instead. Kylo grunts, then spins you around and pins you against the wall with his entire firm body pressed against yours. You struggle. 

“Get off of me.”

“I told you you were angry,” Kylo says, as if to prove a point.

“Get off.”

“Where is the map?”

“I don’t know.”

Kylo adjusts your wrists so that he’s holding them both in one hand, then brings his other hand up to rest on your throat. Your breath catches. 

“Where . . . is it?”

“I don’t know,” You say again, softly this time. Kylo hums, and you feel the energy shifting. Your heart begins to pound. Kylo’s body is hot against yours. You tip your head back to rest against his shoulder. An olive branch. A dove. An offer. His hand slides down from your throat to your left breast. You nearly moan at the feeling – how long have you waited for this? How many nights have you laid awake thinking of this exact scenario? Wondering how how hands would feel on your chest, on your hips, on your–

“You want this,” Kylo says as he squeezes your breast. You sigh. 

“I never said I didn’t,” you remark. He leans forward and presses his face against your shoulder, then inhales your scent deeply. 

“If you’re gonna take me, then do it,” you say breathily. 

“Have you no patience?”

“Clearly not,” you tell him. You feel his erection pressing against you, and you chuckle. “Clearly you don’t, either.”

Kylo turns you around so that he can look at you. You reach up to touch him, running your hand along his cheek. He seems to lean into your touch, and this brings you an odd sense of satisfaction. He still wants you, still wants this.

“Take all this shit off,” you tell him firmly, tugging at his tunic. He says your name, and you shake your head. “I don’t care. Take it off. If you’re gonna kill me over this map, I want to see you one last time.”

You’ve always held your head high, but the truth is that Kylo Ren has haunted you from the moment he left the Temple, lightsaber in-hand. Life is . . . Life is a waiting game now. Wondering how much time you have left, how much time you’ve wasted. But now, here? You know how it could end, and Kylo Ren is taking off his cape and his tunic and his undershirt, and you surge forward to grab a handful of his hair and kiss him. 

He gasps against your lips but you only press against him harder. The Force seems to hum around the two of you. Two powerhouses together only means ultimate power, and as Kylo pulls your body forward and yanks at your clothes, you begin to realize that perhaps you should have joined him all those years ago. 

It certainly would’ve made life much easier for you.

Kylo shreds your shirt and throws its remnants aside before reaching around to unclip your undergarment. You let him. He kisses you again, and you feel it again – The Force’s strong presence. 

You lean back against the wall, and Kylo tugs down your pants eagerly, lips parted and cheeks flushed. What an incredible privilege it is to see him in this way again. You wonder how long it has been for him.

You run your hands along his strong arms – which are much larger than they were the last time you had him like this – and then meet his eyes. 

“Please,” you breathe. Kylo nods, reaching down to pull his erection free from his trousers. 

“I know,” he says. The emotion from earlier, you feel it finally. Tears fill your eyes as you part your legs for him, bringing one of them up to hook around his hip. Kylo holds the side of your face as a tear escapes you. 

You cling to him, wrapping your arms around him in an attempt to bring yourself even closer yet. He enters you, and you moan as he fills you up. Your grip on him tightens. You’ve missed this – you’ve needed it for Gods know how long. Kylo begins to piston his hips, fucking into you, and you groan as he holds you up against the wall. 

“Fuck,” he grunts. You moan. 

“Faster,” you sob, holding onto his hair, his shoulder. “F-Faster.”

“I’m trying,” Kylo says, rocking his hips back and forth. You sigh as he pleases you. His cock feels magical, like something that was made for you and only for you. You imagine Kylo at brothels and inns with random women, and it makes you hate him. How dare he be with anyone but you. How dare he even consider it.

“Tell me again,” Kylo says. “W-What you said earlier.”

You moan, mind foggy with lust. 

“Which thing?” you ask. 

“You know.”

You ponder for a moment, then it clicks. You moan. 

“I loved you,” you breathe, a lump in your throat. “I did. I-I swear it.”

Kylo nods, his eyes meeting yours. 

“I know,” he breathes. You yank on his hair. 

“I hate you, now.”

“I know that, too.”

Your chest is hot and filled with unsaid words of affection. Kylo isn’t ready for them, you know that. He may never be. He’s so angry, so full of hate. You can hardly believe he’s doing this with you at all. How will he be when it is over? What will he do to you?

“I hate you for leaving me,” you breathe. Your orgasm is swelling within you, and you know that Kylo is close, too. 

“You should have joined me,” Kylo says. You cry out. 

“Shut up,” you tell him. He says your name as if it’s a prayer. You shake your head. “Don’t. Don’t. Just make me cum.”

Kylo nods. For once, he has nothing to say, nothing to add. He knows that your time – yours and his – has passed. Destinies have been selected for each of you on opposite sides of this war, and when he is finished with this, he will have to act as if none of it meant anything at all. You’re so angry with him, and he’s so loyal to Snoke – none of it would ever work even if you tried.

But at least you have this. At least you have now.

“I’m close,” Kylo breathes. You nod.

“Me, too,” you say. He pounds into you once, twice, three more times, and he’s moaning your name against your shoulder. You groan at the sound of it. You revel in it, in his desperation, his neediness. You shall never have it again. 

He fills you up just like he used to, and you sigh softly as you reach your own peak. His gloved hand travels down to rub your throbbing clit, and when he does, you moan and buck your hips. 

“F-Fuck . . .” you sigh. Kylo takes you through it, and when it’s all over, he pulls out slowly. You lower your leg and reach for your pants. Kylo takes a small step back, looking at you momentarily before redressing. You let out a soft, shaky breath as you do the same. 

Kylo looks at you once he’s fully clothed, watching you finish getting dressed. 

“Tell me where the map is so I can let you go,” he says. You look at him as you tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear. Your heart breaks in your chest. His does, too. You both know that this is not the ending that you wanted. 

“I can’t,” you say. He says your name. You shake your head. “I made promises, Kylo.” Feeling weak and foolish, Kylo rebinds you to the interrogation chair. You don’t fight him. He opens his mouth to speak, then reaches for his mask and leaves without another word.

Tagging my Star Wars-loving besties: @mrs-gucci @safarigirlsp @babbushka

(Dividers by saradika-graphics)

rynwritesstuff, 2025

[lovemepartly]

paradox masterlist | a thanos and namgyu series

synopsis: in which you break up with your rapper boyfriend... and accidentally end up in the arms of his friend.

pairing: thanos x reader, namgyu x reader (separate)

⋆⭒˚.⋆

⟶ part 1: guilty as sin?

⟶ part 2: fresh out the slammer

⟶ part 3: the alchemy

⟶ part 4: i'm gonna get you back

⟶ part 5: fortnight

⋆⭒˚.⋆

BLURBS / EXTRAS

⤷ coming soon!

[littlepupwriting]

Masterlist ☆

Here is where you can find all of my fics, this list will be updated as chapters are released 🖤 Make sure you read the warnings for each chapter, not just the whole fic!

This account and it's posts are not for minors, do not interact.

Woven

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 -Currently writing

Kylo Ren x Reader (no use of y/n)

DUB/NONCON

-You don't know why you've been hunted down or captured by the man who haunts your nightmares. He says he is keeping you alive because he intends to use you, but what use could he have for a Resistance Communications Tech? You'd better play along until you can escape.

Mean!Dom!Kylo Ren, Sub!reader, Dark and angsty, with lots of death and trauma. Slowburn, with some harder kinks.

Warming Up to You

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, -Incomplete and older

Dom!Owner!Avenger!loki x Sub!Puppy!Reader x Clueless!Thor

DUBCON

-After much deliberation you and your owner Loki decide to tell the other Avengers about your petplay dynamic. This is your first party now that they know and Loki decides that Thor could benefit from joining in. After all, it's not every day that someone gets to play with such a well trained pup.

Not incest, threeway, mention of wounds in like two paragraphs, drunk sex, petplay, smut for the sake of smut

ABO Aftercare One Shot

here> ♡

Unspecified Male!Alpha x GN Reader

-A fluffy aftercare bubble bath where the reader has no set gender and the Alpha is no set male character so you can input your fav.

NSFW- creampie 😋

[dani-onearth]

I’m sorry if it’s vague, but could I request Kylo saying the cliche “who did this to you?” line to a soft reader?

Unauthorized Contact

Kylo Ren x Fem!reader Word Count: 4.61k Authors note: I eat UP cliche lines, you guys have no idea. I meant to make this way shorter but the story just kept going! Hope you all enjoy. Please send in more Kylo/Ben requests! I don't know how soft the reader actually is, she came off as a little more independent, so I'm sorry if it's not exactly what you were looking for, anon!

Continued in this post.

It was so stupid.

Maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up, but you did.

Actually… No. You should have brought it up, and you’re glad you did. Why should you need to stay silent just to keep things smooth with him? Why does he get to brush you off like you didn’t matter? It absolutely mattered. Officers don’t just hand out compliments or promotions. Especially not Admiral Elar. It mattered to you. You earned that praise

And his response told you exactly what you needed to know. You watched Kylo look right through it like it didn’t mean anything. You called him out for it and what did he say? ‘Maybe you shouldn’t care so much what I think.’

He couldn't be serious. As if he hadn’t just kissed you in the bed, pulled you into the low light of his quarters and told you about his day, voice quiet for once, lips trailing across your bare shoulder.

The fight wasn’t about that, not really, but it was. You asked why he wouldn't just sway something. Acknowledge it, even a little. But he just threw it back like it was your problem for caring. And he knew he didn't mean it. You saw it in his face the second he said it, but it was already out there. So you left. And he didn’t follow.

It wasn’t a great day for you. Especially since you became a target that day, as well. Getting jumped in the west hall training wing was just a cherry on top. Three of them, and it just had to be Tavik Trenn. He wasn’t just some recruit, he was just as good as you. At least he thought so. You sparred him, worked the same simulation drills and assignments, and he’s watched you get promoted ahead of him. Twice.

“Private lessons with the Commander, huh?” Tavik said, coming to you with the insinuation that you didn’t deserve what you had. The private training, the promotion he wanted… He said he was just evening things out. You fought back pretty well, considering it was an unfair advantage. You got one of them right in the face, another in the knee cap. One hit Tavik so hard he staggered onto the floor. But there were three of them, and only one of you.

It was never supposed to be public, whatever was happening between you and Kylo. There were unspoken rules about this sort of thing. Keep it quiet, keep it clean, no one needed to know. But somewhere between the glances and pauses when he corrected your form, people started talking. That kind of talk is never contained. It spreads and twists everything you’ve worked for into something cheap and unearned. 

You came back to your quarters after a quick stop at the medbay—you had to use your personal ration clearance to authorize an extra dose. You didn’t want to report it, and knew what you had left in your cycle wasn’t enough for the beating you just took.

Now, you’re sitting stiffly in your desk chair, facing the wall, trying to find a position to breathe where pain didn't start a fire in your body. The light from the monitor has dimmed into an idle flicker. 

Then, three harsh BANGS came from the door behind you. You jump and your shoulders pull tight. 

“Open the door.” Kylo’s deep voice demands from the other side. You breathe in slow, lips pressed into a line. “I know you’re in there.”

You don’t answer. 

He kept going. “It wasn’t a big enough fight for this. I expected you to come back.”

You roll your eyes. He expected you to come back? He can’t be serious. 

He knocks again, quicker, more insistent. He doesn't say anything for a while until he starts calling your name out, pounding on the door a little harsher. 

“I swear on the Force,” you hear his breath through the door, “if someone is int here with you—”

“There’s no one in here.” It came out bitterly and before you could convince yourself not to. 

A long silence followed. 

“Open. The door.” And you stay quiet, willing yourself not to speak again. You can outlast him, you know you can. “I’m not leaving.” He says. He means it. “I will override this panel.”

Bastard would do it. Your eyes flicker to the door…If someone sees him standing outside your quarters this late, hammering at your door, there'll be more whispers. Worse ones. 

You stand slowly and a blanket wrapped around your shoulder slides off the chair as you move. Pain sparks through your ribs, they ache even as you lift your arm to unlock it with a tap. The door had just clicked and he was already moving inside. Shoulders set, no cloak, no mask, eyes darker than you've seen in days. He steps into your space like the fight never happened, like he never left you and your words hanging out to dry.

You turn your back before you can get a good look. You return to your desk, sit as he closes the door behind him. Say nothing. The room shrinks around you. 

“You’re not gonna face me?” He speaks. You don’t. “Why.”

“I don’t feel like fighting.” You respond so quietly, flatly.

“Well,” his breath drags, “I’m here now.”

You laugh under your breath. “You came to my door.”

You hear him step closer, back still turned. “I said something… stupid.” You don’t give him much reaction. “I didn’t mean it.” You don’t respond, the silence sits for a beat too long to feel comfortable. “I was trying to protect you.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you were soft, Kylo. I just wanted to share something good about my day. A promotion I’ve been working hard for.”

“You know that’s not it.” You only shrug at his words, shoulders stiff, but you didn’t let the pain show in your movement. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“Then you shouldn’t have said it.” You grit, looking at his reflection in the metal of the small lamp in front of you. 

He took a step closer. “Your whole body’s tense. Look at me.” He’s quiet for a long moment, and you can’t come up with anything to say. “You’ve been crying, haven’t you?”

You scoff. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t.” He sounded offended. He tries again, one shuffle closer. “Something else is wrong. Is it me?” You stiffen “Talk to me.”

“Stop.”

He doesn’t. “Tell me what happened.”

“Just go back to your quarters.” You grit your teeth. He’s closing in on you. You have nowhere to go.

“Not until you look at me. You’re avoiding something.”

“I’m avoiding you.” And you spin around before you could stop. You stand too fast and your hip knocks the edge of the desk, you wince. That’s all it takes. His expression shatters the second he sees your face. Your jaw, swollen and bruised, the yellow and purple curve beneath your eye, even the way you’re holding yourself up. He goes completely still.

“What the fuck.” He closes the space in two steps. “Who did that. Who did this to you?”

You shut your eyes, cursing at yourself and sighing. His eyes rake over you. Your mouth to your temple, your hand now over your ribs. The bruise that disappeared under your shirt collar.

His voice is low. Dangerous. “Tell me.”

“No.”

“Why not.”

“It looks like you’d kill them.”

“You’re right.” He breathes. “I will. I’ll kill them. Tell me.” Your arms folded across your body as if that could protect you from the way he’s looking you up and down. Like he was ready to burn the ship down for an answer. “Tell me now.”

You bite your cheek. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It absolutely matters—”

“Son of a…” You grumble to yourself. He is so goddamn stubborn. You knew him too well to assume he’d just let this go. “Fine. Tavik. And two of his pets that follow him around everywhere.” You wave a hand as if it was nothing, a small annoyance in your day.

His nostrils flare. His mouth opens, then closes. He steps back like his feet were ready to head toward the door. You can see it building behind his eyes. The switch from man to monster. The fury crawled up his spine and sat on his shoulders. He turns to you only for a moment, breathing through a locked jaw.

“I’m handling it.” You say quickly, too dismissive for his liking. “I got some good hits in.”

“Not enough.” His gaze lands on you again, eyes dragging over every mark, cataloging the damage. His voice is lower now, barely holding steady. “He did all of this to you.”

“Kylo. I’m fine.” It goes in one ear and out the other.

He steps forward again, this time he reaches you, fingers grazing your jaw like a feather, pausing right before a nasty bruise with angry blood vessels veining on your skin. You feel exposed, especially at how quiet he is. There’s a pulse behind his eyes, a pressure telling you that he doesn’t trust what might come out of his mouth if he says what he’s really thinking.

His fingers twitch at his sides as he slowly reaches a hand to your shirt collar, pulling it back with a hooked finger. The bruise runs lower than expected. A handprint blooming from shoulder to collarbone, branching toward your sternum. He follows the shape with his eyes and you notice how stiff he is. His breath is coming too controlled, panting almost. He gently shifts the fabric again only to see that the mark doesn't end there. The purple gives way to something darker, smeared down your chest like ink. And still, lower. 

His voice is hoarse. “Take it off.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“I need to see.”

You know how bad it is under there. Once they had you on the ground, there wasn’t much you could do to fight back. “No.”

He looks at you, sharp and expectantly. “Take it off. I’ve seen you naked.”

“Not the same thing.”

He opens his mouth, but stops himself. Instead, he steps back a pace, turns away. His hand in a tight fist at his side, unclenching and reclenching.  He is coiling into himself. Almost to himself, he begins to mutter. “I’ll break his jaw. I’ll rip out his fucking spine. I’ll take him apart until he begs—”

“Stop.” You reach out and grab his wrist before you can even think, and he freezes. “Don’t. Please.”

He turns his head just enough to see you in his periphery, so tense you think it might even hurt. “You’re asking me not to?”

“Yes.”

“You’re asking me not to.” He confirms in disbelief. “Why?”

He waits for your answer. You pause, not wanting to say it and have it be real. But it is real. “They did this because of you. Because of… us. Whatever this is.” He turns the rest of the way, brows knit and confused. “They said I only got my promotion because of you. That I didn’t earn it. They wanted to even out the playing field."

His expression fractures. You can see it in his face, exactly how much he’s thinking and how little he’s managing to control it all.

He steps back toward you. “Take it off.” 

You hesitate. “Ky—”

“I just…” His voice breaks, “I just want to see. Please.” He speaks your name like it hurts.

You hold his gaze for a second longer. Then, you lift the hem of his shirt, the fabric pulls stiffly over your bones and stomach. You wince and he doesn’t hesitate to help you, watching your grimace all tense, then pinning his eyes as the skin is revealed, dropping the shirt with a loose grip. 

There’s more bruising than you even realized. A boot mark, faint but clear, pressed into the side of your waist. Finger bruises blooming dark blue down your hip. A few cuts you couldn’t quite reach to clean, and they sting when you sleep. Ben stares, face unreadable, but you’re sure his mind is loud. His brows furrow as he steps forward, slowly, eyes dragging down your side. He lifts a hand to graze the skin with two fingers, just beside the worst of it on the edges of your bruises. 

His voice is clipped. “Did they do this with their hands?” You nodded once. “And that?” He gestures to the boot print. 

You nodded again. “Yep.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. He opens them again, they're darker than before. 

“I’ll find him.”

“Seriously, come on—”

“I’ll find all three of them. I’ll make them feel what this feels like. I’ll snap every finger—”

“Kylo.” Your voice is firmer now. His chest rises, then falls, then rises again. Faster. Shallower. Like he can’t get a full breath in. His hand is now resting on your waist, fingers slightly curled around the hem of your pants. “You’ll make it worse. If you go after Tavik, it proves them right.”

He stares at you for a long moment. “You earned it. Every bit of it. You’re better than him, you always were.” He steps in front of you, eyes trailing across your marks, finally meeting your tired eyes. His voice is rough now, it sounds like it's being pulled from his throat. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was just… angry. About things that don’t matter. About being seen with you, not being with you.” 

Your shirt is off and your ribs are bruised in streaks of yellow and violet and the boot shaped outline is carved into your side like they branded you… and Kylo is looking at you like he’s the one who’s hurt. Like if he looks away, for even a second, he might do something irrevocable. He shouldn’t be looking at you like this. He never has. Not when your voice is so quiet and unsure of itself for once.

You stare at the man who showed up at your door with squared shoulders and a heavy fist and it pains you, because you didn't expect him to melt into this. You knew he was protective—possessive might be a better word for it… But this was something different. Tender maybe. Ragged. Almost like he didn't even know he had it in him. He’s the last person you should've let close. He’s powerful and dangerous. A ticking weapon. Your superior. 

And you like him. You really like him.

The thought is too stubborn to bite back, and maybe you always did feel something for him. Maybe somewhere in the sparring and the whispered corrections into your ear, showing you with his own strong arms wrapping around you, something shifted. Maybe you’ve been protecting yourself from him for so long you didn’t notice he was trying to protect you too. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asks, a little desperate now. “Nothing? I can’t do nothing.”

You hesitate, words sitting in your throat like they didn't want to come out. “You could just… stay.” His eyes flicker and you wished you could take them back when he looked startled. He wasn't prepared for that. “Stay with me.” You double down. “Just for a bit. If you want to.”

He softens, you see it in his shoulders when they drop. He steps closer and presses his hand to your waist again. Not examine you this time. 

“Okay.” He nods and eases you toward the bed. 

He squeezes himself between you and the wall, long legs tucked awkwardly, folding in on himself just to hold you. You lean back against his chest, arms wrapped around your stomach, careful not to couch the bruises too much. 

“You didn't deserve this.” He murmurs. “I should've known.”

You breath evens out slowly, your hand tightens faintly over his. He listens to you breathe, shallow and strained. 

He thinks of Tavik Trenn. Thinks of those little smug glances, the bitterness in every training exercise, the jealousy he would give you in his congratulations after you performed well. Thinks of him stepping on you. Your body curving inward, trying to protect yourself on some cold floor. How you never cried.

His vision’s gone back to red. If only he hadn't been so stupid, so proud. If he had just told you you deserved the praise. 

He looked down at you, mouth parted faintly, lashes touching your cheek, the crease in your brow relaxed now. You’re warm. You fell into rest so quickly, breathing against him like you were meant to. Maybe he was wrong about all of it—hiding you, keeping you as a distant secret. Pretending he didn’t think of you constantly, counting down the next sparring session like some kid with a crush. 

Maybe it’s time to stop pretending.

You blink and rustle awake, head shifting slightly. “Sorry,” You grumble. “Didn’t mean to trap you here. I know it’s small.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to apologize. I'm comfortable.” Your eyes are foggy with sleep. He brushes a strand of hair back, letting his hand just cradle your head. 

Your fingers trace his chest. “You know, you don’t have to stay.”

“I know. I want to.” He digs his body into his spot, gently holding you a little closer. His voice is quiet and serious. “I’m in it. I mean it. I don’t want to keep pretending that we’re just messing around or sleeping together. I want to be with you.”

Your lips part slightly and he watches you smile and hide it immediately in his chest. Just as stubborn as him. So cute. He bit one back himself, putting his mouth against the top of your head. 

“Get some sleep, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

He fell asleep just after you did. 

The night went quickly and he woke up with less layers than he had on when he got here. He must have tossed his tunic off mid sleep. It’s so damn stuffy in here. The circulation in this wing is weak. The room is dim, there’s no sound of boots outside. You’re curled into his side, face buried just under his collarbone, nose brushing a warm huff against his skin. One arm flung over his stomach, legs tangled in his, thigh tucked across his hips.

Kylo stares at the ceiling. He hasn’t slept this stiff in years. The mattress beneath him might as well not be there at all. He can feel the cold bleeding up through the base of it through the wafer-thin padding and a blanket that’s barely enough to sketch across the both of you. He’s seen crates with more cushioning. Then he looks at you, almost comfortable in your spot.

Gods, you really sleep here every night. He couldn’t believe this is what you come back to and never said one word about it. His bed has room to stretch, sprawl. But even there, you end up wound around him like this. But you could. 

You shift slightly against him, sleepy eyes opening to look at him. “Kylo.” You grumble, putting your face back into the heat of his shoulder. “You’re staring.”

“I’m allowed.” He mutters, but turns his head to face the ceiling once again. 

You smile faintly, eyes closed again as you trail a tired kiss to the skin on his chin. Then one to the corner of his mouth. Then, a real one. You lean in and catch him fully. He kisses you back slower and deeper, hand tightening against your waist.

You pull back and try to sit up, but barely make it halfway before you wince hard.

“You have painkillers?” He acts fast, already shifting to support your back.

“Top drawer.” And he reaches over you without a word, grabbing the bottle and helping you sit up more carefully. You groan through your teeth, arm trembling. “It’s better than yesterday.” He doesn’t look convinced and watches as you dry swallow two large pills. “I need to get dressed. I have sparring drills.”

“The hell you do.” He scoffs, rubbing a kink out of his neck. 

“I only got cleared for two days. Medical gave me—”

“I’ll handle it.” He stated like it wasn’t even worth a second thought. “You’re not going back to that training room until you can hold your head up by yourself, at least.”

You want to argue. You feel the push back sitting in your throat, but you swallow it down. He’s probably right. There’s no way you could spar, much less make it out of your quarters without holding onto the wall. 

Kylo sits at the edge of the bed, fingers fiddling with a hole on the blanket, eyes focused on the threads with a strange concentration. “I want to tell people we’re together.”

You almost choke on your tongue. “Kylo—no.”

“No one can lay a finger on you if they know I’ll kill them.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I want to take care of you, too.”

“Ky,” You need him to think this through. This isn’t a small thing he can decide in just one morning. “They’ll think everything I’ve done is because of you. That I didn’t actually earn any of it and I’m just some officer in your bed.”

He shakes his head, shuffling close to you, supporting himself on his arms and towers above you. “Then I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly how hard you earned it.” He leans down, kisses your lips softly. You run your fingernails down his forearm. You might be blushing, but the palette of colors on your face surely hides it enough. You just smirk. “I’m going to break every bone in their fingers. They’ll have to crawl back to their bunks.”

You groan, half exasperated, half flattered. “Gods, you’re sadistic.”

He brushes his lips over your cheek. “I’m being romantic.”

“Romantic would be… I dunno, writing me a letter, or something.”

“Same thing.” He kisses your jaw and sits up on his knees. 

You reach for his hand and hold it, feeling the callouses on your fingertips. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He huffs, and there's a moment you just stare at him, thumb brushing the inside of his wrist. “Don’t kill him.”

“I’m going to make sure no one lays a hand on you ever again.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I do.” He cuts in, standing and picking up his clothes. “Because I’m with you. I’m in it.” You watch as he makes himself presentable, just the way he came in last night. He straightens and moves to the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

Now, mask on and obsidian plates, he stands at the threshold of the training hall, still as a statue, watching through a glass pane as cadets practice their forms. Some sloppy, some impressive. But he wasn’t there to recruit or criticize their talents.

The doors slide open and he makes harsh steps forward. Silence spreads, boots shuffle, backs straighten, the sounds of fists and boots all fall quiet. He walks with his cape trailing behind him, the soles of his feet striking deliberately against the flooring. Kylo stops in front of the instructor. A tall, wiry lieutenant in combat gear, visibly surprised to see Kylo Ren and trying to snap into some respectful stance that won't betray the nerves that were pouring off of him. 

“Commander Ren,” the man says, breath caught. “I wasn’t informed you would be visiting the session.”

“I’ll be observing.” Kylo responds through the modulator.

“Yes. Of course, sir.” The man swallows. Kylo turns toward the gathered officers and cadets, all standing respectfully. “Resume.”

The pairs reform, movements return, gloves tighten. Everyone is fighting much more evenly now, all of them trying to prove themselves better than their partners. Kylo watches but doesn’t move, arms to his side as the training staff gives him a wide berth as they correct stances and call out bad technique.

And then he sees him.

Tavik Trenn.

The dark buzzed hair, broad shoulders, neutral expression. Maybe trying too hard not to look in Kylo’s line of sight. His sparring partner could barely hold her own against him. His form was clean, but aggressive. Striking too hard for a training match.

Then, across the mat, two others. One with a mottled bruise across his jaw, another favoring his left foot. Kylo tilts his head slightly as his gaze lingers on those bruises. He sees the pattern to them. The traces of your fingernails that dug into their skin, leaving a bloodied scar on his neck. You didn’t go down easy. He would have known that even if you didn't tell him. You could have taken any one of them if they hadn’t outnumbered you.

He kept his eyes glued on those three until the lesson ended.

“Dismissed” The instructor called out. 

Everyone began to scatter and go about their regular activities for the day. But Kylo was there for a reason. He saw the three of them gather together, heads down, beelining toward the door in hopes they could get away. They might as well have plastered the word guilty on their uniforms. “Tavik Trenn.” Kylo calls out, voice cutting through the room like a knife. “And you. You two. Stay behind.” They freeze, but turn slowly with cautious eyes that hold steady and shared glances. Kylo turns to the instructor. “Leave us.” He stiffens, unsure. “Now.”

The man nods quickly and exits, leaving them alone with the hum of the lights and the breath of three men who knew they were absolutely fucked. Kylo doesn’t speak at first, just watches them, soaks in their fear and masked confidence. How the one on the back left shifts his weight. How the other one doesn’t look up at all. 

Tavik lifts his chin a degree too high. “You wanted something, Commander Ren?”

“You ambushed an officer. Three on one. I know exactly what you did.” Kylo took one step forward. Tavik’s mouth opened— “Don’t speak.” The room grew cold. Kylo’s voice felt like a blade. “She’s earned her rank. Every inch of it. She wasn’t handed anything, I have no part in promotions. I don’t sit on that council. You think private lessons give her power here?”

Tavik let out a breath that might've been a laugh. Dry and forced. “Personal involvement doesn’t go hand in hand with personal involvement?”

“You understand nothing about how the Order works.” Kylo stepped forward again, towering over the man by only two inches or so, but his tone alone could've intimidated anyone in the galaxy. “You think you proved something to yourself? You only proved that she was a threat, and you couldn’t handle it. You turned on her like cowards.”

No one breathed, Tavik backed down, but with a tongue in cheek expression that made Kylo wish you never made him promise not to kill his smug faced asshole. 

“I’ll be leading your sparring session tomorrow.” He tilted toward each of the men, the two behind were focused on the floor, heads hung. “Hands-on training. Each of you.” He turned back to Tavik. “You had the advantage once. Three against one. Tomorrow, you’ll face me. Alone. One by one. And I will show everyone just how weak you are.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You better pray this is the last time I hear your name from her mouth.”

He stared them all down. Waited and watched them settle in the reality of their punishment. They never stood a chance against him, they knew that.

“Dismissed.”

Next Part

[dani-onearth]

Merciful & Misnamed

Kylo Ren x fem reader

Part One - [Part Two] - [Part Three] - [Part Four] - [Part Five] - [Part Six] - [Part Seven] Summary: You're his prisoner now, and he doesn't know how to look at you without becoming someone he swore he killed. You're still here and he thinks he saved you but the silence between you is thick with old affection and love. How do you mourn someone that's standing right there? Warnings: Pure angst! Strong language, shame induced eating behaviors Word Count: 5.12k Authors note: I haven't written fanfic in years but I just watched all of Star Wars again and Kylo Ren got me thinking... I tried making the reader sassy, hurt maybe. English isn't my first language and tenses get me really confused still (I gotta learn by now). Also, if I got any lore wrong please let me know! I'm not deep into the fandom but I'd love to learn.

It's funny what can entertain you after a while. Sitting alone in a dark and cold corner helped you find a pile of old dust; handy for doodling on the concrete floor before it gets blown away by a sneeze or stepped on by your dirty boots. You've been keeping count of the days as best you can, but the troopers took your wristcom when you were captured approximately twelve days ago. You wish you'd had some other way of timekeeping that didn’t warrant rubbing your fingernail on the wall until it marked. Now you have no choice but to bite at your bleeding nail when the dust gets boring. You count stormtroopers like sheep when they pass your cell door through the sliver of a window you’re lucky to have.

You wonder if your friends are still in the cells next to you. If they get the same joyless ration bars once a day. The same five minutes in the refresher–ten every third day when they give you a fresh prisoner's uniform and access to a brutally cold shower.

How generous.

Twelve days on this ship and you haven't spoken a word to anyone. Not a stormtrooper, a general, a captain, or the damned Kylo Ren. Thank the stars. The masked monster has quickly become a dark plague through the galaxy. All you see is the covered face of a coward. A traitor. The being that engulfed the man you used to know and turned him into a greedy and power hungry and a soulless shell of a person. You hoped you never had to see him again.

Too bad you can feel him.

Near, somewhere. A pull from all directions. It was agonizing knowing he was on this ship with you. Did he know you were here too?

The buzz from your cell door turned your head to see two stormtroopers at your door, holding restraints.

“Prisoner. Come with us.”

Three resistance members in front and two behind you walked alongside a stormtrooper. Heads hung low, trudging their feet along the metal floors, forced back into the dirty clothes you were captured in. The U-wing to Takodana was just supposed to be a supply run. Quick and easy—you were excited to go and barter for new boots. Instead, your ship was taken by the first order. They killed half your shipmates, and the other half were here with you; walking in a straight line down the empty corridors… until you halted, jerked back by the arm of your appointed guard. You stood on a platform in front of dozens of stormtroopers and generals.

“Against the wall.” One ordered, and you reluctantly had to agree. You weren't necessarily in a position to run. Not with a dozen blasters surrounding you in the hands of the enemy. You friends did the same.

The wall was cold and smooth. You look over at the pilot from your ship, standing next to you in defeat. “Malik.” You whispered as quietly as you could, but your voice was hoarse from how little you’ve used it recently. “What's going on?” You asked, but you knew what this was. The holocam pointed directly at the lineup of you rebels. You were going to be a message to the galaxy. Join or be killed.

Malik only opened his mouth before a march was heard down the hallway. Loud steps, commanding steps. The sea of troopers parted to reveal Captain Phasma and General Hux in his perfectly pressed garments and shiny new shoes. Wearing a smirk you wanted to peel off you a dull knife as you stood restrained, likely by his orders.

He laid his eyes on all of you, his lip turning up before he started. “Traitors to the order. Enemies against stability. Do you feel proud? Do you feel… accomplished?” He chuckled.

Disgusting.

“Your so-called resistance is dying. It’s scattered and desperate. Your rebel friends will call you martyrs. Heroes, even.”

“We’re not fighting to be remembered, Hux. We’re fighting so we don’t have to live under your flag.” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you had the chance to stop.

Hux fixes on you, stepping over to be in front of you, only inches away. “Then you’ll die under it.”

You charge forward only enough so he’d stumble back; a stormtrooper yanking you back against the wall just as quickly.

Hux cleared his throat, stepping away when he heard footsteps. Footsteps that rattled in your brain. They echoed and pulled at your chest. The familiar feeling turned your gaze away from Hux to see a dark helmet floating through the parting crowd of white ones until it stood in front of the wall of rebels. Kylo Ren, hands clasped behind his back, draped in heavy wool and woven fibers.

“These are all the rebels captured, General Hux?” The mechanical growl still sounded like Ben. The voice modulator did its best, but it was a voice you used to seek out; a voice you hadn’t heard in almost six years.

“Yes. Four were killed upon capture. Seven left.” Hux responds. “Today, the first order sends a message.”

The black helmet scanned the rebels and you know he sees you now. Kylo Ren has gone still. Your eyes are locked on the slit in his mask where his eyes would be. You won’t look away, you refuse to. Your anger for him is tired and heavier than rage. You’re sure he can see that. You’re sure he can feel it.

“These seven traitors–”

“–Six traitors.” Kylo cuts off Hux who glances sideways. “The fourth one. Remove her.”

“Sir?” Phasma turns, uncertain.

Hux turns his back to the lineup as a flicker of uncertain movement passes through the troops. Even your friends shifted beside you.

“Now.” He says, sharper.

You didn’t move until two troopers closed in on you and you jerked back, almost resisting them. Not because you wanted to die… but you didn’t want to be saved by him.

Hux grits his teeth at Kylo. “May I remind you, this operation was given by High Command. To revoke the sentence of one of these rebels would be–"

“This is not a discussion, General Hux.” Kylo swivels to face you, fighting against the guards, grunting as you use all of the fight inside of you. “Take her back to her cell.”

“No!” You scream. Your rebel friends begin to resist themselves before forcefully being brought to their knees. “Let me go!” Your screams mean nothing to the army of troops as the two dragged you away. You heard Hux call for the broadcast to start, the troopers got their blasters out, and Ren just watched as you were dragged away with your feet kicking before he just… walked away. Sounds travel through these halls. You learned that as you heard Hux giving his speech, and then six echoing shots.

You didn’t stop fighting, even after they threw you back on the familiar dusty floor. You pounded on the door, screaming, crying. You knew there was no point. Your head hurt. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t blink. The silence was louder than the executions themselves. The ones you fought beside, trained with, shared your rations with. Gone. Not in battle, but lined up like fucking cattle while you were dragged away like some untouchable exception.

It didn’t feel like mercy. It was theft. Like your life was paid for with theirs. You had no say in this trade off. This wasn’t compassion from Ben, it was possession from Kylo, a man you do not wish to know.

Days went by. You wouldn’t know how many since you stopped keeping track and the cell lights didn’t dim at night, but rations slid through like a cycle and three uneaten bars stacked up by the door.

You assumed he'd come by and say something to you. Maybe even just to shoot you himself. You wished he did but stopped wondering why you were alive. Stopped pretending it meant anything. Because he never came.

Until now.

The door hissed open. You sat clutching your knees and mindlessly pushing the dust from side to side. You knew who was there, blocking the light from the overheads like a dark storm cloud. You could feel that he was just there, at the door, looking at your back and hoping you’d face him.

But you wouldn't. They’d have to break your neck to make you say something first. The silence was only in your ears, but the force that connected you both rattled inside.

“It’s cold in here.”

You barked out a dry laugh and spoke into the corner you faced. “Three days. Three days and that's what you open with?”

Silence.

“Did you forget which cell you left me in or were you hoping I’d be grateful when you finally showed your face?” You turned your head to see him, masked as ever behind the doorway. He couldn't even be inside the room with you. “Or your fucking helmet, I guess.”

“This is who I am now.” He stepped through the threshold of the door and you stood up to look at him better.

“Is it? I don’t think it is. This is who you’re pretending to be, Ben.”

“Ben is dead.”

“You think hiding your face makes you more than what you were? Does it make what you did easier?” You ignored his last words. “You’re not powerful in that… thing. You’re just a coward that couldn’t face me without it.”

Of course he had nothing to say. He doesn’t even know why he did it. Ben is dead, is what he tells himself… what he tells anybody who dared ask about him. But looking at you, it’s not how Kylo Ren should look at a Rebel. It's not indifference or rage. It’s how Ben would look at you, before. The girl he would sneak out of his chambers with back at the Jedi temple; and he’d do it with a smile he tried his best to hide, even jogging to get to your secret spot quicker.

You felt the softness in him, but to hell with that. You felt nothing for this beast right now. You knew he knew that. You couldn't ever hide how you felt from him, it was impossible. You stood away from him, but made sure he had to look you in the eye now.

“You were spared.” He spoke

“I was kept.” It came out like venom. “Was that supposed to mean something?”

“It meant something to me.” He said it so softly.

You toed closer to him, unblinking. “Then say it without the mask.” And you waited. Stared. Hoped he would, against your better judgement. But he was rooted in his stance and the helmet stayed on. All you could give him was a scoff and a whisper. “That’s what I thought.”

You sank down on the hard metal slab you were supposed to sleep on.

“I saved you.” His pitch is now demanding. He came closer to you with harsher steps. “I saved you.” His pointed finger was a verdict, an accusation. His demeanor changed and now you were talking to Kylo Ren.

“No.” You said, sitting up. “Ben did. Kylo just wants to be thanked for it.”

He froze. Something in him twitched and for a second, you thought he'd lash out and the room would explode in a force-filled rage.

Instead, he straightened. Colder now. Mask heavier somehow. “Ben is dead.”

All this rage. All this pain and agony, and somehow all you wanted was to see behind the small plane where his eyes would be. His eyes. But you couldn’t. “Then so is whatever part of me cared.”

He stood in place for a breath, two breaths, then pivoted slowly to face the door. His cape dragged an arc across the cell floor, but didn’t storm off. Not yet. His helmet tilted down at the uneaten ration bars. A sneer crept into his voice. “You think starving in a cell makes you nobel? That it’s going to prove something? All it proves is that I should’ve left you with the rest of them.”

“Then why didn’t you?” You asked to the back of his head, slowly standing up. “If you wanted me dead, I would be. If you wanted me grateful, you would've never left me here to rot. So what is it? What do you want, Kylo?!” You said a name that meant nothing to you—like it was a joke—voice rising with every syllable. “To be… forgiven? Worshipped? You said you spared me and then walked away. Now you’re angry? Because I didn’t make your mercy feel… what? Worth it?” By the time you felt it, tears had already carved a path down your cheeks. You wondered when they started.

His gaze lingered on the untouched rations, piled up like an insult. Without a word, he lifted a hand and the bars rose, trembling in the air, wrappers crinkling under the invisible pressure before they just snapped with a hard crack.

You flinched.

He flung them as forcefully as he could against the wall, each one exploding into useless, powdered debris. Protein crumbs smeared across the durasteel wall; a tantrum pretending to be power.

He didn't say a thing, or look at you again. He just walked out, cloak flowing behind him into the harsh light of the hallway, rage trailing like smoke that was cut off by the slam of your cell door.

You pressed your lips together to keep in your shock. Not fear, because it was so… childish. All that power and he used it to throw a tantrum over prison food. It was just so small.

And he was the one who was supposed to spare you? No. He didn’t spare you. He just couldn't bring himself to kill you. And now because you weren't grateful, he’d rather see you starve than feel like he doesn't have control.

Coward.

You hate to admit that you ate the bits of protein crumbs off the floor, but you found yourself picking hairs off of little pieces. You stared at them for hours, like they just belonged to the floor now. You tried pressing tighter against the wall and closing your eyes, pretending the ache in your stomach wasn't real. But it was. It twisted and burned.

And it wasn’t just hunger, it was shame. Shame because you knew you were gonna do it.

You wish more than anything you had time to stand up. To straighten out from your hunched position, finger curled around a stale, dusty, sticky crumbling piece of ration bar from the corner.

You froze for a moment, then sat up, slow and deliberate, but didn’t stand—and didn't drop the food. Just turned and looked at him.

He stood in the doorway, half-lit by the corridor behind him. Helmet on, hands by his sides.

“What do you want now?” You asked, voice rough.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gazed down at the crumbs, the dust, the scattered remains of his pathetic destruction. Maybe his posture shifted but you couldn't tell.

“There’s a proper meal waiting.” He said at last.

Finally, you stood to your feet, wiping your hands against each other hoping to regain your dignity. “Here to feed the animals yourself now? Your little stunt got you demoted?”

“It’s in my quarters. You’re invited.”

“Oooh, invited, huh?” You sang, taunting his olive branch. “I don’t need another handout from you, Ren.”

“You clearly do. You have ten minutes to make yourself look presentable.”

You noticed his boot crunch under some of your ration as he walked out, leaving you to scoff at the closed door. “Sure, I’ll… make sure to brush the dirt off my knees.”

You looked down at yourself. Torn sleeves, stained pants, crumbs still caught in the corner of your mouth.You only got to wipe some of it off before two guards came through the door. Behind them a third figure–a young officer who didn’t speak, just held out a folded bundle of clothing.

“What’s this?” You asked, not taking the pressed linens right away.

“For the meal.” He said simply.

You laugh dryly. “Funny. Does it come with a fork to stab him with?”

That didn’t land. The officer didn't even hint at a smile.

“Kidding… I guess they don’t brainwash you all with a sense of humor.”

He twitches his lip. “You have ten minutes.”

They left swiftly, leaving you to look at the garments. Black, clean, simple. No rank, no insignia. It wasn’t meant to make you look beautiful. It was meant to make you look harmless or worse—like you belonged there.

You were brought through hallways and corridors, hands cuffed behind your back. You peek into any room you can, hoping that when you escape back to the rebellion one day you could give them at least some intel. That you weren't put through all of this for nothing. The robes were looser than expected, and you kept the sleeves rolled at the elbow, just in case you might still need to throw a punch or two. Rolling up the pant legs didn’t stay the way you hoped as you tripped constantly with the rough hand gripping your forearm.

You can only assume you’ve arrived when you’re standing in front of a set of tall, seamless doors. The guards stop, one reaching toward a panel. You barely have time to readjust your footing before the door slides open with a sharp hiss and you trip.

Your foot had caught the extra length of fabric on your ankle. You groan as you lay on your side, your own hands unable to help you up. From the ground, you see Kylo stand up sharply from his seat immediately as the trooper hauls you up by your elbow roughly. Kylos elbows shot back protectively.

You stagger again trying to right yourself. “Hey—watch it.” You hissed, yanking your arm back. “I can walk from here, thank you.”

Kylo stood near the far wall, half lit by vertical stripes of cool light that ran along the interior of the room. The table was set. Two chairs. Two plates. No guard or aids inside. Just him sitting alone at a really long table.

Just Kylo.

He started to walk toward you with deliberate steps and your breath caught in your throat as his posture shifted… the tension in his shoulders. Subtle, but sharp. A tell you recognized from another life.

“Uncuff her.” The dangerous grumble from his helmet had your breath caught in your throat.

“She–”

“Uncuff her, and leave.” Brutal.

They didn’t question it again; they just released your hands and walked out. You didn't say thank you, and he didn’t expect you to. You straightened out your robes, eyes flickering toward the set up. You could feel his eyes on you even if his helmet made it impossible to actually see them.

“So,” You started, glaring, “no other guests?”

“No.” He stated simply. “This isn’t a performance”

You scoff. “Could've fooled me.” You look around. The dim lighting, the impeccable symmetry of the forks and knives, the domed plates, everything just seemed perfect. “This all looks so… theatrical.” You stood behind your chair all the way across from him, but didn’t sit. “Is this supposed to be some sort of twisted date?” Your chair was so far from his, all the way on the other end.

He says nothing. Shocker.

“I mean, you wanted me all dressed up, right? To eat like nothing happened. Like I'm not still tasting dirt from my cell floor. Like the people I love didn't just get executed for being exactly where I was standing.”

He stares before lowering himself down into his seat. “Sit.”

You held his stare for a long moment before doing the same. “You’re used to people doing as you say.” You unfold your napkin. “I bet somewhere deep inside you miss when someone doesn't flinch.”

“You flinched earlier.”

You smile without any humor behind it. “So you were watching.”

Another pause. You didn’t know Ben to have such a stoic presence. Such little humor, wit, likability. Sure, he was always a little more rebellious and defiant than any of the other Jedi’s, but it was charming. Who is this man? What did he do to the man you loved?

Before long, you had something else to say. More questions. “So what’s all this really about? You drag me out of my cell, have six people executed, bring me here, feed me, clothe me. Why?”

He fiddled his finger together, posture confident and distant. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Want me to be civil? Hm?” You lean forward, elbow on the table. “Fine. No problem, sir. I’ll be civil. Let’s talk. Lets act like, I dunno, just two people who used to know each other. Tell me, Kylo Ren, how does a Jedi turn into this.” You gesture to the full monstrosity of him. The mask. The robes. The looming silence and refusal to converse. “And in exchange, I’ll tell you how it feels to be the one left behind.”

“I was never going to be the Jedi they wanted.” He said finally. “Not like Luke Skywalker—”

“—No one was asking you to be Luke, you just needed to be yourself.”

“Myself?” He tutted behind the vocoder. “Explain that to me. My grandfather was Darth Vader.” He stood now, pacing menacingly behind his roughly discarded chair. “It’s inside of me. It always has been. I spent my whole life being warned, watched, judged. Like they were just waiting for the day to come. I didn’t fall like you think I did, I stopped pretending. That’s not weakness. That’s power.”

You stood too now, a lump in your throat swelling. “Power? That’s running. You ran from the only people who ever gave a damn about you.”

“I made a choice.”

“You threw away who you were.”

“Who I was was a lie.” He slammed his hand on the table, rattling and skewing the perfectly placed settings.

Maybe you saw him then. Not Ben, Kylo. It wasn’t just arrogance, but a man so desperate to matter in this galaxy that he was willing to destroy everything to prove he was worth something.

Your voice dropped. “Is that what this is about?” You wiped a stray tear, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “You needed to be someone so badly you’d burn down civilization to leave a fucking footprint?”

“I am someone.”

“What you are is a coward in a helmet.” You’re basically on the table at this point, arms splayed, torso leaned completely over your plate, knocking over your glass at some point.

The lights overhead flickered, the force rippled across the room, it was unmistakable—like a giant astroid just passed over you. Your throat went dry as you watched him steady himself slowly before he sat again. You stayed standing, breath quick and tempered.

“You’re angry.” He said.

“I’m furious.”

“At me.”

You cackled. “No, I'm just yelling at the wall.”

“Then say it.” You could hear his gritted teeth.

“Oh, you want the truth?”

“Always.”

“I missed you.” That cracked something in your voice; in your chest. “And I hated you for it. I used to lay in my bed and just dream that you would come back and tell me it was all a lie, or that—that you were a goddamn spy, that this,” you waved to the mask, “was some sick, twisted, disgusting dream. But now I’m here. And you’re real.”

His hands twitched on the table. “I gave you everything.” He said it lowly. “I warned you not to follow me or look for me—”

“—Warned me?! You abandoned me—”

He shot up. “—I spared you. Twice now!”

“And you want a medal for that? Because you didn’t slice my head off at the temple or gun me down on a broadcast?”

“You are alive because of me.”

“And thousands are dead because of you.”

Enraged, he lifted decorative rock across the room, it flew to a wall and broke into a million pieces with a yell, just a few feet away from where you were. Silence slammed down like a wave between the two of you, both breathing hard.

After a moment, he grumbled quietly. “You don’t understand. There’s more work than you know. The Jedi—”

“Your mother would be disgusted.” The words tumbled out of your mouth in disdain, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Don’t.” He warned.

“And your father—”

“I said, don’t.” His voice rose, but it was the power behind it that made the air chill that sent goosebumps down your body.

You tumbled back, bits of rock crunching at your feet.

His helmet tilted sideways at you and he slowly made his way toward your side of the table. “You’re afraid of me.”

“I’m afraid of what’s left of you. I don’t even know who you are anymore. You’re not the boy who used to kiss me by the temple garden. You’re not the one who used to hold me like you’d lose me. You’re not the person I fell…”

You caught yourself, but it was too late.

He stepped forward, reaching you slowly and menacingly. He’s only inches away and you can smell him. That same mix of leather and pine. Of all the things he had cast away that scent remained.

“Finish it.” He said it, quieter this time. A command, but not a cold one.

You bite your cheek, throwing daggers into his helmet with your stare, but your heart thudded against your will. “No.”

“Say it.”

“I won’t.” You whispered. “Because he is dead. And I’m standing in front of the thing that killed him.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He just let the silence settle like dust. His mask tilted downward just slightly, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you… or maybe as if he was. You even saw yourself reflected in his dark visor. Pale, tired, trembling.

Then, he reached down; no sharp movements or flourish. He just lifted the dome in front of you, revealing the warm steam of real food beneath it. He left the cloche by your plate and moved back to his seat, sitting with an invisible weight.

“Eat.” He said.

You didn’t move. “Why?”

“Because I told you to.” He burrowed in his seat, lifting the cloche in front of him.

You didn’t touch your food. Not yet. He brought his fork to his plate but didn’t do anything with it, just let the silence stretch.

Then you said it. “How are you going to eat with that helmet on?”

He paused. The question wasn’t… biting. Not really. If anything, it was soft, and tired, and a little sad. He looked at you—through you, rather.

Your voice was quiet. “I won’t eat if you don’t. Not if you can’t even show me your face.” He didn’t move, so you leaned forward. “I deserve to see who I’m talking to now.”

A pause. A breath. And then, his gloved hands moved slowly, reaching up to the edge of his helmet, unclasping the lock. The soft hiss of the seal tightened your throat and he hesitated, just for a second. His head bowed like a man offering something he shouldn’t be.

When it came off, that weight was shaking. His face… older, sharper, eyes darker than in your memories of Ben, but still absolutely his eyes. A scar now split his cheek, and his jaw tightened when he saw you staring at it. But, it was him. It was Ben. Hardened and haunted.

He placed the helmet on the table.

“Hi,” You barely whispered, but he looked away like the word had burned him. He hadn't looked at you for more than a few seconds without his protective shield.

“You smell the same as before. Did you know that?” He still won’t look. “It’s stupid, I know. It’s just that it’s the first thing I noticed when you got close. Like… the force wasn't what told me you were there… my senses did. I hated that.”

He swallowed, silence folding over itself once again.

“I thought… I thought I was doing what I had to.” His voice unfiltered. More human, rougher somehow. It really was him. “Back then, at the temple. I left because I thought no one really wanted me as I was.”

“I did.” You whispered, and he finally looked up. At you. No mask, no persona, just eyes that used to hold everything in the galaxy when he looked at you.

He sighed. “You were the only thing that made me feel like I belonged there… and that terrified me.”

You swallowed an ache in your chest. “Because if you lost me, then you had nothing left.”

“And I lost you anyway.”

You blinked back whatever was threatening to spill. You thought you were done crying over him. “You didn’t lose me. You never would have lost me. You just gave me away.”

Silence. He didn’t correct you. Instead, he looked down at his plate of food like it would save him. Then you heard him again.

“You used to talk in your sleep.” You blinked at his sentence, his voice low. “When our bunk rotations lined up, you’d hum sometimes. Or say half your assignments out loud, like your brain wouldn’t shut off. You’d mumble about lightsaber forms or supplies.” That memory was so far back it felt like a dream. As he continued, he somehow got softer. “But there was one night… you said my name.” He looked up, brows twisting upward. “Not just once, you said it three times. Like you were afraid I wasn’t there. And I remember I walked over to your bed and touched your hand so you’d stop. I held it in your sleep.”

You swallowed, not realizing you'd gone completely still.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” He shook his head like he was ashamed of the confession. “It’s not like it matters now.”

“It matters to me.” He seemed startled at your gentle voice. “So, why say it now? After all these years?”

“Because I still hear it.”

You felt the crack in your chest and your shoulders slumped, eyes glazing over the food so you wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Ben,” your voice could have been mistaken for a sigh, “Ben was the one who loved me.”

“I never stopped.” He couldn’t take back those words, even if he didn’t mean to say them. They hung there between plates and a ruined past, among the people you were now. You looked up to glassy eyes, still holding yours. “Will you eat with me?” Spoken like he wasn’t worth it.

You hesitated, but silently reached for the fork. The first bite burned your throat on the way down, but you didn’t stop.

[Part Two] Note: I forgot how fun writing fanfics are. Thanks for reading! My Google search history is full of questions wondering what the hell a shower is called in this universe and what kind of ships they would have taken or what kind of planet would have supplies for the Rebels. I have so much to learn... how exciting!

[mideias]

Star Wars movies (1977 - ) // The Fallen Angel (detail) - Alexandre Cabanel, 1847

[yummyrunnyyolk]

wait…. if hes serving face… and SHES serving face….. then whos flying the ship!!!!😧😧

[k9effect]

"Up in our bedroom, after the war..."

[Click for better quality, reblogs and tags highly appreciated]

Bonus: silly Bob and Yelena text thread and close ups

[folkloure]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ masterlist ⋆

roommates!au pb&jj

notes: while all of my blurbs have only been focused on the four boys until now, i do have plans of including a reader character in the future! but i want to build the characters and friendship between them first, so it’s all established when the time comes for reader to show up. also hopefully i’ll keep writing for the four of them alone, for those who don’t want a x reader fic! think of it as different seasons of the same show, hehe. thank you for reading! <3

moodboard

headcanons

the one where they move in

the one where johnny makes parsley soup

the one where peter gets a job

the one where joaquin gets really, really drunk

[trickarrows-bishop]

[con-artist-dj]

Ok I finally have an update for y'all!

Update of the Hugs between the Thunderbolts, sorry it took so long <3

[swordgrace-deactivated20260219]

❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥. ❞

┊ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: by anonymous — amidst the avengers feud, you and joaquin are going steady in your relationship. you decide to sneak him into the watchtower while the team is away on a mission.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: joaquin torres x fem!thunderbolts!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 9.4K (long one!)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), smut/fluff, established relationship, sam wilson cameo, inexperienced reader, making out, body worship, mild dry humping, oral sex (fem!rec), lots of praise, unprotected p in v sex, missionary position. aftercare + cute ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: my brain is filled with joaquin torres, I’m in love with him sm !! this was so, so much fun to write, I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

“You’re thinking about something.”

Sam’s inquiring statement sliced through Joaquín’s thoughts like a hot knife, tinged with an underlying jolt of humor.

Sitting sideways on the couch, the both of them were in his apartment — bunker, more like. He affectionately took to calling it the ‘Cap Cave’, which Sam always groaned at.

Swiveling around in his chair, Joaquín blinked owlishly, brows lifting in surprise. “I’m always thinking about something,” He counters, seemingly perplexed. “Are you saying I don’t think?”

On the coffee table, Sam’s got a stack of files, names of enhanced and non-enhanced individuals to recruit for the Avengers.

He’d gotten Jennifer and Shaun onboard with restarting the Avengers Initiative — he didn’t care about Fontaine’s new group running around. Sam pretended not to be bitter, but it still hurt anyway.

It stung knowing that people out there still didn’t think him worthy of the mantle, and worse, knowing that Bucky was there, too.

“Nah, I’m not saying that,” Sam mused, perusing through files. He was still waiting on a response from Shuri, who’d assumed the mantle of the Black Panther. “You look like a guy who’s thinking about a girl.”

Joaquín gawked, idly rolling the chair from side-to-side, palms getting sweaty. He was definitely thinking about a girl. “What if I am? You can’t police that, Sam.” He muses.

There’s a lapse of silence as Sam contemplates, brows pinching together. He knows it’s about you, and Joaquín’s face gives everything away.

He found out about the relationship unwittingly one morning, when Joaquín had come home at four o’clock, all cheery and stealthy like a teenage boy.

It wasn’t an intelligent move on his part — it was dangerously reckless, Joaquín knew this, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Joaquín, you gotta be smart about this,” He starts in with a fatherly tone and a certain sternness that makes Joaquín wither. “She’s in Fontaine’s pocket, and I know you’ve been sneaking over there to see her.”

“I’m being careful,” He vows, staring down at his lap to avoid the scrutiny of Sam’s stare. “I don’t think she’s in with Fontaine like that, man. She doesn’t seem that way.”

With a begrudging sigh, Sam doesn’t attempt to refute his claim or dissuade him. He can’t stop him from seeing you, even if he thinks it’s a bad idea.

Unconvinced, silence fills the momentary gap between the both of them, and Joaquín is swift to defend your honor; and you aren’t even here.

“She’s different, Sam. I want you to meet her sometime — she’s unlike anybody I’ve ever met.” He sighs, and Sam can practically hear the swooning in his tone.

“Whatever you do, don’t get involved in Fontaine’s business,” It was more of a precautionary measure than a threat. He didn’t want Joaquín to be taken hostage or something worse. “Got it?”

“I got it, Sam. I promise.” Swearing up and down, his phone vibrates in his pocket, catching both of their attention. His smile is light as he spins back around in the chair.

“If you’re gonna talk to her, take it to your room, Romeo.” Sam chuckles, and despite the circumstances, he’s being cordial about everything.

He didn’t want to heighten the tension if Joaquín couldn’t see you. Sam didn’t know you, but he knew how his partner talked about you — like you were the sun, the center of everything.

If you made him happy, he wasn’t going to interfere.

Flashing a smile, Joaquín clamors from the chair when he sees your name flash on his phone, and he waves in-passing. Sam scoffs and grins, but he doesn’t make any lasting remarks on the matter.

Admittedly, Joaquín hadn’t intended for all of this to happen in the way that it had; it just did.

He’d gone to the Watchtower about five months ago with the mission of trying to talk to Bucky, wanting to do right by Sam. He managed to get past the extensive security measures before it all came crashing down.

He met you.

Joaquín still remembered how you looked that day, wide-eyed and curious, wearing a shirt two sizes too big and floral-patterned shorts. You were eating from a bag of grapes, and you called him Falcon.

From then-on, you’d formed an unexpected friendship, and two months ago, he got the stones to ask you out.

Despite the newness of the relationship, he was loving every second of it, even if you couldn’t see one another as often as you wanted. It was all meetings in neutral places, at first — the park, going out to dinner, a museum.

Then, he started using his new suit to fly over to the roof of the Watchtower after you dismantled the surveillance system. He taught you how to do that, too.

The both of you started to get bold with how far you could test the limits of him “coming over”. The rooftop escapades merely scratched the surface.

It turned to midnight dates on the helipad, shooing him away when the others got back from a mission. It turned to him getting as far as the common room, giggling on the couch together at two in the morning.

Tonight, it was turning into your room.

Typically, Joaquín was the one pitching all of these ideas, and the both of you were all giddy, sneaking around like two teenagers. Now, it was really getting serious when you posed the idea of smuggling him into your bedroom.

The plan was all set, laid out to perfection, and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

Team’s gone on a mission, Bob included — no one else in the Watchtower except you and him. That got him excited; maybe a little too thrilled about the whole thing.

You planned on dismantling the surveillance systems beforehand, knowing that if Bucky went back and checked, he’d probably find evidence of your house-guest.

He scuttled into his room, kicking the door closed when your text popped up.

YOU (my girlfriend <3): hey joaq :) are you still wanting to come over tonight?

JOAQUIN: you’re really asking? I’m still coming over! coast still clear?

YOU (my girlfriend <3): yes, still clear! talked to lena today, said they won’t be back for two days! means we have tower to ourselves 😚

Joaquín huffed a laugh at the emoji you used, nose wrinkling with amusement. He had no idea what he did to get so lucky, other than break a few dozen rules and hijack the New Avengers headquarters.

In his eyes, no one could hold a candle to you; you were so beautiful, so kind, full of a liveliness that brightened everything around you.

The both of you were mutually understanding of the whole feud between two Avengers teams, and as long as that remained intact, everything would be perfectly fine.

JOAQUIN: do you think I could get away with spending the night?

Maybe a little brazen of him to say, or even assume, but if your teammates wouldn’t be back for a few days, he decided to take his chances. Sam wouldn’t be happy about it, but he’d apologize later.

YOU (my girlfriend <3): like a sleepover? lol! I think you can :) don’t want sam to be mad at you, tho!

JOAQUIN: if I text him and tell him what’s going on, he won’t be as mad 😇

On the other end of the phone, you were giggling at your screen, perched along the edge of your mattress. Your relationship with Joaquín was going splendidly, especially with it being a secret — from your teammates, anyway.

He’d blown his cover with Sam awhile back, and you were grateful that he was relatively amiable about the whole thing.

A hush had fallen through the Watchtower with the absence of the team, save for some folk ballad you had playing from the speakers in your room. It was late afternoon, closer to evening.

YOU: don’t think you can bat your eyelashes out of this one, joaq 😭 also gonna order carryout tonight! what do you want?

JOAQUIN: it only works on you ig 😏 the beef and broccoli with noodles :)) thanks babe!

YOU: very funny! come over around five? will disable cams on helipad for a sec

JOAQUIN: sounds good miel :) can’t wait to see you tonight, missed you a ton 🥺

A soft snort escaped you when you caught the emoji he’d tacked onto the end of his text, heat curling around your spine. He made you feel so special, beautiful — you weren’t used to having that constant in your life.

When you closed your eyes, you pictured him on the other end, grinning at his phone, black curls framing his temples, a hand pressed against his jaw. It filled your stomach with butterflies.

Hopping off of your bed, you made sure to send another quick text, springing towards the shower. It was a little reckless, having him over like this, but love had made you a little stupid, too.

YOU: missed you more! ❤️ text me when you’re near the helipad, falcon :)

Joaquín grins at his phone, shoving it into his pocket before rifling through his wardrobe. He wants to find something nice to wear, something to fit under his Falcon suit.

The cologne he haphazardly throws into his overnight bag is a scent you’ve complimented him on before. Anticipation twists into knots in his stomach, excited to see you.

He does get some thrill out of all of this — of sneaking off to see you, getting smuggled into the Watchtower. He figures that all of this good luck is bound to cause whiplash, eventually.

His phone buzzes in his pocket as he gets his stuff together, attempting to be quiet about packing.

CAPTAIN AMERICA: Do not wear the Falcon suit over there or I’ll lock it up for good.

Deadpanning at the screen, he lets out a sigh, figuring you’ll have to disable lobby cameras, instead. Joaquín groans theatrically into a bunched-up shirt, brows furrowing together.

JOAQUIN: You got it, boss.

It’s four-thirty when you get a text from Joaquín.

JOAQUIN: so no helipad, had to ditch the wings :( lobby safe to come through if cams are off?

YOU: let me disable on main system and come get you! give me ten ❤️

The clothes you wear are modestly comfortable, a pair of leggings with a baggy shirt thrown over, showered and smelling like a flower shop.

After you slide on your slippers, you make your way to the Tower’s mainframe system, disabling cameras in the main lobby and in the elevator, too. It’s simple to turn them off temporarily with the access code — you’d stolen it from Bucky.

Giddy, your ride down the elevator shaft is riddled with excitement and a constant bouncing of your leg. Outside, the New York cityscape begins to ignite with an eclectic nightlife, between the glow of skyscrapers and the hum of cars.

Downstairs, the lobby is polished, corporate — there’s banners of the New Avengers strewn over the walls, massive and theatrical.

Pale tile clashes with the dark furniture that had been set up to resemble something modern, business-like and suave. Valentina had a knack for making everything look very sterilized.

Joaquín is lingering just outside, waving at you with a pearly smile and a bouquet of flowers. Bursting at the seams, you jog over to let him inside, putting in your clearance code before the door slides open.

“Joaquín!” Overjoyed, you’re nearly leaping into his arms as soon as he crosses the threshold, feeling him wrap you up in a tight hug.

A laugh bubbles from his chest, warm and inviting, curling over your bones as he cradles you against his chest. He presses a kiss to your crown, catching a whiff of your perfume; you smell incredible.

“Hey, pretty girl,” He hums, peppering your face with a myriad of kisses, pulling a soft laugh from your mouth. “I missed you.” Joaquín’s got a lovestruck look in his eyes, akin to a puppy.

“I missed you too,” Draping your arms around him, the closeness is something you’ve craved, absorbing his warmth as if he’s his own sun. “No wings? Did Sam clip them or something?” You tease, nose wrinkled.

Embarrassed, he lets out a begrudging groan, features tinged with a scarlet hue as he shrugs. “He didn’t want me using them to come over, figured I’d respect his wishes.”

“He’s nice enough to let you come over here, given the circumstances,” You point out, gaze drifting toward the bouquet of brightly-colored flowers he’s carrying. “You brought flowers?”

“I know. I want you to meet him sometime, I think he’d like you.” Joaquín stands a little taller, resolute as he presents you with your gift. “It’s an apology for not seeing you in a while.”

“You’re sweet,” Flustered, you accept the bouquet with a beam on your face, feeling his lips press against your cheek. “Mm, move your mouth an inch or two to your right.”

“Yes ma’am.” A smirk spreads across his mouth before he kisses your lips instead. He’s enthusiastic yet disarmingly tender, kiss infused with an underlying passion.

Joaquín leans down, closer to you as he slings an arm around your hips, heartbeat stuttering beneath his sternum.

You make him nervous sometimes, in a good way — you make him want to be the best man he can be.

As the kiss slows to a crawl, he draws away with a contented hum, lips still quirked into a grin. “I want more of those, please.” He muses, hand lingering over the small of your back.

“There’ll be plenty more, I promise.” You laugh, tugging on his hand as you make for the elevator. The door bears the Avengers emblem — slightly modified, but the spirit is still there.

Once the both of you are inside, Joaquín peers around in awe, never having seen the whole interior of the Watchtower before. He’s been as far as the common room.

“You got your own superhero banner?” He remarks, brows lifting with amusement. He wished he got his own Falcon banner — maybe Sam could get the new team one, once he finished recruiting.

“Yeah. Valentina wanted it to be marketable and palatable for people who were reluctant about the whole thing,” You shrug. “I still use my old suit. The one she had made for me is uncomfortable.”

With a click of his tongue, he stifles a mischievous grin. “You look really good in it though, miel,” Joaquín lets out a low, playful whistle before you smack his bicep. “Seriously!”

Shooting him a sideways glance, he’s all smiling and chipper, attitude never dimming. It was something you really loved about him — he was good at his core, selfless and wickedly intelligent.

“Thanks,” Another laugh tumbles through your diaphragm. “Maybe I can get you one to hang up in your room back at the Cap Cave.”

He swallows the slight lump in his throat, biting back the urge to make a raunchy remark. Filtering himself, he plants a kiss against your cheek. “Yeah? Shit, I’d love that.” He murmurs, sly as ever.

“You’re bad,” You counter, and he holds one hand up in surrender. As you reach the main level, the elevator chimes open, and you’re greeted by the sprawling floor of the common area. “Here we are.”

The evening glow spreads through the windows, sunlight whispering over dark tile, bathing your features in downcast embers.

Joaquín refuses to look away, gaze reverently tracing across visage as you coax him into the Watchtower’s main room. He swallows, and the sudden coil of nerves settles in.

“I thought we could eat dinner here, or in my room,” You propose, but he’s thoroughly distracted, breath hitching when he absorbs your beauty. Time slows to a crawl the longer he lingers, lips parted. “Or we can eat on the helipad.”

Uncharacteristically hushed, he doesn’t answer you right away, dark lashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes as he blinks. It’s slow, and he’s too busy ogling you, mesmerized; he can’t believe that this is real.

When you catch him gawking, he awkwardly clears his throat and straightens up, mumbling a low apology. “Sorry. You’re so gorgeous, and I can’t stop looking at you.” He states, straightforward.

Surprised, you become smitten almost instantaneously, fingers toying with some of the plastic wrap curled around your bouquet. “You’re so sweet,” You mumble. “Thank you, Quín.”

With a suave smile, he nods, a hum snaring within his throat when you rock up on your toes to kiss him. He doesn’t recoil, reciprocating your kiss with one of his own, passion overwhelmingly obvious.

The smile that spreads over your mouth is palpable when you kiss, and he drops his duffel bag, wrapping his arms around you fully.

Lips meld together seamlessly, fitting a perfect mold, bleeding with passion. He’s rather charming about it, endlessly confident; he knows he’s suave, and it has you hooked.

He kisses you again after you reciprocate, peppering his lips all over your face. The sound of your laughter makes it all worthwhile, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Are you hungry?” Giggling against him, he plants another kiss to your brow, smoothing his hands across your hips.

“Yeah,” Joaquín bats his eyelashes, dialing up the swagger as he draws you close, chest-to-chest. “Not for beef and broccoli, though.” He remarks, kissing your jaw with a smirk.

“Joaquín,” A sharp gasp punctures your lungs, and you’re burning with embarrassment. Gentle lips continue to string along your jaw, over your chin, around your neck. “Easy there, Falcon.”

He laughs, and it sounds like sunshine; like everything warm and comforting about the world. “Okay, okay,” There’s still a shimmer in his eyes, one of ardor. “I am legitimately hungry.” He concedes.

“It’s in the fridge,” You muse, lips gracing his jaw before you untangle yourself from him. He’s all grinning and happy, chest puffed out, retrieving his duffel bag from the floor. “I’ll reheat it and then we can go to my room.”

“Deal,” Joaquín follows you to the open kitchen, letting out a low whistle. He’s in awe of everything — the Cap Cave is cool, but the Watchtower is incredibly advanced. “This is impressive.”

He follows you closely, hovering beside the island, bag still slung over his shoulder. “She wanted it to be ‘top of the line’ for investors.” You shrug, removing white containers of Chinese takeout from the fridge.

Admittedly, you still felt like you didn’t really belong on the team, unworthy of the mantle — you were inducted at the wrong place, wrong time.

Like Bob, you had superpowers; not as powerful, but enough for people to take an interest, look at you like a curious object.

Joaquín never looked at you like that, but he looked at you with something else; in awe, as if you’d moved mountains and hung stars.

He tapped a hand against polished granite, a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks for smuggling me in, by the way,” He murmured, tone warm. “I know this isn’t ideal.”

Scooping the contents of each container into large bowls, you reheated a bag of egg rolls too, lobbing a pair of colorful forks onto the island.

“It’s okay,” Smiling, you met his gaze, affectionate as you placed everything into the microwave. “You’re worth it, Joaquín — you’re worth everything.” Your cadence softens.

Typically, he’s the smooth one; flirtatious, coy, and always coming in with the suave remarks. It was his turn to blush, and he can tell that you’re genuine, sincerity bleeding from every syllable.

“Baby,” He mumbles, a touch flustered before he rubs at the back of his neck. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

Smitten, you quietly remove a steaming bowl of beef and broccoli, wincing when the ceramic burns your palm. “I don’t know,” Cheekily, your brows lift in amusement. “Remind me again.”

Joaquín laughs, the noise bright enough to light up a room, and you’re falling hard. When the bowl begins to cool, he picks it up, following right behind you with your food, too.

“So your room is on this level?” He asks through a mouthful of seasoned beef, making noise when he realizes it’s still too hot for him to eat.

“Mm-hm. I share a floor with Bob and Ava, the rest are on two. The training room is up there, too.” As the both of you make your way toward the sleek labyrinth of corridors, Joaquín clears his throat.

“You guys got a training room?” He wants to see it, but he also isn’t expecting a fully-fledged tour as part of your date night. “What else did Fontaine put in this thing?”

“I think Alexei is trying to vouch for a pool,” A huff of laughter escapes you. “But there’s a debriefing room, a lounge and a bar, extra rooms, a medical ward, and a laboratory.” You name it all off like an extensive list.

“I should ask Sam about getting a bar.” Joaquín grins, nipping at your heels as you turn a corner into a long, hushed stretch of hallway. Outside, it’s nearly twilight, concealed by tinted window-panes.

Stopping in front of your door, you enter in your code before it hisses open, revealing a rather expansive, lived-in bedroom.

It smells like you; floral scents intermingled with everything saccharine, strung with hanging lights, comforter wrinkled over a queen-size mattress, bathroom door ajar.

Everything is warm, blanketed in a low, orange glow that swallows the room whole, a fluffy chair draped over with a woven canopy. It was relatively tidy and organized, but comfortable — it all felt organic.

“Sorry if it’s messy, I tidied up before you got here.” As you settle down on the edge of your mattress, Joaquín nudges his duffel bag onto the fluffy rug below, bowl in-hand.

“Messy? Babe, this room is pretty spotless,” He snickers, watching you bat your eyelashes before eating a forkful of noodles. “Food’s delicious, by the way. Where’d you order from?”

“Takeout place down the street,” Your mouth is full when you answer, prompting you to clear your throat. “Eggroll?” Wax paper crinkles within your grasp as you offer it to him, still-warm egg rolls inside.

“Thanks,” Joaquín immediately placed it into his mouth, halfway wedged as the other half fell unceremoniously into his bowl. “Hm, s’good.” He mumbles, watching as you stifle laughter.

Silence trickles in between the both of you, eating within a comfortable silence, occasionally stealing glances at one another.

He smiles, countenance one of tenderness as he clears his throat, lodging another hefty bite of beef and broccoli into his mouth.

“Want to watch a movie afterwards?” You hum, legs tucked beneath you, squinting through the waning sunset that trickles in through the windows.

It isn’t anything exciting, but basking in his presence matters most to you. There’s something gentle and clean about your relationship — you know he’d do anything for you, be anything for you.

You don’t want him to change — he’s perfect the way he is, and that’s more than enough.

“Yeah,” Through a light cough, Joaquín swallows, fork scraping over empty ceramic. “What are we thinking? You know what I’m gonna say.” He muses, nose wrinkling.

“Fast and Furious?” Sharp, your mouth quirks into a grin before he lets out a theatrical groan.

“Second choice,” His smile never wavers; he’s so handsome, something warm and ebullient, incandescently bright. “Interstellar.”

“That’s a long movie,” Another laugh leaves you when he shakes his head, scraping the remnants of his food into his mouth. “We can watch it. I know you think it’s amazing.”

“One of the best movies of all time, right next to The Princess Bride,” Joaquín chuckles, his laugh light and effortless, teeth glinting through glimmering sunshine. “You’ll love it.”

“I’m trusting you.” Teasingly, you finish up with your food before motioning to take his bowl. You stack them right outside of your bedroom door, assuming you’ll circle back in the morning.

“You mind if I change?” He asks, grabbing his duffel bag from the ground. “I brought you some stuff, too.” Dragging the zipper down, he tugs out a few old t-shirts to give to you.

“You brought me your clothes?” Delighted, you’re visibly ecstatic when he hands you three shirts, two of them old Air Force tops, the other an oversized Nike hoodie.

“I know you like wearing them to bed,” Joaquín plants a kiss to your brow, fingertips tracing over the small of your back. “You’re so beautiful, you know.” He hums, tone lowering.

“You are too,” You mumble, and you catch him blushing, lips parting. He huffs a laugh, mouth carefully tracing across your face, buried against your soft skin. “Very cute.”

“Gonna change, babe.” Joaquín hums, planting another kiss against your cheek before grabbing a bundle of clothes, including something you can’t make out.

After he disappears into your bathroom, door clicking with a soft thud, you scramble into something else. Tugging off your leggings and shirt, you slide into his hoodie; it smells like his cologne, like sandalwood and whiskey.

You’re applying a spritz or two of perfume as if you hadn’t layered enough on already, switching on your flatscreen before fumbling with the remote.

On the other side of your bathroom door, Joaquín is furiously brushing his teeth; he’d already brushed them before he left, but it’s a precaution. A hand is roaming through his dark curls, trying to push them into place.

It’s boyish; it’s something extra, valiant attempts to impress you and not ward you away.

Scrolling through streaming services, you locate Interstellar, settling down into bed as you wait for Joaquín to come back out. You can hear water running, shuffling fabric; it piques your curiosity.

When he comes out, cool and collected, he’s wearing loungewear, glint of a silvery chain dangling around his neck. A rosy flush settles into his face, and he’s still smiling.

It wavers when he sees you — no more pants, just his sweatshirt, sitting cross-legged in your bed. His heart stutters, mouth dry as he attempts to form words, ogling you.

“Everything okay?”

The sound of your question nearly makes him jump, lashes fluttering as he hastily clears his throat. He looks a little dazed, jaw unhinged before he waves your concern aside.

“Yeah, yeah.” He coughs, too busy wrapped up in the sight of you, especially as you sprawl out. The hem of his sweatshirt kisses your thighs, and he’s hyper-focused, tongue darting over his teeth.

Joaquín joins you, mattress dipping slightly as he crawls over, feeling you curl up against him. He’s more than happy to hold you, propped up on a mound of pillows, arm draping over your side.

His biceps flex beneath the material of his spandex shirt, sun-kissed like warm caramel, and your mind derails entirely.

“I’m really glad that we could do this,” You hum, tracing your fingers over his chest. “I know I’m breaking a thousand rules, but I missed you a lot, Joaquín.” Those words alone break open a barrier inside of him.

Admittedly, he’s been clinging to restraint as soon as you were kissing in the kitchen; he wants you so terribly that it hurts, and your perfume doesn’t make anything easier.

“You’re my light,” He’s quick with a reply, voice honey-thick and a touch husked, fading into you. “You mean a lot to me, miel — you’re perfect, inside and out.” As he lays on the compliments, you find yourself enamored.

Interstellar suddenly seems so inconsequential when his mouth is ghosting over yours, hand drawing circles into your ribs.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers, hot breath fanning over your lips, unwilling to budge until you’ve given him consent. When you do, nodding fervently and unable to catch your breath, he doesn’t hesitate.

It’s sparks, tension brewing beneath the surface when you kiss him, palm splayed over his chest. The other rests comfortably near his neck, fingers toying with the necklace he wears.

For weeks, he’d been all wound-up over the thought of you — not being able to see you all the time had made him unbearably needy.

You can feel it rippling beneath his skin when he kisses you, coiled-up want knotted into something he wants to untether. You want it too, but part of you fears your own inexperience.

Joaquín kisses you as if you’re the only one he’s ever wanted, drawing a tremulous exhale from your lungs, making you shiver. His hand finally settles over your thigh, idly massaging your skin, fingers teasing the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Still want to watch the movie?”

It’s you who asks him, attempting to gauge his reaction, like a deer in the headlights. His kisses slow to a crawl, and he pulls away enough to catch your smile, obviously smitten.

“Would you be upset if I said no?” He murmurs, mouth quirking into a slight grin. His tells are so easy, but he owns up to it — he’s not ashamed to admit he wants you.

“Mm-mm,” Shaking your head, you curl closer, hand wandering until it steadies atop his bicep. He flexes for you, chuckling when you get all flustered; you’re easy to rile up. “You’re unbelievable.”

Joaquín smiles, planting a kiss against your jaw. “I know,” He murmurs, inhaling a gust of your scent, perfume sizzling through his senses, through his resolve. “But I’m yours.”

His hand continues to knead along your thigh, savoring the feeling; you’re too beautiful for him, and he knows it. You angle yourself enough to turn inward, face-to-face, lashes fluttering in rapid succession.

Mouths entangle with one another, each kiss deepening, blurring the line of desire. The more it progresses, the more you don’t want to stop — and he doesn’t want to, either.

Digits trail through his dark curls, stroking along the nape of his neck as you adjust yourself again, nearly slotted in his lap. An excitable noise bubbles from his throat, hands finding your hips.

A hush blankets your bedroom, save for the sounds of labored breathing and the subtle groan of the mattress beneath you.

Your palms climb higher, both hands gathering to perch atop his shoulders, feeling sinewy muscle tense beneath your fingers. Lips continue, unhindered, charged with a wave of passion.

“Hey,” Joaquín mumbles, his smile one of amazement as his kisses slow to a crawl, nose brushing against yours. “I don’t have any expectations for tonight.”

Stilling, you sit back for a moment, allowing yourself some composure. “Me neither,” You assure, gooseflesh crawling over your spine. “I want you, Joaquín — I do, I just … I’m not exactly experienced.”

With a tumultuous past and enhancements, your life was anything but normal. You didn’t get to live like everyone else until recently.

Intimacy was something you’d experienced in slices — never the whole thing, and never with someone who saw you in the way that Joaquín did.

When you tell him that you want him, he blushes; maybe he wasn’t expecting it, or it took him by surprise, but his need only continues to burn. It’s burning so hot that it’s scorching him, searing his bones.

“We’ll never do anything that you aren’t comfortable with, miel,” He assures, kissing at the inside of your wrist, lips akin to a warm brand. “I don’t want you to feel any pressure. We’re going at your speed.”

That makes you want him even more.

“I want to,” The cadence of your voice softens, pitched with something breathy, exhilarating. “There’s no one else that I’d ever want this with.” You murmur, and his heart stammers.

Joaquín nods, dazed and yearning, dark lashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes. “Me too,” He confesses, hands rubbing circles over your hips. “You’re it for me.”

A smile spreads over your face, dazzling as you ease yourself into his lap, slotted over one of his thighs. The closeness smolders, and his pupils dilate enough to warrant your attention.

Slowly, he cups your jaw, rough digits stroking over silky skin, bringing you in for another kiss. It’s agonizingly sluggish, intended to savor as your chest brushes against his.

Peach-ripe sunset pools into your bedroom, giving way to the first inklings of twilight. It strikes you at the perfect angle, leaving Joaquín stunned, absorbing your features, committing you to memory.

Each kiss is deep, passionate; you move in an idle dance, and you shiver when his hand slips beneath the hem of your sweatshirt. He finds your back, caressing along your spine.

You aren’t wearing a bra underneath, he realizes, and that makes him flustered. He doesn’t know why, but it does — he’s itching to see you.

The pressure of his muscled thigh wedged between your legs fills your body with a muted buzz, and when you shift, it makes it worse. Pinpricks of bliss shoot through your belly, however slight.

Lips tangle together, again and again, and he feels your body roll into him, flush against one another. He steadies you, hand skirting from your spine to your chest, lightly kneading at your breast.

It’s gentle, a feather-light touch that starts as experimental, testing the waters. You shiver from the contact, skin to skin, kissing him one more time until he untangles your lips.

Instead, his mouth finds your jaw, kissing a trail from the delicate bone to your throat, the pad of his thumb brushing over your nipple.

“Joaquín,” A soft, throaty moan slips past your mouth, hips rolling forward, gathering friction against his thigh. He handles you so tenderly, as if you’re some precious gemstone or artifact.

“You’re so pretty, cariño,” He mumbles into your throat, lavishing kiss after kiss there, occasionally suckling at patches of skin. “Can’t believe you’re mine.” It’s partially disbelief; like he’s still realizing how lucky he is.

It’s more than just sex; it’s intimacy, the closeness, the delight of euphoria you find in one another, hearts twining together.

He wants you in ways that transcend physicality — he wants your future, wants to be the person you wake up to in the morning. Joaquín doesn’t know how badly he wants it all until he’s looking at you.

When his sweatshirt rides up to pool around your hips, his gaze catches on your thighs, over the soft plane of your body. His hand still kneads into your breast, drawing out another moan from your lips.

Sheets ruffle beneath your bodies, and he’s shifting enough to peel his shirt off, leaving you visibly flustered.

He’s beautiful; a chiseled adonis whose muscle is raw and well-earned, something he’s worked tirelessly for. His skin turns warm, like melted caramel dusted with freckles, silver chain glinting around his neck.

He’s got a tangle of scars on the right side of his throat, a few peppered across his abdomen. You want to kiss every single one, tell him how perfect he is.

“You’re gorgeous,” You murmur, listening to the subtle hitch in his throat. Delicate digits trace the lines of his musculature, drinking him in, lashes fluttering in rapid succession. “Just perfect.”

Preening beneath your compliments, Joaquín doesn’t shy away from the scarlet flush that slithers around his face. Instead, he kisses your neck fervently in response.

His other hand drops to skirt beneath your sweatshirt, holding onto your hip, palm still kneading at your breast. “You look so good in my clothes,” He murmurs. “Mind if I take this off?”

“Mm-hm.” With a soft hum, you adjust your arms, letting him peel off your sweatshirt with ease, draping it toward the foot of your bed. His tongue flicks over his teeth when he sees you.

God, you’re perfect; everything about you is beautiful and he can’t help but drown in you.

Pastel-hued cotton clings to your hips, the last article of clothing that covers you. A slight draft slithers over your hot flesh, goosebumps following suit as your mouth returns to his.

A husky groan stirs in Joaquín’s chest when you shift against him, friction producing a heat that settles within his stomach. He kisses you back, passionate and needy, hands touching you everywhere.

He caresses you with rapture, reverence; it’s a reminder of how he sees you, how much he loves you. Mouths entangle, and he slyly lets his tongue trace over your bottom lip.

There’s another shift when he begins to ease you back onto your mattress, over soft sheets and pillows. Your legs part for him without a second thought, letting him stay there.

“Damn, you’re so beautiful,” Joaquín murmurs against your mouth, nestled between your thighs. He props himself up on one forearm, the other stroking across your ribs. “Can’t get enough.”

He catches a whiff of the perfume clings to your flesh, an amalgamation of something saccharine and fresh; he loves it; drinks it in.

His mouth wanders over your jaw, layering endless kisses over your skin as he climbs toward your throat. A low moan fizzles past your lips, leaving you wanton, desperate for more.

The cold metal of his necklace grazes your collar, a bite of ice, knees squeezing at his hips. Your line of sight drifts toward the soft tent in his sweatpants, causing you to lick your bottom lip.

Joaquín is relentless, wanting to map every inch of your skin with his mouth, tongue; he kisses fervently toward your collarbone. Fingers tease the waistband of your panties, feather-light and gentle.

Warm lips graze your sternum, dipping toward your right breast, kissing your chest with a thinly-veiled passion. “You okay? Can I keep going?” He asks, tone husked and pitched with affection.

“More than okay,” You huff, squirming slightly underneath him, hands drifting to rake through his dark tresses. “Please keep going.” After vocalizing your enthusiasm, he’s more than happy to continue.

With a nod, he starts to take your nipple into his mouth, kissing at the sensitive bud, hand skirting to grope at the other. A moan escapes you, jaw slack and mouth agape.

He’s so gentle; there isn’t a single rough or harsh movement, everything concentrated with an oozing affection. Ardor is laced into every kiss, every caress of his hand, every stolen glance.

Arousal pools between your thighs, hot and honey-thick, slick cooling along your core. Hips grind together, and the friction is enough to elicit pleasured sounds from the both of you.

Exploratory, Joaquín commits all of you to memory, letting you sink your talons into the deepest parts of his mind. Your perfume gets on his skin, and he doesn’t want it to come off, either.

He briefly teases your nipple with pearly teeth, planting wet, open-mouthed kisses around your breasts before he descends.

“Joaquín,” You moan, hips jolting forward, absently grinding against the swell of his erection. He lets out a low groan in-turn, lips carving a path along your body. “Feels so good.”

When he peppers kisses across your stomach, you suck in a sharp breath, knowing exactly where he’s going.

He mumbles something in Spanish, and it scratches something raw inside of you, belly twisting into a coil of excitable knots. Reaching the waistline of your panties, he looks at you again.

You’re already nodding several times over to tell him it’s okay, and you catch the little stutter in his exhale, pupils dilating.

“Yeah?” He whispers, breathless when you nod again, shivering when his fingers curl into the thin elastic. Easing your panties down, he looks like a man starved, razed by affection and desire.

Joaquín crawls down, head settling between your thighs as he guides your legs onto his broad shoulders, palms kneading their way toward your haunches.

As your panties leave your legs, he kisses hot brands to your calves, stringing them along your knees, cresting over your thighs. The exhilarated wobble in your exhale makes him excited.

“Been thinking about this,” He confesses, and it floods your insides with molten heat. There’s something effortless about the way he says it — you know he means it. “Wanna taste you, miel.”

His gaze is incendiary, staring at you as if you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, tongue absentmindedly swiping over his bottom lip.

“Please,” It’s all you can manage to squeak out, legs flexing beside his face, fingers fisting at the sheets. “Please, Joaquín.”

Steady hands hitch beneath your thighs, holding steadfastly to your hips, haunches braced on top of his shoulders. He caresses near your waist, fingers stroking in repetitive motions.

“Look at me, pretty girl,” Joaquín murmurs, and it’s merely a suggestion, not a demand. When you do, it’s him who blushes, lips kissing a trail to the slick coalescing over your pussy. “Gorgeous.”

The sweetly-spoken praise rips through you, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body as his tongue laps at your slit.

Pleasure sizzles through you suddenly, hot and wanton as his mouth explores your cunt. He’s tender, painstakingly passionate when he strings kisses over your core.

Maintaining eye contact is something that has you squirming, lips parted, heat curling over your bones like wildfire. Joaquín’s stare doesn’t waver, mouth buried deep into your pussy.

His tongue is vigorous, flicking from your entrance to your clit, causing you to quiver. Wordlessly, he reaches for one of your hands, keeping them interlocked atop your hip.

He eats you out like he’s deprived, hungry for you; for all of you, body, heart, everything.

Your thighs twitch, curling around his head, stomach twisting into knots. Arousal coalesces heavily between your thighs, oozing onto his tongue.

Mouthing at your pussy, he slows to a crawl, taking his time to savor every inch of you, feeling your legs quiver. He groans, musculature shaking, gaze eclipsed with desire.

You say his name as if it’s a prayer, the only words worth memorizing. A shiver traces through his spine, joined hands squeezing tighter, and you feel your pussy clench around nothing at all.

With a broad stroke of his tongue, he raked hot embers over your core, hands steadying you, eager to please without an ounce of hesitation.

The bridge of his nose ghosts over your slick folds, causing you to tremble. There’s a fire in your belly that demands to be extinguished, nerves set ablaze, a fervent buzz humming in your skin.

“I’ve got you, baby.” Joaquín sighs, hot breath pluming over your cunt. His tongue is a thing of beauty, working through you in the way that you deserve.

Eager lips kiss their way along your pussy, from your aching entrance to your clit. Your thighs tense, twitching when he stimulates that clutch of nerves, listening to you moan.

He tries again, using his tongue this time, slowly working it over your clit in languid patterns, intended to savor.

You want to melt, back arching, hips jolting forward as you grind into his face. Joaquín welcomes it without recoil, groaning as he eagerly laps over the clutch of nerves.

The sight of you razed, jaw slack and visage one of bliss, body on-fire for him; it’s picturesque, an image that’s emblazoned in his mind for the rest of his life. He can’t imagine anyone else like this.

Through the low glow of your bedroom, he strings kisses around your clit, tongue circling afterwards, one hand caressing your thigh. You let your free hand drift to run over his scalp, and he hums.

When he focuses on teasing your clit, your hips jerk again, prompting you to whine out a breathy apology, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“That feel good? Want more?” Gruffing from between your thighs, your boyfriend ensures that you’re getting everything you want and more.

“Y—Yes, Joaq, please,” You moan, and the use of his little nickname makes him preen. He shuffles closer, tongue deep in your pussy as he begins to lightly suck at your clit. “Right, mm — Right there!”

He provides without question.

His lack of hesitation makes you all hot and bothered as that coil in your stomach begins to unfurl, dragging you toward the edge.

Each pulse of his mouth sends shockwaves of ecstasy hurling through your bones, hot and blissful, like static surging in your brain. You begin to see stars when he keeps the pace, throat ragged with another moan.

To relieve his own arousal, his hips rut helplessly into your mattress, finding some reprieve, but it’s slight. He’s too busy wrapping himself up in your own pleasure, and it outweighs his own.

It’s how he wants things to be, focusing on you, ensuring that you’re taken care of before it ever comes down to him. His cock twitches when you squeeze his hand again.

White-hot spots float through your vision as he brings you to your peak, lips lightly stimulating your clit even when your legs rattle.

His tongue eagerly laps across your throbbing cunt, cleaning you up, the taste of you ambrosial, intoxicating. Joaquín’s brain is filled with static as you grind your hips into his mouth a time or two.

“Joaquín!” A pleasured whine rips through your diaphragm, lungs stinging as you catch your breath, euphoric high still rippling through your body.

He works you through it, stringing kisses over your pelvis, flush against the inside of your thighs, over the crook of your knee. A rosy pallor clings to his features, chest tight with excitement.

“So pretty when you cum, cariño,” Joaquín hums, kissing up along your body as he slots himself between your legs, his erection firm against your aching core. “Did so well.”

The praise makes you preen, a lackadaisical smile floating across your face as you arch forward, shyly wiping your slick from his chin.

“You’re so handsome,” You sigh, and he’s kissing your jaw, letting you feel what you do to him. He’s painfully hard and ready to feel you, hand shifting to tug at his sweatpants. “Need you, Joaquín.”

“You’ve got me,” He murmurs, his suave cadence dripping with adoration, and the look in his eyes rips the air from your lungs. It’s clean, gentle love — loves you so much. “Always.”

When he discards his sweatpants, the spandex of his boxers leaves little to the imagination, and it makes you swallow.

Lips find one another, and you taste yourself on his tongue, drawing a moan from his chest when you’re eager to savor it for yourself. Your hands trace over his biceps, perching around the nape of his neck.

“Still want to keep going? We don’t have to.” Joaquín is incredibly reassuring about everything, and it makes you want it all the more.

“I do,” You swear, fingertips tracing patterns over his hot skin, over freckles and now-faded scars, over the plane of his muscles. “I want you more than anything.” His breath hitches when you say it.

He nods, planting several kisses along your throat, feeling your legs constrict near his hips. There’s another light scuffle of fabric, and he adjusts himself enough to kick his boxers off.

They join his sweatpants, scattered somewhere along the foot of your bed. Joaquín stares down at you with wide eyes and a slightly nervous smile, as if you’re the center of his universe.

A shiver passes through the both of you when the flushed head of his cock nudges against your slick folds. He swallows, beautiful through the sienna glow, lashes fluttering a time or two.

You’re perfect — beautiful beneath him, breathtaking in every way imaginable. The lapse of silence lasts for a moment, with him adjusting himself between your legs.

A shiver grips his spine when his hips fall flush against yours, cockhead splitting past your folds, still oozing with precum.

“Ready?” His voice is low, pitched with want as he attempts to keep composure. Splintering at the seams, Joaquín stifled a groan when you moved against him, wanton.

With a nod, you give him your consent, trembling from exhilaration as his hips push forward. There is mild resistance at first, tip of his cock prodding against your entrance.

He’s sluggish, making sure that you’re comfortable first before progressing. “I’m okay.” You assure him, the sensation stinging yet blissful.

Shifting closer, you suck in a sharp inhale as his hips urge forward, cock sinking into you. It takes a moment of adjustment, cunt clenching around him with ripples of ecstasy.

Halfway inside of you, he stops to let you feel it all, every twitch, every muscle-deep quiver. Joaquín swallows a groan, forehead pressing against yours as he kisses your lips.

“Good, s’good.” Reassuring, you want him to continue, nearly clawing out of your flesh to have him in you completely. His cock is perfect — it’s pretty, as if it were molded for you.

“Yeah?” He huffs, mouth messily tangling with yours. Again, you’re nodding, spurring him on as his hips sink forward completely, cock fully buried inside of your pussy.

You’re tight, and it’s driving him crazy in the best way possible. He’s head over heels, so desperate for you that he might’ve been a beggar.

There’s a moment of hesitation from his end, and before you can comment on it, he begins to pull his hips back, and push forward. He’s disarmingly tender, making love instead of fucking you.

Sighs of passion tangled together, hot and fervent, breathing in the sweet air of one another. His cock kisses your pussy with each drawn-out thrust, dragging over your walls.

His chest burns with a string of needy grunts, holding you tightly, feeling your skin flush against his. Braced on one forearm, the other hand moves to hold yours, pinning them into the pillow.

Muscles flex, taut and sinewy, and you’re momentarily distracted by him; all of him.

Pupils dilate with desire, amber hues turned molten by the low light, jaw loosened, features flushed. He’s gorgeous like this, when he’s all over your mouth and needy.

Each rock of his hips is meaningful, cock buried into your tight heat. He’s good at it — makes you feel wanted in every way imaginable, like you’re something worth worshipping.

“Joaquín,” You pant, and the sound of your voice makes him buckle, trembling above you. Delicate fingers stroke over the nape of his neck, reaching into his tresses.

“You’re perfect,” He groans, inhaling a gust of your scent, hips stuttering slightly before regaining their confidence. He’s exceptionally passionate; not rough, not harsh, just desirous. “So pretty.”

His cock kisses your walls with each thrust, well-timed and intentional, driving himself into you. Your arousal makes it all easier, hips rolling over one another, friction simmering.

The silvery glint of his necklace dangles from his throat, mouth ajar, inhabiting a host of low, throaty groans. He’s vocal about how much he’s enjoying this, savoring every second of it with glee.

He smooths a hand over your thigh, gripping at your haunch to angle himself, joined hands squeezing beside your head.

The slow, drawn-out thrusts make your body melt, succumbing to heat. Sometimes he can’t believe that you’re real, that this is real; you’re a vision, a fantasy made flesh.

Joaquín doesn’t change course — he’s steady, passionate as he continues to rock into you, letting you feel everything properly.

Digits wander from the nape of his neck toward the silvery chain that dangles from his throat, hitching a finger in to drag him down.

A tremulous moan splits your diaphragm, shuddering as your cunt pulses, clenching around his cock. Lips collide, and you’re moaning into his mouth.

Each kiss makes your head dizzy; it’s all passion, bleeding heat that coagulates in the pit of your stomach, coil wanting to unfurl. His cock continues to slip inside, and then back; a push and pull.

Hitching your leg around his hips, it gives him leverage, a new angle to thrust into. He never gets rough or invigorated, letting passion override everything else.

Foreheads press firmly together, noses ghosting the other, mouths still joining in slow, needy kisses. “Mi amor,” He sighs, causing your cunt to clench around him. “Gettin’ close.”

There’s a slurred pitch in his voice, drunk on desire, drunk on the feeling of your body flush against his, on the sensation of you.

Pleasure floods your insides, the coil within your stomach having unfurled, treated to the loving thrusts of his hips. His cock moves deeper, kissing your walls, pulling another moan from your mouth.

Something tightens in his abdomen, pulled as taut as a bowstring, threatening to snap into two. Joaquín’s thrusts tick up in speed, just enough to make his head go static with desire.

Hot, breathy pants escape him, feathering over your mouth, and your noises spur him further. He keeps pushing, motions languid and loving, dragging out each thrust so that the both of you shiver.

“Joaquín!” A low, shaky whine tumbles from your lips, mouth pressing against his jaw as you lavish him in kisses. He shudders, teeth clenched as he gently fucks into you, again and again.

He’s there, and it’s euphoria — he groans, countenance contorted into bliss, chest shaking with low, pleasured sounds.

Hot ropes of cum flood your pussy, the aching sensation crawling through your skin. His movements begin to stutter and slow, hands twined together, his knuckles turning white.

Your name rolls from his tongue a time or two, dark curls tousled, wisping over his temples as he loses his composure.

For a moment, his thoughts are blank; the only thing he wants to think about is you.

With a drawn-out exhale, his hips shift, cock beginning to soften inside of you. He looks thoroughly pleased, razed and delighted, flashing a pearly smile at you.

“You okay?” Joaquín mumbles, leaning in to plant a kiss against your brow. Perspiration glitters over his skin, bitten by scarlet, muscles beginning to unravel the tension.

“Yeah,” A smile spreads over your face, and it makes his heart buzz with something warm. “That was amazing.” You don’t have much to judge it off of, either.

“Amazing, huh?” A twinge of playful cockiness creeps into his tone, characteristically upbeat. “That’s gonna go straight to my head.” He muses, kissing at your shoulder.

“I’ll revoke my compliment,” The faux threat makes him laugh, followed by your fit of giggles. It’s that sound he clings to — it’s everything. “You’re so perfect, Quín.”

There’s a sparkle in his gaze when he meets yours, swimming with affection. He’s always strived to prove himself, be better; to you, he’s flawless, sunshine in living flesh.

“Mm-mm,” He kisses your jaw. “That title belongs to you, miel. You’re everything I want,” There’s a sudden sincerity that saturates his tone. “Got my heart in your hand.”

A hitch forms within your throat when you realize how serious he really is about you. You aren’t used to it, accustomed to only pain and misery, of being isolated.

You lose that fear with him in ways that you never thought possible. Unable to keep from smiling, you kiss him again, hands squeezing at his biceps.

“Maybe we can make breakfast in the morning,” You suggest, and he’s already over the moon about the idea. “Lena said something about tomorrow night, so we’ve got time.”

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Joaquín insists, all doe-eyed and dazzled, showering you in another playful barrage of kisses. He moves off of you not long after, wanting to help you get comfortable. “You a pancake type of girl?”

Laying on his back, he gently grabs your hips, pulling you into his chest, propped up against your heap of pillows. He’s smiling still, painfully handsome as continue to stare.

“French toast, actually,” You muse, and that stumps him. His nose wrinkles slightly, arms still cradling you close. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” He chuckles, warm and tender, fingers drifting to cup the nape of your neck, thumb tracing along your jaw. “I’ll learn how to make french toast tomorrow.” Joaquín won’t back down, either.

“You don’t have t—” Before you can finish your sentence, he’s kissing you, affectionately squeezing at your hip. “Joaquín.” You mumble, visibly flustered.

“Making you breakfast,” He insists, kissing your mouth again, a second time, and then a third. “My beautiful girlfriend deserves it.” You know there’s no protesting him.

“Your girlfriend wants to take a shower,” Giggling, you’re moving off of him, body sticky with perspiration and the aftermath of your escapades. “And you’re coming, too.”

Visibly excited, he huffs a laugh, swift to scramble after you, hastily grabbing a bundle of clothes in the process. As you move off of the bed, you give your phone a quick glance.

There’s a new text that’s popped up, one you didn’t notice while you were with Quín.

YELENA: Nice of you to ask if we wanted any takeout. Tell little Falcon we said hello :)

[stargrillzz]

THE BOY IS MINE

SUMMARY: You were never one to share what was yours, and Bob…he's yours.

NOTE: Inspired by the song The Boy is Mine, Ariana Grande. xoxo

GET LOST

The Thunderbolts Tower common room was unusually quiet for once, bathed in golden afternoon light as it streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The shadows stretched across the hardwood, lazy and warm, while the hum of high-tech equipment buzzed low in the background.

You were draped across the main couch like it owed you rent, legs flung over the armrest, phone in one hand, a lazy smirk tugging at your mouth as you pretended to scroll. But your eyes? Your eyes were fixed on him.

Bob Reynolds.

The Sentry.

Or, as you liked to call him when no one was around: your favorite problem.

He stood by the windows, arms folded, his expression calm and faraway, like his mind was somewhere in a galaxy no one else could reach. His golden hair was tied back, a few loose strands brushing his temple, and the white tee stretched over his broad chest like it had a grudge. Everything about him was infuriatingly quiet, controlled, soft-spoken—except for the way he made your blood rush hot.

You’d been friends since he joined the Thunderbolts. You were the fireball—mouthy, hotheaded, always tossing flirty remarks like grenades. He was… Bob. Sweet. Shy. Somehow not entirely aware of just how pretty he was.

And it was so fun to mess with him.

Except this wasn’t messing anymore. You’d fallen. Hard. And the only way you knew how to cope with it was to flirt until someone combusted.

So when Mel walked in—Team Liaison, model-walk, surgically perfect blouse—you instantly clocked the way her eyes locked onto Bob like a missile system.

“Hey, Bob,” she said sweetly, holding a folder. “I’ve got the report updates for the Kyiv mission. I can walk you through—”

Absolutely not.

You were up before you even knew what you were doing, striding across the room with a forced smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You stepped right between them, chest high, chin lifted.

“I’ll take that,” you said, snatching the folder out of her hands like it was your goddamn birthright.

Mel blinked. “Uh—I was actually hoping to go over the intel with—”

You smiled wider. “Yeah, no. He’s busy.”

Her brows twitched. She looked at Bob, who blinked in confusion, then back at you.

You didn’t flinch. “Get lost.”

A long pause. Her mouth opened and closed once, then—tight-lipped—she turned on her heel and walked out without another word.

Silence.

Then Bob shifted behind you, voice quiet and confused.

“...Why did you do that?”

You turned toward him, holding the folder like a trophy and cocking your hip out. “Didn’t like her getting in your space.”

He blinked at you, clearly flustered. “But she just—she had the report. It wasn’t—”

“I know what it was,” you said, waving the folder. “But I don’t like people bringing you things unless it’s me. I’m territorial.” you said with your thick accent.

He opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then did a double take when your smirk widened.

“Besides,” you added smoothly, stepping just a little closer to him, voice lowering, “if anyone’s gonna hand you something, and be all alone with you in a room, it’s gonna be me and only me”

Bob made a strangled sound.

You watched the blush spread fast across his face, all the way to his ears. He stepped back slightly like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or combust.

You tilted your head, teasing. “What? You gonna go shy on me now, baby? You take hits from alien gods, but a little filthy daydream gets you flustered?”

“I’m not—” he said quickly, but his voice cracked halfway through.

You licked your bottom lip, slow and deliberate, and purred, “I could sit on your lap right now and read this whole report out loud—naked—and you wouldn’t stop me, would you?”

His jaw dropped. “What—no—I mean—yes—I mean—wait—!”

Your laughter bubbled out, absolutely delighted, your eyes burning into his.

“You’re so easy to mess with,” you teased, your voice warm but sharp like honey with a blade in it. “I swear, Bob, the day I climb on top of you, I’m gonna need to strap you down. You’d shake apart.”

His mouth worked silently for a moment, like his soul had left his body.

And from the bar, Yelena—who had been sipping her coffee with one eyebrow raised the whole time—finally snorted.

“Leave the poor guy alone,” she called, laughing. “You’ll make him explode—and not in the good way.”

You turned to her, grinning like the devil, then looked back at Bob. His eyes were wide, face flushed, and chest rising a little too fast.

Your tone dropped again, soft but dangerous.

“Don’t worry,” you whispered just for him. “When I do make you explode... you’ll beg me for it.”

His head tilted slightly back, eyes fluttering like he was fighting for air.

You winked. Turned. Walked away slow, with hips swinging like you meant it.

Behind you, Bob stayed frozen—staring at your retreating form like he was trying to remember how legs worked—while Yelena muttered under her breath with a smirk, “Dead man walking.”

PINKIE PRINCESS

The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, but the kitchen in Thunderbolts Tower glowed with the gentle light of dawn. Soft orange-gold poured through the tall windows, catching on the countertops and flickering across the stainless steel appliances. The only sounds were the quiet clinks of utensils and the faint hiss of the stovetop.

You were standing barefoot in front of the stove, humming lazily as you stirred the pan. A few strips of bacon sizzled while a half-cracked egg rested nearby. The smell was heavenly.

You hadn’t bothered changing out of your pajamas. Why would you? Everyone was still asleep—or so you thought. You wore your favorite set this morning: a sheer, baby-pink satin slip dress, barely reaching mid-thigh, trimmed with tiny lace at the hem. The fabric was so light it floated with every movement, brushing against your skin like a whisper. No bra, no shame. Just sleepy eyes, messy hair, and a devilish smile.

Behind you, the door creaked open.

You glanced back over your shoulder, and your breath caught for a moment.

Bob.

He stepped in quietly, wearing gray sweatpants and a white tee that clung to his torso like it was made for sin. His hair was messy and loose, soft waves brushing the collar of his shirt, and his eyes—those gentle blue eyes—locked onto you with a look you weren’t used to seeing from him.

He didn’t speak at first.

Just watched you, soft smile curling the edge of his lips, like you were the only thing in the whole damn world worth looking at. His gaze wandered—hesitant, almost reverent—from your bare legs up the curve of your hips, the way the satin clung to your back, your shoulders, your neck. His throat bobbed when he swallowed.

You turned fully now, keeping one hand on the counter behind you for balance. “Well, look who’s up early.”

His voice came out low, still warm from sleep. “Smelled bacon.”

You smirked, looking him up and down, eyes full of mischief. “Of course. It’s always the meat that gets you out of bed.”

That got a bashful little chuckle from him. His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he stepped closer, eyes briefly flicking down to your outfit again before darting back up, embarrassed—but not denying himself the look.

You crossed your arms under your chest lazily, which only served to push your breasts up and together, soft flesh spilling just slightly against the thin satin. Bob’s eyes lingered, just for a moment. You saw it.

“You sleep okay?” you asked, your voice laced with sugar and something darker.

He nodded. “Better than I thought I would.”

Then, after a pause—voice barely above a murmur—he said, “Your pajamas are cute. Pink suits you.”

You tilted your head, your smile widening with predatory delight. “Oh? Do you wanna find out what else is pink?”

Bob’s eyes widened just a little—and for a moment you thought you’d made him shut down again.

But then...

“Actually,” he said slowly, a flicker of something new in his tone, “I do.”

You blinked.

“What else do you have that’s pink?”

It was confident. Almost. But his fingers twitched slightly at his sides, and you could see the way his chest rose and fell just a little faster. He was still nervous. Still sweet. But something inside him had finally snapped—and it made your stomach twist with heat.

You let the silence stretch between you, stunned but amused.

A slow grin spread across your lips. “Bob Reynolds,” you breathed, “I didn’t know you could be such a pervert.”

He shrugged one shoulder, but he was watching you—really watching now. Hungry. Curious. Like he’d been holding something back for months, and your teasing had finally carved enough cracks in the dam to let it through.

You leaned forward against the counter, letting your arms support your weight so that your breasts pressed forward, full and soft and perfectly outlined through the barely-there satin.

His breath hitched.

“Oh, baby,” you said softly, “You’re staring.”

He didn’t deny it.

You tilted your head, voice syrupy and low. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

The moment froze.

Bob hesitated for half a heartbeat. Then—shy, yes, but with something solid in his step—he started toward you.

No looking back. No regret.

You let him come close, your heart thudding loud behind your ribs as he reached you. His hands came up slowly, cautiously—then settled around your waist, big and warm and possessive. He looked at your mouth like he’d never wanted anything more in his life.

You didn’t wait.

You crashed forward, lips colliding with his in a fierce, hungry kiss. His hands tightened instantly, pulling you against him as your body hit the counter with a soft thump. You moaned into his mouth—open, needy—fingers clutching at his shirt as he kissed you like he meant it, like this had been burning in him too long.

The tension snapped between you in waves—months of teasing, touching, longing—all unraveling as his mouth claimed yours.

It wasn’t shy anymore.

It was desperate.

And it was just the beginning.

Each collision between your lips made the kiss more and more passionate. More ferocious. More hungry. Bob's large hands slowly moved from your waist to your ass, lifting you as if you weighed nothing and sitting you on the counter. The kiss slowed down a bit, more lascivious, more erotic, and as if it were a brief but detailed explanation of how he's about to leave you unable to walk for months. Slowly, you begin to remove his shirt, at the same time he lowers the straps of your dress, not taking it off, just leaving your delicious tits.

"Can I… please…" Breathlessly, Bob did his best to formulate those three words.

"They're yours, baby," you smile flirtatiously.

His mouth took in one of your breasts completely, kneading the other with his hand, following a precise rhythm. Soft, but intense.

"I really love it when you touch me," you whisper, "but I need you to fuck me, like right now." Your hands began to slide down his panties. Honestly, the size wasn't a surprise; you'd always suspected it.

"Do you want it inside?" Bob asks, revealing a side of him you didn't think existed. "Do you want me to bury it deep inside you?" "I'll beg you if I have to." Your face at this point was pained by how needy you were.

He lifts your dress a little, surprised. "I told you I had something pinker," you whisper. "Be a man, Bob, destroy this dripping pink pussy."

Without even giving you time to process his movements, his cock was already inside you, making you fall back in your arms, throwing your head back even further, your legs fully open for him. "Oh my god, so big," you slur your words slightly. Still leaning back in your arms on the counter, you watch the hard, brutal way Bob thrusts into you, the way he moves in and out of you, the way Bob moans deeply, feeling better than he has in years.

"None of the times I masturbated thinking about you compare to fucking you and hearing you moan."

That got you even wetter. The thought of him touching himself thinking about you. Shit.

"Harder, Bob, I can take it." You didn't even finish that sentence, and a strong thrust made you feel his cock deep in your stomach, making you scream.

"I'm going to fill you up with my babies" he says between wet kisses I'm going to take you to my room "another kiss" and I'm going to fuck you again until you can't take it anymore.

"I wanna ride you so bad" you whispered, kissing him. He turned it on so much that he squeezed your ass hard, pounding into you faster, making you scream.

And that’s exactly when the door slammed open.

“Okay, people, we’ve got the—HOLY SHIT!”

John Walker’s voice cracked through the kitchen like an explosion.

You both froze.

Bob’s body went completely stiff between your thighs, and your eyes widened in horror.

Behind John, Yelena let out a sharp yelp—“OH MY GOD!”—and immediately slapped a hand over her eyes, turning around so fast her braid whipped across Valentina’s chest.

Val, meanwhile, stood frozen in the doorway for a full second too long, blinking like she was trying to reboot.

“Are you kidding me?” she finally barked, turning sharply on her heel. “The kitchen counter?! Where people eat?!”

Bob, bright red, stumbled back so fast he almost knocked over the coffee pot. “Shit—I—this isn’t—fuck—I didn’t know—!”

You tugged the hem of your dress down over your thighs, breathing fast, lips kiss-swollen, eyes wild with adrenaline. “You guys don’t knock?!”

“This is a public space!” John yelled from outside the door, his voice half disgusted, half traumatized. “For breakfast! For toast! Not for—” He made a gagging sound.

Yelena was cackling now, muffled by her hands. “Leave it to you two to desecrate the one clean surface in this damn building.”

Bob, flustered beyond measure, dragged a hand through his hair, his shirt rucked up halfway to his chest, exposing his firm stomach. “I’m—I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I just… she said—we were talking about pink things—!”

“Oh my God,” Yelena shrieked from the hallway, “Please STOP explaining! I can never eat eggs again!”

Val’s voice came in, sharp and dry: “You owe me bleach and emotional compensation.”

You slid off the counter with as much grace as you could salvage, cheeks burning, still trying not to laugh. Bob looked like he wanted the Earth to swallow him whole.

You stepped in front of him, grinning despite yourself, placing a kiss to his cheek. “Well… that was so hot until it wasn’t.”

He stared at you, wide-eyed. “We’re gonna be the talk of the whole building.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” you whispered, tugging him toward the hallway with a devilish glint in your eyes, “We already were.”

THE BOY IS MINE NOT YOURS MINE

You were seated on one side of the long, glass-top table, legs crossed, eyes fixed on Bob—who was seated directly across from you, looking unusually serious in his fitted black t-shirt, hair slightly tousled from the rushed morning. The memory of his mouth on yours, of his hands gripping your thighs, was still simmering under your skin.

Your fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of your glass of water, but your gaze? Fully locked on him.

He kept glancing at you with that same, boyish, flustered smile—the one that made you feel like you were the only woman in the world. Like he couldn’t stop replaying the moment from earlier either.

But then—

She walked in.

Mel.

Wearing that same tight, short-waisted uniform she always adjusted way too slowly, like she knew people were watching. She carried her report folder in one hand and a stupid bottle of green juice in the other. Her eyes immediately scanned the room… and landed right on Bob.

You could see the moment she thought she had a chance.

He was polite, of course. He always was. He nodded when she smiled at him, even shifted slightly in his chair as she walked around the table… just close enough to lean down next to him, whisper something with a fake-sweet smirk.

You didn’t hear what she said. You didn’t need to.

Because your body reacted before your brain even caught up—your pulse surged, your jaw tightened, and then… your chair screeched as you stood.

Bob’s head snapped to you.

“Hey, baby,” you said, voice sultry, laced with honey and warning, the word baby echoing like a challenge across the room. You sauntered toward him slowly, hips swaying deliberately. “You forgot something this morning.”

Bob blinked up at you, cheeks flushing just slightly. “I did?”

“Mhm.” You leaned down, one hand on his shoulder, the other trailing along the collar of his shirt as you whispered just loud enough for everyone—including Mel—to hear: “Your handprint’s still on my ass from when you bent me over the kitchen counter.”

A beat of stunned silence.

John choked on his water.

Yelena practically collapsed in her seat, laughing with her hand over her face. “Oh my God, you’re doing this here?”

Val didn’t even look up. “Please stop making me regret giving you all keycards.”

Bob’s face? Fully flushed. But he didn’t pull away. Not even close. His wide blue eyes locked onto yours, lips parted in stunned, reverent awe. He looked like he’d happily let you ruin him in front of the whole room.

Mel, still frozen beside him, finally straightened up, trying to recover her dignity. “I was just giving him the mission intel.”

You turned your head slowly, deliberately, to face her—still leaning possessively over Bob, your hand resting lazily on his chest. “Yeah? That’s cute. He already got all the actionable intel he needed this morning. Between my thighs.”

Bob made a soft, involuntary sound in his throat.

Mel stared, blinking. She didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

You tilted your head, smiling with zero sweetness. “You can try, sweetheart. But the boy’s mine.”

Mel stepped back without another word, walking to the other side of the table with her eyes fixed downward.

Bob stared up at you, lips curved in a dazed, almost worshipful smile. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

You leaned down, nose brushing his cheek, and whispered against his ear, “Why would I? You let me break you in the kitchen like you were mine, baby. You think I’m gonna let her flirt with what I ride?”

He groaned under his breath—loud enough for only you.

You smirked and kissed the corner of his mouth before walking back to your seat, hips swaying like a reward. Yelena gave you a low whistle. John muttered, “Jesus Christ,” and Val pinched the bridge of her nose and said, “Please remember this is a military mission briefing, not a porn shoot.”

You leaned back in your chair, shooting a wink at Bob.

And he?

He just sat there, dazed and aching and absolutely owned—his hands under the table, gripping the chair like he was trying not to melt into the floor.

Mel never tried talking to him again.