nate :3

05 | any pronouns | just here 4 Evan Peters

[tomoelovesaly]

𝘾𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙇𝙞𝙥𝙨

Bob had been waiting for the two of you to finally have a chance to yourselves. And finally he had gotten it.

With the rest of the Avengers going out to run errands, or missions, you and Bob had the tower all to yourselves. You had been in your room all afternoon when you hear a sudden knock on the door, breaking the silence that had been swallowing the tower. Already knowing who it is, you yell out allowing them to come in. And in comes a tall, nervous, dirty blonde haired man.

“What’s up?” You look up from the book in your hands, and Bob avoids your gaze looking at all the posters and decorations on your walls in awe.

He doesn’t respond for a bit, too distracted, before he snaps out of it and makes eye contact. “U-uh did you wanna watch a-a movie with me?” He asks, scratching at his neck nervously. With a giggle you agree and place your book on your nightstand and the two of you make your way to the screen room.

Bob picks out a movie that he wouldn’t stop talking about earlier that week, basically spoiling the entire movie, and turns the lights off.

During the movie, you could see Bob looking over at you every now and then and when you’d turn to look at him, he’d turn right back to the movie. You always thought Bob was cute. But being one of the most powerful people you knew, you thought it’d be better to go after someone in your own league.

After the movie ended, the both of you sat in silence. Hands both on either knee, he just stared ahead and asked if you liked the movie. You nodded and told him it was good. You begin to stand up but before you could walk away, he quickly grabs your wrist, making you turn your head back towards him.

“I-I” you furrow your brows, waiting for him to finish his sentence. “Never mind.”

You’re back in your room, trying to finish your book but you kept thinking back to Bob. The way he looked up at you, lips parted, and his hand gently on your wrist. His skin was softer than you had imagined, and you hadn’t realized how good he smelt. The way he breathed out before muttering never mind, the way his eyes looked into yours with anxiousness and curiosity. Without a second thought, you throw your book on your bed, planning to ask Bob what all that was about. But you didn’t need to walk far as he was already at your door.

“Bob?” You jump back at the sudden curious eyes meeting yours from before.

“I-I wanted t-to kiss you.” He mutters out. Your eyes widen at the sudden confession, before you pull him into your room smashing your lips onto his.

His lips were warm, and his hands landed on your face trying to bring you in closer to him. Your hands met his arms, feeling every muscle he had been working out that week. After a few seconds, you both finally part, breathing heavily, leaning his forehead on yours and eyes shut.

“Cold.” You turn your head slightly in confusion. “Lips. Y-your lips are cold… I like it.” He slams his lips into you, this time hungrier, almost like he’s trying to get a better taste, likes he’s trying not to forget how well your lips feel on his. Almost like he’s trying to cool down.

[cherryst4rg1rl]

Oh to be a girl in the 80s waiting for her boyfriend to climb through her window is my dream

[scphobic]

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ -blessed-cursed- ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻

“We were desperate in our desire to transform. We believed that there lay dreams unknown. We keep our fists fiercely clenched, not knowing it to be a blessing or a curse, lest we lose what we hold in our hands.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

enha ot7 vamp x reader fic in which 7 depraved 'young' men are forced to accept a human girl while trying not to kill her from desire

word count: 2.2k 

part 1

part 2

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

-3-

sweet venom

The night air was taut with tension.

Nobody moved. Nothing stirred. The only clues to the world around us were the twinkling of the moonlight and the occasional crackling of tree branches. The rain had stopped somewhere in the commotion of our escape, but there wasn’t any time to take it in until now. 

I wondered if I was the only one present who was actually at ease. 

“Are you done running, Heeseung?” The man in the middle of the trio spoke, his cadence both boyish and firm.

Out of the three men that stood, he was the one that immediately caught my attention. Not just because of his strong presence, but also due to his striking appearance. Blonde, wavy hair, and angular feminine features. His looks were inhumanly alluring even from a considerable distance. 

“No use now, right?” Heeseung returned. 

Even though his words were disarming, his grip on me tightened, his fingers prying into my skin like surgical clamps. I squirmed against his chest. 

“We didn’t mean to interrupt you two…just wanted to see what all the commotion was about. I wasn’t aware you were taking walks alone at night again.”

There was a dash of measured ignorance in the blonde man’s tone, as if his vagueness was a strategic weapon he was using against the enemy to make him surrender. 

And his strategy paid off, because I could feel Heeseung’s undoing. The sound of his teeth grinding in my ear, the way his fingers squeezed me tighter to the point of pain. However, I didn’t care how badly my skin stung, the act of him holding me tighter only made me feel more secure. 

“I didn’t do this,” he said, skirting around all of the vagueness. He nodded his head downwards as he spoke, lifting me slightly in his arms. The weight of everyone’s attention fell to my useless body. 

I followed as Heeseung’s vision trailed to one of the two raven-haired men who hadn't spoken yet. He was standing with his shoulders back and with his face unmoving, his posture taking on a somewhat dancerly disposition.  

When I met the pinpoint eyes I was greeted with a face I didn’t recognize, but whose auburn gaze shot a warmth throughout my system. Despite his composed exterior, his eyes gave way to the very essence of his soul, the blazing glow drawing me into his appeal. His features were sweet, yet animalistic–soft but sharp at the same time. 

We locked eyes for only a second before he turned away. 

“What’s with the girl, then?” The last man joined in with a laugh. “A gift for us?”

He was different from the others. 

His aura was undeniably masculine, almost overwhelmingly so. He still held an ethereal quality, but nothing akin to the beautiful ambiguity of the other men present. His charm was in his roughness, in the sharpness of his jaw, and in the divinity of his proportions. The way his skin looked as though it were carved from alabaster or marble. 

“She’s not yours, Jay,” Heeseung snapped. “She’s none of yours, I waited with her. I saved her.”

“You know we’re not supposed to—” the statuesque man started. 

“Don’t lecture me about what we’re supposed to do.” 

Heeseung was red with anger, but his voice and body were still. His grip actually loosened against my frame, making me more comfortable. 

The intent behind the men’s conversation was flying over my head, no doubt a symptom of my exhaustion and general aching. I tried to keep my guard up as they hashed it out, but I found myself falling back into the thought of Heeseung’s strong grip on my body, losing myself in the feeling of his heavy hands. 

“She doesn’t know, does she?” The blonde said with a grin. “I can see how she views you.”

It seemed like everybody lulled to let what he had just said simmer. Even in my weakened state, the words roused my attention instantly. 

The blonde circled where we stood, his scrutinizing gaze flickering between my face and Heeseung’s. 

“Jungwon, don’t.”

Heeseung was trembling, not with fear, but with raw, unhinged emotion. The sensation practically radiated off of him, and it was the second time that night I felt at the whim of a man’s self-control. 

“Let me be the one to give it to you straight,” Jungwon said, not breaking eye-contact with me as he took a step closer. “Your angel is a vampire.” 

My heart stopped. 

I was ready to brush all of this off as a sinister joke and move on in my delirium, but that specific choice of words. 

Your angel. 

It all made too much sense. The white-haired stranger, the bite, his teeth, the speed—it all screamed ‘vampire.’ I’d even thought as much. But…Heeseung? I couldn’t comprehend it. Did that mean they were all…really vampires? My skin chilled at the thought. 

I tore away from Jungwon to find the redhead searching my eyes, his pupils looking like vacant abysses. 

“Heeseung?” I asked, the first thing I’d said around the strangers all night, hell, the first time I’d even said his name.  

When I addressed him, it was almost as if he was looking beyond me. 

Within seconds his grip vanished, and I was hastily brought to my feet. My strength only lasted a brief moment before my knees buckled from the unsteadiness. Almost immediately I was held upright by two strong sets of arms on either side of my body. 

It took me a minute to notice that Heeseung had lunged at Jungwon, and was throwing him into the middle of the road. 

“They fight like this all of the time.”

The familiar voice came from beside me. I flipped to my left to see Jay reading over me intently. His words had come out like he was just playfully teasing, catching me up with the lighthearted antics of old friends, but his eyes were double agents, working overtime to gauge my reaction. 

On my right, the soft, auburn-eyed man was staring outward, watching the scuffle with a disapproving nod. 

Heeseung and Jungwon were circling each other between yellow dashes in the road, their backlit shadows dancing across the pavement. They both looked too untouched and clean for a fight. But it seemed as though that was simply a part of their nature; being completely untouched by the corrosive forces of the world. 

“Can’t I do this one thing?” Heeseung yelled, his voice chillingly hollow, as if he were hanging onto the last threads of his woven sanity. “This one…good thing.”

“I won't let your mistakes be my fault this time. Not again”

Jungwon didn’t even sound malicious in his words, he came across as the perfect amount of assertive and well-founded. But still, it was enough to fan the flames of the redhead’s passion.

My focus on their exchange was broken by a sharp pain that was starting to sear in my left arm. Particularly under Jay’s strangling grip, the raw, bitten skin was pressing into the bandaged fabric so uncomfortably I tried to loosen my arm in his hold. 

Thankfully he noticed immediately and grasped the injury in a different, less compromising way. 

“Your arm,” he whispered, examining the site of the attack. 

The skin under the bandage had become a black-bruised color, making the cut look as though it was pooling with fluid underneath the surface. My head began to spin at the distressing view. 

To distract myself, I turned my focus back to Heeseung who was bringing himself to a stop. He cracked his knuckles and took on a more threatening stance as he approached Jungwon.

His darkly clothed figure blurred into the darkness of the night while I tried to blink away my anxiety. 

“Guys…the venom.”

I didn’t even realize that Jay’s cold fingers were prodding at the skin on my arm until he spoke.

A single drop of black liquid was trailing down the side of the muscle, leaving a streak of dark color in its wake. My stomach lurched in response to the macabre sight. 

Within a few seconds, the quarreling pair were at my feet, inspecting the bandaged skin with their own precaution, their rivalry seemingly put on pause. Even the silent man on my right leaned in to get a better view. 

“Is it..that bad?” I choked back tears. 

The look on Heeseung’s face told me everything; his tight lips and scouring brows, the slightest quiver of his chin and the clenching of his jaw. The worst—his eyes, which were reservoirs of despair that flickered closed in frustration. 

“It’s a good thing, right? She’ll be saved. If you think about it, it’s what you wanted,” Jungwon said finally, directing all of his attention to the redhead as he spoke, not acknowledging my words at all.

Heeseung remained with his eyes closed, entirely unmoving as time passed. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. If he was fortifying himself against Jungwon’s jabs, or devising some sort of plan to help, or simply, not thinking of me at all, it was all indiscernible from an outside perspective. I guess mind reading would be pretty handy, I thought, glancing at the blonde’s side profile.

When Heeseung opened his eyes he fixed them onto one person only, the man on my right, quickly approaching him in a whirlwind of rage. 

“It’s your fault, Sunoo.” Heeseung said, grabbing at the collar of the unmoving man’s shirt, bringing him closer to his own face. “I saw the flowers.”

My free hand twitched, remembering the feeling of the wet flowers on the ground beneath me. The memory was outshined by another thought, something more significant. 

Sunoo, the name echoed through my mind. I remembered him. Not his face, but his presence—he was there before in the rain, reaching out to me like the sun.

“It wasn’t him. It was Ni-ki,” Jungwon interrupted, taking control before things could escalate further. “You can find him later. Jay, how long do we have?”

Ni-ki. There was no doubt in my mind. He was the one who approached me. The one with the white hair, with the crimson lips and eyes of black…or were they blue? 

Heeseung released the fabric clenched between his fingers and I snapped out of my thoughts, watching as a kaleidoscope of emotion spiraled across his face. 

“Jay. How long?” Jungwon repeated over everyone, more assertive this time.

“About an hour.”

The atmosphere was grim.

Whatever was at play here—whether it be something supernatural, or entirely inexplicable—was far beyond my comprehension. Human minds were accustomed to accepting a mundane conclusion to their life, always accounting for the unlucky chance of a random fatal encounter. I’d never imagined I was meant to be fearful of beautiful men, and bites, and vampires. 

“We have to take her back to the house,” Heeseung said, swatting away the arms that held me upright. He took my balance upon himself to maintain, opting for a hand on my lower back to help me stay level. His attention made me feel normal again. 

“Is that the best idea? At that point you’re just tempting fate.”

“Jungwon,” Jay cut in, using a tone of voice he’d hadn’t spoken with before. It was enough to make any bystander a little embarrassed at the seriousness. Jungwon’s demeanor shifted almost imperceptively, but he had been affected nonetheless. 

“Fine, Lee Heeseung. But this one’s on you.”

We all stood around now, the tension subsiding if only for a moment.

I noticed the sound of little droplets falling onto the crunchy leaves scattered in the grass. One, after another, after another. A trail of black liquid was running down my fingertips as my arm hung limply at my side. 

“I can remove the venom. I won’t hurt her,” Heeseung said, curling his fingers into the fabric of my shirt, almost as if to say, I’ve got you. 

I wanted to fall back into him and let him absolve me of my pain. But that would be too soon, it was almost dawn now, and there was still so much left for me to endure before indulging in his embrace. 

“Why don't you see if that's what she wants?” Jungwon said with a smirk, pulling my focus. “Hey, is this really what you desire? Do you want him to suck the venom out of that miserable arm, or…do you want to become one of us?”

His smile had grown to reveal an adorably charming set of teeth, the first look of genuine interest he’d managed to plaster on his face while talking to me since I’d met him. He flashed the whites of his pointy canines and traced them with his tongue. It was a glimpse of what he meant by ‘one of us.’

The offer was so tantalizing, it was almost criminal in nature. To change oneself forever, to become…a vampire, it would disturb the unspoken laws of mortality and existence. Before I was even able to wrap my head around the concept entirely, I would already be transformed if I accepted the man’s proposition.

At first, I was confused with the casual way in which he asked. Surely, this was much larger than him and I, larger than a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ But then I realized, he must already know exactly what I want. 

“I want to be…one of you.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

part 4

a/n: hey people! sorry for the wait. :) I'll be aiming to release chapters every 2-3 days from now on! super excited to get into the rhythm of the story.

[kissandtellus]

Beggin’ on your knees: LADS LI begging for your forgiveness

Synopsis: The LI’s have said something to you they instantly regret. Cue the most groveling, pathetic, lovesick apology you’ve ever seen.

Warnings: Fluff, Hurt to Comfort, Angst, Description of medical issues, description of wounds, they are pretty pathetic ya’ll.

A/n: This was another commission from the lovely @moonlitnycto! This was for my Christmas Commission deal i have going on right now! Spots are still open!

˖᯽ ݁˖ Xavier

The mission was supposed to be simple, extract intel, minimal engagement with Wanderers. But of course, you had to improvise.

Xavier watches from the tactical feed, jaw locked tight as you ignore his direct order to fall back, charging headfirst into enemy sightlines instead. His knuckles whiten around the comm unit.

“What was that?" His voice cracks through the earpiece, sharp enough to make you flinch mid-stride. “Do you enjoy being a liability? Or are you just determined to get yourself killed?"

Silence. Even the static in your comm feels heavy.

Then, worse, the choked sound of your breath hitching.

Regret drowns him before the mission even debriefs.

Xavier cornered you in the armory the second you were alone, his palm slamming the locker beside your head.

“I didn’t mean—" His voice breaks, raw with frustration, At himself. “You know I didn’t—.”

You finally meet his eyes. And his breath stutters.

“You meant it," you say softly. “That’s the problem."

The moment your words Xavier’s knees hit the floor like a man sentenced to death.

His hands fist in the fabric of your mission pants, forehead pressing into your stomach as his breath comes ragged and unsteady.

“I hate myself when you look at me like that," he grits out, voice muffled against your uniform shirt. “Like I’m just another person who doesn’t see you."

His fingers tremble where they grip you.

“I see you. Every reckless, brilliant inch." He takes a harsh inhale. “And I’d burn the world before I let my own pride make you doubt it again."

You slide your fingers through his hair, gently at first. Then your grip tightens until his pretty blue eyes flicker up to meet yours. The regret there is volcanic, but you don’t let him look away.

“You want to make it up to me?" you question, thumb brushing the scar on his cheekbone. The one you stitched up after his last reckless charge. “Then listen next time. Trust me like I trust you.”

His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t argue. You lean down, your lips a breath from his. “I’m stronger than you think. Nothing is going to keep me from you. In this lifetime, or the next.”

You seal the confession with a kiss.

˖᯽ ݁˖ Rafayel

The air in the studio was thick with tension, the scent of paint thinner sharp in your nose as you stood frozen under Rafayel’s glare. He was pissed.

"You lied to me." His voice was dangerously calm.

You swallowed hard. "Rafayel, I didn't—"

"Don't." His hand sliced through the air, cutting you off. "I trusted you. I told you things. Things I've never told anyone and the whole time, you were just—what? Playing along? Waiting to report back to them?”

‘Them’ was the Unicorn Operatives. It was never in-detail things. But Rafayel was still a person of interest for your organization.

Your stomach dropped. This wasn’t about some minor mistake, this was about everything, The secret mission, the hidden agenda, the lies woven into your time together.

"I had to," you insisted, stepping forward. "It wasn’t about you-”

"Of course it wasn’t!" he exploded, voice cracking. "Nothing ever is, is it? Not my art, not my trust. Not even this." His gesture between you two was vicious. "Was any of it real?"

The second the words left his mouth, his face twisted with regret.

You saw it, the flicker of pain in his eyes, the way his fists clenched like he wanted to take it back. But the damage was done. The silence between you was deafening.

And then, quieter, broken: "...Get out."

He froze, the sound of your sharp inhale like a physical blow. When your eyes began to water, the sight sent a lance of guilt and regret through him.

He'd wanted to hurt you with his callous words, to channel his anger into something that would leave you as wounded as he felt. But now, watching the tears well up in your eyes, all he felt was sickening remorse.

His throat tightened. The urge to take it all back clawed at his chest like a wild animal. To apologize, to comfort you, to go back to the way things were.

His knees folded with the weight of his regret. He fell to the ground before you, grasping your hands tightly as if fearing you'd slip away.

"Don't cry," he pleaded, each word a tight whisper. "Please, please don't cry.” His fingers clenched around your wrists, desperate, as if he could anchor you with touch alone.

"I didn't mean it," he insisted, desperation coloring his voice. "I was angry, I was hurt, but I didn’t mean a damn word."

A tear rolled down your cheek, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips as he clung to your hands like a sinner at prayer.

You sniffled, wiping your face with the back of your hand. "If you really want to make it up to me..."

Rafayel nodded frantically, ready to agree to anything. "Name it."

You pointed at the scattered sketches and paint tubes across the studio floor, his earlier outburst had sent them flying. "...You clean this up."

His mouth fell open slightly.

You tilted your head. "And..." You pause for effect. "...You make me hot chocolate. With whipped cream."

Rafayel blinked once, then exhaled a shaky laugh, pressing his forehead against your knuckles in sheer relief. "Deal," he mumbled.

You nudged him with your knee. "And marshmallows."

He groaned dramatically, but his grip on your hands tightened, like he never wanted to let go again. "Fine. But only because you're cute when you cry."

You scowled. "Rafayel.*"

He grinned, already scrambling to his feet. "Kidding! Mostly."

˖᯽ ݁˖ Zayne

The hospital room is too bright, too sterile. The rhythmic beep of the cardiac monitor a mocking counterpoint to the furious pounding of your own pulse. Zayne stands at the foot of the bed, his white coat pristine, his knuckles bone-white where they grip the railing.

"How long?" His voice is quiet. “How long have you been having arrhythmias and didn't—" He chokes on the words, his composure fracturing. “Didn't tell me?"

You flinch. The truth lodges in your throat like glass. Three months of hiding skipped beats, of biting back gasps when your heart stuttered mid-mission, of pretending the black spots in your vision weren't getting worse.

Zayne reads the answer in your silence.

“Do you have any idea—" He cuts himself off, jaw working. When he speaks again, it's with a cold, clinical precision that cuts deeper than any shout. “You're my patient first. Always. If you can't trust me with that, then what are we even—"

He stops. Catches himself too late.

The unspoken words hang between you like a death sentence: ‘Then what are we even doing?’

The second they leave his mouth, regret floods his features. He reaches for you.

But you're already turning away, swallowing the bile rising in your throat.

Because the worst part? He's right. And now neither of you can pretend otherwise.

The apology comes hours later, whispered into your hair as he holds you through the worst of the episode, his tears hot against your shoulder.

Zayne holds you in his arms as the episode passes, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a steadying counterpoint to the ragged thudding of your own. His tears are hot against your shoulder, his fingers trembling as they trace your spine. He whispers apologies against your hair.

"I didn't—I didn't mean—"

He sighs, his grip tightening. You feel the fight go out of him, replaced by a raw vulnerability that's rare in him.

"I don't want to lose you," he breathes. "That's all. I just don't want to lose you."

You turn into him, burying your face in the safety of his chest. You can feel the steady thrum of his heart against your cheek, the rise and fall of his breathing, the way his fingers trace patterns on your back, as if committing the curves and planes of your body to memory.

For a moment, you let yourself forget the world outside this hospital room, the looming specter of your illness, the arguments and apologies that still linger between you. Here, wrapped in his arms, you're not patient and doctor.

You're just the two of you.

“Just stay with me…hurts more when your gone…” Your body shakes with a cut off sob. Zayne just tightens his grip on you.

“Always.”

˖᯽ ݁˖ Caleb

The argument had been brewing for week. Ever since Caleb came back from that last deep-space mission with the neural chip embedded behind his ear. At first, it was little things. The way his eyes glitched violet for half a second when he laughed, how he’d sometimes stare at the wall like he was listening to something you couldn’t hear.

But tonight? Tonight it all snapped.

“You don’t get to shut me out like this!" you shout, slamming your palm against his chest. “That thing in your head is changing you, and you’re just-just letting it!”

Caleb's jaw tenses, his pupils flickering with that unnatural glow as he steps closer.

“Maybe I like the upgrade," he sneers, voice colliding with a coldness that doesn’t sound like him. “Maybe I’m tired of playing the dumb, lovestruck boy when the Fleet needs me sharp."

The second the words leave his mouth, his whole body goes rigid, his expression collapsing into horror as he reaches for you.”

“Wait—Pips, I didn’t—"

But you’re already backing away, your eyes burning with tears.

The second your footsteps echo down the hallway, Caleb’s entire body jerks like he’s been shocked awake. His breath is coming in ragged gasps as the artificial glow behind his eyes flickers and dies. The chip’s cold influence fractures, leaving only your Caleb.

“No—no no no—”

His knees hit the floor so hard the impact reverberates up his thighs, but he doesn’t care. He’s already scrambling after you, his Evol flaring wildly as he slides the last few feet on his knees, colliding with your legs like a man begging for mercy. His arms lock around your waist, his face pressing into your stomach with a broken, wet gasp.

“I hate it. I hate the chip, I hate what it’s doing to me!” His fingers dig into your back, clinging like you’re the only thing grounding him. “Please, please don’t let it take you away from me too. I’ll ripit out myself.”

His voice cracks, and for the first time since the implant, you feel him shake.

You sink down, wrapping your arms around his trembling shoulders to pull him against you. His tears are hot and shaky against your skin. You've seen him through so many things, but this is different. He's usually so strong, so resilient, but this feels like the weight of every battle finally breaking him.

“Hey, hey," you whisper, one hand cupping his jaw with gentle ferocity. “It's you. You're still you, do you hear me?"

Caleb leans into your touch like a kicked puppy. You gently wipe away his tears and give him a smile. “You can make it up to me by helping me with that model plane. The chip can take away a lot from you. But it can't take away your hyperfixation on those planes.”

Your teasing makes Caleb let out a wet chuckle and sniffle. “Yeah…please?”

You kiss his flushed cheek and stand with him. The over 6ft man leans on you like a cane. You’ve always been his support, and always will.

˖᯽ ݁˖ Sylus

The door to the penthouse slams open with enough force to make the windows rattle. Sylus strides in, his usually impeccable posture rigid with barely restrained fury. You trail behind him, limping, clutching your bleeding forearm but he doesn’t turn to check on you.

Not yet. His hands clench at his sides, the leather creaking ominously.

“Sit," he snaps, gesturing sharply to the leather couch.

You flinch but obey, sinking onto the cool material with a hiss of pain. The wound isn’t life-threatening, just a deep graze from a stray bullet, but the blood has seeped through your sleeve, staining the fabric a stark, accusing red.

Silently, Sylus retrieves the medkit from the side cabinet. When he kneels in front of you, his face is carefully blank, except for his eyes. His irises burn with a simmering, scarlet intensity, the glow pulsing in time with his rapid breaths.

He doesn’t speak as he peels back your sleeve, revealing the angry, jagged gash beneath. His touch is strict, antiseptic swabs, pressure, bandages but his fingers tremble. Just once. A fracture in his composure.

“You could have died."

The words crack like a whip. You look up, startled, but he isn’t looking at you. His jaw works, his gaze fixed on the bloody gauze in his hands.

“And for what? A stakeout?” It’s spoken in a venomous whisper. “You’re reckless. Stupid. You don’t—"

He stops.

Sylus drops the gauze. His hands fly to your face, cupping your cheeks with a desperation that steals your breath. His thumbs brush over your skin, tracing invisible wounds as if reassuring himself you're whole. “I can't—" His voice breaks. If I lost you—"

There is a moment of silence as he cradles your face. He falls to his knees.

Not the controlled, graceful descent of a man who kneels only to dominate, but a collapse. A surrender.

“Forgive me," he rasps, eyes desperately searching for your own.

He presses his forehead against your knees, his breathing ragged. The anger has evaporated, leaving only raw, unfiltered terror in its wake. Terror of you, for you.

“I didn't mean it." The words are muffled against your skin, his fingers digging into your thighs like the bullet may re-aninate and take you from him again. “Fuck. Fuck. I never should have—"

His shoulders shake. Just once. He looks up.And you see it: the wet, furious gleam in his crimson eyes. You can’t move. You’ve been wounded far beyond this simple bullet wound.

But this time, it had been on HIS watch.

“Tell me you hate me," he demands, "Tell me you’ll never forgive me. Anything. Just—" His fingers tighten. “Don’t lie there like you’re already gone."

You reach out, brushing a tear from his cheek with your thumb. He flinches, like your touch burns.

“Sylus," you whisper.

That’s all it takes. He crumbles. And for the first time in his life, the most dangerous man in the N109 Zone begs.

Tag List: @chaemaire @purplemooned @vvi-vi @partypoison00 @l0st1nthedark @varpaat @boulder @space-trashlordd @hilliserose @rubylescent @joyfulyouthlover @lilacsandhysteria @cheezeandkrackers @zayneslover @slave-of-heaven @ladyanonreader @kiyadeleine @emowitchwithatwist @nixia1107-blog @aishabbbb @lordbugs @poisonivyae @embetie @mock-kett @nanamisgirly @imsaemi @exe-toby @rhickah @slutforsnowcrow423 @kageyaxaa @pumpk1n-gurl @anothergojostan @luvqi @juha18indeepspace @imhwajaez @matcha-m0chi @idiotboop @pomegranatesnapples @ajyoursgirl @raendarkfaerie @patchesofwork @diejager @goddessofeverything

[bohnerrific69]

me with peter maximoff be like:

[moonlight-presence]

At the same damn time

2 Adrians Chase (Vigilante) X Female Reader

Summary: Adrian and Adrian 2 have sex with you.

4,288 words

!SMUT CONTENT!

“Adrian, this is a bad fucking idea.” 

 “No, it's noootttt!” he says as he starts unlocking the door to his secret room. Well, not his, but his other him? Fuck, this is already too confusing. 

 “Baby, something is wrong with this dimension…” you whisper and put your hand on his shoulder. “What if the other you kills us both?” 

 “He would never! I wouldn't, so why would he?” Adrian argues, unlocking the last lock. 

 He glances at you with enthusiasm, and you can't help but smile a bit. You know how much this means to him, but you also know some weird shit is going on in this universe… Something feels wrong. You immediately noticed when you and Adrian were walking to this house.

 “Okay… We go in, but if your other you is a fucking maniac or something, I won't hesitate to shoot him, okay?” you say as Adrian grabs the doorknob.

 “Baby… You can't kill me!” 

 “It's not you, Adrian!” you exclaim with a still soft voice. “It's your other you? Fuck, I don't know.” 

 “Everything is going to be fine. Just follow my lead.” 

 You go to speak, but he lifts the mask to his nose and kisses you quickly, making you remain silent. You scowl at him as he pulls the mask back down.

 Adrian opens the door slowly, and your spine tingles from top to bottom as you hear the ominous creak the hinges make. He pushes it open and walks in; you follow him with light footsteps. 

 The first thing you notice is that there aren't any piles of cocaine lying around. The other thing you notice is somebody sharpening a knife somewhere inside the basement. You grab Adrian's hand, squeezing it hard. 

 “Adrian…” you say, reaching for your gun.

 “Sssshhh… I hear somebody…” he whispers, walking towards the sound. 

 You grab the gun handle tighter, your knuckles turning white as you walk slowly behind him. 

The sharpening noise gets louder and louder, and your breath gets stuck in your throat. Finally, you see a man, wearing an identical suit to your Adrian, sitting, his back to you, while doing something on a table. His hair looks exactly like Adrian's, and your eyes widen when he finally hears you two and turns around rapidly, grabbing a gun from his back pocket.

 “What the fuck?!” he asks. Your Adrian starts jumping up and down in glee, while you are terrified. “Who are you, and why are you here?!

 Your mouth opens as you recognize who this person is… It's Adrian. Not your Adrian, but the other Adrian. 

 “Whoa, dude, hold on! Hold on!” Adrian says, putting his hands up. He quickly grabs his mask and pulls it from his head, throwing it to the side. “It's me! I'm you from another dimension! My keys worked to get in here!”

 The other Adrian continues to remain serious, his eyes locked on your Adrian, and your blood runs cold. If you grab your gun now, he will kill you both… And if you do nothing, he kills you both. 

Shit.

 “Listen—” you begin saying, but that's when the other Adrian's face breaks into a grin. 

 “Are you fucking kidding me?!” he says enthusiastically.

 “No!” your Adrian says, matching his other self’s energy. 

  Adrian 2 (you have decided to call him that) lowers the gun immediately and puts it away. You let out a relieved breath, your shoulders relaxing.

  “Holy shit!” Adrian 2 begins laughing, and your Adrian does as well. 

 You are left speechless as they start pointing at each other and laughing hysterically. 

“We Spider-Man memed!” both Adrians exclaim. They point to each other again and again while moving their bodies side to side, like a couple of kids. 

 You rub your forehead, trying to understand what actually happened, but there are no words in the English language to express how you are feeling right now. There are two of them… You are actually staring at two Adrians. You know your Adrian better than anybody else, especially because you have been dating for a couple of years now, but this Adrian seems exactly the same. The only difference is the color of the glasses’ frame… But except for that, everything else is identical. 

 And, as you begin looking him up and down, studying Adrian 2, you realize he also looks really good in the Vigilante suit. The thought makes you shiver a bit, and you push it back. What’s wrong with you? You just met Adrian 2 from another fucking dimension, and you are already thinking about how hot he looks? Get a fucking grip…

 “This is amazing…” Adrian 2 says with a heavy breath. He puts his hand on his hips and then looks at you. “And who’s she?”

 “Oh, sorry!” Adrian says your name, and you wave at Adrian 2, making his eyes widen. “She’s my girlfriend! Or our girlfriend? Oh my god, dude, do you also have a girlfriend?”

 Adrian 2’s eyes start running up and down your body, and you cross your arms beneath your chest, your cheeks heating up a bit. You don’t know how to feel about his obvious stare. 

 “Me?!” Adrian 2 asks. “Nah… I don’t have time for all that. I’m super busy and stuff…” He walks towards you, making you step back. 

 “Okay, dude. Haven’t you stared enough?!” you ask, making your voice harsh. 

 “Whoa, sorry! It’s just…” Adrian 2 clears his throat. “You are super hot; I see why the other me is dating you.”

 “Right?!” Adrian says while laughing. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to be with her! At first, she was like super mean and stuff, which was like hot, but I thought we would never get together… But then! Well, then she invited me over to her house, and we—"

 “Okay! That’s enough, baby!” you say over him. Your cheeks are now a bit pink. “I think he got the idea.”

 “I just wanted him to know how sick you are during sex, baby!” Adrian whines, pointing at Adrian 2. 

 You groan, feeling extremely embarrassed. 

 “She is?! Dude!” Adrian 2 puts his fist in front of Adrian, and they fist bump. “You lucky fucker! That’s so fucking sick! I mean, I would love to fuck her too, but I’m happy you are actually with her!”

 Your head snaps to look at Adrian 2, your eyes as big as you can make them. Did you just hear that correctly? 

 “What was that?” you ask. 

 “What?” he asks, smiling. “Oh! Yeah, sorry… I know we only just met, but I feel like I can trust you two, right?”

 “Dude, of course! You are me, remember? Also, it’s not a surprise that the other me also finds her super fucking hot… I’m just happy we both have good taste.”

 They laugh again in unison, making you think about what Adrian 2 just said. 

 There you were, in a weird fucking dimension, and instead of finding Chris and Harcourt, you are stuck with a version of your boyfriend… And he just fucking admitted he wants to fuck you. 

 Part of you wants to smack both their heads together; the other part is a bit…curious… They look identical, and they sound the same, and… well… you have always imagined what would happen if you actually found the other Adrian in here. Just hours after Ads told you about the portal, you began wondering. Adrian may have been excited to meet his other self just because he thinks that’s super cool, but you found the idea confusing. Yet, you couldn’t help but wonder. 

 Was he going to find you attractive like your Adrian did? Was he going to be a horrible man? Be completely different?

 Several possibilities ran through your mind, but now that you were here and you saw that they were pretty much the same person, more possibilities appeared in your head. And they weren’t quite as pure as you liked them to be. 

 “So… Do you want to sit?” Adrian 2 asks. 

 “Yeah,” you reply, smiling at him. 

 He guides you to a couch near a window, and you three sit down. Your Adrian is to your left, and Adrian 2 is to your right. You didn’t mean to sit in the middle, but it sort of just happened. 

 Now, stuck between them as they speak about Pokémon and their favorite colors, you rub your hands together in your lap. You can feel their legs pressed to yours, making your body burn with a shameful lust and desire. It’s weird, it’s confusing, and it’s making you want to crawl up the walls. 

 There are more urgent things to attend to and questions to ask Adrian 2, but it seems like your body is betraying you. You can’t help but ignore how good they both look and how much their touch is identical. They even smell the same, and it’s driving you crazy. 

 “Hey, are you okay?” Adrian asks, putting his hand on your leg. He seems a bit worried. 

 “What?” You glance at him and smile a bit. “Yeah… I…”

 “Are you sick?” Adrian 2 grabs your hand, holding it for a few seconds. “You don’t seem to have a fever… And you don’t look sickly at all. Are diseases different in your dimension?”

 “No, I’m fine!” you say, maybe a bit louder than you intended. You notice that Adrian is still touching your leg, and Adrian 2 is still holding your hand. 

 Your heart is beating very fast, and your body is burning up more and more. You clench your thighs together, trying to ignore the throb in your crotch. It’s nearly impossible to, though, not when they are both touching you. 

 “Guys…” You look at your Adrian, and he seems to notice what is happening right now. Despite not understanding people that well, he seems to understand you.

 “Oh… No way?” he whispers, excitement in his voice. His thumb begins rubbing your leg, making circles on your jeans.

 “What?” Adrian 2 asks. 

 “Are you sure?” Adrian asks, putting his other hand on your face. You lean into his touch and shiver. 

 “I…Fuck, I think so… Is that weird?” you murmur, blushing more. 

 “Are you kidding me?” Adrian’s hand starts going higher, making you clench your thighs again. “This is like a wet dream come true.”

 Adrian 2 gasps loudly, maybe connecting the dots at the mention of his “wet dream.” He lets go of your hand and puts it on your leg as well. You don’t dare to look at him, not yet at least, but do enjoy his touches on your right thigh. 

 “Come here,” Adrian whispers. 

 You put your lips to his, grabbing the back of his neck. You part your legs almost by instinct and feel Adrian 2 slip his hand between them, making you moan into Adrian’s mouth. He groans, deepening the kiss, and then moves his hand as well. Soon, both their fingers are on your crotch, making you breathless. 

 You pull apart from the kiss, shivering in pleasure as they rub your folds through the fabric up and down. The touch is light, not enough at all, but this is too arousing, so somehow, it feels enough.

 “My turn?” Adrian 2 asks from the other side. 

 You move your head slowly, meeting his eyes. He goes to kiss you, but you turn your cheek to him, not sure if you want to kiss this person who’s not exactly your boyfriend. Adrian 2 doesn’t seem to take offense at that, and you gasp when his lips find your neck instead. 

 He begins running his tongue over your pulse point, driving you insane as you look up and close your eyes in ecstasy. 

 Then, as if to make matters worse (or better), Adrian starts kissing your neck as well. His kisses are slow and teasing, while Adrian 2’s are urgent and filled with lust. It’s amazing how they both kiss so similarly yet so differently. Your Adrian has patience that comes with being your boyfriend for so long, while Adrian 2 has the urgency that’s so similar to your first times together with Adrian. It’s nostalgic, it’s weird, and it’s making you get wetter and wetter. You feel your clit throb and moan their name as their fingers press against your clit. 

 Both Adrians smile into your skin. 

 “This is so fucking nuts… Fuck…” you whisper before licking your lips. “Oh my God, I need one of you inside of me right now.”

 They pull away from your neck, Adrian first, as he bites your skin gently before letting go. 

 “How do you want me?” he whispers, voice low and filled with lust. He’s already reaching for his pants, and you glance down. 

 You were so preoccupied with your own lust that you didn’t notice how hard both Adrians are. That makes you wonder… Are they the same girth and length? 

 “Do you want me to blow you, baby?” you ask, putting your hand over his as he reaches for his boner. Adrian groans when you squeeze both his hand and his cock. 

 “Fuck yeah… I want anything you want, baby.”

 You bite your bottom lip, squeezing his cock again before turning to look at Adrian 2.

 “Hm… Hi,” you say awkwardly, making Adrian 2 grin. 

 “Hey, pretty.” He cups your pussy again, making you thrust into his hand. “Can I fuck you? I really want to feel your pussy around my dick… Please?”

 The throb in your pussy is now maddening, and you can’t even think for a second. 

 “Yes…” You shake your head, laughing a bit. “Fuck me, Adrian.”

 “Hell yeah.” 

 You hear Adrian get up and start unbuckling his pants, but your eyes are glued to Adrian 2’s face. He’s staring at your lips, and you know that look. It’s the one your Adrian does whenever he looks at you when you are about to have sex. He wants you badly, and for whatever reason, so do you. 

 You move hesitantly towards him and press your foreheads together. It’s weird knowing your boyfriend is behind you both, staring as you travel your hand up Adrian 2’s lap. But it’s too late to back down now, so you take off his belt, fast and with sloppy hands, and sneak your hand inside his boxers. 

 His hot breath hits your nose, and his face scrunches in pleasure as you grab his shaft, pulling it out. You look down, seeing that his dick is exactly as you remember, and smirk. He’s already leaking precum, pearly beads rolling from his slit, and you collect them, spreading them on his shaft. 

 Adrian 2 whines, lips inches from yours, and you start stroking him slowly. You do exactly the same twists and apply the same pressure as when you are stroking your Adrian, and thankfully, it seems to be working. He’s breathing heavily, face bright red, and pupils dilated as you pleasure him. 

 “Fuck… Oh God…” he whispers, looking down as his head goes in and out of your fist. 

 Then, as you are determined to make Adrian 2 feel good, you feel a pair of hands on your back. Adrian travels them down your spine and then grabs your waist, pulling it up like you weigh nothing. 

 You realize what he’s trying to do, so you get on all fours on the couch, letting go of Adrian 2’s dick as you put both hands down. 

 “It’s like watching porn of us, baby!” Adrian points out with glee from behind you. He puts his hands on the hem of your jeans, and you wait in anticipation as he slides them down. 

 Cold air hits your clothed and sticky pussy, making you clench on nothing. You are so lost in what Adrian is doing that you don’t notice Adrian 2 getting up from the couch and walking to where Adrian is. 

 “Look at that… She’s so fucking wet,” Adrian says in awe, running his fingers on your wet panties. You whine, arching your back at the touch. 

 “Holy shit… You are so lucky, man.”

 “No, we are so lucky!”

 You hear them high-five, making your eyes roll a bit, even if a smile stays on your face. 

 “Are you boys going to jerk each other off, or is anybody going to fuck me?” you say with a teasing voice, looking over your shoulder. Your eyes land on Adrian, who now has his hard cock out of his pants.

 “Oh! Right, sorry!” Adrian 2 says. 

 Adrian walks to your front, and you follow him with your eyes slowly, enjoying how he’s stroking his dick even as he walks. 

 He stops in front of you, and you look up. 

 “You are loving this, aren’t you, baby?” Adrian asks with confidence that Adrian 2 lacks. 

 You bite your bottom lip and look at his cock. Your eyebrow arches. “It seems that we are both loving this.”

 He grins, putting one knee on the bed. His hand goes to your chin, and he tilts it up, bringing his leaking head inches from your lips. 

 Meanwhile, Adrian 2 begins running his fingers on your clothed pussy, driving you insane. You whine and move against his touch, making him feel how wet you are. He curses under his breath and finally grabs your panties and slides them down your thighs. 

 “Holy shit… It’s beautiful,” he says in the exact same tone somebody might use when they look at the Mona Lisa.

 You giggle and then feel his hands on your ass as he squeezes the flesh. You moan, and Adrian takes the opportunity to put his head on your lips. You focus on him again as Adrian 2 squeezes and slaps your ass gently. 

 “You can go harder, other me,” Adrian says, without breaking eye contact with you. “She loves it.”

 Adrian 2 lands a harsher slap to your ass cheek, making you moan loudly. 

 During this, Adrian is running beads of precum on your lips, coating them with it. You start licking his head slowly, trying to taste as much of him as you can. He curses under his breath and then lets go of your chin, grabbing your hair instead. 

 “Please…” you beg. 

 “Was that for me or the other me?” Adrian asks.

 “Both. Please, I need you both so badly.”

 Adrian 2 curses and then puts his cock on your entrance, letting it rest there as he feels how slick you are. 

 You open your mouth, sticking out your tongue for Adrian. He smirks, and the confidence that you love is clear on his face. He has changed a bit during sex ever since you started dating. He’s a bit more dominant, even if you love it when he submits to you. 

 Finally, as you are basically going insane with anticipation, Adrian puts his cock on your tongue and starts sliding it inside your mouth. At the same time, Adrian 2 begins entering you, making you gasp around Adrian’s dick. 

 You feel every inch of Adrian 2 stretch you while Adrian’s cock rests heavy on your tongue. 

 “Oh fuuuuucckkk… Dude…” Adrian 2 whines, barely resisting thrusting all the way in. He’s taking his time feeling you around his shaft. 

 “I know… You should feel how good her mouth is, too.”

 You can’t do anything but moan as you wrap your lips around Adrian’s cock and start bopping your head. He holds your hair, guiding your head back and forward as you suck and swirl your tongue on his cock. 

 Adrian 2 grabs your hips hard, and you feel him pull out before slamming inside of you harshly. The thrust is so sudden that Adrian’s cock goes deeper inside your mouth, making you almost gag. Fortunately, you control your reflex and get back to pleasuring him. 

 “Shit… Oh god… She’s so tight and warm,” Adrian 2 says, fucking you at an amazingly good pace. 

 You can hear the squelching noise his cock makes as he goes in and out, and it almost matches how your mouth sounds around Adrian’s dick. Saliva is dripping from the corners of your mouth, and your arousal drips in strings from your thighs. 

 Pleasure comes from the way Adrian 2’s dick is fucking you just right, his shaft pulsing and burning hot inside of you, and from the way Adrian’s dick is heavy and so good on your mouth. You love how Adrian 2 whines and how Adrian curses, pulling your hair. 

 It’s like fucking both dominant and submissive Adrian. A dream come true. 

 You moan around his cock again, making him pull your hair harder and moan in pleasure as well. You can feel sweat soak your blouse and bra, making your nipples hard. It’s beyond arousing. 

 “Ah…Fuck… Ah… I can’t believe you are dating her,” Adrian 2 moans weakly, fucking himself harder into you.

 “Yeah. She’s so perfect… Always so…fuck…perfect.”

 You start flickering your tongue on his shaft, just the right rhythm to create vibrations on his cock, and Adrian moves a bit forward, almost as if he got punched. That makes you clench around Adrian 2, and he whines again. They are both close; you can hear their heavy breaths. 

 “Fuck her faster,” Adrian says between breaths. “She’s close. Can you feel it?”

 “Oh, dude, yeah… Fuck, she’s gripping my dick so tightly…” he answers with a strained voice. 

 You let your body be moved back and forward like a rag doll. You are too drunk on pleasure to guide your movements anymore. You give in… you let yourself drown. 

 And it never felt better. 

 A knot appears on your lower belly slowly, and it’s like flames are moving all around your body. You are sure you are almost running a fever, and you are dripping sweat, but you don’t care. 

 Two Adrians are fucking you… Two fucking Adrians are actually fucking you right now. How insane is that?

 “Ah… I can’t hold it anymore… Ah…” Adrian 2 whines.

 “Touch her clit… Fuck, I’m close…”

 Adrian 2 immediately puts his fingers on your clit and begins rubbing it, making you moan loudly. Your noises are muffled as your mouth is fucked faster and faster. 

 Adrian 2 begins shuddering; you feel it against you, and then you feel him thrust unevenly as he shoots his load inside of you. He lets out a string of “thank you” and curses mixed with your name as he begins cumming. 

 You close your eyes, feeling tears on them, and his cum inside of you, plus his fingers on your clit drives you over the edge. 

 Waves of pleasure run through your spine, and you start clenching and unclenching around Adrian 2’s throbbing cock. You try to breathe through it, and thankfully, Adrian takes off his cock from your mouth, making you gasp and cry out in pleasure. 

 Adrian 2 thrusts a few more times, trying to ride out your high, and then stills. You hear him panting from behind, his fingers stopping on your clit. 

 “Holy shit…” he whispers through breaths. 

 “Ah… Fuck,” you reply with a very tired voice. 

 You open your eyes again, feeling Adrian 2’s cum inside of you, and then look at Adrian. He’s still hard, stroking himself, as he looks down at you. 

 “Open…” he says, and you immediately stick out your tongue. 

 He strokes himself faster and faster, his cock glistening with precum and your saliva.

 Soon, he begins cumming as well, and ropes of cum land on your tongue. He moans your name, eyes half closed and lips parted slightly. You admire him, loving him so much as always, and let him finish. 

 When the last drop of cum lands on your tongue, you put it inside your mouth, swallowing everything. 

 “Good girl,” he whispers, collapsing on the couch as he sits on it. 

 You shiver around Adrian 2’s softening cock, and he seems to notice. He begins pulling out, hissing along the way, and you hear him sit on the couch as well. Heavy breathing is heard from around you as you slowly turn your body so your back is on the couch. 

 You put your head on Adrian’s lap while Adrian 2 grabs your calves, helping you lie down on the couch.

 “You okay?” Adrian asks, stroking your cheek gently. 

 “Hm hm… This was fucking insane,” you comment with a chuckle. 

 “Honestly? I feel like this will stay in my head forever and ever…” Adrian 2 says as he brushes your legs up and down. “Even if the Nazis kill me, my ghost will remember this.”

 Your eyes immediately widen, your body becoming alert as the last residue of bliss fades from your brain. You jump to a sitting position, looking at Adrian 2 with an urgent face. 

 “Nazis?! What?!”

 “Uh?… Ooooohhh… You guys don’t know?” Adrian 2 says, wincing a bit. 

 “Know what, other me?”

 He rubs the back of his head and pushes his glasses up his nose bridge. 

 “The Nazis won World War II… They rule the world now. That isn't a thing in your dimension?”

 Your jaw drops open, and you hear Adrian curse loudly. 

 “SHIT! I told you something was wrong here, Adrian!”

 “How is this my fault?!” both men reply with a whiny voice, making you groan loudly. 

 Well shit… This is what you get for being too horny to properly think about your surroundings… It was still worth it, though. 

 But now it’s time to push this aside and get back to work. 

 “You and you,” you point to each Adrian. “Grab your shit, put away your dicks, and let's go find the rest of the team."

 “Yes, ma’am!” they reply, once again in unison.  

[jayflrt]

implausible deniability

❝ don't spin this on me. this is about you getting turned on by your best friend's sister, you freak. ❞

PAIRING ▸ jake sim x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, crack, fluff, college au, brother's best friend au, academic rivals to lovers au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, alcohol, weed, lots of banter, sexual tension, dry humping, dirty talk, teasing, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (m. receiving), semi public sex, jayhoon bullying jake

SUMMARY ▸ in which jake comes to the horrifying realization that he might have somewhat of a masochistic streak. case in point: he can't stop himself from getting turned on whenever you argue with him.

WORD COUNT ▸ 12,658 words

PLAYLIST ▸ sweet lies by exo • damn right by jennie, childish gambino, kali uchis • red angel by s.e.s. • thirsty by tinashe

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ this was written on a whim because of that weverse live clip of jake nerding out lol hope u like it!!

JAKE SIM WAS CURRENTLY EXPERIENCING A MAJOR PREDICAMENT THAT PROBABLY WOULDN’T SURVIVE MOST FRIENDSHIPS.

To preface, when it came down to it, he respected Lee Heeseung a whole lot (although he would rather die than admit this out loud). There was something special about having a childhood friend—someone who was there for him at the awkward stages of puberty and lowest points of his life—and Jake would’ve been a fool to ever take that for granted. For their tight-knit friendship to carry into university made their bond irreplaceable to Jake. He genuinely trusted that he and Heeseung would be friends even when they were old and cheating at bingo together in a retirement home. 

That being said, the chances of that happening were looking bleak now that you, Heeseung’s younger sister, were constantly occupying a space in Jake’s head that was strictly reserved for something more… impure.

It was strictly lust; however, that somehow made matters much worse because how could he possibly lust after his best friend’s sister? If it was some complicated emotion like love, then at least Jake could tuck his heart away and hide his feelings until the day he died. 

Hiding a boner, though—that was difficult. 

Even more so because you were in the same Engineering & Society seminar as Jake, and since the course was structured for small group debates, the two of you were often at each other’s throats in heated arguments. Of course, Jake tried to approach you as civilly as possible, so their professor believed the intense back-and-forth was simply a healthy dialogue, but neither of you would back down once it started. 

The problem only made itself clear last month, despite how many excuses Jake made for himself to deny your involvement. It took him three more weeks to accept that his hard-ons were your doing and not simply a standing ovation out of respect for the debate (which was one of his worst possible reasons, to be honest). 

And the cherry on top was that they always happened when you two were quarreling.

You two could be insults deep in what was supposed to be a casual discussion about greenwashing in product engineering, and Jake would, without fail, feel all the blood rush to his dick until it was uncomfortably stiff.

Unsexy thoughts, unsexy thoughts, unsexy thoughts, he kept chanting to himself, attempting to force an image in his head of Heeseung kicking his sorry ass. Unfortunately, it did very little to prove effective against the scarily overwhelming libido that tented his pants. 

Jake was ashamed to admit that he was also mildly turned on by the idea of being caught, which made absolutely no sense because that was also his biggest fear.

So, to summarize, Jake now found himself horny in situations where:

he was pissed off

he was in the middle of a heated argument

he was potentially going to get beat up

It wasn’t looking good for him, to say the least.

Now, there was a justifiable reason as to why Jake was under the assumption that Heeseung was going to punch the living daylights out of him. Although you were only a year younger than your brother, he was awfully protective of you because a little sister was all he ever wanted. 

Back when they were middle schoolers, running over to each other’s houses across the street to show each other their new comic books, Heeseung would always bring you around. Jake had nothing going on in his head but Spider-Man and legos back then, so he wasn’t very pleased with you constantly trailing behind them like a lost puppy. Naturally, that led to you and Jake often bickering about your annoying, lingering presence. 

The last time Jake ever complained about you hanging around them was when he blew up on you for following them to the corner store. That place was practically their sanctuary back then. The 99 cent AriZona iced tea was like uncut cocaine to him. The fact that you, a mere fifth grader, encroached on their safe haven was an insult—a disgrace! The reputation of the fine establishment simply didn't allow for puny elementary kids to come and go as they pleased (in Jake’s head, at least). 

“Quit following us, Y/N,” eleven-year-old Jake muttered back then, throwing you a glower over his shoulder. “Don’t you have other friends to bother?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah, I can tell, so stop trying to steal mine.” 

Although you were all pigtails and Barbie dolls back then, you were surprisingly sharp-tongued for an elementary schooler. “Sure, Jake. You can have my brother and the rest of your imaginary friends.”

He wasn’t even the type to get angry. In fact, Jake had glowing reviews about his personality; moms loved him, the guys always picked him first for sports teams, and he even caught the attention of some of the girls at school. It wasn’t like him to get so riled up over something so small and petty, but he always happened to blow his top when it came to you.

It was rather unbecoming of him (considering Park Sunghoon later deemed him Mommy’s Little Misogynist for this one), but Jake was boiling with so much anger that he wound up chugging the rest of his iced tea in one go, crumpling up the aluminum into a disc, and throwing the empty can straight at your forehead. The force of his throw, normally reserved for intense sessions of Four Square on the playground, left behind an angry red mark that quickly brought you to tears. 

Before Jake could even stutter out an apology, he was met with a blow to his gut that had him doubling over Heeseung’s fist. It was then that Jake realized that his friend did not take any disrespect toward his sister lightly. 

This carried on into high school, too, where Jake got to witness Heeseung hunt down your first ever boyfriend for cheating on you. It was quite the scene, full of threats and rather creative insults, but Jake realized that he was only let off the hook because of his close friendship with Heeseung. 

Over the years, he learned he could bicker with you all he wanted—Heeseung finally realized that you could stand up for yourself—but to lust after you so shamelessly was a death wish. It was the pinnacle of disrespect toward you. If your brother ever found out, Jake was a dead man. 

That was why he was now fiercely determined to get through the rest of his seminar without having to cross his legs and hide the deplorable tension in his jeans. 

Today, he prepared himself by starting his day off with a bowl of Corn Flakes, intended to curb sexual desires by John Harvey Kellogg himself. Then, he devoured a handful of graham crackers before class, which Jake wasn't quite sure would be useful as an anaphrodisiac, but it was worth a shot. Actually, he wasn't very confident with either of these options, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

The question they were tackling today was whether engineers were to be held accountable for how their inventions were used, such as facial recognition for surveillance or military drones. Thought-provoking, for sure. Jake made a mental note to discuss it with the professor at office hours—anything he could do to suck up to the guy to compensate for his crass behavior during discussions. 

“You can’t just start something potentially dangerous and walk away from the consequences,” you claimed, that challenging look in your eyes daring anyone to speak against you. 

Usually, no one other than Jake dared to oppose you, so the silence that followed after was thick with anticipation, stuck in their throats like honey. Your gaze met Jake’s for a split second, eyebrows lifting in mild surprise. He would usually be standing up by now, but he didn’t feel the need to. To be quite honest, Jake agreed with your point this time, so there was no reason for him to come up with some half-baked counterargument for the sake of participating. Plus, it was far too risky to argue with you; he was already determinedly set on making it through this class without his blood rushing to rather inappropriate regions.

Still, the way you were looking at him, waiting for him to argue back with those sickeningly adorable eyes, had him rising to his feet, anyway. What a weak-willed man he was. Sunghoon would laugh right in his face.

“But if someone misuses the technology, that’s on them, not the people who created it,” he countered, surprisingly convincing for someone who didn’t believe a word he was saying. “The engineers can’t control how their technology is used once it’s sold to whoever.”

“But don’t you see how technology’s being used? You really think mass surveillance keeps improving because engineers are just super passionate about innovation? It’s all about the money, isn’t it?” He could hear the emotion rising in your voice; you were just an overly-passionate person when it came to these things, but you sucked in a breath to collect yourself. “If they know the harm their inventions cause and keep going, they should be held accountable for what they make!”

This was honestly ridiculous. Jake fully agreed with you, yet here he was, scrambling to think of a rebuttal so that he could watch the irritation grow on your face. 

“Then what about the ones built with good intentions? Should they be held responsible because their honest work was manipulated?”

“Impact over intent,” you replied with a firmness intended to shut him up. “Honest work only goes so far. Would you be okay with the vision for your product getting warped into something else entirely?”

“So, you think if someone designed tracking features on a health app or some shit, they should be held responsible if that data gets sold or used by the government?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I think.”

Well, yeah, that checked out. 

Jake raised a brow. “How are they supposed to know? Most engineers are working on small parts of these big projects.”

“Seriously? Look at Boeing! All these sloppy engineering decisions resulted in those plane crashes.” There was a hint of venom in your tone and your eyes were sharp. Jake could tell you were getting to that level of frustration that he couldn’t help but get excited over. “Over three hundred people died because of plain negligence. Who’s to blame, then?”

“I just wanna ask where you think the line should be drawn,” he said. “If we hold every single engineer accountable for how their work gets used, then no one’s gonna build anything. You just end up driving them all into a corner.”

“Are you trying to be an engineer for the money, or are you in it for meaningful work?”

“Uh… yeah, the meaningful work, of course.” And the six-figure starting salary. That was beside the point, though. 

“Then shouldn’t you be approaching what you create with some more tact? You can’t just mindlessly build whatever without thinking beyond your creation.”

“Are we still talking about engineers here, or are you just coming for me now?”

“Well, if the shoe fits.”

“The most I’ve done is code a calculator. I don’t think the government’s interested.”

“I’m clearly not talking about that. I’m talking about—”

“This is a seminar, Y/N. We’re supposed to be talking about society here.”

“Are you not part of society anymore, Jake? I sincerely apologize for assuming.” There was nothing sincere about your tone, though. “What? You’ve got nothing else to say?”

And, like clockwork, there was that telltale strain once again as Jake felt his chest grow hot. He reached behind him to grab the head of his chair and sit back down, slowly crossing one leg over the other. You frowned as you watched him concede, and Jake felt rather pathetic that everyone was under the impression that he surrendered. There was a chill in the room—whether it was from a draft or the tension from the conversation, he couldn’t tell. 

“I think I’m done, but I agree with you, by the way,” he said, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Just wanted to participate.”

A few snickers rose from some of their classmates. You scoffed, partly out of amusement and partly out of exasperation, and slumped back in your seat with your arms crossed. The seething look on your face wasn’t doing him any favors, nor did the Corn Flakes and graham crackers, apparently.

“Okay, good stuff, good stuff,” said Jay Park, Jake’s longtime friend and current TA for the semester. “Anyone who isn’t Y/N or Jake wanna give it a go? Hopefully without making the rest of us painfully uncomfortable.”

He unfortunately had to bear witness to every single one of the showdowns between you and Jake, but he always kept his mouth shut in front of Heeseung because, as Jay put it, the feud between the two was “too messy to escalate.” Jake was just glad he didn’t have to resort to blackmail to shut Jay up. 

It turned out that people were, in fact, willing to participate as long as you and Jake weren’t involved. Jake got to sit back for the rest of class and grit his teeth, willing his hard-on to go away before they were all dismissed. What made that quite the feat was the fact that you kept watching him for the rest of class with calculating eyes, as if you were peering into his very soul.

By the time class ended, Jake felt relief flood his chest. He needed to get a mile away from you before your eye contact made his situation a whole lot worse. As he was zipping his backpack back up, Jake saw your perfectly manicured fingernail dragging across the grain of his desk through the corner of his eye. 

You were standing right in front of him. 

He looked up, alarmed. From behind you, Jay, who was about to approach him, was backing up slowly, shooting his friend a grimace and opting to duck out the door instead. As the last few people in the classroom were filing out, Jake realized he was now left alone with you. 

Fuck.

Jake cleared his throat. “Can I help you?”

“You can start by explaining why you keep going out of your way to get on my bad side,” you said. “If you agreed with me that entire time, why were you purposely trying to piss me off?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it going out of my way,” he retorted. “Class participation is a requirement. All I did was stand up.”

“And refute every single point you believed in?”

He clicked his tongue. “What can I say? I do it for the love of the game.”

“Uh-huh.” Completely unconvinced, you looked him up and down. Your demand was simple, yet downright mortifying: “Uncross your legs.”

Jake froze. 

“Odd request, don’t you think?” 

Your gaze dropped for a split second—not long enough for it to be obvious, but Jake caught it in time. “I don’t think so. We’ve known each other since, like, forever. I think we’re at the point where I can make odd requests.”

He felt his mouth going dry. What were you even on about? Sure, Jake was probably close to you in a forced proximity sort of way, but that didn’t mean you two were suddenly buddy-buddy. You two were close in the sense that Jake went to your high school graduation (as per Heeseung’s invite, of course) and drove you to your tennis practices whenever your brother was busy—not whatever this was. 

But who was he kidding? Nothing about this conversation screamed buddy-buddy. You were clearly onto him, and all Jake could do was think of every sad movie he’d ever watched to get rid of the growing erection in his pants. 

Jake swallowed thickly. “You want me to uncross my legs,” he stated matter-of-factly, and you snorted. 

“What, didn’t hear it the first time?”

“Can’t do that,” was all could say in response—strained, like something was lodged in his throat.

“You can’t… move your leg?”

“Nope—arthritis.”

“Arthritis,” you repeated blankly.

“Yeah. Runs in my family.”

You shook your head, seeing right through his attempt to steer the conversation back into calmer waters. “You’re a terrible liar, Jake.”

“Really? I thought I was doing a pretty good job earlier.”

“Mmhm. A real Oscar-winning performance for someone arguing against his own opinion—truly,” you said. “Also, you’re stalling.”

“Here,” he bit out, and slowly—deliberately—Jake uncrossed his legs for you to see. The bulge in his pants had effectively gone down with much mental gymnastics, and you simply stared down at his groin with a frown settling on your lips. “Happy now, you pervert?”

All you did was look at him with a beady gaze, raising a perfectly arched brow before pulling your phone out of your bag. Jake could only return a look of absolute bewilderment as you flipped your hair over your shoulder and tapped away furiously, the glow from the screen illuminating your features just enough for you to look even more radiant.

“I see. So, uh… Heeseung’s gonna be out of town for his hockey tournament and I need a ride to Kazuha’s place tonight. She’s throwing this huge party, and I was planning on pregaming before I head over, but I’m not about to drunk drive, for obvious reasons.” You wouldn’t even look up as you spoke, keeping your eyes trained on the text messages that seemed to be delivering in a flurry. Notification after notification—Jesus, would it kill you to turn your ringer off? “Pick me up at eight?”

Jake blinked slowly—a few more times, for good measure. He couldn’t believe his ears. You just grilled him to a crisp, and now you were acting as if nothing happened? He was fighting his own blood from pumping to his dick, and you were just casually changing the topic?

But—whatever. As long as the attention wasn’t on his crotch anymore, he could roll with this. 

He scowled. “Kazuha’s? Hey, I’m not your chauffeur.”

But you were already walking out the door. “Yeah, yeah. So, eight?”

A retired sigh fell from his lips. “Sure—fine, whatever. I’ll be there.”

In a happy world, Jake’s schedule was packed with classes all day so that he wouldn’t have to run into Heeseung right after that not-so-fun encounter with you.

In the real world, however, Jake’s schedule was specifically structured so that he and Heeseung had the same breaks between classes. They planned this out well in advance so that they could meet up once they were done with class. Of course, this didn't always work out because of overlapping course times, but the two of them happened to luck out this semester (although it wasn't exactly working in Jake’s favor right now). Just as he walked out of his classroom, his friend was making his way down the hallway to get to him.

“Yo,” Heeseung greeted. He had his hockey stick slung over his shoulder; for weekend tournaments like these, Heeseung would usually leave campus early so that he could commute before nightfall. “I thought you’d be at our table already. Jay isn’t with you?”

“I was hanging back for, uh… homework help,” he lied, hoping it came out smooth enough to convince his friend.

“Couldn’t you just ask Jay?”

Well, he had a point there. Jake settled for saying, “Nah. Fuck that guy.”

To his relief, Heeseung just laughed. “Yeah, true. That fucker goes on for hours if you get him to start explaining something. I asked him one question about my calc homework the other night, and I swear the sun was coming up by the time he was done.”

“That’s why you come to me first.”

“I tried. Your ass was knocked out, so all I had was Jay.” Then, Heeseung added, “By the way, since I’m gonna be out this weekend, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Yeah?”

“Y/N said she needed a ride to this… I don’t know—I guess Danielle’s sorority’s hosting something? A charity event or some shit like that. Anyway, I won’t be here, but she needs a ride. Are you free? It’s Saturday evening.”

“I’m already—” Jake stopped himself. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to disclose the minor detail that he was also going to be driving you to Kazuha’s party tonight. As hard as he racked his brain for an excuse, he couldn’t think of anything productive he’d be doing the next day. “Yeah, it’s no problem.”

“Appreciate it, man,” Heeseung said, thumping Jake’s chest with the back of his hand. 

Their chatter continued out of the science building, pushing open the doors to be hit with a gust of cold wind. Heeseung then stopped dead in his tracks, looking down at his phone before throwing his head back in exasperation.

“Coach wants us to meet in the gym before we leave,” he told Jake with a resigned shrug. “I’ll see you on Monday, okay? Tell Sunghoon and Jay I said bye.”

The one thing Jake despised in the world was saying goodbye to people. He got far too emotional over a gesture that really wasn’t that dramatic, and he hated how seriously he took them. Still, acting as if he was a normal person who knew how to act normally about such matters, he clapped his friend on the back and wished him good luck before watching him walk off. 

Seriously, he felt like a military wife sending off his husband.

When Jake found the table that Sunghoon and Jay were sitting at, scarfing down their sandwiches at record speed. Jake dropped his bag on the ground and collapsed into the seat next to Sunghoon. He reached over to grab one of Jay’s curly fries, twirling it around in his finger before he nibbled on it. 

“Heeseung’s gone,” he told them.

“Oh. His tournament?” Jay took an obnoxiously loud sip from his drink. “You phrased that like he died.”

“He said bye.”

Sunghoon nodded wistfully. “He will be missed—mostly ‘cause he always does the dishes. Now we’re responsible. Ugh.”

With his elbow on the table and chin sunk into his palm, Jake nodded along to Sunghoon’s words, still stuck in some strange sort of daze.

Sunghoon shot him a questioning look before turning to Jay. “Okay, I'll bite: What’s up with Sadness?”

“Dunno.” Jay covered his mouth to finish chewing the rest of his bite. “He and Y/N were getting into it during class today.” He looked up from his food to turn back to Jake. “What happened after she cornered you after class?”

“Cornered?” Sunghoon asked with sudden intrigue. 

To state his concerns as vaguely as possible, Jake groaned feebly into his hands and said, “I’m in deep shit, you guys.”

The two men were dumbfounded to hear Jake Sim, who had a shiny record of being a perfect son and perfect student all his life, make such a claim. (Well, perfect enough to make his parents proud; there were surely several imperfections that wouldn’t earn Jake his Perfect Son badge if they were ever to find out. Exhibit A: whatever was happening to him because of you.) Not once had he gotten a detention or even a warning. Jake was a poster child all his life, which was why he felt especially embarrassed that he was acting so shamefully when it came to you.

“You didn’t make her cry, right?” Jay asked.

“No!” he exclaimed. In fact, you almost made him cry. “I just…” He sighed and straightened up, his voice taking on an edge of seriousness. “You can’t tell Heeseung.”

Jay raised a brow. “What’d you do, throw a book at her?”

Sunghoon let out a low whistle. “Mommy’s Little Misogynist strikes again.”

“I got a boner, okay?” Jake blurted out, sick of their mindless assumptions, even though his confession was probably a one-way ticket to the deepest circle of Hell. 

At first, there was silence. Then, a scream—an obnoxious, garbled sort of scream that Jake almost thought was a squawk. Sunghoon and Jay doubled over in laughter, dropping their sandwiches to swat at each other as they were unable to contain themselves. Jake sat there for a good two minutes, a deadpan expression on his face while he waited for them to calm down. 

“A boner?” Sunghoon clarified, a Cheshire-like grin plastered across his face. “A stiffy? A hard-on? An erec—?”

“Okay, Merriam-Webster, I don’t need every single synonym,” Jake snapped. “But, yes, I’ve been getting hard during class because of her, it’s—”

Jay spluttered out, “Been—!” And then they exploded into a fit of laughter again, collapsing into each other and wheezing from the absolute joy of their friend’s humiliation. With tears now spilling from his waterline, Jay rose up and pointed a finger at Sunghoon in utter glee. “Multiple times!”

“Multiple times!” Sunghoon cried back, pounding his fist on the table.

Jake was not amused in the slightest. “Okay, I feel like you guys are just overreacting now.”

It took Sunghoon and Jay quite a few minutes to pull themselves together after laughing hysterically for what felt like forever, so Jake took it upon himself to steal a couple more of Jay’s fries as revenge. 

“It’s fine, dude, seriously,” Sunghoon placated, as if he hadn’t been losing it moments earlier. He sucked in a deep breath to collect himself while Jay’s shoulders were still shaking.

“You guys were just making fun of me!”

“Did we laugh? Yes. Do we think you’re kind of a freak? Also yes.” Sunghoon shrugged. “But do we have your back? No.”

At that, Jay straightened up. “I think you messed that up.”

“I think so, too.”

“I’d assume we do have his back.”

“Should I change it to—”

“Okay! I get what you’re saying—very heartwarming, I think,” Jake interjected. “But am I seriously in the wrong here? No matter how much Y/N pisses me off sometimes, I’d never want to disrespect her. It feels weird, you know… getting hard over her, of all people. I mean, she’s Heeseung’s sister!”

“So you popped a boner over her—who cares?” Sunghoon placated. Jake fought back the urge to roll his eyes; they clearly cared when they were cackling like hyenas. “I’ve gotten hard in situations I probably shouldn’t get hard in. It happens to the best of us. It’s fine.”

“What kind of situations?” Jake questioned.

“Don’t spin this on me. This is about you get turned on by your best friend’s sister, you freak.”

“But you said it was fine!”

“That was before you pissed me off. Now I’ve changed my mind: Heeseung’s gonna kick your nasty ass straight to Hell.”

Frustrated, Jake tugged a hand through his dark hair. “Jay, do you have anything to contribute? Preferably anything that shuts Sunghoon up.”

“I knew this day would come.” Jay wiped the stray tears from under his eyes with his thumb. “See, Jake, when a man and a woman, or a man and a man, or a woman and a woman, or a person and a per—”

“Yes, I’m aware of all the possibilities on the spectrum,” Jake interjected. “Continue.”

“When a man and a woman love each other very much, they—”

“Oh my God,” Jake cut in once again, digging the heels of his palms into the hollows of his eyes. “I’m a grown man. I don’t need the sex talk—and I’m not gonna have sex with her, either!”

“You’re not?”

“No!”

“You don’t think she’s hot?”

“Well—I… I mean—that’s no reason—”

“You’re not getting a boner over someone you’re not physically attracted to, that’s for sure,” Jay said, clearly tired of his friend by now.

“I’m calling for plausible deniability,” Jake announced.

“Implausible. Vetoed.”

“Wait,” Sunghoon chimed in before looking at Jay, “how did you not notice?”

“Notice what?”

“His boner, dude.”

“Are you crazy? I have better things to do than stare at Jake’s dick all class,” Jay answered. Recollection seemed to hit him like a slap, his hand raising halfway to his mouth. “Actually… now that I think about it, I did think it was weird that you sat back down before you finished your debate… and your legs were crossed for the rest of class!”

(“So you did stare at Jake’s dick all class,” Sunghoon said.)

Jake threw him a withering look. “Yeah, I know. That’s probably why she caught me.”

Sunghoon’s jaw froze mid-bite, and without any respect to the onions that were falling off his bread, he dropped his sandwich and exclaimed, “She caught you?” Jay, who was equally as shocked, seemed to also be struggling to hide how gleeful he was about the drama. 

“Well, almost,” he corrected. “It was more of a suspicion, but I didn’t give in—and I called her a pervert! It feels good to win.”

“Cool! What’d you win?” The unexpected voice nearly made Jake jump; thanks to years of working on a collected composure, though, chills ran up his spine instead. Sunghoon and Jay were both caught off guard, too, judging by their nearly imperceptible jolts that had them pulling their shoulders back. 

He turned to see you with a hand on your hip, a curious smile on your lips. If his expression didn’t give it away, surely knocking over Jay’s curly fries was a sure sign of Jake’s nervousness. 

“Uh… League? League match—nothing important—yeah, um… so—what’re you—what’re you doing here?”

Real smooth, Jake.

Jay, who looked as if the scene before him was physically painful to witness, valiantly chimed in to save Jake’s skin, “Are you looking for Heeseung? He already left for his tournament.”

“Nope,” you said, walking over to stand behind Jake so you could card your fingers through his hair. He remained frightfully still and tried not to think about your fingernails against his skin. Your sharp, manicured fingernails… dragging across his—okay, his mind really needed to stop wandering. “I have a quiz next class, so I came here to ask for a calculator. I just need it for my next class.”

Jake’s TI-83 was most definitely tucked away in his backpack, but he was reluctant to move with the way you were running your fingers through his hair. Albeit how he had to fight to keep his mind out of the gutter, Jake could also admit that this was rather… soothing. He could stay like this all afternoon and he wouldn’t mind at all.

Sunghoon started, “Oh, I’ve got—”

“I got it,” Jake, with a deep edge of unease, spoke over his friend. Sunghoon didn’t seem to look upset about being cut off, though; in fact, the senior was trying to hide a growing smirk that he had to cover with his hand. Jake dug into his backpack, sifting through each of the pockets haphazardly, before pulling out his graphing calculator and handing it to you. “You can just give it back to me later.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find an opportunity,” you replied before turning on your heel. “See you guys later!”

After their goodbyes, the three boys lapsed into silence. Jake wondered if they were all thinking about that interaction with you and how strange it was. The three of them took high school graduation pictures with you, went over for Thanksgiving dinner at your house, and even awkwardly lingered about in Victoria’s Secret while you were trying on bras—but this? This change in behavior was something none of them would’ve ever expected from you.

Sunghoon was the first to break the silence, saying, “That was weird.”

“Indeed,” Jay agreed, perplexed. 

“She was all over you,” Sunghoon observed. “Like, I’m almost convinced that Y/N was replaced with a horny clone last night.”

“Jake, at this rate, you might—”

“Don’t say it,” Jake pleaded. “Don’t say anything about me and her. I swear, I just need to get back on Tinder or something, and I’ll forget all about Y/N—probably.”

Jay gave his shoulder a weak punch. “Yeah, I believe you, man.” 

He did not, however, sound like he believed in his friend at all. 

Jake didn’t quite fit the partying archetype.

Heeseung was a social butterfly, Jay and Sunghoon could get by as long as they could slip away to recharge from time to time, but Jake always looked for a way to get out of such events. Whether it was a project or a supposed family emergency, he played any card he could—although it was usually a fruitless attempt. Plus, Jake was strictly herbal; he wasn’t a big drinker like his friends were, especially when it came to his mortal enemy (Everclear). 

So, now, while he was watching you stumble down your driveway to get into the passenger seat of his car, Jake was already trying to do the math in his head to calculate when he’d be back in the comfort of his room. 

Tonight, you were dressed up a little more than usual. Your strappy black stilettos were dangerously high, and paired with the little black skirt that stopped halfway down your thighs, Jake found it difficult to pull his gaze away from you. 

“How’re you getting back home?” he asked as he pulled out of your driveway. Jake recalled several occasions where Heeseung had to do a U-turn to pick you up from Kazuha’s, so he was quite familiar with the route. “Uber?”

“—and he was trying to get with me, even though I know he has a girlfriend! Isn’t that crazy? I literally have the same lab section as her, like, I could walk up to her and tell her everything. Are men just stupid? Like, I can literally ruin his relationship—I mean, he pretty much did that on his own—but I could just expedite the process, you know? Ugh, and he wasn't even cute—so mid, like, not my type at all,” the lilting voice through your phone kept rattling on.

You shot Jake an apologetic look before you kept trying to calm down Hanni Pham, who he often saw you with. Well, he supposed small talk was out of the question now, which Jake didn’t mind one bit. Still, lowering the volume of Kendrick Lamar’s new album just to listen to Hanni’s incessant ranting for the rest of the ride was starting to drive Jake insane. 

Finally, you made a quick excuse to Hanni before ending the call, and Jake waited a few more moments before he raised the volume again. He kept his eyes trained on the road, for if they wandered in your direction, Jake was sure he wouldn’t get away with crossing his legs in this situation.

“You didn’t have to hang up,” he said.

“I didn’t?” You gave him a knowing look. “You kept looking over at me like you were in agony, so I thought I’d put you out of your misery.”

A sheepish grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Thanks for that. Who’s the guy she was talking about, anyway?”

“Wow, so now you wanna hear more?”

He shrugged. “You could at least repay me for the ride by entertaining me.”

“Entertaining you?” This time, you were grinning. Jake felt a bit nervous as you leaned over the center console. “If you want entertainment, then come to Kazuha’s with me.”

“Really?” Jake kept his tone light as he looked for street parking, and then he pulled over to the sidewalk to let you out. You had the door half-open, looking at him expectantly. “I’ll pass, then. Have fun.”

You leveled him with a glower. “You’re seriously not coming?”

“I’ve got, uh, homework.”

“Homework? It’s a Friday night, Jake. Just do it over the weekend.”

“Just get inside already, Y/N. It’s cold.”

“Fine,” you said, curt. There was little gratitude in your tone when you added, “Thanks for the ride,” and flung the door shut, too.

Jake sat back with a sigh, hoping that the solitude would aid in unclouding his judgement. He couldn’t just go to that party with you; things were weird between you two, and that was only putting it as simply as he could. But, on the other hand, maybe he should’ve just gone. There was no harm in showing face for a while, and it wasn't like Kazuha was a complete stranger, either. 

He let one opportunity fall right through his fingers; another presented itself right in front of Jake.

Your phone.

You left it on the seat before you left, whether it was intentional or not. The polaroid of you, Hanni, and Danielle showed through the back of its clear case, and Jake stared at your (admittedly charming) smile before he unbuckled his seatbelt in defeat.

One hour. That was all he’d give himself in there. 

He was sure the duration of his decision-making process wouldn’t keep him from catching up to you in time, but that wasn’t the case at all. Jake couldn’t spot you at all, not even after he did a lap around the first floor. You must’ve noticed your phone was missing by now, so where were you? 

Cramped, narrow hallways. Blaring music. Flashing lights. Sweaty people packed together. The lingering stench of booze.

It was dreadful.

Jake had to take a break in the kitchen, leaning against the countertop where someone’s bluetooth speaker was blowing out his eardrums. To his knowledge, Kazuha was renting next to an elderly couple with low tolerance for noise. How she could get away with throwing parties like these was beyond Jake. 

“Oh, shit,” a familiar voice called out. “You’re here, too? Thank fuck.”

Jake turned to see Choi Beomgyu walking over to him, cradling a red solo cup. Perfect. Jake was dreading the very idea of being sober right now, and he knew Beomgyu would have the fix he needed. Last time he saw Beomgyu, the guy was canisters deep in whippets; it would’ve been impossible to tell he was conscious if his hand didn’t keep inching inside of Jake’s bag of chips.

“I was supposed to sell Yeonjun some weed, but where the fuck is he?” Beomgyu went on to complain, setting his empty cup down and flicking it across the counter with little care. “When’d you get here? Just now?”

“Yeah, have you seen Y/N?” Jake shouted over the music. Beomgyu gave him a little shake of the head, and a weary breath escaped Jake’s lips. His eyebrows lifted as he then suggested, “Smoke break?”

“Hell yeah.”

It just so happened that Jake was already breaking his one hour rule. At one minute past his self-mandated curfew, he was not in a state to be driving at all. 

All thanks to Beomgyu, he was blazed out of his mind now, moving through the house with an air of indifference this time. Normally, Jake felt like his brain was buzzing constantly, like a hurricane that never stopped raging. But when that sweet Mary Jane filled his lungs, he felt more in control of himself. It felt almost as if he was underwater, weightless and drifting along with the current. For someone who swam desperately his whole life, he liked that he could just float. 

And, because the universe apparently decided that weed was the answer to all of Jake’s problems, he eventually wandered back into the kitchen and found you.

Minor problem: There was a man right next to you.

But Jake, floating about in a blissful daze, strolled right up to you without a second thought about interrupting your conversation. 

“... fucked up how she curves, it’s usually—oh, what the hell?” You did a double-take when you saw Jake walk up beside you, noticing his red and glassy eyes almost instantly. Your attention was immediately pulled from the unmemorable man beside you, which was not good because this was a horrible time to stroke Jake’s ego, and you grabbed onto the sleeve of his leather jacket. He took a step back to avoid your drink sloshing onto his clothes. “I thought you went home!”

Another minor (or maybe major) problem that Jake forgot about prior to his smoke break: Weed only made it easier for him to get turned on.

That—coupled with standing so close to you—was sure to be disastrous.

“Had to return this,” he answered, holding up your phone, which you snatched at record speed. You were going on about how forgetful you were before Jake asked, “Were you two busy? I can leave.”

“Oh, uh, we were just talking,” you said, looking between Jake and the other dude (whose name still remained a mystery) a couple of times before clearing your throat. The guy, who earlier had a hopeful glint in his eyes, seemed to wilt a bit. In a more cheerful tone, you added, “He’s an old classmate. We both had Robbins for O-chem.”

Robbins for O-chem. Sounded like a cheap excuse to talk you up, was what Jake thought. Last year he had physics with Kim Minji, but he wasn’t cornering her in the living room to talk about the good old days of wave mechanics.

Jake gave you a smug look. “Robbins? What was that about the curve, then?”

“Someone scored a hundred and screwed the rest of us up.” You scoffed. “Always that one kid.”

“Ah. That was me.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, that’s why I didn’t show anyone my score—except Jay, but he said he felt sick looking at it.”

“I feel sick hearing about it. You should’ve just kept that to yourself forever.”

That was the plan, actually, but Jake strangely felt the need to impress you in comparison to Background Character #1 and his unremarkable presence. Well, considering all he achieved was pissing you off, he supposed it wasn’t going too well.

“That was the plan.” Slightly miffed, he leaned back against the counter with his arms folded over his chest. “But I earned that hundred. I didn’t sleep for three whole days to study for that final.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. I stayed up, too—and got a sixty.” 

Jake simply shrugged. “You passed the class, didn’t you? That’s all that matters.”

“Easy for you to say! You got a perfect score!”

“I don’t think that—”

But you weren’t backing down, cutting Jake off to ask, “What’d you put for the cyclobutene question?”

Jake scowled at you. He thought one or two drinks in your system would calm you down, the same way weed did for him, but you were pushier than ever. 

By now, he also realized that Guy-whose-face-he-now-forgot was long gone. He probably realized that there was no hope in trying to hit on you after seeing how your full attention was captivated by Jake. He wasn’t trying to boast—he was just calling it like he saw it. 

“Seriously? That was a whole year ago, Y/N.” 

He felt the weight of your incredulous stare. “But you remember your answer, don’t you?”

To be honest, he did. 

“Conrotatory ring opening under thermal conditions,” he answered after a minute of spacing off to remember what he put down (and ignore your blatant staring). “Four pi electrons.”

“Wait, no, then it wouldn’t follow the Woodward-Hoffman rules. 4n would be antiaromatic in the transition state, so it would be forced to be a disrotatory mo—”

“Nope, the 4n system makes it conrotatory. Disrotatory would misalign the orbitals. Dude, I’m telling you, I remember it perfectly. I drew it out and everything.”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, and Jake found great pleasure in watching you flounder for a response. Moreover, he was starting to imagine very dangerous things that involved his body pressed up against yours—preferably somewhere private, but he was almost tempted to pull you closer right now.

“But… but then the cis product—”

“Stays as is,” Jake finished for you. “I can even draw the diagram for you. I’m sure there’s a paper and pen somewhere.”

“Ugh, don’t bother. I’m pissed off.” You shook your head, frustrated, and a lazy smile stretched across Jake’s face. “Why are you so smart when…” 

It took him a moment to even notice that you stopped in the middle of your sentence, dragging the syllabus an octave deeper than usual. Jake thought that he finally pushed you to your limit, that you were going to stop talking to him altogether, but the reality was much, much worse.

You jabbed your elbow sharply into his side, hard enough to make him wince in pain. 

“Okay, ow. What’s—?” Then he looked down.

Oh.

Jake’s lips parted, framing an apology that he couldn’t bring himself to utter. He was caught somewhere between alarm and shame, hardly able to move as the cold reality sank in that you just saw his growing bulge. 

It was dark enough so that only you were aware of it, but fuck, Jake couldn’t even get himself out of this one.

He looked down at you to say something—anything that would save him from this horrible situation, really—but there were no words to explain himself. Jake looked helplessly to the side for some escape route out of this situation, or perhaps even his Deus ex Machina: Beomgyu. Before he could open his mouth, you smoothly stepped in front of Jake, effectively cornering him in the kitchen and shielding him from onlookers.

Heroic, truly—except your thigh was now pressing firmly against the tent in his pants.

His blood ran cold when he saw the twinkle in your eyes, as if you were getting a kick out of this. Meanwhile, Jake made a mental apology to Jay and Sunghoon, who were going to be very disappointed that Jake didn’t take any steps toward forgetting all about you. It proved rather difficult when you were as intoxicating as the drugs in his system. 

“I fucking knew it,” you whispered, triumph tugging your lips into a smirk. “You were hard during class today, too, weren’t you?”

This time, Jake was the one at a loss for words, flailing for any excuse that would defuse the tension, but he was already a lost cause. In less than twenty-four hours, Jake managed to expose his deepest, darkest secret to the one person who was never supposed to find out. All he could do now was accept slow, torturous suffering as the jaws of social suicide ripped into him. 

“Y/N, p-please, I can—”

You threw your head back to laugh, delighted. “What? Are you trying to apologize for a boner?”

He stammered, “No—I mean, yes—but… I…” One more brush of your leg against his clothed cock had Jake holding onto your shoulders, trying to keep his lust at bay. “Y/N, stop. You’re Heeseung’s sister.”

“Excellent observation. Wouldn’t have figured that one out.”

“I mean, this”—he gestured between him and you—“isn’t gonna work out.”

You blinked. “Why not?”

“W-what do you mean, why not? Heeseung and I have been friends for years. I can’t just… I can’t do that to—”

“Oh, give it a rest. Why are you even bringing him up right now?” you asked in a snippy voice, waving his qualms off. 

“Because—”

“Anyway, I’ve put together a little theory, and I think I’m right.”

Jake raised his brows at that, slightly intrigued to what you could’ve possibly pieced together in the past twelve hours. If it had anything to do with why he was getting turned on, he was certain that you would be completely off the mark.

“You get horny when we argue, don’t you?” you asked.

Oh, so you were spot on. Fantastic.

He let out a desperate, wanting breath, trying to cover it up as a sound of misery. The kitchen was mostly cleared out since everyone gathered in the living room to play beer pong, but Jake lowered his voice to speak, anyway. 

“Pretty much. Nothing sexual—just attracted to the mind, is all. Debates can be stimulating, you know?”

“Nothing sexual about your dick getting hard?”

In a rather strangled voice, he answered, “Normal physiological reaction, really.”

He felt your hand smooth over his chest, your fingers splaying out before you dragged your hand lower and lower. He shivered as he felt your fingertips run across his abs, tracing each groove of muscle before your hand dipped to the front of his pants. Jake screwed his eyes shut when your palm pressed against his stiff, aching cock.

You simpered. “Really? So you don’t need my help getting you off?”

He suppressed a growl at the back of his throat, opting to loop his fingers in your belt loops and pull you closer instead. “Don’t.”

“Hm?”

“Not here. We’re in public.”

But your other hand was snaking around his neck, playing with the ends of his dark hair that fell to his nape. Jake could feel his body trembling as he restrained himself from holding you close and kissing you like his life depended on it.

I shouldn’t, he told himself, forcing the words to burn into his skull (and still, they would not stick). I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t—

But, fuck, the way you were looking at him. It was enough to drive a sane man to the brink of madness.

Well, Jake presumed he had always been a bit out of his mind when it came to you.

After an unsteady breath, Jake slid one hand up your waist, up your arm, and then across your shoulder to hold your neck. Your chest swelled before you leaned into his touch. Jake found his thumb straying from where his hand cradled your jaw. He traced the outline of your lips with careful precision, charting each curve and line in his course.

He kissed you once, light and fleeting—just enough to taste you. 

The sweet second of contact lost its grace soon after. He wet his lips, chasing what was left of your lipstick. With one more look into your eyes, all the nerves that gripped him seemed to melt away in a breath. Jake held your gaze before reaching up to hold the sides of your face and pulling you in for a searing kiss. It had been merely one taste—one press of his lips against yours—and jagged splinters of desperation tore into him, burying deep in his flesh.

Jake, with a heavy heart, wished he could formally apologize to everyone who was bearing witness to their sloppy makeout session. He simply couldn’t help that you were both intoxicated, turned on, and extremely riled up from bickering. He shoved his tongue past your lips, messy and eager, sating a hunger that had him starved for longer than he thought.

It soon slipped Jake’s mind entirely that he was making out with you in the kitchen. His cock throbbed in his jeans, pulsating each time your hips made contact with his. You were slowly rolling your hips over his—subtle enough to go undetected, but it was driving him wild. Honestly, though, if Jake truly wanted to stop you from moving against him that way, he would’ve let go of your hip by now. 

You were an insanely good kisser. Jake felt a small pang of jealousy upon recollecting all the times he witnessed you kissing someone before him—your first boyfriend, your senior prom date, your college situationships. He never thought too deeply about how he felt in the moment, but it was like he had locked up all those messy feelings bordering on jealousy. They were all spilling out now, like a crack in the dam, threatening to make Jake feel something for you that he hadn't felt before. 

He broke from the kiss to leave gentle pecks along your jawline and down your neck, each one leaving you sighing happily. “Let’s go upstairs, yeah?” he whispered against the shell of your ear, leaving a featherlight kiss in its wake. His drawl was stronger when he lowered his voice to a murmur, “Don’t go shy on me now, sweetheart.”

“Shy? I’m not shy.”

“Oh, yeah? Look me in the eyes, then.”

“Shut… shut up—and follow behind me, unless you want everyone here seeing your di—”

“Okay, that’s enough.”

You, being his knight in shining armor now, led the way upstairs, allowing for Jake to stand directly behind you and hide his boner. He kept his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, trying to focus on anything but the nape of your neck. Having his bulge pressed up against your body was making his senses go haywire.

(Also—and he wasn’t quite brave enough to admit this to himself just yet—he kind of wanted to lace his fingers with yours.)

Jake hastily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was sure he must’ve looked like an absolute douchebag walking around like that, considering the amount of lipstick he had just rubbed off. 

The first empty room was theirs for the taking. Jake sported a wolfish grin as he closed the door to whoever’s bedroom they locked themselves in. You, however, looked uncertain.

“I’d feel bad doing it on their bed,” you confessed.

Jake, who didn’t realize he was going to encounter a moral dilemma amidst getting his dick wet, blinked slowly.

“That’s true,” he agreed. Sure, yeah, he would probably kill his friends if any of them hooked up with someone in his bed. Jake made his way to you slowly; at first, you didn’t budge, but then you let him walk you backward once he grabbed your hips. “I wouldn’t feel as bad doing it against their wall, though.”

Your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, as if you were about to peel it right off him. “Then how about I suck you off first? Make up for all those debates?”

“Really?” he spluttered out, gawking at you as you turned him around so that his back was against the wall.

You hastily undid the buttons on his jeans, all the while maintaining eye contact with him. “You’re too cute. Don’t tell me you weren’t waiting for this.”

His gaze darkened slightly.

He joined you immediately in getting rid of his pants. Jake couldn’t help but let out a blissful sigh as he pulled his boxers down and his cock sprang up. Seeing you slide down to your knees to wrap your hands around his length nearly made his knees buckle under him. His hand moved to the back of your head, tangling his fingers through your hair.

Just like that, Jake Sim lost all willpower to keep himself away from Lee Heeseung’s sister.

“I don’t know if I can fit all of it in my mouth,” you told him, lips ghosting the tip of his cock. 

“That’s okay, baby.” He tightened his grip in your hair. “Take however much you can.”

You started with a gentle kiss to his tip, and it was enough to make Jake shudder. He watched you in wonderment, eyes glued to your mouth and how his cock disappeared past your lips. With one hand holding onto his hip for leverage, you ducked your head to lick from base to tip, running your tongue along a rather thick vein that wrapped around the side. 

Jake was thankful for the pounding music below; although he prided himself on his self-control (prior to Y/Ngate), he was never good at being quiet in the throes of pleasure. Slowly, you sucked on the tip, earning a drawn-out moan from Jake that he hardly bothered muffling. 

And then, you were hollowing your cheeks to take more of him in, and a flicker of intensity flashed in his eyes when he felt his cock hit the back of your mouth. Jake had to hold onto the nearby dresser for support, his knuckles going white. You gagged a little as his head brushed against your uvula, and then a few tears sprang in your eyes.

Jake watched them pool at your waterline, and he wiped at them with his thumb, cooing at you sympathetically. 

“Just like that, baby,” he murmured, stifling a groan. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the back of your head to thrust into your mouth—careful, experimental. “Ah—fuck, your mouth feels so fucking good.”

Despite the unbelievably erotic image of you blowing him, Jake could also detect some smugness. As you bobbed your head, each motion driving Jake closer and closer to a release, you could pick up on the effect you were having on him.

His eyes, glazed over with lust, were threatening to roll back, but he was determined to keep them on you now. He couldn’t get enough of watching how you were taking him in, how you were so quick to pleasure him.

Then, as Jake felt heat burning under his skin, he gently pulled back, holding your jaw securely to keep you from chasing his cock. You looked up at him with a frown, head cocked to the side.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as he wordlessly helped you back up to your feet.

Jake switched your positions, backing you into the wall again. He slid his hand under your thigh, pulling it up so that your leg wrapped around his hip. 

“My turn,” he said. “I’d rather be inside you when I cum.”

A needy little moan escaped your lips, and suddenly the both of you were a mess of hands, clawing and tearing to get each other’s clothes off. You yanked at Jake’s shirt, shoving it up and over his head, and he didn’t let it go unnoticed that your gaze dropped to the lines of his chest. You didn’t get much time to ogle, though, because Jake was quick to get rid of your clothes next, even snapping your bra off in one go. Your underwear, however, was pulled down with slow reverence. Jake had to take a minute to admire your breathtaking body in all its glory.

He never imagined this. All this overwhelming passion. Your body pressed flush against his—no walls up between either of you. 

Jake almost felt like all of this was dreamlike as his finger skimmed your folds, moving to rub your clit in a slow, languid motion. A shaky whine fell from your lips. 

“You’re already soaked, sweetheart,” he said. He slipped a finger inside you as you were opening your mouth, and your words died on your tongue. “You’re just as filthy as me, aren’t you?”

All he got in response was another petulant whine, like music to his ears. Jake added another finger, pumping it inside you while his thumb pressed against your clit. You squirmed in his hold, but Jake held you steady, keeping you pinned to the wall as he fingered your cunt. 

“I thought about this so many times,” you gasped out, much to Jake’s surprise. He raised a brow while speeding up his ministrations. This only made it harder for you to get your words out coherently, so it took you a while to add, “Thought about you fucking me after those stupid arguments, just like this.”

Jake, a simple man, wasn’t built to handle such words; he would’ve come on the spot, untouched, if he wasn’t so eager to bury his cock in you.

Jake guided his cock to your slit, and the two of you moaned simultaneously as he pushed inside you. The room went a little fuzzy for a moment—something high-pitched seemed to be ringing in his ears—and then Jake’s hips met yours, drawing shuddering breaths and whimpers from you two.

Shit. He felt like he was on fire and your every moan was ice. 

Caging you in his grip, he gave a shallow thrust, rousing a gasp from you. In turn, your leg curled tighter around his hip. Jake had to bury his face in your neck to suppress his groans, his hot breath fanning your skin as he littered kisses and bites along your supple skin. He just hoped your makeup could conceal the marks that were blooming along the tender column of your neck.

Another thrust—deeper, this time. He seemed to hit a spot that sent stars glittering behind your eyelids, judging by the dazed look that clouded your expression. 

“M-more,” you begged, your voice catching on the end of the sentence. 

"More? You want more?"

Your response came out in a breath. "Please."

Your hand threaded into his hair, pulling him down for another kiss, like it was all you could hold onto. The position your leg was in was strained at this angle, but you didn’t seem to care, clawing at Jake’s back to keep him closer. 

His tongue slipped into your mouth without hesitation, and he was pretty sure he was getting drunk off the liquor on your tongue. Slowly, like he was taking off the training wheels, Jake’s hips started to move at a steady rhythm—shallow thrusts going deeper and deeper. 

As Jake relentlessly thrusted into you, he left no place untouched, each stroke dragging inside you a little longer. It drew out the prettiest whines from you, so he couldn’t help but tease you a little longer. His otherwise consistent rhythm, however, faltered as you clenched around him tightly. 

“I-I’m close,” you gasped out, pulling from the kiss to watch where his cock disappeared inside you. 

“I've got you, sweetheart,” he replied gently, honey dripping from his words, and Jake held you tightly in his arms as he sped up his pace to bring you closer to your orgasm. 

He was getting there, too—real close, actually. Jake felt like he was unravelling, his nerve endings alight, skin buzzing, and his breath trapped in his lungs. With a couple more thrusts, you shattered with his name on your lips, crying over the music. Jake had to cover your mouth with his hand to keep you quiet, but he couldn’t deny that he was loving how responsive you were. He followed after you with a loud groan, making sure to pull out before his cum spilled all over his hands.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Jake watched as your chest rose and fell for a couple of minutes. He tried to ground himself—convince himself that what just happened wasn’t a dream. 

For the rest of the night, neither of you addressed how the next kiss held something deeper—something that reached beyond lust. Jake was sure you felt it, too, lingering like a secret between your lips, but he wouldn’t dare give that feeling a name just yet.

“Jake would be the type to catch feelings after hooking up.”

Park Sunghoon was the one to make this outrageous statement, effectively snapping Jake out of whatever dreamy daze he was in. Ever since he had sex with you hours ago, Jake couldn’t stop thinking about how you felt around him. He thought FaceTiming his friends would help clear his mind, but he was starting to believe that they were, in fact, the problem.

He didn’t return home immediately. Jake had to pretend like he didn’t just hook up with you when he went downstairs to talk to Kazuha and her very drunk roommates. One of them was so obviously flirting with Jake that you cornered him later to leave a prominent hickey on his collarbone. Then, after he sobered up enough to drive you home, you didn’t seem to have your heart set on getting back; you requested that Jake stop at a parking lot on two separate occasions (during a fifteen minute drive) so that he could eat you out in the backseat.

After that, there was a lot more kissing on the way to your doorstep, a lot of heavy petting as he carried you to your room, and you graciously offered to ride him before he drove back home.

When Jake recounted all of this to Jay and Sunghoon, he left to get himself a midnight snack because they were laughing their heads off for a record-breaking amount of time. It started to feel like a humiliation ritual.

At the end of the call, Jay spouted some bullshit like, “Heeseung won’t even care, trust me.”

Jake refused to even consider that as a possibility, but he vowed to keep his distance from you to make sure last night wouldn’t happen again. (It was important to note that he laughed right after because even he couldn’t believe that.)

Despite the shame that bubbled in Jake’s gut, he had to honor the commitment he made to Heeseung, even though it was a terrible idea to see you again. (No, it’s a wonderful idea! those feel-good neurotransmitters in his stupid, horny brain argued. Viagra in your future! Always prioritize sex! Get laid quick!) So, the next day, there he was—at 5:00 p.m. sharp—parked outside of your house with a sinking feeling that you were going to greet him in a way that would make your older brother faint on the spot.

The sky was splotched with peach and lavender, like a watercolor painting that dried into soft, muted hues. There was a dreamy glow out on the horizon, but when Jake turned to see you walking out of his house, there was the sun—ablaze with brilliant light.

Your eyes caught, and he felt suspended in time for a few seconds. Jake’s stupid, pathetic heart pumped out blood a bit too quickly.

Something was off, though.

You were wearing cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt with Snoopy printed on the front—more fitting for a sleepover than a charity event, no offense. Jake understood that plenty of people prioritized comfort in their outfit choices; although he was quite surprised that you, of all people, would fall in that category. He recalled that blink-182 concert where he had to take turns with Sunghoon to give you a piggyback ride back to the parking lot because you were so damn adamant on wearing your death trap high heels. Your ankles, of course, suffered the consequences.

But maybe this was a good thing. Maybe this meant that you felt comfortable around him… and whoever else was going to be at that charity event, he supposed. 

Would it be so wrong to ask for clarification on the event, though? But what if he came across like he was prying too deeply into your personal life?

No—he would not dare make one comment about it.

So he didn’t. Until he realized that he made a grave mistake.

“A Love Island watch party? Heeseung told me this was a charity event!” Jake exclaimed, utterly baffled.

“Yeah, the winners get a hundred grand,” you replied casually, as if you hadn’t been withholding crucial information that would’ve changed Jake’s mind about following you into the house. “Voting for your favorite couple is basically charity work, if you think about it.”

Jake groaned. This was a set-up, and he was not about to stay over at Danielle’s to watch Love Island, of all shows. 

But then, you leaned over to press a chaste kiss to Jake’s cheek. “If you don’t vote for Nicolandria, you’re dead to me, by the way,” you whispered. Although your choice of words weren’t exactly tempting, Jake found himself unbuckling his seatbelt and following you into the house. The effect you had on him was absurd.

To his surprise, though, he was thoroughly entertained for the night. Sure, he was the only guy in a room full of girls that had enough Stanley cups to beat him to death, but Jake almost felt like he was in his element. When Kim Minji went on a five minute rant to explain why Nicolandria deserved to be the winning couple, Jake was so intrigued that he ended up agreeing to join their Love Island nights until the season ended.

(He later discovered that Love Island released a new episode five days a week, but that somehow didn't change his mind on attending.)

In a tangled mess of feelings and desire, Jake was now making plans to keep seeing you. He only hoped that he could muster up the courage to tell his friend everything before things got serious with you.

Heeseung’s return didn’t change much, to be honest.

Jake was under the impression that he’d be far too paranoid to be messing around with you once your brother was back, but it seemed to be the exact opposite. He couldn’t get enough of you these days. Although you two were keeping things under wraps for now, Jake found it hard to not reach for your hand and think about how it would be if he could keep you by his side for longer. Whenever he woke up in your bed, he wanted time to freeze so that he could hold you until the moon came out again. 

Oh, and their seminars.

You ended up proposing a solution to Jake’s problem. It wasn’t anything very sophisticated, but as soon as class ended, you’d be dragging Jake somewhere private to ease the tension growing in his jeans. 

Or, when he was really done for, Jake would be the one pulling you along. 

“No way,” you mouthed once as Jake grabbed your wrist right as soon as you walked out of the classroom. A smirk was creeping up your lips as you kept your eyes trained on him, effectively cracking through his impassive facade. Jake’s eyes flitted away before you could see any color bloom on his face. “Horny already? And to think I was holding back…”

Jake, who was too busy looking for the closest enclosed space that offered enough privacy, was walking so fast that you were nearly stumbling to keep up with him. He flung open the door to an empty lab. It seemed too risky to simply close the blinds when there was no lock on the door, but there was, however, an equipment room in the back. He pulled you over by the wrist, ushering you inside. 

“Yeah,” he finally replied, turning the lock on the handle, “I was holding back, too.”

And then he fucked you against the door with one hand bruising your waist and the other wrapped around your throat. 

He truly didn’t think this would be the course of his love life. Not that Jake was complaining, but he wished that being with you didn’t involve the daunting feat of confronting Heeseung. Not only could the interaction go disastrously, but Jake was terrified that Heeseung would look at him differently for going after his sister. He didn’t want to be the guy that Heeseung should’ve watched out for.

Jake willed himself to break the news to Heeseung after spending a Friday night with you, curled up on your bed and catching up on the latest season of Love Island. Jake had to admit that he was too deeply invested in the contestants’ storylines. 

While he played with your hair, he heard you ask, “Can you ever see us dating? Like, officially going out?”

“Yeah,” he murmured back. “That’s the plan, isn’t it?”

The first time you told Jake you wanted things to get serious, he outright told you no. However, his body betrayed him when he nodded enthusiastically along with his refusal, making you even more confused. Now, though, Jake was determined to get that conversation with Heeseung out of the way. Leading you on would break his heart more than not getting your brother’s approval.

When Jake decided to fess up to Heeseung, though, he made sure Jay and Sunghoon were right with him. They knew how honest Jake’s intentions were—kind of—and they would surely have his back when it came down to it. 

Unfortunately, he forgot that Jay and Sunghoon were the two worst people for this sort of situation.

“This is the worst boba consistency I’ve ever had,” Sunghoon complained, stabbing at the last of the boba pearls in his taro milk tea. “Sorry, Heeseung, what were you saying? You made the basket or whatever.”

(“Oh, Heeseung, I need to tell you something,” Jake mumbled as quietly as possible, although the wind successfully drowned him out.)

“Close—that would be basketball,” Heeseung replied. “But, yeah, I made the winning goal. Whoever wants to ride my dick is going on a waitlist.”

(“Speaking of…”)

“Shit. Put me on the waitlist,” Sunghoon said. “Priority reservation, please.”

(“Heeseung…”)

“I’ll get to you eventually, Twenty-Six.” 

(“Heeseung?”)

Jay pounded a fist on the table. “Jake has something to say!” After witnessing his friend moping about and mumbling for so long, it was only a matter of time before he snapped. 

Heeseung looked alarmed for a moment before asking, “What’s up?”

Jake only had a few seconds to shoot Jay a death glare before he had to fix his face and explain, “Right, um… I kind of have to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s really not that bad if you think about it.”

“Okay…”

“And, actually, it should be more reassuring that it’s me and not—”

Heeseung scratched the side of his head. “Uh, I’m still gonna need context.”

“I’m, uh… so, I’m…” Jake sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “So, I’m kinda seeing Y/N.”

There it was. The truth was out and Jake could stop skirting around it. He knew it would be near impossible to keep hiding it because Jake discovered that he was becoming far more endeared by you with each coming day. Absolutely terrifying, really, considering that he was already endeared at an incomprehensible level. 

Heeseung’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “You and Y/N?” 

As if the whole thing couldn’t get any more awkward, you walked right out of the boba shop that the four of them were just in. To be fair, Heeseung was the one that called you over because he put in a request for a breakfast wrap after stalking your location, but of course you had to come out right this minute.

“Damn,” you said, scrunching your nose up in distaste. “Garbage boba consistency.”

“Right?!” Sunghoon exclaimed. Jake was starting to think that he should’ve just met up with Heeseung on his own. “We should never go here again."

Jake was petrified as Heeseung, completely unfazed by your arrival, stared at Jake in utter disbelief. He couldn’t peel his eyes away, even after you dropped his breakfast wrap onto the table in front of him. “Wait, hold on—before anyone says anything else—did you just say that you’re seeing Y/N? Y/N, my sister?” He practically flung his arm to point at you. “Her?”

Jake swallowed thickly, but you casually answered for him, “Yeah, he is.” 

The air around him thickened, pressing down on his chest like a weight. Jake’s thoughts were spiraling by now, imagining countless scenarios of Heeseung dropping him as a friend and forever plagued by his betrayal. Jake knew his friend deeply, and he knew that when Heeseung was hurt, he’d—

“Nice,” Heeseung drawled, raising his fist so that you could fist-bump it. “About time, too.”

What?

“You’re not mad?” Jake blurted out, floored by the response. Now this was a turn of events that he didn’t prepare for in the countless scenes he practiced in his head. 

“I asked you to drive her to Danielle’s for a reason, dude. She could’ve just taken an Uber.”

“Wait… you were in on this?”

“I wouldn’t say I was in on anything, but I knew she had a thing for you. I was just glad she’s interested in you and not, like, Sunghoon.”

“Hey,” Sunghoon piped up, sounding stung, but he seemed to recover quickly. “I’m saving myself for you, Heeseung.”

“Twenty-six—remember that.”

“See? I told you, you had nothing to worry about,” you said as you slid into the bench next to Jake, reaching over to squeeze his hands. “Now you can stop denying that it’s perfectly fine for us to date.”

“Okay, maybe I was just a little in over my head.” Jake returned a sheepish—and frankly, lovesick—grin, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple. Now that Jake had you, despite his friends cringing before him, he didn’t want to let you go.

He could probably also admit to himself that he had liked you all along.

That, he supposed, was what Jay meant about implausible deniability.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ the jake brainrot really got to me this time 🚬 thank you for reading this if you made it all the way here !! i'm so so grateful if you chose to give this fic a chance so i hope you enjoyed :') also contrary to how the summary sounds, jake is too babygirl for me to not make him a loverboy <33 i swear something about him just screams Yearning

TAG LIST ▸ @allthesqueaks @pshnoona @wvnkoi @dearestdreamies @notleclerc @nyxtwixx @sucrosxi @rubyunie @m1kkso @remgeolli @seokjinthescientist @zzzsunghoon @nithxhoon @radcustoms @katseye4mimi @niniissus @averieee19 @yuniesluv @hoonkishoe @choeryyxyz @fancypeacepersona @v1shwa-xo @vantxx95 @wonnieswife @heesdazed @k1ttyjwon @rosebarzallo @jakeslvt

[swiftjay23]

────𝓜𝖆𝖘𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖊

𝒮ᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:Your protectors were never protecting you. They were hunting you, claiming you as theirs all along. When the masks come off, the masquerade turns into something darker: a game of terror, obsession, and surrender.

𝒫ᴀɪʀɪɴɢ:Ghostface!Jay x Reader x Ghostface!Jake

𝒢ᴇɴʀᴇ:Horror, Thriller, Dark Smut (VERY NSFW)

𝒲ᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ (ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇʀᴇᴀᴅ): Graphic violence, horror imagery, stalking, knife play, Blood mention, threat with weapons, Manipulation, gaslighting, possessive/obsessive behavior, Non-consensual elements → heavy dubcon / coercion themes, Fear + arousal overlap (fear kink, predator/prey dynamic), Breath play, biting, hair pulling, rough handling, Spit, gagging, oral sex (m+f, f→m), double penetration (oral + vaginal at once), Filthy dirty talk, degradation + praise mix, Twisted comfort → possession, Reader crying, but still aroused, General extreme intensity (this is NOT soft smut!), threesome

𝒲ᴏʀᴅ 𝐶ᴏᴜɴᴛ:11505 words

TO: That one anon, I loved writing this one!

Inspired by the 'Scream' Franchise (only the phone call and parts of the chase) and this awesome fic by @si3rren, i love her sm- she's such an awesome writer! Thank you for existing queen

The dorm room smelled faintly of fresh paint and the lingering tang of cleaning supplies. Your suitcase sat half-unpacked on the bed, clothes spilling over the edge while you fussed with a strand of fairy lights, trying to get them to stay taped above the desk. The glow from the window painted the walls gold, softening the space into something that felt almost yours.

“You’re making this place look so cute already,” Lily said from across the room, perched on her own bed with her chin resting on her knees. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her eyes sparkled with the same excitement she’d carried since she met you downstairs.

“You’re just saying that because my mess distracts from yours,” you teased, even though your stomach was knotted tight the way it always was in new spaces. Anxiety sat heavy in your chest, but Lily’s easy laughter was grounding, like it always had been.

“Well, lucky for you,” she said, standing up and sweeping her arms dramatically, “you’ve got me as your new roomie to make sure you don’t wallow in stress. Starting tonight.”

You gave her a suspicious look. “Starting tonight?”

“I may have… invited a few people over,” she admitted, biting her lip. “Nothing crazy, just a small get-together. You know, so everyone can meet you properly.”

Your brows shot up. “Lily—”

“Don’t worry! It’s not some wild rager. Just Yeji, Sophia, Sunghoon… and a couple guys from my econ class. Jay and Jake.” Her grin widened. “They’re chill. You’ll like them.” You sighed but didn’t protest further. With Lily, resistance was futile. 

By the time the first knock came on your door, your nerves had stretched thin. Lily had shoved a plastic cup into your hands, pressed play on a playlist that was just loud enough to make the walls hum, and assured you for the tenth time that it’d be “fun, promise.”

And she was right, sort of.

The room filled with voices and laughter, the faint smell of cheap wine and convenience store snacks, warmth buzzing in the air like static. Yeji and Sophia were instantly magnetic, chattering like they owned the space. Sunghoon leaned against the wall with a quiet smile, half-listening, half-scrolling on his phone.

And then there were Jay and Jake.

You noticed them the second they stepped inside. Jay was sharp around the edges, dark eyes that seemed to catch everything, a smile that didn’t give away what he was thinking. Jake was easier, boyish charm radiating from him, but there was something about the way he lingered near Jay that made them feel like two halves of the same whole.

They were friendly, warm, even. Jay offered you a handshake that lingered just a little longer than necessary, while Jake made an easy joke about the chaos of moving in. You laughed, even though your chest was tight with nerves, and felt their eyes on you more than once throughout the night.

Conversation flowed, cheap wine dulled the edges of your anxiety, and for a while, you let yourself sink into it. The group teased, swapped stories, spilled crumbs across the floor that Lily would complain about later. At one point, Jay leaned in close to ask about your major, and you caught a whiff of his cologne, subtle, expensive. Jake brushed your shoulder when he passed you a plate.

The music thumped low from Lily’s speaker, a bassline meant more to fill the silence than start a rave. The cramped dorm room buzzed with chatter, the overhead light softened by the fairy lights you’d just strung.

“You really weren’t kidding when you said small get-together,” Yeji laughed, sprawled out on Lily’s desk chair with her legs tucked up. She raised her plastic cup. “This feels like a middle school sleepover that just happens to have alcohol.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Middle school me would never have been this cool.”

Sophia, perched cross-legged on Lily’s bed, chimed in with mock seriousness. “Middle school you cried because you lost your pencil case.”

“Okay, and?” Lily shot back, shoving her. “That pencil case was my emotional support.”

Everyone laughed, and you found yourself relaxing, the knot of tension in your stomach loosening just a little. You sipped from your cup and let the warmth spread.

Across from you, Jay sat with one arm draped casually over the back of the chair, dark eyes half-lidded but sharp as they flicked over everyone. He hadn’t said much yet, but when he did, his voice was low and smooth, the kind of tone that drew you in without trying.

Next to him, Jake was the opposite, animated, grinning wide as he teased Sunghoon for nursing the same drink for nearly an hour.

“Bro, you’re babysitting that cup like it’s your firstborn,” Jake teased, leaning over to tap Sunghoon’s cup with his own.

Sunghoon scoffed. “I just don’t want to wake up regretting life tomorrow.”

“Lightweight,” Jake sang, and his grin was so bright you couldn’t help but laugh. His gaze flicked toward you at the sound, and you froze for a second, caught off guard by how quick and boyish his smile was when it landed on you.

Jay noticed too, you could feel his eyes on you, heavy, unreadable.

“So, what’s your major again?” Jay finally asked, and though his voice was soft, it cut through the laughter.

You blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of the attention. “Uh… English. Literature, technically.”

Jake leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Oh, that explains the fairy lights. Very romantic vibes,” he teased, and Lily immediately howled with laughter.

“Shut up,” you groaned, hiding your face in your cup, but your cheeks burned anyway.

Jay tilted his head, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “Romantic, huh? Makes sense. You strike me as the kind of person who reads at 2 a.m. and forgets to eat dinner.”

Your heart tripped in your chest. “That’s… uncomfortably accurate.”

“Called it,” Jake said, grinning at Jay. They shared a look that made something in your stomach twist, it was too easy, the way they bounced off each other. Like they were used to being in sync.

Sophia groaned, tossing a pillow at them. “Can you two not psychoanalyze our new girl on her first night?”

“I’m just saying,” Jake said, catching the pillow easily and tossing it back, “it’s a vibe. And it suits her.”

Jay’s gaze lingered on you a second too long before he took another sip of his drink.

The room erupted into another round of laughter when Lily pulled out a deck of cards for a quick game of “Never Have I Ever.” The questions were ridiculous,Yeji confessed she’d once gotten stuck in a bathroom window, Sophia admitted she’d kissed someone in an elevator, Jake dramatically put a finger down when someone said “kissed a friend’s sibling.”

Through it all, you found your eyes drifting back to them. The easy curve of Jake’s smile, the sharp intensity of Jay’s stare when he went quiet. The contrast between them was magnetic, pulling you in before you even realized how close you were leaning, how your skin warmed every time Jake’s knee brushed yours, how your breath caught when Jay’s gaze dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second too long.

Small things. Harmless things.

By the time the night wound down and everyone filtered out with lazy goodbyes, you were left with a faint buzz in your head and a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

As you climbed into bed, listening to Lily hum as she washed cups in the sink, you caught yourself thinking about them, about Jay’s steady gaze, about Jake’s laugh, and the realization made your stomach flip.

Maybe Lily was right. Maybe this would be fun.

Campus had started to feel smaller. Not because of its size, but because of how often you seemed to bump into Jay and Jake.

At first, it was coincidence, catching sight of them leaving a lecture hall just as you were entering, or crossing paths on the quad between classes. But soon it felt deliberate, like they always knew where to find you.

“Hey, stranger,” Jake had called out one Tuesday morning, jogging to catch up as you balanced a coffee and a stack of books. “What are the odds? Same route, same time.”

You laughed, adjusting your grip on the books. “I’d say one in a million, but it’s starting to feel like one in five.”

Jay fell into step on your other side, quiet until he spoke: “We’re just reliable. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

His shoulder brushed yours, and you felt your pulse skip.

Soon it became routine.

Study sessions in the library that lasted longer than you meant them to, Jay’s handwriting neat beside yours as Jake doodled cartoons in the margins of your notes.

Coffees at the corner café, Jake charming the barista into giving him an extra shot while Jay teased him for it, sliding your cup toward you with a quiet “Careful, it’s hot.”

Inside jokes that formed too quickly, Jake making fun of your habit of carrying three different highlighters, Jay smirking whenever you spaced out during lectures.

They were easy to be around. Too easy.

But sometimes, you noticed things that caught you off guard. The way Jay always seemed to know what you were about to say, finishing your thoughts like he’d already read your mind.

The way Jake leaned just a little too close when he joked, his hand brushing yours and not moving away right away.

The way both of them always seemed to watch you. Not in a creepy way, at least, not enough for you to call it that. But their eyes were steady, lingering, like they were memorizing your every move.

Once, during a late-night study session, Jake had nudged a strand of hair from your face with a grin. “You’re hopeless when you’re tired.”

You’d laughed, but the warmth of his fingers had lingered long after. Jay had just watched, lips curved in a small smile, eyes unreadable.

Lily noticed too.

“Wow,” she teased one night as you sat cross-legged on your bed, scrolling through your notes while she painted her nails. “You’ve basically got two bodyguards at this point. Should I be jealous?”

You snorted. “They’re just… nice. We have classes together, that’s all.”

“Mhm.” She wiggled her brows. “Classes, coffees, study dates, walking you home—”

“Stop.” You threw a pillow at her, but you were smiling.

Because she was right. They were always there. And the strangest part was how safe you felt with them. Like nothing bad could happen as long as Jay was watching with those sharp, steady eyes, and Jake was cracking jokes to make the air lighter. It should have been overwhelming. Instead, it was comforting.

One night, the three of you ended up sprawled on the grass outside the library, the sky deep with stars. Jake lay with his arms folded under his head, humming a tune, while Jay sat cross-legged beside you, flipping through one of your books.

“You ever think about how weird it is?” Jake asked suddenly.

You turned your head toward him. “How weird what is?”

“This. Like… out of everyone on campus, somehow we all end up here, hanging out like this.” His grin was lazy, but his eyes were sharp in the starlight. “Kinda feels like fate, doesn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s one way to romanticize coincidence.”

Jay glanced up from the book, his gaze locking on yours. “What if it’s not coincidence?”

The words sent a small shiver down your spine, but Jake laughed, and the moment broke. You told yourself not to overthink it. After all, they were just your friends. Just Jay, with his steady voice and unnerving focus. Just Jake, with his jokes that always made you smile even when you didn’t want to. You trusted them. Maybe more than you should have.

It started with whispers. A name murmured in the dining hall line, heads bent together, phones angled low across cafeteria tables. You didn’t pay much attention until Lily sat down beside you one afternoon, her face pale and tight.

“Did you hear?” she asked in a hushed voice, sliding her phone toward you. The headline glared back: Student Found Dead in Campus Library Restroom.

Your stomach dropped. “Dead? As in…”

“As in murdered.” Her voice caught on the word. “They said it was… brutal. They’re not even releasing the details.”

You stared at the screen, pulse quickening. The library wasn’t far, just across the quad, a place you’d studied in only days ago.

For the rest of the day, you couldn’t shake the image, couldn’t stop imagining what those locked bathroom stalls must have looked like with something unspeakable on the other side.

The first murder was almost a rumor at first. Something you overheard through half-closed dorm doors, spoken in whispers that carried down the hallways. At Lily’s insistence, you’d brushed it off as typical campus drama, wild gossip passed around to scare freshmen. But then the emails from administration started pouring in, carefully worded notices with subject lines like “Campus Safety Reminder” and “Increased Security Measures.”

That was when it stopped feeling like a rumor.

The victim was a sophomore, they said. Found in the library bathrooms, blood soaking the cracked tiles until the janitor stumbled upon the scene at dawn. Nobody offered details, but details leaked anyway, the kind that seep into your brain and rot there: that her throat had been slit, that her hands looked defensive, that her eyes were wide open when they found her.

The library itself suddenly felt cursed. Walking past it, you felt as if the red brick walls absorbed the tragedy, the tall windows hiding the ghost of what happened inside. You’d catch yourself staring at the heavy wooden doors, half-expecting them to swing open and spill the horror out onto the quad.

Lily tried to lighten the mood, keeping her voice bright whenever she caught you staring too long. “It’s probably just a freak thing,” she said one night, her legs crossed on her bed as she painted her toenails neon orange. “Like, some psycho wandered in from off campus. They’ll catch him before it ever happens again.”

But it didn’t feel like a freak thing. It felt close. Too close.

Two weeks later, there was another killing. This time, it was a boy from the dorm next door. You didn’t know him, but you’d seen his face in the cafeteria line, a mop of dark curls and a loud laugh that carried across the tables. He’d been found just past midnight, not in some distant corner of campus but on the cracked sidewalk behind the dorms, close enough that Lily swore she could smell blood in the air when she opened your window.

The campus erupted. Some students cried openly in class, others skipped lectures altogether, and suddenly every night felt like a lockdown. The dorm hallways grew thick with fear: doors slamming shut as soon as the sun dipped, blinds drawn like barricades, whispers echoing even in the middle of the afternoon.

You and Lily whispered too, late at night when neither of you could sleep. She’d keep the fairy lights on, soft pink glow washing the room, like it could hold the darkness at bay.

“What if it’s someone from here?” Lily whispered one night, clutching her pillow so tight the seams strained. “Like—not a stranger, but…” She trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought.

You didn’t finish it for her, but the silence said enough.

Because by then, you’d already noticed it, that faint sensation of eyes on your back when you crossed campus at dusk, or the way shadows seemed to stretch too long in the lamplight. You carried your keys between your fingers like claws, every set of footsteps behind you making your pulse throb against your throat.

The news called it senseless violence, but it didn’t feel senseless. It felt deliberate. And more than that, it felt like whoever was doing this wasn’t finished. But none of it helped. If anything, the sirens in the distance, the flashing blue lights against dorm windows at night, only made everything worse. You sat cross-legged on your bed, watching Lily pace the room. She tugged at her sweater sleeves until the threads came loose.

“It’s like they’re taunting us,” she said, her voice trembling. “Like they’re not even trying to hide.”

“Stop,” you whispered. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true. First the library, now right outside the union, what if next time it’s here?” Her voice broke, and for the first time, you saw the terror in her eyes, raw and unfiltered.

You swallowed hard, throat tight. “It won’t be. We’re careful. We’ll be fine.”

But even as you said it, you didn’t believe it.

You started walking faster at night, hugging your books to your chest like they could shield you. Every shadow stretched too long, every footstep behind you echoed too close. Jay and Jake noticed. They always seemed to whenever something was off. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Jake teased one afternoon when you nearly jumped out of your skin after someone dropped their backpack too loud.

“I just…” You hesitated, glancing around the café, lowering your voice. “Have you heard about the murders?”

Jake’s grin faltered, and Jay set his cup down slowly, eyes steady on you.

“Of course we have,” Jay said softly. “Everyone has.”

You bit your lip, fiddling with the sleeve of your sweater. “It’s just, it feels like it’s getting closer. What if—”

“Hey.” Jake leaned forward, his hand brushing yours on the table. Warm, grounding. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. Okay?”

Jay’s gaze was heavier, sharper, but his voice was calm. “We’ll make sure of it.” Something in the way he said it made your skin prickle. But you forced yourself to nod, clinging to the reassurance, even as your chest stayed tight.

That night, you and Lily whispered again, both of you curled up under your blankets like children.

“Do you think they’ll catch them?” you asked.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “But I hate this waiting. I hate not knowing when it’ll happen again.”

Silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. When sleep finally came, it was restless, dreams of masked figures in the shadows, knives glinting under the moonlight, laughter echoing just out of sight.

It started with little things. The next week after the second killing, you’d stayed late in the library with Lily. When you finally packed up, the path back to your dorm seemed endless and exposed under the flickering yellow lamps. The shadows stretched too long between each pool of light, and you caught yourself glancing over your shoulder every few steps. That was when Jake fell into stride beside you, his easy grin cutting through your tension like it was nothing.

“Relax,” he teased lightly, nudging your arm with his elbow. “What, you think the killer’s just gonna leap out of the bushes for you?”

Lily smacked him in the chest, scowling, but his laugh was warm, easygoing, almost protective in itself. You hated that it helped. That his presence, his tall frame, his easy confidence, made the darkness feel less threatening. From then on, it was like he and Jay silently decided you weren’t allowed to walk anywhere alone. Jay was subtler about it. He didn’t crack jokes; he just appeared. When you left class, he’d be waiting outside with his bag slung casually over one shoulder. When you lingered in the cafeteria too long, he was suddenly there, holding the door open for you.

And when you protested—“You don’t have to babysit me, you know”—he tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly, a flicker of something unreadable before he smiled.

“We don’t mind. It’s better this way.”

It was protective, yes, but there was something final about the way he said it. Like a rule, not a suggestion.

Their closeness escalated so gradually you barely noticed until it was already part of your routine. Jake carrying your books without asking, brushing it off with a grin, “Don’t worry, you’ve got enough to hold.” Jay’s hand on the small of your back as he guided you through crowded hallways, the weight of his touch firm, steady, grounding.

You told yourself it was comfort. You told yourself you liked it. After all, everyone else on campus seemed to be pulling away, locking their doors, hurrying from class to dorm with their heads down, whispers slicing the air but never lingering long enough to become conversation. But Jay and Jake leaned closer. They filled the gaps left by your fear with presence, laughter, warmth. Sometimes it felt like they were the only solid thing in a campus gone fragile.

One night, Lily was working late on a group project, leaving you to walk home alone. You debated it, half a dozen times you almost texted her to wait, but then you heard Jake’s voice behind you.

“Heading back?”

You jumped, spinning, but it was only him. His smile was soft this time, not teasing, as he held out a hand like he was offering to take something from you. “I’ll walk you.”

Your pulse slowed. Relief swept through you, almost dizzying. You nodded before you even thought about it. And when his hand touched the small of your back, steering you toward the dorms, you didn’t flinch. You let yourself believe it was safety. Because it was easier than admitting how much you’d started needing them. 

The day Lily went missing, everything felt wrong in ways too subtle to name.

It began with the absence of her voice. Normally, when you got back from class, you could hear her from the hallway, singing off-key to whatever was stuck in her head, or laughing at some TikTok with her headphones turned up way too loud. But that afternoon, when you pushed open the door, the dorm was silent.

You set your bag down, half-expecting her to pop out of the bathroom or roll over in her bed and groan about how tired she was. But her side of the room was untouched. Bed still made, fairy lights off, her laptop closed. A quiet so sharp it pressed against your eardrums.

You texted her first. hey, u coming back soon?

Then again, twenty minutes later. lil, where are you?

No answer. By the time the sky outside dimmed from gray to navy, your nerves had begun to spiral. The dorm felt too big, too hollow. You paced from one wall to the other, chewing your nails until the skin stung. Every creak in the hallway sounded like footsteps, every muffled laugh like it might be hers.

But she never came. By the time you finally called Jay, your voice shook so much you barely recognized it.

“She’s not back, I don’t know where she is, she’s not answering—”

He cut you off gently. “Breathe. We’re coming.”

They arrived faster than seemed possible. A knock at the door, and when you opened it, Jay and Jake stood there like shadows stretched into human form, framed by the dim hall lights. Calm. Too calm.

Jake was the first to step in, all easy warmth, brushing past you to set his bag down like he belonged there. “You’re panicking,” he said softly, his hand brushing against yours in a way that felt accidental but wasn’t. “Sit down, yeah? We’ll figure this out.”

Jay shut the door behind him, the lock clicking louder than usual. He didn’t speak at first, just crossed the room and leaned against Lily’s desk, arms folded, watching you with unreadable eyes.

You sat because Jake guided you there, pressing gently on your shoulders until you sank onto the bed. Your hands twisted in your lap.

“She should be back by now,” you whispered. “She always texts me, even if she’s late, even if she’s—” Your throat closed around the words.

Jake crouched in front of you, close enough that his knee brushed yours. His hands found your thighs, warm and steady, and you didn’t move away. “Hey. Look at me,” he coaxed. His thumb traced slow circles against your leg. “You’re okay. You’re not alone.”

Your breath shuddered out, uneven. The warmth of his touch helped, but it also sent a strange heat crawling up your neck, guilt tangled with relief.

Jay finally spoke, his voice low. “Panicking won’t bring her back.”

The bluntness made you flinch. You looked at him sharply, expecting to see annoyance, but his expression was unreadable. Almost… thoughtful.

You swallowed, voice cracking. “Do you think she’ll come back?”

The question hung in the air like smoke.

Jake’s hand stilled on your thigh. Slowly, he lifted his head, eyes meeting Jay’s across the room. They shared something in that look, something you couldn’t interpret, though the weight of it pressed heavy against your ribs.

Neither of them answered.

Instead, Jake brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. The gesture was intimate, grounding, almost tender, but paired with the silence, it hollowed you out.

You wanted them to say yes. To lie, even. To promise that Lily would walk back in the door any second, apologizing for making you worry. But all they gave you were touches. Lingering, deliberate touches, like reassurance was something physical they could press into your skin. Jay shifted, stepping closer, until he stood behind Jake. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, firm, grounding. Between them, you felt boxed in, warmth pressing at you from two sides, too much for your trembling body to make sense of.

You whispered again, quieter this time. “Do you think she’ll come back?”

Jay’s thumb stroked absentmindedly against your shoulder. Jake’s gaze lingered too long on your lips before flicking back to your eyes. Still, no answer. The silence felt like the loudest sound in the room.

The week after Lily disappeared, you stopped recognizing yourself. Classes blurred past without you. At first, you told yourself you’d go tomorrow, that you just needed a day to rest. But tomorrow turned into the day after, and the day after into a stretch of blankness where the only thing you did was keep the blinds closed and stare at the ceiling.

The campus outside might as well have been another world. You unplugged your laptop, silenced your phone. The quiet should have been a balm, but instead it pressed heavy against your chest, making every small noise sound like a threat. A footstep in the hall, a door closing down the corridor, they all made you flinch. You didn’t eat much. Some days, not at all. The thought of leaving your room to walk to the cafeteria felt impossible. The thought of running into someone who would ask, Have you heard from Lily yet? worse.

And yet, Jay and Jake kept coming. You never told them to. They just… appeared. Sometimes they knocked; sometimes they didn’t. Always with food in their hands, takeout containers, or sandwiches wrapped in paper, or steaming cups of instant ramen they insisted you eat while it was still hot. Jake had a knack for making it seem lighthearted, a smile tugging at his lips as he pressed chopsticks into your hand. “Don’t make me spoon-feed you, babe,” he joked once, though his eyes didn’t waver until you obediently took a bite.

Jay, on the other hand, didn’t smile much. He was quieter, steadier. When you couldn’t get out of bed, he simply sat at the edge of it, setting a cup of water within reach. His hand would rest lightly against your ankle through the blanket, as though anchoring you. “Drink,” he said once, and though the word was simple, you found yourself obeying.

At first, you told yourself you were grateful. You needed them. Without them, you weren’t sure you’d even be surviving. But their constancy gnawed at you. Because they never seemed to leave. Even when you insisted you were fine, Jake would stretch out on Lily’s bed like he owned the space, scrolling on his phone. Jay would sit at your desk, flipping absently through your textbooks.

“We just want to make sure you’re not alone,” Jake said when you tried to protest once. His grin softened it, made it sound sweet, but his gaze was sharp in a way that left your skin prickling.

Sometimes you caught them watching you. Not in an obvious way, but you’d look up from your untouched food and find Jay’s eyes on you, unreadable. Or Jake would let his hand linger on your back a little too long when he leaned in to coax you upright.

They were always there. You told yourself it was safety. You told yourself you needed it. But late at night, with their shadows stretched long against your walls and the taste of food you didn’t want still in your mouth, you couldn’t shake the creeping thought that maybe you weren’t being cared for at all. Maybe you were being kept.

The evening it happened, the dorm was too quiet, almost… normal. But you knew it really wasn’t.

You hadn’t left your bed in hours. The blinds were still shut tight, the only light a thin strip leaking in from under the door. Even your phone screen glared too bright against the dark when you scrolled, aimless and half-numb.

You almost didn’t answer the call. The sound split the silence so suddenly you jumped, your phone rattling where it lay by your pillow. Unknown number. For one dizzy second, you thought about letting it ring out. But your hands moved before your brain could catch up, swiping across the glass.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was low. Sultry. Amused. Deep. Deeper than your fear went. “Do you wanna play a game?”

Every muscle in your body froze.

“…Who is this?” you whispered.

A laugh answered, smooth, unhurried, curling in your ear like smoke. “Aw, don’t sound so scared already. I’ve been waiting for this.”

Your throat worked around words that wouldn’t come. The silence stretched, until the voice purred again, softer this time, almost intimate. “You look cute when you’re curled up in bed like that. All jumpy, waiting for something bad to happen.”

The phone slipped in your damp palm. You bolted upright, heart hammering, eyes darting around the room. The blinds were closed. The door was locked. Still, you felt watched.

“This isn’t funny,” you hissed. “I’m— I’m hanging up—”

“Go ahead,” the caller said smoothly. “But we both know you won’t. You want answers, don’t you?”

Your hand trembled so hard the phone shook against your ear. “What do you want?”

The pause that followed was worse than words. Then, in a whisper sharp as a knife’s edge: “I want to see how fast you can run.”

The line went dead.

The silence afterward was deafening. You sat frozen, clutching the phone so tightly your knuckles ached. And then, a floorboard creaked. Not in the hallway. Inside. You turned toward the sound, stomach hollowing out. At first, there was nothing. Just the heavy dark of your dorm room. Then, from the corner near Lily’s bed, the shadows shifted.

He stepped forward. Ghostface. The mask gleamed bone-white in the dark, the mouth stretched in its eternal scream. A knife glinted in his gloved hand, catching what little light filtered through the blinds. Your breath caught on a sob. You scrambled backward off your bed, nearly tripping over your own feet.

“Stay away from me—”

He tilted his head, slow, deliberate, as though considering. Then he took one step closer. You lunged for the door. Your hands fumbled with the lock, slick with sweat. You wrenched it open, and froze.

Another figure filled the doorway. A second Ghostface. The mask stared down at you, the knife in his hand catching the hall light like liquid silver. The scream clawed its way up your throat but came out strangled. You stumbled back, the door slamming shut again as the second one stepped inside.

Trapped. Your back hit the wall. The first Ghostface advanced slowly, savoring every second, knife raised. The second lingered near the door, blocking your only exit, silent as death. Their breathing was the only sound in the room, low, steady, inhumanly calm beneath those plastic faces. Your body shook so hard your knees nearly gave. The space between them narrowed with every step, until the air itself felt suffocating. You realized then, with sudden clarity, that they weren’t rushing. They weren’t afraid you’d escape. They were enjoying this.

The air split with the sudden movement. The first Ghostface lunged. You screamed, shoving off the wall, your shoulder colliding with Lily’s desk as you scrambled past. Books clattered to the floor, pens scattering like needles across tile. The knife caught the glow of the desk lamp as it swung wide, so close you felt the air stir by your cheek.

You didn’t think. You ran. Across the small room, toward the narrow gap between the beds, heart slamming like a fist inside your chest. You dove low, squeezing under Lily’s bed, scraping your knees raw on the floor. Your breath came in shallow gasps, too loud, too fast. You clamped a hand over your mouth, praying.

For a second, just a second, you thought you’d managed it. The world was still, the only sound the blood rushing in your ears.

Then a heavy weight dropped to the floor. Boots. Inches from your face. You slapped a hand over your mouth harder, chest burning. From this angle, you could see the knife dragging slow against the floorboards, the tip screeching a lazy trail. A low chuckle echoed inside the mask, muffled but unmistakable. You bit back a sob, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. The bed frame creaked above you. He crouched, the mask lowering, tilting to look directly into the shadows where you hid.

“Found you,” the distorted voice rasped.

Panic ripped through you. You shoved yourself backward, out the other side, barely clearing the bedframe before his hand swiped for your ankle. You scrambled upright, crashing into the dresser, pain shooting up your hip as you shoved it toward him. It toppled halfway, drawers spilling clothes, slowing him for only a second.

You bolted for the door. The second Ghostface was still there. He filled the space like a wall, knife raised. The black fabric of his robes rippled as he stepped forward, deliberate, patient.

“No—” Your voice broke. You darted sideways, making for the window instead, clawing at the blinds until they ripped free. The latch stuck beneath your shaking hands, nails bending painfully as you yanked.

Behind you, footsteps thundered closer. The window finally gave. You shoved it up, cold night air flooding in, but before you could haul yourself out, a hand fisted in your hair, wrenching you back with brutal force. You screamed, twisting, kicking wildly. Your heel connected with a shin, hard enough to make the masked figure grunt. He let go, just long enough for you to lunge forward, straight into the other one.

He caught you mid-stride, arms iron around your body, the knife’s cold edge kissing the side of your throat. You thrashed, nails raking against fabric, against plastic, but he didn’t loosen his grip. His chest rose and fell behind you, steady, unhurried, as though your fight only amused him.

The first Ghostface straightened, mask gleaming pale in the dark, knife raised like an extension of his arm. Together, they closed the distance until you were pinned between them, every exit gone, your screams swallowed whole by the night.

They close the space around you like the last folding of a trap. The two of them move together, one at your front, one behind, so coordinated it’s as if they share a single shadow. The knife at your throat is cold and steady, the tip pressing so lightly it barely breaks skin, but the threat in it is absolute. Your hands shake as you press them flat against the air between you and the blade because there is nowhere else to put them.

One of them tilts his head, and that small motion is intimate in a way that makes bile rise in your mouth. He doesn’t speak at first; he simply lets the silence hang, listening to the sound of your breathing, the thud of your pulse in your ears. Then, softly, almost fondly, he says a name.

“Remember that stupid poem you read in the quad?” he murmurs. “You read it wrong on purpose because you were nervous. You told Jay that after class and then you laughed and said—” His voice drops into the spaces between words, and he finishes it for you, the private line you’d only ever said to Jthem in the back of the economics lecture, the sentence that had felt like a secret when you’d whispered it at 2 a.m. over takeout: “I’m always more honest when I’m scared.”

Your breath stops. The room tilts. Heat flares behind your eyes.

They could have learned it from anyone, except they couldn’t have. That detail was small and stupid and nobody else knew. It was something you’d trusted to the two of them, to Jay and Jake, in a halting confession that had felt safe at the time. And now the knowledge is a hand around your wrist, a proof they’d been closer than you thought possible.

The first movement is sudden and disorienting: a gloved hand lifts at the jawline and brushes your hair away. The gesture is gentleness and a threat braided into one. You wanted to recoil, to hate him for the touch, but your whole body answers in reflex, muscles tensing and that stupid, traitorous flutter of something dark and electric skittering through you.

“Do you remember telling us you always read like that?” the other says, voice low and even. You feel rather than see the smile in it. “Because I remember. We both do.”

Your chest aches with cold realization. They knew. They’d known so much more than you ever let yourself admit. The relief you’d felt when they stayed, when they carried your books and sat with you through nights you couldn’t sleep, that relief now catches in your throat like splinters.

Then, with a deliberate slowness meant to make the image burn, they lift their masks. Plastic peels away. Breath fogs the hollow hollows where the scream mouths had been. Jake’s grin is sharp and boyish underneath the loosened restraint of his hair; Jay’s face is an impassive study in composed menace, dark eyes catching the light in a way that seems to map you out.

Recognition slams into you like a physical force. You know the slope of Jay’s nose, the set of Jake’s jaw; you’ve seen those expressions a hundred times, the comfortable amusement in Jake’s smile, the faint, unsettling curve of humor at the edge of Jay’s mouth. Your world tilts so hard you’re sure you’ll fall; the boundaries you thought existed between friend and stranger, protection and possession, shred in a single second.

Horror tastes metallic on your tongue. It is immediate and absolute. And beneath it, infuriating, confusing, impossible to wholly deny, there curves a thinner, darker thread: adrenaline-slick heat that every instinct in your body misreads as something close to the pull you’d felt in their presence before this night. It is not consent. It is not want. It is survival and shock and something your body cannot yet parse from the hormone-fogged terror.

Jay’s fingers, bare now, impossibly close, trail a slow line down your cheek, and the motion is almost tender. He leans in, not to kiss, but to speak right in your ear where only you can hear. His breath is cool.

“We told ourselves we’d keep you safe,” he says quietly, like explaining an unavoidable weather. “We told ourselves we’d watch you, keep you from being alone. It was supposed to be protection.”

Jake’s laugh is a small, dangerous thing. “Protection,” he echoes. “But protection gets complicated.”

There is no frantic explanation in them, no fevered plea. Just statements, soft and precise as the blade that still hovers at your throat. When Jake says, “You’re ours,” the sentence is not shouted; it’s folded into the room and somehow made denser by the lack of noise. It lands with the weight of inevitability.

Everything inside you wants to recoil, to escape, to tear yourself free of their proximity. Every rational part of you screams that this is betrayal, that the men who put themselves between you and danger were the ones who brought the blade in the door. Yet your limbs move slowly, as if the shock has turned them to lead. Your mind scrambles for something solid and finds only the remnants of their kindness, the books they carried, the ramen left at your bedside, the late-night jokes, and how those things were always threaded through with something else, something sheerer now in the harsh light of your panic.

They don’t push further, at least not yet. Jay keeps his palm flat at the base of your throat, a pressure that is equal parts security and suffocation. Jake brushes a thumb across your knuckles like someone testing a string, gentle enough to be maddening.

“We could end it,” Jay says after a beat, voice flat as weather. “We could make sure you never have to be afraid again.” The sentence is a promise and a statement. You can imagine the options implicit in it: protection tightened into control, safety bartered for surrender.

You want to lash out, to scream yourself hoarse until the walls answer you back. You want to hate them for the way they stand so close you can feel the heat of their bodies, for how the knowledge they had, intimate and private, has become another chain. You try to wrench yourself free, but the knife at your throat and the hands that hold you are unyielding.

Around you, the room is a blur of overturned furniture and scattered books, a life made suddenly small and breakable. You are inked onto their palms now, a private possession they can touch and name. The cold reality settles in your bones with the same slow certainty as a sentence finalized: you had trusted them. They had been inside your life for a reason. And whatever “protecting” meant to them, it was nothing like what you’d believed.

For a stuttering second you lock eyes with Jay. In them is the strange, calm appraisal of a man who believes himself justified. There is also, unmistakably, something else, a possessive pleasure, a satisfaction that makes your skin crawl.

You do not know what will come next. The world narrows to knife edge and breath and the sound of your own heart pounding a frantic rhythm against the silence. You think of Lily, of the way the apartment had been quieter that day, of the unanswered texts, and a cold fury rises that sits beside the terror, separate and sharp.

Jake’s fingers tighten against your wrist, just enough to remind you you cannot move. “Don’t be afraid,” he says, and the phrase is poisoned by everything that just happened.

Fear floods every part of you, but beneath it, the memory of their earlier kindness, so small and so deliberately cultivated, treads a thin, dangerous line. You are still alive, still thinking, still aching to make sense of the men who claim to have kept you safe.

Outside, the night is indifferent. Inside, the two of them loom like twin fates, and the last thing you hear before everything compresses into a single, unbearable moment is Jay’s soft voice, as close as breath: “You’re ours.”

The silence after the masks drop is worse than the phone call, worse than the knives, worse than the pounding of your blood in your ears. Jay. Jake.

Their faces are right there, familiar and strange at once, so achingly ordinary under the fluorescent light of your dorm room. No dripping fangs, no monstrous deformities, just the boys you’d laughed with in class, shared coffees with, leaned against when your chest felt too tight to breathe. The boys who are now holding knives.

Your breath sticks in your throat, broken and shallow. This isn’t real. It can’t be real.

“Wh—what—” Your voice fractures before it forms a word. Your back hits the wall, fingers scraping against the peeling paint. “Why—why are you—”

Jay tilts his head, calm, too calm. The black fabric of his hoodie is pulled tight against his throat, a line of sweat glistening just beneath his jaw, though his voice is steady, almost soothing. “Don’t waste your breath, sweetheart. You already know.”

Jake, by contrast, is breathing heavy, erratic. He twirls the knife in his hand like it’s an extension of him, eyes gleaming with the kind of fever you’ve only ever seen in the shadows of nightmares. He paces two steps forward, two back, then closes in fast enough that you flinch. His laugh is rough, sharp, hungry. “God, you should see your face. You’re fucking perfect when you’re scared.”

“Don’t—” You press yourself flatter against the wall, palms lifted as if you can hold them off. “Don’t touch me.”

Jay’s lips curve, not into a smile, but into something that feels like the memory of one. Controlled. Patient. “Touch you?” He lifts his knife, presses the cold flat edge beneath your chin, tilting your face up until you can’t look anywhere but into his eyes. His tone is velvet wrapped around a blade. “Sweetheart, we’ve been touching you all along.”

And it’s true, isn’t it? Every brush of his hand against your shoulder, every time Jake’s palm lingered at the small of your back, comfort disguised as something else. You feel it now, the weight of all those little gestures caving in on you, redefined, poisoned.

Jake closes in behind Jay, his movements all sharp edges where Jay’s are smooth. His free hand slams against the wall just by your head, caging you in. His breath ghosts against your cheek as he leans close, knife still dancing in his other hand. “You know what the best part is? You let us in. You opened the door, you smiled, you trusted.” His tone dips into a growl. “And I’ve been going insane watching you pretend you didn’t want us back.”

“I—no—” Your throat closes, words choking before they can form. But the betrayal, the terror, the undeniable heat in their gazes has your pulse tripping over itself.

Jay watches, studies, catalogues your reaction. His knife slips from under your chin to trace along your collarbone, light enough to make your skin shiver, dangerous enough to make you shake. “She’s trembling,” he murmurs, but it’s not mockery. It’s reverent. He leans in until his lips almost brush your ear. “But not just from fear, hm?”

The denial dies on your tongue because your body betrays you, the air feels thick in your lungs, your thighs press together without your permission, and Jake notices instantly. His grin is sharp, wolfish.

“Fuck, I knew it,” Jake mutters, dragging the blade down the wall beside your head, carving a jagged line in the plaster just to make you flinch. His other hand drops to your thigh, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “Your body’s smarter than your mouth.”

“Stop—please—” The words pour out, shaky, desperate, but weak.

Jay finally lowers his knife altogether, setting it carefully on your desk like he’s proving a point, that he doesn’t need it anymore. His fingers replace the blade, stroking your jaw, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with infuriating tenderness. “We’ve been protecting you from the beginning,” he says softly, eyes catching yours and refusing to let go. “Every night you couldn’t sleep, every time you were too scared to walk home, who was there?” His thumb skims across your trembling lower lip. “Us. Always us. Because you’re ours.”

Jake laughs again, sharper this time, but his hand on your thigh stays, creeping higher with every second. “She’s still fighting it, Jay. Look at her. She wants to scream, but she’s wet for it already.”

“Jake.” Jay’s tone holds a warning, though his eyes never leave yours. Then softer, to you, like a secret: “You don’t have to be afraid. Not of us. We’ll never hurt you. Not really.” His thumb presses gently into your cheek, coaxing your face upward until you’re staring at him, unable to look anywhere else.

But Jake’s grin only widens. He leans closer, his breath hot on your ear. “Not unless you like it.”

The words drop like a stone into the pit of your stomach, and your breath stutters, your whole body trembling between the wall at your back and their bodies caging you in.

You want to scream, but your throat has forgotten how. Your body is trapped between contradictions, the sharp blade-edge of fear and the molten pull of something you don’t dare name.

Jay leans in, his lips grazing your temple like he’s kissing away your panic instead of feeding it. His voice pours into your ear, low and syrup-slow. “Breathe for me, sweetheart. In. Out. That’s it. You’ve done so well… always so good for us.”

Good for them. The words curl inside you like poison wrapped in silk, and your chest stutters as if your lungs can’t decide if they want to obey.

Jake doesn’t bother with gentleness. His hand is already sliding up the curve of your thigh, fingers digging into flesh with bruising insistence. He chuckles darkly when you jolt, when your knees threaten to buckle. “She’s shaking so pretty. Bet she’ll sound even prettier when she breaks.”

“Jake.” Jay’s reprimand is soft, practiced, like he’s soothing a wild animal. His palm smooths down the line of your arm, circling your wrist until you almost lean into it before catching yourself. “Don’t frighten her more than necessary.”

“Necessary?” Jake laughs, pressing his body flush against yours, the knife grazing the wall beside your head. His grin is feral. “Scaring her’s the whole point.”

“No,” Jay counters smoothly, his thumb stroking over your racing pulse, calm eyes locking yours. “The point is making her understand.” He tilts your chin with two fingers, holding your gaze until it burns. “And she will. Won’t you, sweetheart?”

You can’t nod, can’t speak, can barely breathe. but your silence betrays you all the same. Jay smiles, not wide, not cruel, just devastatingly sure. “That’s my girl.”

The words hit harder than Jake’s grip on your thigh. They sink, they root, they make your stomach flip in ways you don’t want to acknowledge.

Jake’s laugh sharpens, satisfied. “She liked that.” His hand pushes higher, skimming beneath the hem of your shirt now, rough calluses dragging fire along your skin. “Fuck, I knew it. All those nights curled up with us, pretending we were just friends… you wanted this. Didn’t you?”

“I—no—I didn’t—” The protest comes out as a gasp when his fingers graze the waistband of your shorts.

Jay’s hand slides from your chin to cup your cheek, steadying you, coaxing you into stillness. “Shh.” His lips brush your ear, words coaxing, hypnotic. “Don’t fight it. You’re safe with us. We’ll never let anyone touch you but us. We’ll take care of you… like we always have.”

His tone is so soft, so reasonable, that for one terrifying second you almost believe him.

Then Jake yanks at your waistband, just enough to make you yelp, his teeth scraping down the side of your neck. “Taking care of you? Fuck that. We’re claiming you.” His laugh is ragged, unhinged. “And you’re gonna love every second of it.”

Your hands slam against their chests out of instinct, but it’s useless, Jay catches your wrists easily, pinning them gently but firmly above your head, his body pressing close enough that you feel the heat of him through every layer of clothing. His smile is maddeningly patient, his voice a silken thread. “See? You don’t really want to push us away.”

Jake noses along your throat, teeth nipping hard enough to sting. “Her pulse is racing,” he mutters against your skin, voice dripping with hunger. “She’s terrified… and it’s making her wet.”

“Jake.” Jay’s warning is half-hearted this time, his focus fixed entirely on you. His lips hover just above yours, not kissing, not yet, just letting you drown in the closeness. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “tell me you don’t want this, and we’ll stop.”

It’s a trap. You know it’s a trap. But your lips part anyway, your breath trembling against his. No sound comes out. And that silence, your silence, seals it. Jay’s smile deepens, victory and devotion tangled together. “That’s what I thought.” His lips finally press to yours, slow, devastating, coaxing your mouth open until you’re dizzy.

Jake groans at the sight, biting your neck harder, his hand slipping fully under your shorts now, fingers pressing against you through thin fabric. “Fuck, she’s already wet.” His laugh is ragged, triumphant. “Knew it. Knew it.”

You jolt, whimpering into Jay’s mouth, but Jay swallows the sound like it belongs to him. His kiss is molten, patient, designed to unravel you thread by thread, while Jake is all teeth and claws, ripping reactions out of you whether you want to give them or not.

Your mind screams fear, but your body betrays you, hips twitching into Jake’s rough touch, lips parting for Jay’s hungry kiss, every nerve ending alight with terror and unbearable heat. You don’t know where fear ends and desire begins anymore. And that, that, is the most terrifying part of all.

The second the door slammed shut behind them, your chest heaved like it could tear itself from your ribcage.

Jay was at your front, knife laid casually aside now, his hands replacing the blade, sliding under your arms to pin you gently, possessively. His thumb brushed across your jaw, tilting your face up until your lips met his without thinking. His calm, deliberate kiss burned slow, dragging heat down your spine, whispering promises you didn’t know you wanted.

Jake moved behind you, body pressed into the small of your back. His hands gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin through your shorts, dragging them lower inch by inch. His teeth nipped at your neck, biting and sucking, sharp enough to make your spine shiver, your knees buckle, your breath stutter.

“Shh,” Jay murmured into your ear, voice silk wrapped in steel. “You’re ours now. You don’t get to fight it. Not with us.”

His lips moved to your throat, warm and firm, coaxing and claiming, while Jake’s hands pressed you harder into the mattress. One of his hands slid between your thighs, hot, rough, exploring the dampness that fear and adrenaline had already created.

“Fuck…” Jake growled. “You’re so soaked already. I can feel it through your shorts. I’ve wanted this from the start.”

You gasped, trying to push back against them, but your muscles betrayed you. The knot in your stomach tightened, twisting with a mix of panic and heat. Every push of their hands, every brush of their lips, set fire to your nerves in ways you didn’t understand.

Jay tilted your chin up again, kissing you slowly, tasting the tears and trembling fear on your lips, letting you drown in the paradox of tenderness and threat. “We’ve been taking care of you,” he whispered, voice low and intimate. “Every night you couldn’t sleep, every time you were scared, you didn’t realize it, but we were always here. For you.”

Jake’s teeth grazed the sensitive skin behind your ear, hot and biting, making a ragged moan rip from your throat. His fingers slipped fully inside your underwear, curling against your wetness, while his other hand pressed down on your hip to trap you in place.

“You like that, don’t you?” Jake hissed. “Like we’ve been watching, protecting, keeping you just for us… and now you’re ours.”

You whined, trying to shake your head, trying to deny it, but the movements of your body betrayed you.  Jay smiled against your lips, slipping a hand beneath your shirt, fingers ghosting over the swell of your breasts. He cupped you, thumb brushing your nipple, pinching lightly, dragging a small gasp out of you that sounded like surrender even though your mind screamed resistance.

Jake pressed forward, his fingers now teasing inside your folds, curling and pressing in ways that made you whimper, made your knees tremble, made you forget fear in the tidal wave of sensation. His teeth found the hollow of your neck again, biting, nipping, marking. “So fucking wet for us,” he growled, voice raw. “We’ve wanted this, and now you’re giving it to us.”

Your hands clutched the bedsheets, nails digging in, as the world narrowed down to their bodies, their hands, their mouths. Jay’s kisses grew firmer, demanding, tugging at your lips while his hand teased over your ribs and down to your hip. Jake’s weight pressed into your back, his hips brushing against yours, teasing the flush between your thighs.

Jay’s palm flattened across your stomach, sliding lower, until he joined Jake’s fingers between your legs. Their movements synchronized, teasing, coaxing, claiming. Every stroke and press ignited the confusion, fear and desire twisting together until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Say it,” Jay murmured against your lips, teeth grazing the curve of your jaw. “Say you’re ours.”

You gasped, a shudder wracking your body. “I—I’m… yours,” you whispered, voice trembling, raw with desperation and want.

Jake growled low in response, thrusting a little harder, curling his fingers inside you, dragging every nerve taut. His teeth sank gently into your shoulder as Jay’s tongue flicked over your lips, deepening the kiss, coaxing sounds from you that you didn’t know you could make.

They moved together, one coaxing, one claiming, one soft and persuasive, the other wild and rough. The rhythm built, hands, mouths, teeth, hips, until the room was filled with the raw, unholy symphony of your gasps, moans, shivering.

Your mind screamed, your body obeyed. Every fiber of you was theirs. The fear, the adrenaline, the betrayal, the lust, they all coalesced into a single, overwhelming wave. You couldn’t separate them. You couldn’t resist. You couldn’t think.

Jake finally pressed you fully onto your back, his fingers inside you curling with deliberate ferocity, while Jay straddled your legs, lips and teeth working over your chest and mouth. They claimed you in every way they’d wanted from the start, feral, deliberate, intoxicating. You cried out, body trembling, mind fracturing, as both of them moved with precision and obsession, claiming, marking, teaching you that you weren’t just safe with them anymore, you were theirs, in every sense. And when you finally tumbled over the edge, trembling, shuddering, gasping, it wasn’t relief. It was surrender. Complete, absolute, inescapable surrender, to fear, to desire, to them.

They collapsed over you after, Jay’s hand stroking your hair back, whispering in your ear, “See? You’re safe now. Only with us.”

Jake’s weight pressed into your back, teeth grazing your shoulder with a wicked grin. “Try running again, sweetheart. I’ll enjoy it.”

You were theirs. Every shiver, every moan, every gasp belonged to them. And the worst, and most intoxicating, part? You didn’t want to fight it anymore.

You’re trembling on the bed, limbs slick with sweat, hair plastered to your forehead. Every nerve in your body is screaming, every gasp and whimper betraying you. Jay pins your wrists above your head with one hand, brushing strands of hair from your face with the other, lips skimming across your jaw and ear. His touch is soft, but firm, measured, like velvet over steel, coaxing, commanding.

Jay presses into your back, his chest hot, solid, feral. One hand curls into your hip, the other thrusts between your legs, curling inside you with fingers that grip, pull, and stretch. You’re gasping, arching, pressing into him even as your mind screams no, no, no.

“God, you feel perfect,” Jay growls, lips nipping along your shoulder, teeth dragging marks into your skin. “So wet, so ready for us. All for us.”

It is now Jake’s mouth that finds yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. Tongue, teeth, lips, he teases, coaxes, pulls sounds from you you didn’t know you could make. His hips press against yours, not enough to enter, but enough to remind you that your body is his now, that every shiver and moan is a gift he can claim.

Jake’s hand lingers at your throat now instead of between your legs, his grip firm but not choking, grounding you in the heat of his body pressed against your back. Jay has taken his place lower, his hips slotting against yours, the blunt head of his cock teasing your entrance. Your walls clench at nothing, already wet and fluttering from Jake’s earlier torment.

“You’ve had your turn,” Jay mutters to Jake, voice smooth but edged with steel. He pushes forward slowly, letting the stretch burn in the sweetest, sharpest way. “Now she’s mine.”

The breath rips from your lungs, back arching as Jay fills you inch by inch. It’s overwhelming, heat, pressure, the shocking fullness of him, every ridge and vein making your walls tighten instinctively. Jake groans behind you, his hand at your throat flexing as he watches you take Jay, his free hand roaming down your stomach to press lightly against your lower belly.

“Fuck, look at her,” Jake snarls, teeth dragging along your shoulder. “Taking you so good. She was dripping, begging for it.”

Jay doesn’t rush. He bottoms out and holds there, chest pressed to your back, one of your wrists still captured in his grip. His free hand traces circles over your hip, soothing, coaxing, like he owns every inch of you. Then he pulls back and thrusts in again, harder this time, forcing a cry from your lips that melts into a whimper.

“Don’t fight it,” Jay whispers against your ear, tone low and hypnotic as he sets a steady rhythm. “Every shiver, every gasp, you like it. You want it. Don’t you?”

Jake’s hand tightens slightly at your throat, just enough to make you gasp, to feel the edge of control. “Answer him, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you choke out, desperate, trembling as Jay’s cock pounds into you, hitting deep, unrelenting spots Jake’s fingers could never reach.

Jay groans, kissing down your jaw, possessive and consuming. “Good girl. Ours. You’ve always been ours.”

The duality presses in on you again, Jake, rough and feral at your back, his words sharp, teeth scraping skin; Jay, smooth and calculated in front of you, hips grinding deep, lips coaxing confession after confession. Together, they dismantle you, break down every defense until your moans spill out raw and helpless.

“You’re mine,” Jay growls, thrusting harder, making your body jolt with each movement. “You feel that? That’s me inside you, deeper than anyone else has ever been.”

Jake groans low, lips at your ear, adding, “And you’ll let him ruin you… because you belong to us. Don’t you?”

Your voice cracks on a whimper, but the words still tumble out: “Yes. Yours.”

The sound drives Jay feral. His thrusts quicken, slamming into you, while Jake’s hand roams down to toy with your clit, circling fast and messy until your whole body shakes. The bed creaks, sheets twist beneath you, sweat beads at your temples. The sensation is unbearable, fear, arousal, safety, danger, blending until you can’t separate them.

Jay groans as your walls flutter around him, fucking you through the chaos of it, coaxing every broken sound from your throat. Jake’s grip keeps you upright, his rough growl in your ear only adding to the overload.

“Say it again,” Jay demands, thrusts relentless now.

“I’m yours,” you sob, back arching, pleasure spiraling out of control.

Jake bites your neck hard enough to sting, muffling his own groan. “Good girl. Perfect girl.”

And when the climax tears through you, it’s violent, shattering, a scream caught between pleasure and desperation. Jay buries himself deep, grinding through your release, groaning into your neck as Jake holds you steady.

The room is filled with the sounds of it, skin, breath, broken cries, your body collapsing into their possession, claimed utterly and willingly. Jay pulls out slowly, leaving you trembling and dripping, your body clenching on nothing as you whimper at the loss. He strokes himself lazily, smirking down at your wrecked state.

Behind you, Jake wastes no time. He shoves your knees wider, his palm pressing into your lower back to arch you for him. The mushroom tip of his cock drags through your soaked folds, teasing, and then he pushes in hard, filling you in one rough thrust that knocks the air out of your lungs.

“Fuck yes,” Jake groans, hips slamming against your ass. “Tight little cunt was just waiting for me.”

You moan helplessly, body lurching forward from the force of him, straight into Jay’s waiting hand. He cups your chin, thumb smearing your spit across your lower lip as he brings the tip of his cock against your mouth.

“Open,” Jay orders smoothly, tone calm but absolute.

Your lips part, still swollen from his earlier kisses, and he slides into your mouth with a low groan. He doesn’t force too deep at first, just lets you wrap your tongue around him, the salty taste filling your mouth as Jake pounds into you from behind.

The rhythm is brutal, Jake’s hips snapping forward, Jay’s cock sliding over your tongue, their voices mixing in groans and curses. Jake’s grip on your hips is bruising, each thrust rougher than the last, his teeth dragging across your shoulder when he leans down to growl in your ear.

“God, you’re perfect like this,” Jake snarls, fucking you hard enough the bed squeaks under the strain. “Taking me so deep while choking on him.”

Jay threads his fingers into your hair, guiding your head as he slides deeper into your throat. His voice is smooth, steady, dangerously hypnotic. “Breathe through your nose. That’s it. Good girl.”

Your eyes water, spit dripping down your chin, the dual assault overwhelming every sense. Jake slams into you mercilessly, the wet slap of your bodies obscene in the quiet room, while Jay uses your mouth, hips rolling slow and deliberate.

Tears prick at your lashes when Jay pushes deeper, the blunt head of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag, moaning around him, and he groans low, the sound vibrating through his chest.

“She’s so pretty like this,” Jay murmurs, thumb stroking your cheek as he holds you there for a second before easing back just enough for you to gasp. “So obedient.”

Jake’s pace quickens, his groans harsher, almost animal. He reaches around to toy with your clit, rubbing hard circles that make your legs shake violently under the strain.

“Fuck, I can feel you clenching,” he growls, pounding into you. “You’re gonna come on my cock while you choke on his. You love this, don’t you?”

Your answer is muffled around Jay’s length, but the way you moan, the way your walls flutter around Jake, says everything. Jay smirks, thrusting shallowly against your tongue. “She does. Look at her. Made for us.”

The pressure builds impossibly fast, Jake’s rough thrusts, his fingers circling cruelly at your clit, Jay filling your mouth, pushing you deeper and deeper. You can’t breathe, can’t think, can only sob around the thick length in your throat as your body teeters on the edge.

Jake groans, hips stuttering. “Come for me, sweetheart. Soak my cock.”

Jay tilts your head, voice calm and commanding. “Do it. Now.”

The order rips through you, your climax detonates, body spasming violently, walls milking Jake’s cock as you scream around Jay’s. Jake growls, pounding into you through your orgasm, while Jay groans low, hips rocking as he uses your mouth until he pulls back just enough to let you breathe again.

You collapse forward onto the sheets, shaking, drool slicking your chin, your body wrecked between them. Jake slaps your ass once, hard, groaning as he thrusts deep and stills, spilling inside you with a harsh curse.

When you collapse against them, trembling and spent, Jay strokes your hair back into place, whispering in your ear: “You’re safe now. Only with us. Only ours.”

Jake presses against your back, still hot, feral, grinning wickedly. “Try running again, sweetheart. I’ll enjoy chasing you next time too.”

The room is thick with sweat, scent, and the undeniable mark of possession. You are theirs. Completely. Every shiver, every gasp, every moan, claimed, owned, and utterly irreversibly theirs.

And the worst, and most intoxicating, part? You feel relief.

~Fin

masterlist

⟡ @tashmonellloveskpopboybands, ⟡ @kookiesnkim, ⟡ @picklemafia, ⟡ @xxjoyridingxx,⟡ @enjakey, ⟡ @noidnoentry, ⟡ @avadie,  ⟡ @enhaheart8, ⟡ @yourislandgirl, ⟡ @meowwwon, ⟡ @saodk  ⟡ @inlovewithparkjisung, ⟡ @verycutesyverymindful,  ⟡ @fleurdelises, ⟡ @tyongielee, ⟡ @amzingjellyfish, ⟡ @enbplvr, ⟡ @6abriellaa, ⟡ @fateismoonstruck, ⟡ @artemesiareads, ⟡ @d0einheadlights, ⟡ @miuuuw,  ⟡ @butwhyareyoureyessosad, ⟡ @rainofcrime, ⟡ @darkblueblueberr, ⟡ @zone444girls, ⟡ @bombombakudanmeow, ⟡ @en-cityy,  ⟡ @koya2000, ⟡ @tttbearblog, ⟡ @yb763, ⟡ @freakseung2001  ⟡ @nics-fxy, ⟡ @irers, ⟡ @seungsoftly, ⟡ @iyaiyaohhh, ⟡ @xnatqq, ⟡ @strawberrykkk1

✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧✧༚ ˗ˏˋ 𐙚 ˎˊ˗ ༚✧

⟡ @rosepetals09, ⟡ @cherry-blossomfrag, ⟡ @mari-marimar,  ⟡ @paradieseoul, ⟡ @microwavedstrawberries3,  ⟡ @thatonerandomblondechick, ⟡ @heebambilee,  ⟡ @simjaeyunsdoll, ⟡ @sinceresilverstrawberry,  ⟡ @heeseungslefttoee, ⟡ @shayinthesims, ⟡ @larichard,  ⟡ @noinspirationkisstoday, ⟡ @frenziedseerdesolation,  ⟡ @wtfisgoingright, ⟡ @heekijakey, ⟡ @luvwonsito,  ⟡ @cheetosthabratt, ⟡ @en-ner-jay, ⟡ @shouldergangsterrj,  ⟡ @brennanmeijalover00,⟡ @wondash, ⟡ @kimuranishi,  ⟡ @thep3rfectgirl25, ⟡ @doraemon02, ⟡ @rotttenhalo,  ⟡ @oldeubois-blog, ⟡ @putrescentpoet, ⟡ @jinnibug, ⟡ @vayuzzz,  ⟡ @kimmyaaaa, ⟡ @ppcarolina9, ⟡ @giagotthezoomies, ⟡ @numberoneheeslut, ⟡ @lovestruck-sky ⟡ @roze-latte-zz, ⟡ @sociallyawkward18 ⟡ @lyserie @enstarzzi

[hsnlv]

nerd bestfriend!jake teaching you how to squirt… with his dick :)

a/n: uhm, im not back. but this shit is too good to not share😞

>>>>>>>>>>

“okay, so—fuck—” jake hisses, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, fogged up from sweat, “so the, uh, the anterior vaginal wall is—shit—right here.”

he adjusts his grip on your thighs, pushing them up so your knees press to your chest, your pussy stretched wide around him, flushed and dripping. he’s buried deep, almost too deep, but you can’t think, can barely breathe, your hands fisting the sheets as you stare up at him.

he’s panting, face red, brows furrowed behind his glasses as he tries to keep himself from moving, trying to keep the “lesson” under control, but his cock keeps twitching inside you.

“j-jake,” you whimper, trying to move your hips, but he pins you down, glaring.

“stop, i’m teaching,” he snaps, but his voice is high, strained, as he tries to regain composure, pushing his glasses up with one trembling finger.

“a-anyway,” he continues, clearing his throat, “the g-spot is around two inches in, towards the belly button, and—fuck—when you stimulate it with the right pressure and rhythm—”

he shifts, pulling back slightly before rolling his hips forward, grinding against that spot, making your eyes roll back.

“you—ah, you feel that?” he stutters, his breath hitching, “th-that’s the—fuck, that’s the spot.”

your hands fly to his forearms, nails digging in, your body arching, “oh my god, jake—”

“and when you keep stimulating it, the skene’s glands—” he gasps as he thrusts again, “can cause—f-fuck—expulsion of fluid, which is—squirting—”

his voice cracks on the last word, his hips stuttering forward, cock dragging against your sweet spot again and again, your cunt fluttering around him.

“you’re clenching—shit, baby, you’re clenching too hard,” he moans, loud, glasses sliding down again as sweat drips onto your chest.

“jake, please, please—” you whine, tears pricking your eyes, your thighs shaking violently.

“s-shit, i’m—i’m trying to teach, okay?” he whines, loud and embarrassingly needy, “you just—fuck! you feel too good, it’s—so hard to—fuck!”

his hips snap forward harder, faster, despite himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tries to keep talking.

“n-need consistent pressure—like this—” he pants, grinding his cock deep, making you sob, “and—ah—angle towards the belly button, right there, right—fuck, right there—”

your vision blurs, a tight coil snapping as you scream, your body locking up before a sudden gush of liquid spills out around his cock, soaking his thighs, the sheets, everything.

“holy shit—holy fuck—” jake chokes out, hips jerking, cock twitching inside you as he pulls out fast, wrapping his hand around himself.

he strokes himself frantically, eyes wide behind his fogged glasses as he cums, thick ropes spilling over your pussy, your stomach, some of it dripping onto your folds, warm and messy.

“s-sorry, fuck, sorry, you just—” he whines, shivering as his cum leaks between your thighs, “you just feel too—fuck! too good.”

you’re both panting, your body still shaking, your pussy still leaking from your first squirt, your skin sticky with his cum and your own mess.

he looks down at you, cheeks flushed, hair a sweaty mess, glasses crooked, before letting out a soft, breathless laugh.

“so, uh,” he says, clearing his throat as he pushes his glasses up again, “that’s… how you squirt.”

you smack his arm weakly, but you’re laughing, tears slipping down your cheeks, your heart pounding, your body warm, your best friend looking at you like you just gave him a reason to live.

©️all rights reserved | hsnlv | 2025

[thewxntersoldier]

they’re the same picture meme.jpeg

[k1tk4ttt]

How I feel reading smut while being scared of intimacy in real life

[vunblr]

The Domestic Clause (#1)

Pairing: Congressman! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ just in case. Fluff. Slight Angst. Eventual Smut.

Summary: Bucky agrees to a discreet cleaning service to tend to his apartment while he’s away. He never expected the care of someone he’d never met to become the gentlest part of his daily life.

Word Count: About 5.3k.

He didn't want the cleaning service at first.

Too invasive, too fussy. Too awkward to let strangers enter a place that he was still learning to feel like a home. But his staff had insisted, gently but firmly. He was a public figure now. The service company came highly recommended as discreet and secure. No need for small talk or eye contact. Just clean surfaces and food that didn’t come in plastic bags.

The company had a key. They came while he was out. Twice a week, no more, no less. Floors scrubbed, bed made, fridge stocked with two fresh meals, laundry done and folded. Neutral. Efficient. He hadn’t asked for more.

Didn’t think he needed it.

And for almost two months, it stayed that way. Predictable and impersonal.

Then something changed.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Just a faint jasmine scent on the floorboards when he came in one Thursday. A softness in the towels that hadn't been there before. He didn't know what laundry soap she used now, but it remained faintly on his undershirts and stayed there, even under the starch and suits.

And the food. He didn’t remember requesting a change to "homestyle", but something about the new meals felt different. Simpler. Hearty. Less... curated. There were potatoes done the way his ma used to make them, string beans cooked soft and salted instead of bright and snappy. Meatloaf. Stew. Biscuits wrapped in a cloth napkin, like someone didn’t want them to go cold too fast.

He didn’t mind the change. In fact, he found himself looking forward to Tuesdays and Thursdays now. Found himself standing in the doorway just a little longer when he got home.

Found himself breathing deeper.

And he hadn't realized how much that mattered until the jasmine scent was gone, for two visits. A week without it. Like someone else had stepped in for the shifts and didn’t use her supplies. Whoever she was.

He didn’t ask the company about it. That would make it a thing. It wasn’t a thing.

But when it came back, subtle and soft under his front door, he realized he’d missed it.

----

It wasn’t supposed to be a long-term thing.

Just a stopgap. Something stable while she figured things out, something to get the rent paid, to keep food on the table, to keep her hands busy so her head wouldn’t spiral.

That was four years ago.

The flower shop had gone up with the smoke one winter night, an electrical fault, they said. Faulty fuse box. Nothing she could’ve done. And still, the insurance company found a way to wriggle free of every promise. Negligence was the word they leaned on. Cold. Precise. Final. She still dreamed of that smell sometimes, wet ash, scorched petals, the soil turning to a black sludge.

So she cleaned.

Her friend knew someone at the company and vouched for her. It was a clean-cut operation, specializing in silence, efficiency, and making life easier for the rich and important people without ever getting too close. Names weren’t shared. No questions asked. The job was: arrive, clean, cook if requested, and leave before the client came home.

Most were just properties, not homes. Untouched bookshelves, empty fridges, decor chosen by someone with a spreadsheet. She never lingered too much.

When Carla from the Thursday-Tuesday rotation quit -something about her kid and the commute- her boss messaged her directly.

“Solid client. Single guy. High profile. Interested?”

She said yes without thinking before asking for the address.

It wasn’t far. A decent building in a quiet street. She filled the product request form immediately, asking for the brands she liked, floor soap with jasmine, the laundry liquid that didn’t smell like hotel sheets, and the dried lavender flask. Her own little signatures. It wasn’t for them, it was for her. To stick with comfortable scents.

The first time she stepped inside the place, she noticed the simplicity. No clutter. No pictures. No smell of cigarettes. No designer furniture. Just white walls and clean counters and a coffee mug still wet in the sink.

A little lonely if you ask her, but simpler to maintain. She liked it.

Two hours later, the place gleamed, the fridge held two containers of stew, and the air smelled faintly of jasmine and lemon balm. She clicked the door behind her with satisfaction.

It wasn’t a dream job.

But it was good enough.

And after what she’d been through, good enough meant everything.

----

She hadn’t meant to snoop.

It was just a quick wipe-down of the table near the entryway, as always, a change tray, a small pile of unopened mail. Standard. Most of the time, she didn’t even glance at the envelopes, just moved them aside with the back of her hand.

But that day, one slipped, and she caught it without thinking.

Her eyes hit the name before she could look away.

Barnes, James B.

Blocky letters. Government seal in the corner.

Her stomach gave a weird little flip.

She held the envelope longer than she should’ve, her fingers still pressed against the smooth paper. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

James Barnes.

It couldn’t be-

But it was.

She’d watched the hearings on the news like everyone else back then, back when Zemo’s little show had dragged old ghosts into the daylight. A face all over every channel. “The Winter Soldier.” The monster in grainy Hydra footage, all blood, violence, and blank stares. She remembered digging deeper online, reading words she didn’t even want to say aloud, conditioning, assassination programs, cryogenic freezing, psychological mutilation.

And now here she was. Wiping his countertops.

And then the pardon came. The press cycle burned out. People moved on.

Now, he was in a suit, making speeches with his jaw clenched too tightly, his voice low and unslick. Every opponent had tried to gut him with his past, throwing his record into the dirt, dragging out death counts like headlines. But he’d held. Barely. Visibly. A man trying not to bolt every time a flash went off.

A sharp breath escaped her lips. She looked around like the walls might suddenly see her differently.

So he was her boss.

It made sense now, the spartan apartment, despite the nice neighborhood. No trace of friends or family. The closed door at the end of the hall that was always locked, marked clearly on the service sheet as "no access."

She’d joked once, silently, looking at that door, that the guy had spy gear in there. Or was a serial killer, and the day she finds it casually opened and dares to enter… that is how scary movies started.

She placed the envelope back where it had been and straightened it.

He was just a man.

A man who’d been through hell, and wanted clean floors and warm food waiting when he got home. She stood there a second longer, her hand resting on the top of the table. Then moved on. Quietly, like always.

----

She didn’t tell anyone she’d figured it out. The company wouldn’t have liked it, and it didn’t matter anyway, her job hadn’t changed. Wipe. Sweep. Wash. Cook. Lock up. The routine stayed the same. But she didn’t.

Now that she knew who he was, really was, it changed how she moved through the apartment.

She caught herself slowing down near the closed door at the end of the hall, imagining what was behind it. She didn’t pry. Never would. But she started noticing the little things he did leave visible.

A stack of books on the coffee table. Nonfiction, history, psychology, one with bent pages about PTSD. The way he always left the light on in the kitchen window, like he hated coming home to a dark place. A blue coffee mug with a tiny chip on the handle that he still used every day.

And the food.

She started tweaking the meals. Small things at first. Mashed potatoes with extra butter. Slowly roasted chicken instead of grilled. Stew with more salt, more depth.

No complaints.

So she kept going.

On Thursdays, after she cleaned and cooked and made sure everything was just so, she started leaving something extra on the counter.

A small cake.

A batch of oatmeal cookies.

A little apple pie tucked into a glass container, still warm.

Never something fancy. Never store-bought. Comfort things. Something sweet to come home to.

----

It started with the pie.

He came home late that Thursday, later than usual, the suit jacket slung over his shoulder, tie half-pulled, his eyes prickling. He was tired. Not physically, he didn’t get tired, but mentally exhausted.

The apartment smelled like something sweet.

Not the jasmine, that was there too, soft as always. No, this was heavier. Baked. Warm.

He set his keys down and found it on the counter.

Pie. Still holding the faintest trace of oven heat. No label. Just there. Waiting. Like someone knew the kind of day he’d had. Like someone thought maybe a man like him deserved something that tasted like comfort.

He stared at it too long before putting it in the fridge. He didn’t eat it that night. Didn’t want to ruin it with his exhaustion.

But the next day, after a cold shower and half a night’s sleep, he sat at the kitchen island, bare feet on cool tile, fork in hand.

And it was good.

He didn’t tell the service anything. Didn’t leave feedback. Didn't know how. What was he supposed to say? Thanks for the pie?

But the next Thursday, there were cookies. Chewy centers, crispy edges, cinnamon that remained on his tongue longer than it should’ve. He ate them standing up, staring out the window.

By the third week -banana bread, nutty and dense- he started leaving that part of the counter a little clearer. No old mugs, no bowl with fruits. Just space, just in case something else showed up.

And it did.

Always something different. Never too much. Never presumptuous. Just… a simple gift. From someone he’d never seen, whose name he didn’t know, who folded his laundry and cooked his food and smelled like jasmine and something warmer he couldn’t describe.

He found himself trying to imagine her.

Not in a crude way. Not like that. Just- what kind of person did this? Left sweetness behind without asking for thanks? What kind of person looked at a stranger’s life, his particular, lonely life, and thought: he could use something soft?

He started looking forward to Thursdays.

Started coming home earlier, if he could.

And sometimes, on Wednesday nights, he caught himself wondering what she’d leave next.

----

He nearly stepped on it.

The soft clink under his heel made him freeze mid-step, one foot on the air, the other rooted to the floor. He looked down, expecting a dropped spoon maybe, or one of those damn loose buttons that always slipped free from his cuffs.

But it was a chain.

Delicate. Faintly tarnished. A single flower pendant in the center. Tiny petals worked in silver, something between a daisy and a wild rose. He crouched down slowly, brushing it carefully from the floor.

He held it up by the chain and watched it spin gently in the kitchen light.

Definitely not his. No one else had been here.

His mouth tugged into the barest line of surprise.

She must’ve dropped it. This invisible woman who moved through his home when he was gone, who left behind jasmine-scented floors and meals that tasted like someone gave a damn.

The pendant was feminine. A little worn at the edges. Something someone had owned for a while. Not a girl’s thing, not trendy. Something with history.

He found himself thinking: She must be older.

The food made sense now. So did the conditioner, the kind his ma used when he was young, not the chemical-heavy invasive crap most places sold now. And the way things were placed in soft order, not a strict pattern. Not hotel-precise, but thoughtful. Folded throw blanket on the couch. A corner of the towel lifted just so on the rack. She moved like someone used to making spaces feel lived-in. Comfortable.

He imagined her with silver hair twisted up loosely. Glasses maybe. Someone in her sixties. Maybe a widow.

He ran his thumb over the edge of the flower.

He’d return it, of course. Leave it on the kitchen island next visit, maybe tucked into a small dish so she’d see it. But for now… he pocketed it gently. Just for the night.

And for reasons he didn’t examine too closely, he kept it by his bed.

Just until Thursday.

----

She didn’t notice it was gone until she got home.

Her fingers went instinctively to her collarbone while she peeled off her sweater, reaching for the familiar curve of the chain, and touched skin instead. She froze. Then checked the hem, the collar, the folds of the fabric, like maybe it got caught somehow. But it wasn’t there.

She checked the pockets of her coat. Her bag. Nothing.

Her throat closed.

The pendant.

A silver flower, soft-edged with age. It had been her grandmother’s. A gift the day she opened the flower shop, “something to bloom beside you,” she’d said, pressing it into her palm with the fierce kind of pride old women had.

The shop was gone now. Ashes and soot. And now this, too.

She didn’t want to cry, but the grief crept up anyway, quiet and unwelcome. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at her open hands like they might explain where she’d lost it.

It had to be today. It was clasped this morning. She was sure of it.

She hadn’t wanted to say anything. It was unprofessional, and the company discouraged personal contact. But after half an hour of chewing her lip and pacing the kitchen, she gave in and sent a message.

Hi, I think I may have left something at the Tuesday/Thursday apartment. A small silver pendant on a chain. Could you possibly reach out to the client to check if it turned up?

The reply came later. Too short. Too cold.

We’ll pass the message along, but please be more careful in the future. We cannot guarantee a response from the client.

That was it.

She didn’t know if they’d actually tell him. Probably not. He was important. A man like him had more to worry about than a necklace dropped by a service worker.

She sighed, rubbing the spot at her collarbone like she could will its shape back.

It felt stupid to mourn something so small. But it wasn’t about the chain.

It was about her grandmother’s hand on hers. The smell of peonies in the air. That little key they used to hang from the wall behind the register. The shop that had been her heart for six full years before it burned out.

Now that pendant would be somewhere in a trash bin, swept up with crumbs, or stuck to the back of a counter.

Almost poetic, really.

The flower shop was gone. Now the pendant was too.

----

He looked a it longer than he meant to.

He just… liked having it there. On his nightstand. In the quiet. It didn’t do anything, just caught the light in the mornings. But it felt like a presence. A reminder that someone moved through his life with gentleness.

When Thursday came, he gently polished the chain with a cloth, then neatly put it inside the dish where she usually left him the things she found on the floor, like buttons, coins, or a solitary cufflink. But it looked too bare like that. Too transactional.

He hesitated. Then grabbed his coat and headed down the street.

The corner market had a little stand, mostly overpriced bouquets, but he wasn’t after those. He scanned the selection until he found it, behind the roses and lilies. A single stem of fresia. Pale, almost white. Clean.

It reminded him of his ma’s apron pockets.

He took it home, trimmed the end with his pocketknife, and laid it next to the dish.

The necklace, and beside it, the flower.

No note. He wouldn’t know what to write. And she didn’t leave him notes either. He stepped back from the counter.

For a long moment, he just looked at it, this odd little shrine of softness in his too-empty kitchen.

For the woman who folded his shirts like with care.

For the food that tasted like memory.

For the silence that didn’t feel hollow anymore.

----

She wasn’t expecting anything.

By now, she’d accepted the pendant was gone. No one from the company had followed up. If they’d reached out to the client, she hadn’t heard about it.

Maybe she’d dropped it outside. Or it got tangled in the laundry and swept up by accident. Maybe it was meant to be. It was just another echo of the life she used to have. Another piece of the shop, of her grandmother, gone.

That Thursday, she came in like always. Hung up her coat. Tied her apron. She was about to drop to her knees in front of the cabinet under the sink to grab the spray and rag, but as she walked toward it, something caught her eye.

Not clutter -he never left clutter-. But something light. Pale. She stepped closer, curious.

It was a flower. It sat on the kitchen island like it had been placed with care. A single fresia stem. A little old-fashioned, but beautiful and with a wonderful scent. Her breath caught, but not because of what it was, but because of why it was there. Her pendant.

She reached out slowly, and her fingers remained at a brief distance just over the curve of the chain, like it might vanish if she touched it too quickly.

There it was. Pooled neatly inside the “found things” dish.

He’d found it.

She stood there longer than she meant to, with her hand still resting beside the little flower. It wasn’t just the gesture of returning it. It was the wayhe did it. With something lovely and thoughtful.

She decided to bake that lemon cake she loved for that day. The one with poppy seeds in the batter and the glaze. She had bought them to make it for herself, but she wanted to say thank you. So she reached for her purse and put the little bag with the seeds on the counter for later.

----

The apartment smelled faintly of lemon.

It swirled in the air differently than the usual jasmine. As he walked inside, he picked up the sugar, the warm scent of golden batch.

Not store-bought. Tangy-sweet and soft.

He moved toward the kitchen.

And there, right beside the dish, right where he’d left her fresia, A lemon cake, cooling on a small wooden board he didn’t even remember owning, golden, the white glaze still not dried.

He didn’t move for a second. Just stood there, looking at it.

He reached out and ran his index finger lightly over the glaze. It was tacky with citrus and sugar. Fresh.

He cut a slice in silence and sat at the kitchen island to eat it, the plate barely making a sound on the counter. He chewed slowly, letting the flavor unfurl, bright lemon, the crunch of seeds, the softness of something made from scratch.

It was the best thing he’d tasted in weeks.

And somehow, that mattered more than he wanted to admit.

The pendant had meant something to her. He knew that now. The flower had been his way of saying he saw it. And this cake, it felt like her way of saying thank you.

They still hadn’t met. Still hadn’t spoken, probably never will. But something was happening here, two people sharing a quiet room in mismatched moments of the day, still passing warmth between them.

He reached for a second slice.

And for the first time in days, he really smiled.

----

He should’ve checked the schedule.

The Capitol steps shone under his shoes as he stood there, blinking at the empty air where the aides and staffers should’ve been.

No session.

A recess day for constituent travel, or maybe one of those informal pro forma sessions that didn’t need his presence. Whatever it was, no one told him. Or maybe they had, and he hadn’t listened. Either way, he was there, alone, overdressed, and already caught by the click of a single paparazzi camera from across the street.

James Buchanan Barnes, rookie congressman, looking confused as hell.

He bit down a curse and didn’t give the lens anything else to work with, just turned on his heel and headed for the car, schooling his face into neutrality.

Halfway through the drive home, it hit him.

She’s there today.

He gripped the wheel tightly. He could turn around, kill time somewhere, a coffee shop, a walk in the park, or hit the gym even though he wasn’t in the mood. He could also disappear into the back room of his apartment without being noticed and pretend no one was in there.

But who was he kidding? He wanted to know her. The motherly voice behind the lemon cake. The gentle scent of dried lavender on the satchels she left inside his pillowcases, soothing, helping him rest. The woman who turned his empty apartment into something he trusted to come home to.

The elevator ride felt slower than usual. His pulse didn’t match the rhythm of the floor numbers ticking upward.

He reached the hallway.

He stepped in front of his door and heard it, the faint sound of music. Seemed like some kind of pop-rock thing.

Not what he had expected.

As he slowly walked in, he noticed that the music came from the kitchen, so he stealthily moved toward it. He didn’t want to stalk her, just… watch her a little without being noticed.

Baby, I'm preying on you tonight

Hunt you down eat you alive

Just like animals

Animals

Like animals

Ok. He didn’t expect that type of lyrics and the kind lady cleaning his house put together either. Curious, he reached the open door and-

Maybe you think that you can hide

I can smell your scent for miles

Just like animals

Animals

Like animals-mals

It wasn’t an old lady, that was for sure. No ache on her hips, since she seemed to undulate them following the rhythm, tantalizingly fine. Also, she seemed to know the song, since she sang it pretty well as she danced while wiping the counter.

A very suggestive prose, by the way.

He stared at her, and his brain tripped over the disconnection between the image he’d built in his head and the woman in front of him, completely unaware that she was being watched.

But I get so high when I’m inside you-

She turned.

Her yelp was half-squeal, half-breathless gasp. One hand flew to her chest. The other snatched her phone off the counter and slammed the music off with a panicked swipe.

Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, but a few strands had fallen loose as she danced, brushing her cheek. She looked flustered, very much not the prim apron-and-hairnet matron he’d imagined all these months.

They stared at each other.

Heat gathered at the tips of her ears and along her cheeks. Not embarrassment, no, something different. Like her brain was already halfway through cataloging every second of what he’d just witnessed.

Then her expression changed, as if she had snapped out of the initial surprise. She straightened her posture, pulling professionalism over herself like a second skin.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said quickly, looking at the floor. “I-  I was supposed to be alone. If I’d known, I would never-”

“No, no,” he interrupted her, stepping forward instinctively. “It’s alright. I- uh. I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

It felt absurd, saying that in his own kitchen.

He cleared his throat. “Something came up, and I forgot today was your shift.”

The lie passed his lips smoothly.

She stood still, with her phone in her hand, every part of her body visibly tense, like one wrong move might get her fired. The cozy warmth from a few minutes ago was locked out behind a door of fear.

He didn’t want that.

He didn’t want her to feel that way at all.

She turned around, reaching for the dish towel she’d set aside, her fingers trembling visibly even as she tried to mask it. “I’ll be done in a few minutes, sir. Or if you prefer, I can return another day to finish-”

“No,” he said again, softer this time. “You don’t have to go.”

She glanced at him, faintly furrowing her brows.

He looked away.

The kitchen smelled like citrus cleaner and something hearty cooking in the oven. The kind of warmth he was craving to find in his nameplate apartment. And here they were, strangers, but he already felt her more familiar than she should be.

“I’ll stay out of your way,” he added, half-mumbling, and stepped back toward the hallway.

----

She didn’t move until she heard his retreating footsteps, and the door shut. The one she was told never to enter, the one locked every time she came.

Her heartbeat hadn't calmed down.

Not even close.

In four years with the company, she had never -never- crossed paths with a client. The contracts were built around that. No contact. No overlap. No room for awkwardness.

And now… this.

Congressman Barnes had just walked into his own home and caught her shaking her ass in his kitchen to a song about animalistic sex.

She exhaled hard through her nose and pressed the heels of her hands into the counter, trying to calm herself.

He didn’t seem mad. That was something.

Not a single sign of disgust or irritation. No barking orders. No tight-lipped reprimand about inappropriate conduct.

But that didn’t mean anything.

People in power didn’t have to scold you to ruin your job. They could just make a call. Ask for a switch. Flag you quietly. Label you unprofessional in one neat sentence.

Fuck.

She bit her lip and forced herself to move, grabbed the rag, and started wiping the faucet.

The pendant. The flower.

Those things had meant something. Or at least, she thought they had. A man who did that kind of gesture wasn’t cold. He wasn’t cruel.

But that was before this shitshow.

Before he saw her dancing around his countertops like a teenager with a hairbrush mic.

What if she got fired?

What the hell was she going to do?

The rent was due next week. Groceries were already thin. She didn’t even want to think about the dentist’s appointment she’d been rescheduling.

She wiped harder, moving her arms faster than they needed to, because if she didn’t keep moving, her hands would start shaking again.

And the thing that made it worse?

She hadn’t felt so seen in a long, long time.

And now all she wanted to do was vanish.

----

He tried to read the bill.

The same goddamn bill he’d opened five times this week and dropped five times more.

Something about infrastructure grants and zoning development for public parks in outlying districts. Important, supposedly. But it droned in his brain like static, paragraphs bloated with legal phrasing, clauses stacked like bricks in a wall he couldn’t make himself scale.

His eyes scanned the same sentence again.

Still nothing stuck.

Because underneath the words, under the dead weight of legislative jargon, he could hear her.

The subtle movements. Efficient. The soft drag of a towel over tile. The squeak of a cupboard hinge. Running water. Her steps.

She hadn’t fled.

But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t.

He rubbed his jaw with the back of his knuckles and leaned back in the chair, briefly closing his eyes, trying to block out the memory of her startled face, of how she froze, how quickly she apologized, how she’d looked at him like he was someone who could undo her whole life with a phone call.

He hadn’t meant to scare her.

He hadn’t meant to catch her, either. The music, the sway of her body. That bright little pocket of joy had been private. Intimate in a way he wasn’t supposed to see.

What if she requested a transfer?

What if she told the company he was intrusive or uncomfortable to work around? What if she disappeared, and the next time he walked through his door, the air smelled like ammonia and pine, the food tasted sterile, and there were no more dried lavender satchels tucked into his pillowcase?

He wouldn't complain.

He’d never say a word.

But it’d affect him more than he liked to admit.

He looked at the time and did some quick math.

She usually left at a quarter past four. Sometimes earlier if she finished ahead of schedule.

If he went out there at just the right moment, said something -anything- it might make a difference.

He didn’t want to corner her. Didn’t want to put her on edge. But he also didn’t want his apartment to go back to what it was before she came.

So he waited.

Just long enough.

Let the minutes tick by.

And when he heard the final rattle of a spray bottle being returned to its caddy, he stood up, cracked the door, and stepped out.

----

She rubbed a bit of cream into her hands, working it into the skin between each knuckle, then reached for her coat and bag by the door. Almost done. One more minute and she’d be out.

She heard the footsteps before she saw him.

She turned her head, and her heart lunched all over again.

He was in different clothes now. Every day stuff, a dark pair of jeans and a worn blue henley that pulled a little across his shoulders. If she’d passed him on the street, she’d think he was a normal guy. Quiet guy. Maybe one of those who always held the door open without making eye contact.

But she knew better.

She straightened her back and made herself speak.

“Is there anything you need, sir?” she asked, almost a murmur.

He stopped a few feet from her and looked up. Sir. He didn’t like how it sounded, it felt awkward. But he understood the boundaries.

He scratched the side of his neck. “I just wanted to say I, uh…” His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to her. “I liked the lemon cake. A lot.”

A beat.

“And I was wondering if… maybe you’d make it again sometime?”

He shifted his weight, slightly uncomfortable. “I’ll get the seeds. The ones you used, if you tell me what they are, and leave them in the cabinet with the spices and the other stuff.”

There it was. A quiet request.

Not only a I liked it, but also a I want you to come back.

The weight in her chest lifted enough to let her smile without thinking.

“Poppy,” she said. “They’re poppy seeds.”

He found himself smiling too. A mirror of hers.

“And sure, sir. I’ll do it again if you want me to.”

There was a pause.

His fingers grazed the back of his neck, like the words he was about to say needed to be coaxed out of him.

“I know about the politics,” he said quietly. “The rules. But… we already broke one.”

His voice was rougher now, gentler.

“Would you mind if we introduced ourselves?” A beat. “Since I don’t know. I feel it’s the proper thing to do.”

She blinked just once, surprised. Not by his tone, but maybe by the fact that he’d asked. Then the surprise changed to a soft smile again, and she gave him her name.

He nodded. “James Barnes,” he said, almost sheepishly. His hands stayed loose at his sides, like he didn’t want to risk making her uncomfortable again. “It was nice to meet you.”

Her answer came gently, but sure.

“Thank you, sir. It was nice to meet you, too.”

Next Chapter

Permanent taglist: @pandaxnienke @queergalpal97 @mrsalexstan @sophiemass @alagalaska @identity2212

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[ballard96]

[too-deviant]

nosey parker.

WITH…ROBERT ‘BOB’ REYNOLDS!

pairing: bob reynolds x assistant!reader

summary: as the assistant to the thunderbolts, you never really interacted with bob. but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there, watching.

content: perv!bob, but maybe perv!reader too? wink wink. slight stalking…18+ content mdni! dry humping, reader and bob match each other’s freak, reader wears heels but no other mention of a particular presenting gender, bob is insane and you love it.

word count: 3.6k

notes: this has been in the works for a whiiile hehe, i beg that you enjoy because i spent way too long on this. love you guys thanks for being patient <3 also a smooch to anyone who knows where my header is from hehe

*The New Avengers Tower had one hundred and three floors, and Bob Reynolds had explored maybe five of them.

It wasn’t his fault! He still had little control over his powers, and it had been highly advised by Valentina that he stuck to the areas of the building only *The New Avengers could go. The training rooms, the apartments, the kitchen and living areas etc. He was allowed to go to the conference rooms downstairs for mission briefings with the others if he so liked, but he never did.

Well, unless you were going to be there.

You see, two months into their stay at the Tower, Valentina had made an announcement to the team that she would be bringing in an assistant for them — someone to handle the boring admin stuff while they focused on the hero stuff. And since Bob didn’t do any of that, he’d never gotten the chance to interact with you.

He sure had heard about you, though. It wasn’t as if the team raved about you or anything, but Bob liked to consider himself fairly observant — so when he would hear Yelena thanking god under her breath that you were around whenever she was particularly stressed, or Ava asking Walker quietly if he’d seen you anywhere, or even Bucky telling Alexei that he’d have to deal with your wrath if he skipped that week’s campaign dinner instead of his (and seeing Alexei silently decide he’d better attend that dinner, then), he figured you were pretty good at your job.

It was autumn when he met you for the first time. He had been playing chess with himself in one of the empty meeting rooms — hiding from Yelena, who was trying to get him to come to one of Valentina’s parties that weekend — when the rest of the team burst into the room and settled around the table.

“Bob!” Alexei had bellowed, taking a seat at the table with everyone else “You come on mission with us?”

“Oh, uh…no.” He’d stammered, clumsily moving his board out of the way, “I was just hanging out here…I can — I’ll leave.”

“No need.” Valentina’s voice was sharp when she finally entered in, strutting to the head of the table to start her meeting. And behind her, was you.

Bob thought you were really pretty. But when you caught his eye coming in and sent him a kind smile, he thought it looked ethereal.

He was a goner from there.

He hadn’t listened to a word Valentina had said in that meeting, not that he needed to. And from then on out, he invited himself down to every team briefing he could just so he could silently watch you stand behind Val while she spoke and hand out mission files to his teammates one by one around the table. Every time, he would wait patiently for you to pass him — and instead of giving him a file, you’d give him a glimpse into your eyes and a kind upturn of your lips. Bob would take that over a mission brief any day of the week.

He had also taken to joining Yelena on her morning routine in which she did her own check-in on the admin staff to ensure Valentina wasn’t up to anything they weren’t aware of (and so she could make coffee in the office staff room, which apparently tasted way better than the stuff they had upstairs).

“You were right.” He’d said when she finally questioned him on his sudden change of heart, trying to be as convincing as possible, “I need to get out more. I’m still a member of the team, like you said.”

Lena had just raised a single brow and walked off, and Bob took that as a win. He had no time to think about it anyway because there you were; sitting behind your desk and typing at your laptop with the cutest furrow in your brow he’d ever seen.

He was proud of himself. All year, his therapist had been encouraging him to find a hobby; something to do so he wasn’t wallowing in self-pity whenever his friends were too busy on missions or in training. He’d tried a few things – knitting, baking, graphic design..but nothing had been as fulfilling as watching you from the back of a meeting, and following Yelena around the office floors for an hour just for that split-second glimpse of you in your office that he thanked god had glass walls.

At first, that’s all it was. A couple of looks every now and then, Bob always too shy to glance for too long at once in fear you’d notice. But then, slowly, it progressed. Over time, the brief peeks became full-on stares. There was that one occasion you wore a skirt that was shorter than usual, and he tripped over a coffee cart trying to get a second look. He very nearly glanced at the cleavage that was peeking through your top when you leaned over John’s shoulder to pass him his file – he didn’t, but became slightly distraught when he saw Walker take a not-so subtle look himself. That wasn’t allowed. You weren’t for John to look at.

You sure were his to look at, he thought. He just didn’t realise how obvious his looks were until one day when Bucky left your office after talking to you, he stopped beside Bob and said, “That’s the slowest I’ve ever seen a man make a cup of coffee. You in a rush, Bob?”

Bob jumped, spilling some milk on his shirt and quickly putting the paper cup back down on the tray in favour of patting himself dry, “W–What? I was just…making…coffee.”

He knew he sounded unconvincing, especially when Bucky sent him that look that he sends to people sometimes that says I’ve been alive for over a century, don’t try to kid me. Bob just shrugged, not really knowing what Bucky wanted him to say, but was kindly interrupted by that voice he hears in his head when he sleeps sometimes.

“Hey, Bucky. You forgot this.” You smiled that angel’s smile at the man, handing him some paperwork that looked to Bob like it had been written in another language. Then, as if the heavens themselves had opened up over him to grant him his one true wish, you looked at him, “Hi.”

You had turned back to your office before he could muster up a reply, but his eyes followed you all the way back to your desk chair until they were rudely interrupted by the stupid old man standing next to him. Bucky sent him one long look, and walked away. Bob sighed.

But he never stopped looking.

In the meetings. In the office. In the hallway. From the middle floor balcony, watching you clock in at the same time each morning and leave late every night. From the dark corner at one of Val’s parties he’d chosen not to go to, watching you fiddle with a champagne flute while trapped in conversation with an investor. From his places, Bob watched.

He watched you walk, he watched you talk. He watched you breathe, and imagined feeling it lightly on his face. He watched you fiddle with papers, crossing T’s and dotting I’s. He watched you rub the sleep from your eyes in the mornings, and hold back a yawn in the nights. He watched you laugh with Yelena, and poke fun at Bucky. He watched you grin at Alexei, sharing a look with Ava.

When he wasn’t watching, he was imagining. What are you doing right now? Who were you talking to? What did you eat for breakfast and was there traffic on the way here because it’s 9:03 and you still haven’t come in? Where do you go every night? Do you think about him too?

It was becoming a lot for Bob. But it felt so good, he didn’t want to ever stop. He’d worn holes in his sleeves from fiddling with them so much, something to do with his hands while his eyes were busy on you.

It all came to a halt at 2:37 in the morning on a tuesday.

The mission alert alarm had blared through the building, waking up everyone on the floor. This happened very rarely — most missions were pre-planned and handed to them in a packet. This one was serious, and it needed to be seen to now.

Bob got up, watching his friends hurriedly put on their gear while you shouted information at them from the mission computer. Val was nowhere to be seen, which shocked nobody.

Usually, when there’s a mission alert, it goes to Val first. She assesses if the situation is important enough to give now or if it can wait until the morning — if it’s now, she sends it to you. You go to the tower, run diagnostics on the computer and then, and only then, are you allowed to wake up the rest of the team and tell them to get out there. This was one of those moments.

You stood authoritatively in your sweatpants and hoodie, yelling at Lena to tie her shoes before she tripped and shot herself in the leg. Screwdriver in hand to tighten Bucky’s arm because he always loosened it when he slept. It was a flurry of chaos, but when the team were finally gone, it was quiet.

And it was just you and Bob. And like usual, he watched.

You let out a relieved sigh, dropping the ipad down onto the control desk and leaning back on it slightly — you glanced around, making sure everything was in order before you trudged back to your apartment and into your bed, only to sleep for two hours before you had to be back here again in the morning.

But then your eyes caught Bob. Standing idly in the middle of the room, hands fiddling with themselves and lips pursed. You sent him a tired smile, “Hey, Bob.”

Bob wasn’t sure when you’d learnt his name, but he thanked whoever was up there that you had, because the sound of it coming from you sent a warm rush into his usually cold chest. That warmth was also paired with a shock of nerves, because now you were watching him and he didn’t know what to do.

“You okay?” You asked, stepping down from the desk and heading towards him. Or towards the door to leave, but he told himself it was towards him. “Sorry about the yelling. Mission alerts, right?”

“No, that’s okay.” He replied quickly, appalled at the thought of you ever apologising for anything. “I was just…”

“Watching me?” You’d said then, levelling him with an inquisitive look. Your eyes shone.

“W—What?” Suddenly, Bob was all too aware of you. More aware than he ever had been before, because you were standing right there and you said —

“I can see you.” You explained it slowly, looking at him through your lashes, “Every day. All the time. There you are.”

He swallowed, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’ll stop.”

“Don’t.” You smiled, tilting your head slightly. “I like it.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged, standing before him like a glowing scepter — inticing him to touch. “Makes me feel good, knowing that someone knows I’m there.”

“It…” Bob swallowed, “Makes you feel good?”

You hummed, and Bob could imagine himself getting hypnotised by the sound. Maybe he had been, all this time — from the day he first saw you. He didn’t think he minded if that was the case.

“Still.” He whispered, “It’s creepy.”

“Yeah it is.” He might have imagined it, but he could’ve sworn that you were smirking a little when you said that. “Night, Bob.”

Bob went to sleep that night in a daze, thoughts of you blurring the corners of his vision whenever he shut his eyes too hard. But when he woke up, it was as if he was a different person entirely.

A wave of confidence seemed to have draped over him in the night — the realisation that his conversation with you had really happened. You had seen him staring. You liked it. That’s what you said. Well, you should never have said that.

Because that one sentence, those four words…

“Makes me feel good.”

That was all the fuel Bob needed.

Because at the end of the day, he lived to please.

He skipped breakfast with the team. No time. Instead, he beelined straight for your office on the lower floors. None of the other admin staff had entered the building yet — the whole floor was completely and utterly silent. With the exception of Bobs footsteps, then the sliding open of your office door, and the closing of it soon after.

You were stood at the other side of your desk, straightening some papers for whoever you would be meeting with later on to look at. Facing away from him, it allowed Bob the perfect opportunity to sidle up directly behind you.

He felt you freeze, but when his hands settled on the desk and you recognised the callouses on his knuckles, you relaxed slightly, “Bob.”

“Hey.” He replied, his breath smoothing over the skin on your neck. “Sleep well?”

“Not really.” You responded. You had now fully recollected yourself after his sudden appearance, and your tone reflected that, “I was tossing and turning all night. Completely restless.”

Bob hummed, “Why d’ya think that is?”

“No idea.” You spun around, still trapped between him and the desk. Meeting his eyes, you raised a brow, “You’re early.”

“I didn’t want anyone else to be here.”

“Why?”

“I…” He swallowed, “Would it make you feel good…if I touched you?”

“Yes.” You replied, leaning back slightly on the desk, letting one of your feet brush against the side of his leg, “Why? Do you want to?”

“Yes.” He spoke from gritted teeth, eyes on your nose. “But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know if I can.” Bob flickered his gaze around the room, down to where your foot met his ankle, back to your nose, “I haven’t…touched anyone in a while. Well, no. I’ve touched people obviously. Like, I’ve touched Bucky — not like…uh, that. Not that —“

You hooked your finger over his waistband. He stopped talking. “Bob.” You hummed, “Look at me.”

He did, immediately. You tilted your head downever so slightly, “You can touch me wherever you want. As long as I can touch you too?”

He nodded, “Y—Yes. Touch me — You can…touch me.”

So you did. Your singular finger over his waistband quickly transitioned into four fingers, sliding around to his back, then up and under his shirt. His skin was soft, and you could feel the thin tufts of hair that dotted his lower back. Bob shivered, watching your arms move around him.

“You remember when we first met?” You asked, both of your hands now freely exploring his back and chest underneath his shirt. “Bob.”

“Huh? Yes. I—In the meeting room.”

“Right.” Your eyes were glued to his face, even though he was pointedly staring at the tent in his shirt from where your fingertips were resting gently underneath. “That was a long day. I remember, ‘cos after fourteen hours at work all I wanted to do was sleep but I couldn’t because I kept thinking about you.”

You felt something twitch within you when his eyes finally snapped to yours, “What?”

You grinned, “I felt really bad about it but I couldn’t stop. Valentina would be briefing me on something important and I’d be in the clouds, imagining you doing all sorts of things to me.”

Your hands left his body, instead moving to his own, grabbing them and guiding them to your blouse. They went to work on your buttons without hesitation: Bob was so focused on your face, on what you were saying, that you could’ve put his finger up to his own mouth and he’d probably suck it without thinking.

Hm. Maybe you’d get him to do that one day.

“I started to lose track of what I needed to do because I was so distracted with all my fantasies.” Satisfied with his compliance, you leant back on your palms and let him unbutton your shirt as he listened to you. Maybe he didn’t even realise he was doing it, maybe he was doing it out of pure instinct because that’s just how much he wanted to. “Maybe now that they’re being fulfilled I can go back to working properly.”

“Don’t.” He said then, brows furrowing as if what you had suggested was just insanely absurd. He pushed your blouse off your shoulders, and you let it fall behind you onto the desk, “Keep imagining.”

You pushed yourself up to sit on the desk then slipped your hands out of the discarded sleeves, “Okay. As long as you keep watching.”

“Okay.” He nodded, staring at you. Waiting for his next instruction.

“C’mere.” Was your final murmur. Then, you were kissing him. And he was a little unsure, but the second his lips warmed with the temperature of yours, he was melting into you.

Bob didn’t need you to guide him then. He had all of his want in its purest form pushing him all around you — palms on your legs, your waist, your hips. He pressed himself hard into the edge of the desk just to get as close to you as possible. Now he had full permission, he was like a feral dog that ate his food too quickly, mouth watering around yours and hands pressing your face hard against his when he felt like he just wasn’t close enough.

You lapped it all up. Your heels dropped carelessly to the carpet, and you let your stocking-clad feet guide themselves up and around his lower body. You dug your heel into his ass, his crotch pressed against yours.

The feeling was sensational — you bucked your hips and let your skirt bunch around your waist. You curled your hands into fists around his shirt. Bob was all in a state, pulling one of your knees up so your leg bent and your foot rested on the desk, all for easier access to that sweet spot between your thighs. Hidden under a pair of tights and panties, but he was close enough for now.

Your movements were sloppy. They were messy. They were completely filthy. But neither of you had the strength to ever stop. Not when you were so so close…

Papers on your desk crumpled, the pot of pens toppled to the ground. You were gasping helplessly into each other's mouths while you dry humped carelessly on top of the nest mahogany, Bob's hair was tangled between your fingers and the skin of your back was caught in his death grip while you chased your respective highs.

That release, that snapping of elastic that had you both convulsing helplessly against each other, arrived in such a fashion that neither of you could prepare for. Your head fell back, and Bob followed the path of your neck with his mouth while he stuttered between your hips. Even though your orgasm had already torn through you, the warmth that spread from his trousers made you want to rub yourself up on him for the rest of the day.

But you knew this office like clockwork. So you didn’t. Instead, you peeled yourself away from him and hopped to your feet. You straightened your clothes up, fixed your hair in the reflection of the glass that your office was made of, and turned back to him.

He was standing in the middle of the room, catching his breath, eyes shut. You bit your lip, eyeing the dark wet patch on his sweatpants, and said his name, “Bob.”

He looked at you. For a second, he was silent. Then, “Is that it? Are we done now? Do I have to stop looking at you now that we’ve done that because I really don’t think I can and also I really don’t want to.”

“Bob.”

“What?” He whined. He actually whined.

“We’re not done.” You grinned only barely, watching the sparkle in his eyes brighten. “But you gotta go.”

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you. Confused, as if there was anything else in the world that could possibly matter more than him feeling you up in your office.

“It’s nearly nine.” You flickered your gaze to the empty floor outside only for a second, “Everyone’s gonna be here soon. I gotta do my job. You gotta go.”

“Okay.” He nodded, now realising that if he stayed any longer, the entire admin staff would see him with cum-stained sweatpants on. He looked down at it, now slightly embarrassed at himself.

“It’s alright. I got one too.” You winked.

Bob chuckled. He stared at you. His hand twitched, wanting to feel you again.

But he didn’t. At least, not for now. For now, he’d go back to his room and shower. Thinking about you the entire time. And you would sit calmly behind your desk, meet with Bucky about some boring admin stuff, and pretend as if you weren’t pressing your legs together thinking about Bob the entire time.

Then, when Bucky would leave your office, he’d make the same face at Bob as he would every day when he saw him by the coffee cart. Even though Bob didn’t really need to watch anymore, because now he had full permission to touch. But he’d still watch.

Because Bob loved touching you. But damn, he loved watching you too.

[glenpowelljr]

LEWIS PULLMAN AS ↴ OWEN TAYLOR — THE STARLING GIRL (2023)

[the-shedevil-writes]

Warm (Bob Reynolds x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: Every night, Bob holds you until you fall asleep… and every night, he slips away, afraid the Void might get too close. But when an injury leaves you needing him more than ever, you ask him to stay. Just this once. Just until morning. WORD COUNT: 2.4k WARNINGS: Injury. Hurt/comfort. Lots of fluff and... a kinda sexy massage? NOTES: This is my first Bob Reynolds fic so uhhhh... be nice please MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

They had the same routine almost every night for the first six months of their relationship. The only exception would be if she were out of the country for a mission. And even then, sometimes they’d FaceTime until they fell asleep. After the Thunderbolts had become a public team and moved into the Watchtower, Y/n and Bob were drawn to each other. They were like a pair of stray cats who stuck together through anything and everything. Each with their own baggage, they were able to lean on each other to help lighten the load. Things moved forward pretty quickly, and they started dating. It wasn’t a said ‘You’re my boyfriend now.’ They just sort of… knew. They knew that they belonged to each other.

Their nighttime routine consisted of brushing their teeth together after team dinners. (If they didn’t do it right away, they’d forget and wake up with dry mouths.) They’d go into her room and turn off all the lights except for the lamp on her bedside table, giving the room a cozy, warm glow. And after they climbed into the covers, they’d hold onto each other throughout the night. They’d talk and laugh while telling stories they had never told anyone else before. Sometimes they’d turn on a movie and let themselves get distracted by each other’s touch. 

But it always ended with her fast asleep on his chest, and Bob still awake. He’d gently move her off of him, doing his very best not to wake her. Then he’d trudge down to his own room and sleep. He had developed a fear of his darker half getting to her. He didn’t trust himself enough to know that the Void wouldn’t seep into her while they were asleep. No matter how exhausted he was. No matter how much he just wanted to fall asleep with her arms wrapped around him, he couldn’t do it. The thought of her having to relive her worst memories ate at him. It gnawed at his chest and sent him spiraling. So he’d always get up and make the walk.

She always complained about waking up cold and tried to reassure him that it’d be okay. It got to a point where even if she had to go through the repressed memories again… it honestly would be worth it just to wake up in his warmth. But he always shook his head nervously at the prospect.

It got harder to keep this up after she got injured during a mission in Sokovia. After a decently hard hit from a rifle against her lower back, she was left with nerve damage. It wasn’t something she couldn’t work through. She could still walk and train and complete missions. But she was grumpier lately, and Bob noticed. He always noticed. It was hard not to when she rolled around in bed, struggling to find a position that both included Bob and relieved the shooting pain down her right leg. 

He’d try to leave once her breath steadied like usual, but now instead of staying asleep, she’d whine and cling to him, silently begging him to stay. To stay in the one spot that didn’t hurt. This was the same woman who could easily take on any threat that came her way. The same woman who could knock opponents off their feet and swiftly snap their necks. Yet half asleep, she’d murmur “Don’t go” over and over. How could he? It would take another hour for her to be knocked out enough for him to properly leave. 

It was also impossible not to notice when she walked into the kitchen one morning with a slight limp. She tried to cover it up and walk normally, but it was obvious.

“Morning.” He said, his voice raspy as he sat at the counter with a bowl of cereal in front of him. “You’re limping. Maybe you should tell Valentina that you need a few days off.”

She shook her head insistently. She was too stubborn, and it was the one thing that Bob struggled with. He wished so badly that she would just listen to him when he told her to rest and not train to the point that her feet bled and her fingers swelled. But he also understood that this was her way of coping. Whether it was good or bad, training took her mind off things.

“No. No, I’m fine. I need to get to the gym.” She said, rubbing her tired eyes. It had taken much longer than usual for her to fall asleep, so Bob hadn’t been able to leave until early in the morning. But he didn’t mind.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He asked gently, standing up and walking over to her.

She shook her head again as he wrapped her arms around her. A tired sigh escaped her lungs. She looked up at his kind eyes and brushed some of his messy hair out of his face. “No. I’m all good.” 

That night, she didn’t go to the team dinner, and it felt strange for Bob not to have her by his side. It felt a little emptier without her making fun of Walker or laughing so hard with Alexei that the table shook. 

“Where’s the rest of you?” Walker asked, gesturing to the empty seat, after swallowing some chicken. 

Bob shrugged, cutting into his food. “She’s been dealing with some pain since the last mission.” He nodded awkwardly.

Bucky cut in. “She’s got a herniated disc. Took a stock to the back pretty hard. She’ll be fine in a few weeks, but she’s been training like a madwoman.”

He nodded, confirming what Bucky said to Walker. 

Walker went in to grab another piece of chicken, but Yelena slapped his hand away. “Save some for her. She’s already hurt, and you’re gonna make her starve.” She threatened with a raised brow. She turned to Bob. “Take some to her.” “I already planned on it.” He nodded.

Bob walked to her room straight after dinner with a plate of chicken, rice, and vegetables in his hand. A stock of her favorite chocolate in his pockets that he had to remember to take out before they melted. 

He knocked, and there was no answer. “Y/n? You in there?”

A small groan could be heard, and he took that as an answer. He walked in and shut the door behind him to find her stiffly sprawled in bed with a large heating pad wrapped around her waist. 

“Bob…” She cried, looking over at him. And she felt pathetic, but she couldn’t help it when it felt like someone was running a dagger down from her pelvis to her calf.

The sound of her voice made her heart break. “I got your dinner.” He said, slowly walking over and sitting on the side of the bed. “Oh! Before I forget, I also got your chocolates from the cabinet.” He said, digging in his pockets and putting the wrapped chocolate on the bedside table. 

“I’m not hungry.” She said softly.

He sighed and reached over, brushing her hair out of her face. “But you’ve been training all day.” He pointed out. 

She nodded with hazy eyes. “My leg hurts.” She said softly. 

He leaned over and kissed her forehead, worried about shifting the bed too much. “I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart…”

Reaching out her arms, he took that as permission to place the plate on the bedside table and climb onto the bed next to her. She quickly took the heating pad off. Between the two of them, that would’ve been unbearable. Especially considering Bob ran hot and acted as her own personal heater most nights anyway. 

He lay on his back, and she winced as she threw her leg over his waist, wrapping her arms around him. 

“Where does it hurt?” He whispered.

She took his hand and led it to the back of her thigh, right above the back of her knee. “It hurts in my lower back, but this is where it hurts the most.” She nodded against his chest.

He gently pressed, and she let out a groan and gripped onto his sweater. He quickly retreated, but she shook her head, returning his hand back to where it was.

“No, no- please do. It helps it feel better.” She said softly, looking up at him and his worried blue eyes, “Please.”

He nodded and gently rubbed circles against that part of her leg, and she cried out, but sighed in relief when he stopped a few seconds later. He did it again, and the tension in her shoulders dissipated. 

It made sense now, and he gently moved his hand up to her back. “Right here?” He asked, and she shook her head. His hand was just a little too high. He lowered it and pressed again, and she gasped into his chest as the spot ignited a fire through her nerves. “There it is.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.” He whispered softly into the crown of her hair.

After a few more places of massage, he moved his hand away, not wanting to hurt her too much. He instead just held onto her thigh and rubbed his thumb back and forth. 

“Bob… will you stay tonight?” She asked, looking up at him, and she immediately saw the fear and hesitation cross his face. “Please. I’m not scared.” 

“I am.” He replied. “I don’t want to hurt you.” She shook her head. “You won’t. We’ve escaped the Void before, and we can do it again.” She reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. “It might not even happen in the first place.” 

He knew that. But looking down at her, she was already so vulnerable. He worried about what could happen. 

“But what if it does?” 

She smiled up at him, and it was like all his tensions melted away for a moment. “We figure out how to wake up, and we go back to sleep.” She reached behind his head and scratched the back of his long brown locks. He groaned at the sensation.

“You’re making this really hard.” He let out a nervous chuckle. 

“Then make it easy.” She whispered before pulling him in for a kiss. 

They had been dating already for over six months, and yet, every time she kissed him, it felt like the first time. The electricity she sent through him was borderline supernatural, yet she had no powers. Somehow, this human girl made this super soldier completely weak in the knees. 

After pulling away, he pulled her close to his chest. “Okay. Okay, I’ll try.” He said, resting his chin on the top of his head.

Eventually, he was able to get her to eat, and they did their typical routine. Brush teeth. Cozy lamp on. Holding onto each other. Winnie the Pooh played on the TV, and the bear's soft voice was lulling them both to sleep. It had been a long day for her, and Bob hadn’t exactly been getting the best sleep lately. 

Out of habit, he started forcing himself awake. When he’d nod off, his head would jolt up, paying attention to the movie again. She looked up at him and chuckled. The movie was a purposeful play on her part. The most relaxing choice possible, and she gently started tracing his chest through his sweater.

“You can sleep, baby.” She said softly, her eyes half-lidded herself. “You’ll be okay.”

He chuckled, exhausted, and rubbed his eye with the edge of his palm. “You know it’s not me I’m worried about.” 

She nodded. “I’ll be okay. We’re gonna be just fine.” She reassured, nuzzling her head against his chest. Her leg hurt, but he had his firm hand wrapped around the back of her thigh. The comforting feeling of it distracted her just enough to relax. 

He slowly nodded and finally let his eyes flutter closed. She took the time to watch him. It was rare to get to watch him sleep while they held each other. It felt like months of built-up begging and asking had finally succumbed. She smiled to herself victoriously and closed her eyes. Letting the sounds of Winnie the Pooh and Bob’s deep breathing lull her to sleep.

He didn’t mean to wake up slightly startled. His head jolted as if he had nodded off in class, or if he had fallen asleep somewhere he wasn’t supposed to. But Y/n’s small groan made him remember where he was. And as the sun streamed through peeks in the curtains, he sighed in relief. No Void. No shame rooms. 

“Morning, baby.” She groaned, not even opening her eyes.

He chuckled and rubbed her back. “Sorry about that.” He murmured, and she shook her head.

“It’s so nice.” She hummed with her cheek pressed up against his chest, smushing her face. “I’m so happy.”

A smile appeared on his face. She had been so upset and in so much pain lately. To see her smile made him feel like he had achieved something. Even if it took facing his anxiety, he was proud to have stuck it out just for her. 

“How’s your leg?” He asked.

“Still bad. But… I think I’m gonna sleep in today.” She said with a small knowing smirk on her face. 

Y/n? Skip training? Unheard of. But this was the first time that Bob had stuck through the night. She wasn’t gonna let him go anywhere.

He looked at her with widened eyes. “You’re… gonna miss training?” He asked. It didn’t even feel right to ask.

She nodded against his chest. “Mmhmmm.”

He lay back, completely relaxed now. There was nothing to worry about. She was right there in his arms, finally getting the rest she needed. 

“So if I send a text to the group chat with Valentina saying you’re recovering…”

She smiled, now fluttering her eyes open just to close again. “I’ll be sleeping right here on your chest.”

He shrugged sleepily and reached for his phone. 

BOB: Hey, Y/n’s back is still messed up from the mission. She’s skipping training today.

VALENTINA: Sounds good.

BUCKY: Finally.

And it was as simple as that. He carefully reached to put his phone back on the nightstand and leaned his head back. Her breathing was already steadying as she drifted off again. Closing his eyes, he had a much more confirmed feeling that everything was gonna be okay if he fell asleep. 

[em1i2a3]

Cherry Waves

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/Sentry x Avengers!Fem!Reader

Summary: You’ve been sick for a few days, so while the rest of the team goes out to do a recon mission, you’re on your own watching over Bob. One morning he comes to your room with a weird request.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Minor Spoilers for Thunderbolts! Fluff, Mentions of low self-esteem/ self-deprecation, Smut

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (Y’all…You know the drill…Protect yourselves lol), Some hair pulling (very light hair pulling), Reader is being a little bit dominant (if you squint), Bob is being a softie (and it’s hot as shit), Fingering, Squirting, Teasing, Biting, and Some marks are left.

Author's Note: Had this boy lined up and really wanted to post it. Loved the little hint that Bob was not liking the blonde that Sentry had lol so this is definitely something that would probably have happened if he didn’t return back to normal in the movie 😅Also, y’all are awesome and I appreciate you guys for enjoying my little blurbs!❤️ Thank you.

Word Count: 14,094

You were buried under layers of sweat and crumpled tissues when the knock came against your bedroom door.

Three soft taps.

So quiet, they could’ve been the compound settling. It was hesitant–polite almost. It was the kind of knock someone does when they’re not sure if they’re allowed to be asking for anything at all.

You barely stirred in your bed. The flu had you pinned to the mattress like a paper doll, aching and clammy and convinced the walls were breathing in sync with you. Hallucinations had become your new roommates–so when you heard the knock, you assumed it was just one of them, wandering through your mind again.

But then came a fourth tap. Just one. Sharp enough to make your headache throb like it was answering.

”Y/N…It’s Bob…Can I come in?” You winced at the sound of his voice, even though it was always super gentle and timid.

Bob.

Of course it was Bob.

You’d almost forgotten in the haze of your sickness that you were technically on Bob duty. Because apparently being half-dead with the flu made you the least threatening option to keep an eye on the world’s most powerful man while the rest of the team went on recon. Bucky had said it so casually, like the fate of the planet couldn’t possibly unravel while you were tucked under three blankets with a thermometer hanging out of your mouth.

“All you gotta do is check in on him every hour or so,” He’d told you. “Make sure he eats. Make sure he’s not spiraling, and doing something to keep himself occupied. Y’know. Normal people stuff.”

It had been simple, at first. When the worst symptoms you were experiencing was a runny nose and a dull headache, you’d shuffle past Bob every so often with a thumbs up and a mumbled “You good?” While he nodded earnestly over his book, asking you the same thing back.

But once you started coughing so hard you felt like your ribs were breaking, and the chills that you were experiencing gave way to night sweats and dry heaving, keeping tabs on Bob Reynolds fell hard to the bottom of your to-do list–somewhere below “don’t die” and “get a new tissue”.

“…It’s open,” You rasped, your voice raw and thin from all the coughing you had been doing.

The doorknob turned slowly, like he was still asking permission even after you gave it. Then Bob stepped inside with that careful kind of energy that people only reserved for hospital rooms or museums–like one wrong step might unplug or break something important.

He hovered in between the doorway, not coming too close–being mindful that you had told him a few times to keep his distance because you didn’t want him getting sick, even though it was nearly impossible for him to catch anything. His baggy navy sweater hung off him like a weighted blanket, and the sleeves were stretched over his knuckles, worn from the way he would always pick at the fabric. He looked small in it–even though he was quiet muscular underneath all the layers. His posture was slouched, and his shoulders were drawn up like he was nervous about something. On top of all that though, he was wearing his new wardrobe staple–a dark brown beanie that he shoved his bleach-blonde hair under, he never came out of his room without it.

You stared at his figure through half-lidded eyes, watching as he avoided looking directly at you.

”You okay?” You croaked, reaching up to your face to rub the sleep off your face, attempting to sit up to get a better look at him. He glanced over at you, nodding quickly.

”Yeah. Of course…I mean…I’m good, I just…” He trailed off, the sentence losing momentum halfway through as his gaze drifted around the room.

He wasn’t just avoiding your eyes anymore, it was like his attention had been dragged elsewhere–behind you, beside you, and all around you. His brows twitched slightly as he took in your space for the first time, and slowly you connected the dots that Bob had never actually been inside your room before– the first time was always an experience for people who didn’t know you were a secret collector of everything.

His eyes swept over the cluttered desk in the corner that sported wires, pliers, circuit boards and half built gadgets, before going to the large overstuffed bookshelf beside it, which was packed tight with thrifted novels and comic books that were still in their original plastic sleeves. There was a milk crate of vinyls on the floor near your speaker, with the old record player you insisted on fixing instead of replacing, even though you would complain every few days about it.

There was a flicker in his expression–surprise, maybe. Or something quieter, like he’d just stumbled into a part of you that he didn’t expect to find. You saw it in the way his jaw went still and the way his shoulders shifted slightly, like he was dying to ask you questions about everything you had, but he was holding himself back.

”…Bob,” You said hoarsely, trying to draw his attention back to you. He didn’t blink, his eyes were fixated on something in the far corner where your posters were. You reached your hand up over your head, waving slightly, and snapping your fingers, “Earth to Bob. Are you sure everything’s okay?” He shook himself out of his trance, and glanced over at you.

”Sorry…Sorry,” He said quickly, his voice a little higher than usual, as he cleared his throat, “Didn’t mean to, uh…Y’know, snoop or anything. I’ve just never seen your room before, you’ve got a lot of cool stuff.” You raised your eyebrows at him with a small smile on your face.

”You’re lucky I feel like death. Otherwise I’d be giving you the grand tour right now…I also include a quiz at the end.” Bob let out a nervous laugh and looked down, picking at the loose thread on his sleeve.

“I’d definitely fail…So I’m kind of glad…Well I’m not glad you’re sick, I’m just glad I don’t have to do a quiz.” Your lips twitched, amused despite the ache that was still clawing at your skull.

”Very smooth recovery Bob, very smooth.” Bob made a quiet noise–somewhere between a breathy laugh and a groan–keeping his eyes pinned to the floor as his cheeks turned a soft pink. You pushed yourself up a little more than before, elbows trembling from the effort of holding yourself up.

”So…What’s going on? Why’d you knock on my door at…” You paused, glancing over at your alarm clock, “Seven fifty three in the morning?” Bob sighed.

”Well…I need to go to the drug store,” He admitted, his voice sheepish, “And I know Bucky’s not really a fan of me going out alone so…Thought I’d ask my babysitter.” You squinted at him through your blurred vision, feeling the room tilt slightly, as you brought your hand up to your face, pressing gently at your temples.

”Are you getting sick or something?” He immediately shook his head.

”No, no it’s nothing like that. I haven’t really gotten sick since I took the Sentry serum…” You quirked your brow at him.

”So…What’s the reason for the drug store trip then?” Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the floor creaking under him loudly as he did so.

“I um…I need to buy something. For myself.” He responded, dancing around the truth. You stared at him.

”Is it serious?”

”No,” He said quickly, “It’s not like…Health-serious or anything, I’m fine physically, I just…” He paused, clamming up again, not knowing how to explain himself. You narrowed your eyes at him, coughing into your arm, clutching your ribs when a dull ache pulsed through the area.

”You do realize I’m gonna find out anyway if I go with you , right?” Bob sighed and dragged his hand down the side of his face, like he was physically wiping the resistance off of himself, letting his hand drop down to the hem of his sweater.

”Fine…Fine…I need to buy…Hair dye.” He mumbled under his breath. You tilted your head slightly, blinking through the fevered haze that clouded your vision.

”Hair dye?” Bob winced at the way the words left your mouth, even though you didn’t mean for it to sound like you were judging him.

”Mhm…” You stared at him for a second longer than he could handle, as his eyes began to wander again, his hands wringing the fabric of his shirt, wrinkling it.

“You woke me up at seven-fifty-three in the morning…For hair dye?” You asked again, trying to confirm what you were hearing once more, hoping that you weren’t experiencing an odd version of delirium at this point.

”It’s not just–“ He started, then shut his mouth again, biting the inside of his cheek, shaking his head, “I mean…It is…But I just…” The sentence fell apart in his throat, as his cheeks began to heat up. He looked genuinely embarrassed, and you could see himself curling even more into his sweater, “I just don’t like what it looks like anymore.” There was something raw about the way he said it, and you couldn’t help but feel empathy for him, your heart clenching at the way his words cracked in the air.

“The bleach… The whole look,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor, “It was for him. For the Sentry. That’s what they said, anyway– they said that it would help. That it would make people see someone new. Something brighter…Like it would somehow separate us…But I still have to live in this body when he’s not around.” Bob continued, his throat swelling with a lump, “I still have to see myself…And the longer I look like him, the harder it is to remember who I am when I’m just…Bob.” You didn’t say anything at first–not because you didn’t want to, but because there was something about the way he was talking about himself that made your chest cave in a little. The words hung in the air like mist, as he bowed his head even lower, keeping his eyes on the floor, not daring to look at you or anything else in the room.

“It’s not stupid.” You could see his hands stop moving at your words, watching his eyes glance up at you hesitantly. You gave him a tired but sincere look, hoping that it was enough for him to understand that what you were saying was coming from a place of care, “Wanting to see yourself again isn’t stupid Bob…It’s just you trying to cling to the one thing you have control of…I get it.” His mouth parted, like he was going to thank you, but no sound came out. He was relieved that someone was finally understanding what he meant, it was like he had been running around talking to walls when he would speak about how he was feeling, but with you in this moment…It was like he felt seen.

”So I’ll help…But I need to see what we’re working with first.” You added, motioning to his head. Bob looked like a deer in the headlights when you said it, caught off guard by your suggestion, but also scared to even follow through with it.

”W-What?” You sighed.

”That hat Bob…Just take it off…I haven’t seen your hair since we moved you in here and you’ve been hiding it like it’s some sort of radioactive test subject.” He felt his heart gallop in his chest a little bit, as the nerves began to build up in him.

”I-I really don’t think that’s necessary,” He stammered, already figuring out a way to retreat out of the conversation, eyeing the hallway that was in the far corner of his vision.

”Bob, you dragged me out of a flu coma to ask me for help…So let me help you…Let me see it.” The gentleness in your voice was always something that got to him. Even on your toughest days you would use that tone with him, and for some reason it was the only thing that truly had him melting like putty in your hands.

You could see the conflict playing out within him, like he was weighing out the risks, until a look of resolve appeared on his face, a small sigh escaping his lips as he gave in to your request.

Bob’s fingers trembled as he slipped them beneath the edge of his beanie, hesitating for a second before slowly tugging it off his head. The static cling made the knit fabric resist him just a little, like even the hat itself didn’t want to let go of the safety it provided him.

The moment it came off, a curtain of hair fell across his face. You blinked through your fevered haze, eyes widening slightly–not in shock, but in recognition. His hair was longer than you remembered–shaggy, uneven, the ends fried from months of bleach. The top was still harshly pale, the yellow-white of it stark under the low morning light, but underneath, near the roots, his real hair was coming back in–soft, and light brown, just like you recalled from the brief glimpses you got of him before it all got changed. But the line where bleach met natural color was harsh and jarring, cutting across his scalp like a bad decision frozen in time.

He looked like someone in between versions of himself, not quite Bob, not quite Sentry–just…Stuck. You studied him for a moment, your body heavy with exhaustion but your chest buzzing with quiet sympathy. There was something so tender about the way he stood there, hair falling into his eyes, his beanie clutched in his hands like a comfort object. He looked younger somehow. Not in age, but in vulnerability–like this was the version of himself that never got the chance to just be soft and carefree.

“It’s not that bad,” You started, the rasp still thick in your throat, “Really. It just needs some love, patience…Maybe a deep condition…And the right shade of brown.” Bob’s head immediately shot up to look at you, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying.

”S-So you’re actually going to help? Y-You didn’t just try to trick me into showing you my hair right?” You shifted yourself down to the edge of your mattress, groaning at the way your bones protested and pulsed with each movement.

”No I didn’t try to trick you… I’m going to help, but first, I’m gonna need you to come here and make sure I don’t fall, because I think my legs are going to wiggle like they’re made of jelly.” For a split second Bob wasn’t sure if you were serious or not about needing actual help, but he moved anyway, shuffling towards you with his socked feet sliding across the floor. He opened his arms hesitantly, elbows bending like he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to go, offering himself up into your space.

”Alright…Whenever you’re ready I g-guess.” He said softly, his voice cracking a bit on the ‘guess’ like he was more nervous about touching or dropping you than you were about falling on your own.

Your hands found his forearms instantly, fingers curling into the soft, worn cotton of his sleeves, watching him brace himself. He looped one arm under yours, while steadying the other against your back as you pushed off the mattress, feeling your knees buckling beneath you like a baby deer on ice.

“Woah–woah, okay.” Bob muttered quickly, tightening his arms around you without a second thought. He adjusted himself accordingly, trying his best to be gentle while still being secure enough to hold you upright. You ended up closer than either of you really expected, with his chest pressed against yours, and your cheek inches away from his shoulder.

Despite everything—the fever baking your skin, the chills clinging to your limbs, and the flu that had knocked you down hard enough to rattle the walls—you still smelled…Good.

Bob noticed it the moment you got within his arms reach.

It wasn’t some kind of artificial, pampered scent. It wasn’t perfume or lotion or anything curated. No, it was just you–fresh soap, soft worn cotton, and that barely-there trace of eucalyptus from the body wash and shampoo combo you swore by. He heard you muttering something about it being the only thing strong enough to trick your sinuses into opening, and Bob had thought it was actually going to work because the sniff you gave him from the bottle made him have a sneezing fit, but he heard your frustrated grunt in the shower when it had not been the case.

”You alright Bob?” You asked, feeling the tension in his body against yours. He let out a short breath, which fanned across the crown of your head. He didn’t say anything right away, he just gave you a quick nod.

”Yeah, yeah I’m okay.” You could feel how careful he was being, feeling his arms flexing around you, not too tight, and not too loose. He was warm, and steady, while trying so hard not to be in the way, even though you requested his help. You couldn’t help but think about how strangely nice it was to be close to him, despite the situation.

You stood like that for another moment longer, your body leaning against his, the rhythm of your fevered breathing matching the rise and fall of his chest. Even through the blocked sinuses you had you could smell his laundry detergent on his sweater–fresh from the dryer, another thing you seemed to like about the moment.

Though you snapped yourself out of your self-induced daze once the floor felt less like a rocking ship beneath your feet. You pulled back just enough to glance up at him.

”You can let go now,” You whispered, startling Bob with the cue. Quickly he stepped back, like he just realized he was touching a hot stove or something, trying not to seem like he had been enjoying the odd moment of closeness. Despite the warmth of his body leaving yours, his hands still hovered around you just in case.

”I’m good,” You reassured, wobbling slightly but managing to keep yourself upright, “Just give me a few minutes to brush my teeth and get my bearings so I don’t scare the public by looking like a corpse.” Bob nodded immediately.

”Yeah, of course, I’ll just…I’ll wait in the hallway. There’s no rush or anything, uh…Just take your time. Seriously, I mean it.” He said, backing away while he clutched his beanie in his hand, “Just call me if you need anything.” He added, slipping out of your room and pulling the door shut behind him.

The moment he was gone, you sat back down on the edge of the bed with a slow, rattling breath. God. Your whole body felt like it had been microwaved–sweaty, sore, and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes for a second, trying to reboot your nervous system. Not just from the fever, but from how close Bob had been. How soft he’d been. How good it had felt to be held with such warmth and gentleness even if it was for a fleeting moment.

You let out a sigh, before getting up again, dragging yourself into the ensuite bathroom you shared with Yelena, flicking on the bright fluorescent light. You let out a hiss, catching your reflection in the mirror. Surprisingly, the damage was minimal, sure your hair was an absolute mess from spending the night tossing and turning, but you looked half-awake at least.

Quickly, you got yourself ready, brushing your teeth, splashing some water on your face, fixing up your hair, and changing into a fresh set of clothes. By the time you were done, only fifteen minutes had passed–your new personal best. You cracked the door to your bedroom open, finding Bob sitting on the floor waiting with his back against the wall and knees drawn up. He looked up quickly when he heard the creak, and gave you a soft smile.

“Let’s get outta here.”

——————

Twenty minutes later, you found yourselves shoulder to shoulder in front of the painfully fluorescent wall of boxed hair dye in your local CVS.

It was still early, so thankfully not a lot of people were in the store. You actually thought that it was just you and Bob who were customers and the rest of the people there were employees and managers. On the overhead speakers there was a faint crackle of old 2000s music groaning throughout the store. The air smelled like plastic and dryer sheets, which was an odd mix for a drugstore of all places.

Bob stood stiffly beside you, his hands jammed into the front pocket of his jacket, eyes wide as he took in the absurd variety of brands and colours in front of him. His mouth was parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t decide on what panic stricken sentence he was going to go with. So you spoke first.

“Well…We know what row we need to look at.” You said, motioning toward the more natural leaning colours–rows of caramel, ash, chestnut, and espresso–pushing the cart gently in that direction as Bob trailed behind you like a nervous shadow. Your eyes scanned over the various boxes and brands, trying to find ones that would do minimum damage to his hair while actually doing the job.

“I didn’t think it was going to be so complicated…” He murmured from behind you, “I just thought there would be straight forward choices…” You looked up from the boxes, seeing the way his jaw was clenched.

”It’s just overwhelming because all the companies who make this stuff create different versions of the same thing. See…” You pointed at one box “This one is ammonia free, and is semi-permanent,” Then pointed to the other one right beside it,”While this one is permanent and has argan oil infused in it so it doesn’t do a lot of damage, but they’re the same colour.” Bob squinted at the wall of labels, then back to the boxes you had motioned to, visibly confused, shaking his head.

“Alright…But what if I just want…Normal dye?” You looked up at him, one brow arching in mild amusement.

”Bob…This is normal dye.” He turned a sharp shade of red, as the heat rose to his cheeks, taking over the paleness.

“W-Well yeah but–but you know what I mean don’t you? It doesn’t have to be so complicated, just have one of every colour.” You let out a small laugh.

”Welcome to the wonderful world of capitalism, Bob. You want brown? Well, first you gotta pick from thirty-seven kinds of brown. Do you want cocoa chestnut or honey almond toast? Because those are apparently different.” Bob took his hand out of his pocket, rubbing the back of his neck.

”Okay…I guess you’re right.” He replied nervously.

”We’ll find your colour, I promise.” You said calmly, continuing to look over the boxes in front of you.

“Should I, uh…Take my hat off? Would that help?” You tilted your head at him, and nodded.

”It would definitely make this a much quicker process…But if it really bothers you, I’m pretty sure I could go off of memory.” Bob shrugged a little, his eyes flicking around the store for a moment.

”I don’t mind, it’s basically just us in here anyway.” You nodded, watching him remove the beanie again, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. He tried to not make a big deal out of it, but you could tell he felt exposed, so you were going to attempt to make things quick.

”Alright,” You said, stepping a little closer to him, grabbing a few boxes from the shelf, “Bend down a bit, I need to get a good look at the roots so I can compare.” He obeyed, ducking his head so you could see the top of his hair properly. In doing so, he stepped closer than you expected—closer than he expected, probably. Your foreheads were nearly aligned, noses maybe a breath apart. He was tall enough that you had to tilt your chin slightly to get the right angle, and Bob found himself frozen there, inches from you, not sure where to look. So, he looked at you.

You smelled like cherry cough drops–sickly sweet and medicinal—and it hit him instantly, like a quiet little exhale in the space between you. He remembered the moment you popped one into your mouth earlier, halfway to CVS, saying it was the only thing keeping your throat from giving out. And now the scent lingered on your breath, mingling with the warmth of your skin and the faint trace of eucalyptus from before. Bob swore his brain short-circuited for a second.

You were focused, eyes narrowing slightly, as you held one box up beside his roots, then another. Your fingers brushed through the longer strands near his crown, gently separating pieces to get a clearer view of where the bleach ended and his real colour began. You were so precise about it, so tender, and Bob didn’t know where to put his hands or how to keep breathing without accidentally inhaling you.

Then you paused, lips turning up as you caught the way his chest rose a little faster, how his fingers curled and uncurled in his sleeves

A soft rattling sound reached your ears then–the kind of nervous, involuntary vibration that sometimes came from him when he was overwhelmed. You smirked slightly, brushing your thumb against his temple on purpose as you pushed a few more strands aside.

“Is the Sentry getting a bit flustered?” You teased, your voice still raspy from the flu but still playful. “Or is that just you rattling like a soda can?”

Bob made a noise–half sigh, half laugh–ducking his head a little more like it would hide the warmth that continued to spread over his skin, all the way down his neck. “It’s definitely just me. He’s, uh…He’s fine.”

“Good,” You hummed, still close, eyes flicking between the swatch and his roots. “Because I don’t think he’d let me manhandle his hair like this.”

“You’re not…Manhandling anything,” He mumbled, trying to cover up the wavering tone. “Feels…Kinda nice, actually.” You paused at that comment, your eyes glancing down to his, seeing little glints of sparkling orange through the sea blue that his irises normally sported. For a second, neither of you said anything. The store had faded by that point and all that was left was the faint scent of cherry and the feel of your fingers still resting lightly in his hair.

“…This is your shade,” You said finally, voice soft, motioning to the box in your hand. He didn’t move at first, it was as if his brain hadn’t caught up to the moment yet, or his ears were ringing so much he didn’t hear what you had said. Then you shifted your weight, easing back slightly, giving him some space as you cleared your throat, dropping the box into the cart with a clunk. He quickly slipped the beanie back on, shoving his hair up into it, sealing away the moment beneath it.

“Now we need to get you one of those conditioning treatments, and after that I’m grabbing some snacks, cause I’m getting hungry.” He looked away from you, nodding.

”Yeah, okay…Conditioner and snack. Got it.” You glanced up at him, seeing the way he was avoiding you eyes again, before turning back to the cart, pushing it down the aisle with him following close behind. You turned into the next section without fanfare–the shampoo and conditioner area–and skimmed over a wide array of labels until your eyes landed on the exact jar you were looking for: the rich brown packaging, the heavy text that scrawled out all the promises of repairing and restoring.

“This one,” You muttered, reaching up for it and dropping it into the cart with a soft thunk, “Will do miracles for the damage, you’re gonna love it, smells like sweet coconuts.” Bob glanced at the package.

”Does it…Sting?” Your eyebrows drew together.

”Bob…It's conditioner, not acid.” He bit his inner lip.

”No, I-I know, I’m just asking cause when they bleached my hair it really really burned…Then my head was super sensitive for like a whole week after, j-just don’t want to go through that again.” You could hear the way his voice tapered off, like he didn’t really want to talk about it, but he just wanted to let you know.

“I promise this will be way less abrasive.” You said, with a small smile tugging at your lips, nudging the cart forward again, “Now let’s get to that snack aisle before my stomach eats itself.” Bob chuckled softly at your words, following you again as you turned into the next section, noticing the sharp fluorescent lights had dimmed just slightly. The sterile smell of the store had completely faded by that point, being replaced with sweet confectionery items; gummy snacks, granola bars, marshmallows, anything you could think of really. You stopped your cart, feeling Bob’s chest bump into your back, as your eyes began to skim over the shelves, squinting at the shimmering bags, the look of contemplation drawing up into your eyebrows.

“So…What’re you craving?” He asked softly, watching your eyes dart around the wide variety, “Sweet? Salty?” You hummed.

”Might buy the whole aisle to be honest…” He laughed under his breath, the sound quieter than the store’s staticky music, but warmer than anything you’d heard in days.

”Seems like your appetite has come back.” You turned to look at him, letting your body sway slightly toward the cart to brace yourself.

”Yeah, I think the fresh air has put me on the road to recovery…Just don’t touch my lower back…It’s a little sweaty.” There was a beat of silence, before you continued “My stomach might also be trying to fool me into a false sense of security and I’ll end up throwing it all up after I eat it.”

“Well that took a turn…” You shrugged, plucking a bag of sweet chili chips, throwing it mindlessly into the cart.

”I like to keep you on your toes Bob.” You replied with a smirk.

—————-

Back at the compound, you retreated into your room to change, making quick work even though you were feeling a faint headache coming back, but it was more manageable than your prior ones.

You swapped out your clothes for a pair of beat-up black compression shorts and an old t-shirt from your days at training camp–frayed at the collar and speckled with faded bleach stains from when you touched up Yelena’s hair. The crooked letters on the shirt were faded but you could make out the words “I SURVIVED CAMP HAMMOND” on the front of it, a great memory of how long it’s been since you were actually training.

You grabbed your dye bowl and one of the brushes from under your bathroom sink, tucking them against you as you headed down the hall. Your bare feet padded softly against the cool flooring of the compound, reaching the bathroom that Bob shared with Bucky, seeing the door was already cracked open. You gave it a slow push with your knuckles, poking your head in.

Bob stood in the middle of the tiled space like he wasn’t sure where he was going to sit, clutching the CVS bag with both hands, wringing it in his grip, the sound crinkling plastic echoing off the walls. He already had taken off the beanie, fully prepared for what was coming.

“Alright,” You announced as you stepped inside, “Your hair hero has arrived.” Bob looked over at you quickly, his shoulders dropping slightly when he laid eyes on you and your outfit. The tension in him bleeding out of him in small waves.

”You brought your own bowl?” He asked, trying to cover up the fact he was staring at your bare legs for longer than he intended.

“Of course I brought my own bowl,” You replied, holding it up slightly before setting it down on the porcelain counter, “What kind of amateur do you think I am?” You asked jokingly, earning a small smile from Bob, motioning for him to hand you the bag.

You unpacked the contents onto the sinks edge–the dye, the conditioner, the gloves, and a couple of CVS coupons that the cashier had stapled to the receipt.

“Okay,” You said, flipping the box of dye around to double-check the instructions even though you were seasoned enough to know what you were doing without them, “Let’s get you situated hm?” Bob hovered behind you awkwardly, watching your hands move with precise, and practiced ease. You pointed at the closed toilet lid.

”Go sit on the makeshift barber chair, hope you like stiff seats.” You joked, watching him go over to where you pointed, sitting down without protest, seeing the way his long frame compressed itself into the small space. He looked over at you with a soft smile, his hands clasping together, as you slid on a pair of gloves.

“Uh…Just wanted to say thank you for doing this, especially with being sick and everything…I didn’t mean to be a bother.” You cracked open the box of dye, flipping the flaps back and pulling out the developer bottle and aluminum tube of colour, the gloves squeaking slightly as you did so. You opened the cap with a satisfying pop and reached for the dye bowl beside you.

”You’re not a bother Bob.,” You said, glancing over at him as you squeezed the thick brown sludge into the bowl, “I don’t mind.” He blushed a bit at the softness in your voice, letting out a sheepish laugh, nodding before taking his eyes off you, his fingers finding the hem of his sweater.

You turned and flipped the small ceiling fan on, letting it whirl to life with a soft click and hum, it was your little attempt to keep the room from smelling like a chemical spill before you started stirring in the developer with the dye.

It was quiet for a moment–peaceful almost. Just the faint humming of the fan and the soft scrape of the plastic bristles rubbing against the inside of the bowl. Bob’s eyes drifted down toward your shirt absentmindedly, reading the faded words that were scrawled over the fabric that was clinging to your frame.

”What’s…Camp Hammond?” He asked quietly, with genuine curiosity in his voice, as he looked down to his hands. You didn’t look over at him immediately–still focused on making sure the mixture reached that perfect pudding-like texture–but your mouth twitched slightly.

”Did you think I was born with the skills of a mercenary?” You asked, glancing over at him with a teasing glint in your eye, “Hate to burst your bubble, but I wasn’t that cool.” Bob felt his cheeks heat up as it spread to his ears and down his neck.

”So what is it? Like…A boot camp or something?” You shrugged, looking down at the bowl again.

”Kind of. It was a training facility for recruits who showed promise in their assigned roles. I was a teenager when I got scouted, actually. They stuck us in bunk beds and we ran drills at five in the morning. Sometimes we were able to go home to see our families but I spent about three years there just learning the ropes and honing my skills.” He leaned forward a bit.

”Was it…Bad?” You paused the stirring for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek when you heard the way he asked.

”No. Not always. It was intense, but not all of it was horrible. I met my first team there actually, so that should tell you something about the experience.” At the mention of your first team, the conversation had faded, because true to Bob’s nature he was observant enough to catch on that you weren’t going to answer any questions about them. He just nodded, and sat still, with worry tucked beneath his lashes. You cleared your throat, breaking the silence.

”Before I forget–you should probably take that sweater off. This stuff is probably going to stain it and there’s a really low chance you’re going to be able to get it out.” You said, motioning with the brush, “Unless you actually want brown splatters all over it.” You added, seeing him look down at himself.

“Oh…Uh…” He said, curling his fingers into the hem of it, hesitating, “I’m not…Wearing anything under it.” You paused.

”You could go find something you don’t mind ruining, I can wait.” Bob shook his head, not looking at you, avoiding your eyes.

”I don’t really have anything…I wear pretty much all of my clothes, and donate the ones I don’t.” You put your hands on your hips, biting the inner side of your cheek.

”Guess we have a dilemma then.” You said jokingly, looking around the bathroom for a towel–a solution of sorts.

”I mean…I could take it off, I just…Just promise me you won’t laugh.” You stopped your movements immediately, looking back at him, raising your eyebrows.

”Okay. I won’t laugh.” You said, feeling your chest tighten. Bob nodded once, his fingers finally tugging up the hem of the sweater. It caught slightly on the undersides of his arms—he had to peel it upward with a bit of a twist—and then suddenly, it was gone, crumpled in his hands and resting in his lap.

You froze.

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught somewhere in your throat, stalling completely as you took him in.

The heat that burned inside your body hit you like a second fever.

He was…Lean. But solid. Not showy or overly built, but undeniably strong. His chest and shoulders were broad in a way that looked natural. There were fine lines of definition that carved down his sternum and stomach, soft traces of light and shadow where his muscles rested. His skin was fair, with scattered freckles that dotted across his collarbones and shoulders like sunspots. A small scar cut just under his left rib–thin and silvery and healed long ago–and there was a faint stretch of color along his ribs, a faded birthmark maybe, or it was the aftermath from the serum he was given. Tying it all together though were the very very small stretch marks that were scattered around the expanse of skin, which made your brows raise a bit in admiration…

And his arms–Jesus Christ, his arms–were gently corded with strength, biceps not flexed but still clearly shaped beneath smooth skin, dusted with barely-there hair in the hollows of his elbows. The veins on his forearms sat just under the surface, pale blue and almost glowing under the harsh light of the bathroom.

He wasn’t perfect. But you didn’t want perfect. This–this was so much better.

The heat rushed up your neck and onto your cheeks so fast it was like your body had short-circuited, and you were suddenly very aware that your own shirt was threadbare and clinging to your frame. You tried to clear your throat quietly, to ground yourself, but the sound came out shakier than you liked. Bob caught it immediately, and his cheeks went a dark hue of pink. Now you were able to see the pale skin of his chest matching the same colour.

You felt nauseous looking at him, but for all the right reasons. How the hell were you supposed to get close to this man now without passing out? And how the hell was he able to hide this so well from you– Or anybody else for that matter?

“Wow…” Was all you could say, and you didn’t even mean for it to come out of your mouth. Bob’s head tilted up at you, noticing the way your eyes were glued to him like he was some sort of museum exhibit. He clutched the sweater in his lap a little tighter, curling in on himself a bit as if he was trying to hide, looking down at himself.

”Yeah I know…” He muttered, tone awkward and clipped, like he was attempting to defuse the silence before it got worse, “I know it’s bad…The serum kinda…I don’t know made me grow a little too quickly, and-.” You raised your hand to stop him.

”Woah woah…Don’t even go there Bob. I wasn’t saying wow in a bad way.” He looked up at you instantly, his eyes glistening in the lighting, the soft blue still shimmering with those little flecks of orange.

”…You weren’t?” He questioned, his lips parting a bit.

”Bob…You’re built like a fucking house.” You said bluntly, the edge in your voice softening from the next wave of nausea that sloshed in your stomach. Bob made a noise like he was suppressing a laugh, his throat closed a bit.

”That’s…A very generous interpretation, but you don’t have to lie to me…” Your expression twisted slightly, not in offense, but in something rawer than that. It was as if his words scratched at a place in you that was already tender.

”Bob, I’ve never lied to you…And I’m certainly not starting now.” Bob’s lashes fluttered like he was processing your words, like no one had ever said something so plainly true to him in a long time. You could see the way he swallowed hard, almost like he was choking back his words, “You look amazing, and I mean it.” That was when you heard it again–the faint rattling sound, you assumed he was shaking something in one of the cabinets, it didn’t really matter at this point though. He drew in a shaky breath to quiet it, his fingers tightening around the bunched-up sweater.

Then you stepped towards him, taking up the space between his knees. You were close enough to feel the warmth coming off his bare chest, to see the smallest cluster of freckles that laid just beneath his collarbone, and to feel his breath against you. Bob tilted his head up, slow and steady, his eyes finding yours immediately, seeing more orange taking over his irises.

“…You’re really not going to laugh at me?” He asked, almost like he truly couldn’t believe it. You sighed, tucking a piece of bleached hair behind his ear.

”Bob, the only thing I’m going to be doing right now is wondering how I’m supposed to function with you sitting in front of me like this…Does that make you feel any better?” Bob let out a soft, startled breath–almost like a laugh or like he didn’t know what to do with the surge of warmth that spread through his chest.

His hands, still knotted around the sweater in his lap, flexed–then unclenched. The tension there began to melt, bit by bit.

“I…” He started, then stopped. His voice caught, his tongue wetting his bottom lip like he was trying to steady himself. His eyes searching your face, shining under the light “I think that makes it so much worse, actually.”

“Worse?” Bob nodded faintly.

“Yeah…Because now I’m trying really hard not to kiss you...” His voice was barely above a whisper when he said it, and all consideration for the flu you had been battling was thrown to the curb.

The rattling came back. Louder this time. Almost a tremor that ran through his chest–not violent, not dangerous, but charged. Like there was a wire humming under his skin that was just barely holding.

And still, somehow, he smiled.

The kind of smile that only showed up when he was trying to hide how badly he wanted something.

You swallowed. Your hand was still in his hair, fingers brushing at the soft edge of his temple. You could feel his warmth, his nerves, the small, careful gravity that existed between his body and yours. You let your gaze drop to his mouth, just for a second, and then back to his eyes.

“Well,” You said, keeping your voice low and playful, in an attempt to mask your heart beating out of your chest “You’re gonna have to wait until after your hair’s done. I’m not making out with someone mid-dye job–this stuff stains.” You added innocently, a smirk drawing up on your lips. You could hear Bob’s breath catching in his throat at the sheer mention of making out.

”Right, right, of course.” He said, trying to cover up the excitement that bloomed in him.

”Now, be a give boy and stay still, so I can work my magic.” You whispered tilting his chin up even more with your gloved hand.

”Y-Yes, ma’am.” He responded breathlessly, without even thinking–so soft, and so automatic that it made your pulse spike. You cleared your throat a bit before dipping the brush into the bowl, letting the creamy dye coat the bristles, then gently you began to cover the stark blonde lengths of his hair in the dark brown colouring. The scent of it—chemical but faintly sweet—mingled with the warm air drifting down from the little ceiling fan, and you tried to keep your breathing steady as you worked. Bob’s hair was softer than you expected, silken even after all the damage. And the way he tilted his head just slightly to give you better access made your chest ache.

He closed his eyes at the first touch, his jaw going slack as you parted the strands with careful fingers, keeping your brush strokes slow and methodical. You could see his throat move as he swallowed, the faintest tremble still present in his frame–but now it was quiet, more soothed than shaken.

You worked in silence for a little while. It wasn’t awkward—just thick with the kind of tension that lingers when two people are trying not to break a moment that’s humming with too much energy. You kept your movements fluid, coating each section with care, your free hand occasionally grazing the side of his neck or the curve of his temple to steady him.

Bob let out a slow, shaky breath.

“…Can I touch you?”

The question barely made it past his lips. His eyes were still shut, but his lashes fluttered like he wasn’t sure if he should open them yet. You paused, brush hovering midair.

“Touch me?” You asked, like you were confirming what he just said. He nodded, just once.

“Not in a weird way I just–I need to…To do something with my hands.”Your lips parted, the heat returning in full force, knowing that he was probably making an excuse to put his hands on you, to feel you, to take you in, but deep down inside, you didn’t mind one bit.

“Yeah,” You said quietly. “You can touch me.”

The second you said it, you felt his hands move. Slow, careful. The sweater slipped from his lap and landed with a soft thump on the tile floor. Then his palms came to rest on the sides of your thighs, just above the hem of your compression shorts.

They were warm. Gentle. And a bit shaky.

Bob exhaled like the contact untied something in him, his fingers curling lightly around your skin as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to hold you like that. His thumbs swept slow arcs along the fabric, and then you saw it–his bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes still closed like he was savoring every inch of sensation, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath his palms.

You could barely focus on the hair in front of you. Your hands just kept moving, but your entire body was tuned to him–how he sighed when your knee brushed his, how he flexed his hands slightly when your knuckles grazed his cheek. How he chased what little touch he was getting from you.

“You okay down there?” You asked, voice low, and tinged with amusement. His eyes finally opened–heavy-lidded, and flushed with emotion, as his fingers stayed firm on your legs.

“Yeah,” He breathed. “Just…I think this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks.” You couldn’t help but smile at the softness of his voice.

“Well, I’m glad I could contribute to that…Even though now you’re going to have to wait thirty minutes for this to set in.” He wet his bottom lip with his tongue, nibbling on the inside of it, as you placed the empty bowl and stained brush onto the counter, taking off your gloves and letting them drop in the garbage all while staying in the space between his knees. You set a timer for yourself on the speaker radio that was near the conditioner.

“…What could we possibly do to make the time go by faster?” He asked shyly, almost like he already knew the answer, but he just wanted you to initiate it, because he was too nervous to do it himself.

You weren’t going to give in that easily though.

“Oh I’m sure we could think of something.” Allowing your voice to be a bit more breathier than before. He blinked up at you, hopeful and unsure all at once, but he still didn’t say anything, he Just kept holding you like he was afraid that any sudden shift he did would scare you off.

You didn’t move much at first–just enough to lean a fraction closer. Just enough to let your shirt brush his bare chest as you planted your palms on the edge of the shelf behind him, caging him in without pressure, while also being mindful of his dye coated hair. Bob inhaled, and you felt the tremble of it, the way his breath shuddered as your faces moved closer.

You dipped in–slow, and teasing–until your lips were just above his. A hair’s breadth away from connecting.

But then you stopped.

Bob was dazed. His lips parted, breath warm in anticipation, waiting for you to do it…But you just stayed there, close enough for him to swallow the air you breathed out into him, and to smell the faint hint of cherry that was still clinging to your lips from the cough drop.

“…Y/N.” He whispered, his voice almost breaking off into a whimper. You tilted your head with a knowing smirk.

“What?” You asked quietly.

“Y-You know what…You’re driving me crazy…” He tried to lean up but you moved back just enough for him to lose the air you were giving him.

“That’s the point.” You replied, brushing the tip of his nose with yours. His fingers tightened a little on your thighs, but he didn’t move you closer, even though he could’ve. He stayed obedient. Soft. The way he was in his everyday life and you smiled down at him, leaning in again to brush your lips across his bottom one, feeling him shiver against you.

Bob let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering half-shut from the close proximity of your mouth. His palms on your thighs shifted upward, sliding under your baggy top so they could rest against the waistband of your compression shorts, his fingers brushing the skin of your hips.

“…You don’t know what you’re doing to me…God…You have no idea.” He said, his voice aching and on the verge of spilling over into begging.

”I think I have a pretty good idea,” You murmured back, trailing your lips across his again, feeling the wetness of his saliva this time before going to the shell of his ear “You’re the one shaking, Bob.” You whispered, your breath hitting against his skin.

”I’m t-trying my best to be good for you…But you’re making this so hard.” The heat between you curled together, tightening in your belly. You drew back just enough so you could look him in the eyes again. “…You can do whatever you want to me…” He whispered, “Just please…Please don’t stop touching me.” Your breath caught at his word, not just because of the desperation that laced them, but because of the truth that hung below them.

It was the kind of truth people usually only say in the dark, or when they were half-asleep or drunk, but Bob was fully sober, wide-eyed, and trembling beneath your hands as if he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. It was like you were pulling a loose thread from a shirt and it was completely unraveling the whole thing. You stared at him for a long moment.

”…The timer is going to go off in about twenty minutes,” You said softly, “And I think we’re both a little overheated, aren’t we?” Bob’s eyebrows knitted together, almost like he was preparing himself for you to stop this from going any further.

”W–What do you–“

”I think we should take a shower together when the timer goes off,” You interrupted, tilting your head to the side, “That okay with you?” There was a beat of stunned silence. Then a choked little nod, as Bob’s fingers gently pressed into your hips on reflex.

“I’ll rinse out your hair, get the dye out…Then maybe–“ Your voice dropped into a whisper, “–I’ll let you kiss me…Think you can manage to wait?” Bob let out a small broken sound–between a laugh and a groan.

”I-I can try,” He whispered, not even sounding convinced by his own voice.

The next fifteen minutes passed in a kind of suspended quiet. You didn’t step away from him entirely–just retreated enough to clean the brush, rinse out the bowl, organize the conditioner and the towel you’d need for later. But the whole time you felt his eyes on you. And every time you glanced over at him out of the corner of your eye, he was still perched on the makeshift barber chair, elbows on his knees, trying not to look like he was counting the seconds.

With five minutes left on the clock, you went over to the shower and reached in, twisting the handle on the built-in panel. The pipes groaned quietly as the water surged out, spraying onto the shower floor. Within seconds steam was curling out from behind the frosted glass enclosure. The room warmed fast, the mirror fogging slightly at the edges, the air heavy with moisture and the faint scent of developer and dye.

The heat from the shower stuck to your skin as you turned your head back to look at him–still seated, trying to play it cool like he wasn’t about to explode from the anticipation. Bob leaned back against the tank, making room for you without hesitation, his knees parting instinctively like muscle memory, like his body already knew what was coming. You crossed the tiled floor with quiet, deliberate steps, the steam from the shower weaving between you both, making the bathroom feel smaller, more intimate–like the air itself was folding in to watch.

You stepped between his knees again, standing tall in front of him, the light of the ceiling fan casting a warm haze on your skin.

Your hands found his shoulders again, fingertips skating lightly along the curve of them.

“Want to undress me?” You asked, your voice like a secret you were offering just to him. No teasing this time–just heat, thick and warm and sweet in your chest. He exhaled like you punched the breath out of him.

”Y-Yeah, o-of course I do.” He said, barely above a whisper. You took his wrists into your hands, and guided him to the hem of your shirt, giving him the signal to do it.

He took his time with it–not from hesitation but from wanting to tease you back just a little. His knuckles brushed against your stomach as he gathered the worn fabric up, pausing briefly just beneath your ribs, looking up at you just to make sure you were still okay with this. You gave him a nod.

He peeled it up off you, slow and careful, taking in the way the shirt slowly revealed everything he wanted to see in short increments. Your ribs, the soft swell of your breasts, your collarbones, your shoulders, all the way up until he was able to take the shirt off entirely. He let it drop to the floor behind you.

Bob’s gaze dropped before he could stop it, letting his eyes roam over you like he was witnessing something holy–like he wouldn’t blink in case you suddenly vanished. His mouth parted for a moment as he audibly gulped. He was silent, his expression flickering between awe and hunger, tangling up in the open and stunned way he drank you in.

He was memorizing every inch of your skin. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the soft curves and defined edges. Every freckle, birthmark, scar, or stretch of the skin, it was all there in his head, committed like it was a sacred text. You were completely unhidden, and you trustingly offered yourself to him with nothing but openness, and it was breathtaking to him.

“Jesus…” He said quietly, like your body was rewriting something inside him. He reached up and touched the soft skin of your stomach, the tips of his fingers tracing along your navel, before his eyes met yours again, revealing the beautiful haze of blue blurring together with the specks of orange that lived there. You brought your hand up to his face, caressing his cheek carefully, running your thumb just below his eye.

“You’re so beautiful…” You whispered, feeling Bob’s fingers curling beneath the waistband of your shorts.

“And you’re immaculate…” He responded, slowly tugging your shorts down, his eyes never leaving yours as he did it. He just wanted to look at you, to take you in, to hold you close until you didn’t want to be held by him anymore. He wanted you so bad he felt like he was going to explode, and the heat in the washroom wasn’t helping him control that. The shorts dropped around your ankles with a soft flutter, and you stepped out of them slowly, brushing your hand down to his jaw.

“I’ll meet you in the shower,” Your voice was low and soft like a promise. Then you turned, and walked behind the frosted glass, sliding the door shut in one swift movement. Steam swirled around you like a second skin as you stepped fully beneath the stream of water. It hit your scalp first, then your shoulders, pouring down your body in comforting waves. The warmth soaked into your tense muscles and melted along your spine, rinsing away the leftover ache of your fever and the lingering hum of restraint you’d been nursing for the last hour.

From beyond the frosted glass, you saw movement. Bob had gotten up and walked over to the alarm, clicking it off with a single beep–because what was a minute going to do for him. Then you heard the shuffle of bare feet on tile, followed by the soft rustling of clothes dropping. You could see his shadow moving, leaning down then straightening up again, seeing him step out of his sweatpants and his underwear before reaching for the handle.

He slid the door open and stepped into the steam. You could see him squinting at the change in scenery, until his eyes caught yours. Under the dimmed lighting that the shower had you looked ethereal, like a siren calling to him to come closer. You tilted your head at him.

”Remember, we gotta wash your hair out first.” Bob nodded silently, too stunned to speak or protest, and stepped closer to you until he was right against you, letting the water cascade down his body. You reached up without hesitation, brushing your fingers along the slope of his neck as you cupped his jaw gently, feeling the very faint stubble against your fingertips.

”Close your eyes,” You murmured, and he obeyed immediately, trusting you with all of him. You reached for the bottle of shampoo, flipping the cap open with a soft click. The scent was clean, crisp–something like cedar and citrus–and you poured a generous amount into your palm before lathering it between your fingers. He hunched forward slightly to help you because of the height difference, the muscles in his back bunching as he bent, his hands braced loosely on his thighs.

Your fingers found his scalp and began to move, slow and deliberate, massaging through the dye-stiffened strands with practiced ease. His breath hitched at the first touch–soft and barely audible over the rush of water–but he relaxed into you, the tension easing from his shoulders as you worked through his hair, your nails dragging along his scalp gently, sending shivers down his spine despite the warmth of the shower that was smothering him.

He tried to peek down at you through his lashes, but flinched the moment some suds landed on his brow. You caught the twitch of frustration in his mouth and grinned faintly to yourself.

”No peeking,” You teased, your voice low and sultry, “You’ll get soap in your eyes, and that’ll just prolong the process.” You added, with a smirk.

”I-I’m not peeking,” He muttered back, clearly lying.

But while he couldn’t see you, you saw everything.

Your eyes dropped as your fingers moved through his hair, and your gaze caught on the rest of him–completely, gloriously bare under the water’s fall. And it hit you like a weight to the chest.

He was hard. Completely, achingly hard.

It curved upward from between his thighs, thick and flushed and dripping from the spray. Your breath caught in your throat involuntarily. He was…Big. The kind of big that made your pulse thrum deep in your core, the kind that made something flutter behind your ribcage. The kind of big that made you a bit nervous. His thighs were braced, strong and trembling slightly as the water poured down over both of you, and yet he stayed still–eyes closed, waiting, unaware of just how deeply you were watching him.

You swallowed, trying not to stare too long–but your fingers slowed in his hair for just a beat before you lathered more shampoo and brought it back to the roots, working it all through. You focused on your task, rinsing gently, letting the water carry away the suds and the last traces of harsh dye. As the dark rivulets streamed down and swirled at your feet, the natural color beneath began to reveal itself.

The soft brown, the colour that belonged to him, and only him. Not the Sentry.

You smoothed your hands through the damp strands with a smile on your face, and you could feel him relax further at the calmness of your touch.

”There you are,” You whispered, more to yourself than to him, “Back to you…” You could see his brows lift slightly at your words, still not opening his eyes.

”…W-What does it look like?” He asked softly.

”Like it’s all you…It’s perfect Bob…” You responded, seeing his eyes slowly flutter open, the soft blue still burning with those beautiful flecks of orange from the Sentry. When they locked on yours, something in him snapped completely, and he blinked a few times, steadying himself against you.

”…Can I kiss you now?” He whispered, breath catching in his throat.

You nodded.

And the second you did, he surged forward, his hands finding your face like he’d been aching to hold you there for days. His palms were warm and a little shaky, fingers threading gently into the damp strands of your hair as he tilted your head just right. He kissed you like it was the only thing that would quiet the trembling in his chest–deep, and full of the kind of hunger that had nowhere else to go.

His lips parted against yours with a soft sigh, molding to your mouth like he already knew every shape of it. You responded in kind, letting your hands press flat to his chest before sliding up, feeling the slick heat of his skin, the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms. One hand drifted upward to cradle the back of his neck, the other anchoring at his side.

Bob shifted, pulling you flush against him, his hands sliding down to your waist, gripping gently as he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. There was nothing hesitant about it anymore–only quiet desperation, the need to be close, the need to feel you pressed against every inch of him. His thumbs rubbed slow, anchoring circles against your ribs as he kissed you over and over, his breath catching between each one like he couldn’t quite get enough.

You felt your knees wobble when he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, and he steadied you instantly, one hand sliding down to the back of your thigh, coaxing your leg to lift so he could hold you open against him.

You gasped softly into his mouth when he did it–because now you could feel all of him. His length, hot and heavy, brushing between your thighs. But he didn’t push it. He just held you there, breathing hard through his nose as his mouth broke from yours for a second, bumping his forehead with yours.

”I-I have to touch you…Can I p-please touch you?” His words vibrated against your chest, shaky from the kiss he had just pulled away from. Immediately you nodded, drunk off of the way he held you, the way he kissed you so desperately. You were his, and you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

He dropped his hand from your thigh, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he guided you back, each step careful, like he was afraid to rush a single second of this. The warm tile met your spine gently, as the steam curled around your shoulders–like it was dying to be part of the moment too. Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the anticipation tugging at you like a puppet.

Bob’s hand, still curled gently around your hip, gave it one reassuring squeeze before sliding away. The loss of his hand made you let out a desperate sigh, wanting to feel him again. He looked down at you as he brought his fingers up to his lips, his tongue darting out of his mouth to coat the tips of them slowly, not for show, but for purpose. For you. His gaze never dropped from yours as he did it, and when his hand fell again between the both of you, he didn’t hesitate.

His knee eased your thighs apart gently, and then his fingers found your clit. The first contact made your knees buckle slightly, and he caught it, pressing in with his knee to steady you, his free hand braced against the wall beside your head. His touch was gentle at first–soft circles, slow and attentive. You gasped, head tipping back, exposing your throat without thinking.

That was all the invitation Bob needed.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the base of your neck, just where your collarbone met your shoulder. The kiss was wet and open-mouthed, like he needed to taste you and the saltiness of your skin. He breathed in like he could anchor himself in your scent. Another kiss, and another, working up the side of your neck as his fingers circled your clit with more confidence now, slick from the water and his spit, moving with practiced pressure.

”So…So soft,” He whispered into your skin, voice shaking, “So goddamn soft…” Your breath caught as his pace shifted. You could feel your body responding–arching into him, a wet heat building between your legs. You whimpered, and that sound nearly undid him. His teeth grazed your neck but didn’t bite, his lips returning to kiss it better as if he could soothe the tremble in your body.

Then his fingers dipped lower, and he felt it immediately.

You were soaked–slick, warm, and pulsing beneath his touch. His breath hitched at the sensation, at the way your body welcomed him without hesitation. And when he eased two fingers inside of you ever so slowly you gasped, arching into his hand like your body had been waiting for that very moment.

“F-fuck,” You breathed, the word slipping out as your nails found purchase in his shoulders. You clawed at him instinctively, dragging across the muscle there, needing something to anchor you while he pushed them in deeper. He didn’t flinch at the scratch–he moaned. A soft, broken sound that came from the back of his throat like he liked the way it felt, like it made him feel wanted in the most primal sense.

His forehead dropped against your shoulder, his mouth kissing along your collarbone with a tenderness that contrasted the stretch of his fingers inside you. He mouthed at the skin there–kissed it, licked it, sucked until it was sensitive and bruised. He pulled back looking at the little love bites, each one tinged with hunger. Bob wasn’t the possessive type but there was this ache in his chest to mark you as his, and even if the water washed it away, he wanted to be sure he left something on your skin.

“Y-You feel so warm…” He said, his voice fraying at the edges. His fingers curled gently inside you, causing your knees to buckle again. Your body shuddered as the pads of his fingers dragged against that spot inside of you that made your entire frame light up. Bob’s hand moved to your hip, keeping you steady as his other hand worked in smooth, slow thrusts, each one more confident than the last. He found a rhythm, watching you, studying every moan and gasp like it was gospel.

And when you whimpered his name, when your body clenched around him so tight he had to grit his teeth, he gave a quiet, shaky laugh–utterly wrecked by how responsive you were.

“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” he asked, lips brushing your ear, breath heavy and hot. “I can feel it…God, I can feel you squeezing me…”

You nodded, unable to form a word, your nails biting into his shoulders again as your hips rocked against his hand.

Bob adjusted his angle, changing the pressure, and that’s when you saw stars.

Your head dropped forward, forehead against his collarbone, the air thick with steam and the sharp scent of him—clean, masculine, tinged with desperation. His fingers moved faster, wetter, the slick sounds between your legs obscene and perfect, echoing between the tiles. He was muttering praise now—soft, reverent things that fell from his lips like prayers.

“Just like that, baby—so good for me… You’re doing so good—feels like heaven—fuck, I want to see you fall apart…”

You felt it hit like a wave rolling up your spine.

A tight, burning coil of pleasure twisted inside you and then snapped. You gasped—loud, broken, as the climax ripped through you. You trembled, back arching hard into him as your thighs clenched and a rush of wetness gushed out around his fingers.

Bob stilled for a second in awe.

“…Oh my God,” He breathed, stunned, his eyes wide as he held you through it. You collapsed into him, breath heaving, skin flushed and shining under the steam. He kept his fingers buried inside you, not moving, just holding you close, letting you ride it out as you trembled against his chest.

He looked down between you both, seeing the slick mess on his hand, the way your body had responded so violently to him–and his mouth dropped open slightly. Not because of shock, but because of wonder and awe.

”You…You did so good.” He praised, his voice barely holding together under the weight of what he just experienced with you. His lips brushed your temple first, then your cheek, before finally reaching your mouth.

The kiss wasn’t hungry nor urgent, it was adoration in its purest form. His lips moved like they were tasting something he’d only ever imagined–careful and soft, like he was trying not to overwhelm you. He trembled against you, being crushed from everything unspoken between you. His hand was still between your thighs, cradling you like something precious, and you could feel how hard he was, pressed just barely against you, restrained only by the shivering line of self-control that hadn’t yet broken.

When he finally, carefully, slipped his fingers out of you, you let out the tiniest gasp from the absence–but before he could fully draw away, you grabbed his wrist.

He was still in his movements.

Your eyes met his, holding steady as you lifted his hand–and then you took his soaked fingers into your mouth.

Bob made a sound that almost didn’t make it out of him–a soft, wrecked sigh that died at the back of his throat. His lips parted slightly, eyes darkening as he watched you suck him clean, your mouth warm and wet, tongue dragging along the pads of his fingers slowly, like you were claiming every last drop of yourself from his skin.

He could barely breathe.

You kept eye contact the whole time. It wasn’t a power play–it was intimacy. Connection. And it unraveled him.

Once you were done, you let his fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and he dragged them–slow and reverent–down your chin. Then your throat. The hollow of your chest. His fingertips were wet with saliva, and he trailed it down like he was painting you–smearing it across your sternum, over your ribs, and finally down to your hips.

“Y/N…You’re so…So perfect,” He whispered, in disbelief, shaking his head as his hands ran down your waist, going straight to your thighs, before lifting you effortlessly. You let out a soft breath as your legs bracketed around his hips instinctively, your arms wrapping around his shoulders for balance.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the middle of your chest, and his voice came out barely above the noise of the shower

”Do you want to…Still have sex with me?” You looked down at him, caressing the side of his neck.

”Of course I do,” You responded instantly.

Your lips found his right after–soft and sure. You kissed him with everything you had, as if answering his question with your entire body. His breath caught, his hands clutching at your thighs with a startled need, grounding himself in the reality that you weren’t going to vanish, that you really did want this–want him.

As the kiss deepened, you felt one of his hands slowly slide down your thigh, tickling the skin, but this time there was a purpose in his touch. He shifted beneath you slightly, and then you felt it–the soft brush of his tip against you. Hot. Heavy. And trembling in his grasp.

You broke the kiss for just a breath, resting your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering shut as he lined himself up. His hand shook slightly, like he couldn’t believe this was happening. Like he was terrified of getting it wrong. But he didn’t rush. And neither did you.

“I want you,” You said, your breath warm against his mouth. “All of you.” Bob let out a wrecked whimper from his mouth, before kissing you once more.

Then slowly he began to push in, moving his hips gently.

Your mouth parted in a silent gasp, your eyes flying open as your body stretched to take him. It was so much–thick and deep and slow. He paused when he was just a couple inches in, his forehead still pressed to yours, panting.

“Is that okay?” He asked, voice cracking. “I—I can stop if it’s too much…”

You shook your head immediately, curling your fingers into his shoulders, drawing him closer.

“No. Please don’t stop.”

Bob exhaled a breath that shook all the way down to his spine, then kissed you again–slow, sweet–before sinking deeper inside.

You both moaned at the same time, and your tongues met in between the space your mouths made.

It was like he was imprinting himself into every inch of you. His hands gripped your hips with the kind of gentleness that made your chest ache, guiding your body until he was fully seated inside you, hips pressed flush against yours.

“Oh…God.” He whispered, eyes squeezed shut, trembling as he held still. “You’re so…So perfect… I can’t–God–”

You kissed his jaw, whispering against the sensitive skin just beneath his ear. “You’re okay, Bob. You’re doing so good…”

He began to move–shallow at first, rocking his hips into you in slow, reverent strokes. Each one pulled a quiet gasp from your lips. The water cascaded around you both, steam curling at your shoulders as you clung to him, your body humming in time with his.

He found a slow and steady rhythm, thrusting as deep as possible with each movement of his hips.

He kissed you everywhere he could reach–your cheek, your mouth, your jaw, the slope of your shoulder and his praise was neverending. Whispered fragments between kisses and gasps.

“You’re so beautiful…”

“You feel so good around me…”

“I want to make you feel everything…”

Your hands were tangled in his hair, your body arching to meet every thrust, until your forehead was pressed to his again and your breaths mingled in the tight space between you. Each slow movement of his hips sent sparks crawling up your spine and you rocked against him, chasing every moment, trying to keep it from ending too soon.

Bob looked completely undone in front of you though. His mouth open, cheeks flushed, hands gripping your waist like you were his lifeline.

Then his thrusts started to falter.

You felt it in the way he gasped–sharp and helpless–the way his hold on you tightened and his voice pitched higher.

“I—Y/N, I—oh God, I’m—”

You kissed him, hard, your voice hot against his mouth. “It’s okay. Let go. I’ve got you.”

He came with a broken gasp.

The lights flickered.

Just once–flicker, flicker, black–and then back on again. The overhead bulb buzzed faintly, a hum that matched the pulse of his release as his hips jerked forward, holding deep inside you while his whole body tensed. You could feel the warmth filling you in thick ropes, his body instinctively pushing up into you as if he was trying to keep it from spilling out.

And then he went still.

Completely, and utterly still.

He stayed buried in you, face tucked into the crook of your neck, breath hot and ragged as the water pounded softly over your bodies. You felt the way he trembled, felt the heat of his skin and the wild thud of his heart against yours.

He didn’t move for a long time, he just stayed there, clutching you like you were the one thing that was bringing him down slowly.

And then you felt it–the slow exhale against your neck, the soft tremor that followed. His voice came out low, cracked with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry,” he whispered, still breathless. “That was so fast. I didn’t mean to-God, I just couldn’t hold it…”

You pulled back, just enough to see his face, his brows drawn together with worry, his mouth still parted from the weight of what just passed between you. And yet, even flushed and wrecked, he looked beautiful. Lit up from the inside out, like he still couldn’t believe any of this was real.

You shook your head gently and brought your hand up to brush a damp lock of hair off his forehead, tucking it behind his ear with the same tenderness he gave you. “You didn’t finish too fast, Bob.”

He blinked, lips parting like he didn’t believe you.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then whispered against his skin, “You were perfect. I loved every second of it…Because it was with you.” His features softened at your word, that shy smile blooming across his lips, one you felt in your ribs. You saw the glow of it before you felt his body move. He kissed you again, this time gentler, slower–like he wanted to say thank you with his whole mouth.

Then, carefully, he pulled out of you. You both shivered a bit at the sensitivity, and you caught the way his brows knit together, like he didn’t want to stop touching you. But your body welcomed the shift, and your legs dropped from his hips as the moment passed, leaving behind only warmth and steam.

He reached for you instinctively, his hands skimming your waist like he was still trying to keep you close, like he couldn’t quite accept that you were separate again. You smiled at him, brushing your fingers along his jaw, watching the way he leaned into the contact, like it was his oxygen.

”You really like touching me, huh?” You teased lightly, watching his cheeks turn a deeper red, the corners of his mouth curling up shyly.

”…Yeah…I really do.” He admitted. You let out a soft laugh, then looked toward the water still streaming from the showerhead behind him.

“As much as I’d love to stay in here and get all wrinkly,” You said, thumb brushing the hollow of his cheek, “If we don’t rinse off soon, the compound’s water bill is gonna bankrupt Valentina.” Bob let out a breathy laugh, head dropping against your shoulder for a second.

“I guess you’re right, but once we get cleaned up…I want to just lay on the couch with you and hold you for a little while…If that’s okay?” You nodded.

”Of course it’s okay.” You replied, guiding him under the steady stream of water. You each took turns, helping the other wash up. He was gentle when he touched your body as if you hadn’t just taken him completely inside you minutes ago, and he ran his hands over the marks he had made on you, smiling proudly at his work. You matched his care, running soapy fingers down his spine, over his shoulders, through the strands of his newly darkened hair, rinsing the last of the evidence down the drain.

And when the water finally cooled, you stepped out first, digging around the towel closet for a spare. Bob followed right after, grabbing the one that he usually used, with steam rolling off his shoulders, making the air thick and warm as he wrapped the towel around his waist, pausing by the foggy mirror, wiping it off with his hand.

You watched from the side, pulling your towel around you gently, as he lifted his gaze slowly–like he wasn’t sure what would be staring back at him. When he caught his own reflection, something shifted in his expression.

A smile. One of relief. Like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

You stepped behind him, and gently kissed his shoulder, looking at the small little scratch marks you had left on him.

He turned toward you slightly, reached out, and pressed a soft, grateful kiss to your lips–barely more than a breath, but brimming with emotion.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You smiled into him, nose brushing his. “Don’t thank me yet,” You whispered. “I hope you don’t get the flu from all of this.”

He laughed, his eyes shining as he bumped his forehead against yours.

“If I do,” He said, “It’ll be worth every damn minute.”

And then he kissed you again.