Elle

because who you didn’t expect to see was park sunghoon. your ex. right because you both worked in the same business—well, technically. seperate branches, different departments, hardly ever crossing paths.

and yet, there he was. across the room. near the bar. talking to someone you didn’t recognize, dressed in a black suit that fit him too well, his hair perfectly styled like he hadn’t spent the past year out of your life.

you felt your breath hitch slightly, chest tightened as your heart raced.

he looked… the same. annoyingly the same.

and then, as if drawn by the weight of your stare, his eyes found yours.

time paused.

and then he looked away.

you eventually did the same before downing the rest of your glass faster than you should have, sweetness hitting too sharp on your tongue.

“easy there, y/n,” one of your coworkers chuckled lightly beside you, “you alright?”

you forced a smile, waving them off. “yeah,” you pursed your lips. “just celebrating.”

somewhere between your third and fourth glass, the warmth of the wine settled in your chest, making everything feel a little fuzzier, but your emotions, somehow, felt harder to keep in check.

you barely had a moment to collect yourself before you felt someone step up beside you.

“is that… who i think it is?”

jennifer. your closest friend and coworker, the only person who knew the full story. you kept your gaze fixed on your glass, swirling the last bit of wine at the bottom.

“unfortunately.”

“don’t look,” you hissed under your breath, shooting her a quick side-eye. but she only gave you a knowing smile, tilting her head slightly.

“tell him that. he was already looking over here anyway.” she leaned in slightly, “like full-on staring. i thought my lipgloss was smudged or something.”

you sighed. “great. just what i needed tonight.”

“do you want to leave?” she offered, and you shook your head. “no. i’m fine. i’m not going to let him ruin this for me.” — “attagirl,” she smiled, bumping her shoulder against yours. “still… proud of you for coming. i know it’s not easy.”

you let out a quiet laugh. “is that your way of saying i looked like i was gonna bail?”

“a little,” she grinned, not denying it. “but i also knew you wouldn’t. you’re stubborn like that.” you rolled your eyes.

“thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“anytime.” she nudged your arm, giving you a sidelong glance. “you gonna talk to him?”

you paused, heart skipping in your chest.

“no.”

“you sure?”

“positive.”

“okay. but if you change your mind…” she wiggled her brows. “drama’s always more fun when i’m there to witness it.” you couldn’t help but laugh.

“tempting. really tempting.”

looking back at him, you looked down at your glass once again. “you know what, i might just go home early tonight, actually.” jennifer raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for you to explain. “i think i need some fresh air.” you gave a small, tired smile. “i’ll catch up later.”

she nodded, concern flickering in her eyes. “alright. but promise me you’ll text if you need anything.”

“i will.”

you set your glass down gently and started to step away. “stay until the end for me, yeah? and tell the others i’m leaving for now, don’t want anyone wondering.”

jennifer smiled warmly. “of course. go take care of yourself.” you gave her a grateful nod, then turned toward the exit, mentally preparing yourself to slip out unnoticed.

but fate clearly had other plans.

because standing right in your path — of course — was him.

you kept your eyes down, focused on weaving past the crowd, just a few more steps and you’d be out of here— and then your heel caught on the edge of the carpet. you stumbled forward, heart leaping to your throat— but before you could hit the floor, a hand shot out, catching your arm.

“careful,” his voice came low.

you froze.

“sorry,” you mumbled quickly, avoiding eye contact. you pulled your arm free gently, almost like it hurt to leave his grasp, and hurried outside before you could think twice.

you cursed under your breath, reaching down to yank off your heels. the sharp sting of forming blisters had finally pushed you over the edge. “stupid heels,” you muttered, wincing as you flexed your sore feet, gripping the heels in one hand while pacing toward the curb.

behind you, through the glass doors, sunghoon watched. his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

you stood by the curb, the cool air brushing against your shoulders, shoes hanging from your fingers, your breath fogging up in the night. the sounds of the party drifted through the doors behind you. you thought maybe you’d made it out without having to deal with anything else tonight.

but then—

the door creaked open, and you heard footsteps approaching slowly.

you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“going somewhere barefoot?”

his voice broke the quiet. you let out a slow breath, forcing a small smile as you kept your gaze ahead. “figured i’d give my feet a break. what’s it to you?”

then there was a long pause.

“give me your keys.”

you finally turned just enough to see him standing there, coat over his shoulders, his expression cold and serious.

“i can take care of myself, sunghoon.”

“you’ve been drinking.”

“so has everyone else tonight.”

he scoffed softly, shaking his head like he’d heard this before. “don’t be difficult.”

your feet ached, your head felt heavy, and honestly… you were too tired to argue tonight. you tightened your grip on your shoes, sighing in defeat. “fine.” you fished your keys out of your clutch and tossed them to him without much thought. he caught them easily, of course.

“come on,” he said, nodding toward the lot. and you followed, dragging your steps a little behind him.

the walk to your car felt longer than it was. when he unlocked it and held open the passenger door, you slipped in, setting your shoes on the floor and smoothed down your dress. he shut the door, and the quiet settled in again. you turned toward the window, arms crossed.

it had almost been a year. and somehow, it still felt familiar.

sunghoon closed the door gently, then circled around to the driver’s side. the engine started with a low hum, dashboard lights flickering to life between you. and for a while, neither of you spoke. the only sounds were the quiet rumble of the car and some soft instrumental song playing on the radio.

he pulled out of the parking lot, his eyes fixed straight ahead. and then, after what felt like forever, he finally spoke.

“how was the party?”

you kept your eyes on the window, watching the streetlights blur past. then a dry laugh slipped out.

“like every other one.”

he hummed quietly. “busy. loud. full of people you don’t really want to talk to.” you glanced at him briefly,“you remember.” the corner of your mouth pulling into a small, tired smile.

“i remember a lot of things.” his voice was softer this time, holding back a grin.

and just like that, it was silence again.

the car rolled on through the empty streets, you thought that would be it. just small talk to pass the time. but then—

“you looked happy tonight.”

your stomach twisted. you turned a little, still watching the streets blur past your window. your brows pulled together. “happy?”

“yeah,” he let out a faint, humorless laugh. “laughing with your coworkers, having a good time. i haven’t… seen you like that in a while.”

you breathed in slowly, heat creeping up your chest. “thats what you noticed?” he flicked the turn signal on, his eyes never leaving the road. “what else was i supposed to notice?” your fingers curled into your lap. “maybe how miserable i felt the whole time. how fake that laugh was.” the words slipped out before you could stop them.

he exhaled, jaw tightening. “you think i didn’t notice that too?” you fell quiet, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to hold yourself together.

“i still notice, y/n. whether you want me to or not.” and that was when your chest finally gave in a little.

“well, what good does that do now?” your words came out harsher than you meant. but he didn’t answer. you waited for it—another cold remark, but all he did was tighten his jaw, knuckles pale against the steering wheel.

he didn’t want to mess this up the second time.

you let out a quiet scoff, shaking your head as you leaned back in your seat. “still quiet when it matters, huh?”

nothing.

you watched the street signs blur past, and as he took the next turn without hesitation, you realised he still remembered. the way to your place. and you hadn’t said a word.

“right. still remember my address,” you muttered under your breath, “figured.” but he still stayed quiet.

unbelievable.

a few minutes later, the car slowed in front of your apartment building and you didn’t give yourself time to think as you unbuckled your seatbelt, slipped your heels back on, and pushed open the door all in one rushed motion. the cool night air hit your skin, but it didn’t do much to clear your head.

“thanks.” thats all you mumbled before stepping out, not bothering to look back, your heels tapping quietly against the pavement as you walked away.

“y/n.”

his voice stopped you in your tracks, and slowly, carefully, you turned around.

“your keys.” he held your keys in the air.

right.

you let out a tired sigh, your steps slow as you walked back toward him— but as your fingers brushed against his, he pulled his hand back.

he can’t be doing this right now.

“sunghoon.”

his name came out more of a warning than anything else, but he didn’t move. instead, his eyes finally met yours. “is that it?” his voice wavered slightly, barely enough to notice, but you caught it.

“after everything thats all you have to say?”

your stomach sank, but you forced your face to stay still. “what do you want me to say, sunghoon?”

“something. anything.” he let out a dry, tired laugh. “i drove you home, i… i haven’t seen you in almost a year, and all i get is a ‘thanks’ like i’m just some stranger giving you a ride?” you clenched your jaw, feeling the sting behind your eyes start to build.

“what do you expect me to do? fall apart in front of you? again?”

his grip on the keys tightened. “no. i expect you to stop acting like none of it mattered.”

“stop putting words in my mouth!” you snapped, your voice shaking even though you tried to hold steady. “it mattered. it meant everything. that’s why i can’t talk about it.” and for a second, neither of you said anything.

“then why did you leave?” his voice barely audible.

“why didn’t you fight for us?”

you laughed, but it came out weak. “i was fighting, sunghoon. every single day. i just got tired of fighting alone.”

that shut him up.

his shoulders lowered a little, like your words finally hit where it hurt. you bit your lip, holding yourself together.

“give me my keys.” your voice broke.

he hesitated first— but finally, without saying anything, he placed them in your palm, his fingers brushing yours, long enough to make your heart ache all over again.

you turned on your heel, gripping the keys so tight they dug into your palm. but you barely got two steps away before his voice stopped you again.

“y/n, wait.”

not again.

you closed your eyes, shoulders tense. “please, sunghoon… just let me go home.” if i stay any longer, i’ll love you again and i can’t survive that twice…

you heard his footsteps, felt the space between you close in until his presence was right there, behind you, even though he wasn’t touching you. “do you really want this to be the last time we talk?” his voice cracked on the last word. “don’t do this,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

“i can’t do this anymore.” the words spilled. “acting like i’ve moved on when every part of me still looks for you. when i laugh, i wish you were there to hear it. when something good happens, you’re still the first person i want to tell. it’s always been you. it’s still you.”

you bit down hard on your lip, but it didn’t stop the tears from falling, no matter how hard you tried. “i thought you didn’t care anymore,” you breathed out, wiping at your face quickly.

“i thought you stopped loving me.”

he let out a hollow laugh, “i never stopped. god, i never stopped.” your shoulders trembled as you tried to hold yourself together, heart breaking in a way that felt too familiar.

you turned around to face him. eyes puffy, cheeks damp—

“then why did you let me go?”

and for once, he didn’t have an answer.

all you could hear was your own uneven breathing, your heart pounding painfully against your chest. sunghoon stood there, staring at you like your words had knocked the air right out of him. his lips parted, like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

and maybe that silence said it all.

you let out a bitter scoff, shaking your head. “that’s what i thought.” you turned to leave again, but this time, he didn’t let you.

his hand caught your wrist, gentle but firm, pulling you back toward him. before you could think, his other hand cupped your face and his lips met yours.

it wasn’t careful. it wasn’t soft. it was messy, desperate, full of all the words neither of you knew how to say. your instinct told you to pull away. and you tried, really, you did.

but your heart was tired of running.

instead of pushing him back, your hands grabbed at his jacket, fingers curling into the fabric, holding on like it was the only thing keeping you standing.

because god, you missed him.

you let yourself feel it again. when you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, his forehead rested against yours, “give me a chance,” he whispered, barely holding it together. “one more chance baby, please.”

you kept your eyes closed, heart twisting painfully in your chest, his words hanging between you like a question you didn’t know how to answer.

somehow, between hurried steps and lingering touches, you ended up at the front of your apartment. neither of you really remembered the walk there, just the rush of adrenaline and the weight of everything finally crashing down.

his hands were on your waist, your fingers tangled in his hair, mouths meeting like you’d been starving for this. your back hit the door, breath hitching as his lips trailed along your jaw, your hands tugging at the collar of his jacket, slipping it off his shoulders.

“keys,” you whispered against his mouth, barely able to focus.

he laughed softly, breathless. “later.”

but you still fumbled blindly in your purse, finally unlocking the door with shaking fingers. the second it clicked open, sunghoon guided you inside, the door shutting behind you with a quiet thud.

his coat dropped to the floor somewhere near the entrance. your heels followed, forgotten. you tugged at his tie, loosening it until it slid free, his hands slipping beneath the straps of your dress, clothes fell away in pieces, like neither of you wanted to waste another second.

it wasn’t perfect.

it was real.

for the first time in months, it finally felt like you could breathe again.

you barely made it past the front door before sunghoon’s hands found your waist again, guiding you toward the couch in the dim light of the living room. you fell onto it together, laughter mixing with shallow breaths, his arms wrapping around you like he didn’t want to let go.

you straddled his lap, knees pressed against the cushions, his hands resting on your hips as you leaned in, kissing him again—slower this time, more like you were taking your time to memorize him all over again.

when you finally pulled back, your breath warm against his skin, your eyes drifted down. his shirt was halfway undone, the buttons you’d tugged loose now leaving his chest exposed.

you just… stared.

all the noise faded, leaving only the rise and fall of his chest and the steady way he looked back at you. “what?” he asked quietly, the corner of his lips tugging up in a smirk.

you shook your head, a smile tugging at your own lips despite yourself. “nothing. just… forgot how annoyingly good you look.”

he laughed. “you’re one to talk.”

you ran your fingers gently along his collarbone, tracing the familiar lines. “this feels… strange. weird, kind of.” you mutter. “yeah,” he whispered, hands squeezing your waist a little. “but it feels right, doesn’t it?” his smile softened, eyes searching yours for just a second longer before he leaned in again, lips brushing against your jaw, then lower, against the side of your neck.

you exhaled deeply, hands tightening slightly around his neck as his mouth found that familiar spot just below your ear. he kissed you slowly there, like he had all the time in the world, like he wasn’t planning on letting you slip away this time.

you nodded, closing your eyes. “yeah… it does.”

his smile turned a little smug, eyes lingering on yours like he already knew what you were thinking. “knew you’d miss me,” he teased softly, brushing his lips along your skin. “you always do.”

before you could roll your eyes, his mouth found the curve of your neck, kissing it slow. and he knew exactly what he was doing.

“don’t flatter yourself,” you managed, voice breathless but not exactly convincing.

he chuckled against your skin, the sound sending goosebumps down your arms. “too late,” he whispered against your ear.

“your face says it all baby.”

you let out a shaky laugh, tilting your head slightly as his hands slid up your waist.

“shut up and keep kissing me,”

and he did—gladly.

Because even as you laid in your cold bed alone, you knew you had to ween yourself off of the comfort sex you were indulging in. It wasn’t like things weren’t good or anything–it was actually too good. Fantastic, even. Falling asleep in his arms with your fingers laced together, quietly talking and muttering sweet nothings to each other had become your second nature with one another, and it was a little too addictive.

Which was exactly the problem.

You and Bob had agreed that things would be casual. Simple. Easy. It wouldn’t be an every-night thing, and it also wouldn’t be something that would turn into habit or expectation. But for the past week it had been…Nonstop. All you had to do was look at him, or make a comment about something that could’ve been taken in a sexual manner, and suddenly you were tugging each other into dark corners or dragging yourselves towards each other's bedrooms.

Tonight though, you had told yourself to take a night off just to reset. To put a little distance back between the both of you. He had understood completely, and mentioned that it was okay to take a breather from one another, and that he too needed to have a bit of a break because things were becoming overwhelming for him–in a good way, he had emphasized.

Now, you found yourself wide awake at two in the morning.

You kept tossing and turning, kicking the blanket off you before pulling it back on. You rolled onto your side, then your back, then your stomach, then your other side again, and nothing had helped. You clung to your pillows, and tried to fold it just right so you could hold onto it like you would hold Bob–with one arm looped around his torso, with your face buried in his chest, and your fingers curling into the soft muscles of his back.

But your pillows couldn’t emulate his smell–that sweet honey and bergamot scent that lived on his skin and buried itself in his hair. Pillows also didn’t shift under your weight or murmur soft things that made your chest feel too full, nor did they kiss the top of your head and ask you if you were okay either.

You let out a frustrated sigh, and rolled onto your back to stare at the ceiling. You decided to give your phone one last try, and opened a playlist of boring videos with slow voices and meaningless facts. You tried one on the patterns of clouds. Another about how jellyfish sleep. Something about farming. Yet somehow you were getting pulled into the interesting facts, so you closed the screen again, and sat up.

You threw the covers off with a sigh and swung your legs over the side of the bed, cold air sweeping over your skin as you slipped off the mattress. The hardwood caused shivers to shoot up your spine as you stood up completely. You grabbed your cotton shorts from the floor and shimmed them up your legs, before throwing the oversized t-shirt you had peeled off earlier in the night, adjusting it slightly before opening up your door and slipping out into the hallway.

Your eyes avoided Bob’s room. Just the shape of it–closed and quiet, with warm light flickering faintly under the seam of the door–would be enough to make your feet falter. If you let yourself even glance over at it, you’d immediately give in. You would start wondering if he was asleep. If he was facing the wall or curled on his side, half-listening for you like he sometimes mentioned he would do. You would start thinking about your simple plan of sneaking in and breaking the rule you had made for yourself that night.

So you kept your eyes forward, and regulated your breathing. You were going to get some water, then you were going to sit on the couch, and watch some television until you passed out. That was the plan, and you were going to stick to it.

You padded quickly down the hallway, letting the compound’s late-night stillness settle over you. Everything slowed down during this time, even the hum every appliance seemed softer, like the building itself was in hibernation mode. As you rounded the corner toward the kitchen, you heard the sink running, and you stilled for a moment.

The gentle rush of water was familiar now–part of the nighttime soundtrack you had grown used to. You assumed, easily, that it was Bucky. Other than you and Bob, he was often up at this hour too, half-dressed, elbows deep in leftovers or cleaning the dishes that he had used for his midnight feast.

That’s how Bucky had found out about your arrangement with Bob actually.

A couple of weeks ago you had slipped into the kitchen just after one in the morning, dressed almost identically to how you were now–shorts, bare legs, no bra, only instead you were wearing one of Bob’s t-shirts which had hung loose off your shoulder. You needed water and out of consideration you grabbed two glasses–one for you and one for the man who was warming your bed.

You assumed the kitchen would be empty, but instead you had walked in half-asleep and stumbled into Bucky, who was spooning peanut butter directly from the jar. The both of you froze instantly midway through your actions.

He looked at you up and down once, not in a creepy way–just observant. That razor-sharp, tactical read that told you he knew exactly what was going on. He didn’t say anything right away, he just leaned against the counter and raised an eyebrow, then after a beat.

“Midnight hydration run?” You had tried to stammer something out about being thirsty and needing extra water because you didn’t want to make two trips, but he just stared at you like he was burning a hole through your body until you sighed and gave in.

”I’m grabbing water for Bob and I…” You mumbled. He didn’t blink, he just dug his spoon back into the peanut butter jar.

”Didn’t think it was Walker, you’d rather be set on fire.” He commented, his voice dry. You rolled your eyes at the comment, “And Alexei could practically be your father…Which only leaves me,” Bucky added with a little smirk, “And I definitely didn’t fuck you…Becuase you probably wouldn’t be walking out here for water.” You choked on the comment.

”Jesus Christ Bucky.” But then he raised his hand.

“I’m just joking…But…I did figure everything out days ago that you and Bob were doing something together, and I knew it definitely wasn’t something PG…So…Just relax. I won’t tell anyone.”

Since then, he hadn’t brought it up once. There was no teasing or side comment. Just a quiet sort of understanding–a look he’d give you when he passed you both in the hallway or saw you trailing into the gym just behind Bob with a just been kissed look plastered on your face.

He got it. He didn’t judge. Which was probably why you weren’t startled when you heard the water running tonight. You figured it was him again, and you would have some friendly company to chat with.

But when you stepped into the kitchen you froze, because it wasn’t Bucky at the sink this time. It was Bob.

The amber kitchen lights casted long, drowsy shadows across the room, golden strips of illumination bending over countertops and reflecting in quiet glints off the faucet which shined on the ceiling. That light fell in delicate waves across the pale skin of his back–so stark against the deep navy of his sweatpants, and the gentle rise and fall of his back that bathed in steam and warmth from the sink. Each shift of his muscles–every slow, rhythmic movement of his shoulders and arms–caught in that glow like some kind of living marble, warm to the touch but sculpted like something divine.

You stood there, motionless for a moment, biting your lip.

The faint squelch of the sponge in his hand mingled with the drip of water from the edge of a rinsed bowl. He hadn’t noticed you yet. Or if he had, he made no sign of it.

You knew this back–had memorized the feel of it beneath your hands, had traced your nails down its planes and kissed along every scar and dip and ripple. You’d pressed your cheek to it when you couldn’t sleep, when the silence felt too heavy to be alone in. And tonight, even with all your good intentions crumbling at your feet, you couldn’t resist the gravitational pull he had on you.

You sighed softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

“And I thought I could stay away for the night,” you murmured, voice low, more to yourself than to him.

You took a few quiet, careful steps forward, until the warmth of him reached you–radiating off his skin, curling into your lungs like smoke. You slid your arms around his waist from behind, gently laying your cheek between his shoulder blades for a breath, before pressing your lips there, giving the sensitive skin there a soft kiss. Then a little playful nibble, just over the muscle that always flexed when he laughed.

But this time, there was none of that. No low chuckle. No amused huff of breath. No warmth curling around your arms as he turned to pull you into his chest.

Instead, you felt him still completely. Tension coiled up in his back–not startled, not annoyed, but something different. He didn’t lean into you. He didn’t relax. He simply stood there, as if waiting for you to realize something.

Your hands splayed out over his stomach, pressing against the ticklish spot on his abdomen, right between the ridges of his abs, knowing that would certainly get a reaction from him, but still you got nothing from him. You frowned in confusion, not understanding what was happening, and what you did that made him go so stoic like this.

“…Bob?” You said aloud, voice filled with uncertainty and worry. There was a beat of silence, and then–

“So this is what you do to him to make him beam all the time?” The voice was deeper. Not in pitch, but in weight. It came from the same body, from the same chest, but it wasn’t Bob speaking. It was richer, smoother, velvet and lightning twisted into something calm and ancient. Your chest tightened.

You knew that voice. You’d heard it before–threaded between bursts of static on the comms, a golden tone like a cathedral bell ringing through fire. It always cut through everything else–gunfire, screaming, the chaos of battle. It was unmistakable. Commanding, absolute, and divine.

It was Sentry. A piece of Bob you rarely interacted with.

He didn’t speak much to you unless he needed to. He’d hover near the edge of the Quinjet, silent, half-glowing with restrained power. Sometimes you’d catch his eyes lingering on you, but he never spoke to you one-on-one. There was always something in the way–like Bob was still awake inside, still drawing him back, like he was scared that if you and the Sun God spoke you’d treat him differently.

But now it seemed like there was nothing between the both of you, he was actually addressing you and talking to you.

“Sentry?” You asked, with the name catching in your throat slightly. Not in fear, but in awe, because genuinely…You were a bit excited. He turned his head just enough for you to see the shimmer in his gaze–not from Bob’s oceanic blue irises, but from his molten gold ones. It was the kind of gaze that felt like it saw everything at once, and yet was focused entirely on you instead.

His shoulders rose and fell in a measured breath, and then, slowly, his hand reached and slid around your wrist. Damp and warm from the sink, his fingers were careful–not rough–but firm enough to still your breath.

“Are you always this soft with him?” The words hit you like a pressure change in the air. Heavy. Intimate. His thumb circled lightly over the delicate skin of your wrist, pressing into your fluttering pulse like he was testing a theory–measuring the tension, the want, the truth beneath your skin. The warm pads of his fingers contrasted sharply with the godlike weight of his presence. Even his touch felt calibrated, impossibly restrained, like he was holding himself back from something far greater, something devastating.

You swallowed hard, the words caught in your throat, then exhaled softly.

“Of course I am,” You replied quietly. “He’s my friend.”

A beat passed, and then Sentry let out a low laugh–not mocking, but deep and knowing, laced with something dangerously close to affection. “And your part-time lover, it seems.” Your bottom lip slipped between your teeth.

The way he said it shouldn’t have made your face flush with heat, but it did. You couldn’t even argue with it. Couldn’t pretend you hadn’t been clinging to Bob’s warmth, to his comfort, to the way he made you feel like you weren’t so alone in this place. Even when it wasn’t sexual, it was intimate. And it always bled into something deeper, whether you wanted it to or not.

Sentry turned to face you more fully now. He looked like Bob–his features carved in the same soft-boned, handsome mold you had memorized by now. But beneath the low kitchen lights, illuminated by that molten glow behind his eyes, it was like staring at the sun without sunglasses. Familiar, yes–but dangerous. Blinding and brilliant. He had the same jaw you liked to kiss down to his throat. The same slope of his nose you’d nuzzle against when the world felt too loud. The same lips you had kissed dozens of times, swollen and open beneath yours. But with Sentry in control, it was like watching those soft places turn incandescent. Magnified. Eternal.

His expression was calm, but not passive–curious, focused, full of care and knowing. Like he could see the story of your entire life, and was taking his time reading through the parts that had his name etched between the lines.

He let go of your wrist, only to raise his hand again–those damp knuckles brushing gently under your chin. The water clung to his skin in droplets that glittered like starlight, and the touch was featherlight, as though your skin were something precious.

“I can hear your thoughts…” He murmured, his voice like candle smoke and sunrise. His thumb nudged your chin upward, holding you in place as your lips parted instinctively. Your body was already betraying you–heart pounding, mouth dry, your breath catching in your throat. Your cheeks heated up under the words, and you looked away, embarrassed, but he followed your gaze like a moon following gravity.

“You’re excited to meet me,” He continued softly, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “You’ve been curious for a long time…Wondering what it would be like to talk to me.” You swallowed hard.

“But…” He added, tilting his head slightly. His lashes lowered, and he squinted a bit, like he was scanning something deep within you–like he was rifling through your heartbeat pattern in the moment, “You’re also…Slightly disappointed that Bob isn’t here, because he’s the one who can help you relax,” His gaze narrowed at the words that left his mouth, but it wasn’t like he was bothered by it. There was no jealousy or bitterness, he was just stating the truth, because he expected that answer.

“I wasn’t looking to sleep with him tonight…” You said quietly, almost defensively, though it came out softer than you intended. Sentry tilted his head at that, not skeptical, not cruel–just listening. Watching you carefully, like every word you spoke mattered. His damp knuckles left your chin only to trail higher, curling softly along the edge of your cheek, brushing your hair away from your skin. His touch was featherlight and warm, but beneath it was something steadier. A presence like gravity. An anchor pulling every fluttering thought down where he could read it.

“I know…” He murmured, thumb grazing the apple of your cheek now. He let out a soft breath, which fanned over your face. “But you were aching for him in your room. I could practically feel it from across the hallway.” Your stomach dropped at that. Not in shame, but in exposure. Like something cracked open that you weren’t ready to show yet–but he’d seen anyway.

You tried to avert your gaze, tried to turn your face away, but his hand followed. Gentle. Not forcing–just refusing to let you hide.

“I wasn’t–”

“You were,” He interrupted, and his voice was impossibly soft. Not scolding, not smug. Just…True. “But you chose to ignore it. Which only makes things worse, by the way.” Your lips parted, but nothing came out. There was no point in arguing. Because it wasn’t about being caught–it was about being understood. About how easily he could reach past the things you said and feel what was actually stirring beneath them. His lips curled into the faintest smirk–warm, golden, and just the slightest bit teasing–as his hand swept gently back across your cheek.

“If you’d let me…” He murmured, voice dipping like a secret, “…I can help you.” You tilted your head back slowly, caught between defiance and surrender, your lashes lowering as you looked up at him through the haze of them. Your body swayed closer without realizing it.

“I can take all that ache away very quickly,” He added, just above a whisper.

You sighed, long and unsteady. “Sentry…I don’t know…” His thumb grazed just beneath your eye, a gentle stroke that made your lashes flutter. You weren’t sure if he was trying to wipe something away or if he just needed to touch you again.

“Are you scared,” He asked softly, “That I won’t be as good? That I’ll be a different lover than Bob?” His voice was curious and searching, “What is worrying you?” You exhaled slowly, the air catching in your throat before you could speak.

“Nothing is worrying me” You replied, your voice a little cracked, “I just…I feel like I’ve become reliant on the sex. That’s all.” For a moment, Sentry just stared at you. Then he let out a quiet, amused laugh–warm and grounded, the sound of a sun god tucking laughter behind his teeth.

“Y/N,” He started with a small shake of his head, the roughness of his thumb trailing over your cheek again, “Just because you enjoy having sex with someone doesn’t mean you’re reliant on it.” You blinked at him, caught off guard by the directness in his tone–gentle, but unflinching. “So the both of you have been having sex to relax and sleep…So what? You’re human. He’s human. It brings you peace, doesn’t it?” You nodded a little, biting your lip.

”Yeah…It does…” His hands cradled your face now–thumbs brushing over the high points of your cheeks, anchoring you there, golden eyes drinking you in with something between adoration and hunger. His voice stayed low, like it was meant for this hour and this space and you alone.

“So…Let me do the same,” He murmured.

You stared up at him, breath caught. Your lips parted, the tip of your tongue flicking over them, nervous.

“…Should I know anything before I say yes?” You asked quietly. His brows drew together slightly, head tilting, confusion fluttering across his features for a moment.

“What do you mean?”

You hesitated, but only for a beat. “You’re…Technically a god,” You started, your voice half-playful, half-serious. “So is the sex going to be…Different?” For a second, he just blinked at you. Then, a low, amused laugh rumbled up from his chest. He dipped his head, shaking it slightly, his forehead brushing against yours with affectionate weight.

“I’m definitely more focused on you and your pleasure…” He said with a soft, wicked glint in his golden eyes. “But I don’t think it’ll be catastrophically different or anything.” He smirked lightly, nose brushing yours. “Even if it is…You could just tell me, and I’ll stop.” You nodded slowly, pulse skipping under his thumbs.

“Okay,” You whispered, breath shaky. “Let’s… give it a try.” His eyes scanned your face one last time, and something in them flickered–like a star flaring to life.

“You sure?” He asked.

You swallowed. “Yeah…I’m sure.” His lips found yours before your next breath could settle.

It wasn’t like kissing Bob. There was no hesitation, no slow build or soft slide of mouths testing pressure. This kiss was deeper from the start–anchored in certainty, in the heat of something that had long been simmering just below the surface.

Sentry kissed you like he had been waiting. Like the second you gave permission, his restraint unraveled with reverence instead of urgency. His mouth was warm and searching, coaxing yours open with languid pressure, his tongue brushing over yours in slow, molten strokes that made your knees buckle.

You gasped against him as his hands slid down your sides–firm, guiding, mapping the shape of you with awe. You felt one arm hook beneath your thighs, the other bracing your back. He lifted you like it was nothing. As if gravity didn’t apply to you anymore.

Your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders, legs parting to cradle his hips. You clung to him, breath stuttering in his mouth as he walked, slow and deliberate, down the quiet hallway toward his room. The compound was still in that late-night lull, unaware of the way your body was pressed tight to the god carrying you.

His mouth never left yours, even as he moved. Every step he took, every subtle shift of his muscles beneath your hands made it clear–he could do this forever. He could kiss you until the stars collapsed and still not be satisfied.

By the time you reached his door, your lips were swollen, parted, breath shared between you in shallow bursts. He bumped the door open with his foot and stepped inside without breaking stride. The room was dim–lit only by the faint glow leaking in from the hallway and the soft pulse of light emanating from him.

He kissed you again–harder this time–as he stepped forward and tossed you onto the bed with divine ease.

You landed with a gasp, elbows sinking into the plush blankets. The door clicked shut behind him with a finality that sent a pulse of heat through your chest. You were already breathless, already spread across the bed in nothing but your cotton shorts and oversized shirt, heart pounding like a war drum. He stood there for a moment, silhouetted in the golden glow leaking under the door, his bare chest rising and falling with quiet, restrained hunger.

Then he turned to you–slow, deliberate, devastating. And when his eyes met yours again, it was like being pinned beneath sunlight. You felt small under that gaze, but never powerless. No–desired. Desired in a way that felt mythic.

You were already crawling backward toward the pillows, instinct taking over. Every part of you was lit with anticipation. Every breath was shallower than the last. Sentry stalked toward you with that same predatory calm he always carried during missions–only now it was tangled with something softer. Worship. Admiration. A kind of overwhelming reverence that made your whole body ache before he even touched you again.

He climbed onto the bed with a slow, fluid movement, his muscles flexing as the mattress dipped beneath his weight. His smirk was devastating.

“You’re very pretty when you’re nervous,” He murmured, his eyes raking slowly over your body. A little laugh slipped from you–breathless and quiet.

”I’m not that nervous.” His smile deepened, eyes glowing with something both tender and ravenous.

“You are,” He said, dragging his palm slowly up the curve of your bare thigh, fingertips brushing just under the hem of your shirt, “But it’s beautiful. It makes you glow.” You opened your mouth to respond, but your breath caught when his hands slid higher. His palms were broad and warm as they swept up your sides, curling possessively around your waist. The heat of his skin burned through the fabric, and you felt yourself arch instinctively toward his touch, thighs parting ever so slightly.

“God, you’re soft,” He whispered. “You feel like something I shouldn’t be allowed to touch.” His thumbs dragged along your stomach, just beneath the swell of your breasts, grazing the sensitive skin there. You sucked in a sharp breath, your heart pounding under his hands.

“I want to see you,” He said, voice low. “Can I?” You nodded, lips parted, already dizzy from the tension coiling in your core. He eased your shirt up with reverent care, dragging it slowly over your ribs, then your chest. When he realized there was nothing underneath–no barrier between your bare breasts and his hungry gaze–his golden eyes flickered, like a pulse of starlight had jumped behind them.

”Fuck…” He breathed, almost to himself, “They’re beautiful.” You flushed at the compliment, but there was no time to respond–because he was already pulling the rest of the shirt over your head and tossing it aside with a single, fluid motion. The cool air kissed your skin, but the warmth of his stare replaced it instantly, scorching in its intensity.

He settled over you again, bare chest brushing your nipples as he leaned down and captured your mouth with his own. This kiss was deeper, filthier–his tongue sliding between your lips with a slow, deliberate roll. You moaned against him, your hands roaming over his bare back, dragging your nails across the broad expanse of muscle there, and he groaned in response–low and needy. When he pulled back, it was only to kiss along your jawline–open-mouthed, wet, slow. His lips trailed to your throat, his breath hot against your pulse.

“Your skin’s like silk,” He muttered between kisses. “You smell like sleep and heat and need.” He licked a stripe up your neck, then nipped lightly at the space beneath your ear, making you gasp, “Beg for me, Y/N…” His voice was soaked in lust, golden eyes burning as his mouth hovered just above your chest. The command sent a jolt down your spine.

Your breath caught in your throat as he trailed slow, molten kisses across the swell of your breast, his stubble brushing your sensitive skin like a teasing promise. He didn’t touch you fully–just let his lips ghost across your skin, close enough to ignite sparks but never enough to satisfy.

“I want to hear it,” He instructed against your skin, voice low and thick with hunger. “Say you want me.” You whimpered, head tipping back as your thighs instinctively squeezed together. His tongue flicked out to taste the curve of your breast, just shy of your nipple, and you writhed.

“Sentry…Please–” You gasped, voice cracking.

“Mm. Better,” He hummed, dragging his tongue across the other side now, his hands gripping your thighs as he settled between them. “But not quite what I asked for.” His tongue circled the soft underside of your breast, lips wet and slow as he kissed up toward your nipple. He exhaled a hot breath against it, lips brushing but still not giving in.

“You want this mouth on you?” He whispered. “Say it.”

You bit your lip, trembling, barely holding yourself together. “I want your mouth on me. Please. Please, I want it.”

He groaned low–rewarded by your honesty–and finally wrapped his lips around your nipple. The contact was hot and soft and overwhelming–his tongue swirling slowly, then flicking lightly, then dragging in a slow suck that made your whole body jolt. Your back arched off the mattress as his hand came up to cup your other breast, kneading gently while his mouth worshipped you like you were the only thing in existence.

“Your skin tastes so fucking good,” He growled, “Sweet and warm…” You whimpered as he sucked harder, then moved to the other side, lavishing it with the same slow, indulgent care. His fingers pinched your other nipple lightly–just enough to make you gasp–and he growled again as your thighs shifted restlessly against his waist.

“Desperate already?”His lips glistened as he pulled back slightly, breath heavy, eyes molten gold and fixed on your face. A string of saliva still clung to your nipple, slick and obscene, catching the light like honey.

“You haven’t even felt my tongue where you really need it yet…” He murmured, voice drenched in reverence and hunger.

Your body tensed in anticipation, but you managed a breathless smile, your hand sliding through his soft brown hair. “You’ve basically given me a sneak peek,” You whispered, teasing, your voice shaking despite the attempt at confidence. His laugh was low and dangerous, rumbling in his chest like a distant thunderclap.

“Mmm,” He hummed, licking his lips slowly, dragging his tongue over the mess he’d made, like he wanted to savor it. “It’s not the same. I’ll warn you now…” His mouth pressed to your sternum–hot and wet. A trail of drool followed as he began to kiss down your body with maddening slowness. “You’re going to be losing your mind.” You gasped as his mouth moved over your ribs, his lips dragging, open and hungry, down the slope of your stomach. Each kiss was messier than the last–his drool warm and thick, sliding over your skin in a slow trail of devotion. His tongue flicked out, collecting the saliva and smearing it lower, until your abdomen was slick and shining.

“Fuck…Sentry,” You whispered, hips twitching under his mouth. He looked up at you from your stomach, his golden eyes glowing with wicked pleasure, lips soaked with spit.

“You like this?” he murmured, dragging his tongue across your lower belly again. “You like how messy I get for you?” Another hot string of saliva dripped from his mouth onto your navel. His breath fanned out across it before he kissed it slowly, deliberately.

You couldn’t even speak.

His hands slid down, gripping your hips with enough pressure to bruise, anchoring you as his mouth dipped lower, and lower–kissing the waistband of your shorts like it was a holy thing. His hot breath teased over the damp cotton as he hummed softly–half in amusement, half in awe. You shifted under him, hips rolling in a quiet plea, your thighs twitching slightly around his frame as if trying to guide him where you needed him most.

He chuckled against your skin–a low, warm sound that melted right into your belly.

“Mmm,” He purred, brushing his nose against the soft dip of your lower abdomen, just above the fabric, “You’re already so turned on…” His thumbs dragged lightly along your hips, circling where your skin met the edge of your shorts, his golden gaze lifting to meet yours.

“I can feel it,” He murmured, voice dripping like candle wax. “But I need you to be just a little patient.” His tone was indulgent, not scolding–like a god soothing a mortal too desperate for divinity. His nose brushed the soft line of your waistband, and then—without a word–he dipped his head lower and let his lips part. You barely had time to gasp before he opened his mouth and bit down gently on the elastic of your shorts.

The fabric stretched with a soft snap of resistance, catching on your hips as he pulled it back with a slow, teasing growl. His eyes stayed on you the whole time–half-lidded, molten gold, glowing like the promise of something you were never meant to survive. And then, with a deliberate tug of his head, he let the waistband slap gently back against your skin. You gasped and let out a startled little giggle. The smirk that spread across his spit-slick lips was absolutely devastating.

“I like that sound,” He murmured, voice thick with want. “Let’s see if I can get you to make a few more.” And then, without waiting, he dragged his teeth back to the waistband again–this time biting and tugging the shorts down inch by inch, growling low when he revealed the bare, damp heat of your center. He didn’t speak right away.

He just stared.

And you could feel him looking–not just at your body, but at every flicker of your arousal, every tremble of your thighs, every breath that stuttered out of your mouth. His golden eyes were heavy with hunger, reverence, and something worshipful that made you feel dizzy.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” He breathed, hot against your skin. “But fuck…I didn’t know you’d smell so fucking good.” You whined, thighs twitching as he kissed the inside of your leg—just above your knee—then again, higher this time, open-mouthed and wet. He licked, kissed, then bit softly, dragging his teeth just enough to leave a hint of sting before soothing it with his tongue. His grip on your thighs tightened.

“You’re already soaked…” He complimented, voice low and reverent. “You don’t even realize how sweet you smell right now, do you?” His hands slid under your thighs, lifting and adjusting you like you weighed nothing, like he was rearranging something sacred.

He pushed your legs higher with slow, controlled strength–your knees bending as your thighs were opened wider, his hands curling beneath them, forearms caging you in. Your back arched off the bed as your body reacted to the new angle, the cool air grazing your slick folds as you were fully exposed to him now.

“Look at you,” He murmured, his mouth inches from where you needed him most. “So pretty and wet, twitching like this for my mouth.”

Your breath caught, and your fingers curled into the blankets as he dragged his tongue slowly over his bottom lip–deliberate, filthy, hungry.

“Does he get on his knees for you like this?” He asked, kissing the inside of your thigh again. “Does Bob take his time, spread you open, and just…Breathe you in?”

You whimpered.

“Does he taste you until you cry?” Another kiss. Higher. Wetter.

“Sentry–please…”

“Mmm.” He exhaled a hot breath against your slick folds. “That’s better.”

And then his mouth was on you.

No warning. No teasing breath or tentative first lick. He dove in like he was starving–tongue dragging through your folds with a moan that vibrated into you. His hands gripped the underside of your thighs as he lifted your hips, adjusting you again, tilting you just so, and you felt yourself fold into him–held wide open, helpless under the weight of his mouth.

He groaned when he tasted you. The sound was obscene. Worshipful. Like he’d just discovered the meaning of life between your legs.

“Oh my god–” You gasped, one hand flying to his hair, the other clutching the sheets. His tongue licked up again, slow and thick and hot, and then flattened against your clit with reverent pressure. He circled it once. Twice. Then sucked it into his mouth with a messy, hungry groan.

You cried out. There was no point in staying quiet anymore.

His grip on your thighs tightened as he dragged you even closer, burying his face against you like he could crawl inside. His nose bumped your clit as his tongue licked lower again–down to your entrance–and you felt the flat, firm strokes of him fucking you with his tongue now. Hot, wet, unrelenting.

“Fuck–you taste like heaven,” He growled into you, voice thick with arousal. “Can’t believe he gets this all the time…No wonder he’s always thinking about it.” You gasped, bucking your hips, and he chuckled darkly against you before flattening his tongue again, dragging it up in one long, slow stroke that made your entire body convulse.

And then–he added his fingers.

One thick digit slid into you with practiced care, the pad curling upward instantly as his tongue circled your clit again. You moaned, high and broken, and he shushed you gently, pressing his lips against your mound like a kiss.

“There you go, that’s it…” He whispered. “Let me open you up.”

A second finger joined the first–stretching you perfectly, filling you slow and deep as his mouth returned to your clit. He sucked, licked, and moaned into you like you were a divine offering, like he was absolutely wasted on you. His fingers curled with precision, stroking that spot inside you that made your vision white out in flashes. His tongue never let up, flicking fast and relentless now.

Your body twisted against the sheets, your thighs trembling, your voice cracking on every breath as your orgasm started to build–hard and fast and hot.

“Sentry…Fuck, I’m–!”

“Good,” He growled, sucking harder. “Cum on my face Y/N…” You came with a cry that ripped through you–head tipping back, thighs clamping around his head as he groaned into you, licking and fucking you through every wave of it like he was addicted. You felt it gush out of you, dripping down your thighs and his wrists and his chin, and he licked it all up–eager, messy, praising every shudder of your body like it was a gift from above. When the last tremor left you, he pulled back just enough to look up at you–face slick with your release, lips wet, golden eyes glowing like firelight through smoke.

“I told you,” He said softly, with a devastating smile. “You’d lose your mind.” And then he kissed the inside of your thigh again–gentle this time, more satisfied. As if he were thanking you for letting him worship you.

Then he moved–fluid and graceful as molten light, muscles rolling beneath his glowing skin as he crawled back up your body. Every inch of him brushed over you–bare chest gliding along your slick belly, hips grazing yours, arms braced beside your head as his face hovered just above yours. His breath was still hot from the work of his mouth, and his lips–shiny, wet, and flush with your release–ghosted over yours before he kissed you.

It was soft. Barely a touch. Just the press of his mouth to yours like a vow sealed in secret.

Then, a sigh: “I think it’s going to be really hard to get rid of me now that I’ve had a taste…” he murmured, voice rough and low, golden eyes half-lidded as his forehead tipped forward to rest against yours. “You’re absolutely delicious.”

Your breath caught, and a quiet laugh escaped–nervous, a little dazed, but warm. “Then don’t go anywhere,” You whispered, kissing him again, slower this time, as your fingers slid through his hair and down the back of his neck. “Stay. I want you inside me…” That earned you a growl. Low and sinful, a vibration that rumbled in his chest as he kissed you harder–messy, claiming, the kind of kiss that made you forget where the bed ended and he began.

“Fuck,” He breathed into your mouth, hand sliding down your waist to grip your thigh again, his other arm wrapping under your back. “You want me inside you, just like that? Say it again…”

You moaned as he shifted your hips–rolling you with divine ease, one arm lifting your lower back, the other guiding your thighs to open wider. The movement was firm, deliberate, a little rough in the way that made your heart stutter.

“I want you inside me,” You repeated, lips brushing his. “Please, Sentry…”

His golden gaze blazed. He kissed you again–rougher now, a low growl curling from his throat as he pulled back just enough to kneel between your thighs.

One hand slid to the waistband of his sweatpants, and with a swift push, he shoved them down. The fabric caught slightly on his thighs, but he didn’t pause–he just stood briefly, stepping out of both the pants and his boxers in a smooth, practiced motion before kneeling over you once more.

Your eyes dropped automatically.

He was already hard–thick, flushed, curved just slightly toward his stomach, the tip slick with precum.

It was familiar. The curve. The size. The way he twitched just slightly at the attention. But it felt like seeing it for the first time all over again–like every prior memory was just a diluted echo compared to the sight of him now. There was nothing casual or easy about this moment. No after-mission haze or late-night impulse driving it. Just him. Raw and bare and kneeling for you.

He smiled–slow and devastating, like sunrise bleeding over your skin–and his palm smoothed over your thigh before he leaned in, closer, gaze drinking in your expression like it was scripture.

“How do you want me?” He asked, voice thick with promise. His hand slid up, warm and steady, settling over your belly, then cupping your breast like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched. “I’ll do anything you ask, Y/N. Just tell me.” Your breath caught. Your skin prickled. You swallowed hard and cupped his face gently, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone, dizzy from how beautiful he looked like this–lit from within, burning just for you.

“Slow,” You whispered. “Close. I want to feel all of you.”

His golden eyes darkened, and he nodded once–like he’d been waiting to be told exactly that.

“You’ll feel every inch of me,” he murmured, dragging his mouth down your neck in a slow, reverent kiss, “and I won’t stop until you’re shaking.”

You whimpered as he guided your thighs wider, hips settling between them with that godlike strength, and then he reached down—gripping himself, pumping once, twice, slow and firm, guiding the thick head of his cock to your entrance. He paused there, rubbing himself through your slick folds, teasing your clit with the swollen tip, watching the way your body arched toward him like a prayer.

“Look at you,” He whispered, voice shaking now with restraint. “So warm… so wet already… you’re going to take me so fucking well, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” You breathed. “Please… I want it.”

His hand came to rest beside your head, and he leaned over you again, kissing your mouth with molten heat as he finally began to press in–slow, slow, achingly slow. The stretch hit you in waves–burning, perfect, overwhelming–and he groaned into your mouth as your heat wrapped around him.

“F-Fuck,” He breathed, his voice fracturing. “You feel like heaven. I’ve never–God, Y/N–” He didn’t finish. Couldn’t.

Because your hands were clawing down his back, and your legs were locking around his waist, and your mouth was parting against his in a gasp that shattered into moans when he bottomed out inside you.

You were full. So full. Stretched to the edge of breaking and held together only by the weight of him, the sound of his breathing, and the reverence in his trembling voice as he buried his face in your neck and whispered:

“You were made for me.”

He just breathed against your neck, chest trembling with restraint, like he couldn’t bear to pull back now that he was inside you. His cock pulsed deep in your heat, stretching you wide, pressed tight to the very core of you. And he stayed there–buried to the hilt, his hands braced beside your head, body vibrating with the weight of it all.

You clung to him, arms around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist. You could feel every inch of him–how hard he was, how thick, how perfectly he filled you. Every twitch of him inside you made your thighs tremble.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” He whispered, voice low and trembling. “Tell me if I need to stop. Tell me, and I will. Right now.”

“You’re not hurting me,” You said back, mouth brushing his temple. “I need you to move. Please.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for centuries.

Then he pulled out just slightly–slow, careful–and eased back in, dragging the thick length of his cock along your walls like he was memorizing the shape of your body from the inside.

“Oh fuck,” You gasped. He began to move–slow, dragging thrusts that pulled him nearly all the way out before he sank back in, groaning each time he filled you again. His hips rolled with divine pressure, not frantic or fast, but heavy and claiming, grinding against your clit with every deep push. The bed rocked gently beneath you.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” He breathed. “It’s like your body never wants to let go.”

“Maybe I don’t,” You whispered, forehead pressed to his. “Maybe I want you to stay inside me forever.”

His groan turned desperate. His hand slid under your thigh, hooking it higher around his hip, pulling you open for him even more. The change in angle made you cry out as he hit a new spot—deep, hot, overwhelming.

“Fuck,” He growled. “You feel that, sweetheart? That’s your body taking me deeper. So fuckin’ good for me.”

You nodded, voice catching on another moan as your hands gripped his shoulders.

“Look at me,” He said, and when your eyes met his, you nearly gasped. They were glowing–bright, molten, golden with fire. “You’re mine right now. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” You choked out, voice broken and full. He kissed you–hard, open-mouthed, desperate–and began to thrust a little faster now. Still slow, still deep, but harder. More intentional. His hips drove into you with steady rhythm, the drag of his cock inside you friction-hot and all-consuming.

Every inch of him was worship. Every stroke a vow.

You could feel yourself getting close–trembling, twitching around him, thighs clenching. He felt it too.

“That’s it,” He groaned, licking into your mouth. “Cum for me. Cum with me still inside you. Let me feel it.”

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, circling it fast and filthy as his cock slammed into you again.

The orgasm ripped through you like sunlight bursting through glass–hot, blinding, your whole body arching into his as your cunt spasmed around him. You sobbed into his shoulder, and he fucked you through it–murmuring praise, filthy and sacred all at once.

“Look how perfect you are,” He breathed. “Cumming all over me…Still taking every inch.”

You were still trembling when you felt him lose control–his rhythm stuttering, his breath catching, hips driving deep one final time as he came inside you with a groan torn from somewhere deep in his chest.

His weight hovered over you, both of you breathless and slick, the air thick with the scent of sex and heat. He was still buried inside you, twitching slightly, chest rising and falling against yours as the last of his orgasm rippled through him in low, broken groans.

“Fuck…” He rasped, voice molten and broken, “That was so good…”

You whimpered softly, your nails grazing the bare skin of his back. His weight pressed you into the mattress just enough to ground you, the fullness of him still inside sending aftershocks rippling through your core.

But then–he moved. Not out of you at first. Just a shift of his hand. A kiss to your cheek. A glance down at your flushed, tear-glossed face.

And then he said it, low and rough:

“But I just want to make you finish one more time…”

Your breath caught. “Sentry–”

He began to pull out slowly, his cock dragging against your oversensitive walls, and you gasped–a choked sound, hips twitching under him.

“I know, baby,” He murmured, voice soft but laced with hunger. “I know you’re sensitive. But I need to feel you come undone again. I need to feel that perfect little pussy squeeze my fingers one more time.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was sliding down your body again–this time with something wild in his eyes, a golden flicker like a sunflare behind his lashes. His hand gripped the backs of your thighs, pushing them open with unrelenting strength, folding you open again like pages in a sacred book.

You moaned as the cool air hit your soaked core, his cum leaking from you, trailing down onto the sheets, and he groaned at the sight of it.

“Fuck…Look at this mess,” He commented, dragging his fingers through the slick heat between your legs. “You took me so well…But you’re not finished. Not yet.”

And then his fingers plunged into you again.

Not slow this time.

Not careful.

His forearm flexed as he pumped his fingers into you with devastating precision–three now, thick and fast, his palm grinding against your clit with each wet, relentless thrust. The sound of it was obscene–slick and slapping, your body sucking him back in with every stroke.

You cried out, your thighs clamping around his arm. “Sentry–fuck–too much–”

“Shhh,” He growled, kissing your inner thigh, not slowing. “Yes, you can. You’re gonna give it to me again. I can feel how close you already are.”

You clawed at the sheets, hips bucking off the mattress, your breath stuttering into broken moans. Every thrust of his hand hit that perfect spot–his knuckles grazing your walls, his fingers curling up with divine intention.

Your legs shook violently.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent sob.

You were already there–right there–your core fluttering and clenching around his wrist now, the pressure so intense it bordered on unbearable.

“That’s it,” he gritted, his voice pure sunfire, dripping with praise and possession. “Clench for me. Just like that. Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight–milking my fingers like you never want to stop.”

Your back arched violently.

“Sentry!” You wailed. “I’m gonna–”

“Do it.” His free hand gripped your hip, holding you down as your orgasm tore through you–harder than before, sharper, your entire body convulsing under him. You screamed into the crook of your arm, thighs shaking, your slick gushing around his wrist as he kept fucking you through it, watching with reverent awe as you completely fell apart.

Your hips bucked wildly. Your vision blurred.

And he just watched, glowing like a star reborn, sweat glistening on his chest, his fingers still working you until you were sobbing-wrung out and trembling and twitching under the weight of him.

Only then did he slow, easing his fingers from your soaked, fluttering walls. He brought them to his mouth again, licking them clean, eyes half-lidded with something almost too tender to name.

He crawled back up, slipping beside you, arms already wrapping around your limp, shaking frame.

You couldn’t speak at first–just clung to him, your breath stuttering into his neck, your body still spasming gently with the last shocks of pleasure.

Then–quietly, hoarsely–you managed it:

“…I–I think I’m going to have the best sleep of my life now…”

A dazed little laugh fell from your lips, your hand weakly pressing against his chest.

“Because my brain…Is shot.” Sentry laughed softly, wrapping the blanket around your hips, kissing your temple with quiet reverence.

He kissed down your neck, hands gripping your thighs like he was anchoring himself. When his mouth found your pulse point, he sucked just hard enough to draw a moan—and the bruise bloomed seconds later.

He pulled back to look at the mark, already forming, then looked up at you with something feral in his eyes. “You’re so fucking soft,” he groaned. “I’m gonna mark every inch of you. Mine. All of you.”

You gripped his hair, kissed him harder. “Then do it.”

His fingers laced with yours, pinning them above your head as he pushed into you slowly, the stretch of him drawing a gasp from your lips. He watched your face like it was the only thing that mattered.

His thrusts were slow, deep, patient at first—until you begged.

“Harder, Bob. Please. Don’t hold back.”

He shuddered. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I do,” you gasped. “I want all of you.”

His mouth crashed into yours, and the dam broke.

You swore the headboard cracked. The bed groaned beneath you. Your name was a prayer on his tongue, murmured between bruising kisses and gasped apologies he didn’t need to make.

Because you loved the marks. The ache. The secrecy.

The thrill of sneaking out of his room at 3AM, hair a mess, lips swollen. Of pretending nothing happened in the halls the next day. Of brushing fingers under the table during briefings, eyes meeting like a promise.

And in those moments—when no one else knew, when it was just you and him—you felt more his than ever.

You traced a bruise on your collarbone absently as you slipped out of his bed, one of his t-shirts falling to mid-thigh. You bit your lip to hide the satisfied smile. Bruised and adored. Just how you liked it.

The tower was still quiet as you crept back to your room to change, slipping into gym shorts and a hoodie for morning training. You paused once, catching your reflection in your bathroom mirror—faint marks painting your hips, the curve of your neck, the inside of your thigh.

Heat flushed through you at the memory. His hands gripping your waist. His voice—“You’re mine.”

You tugged the hoodie tighter and headed down to start training.

The gym was already humming with low music and the sound of punches hitting pads. Bucky was setting up on the mat, hoodie off, sweat darkening the collar of his black shirt. He gave you a quick nod when you walked in—his version of a good morning.

Bucky Barnes had been like a brother to you since day one. Not in the forced “everyone on a team is family” way—no, this was different. Real.

He was rough around the edges when you first joined the Thunderbolts, all tight-lipped commands and watchful eyes. Cold. Distance. Guarded. But something in you cracked through that hard soldier shell. Maybe it was how stubborn you were. How warm. Unafraid to rile him up, to poke the bear. Maybe it was how you asked too many questions. Or the way you always saved him a seat in the briefing room. Or how you reminded him—without meaning to—what it felt like to care about someone without it turning into war.

You sometimes reminded him of Steve.

He saw him in you. In the way you saw people. In how you never gave up on anyone, not even him. In the way you could smile even after a mission gone sideways and still say, "We're okay. We'll figure this shit out."

You were brave. Kind. Loyal.

You were the thing Steve used to fight for.

And Bucky—he didn’t say it, couldn’t say it—but he clung to that. To you. Because if someone like you could believe in him, then maybe there was still something worth saving inside him.

That’s why he called you “kid,” even though you weren’t.

That’s why he tossed you his hoodie when you were cold, sat beside you when you couldn’t sleep, and taught you how to break a man’s wrist with a flick of your body weight.

He watched over you in the field. Back-to-back in a firefight. A quiet hand on your shoulder after a tough mission. His voice, always steady, always low: “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

He wasn’t your teammate. He wasn’t a friend.

He was your brother. Your family. Not by blood. But by bond. By choice.

And that made what happened next inevitable.

Because when he saw those bruises, the ground shifted underneath his feet. All he could see was someone hurting you. And he'd spent decades trying to protect people like you, people he cared about. He had lost Steve. He wasn't going to lose you.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Barely,” you said, grinning. “Try smiling once in a while.”

He rolled his eyes. “Try not tripping over your own feet.”

“Rude,” you said.

He tossed you a set of gloves. “Let’s go. Standard drills.”

You started slow. Footwork. Blocks. He moved easily, but watched your form like a hawk, correcting gently with a hand at your hip, your wrist, your shoulder.

“Looser on the right,” he murmured. “You’re tightening up too much, kiddo.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mm-hmm.” His tone was skeptical. “Take off the hoodie.”

You froze.

“It’s hot in here,” he added, too casually. “And you’re sweating like hell.”

“Bucky—”

“Off, Y/N.”

Shit.

You sighed, peeled it off, revealing the tank top beneath—and the faint, fresh constellation of bruises that peppered your collarbone and shoulders.

The moment the hoodie dropped to the mat, everything stopped.

Bucky’s whole body tensed.

His eyes locked on the marks. A slow, terrible realization crawling across his face like storm clouds. His voice was suddenly razor sharp.

He stopped breathing.

“What the fuck is that?”

You blinked, already knowing where this was going. “It’s nothing, Bucky.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice dropped, deadly quiet. “Who did this?”

“I said it’s nothing—”

His gaze narrowed. “Don’t bullshit me. Y/N, what is that?” He stepped forward, fingers brushing the side of your neck. His touch was soft, but his jaw was tight. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

“I—” You swallowed. “It’s fine, Bucky. It’s—just mosquito bites, that's all.”

“I'm not stupid. I know what bruises look like,” he snapped, his voice rising. “And those? They didn’t come from sparring.”

You stepped back. "Please don't do this."

“Do not follow me unless you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

And then he was storming down the hall, headed for the common room. Straight into the storm.

Because to him? This wasn’t just bruises.

It was his kid—his sister—hurt, marked, and silent about it.

And he’d tear down the whole damn team to protect you.

But of course, you followed him. You fumbled to put the hoodie back on, trying to catch up with Bucky.

You caught up to him just as he stormed into the common room, boots stomping accross the floor. You barely had time to catch your breath before all hell broke loose.

Bob was sprawled on the couch, legs stretched out, hoodie pulled halfway over his head, curls messy on his forehead. Yelena sat beside him eating chips straight from the bag, one boot resting on the coffee table. Walker was slumped on the other, flipping channels again and again.

"Just pick a damn channel already, jeez," Yelena scoffed.

"We have Netflix you know?" Bob chimed in softly.

The second Bucky entered, everyone looked up.

“Do you know who fucking did this to her?” Bucky barked, voice sharp enough to cut metal.

Yelena blinked, slow and unbothered. She raised one perfectly arched brow and held up her bag of chips. “Wow. Good morning to you too, soldier boy. Want a chip?”

Walker frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this!” Bucky turned, grabbed your armg gently, always gently, and tugged the hoodie sleeve up to show the fading bruise near your wrist. “And that,” he pointed to your neck. “And that.”

“Bucky, please—” you tried, stepping in front of him, but he wasn’t hearing it.

“You better start talking,” he growled, pointing at each of them like they were suspects in a murder trial. “Because if one of you laid a hand on her—”

“Okay, this is very dramatic,” Yelena said, popping another chip in her mouth. “I love it. Are we in a movie right now? Because damn, the drama.”

“I’m being very fucking serious right now, Yelena.”

She shrugged. “Just trying to defuse the tension.”

“And you're not helping!”

“I know,” she said sweetly.

Bucky whirled on Walker next. “Was it you?”

Walker sat up straighter, blinking. “What? No! Jesus—”

“I swear—if you even looked at her wrong—”

“Oh, come on, man!” Walker snapped, tossing the remote on the couch. “I’m not suicidal.”

While Bucky and Walker bickered, Yelena turned to you slowly, her eyes cool but curious. Then—subtle as smoke—her gaze dropped to the bruises peeking from your hoodie, then flicked to Bob.

Bob hadn’t moved. But he was watching. His shoulders tense. His jaw clenched.

Yelena raised one perfectly arched brow. You saw the moment it clicked for her.

Of course she knew.

She wasn’t stupid. She’d seen the way you looked at each other during debriefs. The way you flushed when Bob’s fingers brushed yours in the kitchen. She’d definitely heard the sounds coming from your room last night—because, shocker, spies hear everything.

But she wasn’t going to rat you out to Bucky. No. She gave you the look—the look—tilting her head with the tiniest smirk like, girl, really? him? damn okay.

Then she turned back to her chips like none of this concerned her.

Meanwhile, Bucky was still in full interrogation mode.

“I will find out who did this,” he said, voice rising again. “And when I do—”

“You’re going to do what, Barnes?” Walker snapped back. “Ground us? You're not her dad.”

“I don’t have to be,” Bucky growled. “She’s family. I raised her on this goddamn team while you were still figuring out which way the bathroom was!”

“Oh my god,” Yelena said through a mouthful of chips, “this is better than anything on TV.”

You rubbed your hands down your face and slowly met Bob's eyes, just for a second.

It was enough.

He stood up. Violently. Almost knocking off the entire coffee table.

Yelena sat up straighter, chip bag rustling. "Oh, here we go."

Walker looked from Bob to Bucky, then back. “Wait. Wait wait wait—are we fighting now? In the middle of the living room? Are you guys serious?"

Bucky turned toward Bob, chest puffe like a feral bull. "Say something. I dare you."

“Enough!” Bob’s voice cracked like a whip across the room, thunderous, vibrating in the air like it came from somewhere deeper than his chest.

Yelena froze, chip halfway to her mouth. “Well, there goes the drywall.”

Bucky took one menacing step forward. “What did you say?”

Bob didn’t flinch. His voice was low. "It was me."

Dead. Silence.

Oh, fuck.

You could've heard a pin drop.

Yelena whispered, “Oh my god, I knew it.”

Walker blinked. “Hold the fuck on.” He gasped like he just found out Santa wasn’t real. “Wait—you two?! You’ve been doing it?”

“You?” Bucky spat, stepping forward. “You think that’s fucking funny?”

“No,” Bob said calm. Too calm.

And that snapped Bucky.

He lunged. “I’m going to kill you right now!”

“Bucky!” you shouted, throwing yourself between them just as Bucky’s fist came up.

You caught him mid-swing, grabbing his wrist, bracing your weight against him with everything you had.

“NO! No, no, no—Bucky, stop!” you yelled, pushing back on his chest, eyes wide.

Bob didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. His hands stayed at his sides, jaw set like he was ready to take it.

“You did this to her?” he hissed. “You put your hands on her?”

“I didn’t hurt her,” Bob bit out. “I’ve never laid a hand on her in anger—”

“You left bruises!” Bucky shouted, jabbing a finger toward Bob like he was issuing a death sentence. “You don’t get to decide what hurting her looks like! You don’t get to be the one who touches her and makes her lie to me about it!”

“Bucky, please,” you pleaded, voice breaking.

“I didn’t hurt her,” Bob snapped. “You think I don’t know what I’m capable of? I’ve been terrified of it since day one. Every time I touch her, I’m scared shitless I’ll lose control—but I don’t. Because I’d rather die than ever cross that line.”

Bucky’s jaw locked. “That’s not comforting.”

“She’s not a child, Bucky,” Bob bit out. “She knows what she wants."

"But she's my child, Bob! Mine," Bucky roared, voice cracking with something other than rage, like fear. "I've been protecting her since she joined this team. I've bled for her. I would take a bullet for her if it meant keeping her safe. You think you can just crawl into her bed—what? Expect me to shake your hand? Pat your back? You're fucking delusional."

"She's not yours to own!" Bob roared. "You don't get to decide who touches her, who loves her. She’s not some piece of property. She made a choice. I made my choice."

Bucky’s breathing was ragged, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. “She’s my family!" he hissed. "And you didn’t even have the balls to tell me.”

“I wanted to,” Bob snapped. “She told me you’d do this.”

“She was right!” Bucky barked, his eyes glossing over with betrayal. “Because I trusted you. You were supposed to be safe.”

“I am.” Bob’s voice dropped. “I love her. I’m careful with her. You know she bruises easily. Everyone knows it. I try. I always try. But she wanted it. She asked me to. I never forced her. I’d never do that to her.”

You stepped in closer, your hand sliding to Bucky’s chest. “He’s telling the truth.”

Bucky stared at you like he didn’t recognize you for a second. “You let him…”

“I wanted him,” you said simply. “And I still do.”

Walker stood up slowly, blinking like a deer in headlights. “Oh my god,” he muttered, running a hand down his face. “Is this… is this a thing? Like a regular thing? You two just… sneak around and… Jesus Christ, you two fuck?”

Yelena nearly choked on her chips.

She turned to him slowly, eyes wide with disbelief. “Walker. My guy. You live here. How have you not noticed?”

“I thought the noise was the pipes!” he said, flailing.

Yelena tilted her head. “You thought the pipes moaned her name at 2AM?”

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW?!”

She blinked. "Walker, if your pipes ever sound like that, you call an exorcist. Not maintenance."

He shook his head, exhaling hard. Then he looked at Bob, fury simmering low. “If you ever cross a line—if you so much as make her flinch or cry—I will end you. You break her heart, I break your face. Deal?”

“Deal,” Bob said without hesitation.

Bucky stared at Bob, his jaw ticking. But then his eyes shifted—back to you. Still tight with anger, but… softer now.

“You okay?”

You smiled—small, soft, but sure. “I promise,” you said. “I’m more than okay.”

You glanced back at Bob. He was still watching you like the room didn’t exist.

“He makes me happy, Buck.”

Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Goddammit.”

He yanked you into a hug, a little too tight, one arm slung around your neck like he was both scolding you and shielding you. You melted into it as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“I swear to God, Y/N,” he muttered, voice low in your ear, “if he hurts you, I’ll kill him myself.”

You chuckled against his chest. “I know you would.”

Bucky sighed and pulled back, plopping down onto the couch like the last ten minutes had aged him a decade. “And for the love of all that is holy—use protection.”

Yelena snorted next to him. “And do not fuck in the communal shower. Please. I beg you.”

Walker looked horrified. “Wait—have they?!”

You and Bob exchanged a look. He blushed. You smirked. Then you crossed the room, and without missing a beat, Bob reached out and pulled you into him. His arm slid over your shoulders like muscle memory, tucking you against his side with an ease that made everyone in the room groan. He looked down at you with that soft, dopey grin, like a damn teenager who just scored the girl of his dreams.

Yelena let out the loudest groan of all. “Oh my god, you’re disgusting. Look at you—so in love. Yuck!” She made a dramatic gagging noise. “This is vile. I feel violated.”

Bob chuckled.

Bucky didn’t even look. He just threw his head back. “Jesus Christ, please stop this. I can’t take it anymore.”

Yelena didn’t miss a beat. “Honestly, Buck? I’m surprised she can still walk after what I heard last night.”

Bob choked violently.

You burst into laughter, burying your face in his hoodie, muffling a wheeze.

Bob cleared his throat, red as a tomato. “Okay, wow.”

Bucky clapped his hands, hard. “OKAY! Great. That’s enough. Breakfast. Anyone?”

Walker, still pale, raised a hand. “I need alcohol.”

Bucky didn’t even hesitate. “You know what? Make it two. Double.”

Yelena leaned back, completely unbothered, tossing a chip in her mouth. “God, I love this team.”

And you? You looked around—at the chaos, the bickering, the laughter—and felt it settle deep in your chest.

You loved them too.

With all your heart.

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The federal agent currently lounging on the couch wasn’t helping either. You’d known Leon since you were children, mostly seeing him around the house when you’d come over to play with your best friend. He had kept to himself all those years ago, shooting you fleeting glances and berating you when you’d gotten too loud playing.

Boredom makes your temples throb and the thought of reading through another book makes you feel nauseous, so you settle on approaching Leon, flopping down on the other end with a heavy sigh.

“Hey,” you say, your feet nudging his thigh, “can’t you call up one of your buddies and have ‘em pick us up?”

“That’s not how it works,” Leon sighs, his eyes flitting down to stare irritatedly at your fluffy sock covered feet.

“What good is being a federal agent then?” you drawl, head tipping back over the armrest.

Leon rolls his eyes, shoving your feet away. You grumble, tucking your feet back under you before scooting forward to peer at whatever work on his laptop screen.

“Classified,” Leon says shortly, turning the screen away from you.

“Seriously, Leon?” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s not like I’m going to leak government secrets to a foreign enemy.”

“You might ,” Leon grits out, sending you a glare as you try to twist your body to take another look. 

“Maybe I should be flattered that you think me capable of treason.”

Leon snorts, his eyes glancing over towards you again. “You wouldn’t last a day in the field, dork. Most likely end up getting yourself killed, or maybe even blown up.”

You glare at him, shifting again, making sure to dig your feet into his thigh a little harder as you roll over onto your side on the couch. Leon lets out a low hiss, growing irritated with your petulant behavior. He doesn’t shove your feet away like before so you settle on staying in that position, eyes slipping shut. A tiny sprig of hope unfurls inside of you; maybe if you tried hard enough, you’d be able to sleep the entire snowstorm away.

The weather doesn’t seem to let up, the wind howling outside, a chill beginning to creep into the cabin. You huff out an exasperated breath, eyes peeking open to sneak a glance at Leon. He looks engrossed in whatever he’s doing, fingers tapping against the keyboard, his brows drawn together.

Perhaps you’d struck out, getting stuck here with Leon. Sure, the federal agent stuff was mildly interesting, but he was more like a silent, grumpy lump. It sort of helped that he had a nice face, even if just to stare at. 

“‘m cold,” you mumble, sock-clad toes trying to worm under his thighs, seeking out his warmth.

“Stop complaining,” Leon grouses, nudging your legs away with his hand.

“You’re so mean,” you shoot back, eyes narrowing. “Is it because you got stuck with a desk job?”

Leon glares at you, his touch growing rougher as he grabs your ankle and throws your leg away from him. A yelp escapes you, body bending awkwardly before you straighten yourself up, curling up away from him.

“I’m a field agent,” Leon hisses, snapping his laptop shut.

You shoot him an unimpressed look, eyes flitting over him. “I don’t see a gun.”

“Yeah and it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it, because I would shoot you if I had the chance.”

A sharp scoff leaves you, arms crossing over your chest as you stand up. “You’re such a piece of sh-”

A loud screeching noise cuts you off, your brows furrowing as you glance towards the direction the sound was coming from. It doesn’t take long to figure out what’s happened when the lights in the cabin go out after a moment, the interior lit up by the flickering embers of the hearth. 

“Great,” Leon murmurs, standing up and walking towards the large windows, his eyes landing on the generator, “it’s probably frozen.”

You trail after him, a frown pulling at your lips as you stare out at the snowy tundra surrounding you in every direction.

“Is there no way to fix it?” you ask, fingers pressing up against the window.

“Maybe if we got rid of the snow,” Leon sighs, his hand running through his hair, “but the cold would probably just make it freeze up again.”

“Time to get shovelling,” you murmur, peering up at Leon.

Leon’s gaze flicks towards you, his lips thinning. “I’m not going out there.”

“What?” you ask snappily, irritation prickling across your skin, “why not?”

“Because I’ll freeze to death,” he retorts, “didn’t you watch the weather report?”

You stare at him, eye twitching at his refusal. At this rate, both of you would freeze to death if you weren’t able to get the generator up and running. You didn’t particularly trust the insulation either, although there was enough wood stocked in the spare room to maybe get you through the rest of the nights here.

“So what are you suggesting?” you ask, “that I go out and do it?”

“If you’re desperate enough,” he mutters under his breath.

“You’re the man!” you protest. “Shouldn’t you like protect me or something?”

Leon scoffs, his arms crossing over his chest as he stares down at you derisively. “You’re on your own, pipsqueak. Each man for themselves.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you snarl, stomping over to the door and yanking a jacket off of its hook. You shrug it on angrily, zipping it up tight before wrapping a scarf around your neck. “You’re pathetic, Leon!”

You grab the snow shovel, moving to open the door, only for it to not budge. There’s a moment of silence and you don’t dare look back at Leon. Setting the snow shovel down, you tug at the door handle, yanking hard. 

“Please open,” you whisper, trying to wrench the door open, “please.”

By the time you’re done grumbling and yanking, the door’s only response is a pitiful groan, failing to give way at all, completely and utterly frozen shut.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mutter, glancing at the hinges of the door.

“Frozen in,” Leon drawls, stepping up behind you, “who would’ve thought? You know, you looked pretty pathetic trying to open it up.”

You turn around to face him, biting the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from spewing a slew of curses at him. Your best friend would pay dearly for this debacle. Pushing past Leon, you stride purposefully into the room you were staying in, pulling free the sheets before managing to haul the mattress off of the bed frame. 

Leon watches with raised brows as you lug the mattress across the floor. You dump it onto the space just in front of the fireplace, brushing your hair out of your face before disappearing into your room again to gather the sheets and blankets.

“At least you’re resourceful?” Leon offers, following suit as he adds his mattress next to yours soon after.

The absence of heat becomes all the more apparent as the night creeps in, your body shivering and teeth chattering every now and then despite the layers you’re wearing. You and Leon settle on soup for dinner, placing the cans near the fireplace to heat them up.

“Maybe we’ll just freeze to death,” you sigh, tugging the blanket draped around your shoulders a little tighter.

Leon hums, glancing over at you. “Maybe.”

You roll your eyes at his short response, padding through the cabin and into the dark bathroom. No generator meant no lights and you weren’t willing to risk using your phone or the flashlights lest the battery ran out.

“Ouch,” you grumble when your hip hits the side of the sink, your eyes squinting in an attempt to adjust to the dark.

You’re too busy rubbing your hip to notice the dark shadow stepping into the bathroom. There’s an arm landing on your waist and you shriek, hand flying out to smack whoever it is. 

“Careful,” Leon groans when he feels you grab at his face, feeling around blindly.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, pushing at his chest.

“Keeping you company,” he shoots back, “not like there’s anything for me to do other than stare at the fire.”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” you say, managing to turn the tap on. The water is entirely too cold, but thankfully not yet frozen. You hunch over, splashing some onto your face.

“Funny,” Leon replies drily, his hand slipping lower to hold your hip as you bend over.

Your breath hitches at the action and you hope Leon doesn’t notice, especially with the way you tremble when his hand smooths over your waist absentmindedly. Leon’s touching doesn’t seem to let up and you turn around in his arms, fingers prodding into his chest.

“Stop touching me, you creep.”

Leon lets out a heavy sigh, his hands falling away from you. You manage to bundle out of the bathroom, finding his eyes in the dim lighting. He stares down at you, and you tilt your head in question.

“Nothing,” he huffs out, shoving your face away with his hand.

You grumble, swatting his hand away, padding over to your makeshift bed near the fireplace. Despite the warmth of the fire, you still shiver, and snuggling in under the heap of blankets. 

Leon’s footfalls are quiet as he makes his way over, settling down on his own mattress. Silence passes over you both until a sneeze tickles at your nose, making your eyes water.

“Are you still cold?” Leon asks quietly.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you mumble back, curling up your toes in your socks, trying to bury yourself deeper under the blankets.

You miss the way Leon rolls his eyes, a squeak leaving you when you feel strong arms looping around your waist, tugging you across onto Leon’s mattress. His chest is warm against your back, the layers of blankets growing with the two of you now pressed together.

“Let- let go of me,” you grouse, trying to unlatch his arms from around you.

“No can do, pipsqueak,” he replies, keeping you close, “my sister will kill me if anything happens to you. Besides, I know you gotta little thing for me.” 

“I do not have a thing for you,” you scoff, your denial sharp. You squirm in his arms, managing to roll onto your other side to face him. “That would be gross, Leon.”

“Yeah?” Leon murmurs, his eyes drifting across your face, “you didn’t think it was gross when you told my sister you’d like to sit on my face.”

You sputter, embarrassment making your cheeks go hot. Suddenly, the chill of the snowstorm seems to fade, replaced by a heat that seems unbearable, Leon’s skin warm against yours.

“I- I did not say that!” you protest, trying to squirm out of his arms again but to no avail.

“I overheard you,” he sighs, rolling his eyes when you try to swat at his face.

“Well, fine,” you admit begrudgingly, stopping your struggling. “But you aren’t special . I could name five other guys off the top of my head that I’d enjoy.”

“Ouch,” Leon replies, his eyes boring into yours. “‘m wounded, pipsqueak.” 

You send him a glare before snuggling closer, your face shoving into his chest. Leon lets out a rough laugh, his grip on you loosening. Silence passes over you and the warmth settles down to something more cozy, making your eyes droop shut.

“Could be fun.”

“What?” you mumble sleepily.

“Could be fun if you sat on my face.”

You peek up at him, taken aback. “Have you lost your mind, Leon?”

His lips purse as he considers your words, shrugging his shoulders lazily. “Gotta kill the time somehow,” he yawns.

“‘m not sleeping with you, jerk,” you reply, trying to ignore the fact that Leon, grumpy federal agent Leon , was offering to eat you out.

He sighs, muttering something incoherent that you can barely pick up on. It doesn’t help that Leon’s managed to ruin your sleep, the image of Leon’s head between your thighs popping into your mind. Could be fun .

Leon’s already staring at you when you look back up at him, his brows raising when you play with the strings of his hoodie, twirling and twisting them.

“Do you want to?” you ask.

He considers your words, running his hand through his hair. “I could use the practice. It’s been a while.”

“I’m not a training dummy, Leon,” you retort, but Leon’s already moving, the blankets around you shifting as he pulls them off, grabbing at your sock and pajama pants. “You said it could be fun .”

“Practice can be fun,” he replies drily, pulling your pajama pants off.

You shiver when the cold hits your skin, goosebumps erupting all over immediately. Leon’s hands are warm when he slides them over your legs, his head lowering to take a look at your panties.

“Cute,” Leon murmurs, finger pulling at the band before letting the fabric snap back against your skin. 

“H- hey!” you stop him when he tries to pull them off, eyes narrowing. “You should build up to it, not just go right in.”

Leon rolls his eyes and you huff out an annoyed breath, feet pressing up against his chest. 

“C’mon, Leon,” you say, voice morphing into a taunt, “work for it.”

“You always like this?” he shoots back, glaring down at you.

You give him a snarky smile, nudging your feet against his chest again. Leon shakes his head, grabbing one of your feet. You watch as he dips his head, his lips landing on your ankle. Leon’s lips are surprisingly gentle, his eyes flitting to yours as he trails his lips up your leg, leaving hot kisses in his wake.

A soft sigh escapes you, the tenseness fading as you relax, letting your eyes slide shut as he squeezes your thighs and kisses the side of your knee.

“Good?” he asks, his voice low.

“Mhm,” you nod, hips reacting to his ministrations as he spreads you apart.

Leon’s breath is hot against your skin, his tongue darting out to lick teasingly as he covers your inner thighs with kisses. You peer down at him, reaching out to place your hand in his hair, back arching slightly when he noses into your panties.

You bite your lip when he licks over your panties, feeling wetness beginning to gather between your thighs. His eyes flutter shut when your nails scratch at his scalp lightly, lapping at your clothed pussy until the fabric is wet with his spit and your slick, clinging to your folds.

“That’s cute,” you murmur, “thought this was just practice?”

He huffs out a breath and you smile, letting him lap at your clothed cunt until he’s satisfied. Leon kisses your hip when he rises up, fingers trailing across your thighs before drifting over your panties again, rubbing the drenched material absentmindedly. 

“‘s nice,” he murmurs, reaching up to tug your panties flush against your pussy, his eyes latched onto the way it outlines your puffy folds. Leon’s fingers reach down, rubbing over your cunt, pressing your panties against you harder. He watches the way you bite back the noises that threaten to escape, his lips turning into a frown. “Don’t do that.”

You shake your head stubbornly and he glares at you, tugging your lip out from the confines of your teeth.

“Guess I’ll just have to wear you out, hm?”

Leon’s fingers are greedy as he pulls your panties free, throwing them somewhere over his shoulder.

“Kiss first,” you say quietly when he thumbs apart your sticky folds, “then lick.”

“I know how to do this,” he grunts, gripping your thighs harder to pull you closer to him.

“Well then show me- oh fuck -”

Your breath hitches when he kisses your clit, the bud swollen and aching from before when he’d licked over your panties and prodded his tongue against you. Leon grins against your cunt, his tongue lolling out to lick a stripe over your wet pussy, delving deep between your folds to drink down your slick.

“Taste good, pipsqueak,” he rasps, licking over your cunt, lapping over and over again until your thighs twitch and your hand tightens in his hair, eyes squeezing shut.

“Don’t- ngh- don’t call me that! ”

“What should I call you then?” Leon asks, pulling back to spit on your cunt, his fingers spreading over your clit and pussy, rubbing it in, his thumb drawing tight circles against your clit. “Hm? Baby, is that what you want? Maybe sweetheart? Darlin’, gorgeous, my good girl? All of ‘em?”

You can only manage out a moan, hips rolling up to meet his mouth as the pet-names ring in your mind, a haze of lust fogging over your mind. Leon lets out a hoarse laugh, prodding a finger against your fluttering hole, easing it in. 

A whimper leaves you, cunt clenching around it as he nips at your thigh, tilting his head to suck your clit into his mouth. You shudder as he suckles, tongue flicking against the throbbing bud, teeth grazing across gently. He presses another finger into your cunt, a deep groan leaving him as you clench around his fingers harder, hips jumping when he sucks at your clit with renewed fervor.

“Such a whiny baby,” Leon muses when he hears the little whimpers and whines that leave you, his hand clamping over your hip to keep you in place as you squirm. “Don’t worry sweetheart, ‘m gonna take care of you.”

You mewl, hips rolling again needily as he buries his face into your cunt, slurping and sucking noisily. It makes your cheeks flush with embarrassment, despite the fact no one can hear you for miles.

“Thought- ah- thought you were gonna let me sit on your face,” you mumble out, body shuddering when Leon curls his fingers, beginning to thrust them in and out of you.

“Is that what you want?” 

You peer down at him before managing out a nod. Leon hums, taking a measured suck of your clit and pressing a kiss to it. He pats your hip, shifting to lay on his back in response. It’s nice of him, you think, when he offers you his hand, pulling you closer as you swing your leg over his face as you peer down at him.

“Sit on my face, baby,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh.

You flush lightly, reaching out to brush the hair that’s fallen across his forehead, running your fingers through the soft strands. Leon’s eyes slip shut and you smile, trailing your fingers over the curve of his cheek before shuffling forward, lowering yourself onto his awaiting mouth.

“Oh,” you breathe out, hands landing on the sheets above his head, gripping them tightly.

Leon groans, hands grasping at your thighs, squeezing the fat of them as he urges you to rock your hips across his mouth. It’s almost too much, the swirl of his tongue, the intensity of his gaze as he looks up at you.

“I like it when you shut up,” you murmur, giving him a smile as you drag your cunt over the length of his tongue. “So much more tolerable this way, Leon.”

Leon lets out an indignant sound and you yelp, jolting when his hand comes down on your ass, your flesh stinging. What an asshole. You glare down at him, gripping his hair harder, pulling at the strands, enough to make it hurt .

He grunts, eyes squeezing shut in pain before he grasps your hips, pulling you down flush against his mouth. Your mouth opens, a strangled moan sounding as you feel his tongue pressing into your cunt.

“N- ngh- no,” you begin to say but Leon ignores you, fucking into your cunt with your tongue.

You can hardly see straight, back arching, eyes squeezing shut. 

“Brat,” Leon snarls, slapping your ass again, “so fucking bratty, sweetheart.”

“‘m not,” you whine, squirming atop his mouth, moaning again when he sucks his clit into your mouth, tongue flicking and swirling until you’re seeing stars. “‘m not , Leon.”

“You are,” he snaps lowly, “bratty and annoying and a fucking pain the ass.” He licks over your cunt again and again. Your thighs twitch, chest heaving as you suck in short, sharp breaths, hunching over when his teeth nip at your folds carefully.

It’s the worst, or perhaps the best because it has the bridge of his nose pressing up against your clit in a way that you’ve never felt before. You rock your hips, gasping, tears pricking at your eyes when he lands another heavy slap to your ass.

“Cum, baby,” Leon hisses, his voice a low rasp, “cum on my fucking mouth. Can you do that, hm? Be a good girl for once and cum .”

You shudder, a sharp cry tearing its way out of your throat as you cum, twitching violently. There’s sweat covering your body, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum. Leon laps at your slick, drinking it down like a man starved. He squeezes your thighs and you tremble, managing to squirm off of him, slumping down over the blankets, panting as your cunt throbs.

Silence passes over the cabin, save for the soothing crackle of the fire. Leon clears his throat, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer into the warmth of his chest.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “you- uh, you good?”

“Shut up, Leon,” you grouse, still reeling from the fact that Leon had given you the best orgasm of your life.

“I didn’t mean it,” he offers quietly, calloused palm rubbing up and down your side, over the dip of your waist and curve of your hip. “Well, not all of it.”

You shift, turning to face him. Leon’s hair looks like a mess and you figure you don’t look that much better, given all the squirming and writhing you were doing earlier.

“Yeah?” you murmur, “well, I mean it when I say you’re a dick.”

“Fine,” Leon muses, a smile pulling at his lips, “I’ll let you h-”

His words are cut off when you shuffle closer, grabbing his hoodie. Your nose brushes against his gently, eyes fluttering shut as you press your lips against his tentatively. Leon sighs into your mouth, his hand squeezing at your ass, his lips working against yours.

You wrap your arms around his neck, letting out a soft noise when he licks into your mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. He can’t help himself as he grabs at you, his hands sliding up under your thick sweater to grasp at your tits. You whimper when he pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers before tugging gently.

“Gonna let me fuck you, sweetheart?” Leon whispers against your lips.

You nod, kissing him again, pulling at his hoodie. He sits up, tugging it up over his head before reaching for you, pulling your sweater off of you. Leon swallows when he sees your breasts, his hands reaching for them greedily.

“C’mere, baby,” he murmurs, dipping his head to suck a nipple into his mouth. You bite your lip, hands cupping the back of his head as Leon nuzzles into your breasts, mouthing at the sides of them, landing soft kisses across your sternum and up your throat before finding your lips again.

Your hands are just as greedy as his mouth, reaching down to palm him through his sweats, the bulge looking inviting. Leon moans into your mouth and you smile, pecking his lips as you dip your hand inside, curling your hand around his cock.

It’s thick and heavy when Leon pulls down his sweatpants, his cock bobbing. You lick your hips, straddling his thigh, stroking his cock slowly. Leon’s eyes are squeezed shut, his head tipped back as his hips buck up into your hand.

“‘s big, Leon,” you murmur, watching with rapt attention as thick globs of pre-cum bead at the tip of his cock.

“Y- yeah?” he whimpers, thighs twitching, “‘s all yours, sweetheart.”

You hum happily, meeting his eyes before opening your mouth, letting spit drop down from your tongue onto his cock. Leon groans brokenly, watching as you jerk him off, cum and spit mixing together. 

“Enough,” he grunts when you swipe your thumb over the tip of his cock.

You pout, shuffling back, enough to get your mouth around the head of his cock. Leon’s grumbling when your tongue swirls around his cock, his hand fisting into your hair to pull you off roughly.

“I said enough ,” Leon murmurs, moving you until you're on your hands and knees. 

“Thought you said your cock was mine ,” you drawl, wiggling your hips, ass up in the air for him. “You’re being- oh -”

A dazed sigh leaves you when you feel Leon’s mouth on you again, his thumbs spreading you apart greedily, tongue licking over your cunt. You turn your head, hazy eyes finding Leon’s hand wrapped around his cock, his grip tight as he strokes himself.

“Want your cock in me,” you mumble, drooling into the pillows when he kisses your clit.

“Greedy,” he says, rubbing his cock against your cunt for a few seconds before he presses his cock in.

You gasp, eyes squeezing shut, hips shifting away. Leon clicks his tongue, pulling your hips back, forcing you to take his cock. It’s girthy and thick, a mewl leaving you as you feel his cock stretch you out.

“That’s it,” Leon whispers, hand smoothing over the length of your back, “take my cock, sweetheart.”

You babble incoherently, leaning back into him when he drapes himself over your back, his lips on your shoulder. Leon draws his hips back before thrusting them forward, making you moan. He smiles against your skin, kissing the back of your neck before straightening out.

“Look at that,” Leon murmurs, letting out a low whistle as he spreads your wider, his fingers stroking the edges of your stretched out pussy. “Greedy cunt’s just swallowing up my cock, baby.”

“More,” you whine, starting to rock your hips back to meet his thrusts.

Leon groans, feeling your ass smack back against his hips. He grips you harder, fingers bruising against your hips, pushing down on your back to make you arch. The action has you squeaking when you lose your balance, toppling forward, cheek squishing into the pillows.

The clap of his hips against yours is embarrassing, the cold around you forgotten in the dim cabin, the thickness of his cock replacing any worries you had.

“So fucking good,” Leon snarls, tugging you up again. “Perfect fucking pussy, baby.”

You cry out when he fucks up into you, his chest flush against your back, his arm winding around your neck. Leon squeezes and you slur out a moan, head turning to sink your teeth into his bicep.

He hisses at the flare of pain, squeezing harder. Your body jolts with every thrust, eyes rolling back in delirium at how good the feel of his cock is combined with the squeeze of his arm around your neck.

“Leon!” you whimper, tipping your head back, kissing his jaw sloppily.

“‘m right here, sweetheart,” he groans, mouth slotting over yours messily.

It’s all spit and sloppy kisses, both of your bodies trembling as Leon pounds into you without abandon. The squeeze of his bicep has your vision blurring, nails digging into his thigh. Your cunt clenches and Leon whines, pressing you back down to fuck his cock into you, hand coming down on your ass hard .

“Gonna make me cum,” he rasps, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles around the swollen bud. 

“Please,” you mewl, hugging the pillow to your chest, “please, Leon- wanna cum, wanna cum please .”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he chants breathlessly, kissing your cheek, “wait, where- fuck, baby- where do you want it?”

“In- nghhh- in me,” you beg, hooking your foot awkwardly around his leg, trying to keep him from pulling out. “Cum inside , Leon. Want your cum.”

“Shit,” Leon groans, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, his hips humping into your cunt as he loses himself in the tight clench of your pussy. “Sweetheart, you gotta let go.”

“N- nooo,” you whine, shaking your head, wiggling your hips back so his cock presses into you deeper.

He moans, the sound deep and guttural and it has you moaning too, cunt clenching around him like a vice. 

“Pussy’s not letting me go,” Leon snarls, cock driving into you deeper as he slows his thrusts, opting to roll his hips instead. “Fine, ‘m gonna give you my cum, sweetheart. Gonna fill this greedy, little pussy up.” 

You slur out a response, face shoved into the pillow, writhing as Leon rubs your clit a few more times. He curses when you squeeze around him again, slumping over you as his cock twitches, hot cum spilling into you. You bite your lip, dazed and sated as you cum with him, pussy fluttering around his cock.

Leon kisses your neck, panting as he lets his forehead rest against your back. His softening cock slips out of you and Leon turns you on your back, dipping his head to kiss you deeply. You wrap your arm around his neck loosely, sighing contentedly as he massages your hips and thighs.

“I’ll be back,” he whispers against your lips.

You nod, laying there limp. Leon returns with a dry cloth, his lips lingering on your stomach and hip as he cleans you up.

He tugs you into his chest after, kissing your cheek and letting you burrow into his warmth. Your fingers slide through his hair, playing with the soft strands absentmindedly as he smooths his hand over your side, dropping a kiss to your head every now and then.

“So was that good for practice?” you ask, feigning innocence.

Leon huffs out a laugh, his hand squeezing at your waist. “Yeah,” he says, thumb stroking over the curve of your hip, “real good, baby.”

You hum happily, smiling when he tilts his head, kissing you again.

“Does this mean I can see your work?”

“No,” he replies drily, smiling against your cheek. “Still classified, sweetheart.”

“Well, what can I do to un -classify it?”

Leon grins. “I can think of a few things.”

-

“Bring me any souvenirs?” you call out, leaning against the side of your car.

Leon rolls his eyes, dumping his duffle bag onto the ground, his arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. You laugh, letting him nuzzle into the crook of your neck, humming in amusement when he grumbles.

“You’re meant to say you missed me.”

You did miss Leon. After the snowstorm had receded, you’d still been unable to keep your hands off one another, even when you’d returned home. He’d been called on some mission some months later, and now here you were, picking him up.

“Just a smidge,” you murmur, biting your lip when he noses into your cheek, pressing soft kisses across your skin.

You turn your head, cupping his cheeks to pull him closer, kissing him deeply. Leon smiles against your lips, holding you tighter, arms squeezing around you. “Maybe a lot,” you whisper, landing another kiss to his lips.

“I missed you too,” he sighs, tucking your hair behind your ear and pressing a kiss to your forehead. Leon’s lips drift, dragging down over the side of your cheek and to your jaw. He presses you against the cool metal of your car, one of his hands drifting under your skirt.

“Know that pretty pussy missed me too,” he murmurs, “‘s why you sent me all those videos, right?”

“Shut up, Leon.”

“Oh c’mon,” Leon drawls, pulling you back into his chest when you try opening the door to your car, “I liked ‘em, sweetheart.”

He kisses your neck heatedly, a soft whine making its way out of your throat when he squeezes the fat of your ass and pats it affectionately.

“We should go home,” you whisper breathily.

“Yeah,” Leon murmurs, his hand forward to cup your pussy, stroking it through your panties. “Car’s right here though.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, muttering a curse when Leon speaks again.

"Choke me," you’d whispered as you rolled your hips, swallowing his cock deeper inside with every slow gyration. Loki’s brows had peaked, his movements slowing. But then, his knuckles had trailed between your breasts, up the exposed column of your throat, unfurling like a deadly flower: thumb at your pulse point, index finger pressing gently below your left ear.

"Like this?" he growled, squeezing gently. He knew exactly like that.

A thrill scorched between your legs. Your cunt tightened around him, and Loki’s eyes fluttered shut with a soft groan. "And they call me the villain," he murmured, thrusting at a glacial, devastating pace. With each roll of his hips, the pressure on your neck increased ever-so-slightly, his slender fingers slotting perfectly into the curve.

You traced over the hand, memorising the thick lines of his veins, the powerful sinews which had once wielded weapons which wrecked galaxies in another life. Now, they wrecked only you as he fucked you endlessly; loved you, endlessly.

In the low light, Loki’s half lidded eyes were pools of fresh tar-the slightest sliver of blue bordering blown irises as your breaths grew short. Dark curls hung sluttishly around the point of his jaw, his wet lips parted as he looked up at the woman pulsing on his cock in devilish wonder; his hand around her delicate, breakable throat.

"Is this how you want me to rule you?" he purred; a playful lilt of poison in its tenderness. You tried to nod and couldn’t.

"Yes…" you gasped.

"Yes?" His brows lifted expectantly.

"Sir."

"King," he corrected, using his free hand to push your hips deeper down the base of his cock. It ground your pussy against his pubic hair, across the flat plane of muscle beneath, guiding the growing orgasm which sparkled like moonlight on shifting waters.

Your vision swam, blood rushing.

Loki’s pressure loosened, one large thumb brushing over your lips and pulling the bottom one down. "I could crush you," he said sweetly, tilting his head with a light squint that made your brain scramble. "But…" He sighed: low, primal, filthy. "You know exactly how to fuck me. The only one in nine realms who can. So for now…"

The long fingers unfurled, pads brushing over your larynx, trimmed nails tracing the flush of your heated skin: tighter.

He pulls you into a hug as he always does before he leaves and when he comes back, and you breathe in deeply, his comforting scent of peppermint body wash, a soft musk, and baby powder enveloping you.

He presses a kiss to the side of your head and slowly retracts from you, a hint of reluctance in his movements.

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” he bids you goodbye, blowing you a kiss before exiting your bedroom and, you deduce when the front door shuts, your apartment.

You decide to get cozy in bed and wait for him to come home while you read a book you’ve been neglecting recently, but it’s only about thirty pages in before your eyelids start to droop and you find yourself curling up under your covers and drifting off to sleep.

When you wake up, it’s with a start, sitting straight up in bed when you hear the front door shut roughly. You wait for Jeno to make his way into your room, surprise and confusion filling you when he appears and—

“You changed your costume.” you point out, and he looks down at it as if he’s forgotten.

“Some girl spilled her drink on me at the party, so Jaemin loaned me his spare costume.” Jeno answers with a shrug, and you nod.

“It’s hot,” you admit with a grin. 

He chuckles as he draws closer to you. “Oh, yeah?”

You nod encouragingly. “The robber thing is kind of a 180 from the police officer, but it’s really hot… kinda makes me a little flustered.”

“Oh, really?” he teases, and you nod again, slower this time. 

“The ski mask is a good touch; kinda scary, too.” you compliment, and his gaze darkens as he looks down at you.

“Are you scared, then, baby?” he questions, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Hm? The big, scary robber’s making you nervous?”

“Oh, yes, mister robber, sir, please! You can take all my money, just please don’t hurt me!” you plead, clasping your hands together and blinking up at him through your lashes.

“It’s not money I want, sweet girl,” Jeno growls through his ski mask, his voice muffled but still so convincing and deeply unsettling that you feel apprehension creeping up on the back of your neck. “Sit on the windowsill,” he grunts, jerking his chin towards the bay window beside your bed, and you climb to your feet, obediently moving to sit at the edge of the windowsill. The seat is cold on the backs of your thighs, making you wince slightly, and you find yourself drawing back in fear as Jeno stalks towards you and stands before you, practically looming menacingly over you.

He slams his hands down on either side of you loudly and suddenly, making you yelp in panic. “Relax,” he purrs, lowering himself so he’s eye level with you. “So pretty,” he rasps, tilting his head to the side as he watches you, but the compliment fails to warm your cheeks the way it usually does, because this time, it sounds… foreign and unfamiliar to you. It’s a type of observation Jeno’s never demonstrated before, your loving boyfriend usually eyeing you with adoration, love, or fondness in his eyes. Tonight, it’s different. It’s almost… sadistic in its fascination, as if the flashes of fear behind your eyes are fueling him somewhat.

You’re so focused on decoding the entirely unsettling look Jeno’s giving you that you don’t notice one of his hands sneaking up behind your back until his fingers are looping in the locks at the base of your neck and tugging your head back roughly. His eyes darken at the flash of panic and pain across your face before he’s ripping the ski mask off and practically smashing his mouth against yours, kissing you more ferociously than he ever has before. He’s all sharp teeth and forceful tongue, the wet, thick muscle bullying its way into your mouth as you whimper for mercy. His tongue swirls around the inside of your mouth possessively, coating every last bit of it with his saliva like he’s marking his territory.

He pulls back slightly before spitting directly into your mouth just as you go to gasp for air. You promptly choke on his saliva, coughing and spluttering pathetically as tears spring to your eyes. You’ve barely recovered before Jeno stuffs two fingers into your mouth, parting them in a V so your lips are stretched horizontally, and he wags his tongue lewdly in the open space of your parted lips, licking against your tongue with long strokes punctuated by guttural grunts of delight. 

He spits once more, a long drop of saliva landing on your tongue, and you whimper in protest, shaking your head in refusal.

He cups your chin in his hand with a firm, almost too tight grip, staring you down challengingly. “Swallow it. Take my spit in your mouth like the good little slut you are.” 

You blink back tears of confusion and hurt as you do just that, swallowing his spit, and he smiles, pleased as he pats your cheek roughly.

“Good.” he grunts, releasing you and knocking your legs apart with two quick slaps to your inner thighs. He drops to his knees between your thighs and yanks the straps of your satin nightie off your shoulders, tugging the fabric down to reveal your bare breasts. He pinches at one nipple, twisting until you squirm away from his touch. He latches onto your neck, biting roughly and sucking harshly and working his way downward until marks are blooming all over your sensitive, buzzing skin.

When he gets to your breast, he looks up at you, studying your reaction when he sucks as much of your breast into his mouth as he can fit. You hiss in surprise and move to push him back slightly, finding yourself overwhelmed by the intense sensations, but he snatches your hands out of the way, linking them together in his larger one before trapping your hands between your legs. He sucks on your nipples roughly, rapidly flicking his tongue over the buds and even nipping at them every once in a while, and you can’t tell if you want to moan or cry.

After what feels like ages of inner turmoil, he releases your breasts from his greedy clutches, your nipple slipping from his lips with a loud, wet, pop sound. He leaves a trail of bite marks down from the underside of your breast to your stomach, where he sinks his teeth into your flesh so roughly that you fear he’s aiming to draw blood. He pulls back when there’s a clear indentation of his teeth on you, marks that are sure to bruise, and spreads your legs as wide as they’ll go. 

“Been dying to taste this pussy,” he grunts under his breath, and you swallow thickly, watching him warily as he drags his tongue up your folds forcefully. Spreading your folds apart with two fingers, he prods the thick tip of his tongue against your entrance. You gasp in surprise when he slithers his tongue into you, the muscle fat and long as he moves it around along your inner walls. “Delicious,” he groans, dragging his tongue over your hole and relishing the way your hips jolt.

When two thick fingers push into you without warning, a weak moan falls from your lips at the surprise of the stretch. Jeno grins cockily, and it hits you what’s different: there’s a hollowness to his every emotion, like there’s a lack of… humanity to it.

Something about him is off; he's not acting like the man that loves you. He's touching you with the desperation of a man that's never had you before. He even smells different; like smoke, ash even, and something metallic and dark. What clues you in the most that this is not your boyfriend is that his signature scent, his personal blend of musk, is nowhere to be found. This man smells tangy, sharp, and strong, a heady blend but most importantly enough, not your boyfriend's blend.

This man is not Jeno.

“Um,” you pipe up tentatively, and he takes a minor break from licking at your core to look up at you with a raised eyebrow. “Who are you?”

With your question, the energy in the room shifts completely; a smile nothing short of sinister appears on his lips, and there’s a wicked glint in his eye that has you clutching at the windowsill.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, and there’s an attempt at tenderness, but it all feels so deceptive, like he’s pantomiming an emotion he’s never experienced. “You don’t recognize me?”

“No,” you say breathlessly. “You’re not Jeno.”

“Smart girl,” he replies before lowering his head to return to eating you out. When you start to close your legs from fear and panic, he growls threateningly, the sound guttural and unnatural, and moves faster than you could’ve thought possible. He pushes the bay window open behind you, the bottom of the window swinging out, and forces you back and down until your torso dangles precariously from your tenth floor apartment unit.

“If you make any wrong moves, I will drop you.” he threatens, and you whimper in terror, the wind chilling your cheeks and rushing through your hair as you dangle, contorted partially upside down, at the mercy of this man who looks just like your boyfriend yet behaves like anything but. “Unless you’ve always wanted to paint the concrete with brain matter, I’d stay still.”

You nod vigorously in understanding, letting your trembling thighs fall apart once more, and he hums appreciatively.

“Like I said,” he remarks as he attaches his lips to your clit, “smart girl.” He sucks roughly at your sensitive bud with lewd moans and wet smacking noises and if he can hear your sniffles and whimpers of fear, he doesn’t comment.

The hand not keeping you in your life-threatening position strokes against your folds, parting them and pushing two fingers back into you, starting to pump them in and out.

“I’ve been waiting for this for too long.” he mumbles against your folds before proceeding to sloppily make out with your core, tongue slurping and licking at every drop of arousal that drips out of your poor hole. “Waited in the shadows, listening to that bastard fuck you every night—”

“Every night?” you gasp, and he chuckles darkly.

“I’ve been watching you both for some time now.” he informs you, fingers moving in and out of you while he speaks as if it’s the most casual conversation in the world. “He was a real fucking soft guy, huh?” 

“Was?!” you squeak in alarm, and he laughs loudly, fingers speeding up cruelly and hooking into your g-spot, making it abundantly clear to you that you’re about to cum, whether you like it or not.

“Oh, he’s not coming back, baby,” he says with an audible grin, malice laced in the pet name he so evilly threw back in your face. “Unless anyone at that Halloween party can perform open heart surgery.”

“Oh, my God,” you whimper, and you’re not sure if it’s from abject horror or your rapidly approaching climax. The unmistakable sounds of his fingers squelching in your arousal fills the inside of the room, loud enough for you to hear it from your precarious pose halfway outside. “Please, you have to stop, I don’t want to cum—”

“Do you think I give a fuck what you want?” he spits back at you, and you flinch at the venom in his voice. “All my life, we’ve been forced to mimic you all up here like puppets while you get to do whatever the fuck you want. Now it’s time to do what I want, and I? I want you to cum all over my fingers and my tongue.”

“Please—” you whisper, and he shushes you, the sound adjacent to something close to loving, but lacking any real sympathy; he must have heard Jeno soothing you at some point and mimicked the sound to the best of his abilities. 

“Cum, baby,” he urges, fingers pistoning in and out of you rapidly before he curls and fucks them directly into your g-spot and brings you to a powerful climax that you wish you could explain away to your guilty conscience. His lips wrapped around your clit, he sucks hard and flicks his tongue over the sensitive bud as you ride out your high against his face. 

When you’ve recovered somewhat, he looks up at you with a wicked grin, lips still glistening with your arousal. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he taunts with a sly grin, and you just sniffle forlornly in response. “Get up, baby—wanna feel that pussy around my cock next.” He pulls you up unceremoniously, shutting the window behind you and guiding you to the bed. He plops you down on the mattress and hovers over you, encroaching on your space bit by bit until you’re lying with your back on the bed and your legs are reluctantly spread to welcome him in. “You scared?”

“Yes,” you whimper, and he pouts at you, not a hint of sympathy in his expression. 

“Good.” he chuckles darkly before lining his thick tip—thicker than Jeno’s—up with your entrance and pushing into you with one fluid motion. You grab roughly at the sheets at the intrusion, gasping out loudly, and he seals his mouth over yours to silence your cry of surprise, tongue pushing into your mouth and licking into it filthily. “Relax, you’re never gonna take it well if you don’t relax.”

How the hell am I meant to relax when you killed my boyfriend and are in my home about to do Lord knows what to me? You think, but you refrain from mouthing off just yet.

He pushes down on your lower abdomen, groaning in delight as he feels the bulge of his length dragging along your inner walls, and you let out a choked-off squeak as he stretches you to your limits and fills you impossibly deep. 

“That’s it, pretty little thing, feel me nice and deep right here,” he growls, starting to move his hips faster to fuck into you at a gradually building pace. His hand slides up your stomach to twist your nipple before continuing up to cup your chin and turn your face towards the mirror by the door. You shake your head vigorously, not wanting to see yourself like this, but he holds fast, practically smushing your cheek into the comforter. “I want you to watch as I ruin you.” he urges, and you whimper in protest. 

Your face looks nothing short of fucked out, and he’s just gotten started; your eyes glassy with unshed tears, a few tear streaks sliding down your cheeks, and your jaw feels permanently dropped open as he fucks into you at a brutal pace. His sinewy arms hold you in place as he bullies his cock into your tight hole and his abdomen tenses with every thrust, tight muscle tensing and flexing in a regrettably attractive way.

He reaches in his pocket and takes out his phone, holding it up and aiming it at you. “Smile, baby; you’re on camera.” You reach to cover your face and chest immediately, crying out in protest when he snatches your hands away. “Don’t tell me you’re camera-shy,” he taunts cruelly. “That loser never filmed you two fucking?” 

“No,” you say pleadingly, and he tuts in disapproval.

“Sight as pretty as this can’t go to waste.” he decides, moving the phone closer to your face. Fresh tears spill forth, and he licks his lips slowly, watching one tear in particular drip down your cheek before leaning down and licking a fat, wet stripe up your cheek where the tear track was. “God, and now you’re crying—it’s like you’re trying to make me cum.”

“No, I’m not, please, I’m not—” you beg, and he shushes you impatiently, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Yes, baby, you’re gonna make me cum nice and deep in this tight little pussy—gonna fuck you full of my cum—” he grunts, and you squirm under his hold desperately, fighting to get free. “That’s it, struggle a little bit for me—so fucking hot,” he mutters before bringing his forearm to your throat to press down harshly, constricting your airway. “Not too much, now—don’t want you getting away from me.”

“Please—” you croak out, struggling to breathe. “Can’t—breathe—”

His smile only widens and two things dawn on you: one, he could very well kill you right now, and two, there’s no way in hell you’re going down without a fight.

You reach up and claw at his forearm, scratching as hard and as deep as you can, and to your alarm, he grins widely, even among the wince in his expression.

“Love that little fighter in you.” he growls, pressing down harder, so hard you fear it might bruise. “Can’t wait to break it.”

Your vision starts to cloud, black spots forming in your line of sight, and you can feel your consciousness slipping away from you even as you try desperately to remain awake and free yourself. It all proves to be in vain as you slip away from this world, barely able to hear his faint murmur of “That’s it,” before you pass out completely.

When you come to, your throat is sore and you can’t move your body. Your vision spins as you take in the sight of your bedroom, eyes squinting reflexively as the glare of the television hits your retinas.

You turn your head this way and that only to see, to your horror, that your hands and feet are tied to each bedpost with thick, coarse rope. No matter how hard you tug, there seems to be no breaking free, and panic creeps up your still hoarse throat, hot and thick and dully aching. 

The television catches your attention once more, your mind focusing on it in an attempt to calm yourself down, and you watch whatever’s on, your brain catching up quickly.

“...in what reporters everywhere are calling the ‘Doppelgäng​er Takeover,’ recent news has shown that people are being viciously attacked and some even killed by someone that looks exactly like them. If you see someone behaving not quite right, stay back and do not approach; they are known to be violent and highly dangerous.”

Your breathing hitches and starts to shallow rapidly as you start to hyperventilate, tugging harder and harder on your restraints. 

“They won’t budge,” Jeno’s voice calls out, and you flinch, whipping your head around to find the source of the sound. Jeno emerges from the hallway, now clad in a short sleeved black tank top and dark gray sweats. “You can thank Jeno’s mom for that; she signed him—and therefore me—up for Boy Scout training when we were eight.” He steps further into the room, dark piercing eyes scanning your frame trembling with fear. “Her precious Jeno never quite got the hang of the knots, but me? I mastered them.”

A terrified whimper slips from you before you can stop it, and his lips quirk up into a wickedly delighted smile.

“What should I, um…” you swallow thickly before continuing, “call you?”

“Jeno.” he replies easily, and his keen eyes catch the almost imperceptible grimace that takes to your lips at his answer. 

“What are you going to do with me?” you ask worriedly, and he raises an eyebrow.

“I’m going to keep you.” he states plainly, and your body stills entirely, fear igniting in your bloodstream and leaving you close to paralyzed. 

“What about my doppelgänger?” you question, not knowing what answer could possibly make you feel better at this point.

“I got rid of her.” His answer is simple again, and you suck in a breath of surprise. “She’s not as fun as you.”

“Fun?” you croak, and he nods, a gleeful smile on his lips as he nears the bed slowly.

“Doppelgängers are essentially a ‘crude’ copy of the ‘original’ person,” Jeno explains, making one-handed air quotes around the words he spits with disdain, “and only the ‘original’ person has a soul.” 

“So… so that means—”

“I don’t have a soul.” Jeno confirms with a hollow laugh made all the more terrifying now that you know he’s literally hollow spiritually, devoid of humanity. “None of my people do.”

“And you want my soul?” you ask fearfully, and he snorts in amusement, shaking his head.

“You really are cute, you know that?” he chuckles. “I’m not going to take it from you,” he says, waiting until your body slackens with relief to add, “I’m going to break it.”

“What does that mean?” you whimper, fresh tears spilling from your eyes. “Jeno, what do you mean?”

“I want you to understand that this is your reality now. I don’t want there to be any fight left in you at all. But you people are like that… hopeful,” he spits the word with disgust. “Your spirits are like a fire that won’t go out. Every once in a while, there’s a little,” he pauses to scan your face, eyes brightening with excitement when he catches sight of your eyes, no doubt reading the fear, fury, and desperation you have to save yourself— “ember… that sparks up, and I’m going to be here to snuff yours out every… single… time.” He’s close enough to bring his mouth to your ear, lips grazing the lobe and making you shudder with revulsion. “You’re not going anywhere unless I say so.”

You don’t say anything, setting your jaw firmly and staring straight ahead to ignore him. Maybe he’ll get angry enough and kill you, putting you out of your misery.

“There’s that little fighter,” he remarks with fascination. “I saw a hint of it earlier when I was choking you; that fight to survive, to live—you fucked my arm up pretty badly, I was impressed.” he remarks, extending his arm to show you the deep, angry, red cuts clawed into his forearm he’d wrapped around your throat just hours ago. His other arm emerges from behind his back, and your eyes widen when you see a Hitachi wand in his hand, his thumb already resting on the “on” button. “I am going to have so much fun breaking you.” he rasps with unrestrained excitement as he turns the vibrator up to the highest setting.