autistic jason todd

Of course, when Roy brings it up, rolls of gauze clutched into the crook of his elbow, Jason just works his jaw with one hand in his hair, the other scribbling in red Sharpie. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jason drawls, face steeled to perfection. He doesn't even look up, too busy brooding down at the spread of documents and maps pinned down by several empty cans of Coke; a few drops of sweet, dark soda stain the papers. 

“You know, I heard from a little Robin,” Roy sings, sauntering over and dumping the gauze onto the small table—one roll bounces onto the floor and off Jason’s slippers, “that you have a girl.” 

Gotcha. Wind had reached Roy from Donna, who had heard from Wally, who had heard from Dick, who had so on and so forthed until the rumor could be traced back to a certain grumpy, spiky-haired sidekick who claims to have seen the second Robin dreamily admiring a nurse as she patched him up on the floor of her apartment.

That makes Jason look up. A shadow crosses his face, one that makes an odd kind of shiver tickle at Roy’s nape. It’s the same kind of look that comes when things go sideways or shit blows up when it isn’t supposed or when Batman does something that really sets him off. 

(But like father, like son. The way Jason is practically glaring at that loose-leaf pile of shit looks just like those old photos of B sent to a long-destroyed phone. Courtesy of Dick, who always has a field day spamming the Titans’ defunct, triple-encrypted groupchat when he happens to be back in Gotham.) 

And then Jason looks to the pile of little, unused rolls spilled across the table. Like—really looks at them, as if it’s the first he’s ever heard of gauze. Then he tilts his head and stares at Roy, mouth pressed into a razor-thin line. 

“Really?” Jason says, brows lifting like he’s totally disinterested. Then he points a finger at himself, really humored. “You think I have a girlfriend? ‘Cause what, I'm well stocked, or Damian said so?” 

Roy narrows his eyes, hands immediately coming up in defense. “I never said it was Damian.” 

“Just giving an example.” 

Jason shrugs—too casual to be innocent—but Roy’s already caught on long before that. The little flicker of ‘oh, shit’ across his face, the slightest thread of apprehension shooting through his deeply furrowed brow. 

Perks of being a deadeye: you catch all the shit everyone else misses. 

So. That little gremlin was telling the truth about seeing his adopted brother—or however the hell their relationship works—sneaking into a girl’s apartment and being all lovey-dovey with her even though he’s literally a menace to the city. 

And a menace to Roy, because Jason’s ticking jaw is starting to look like he’s on the edge of flipping the damn table. 

"Alright." Roy concedes despite the nagging itch in his head. Jason Todd is lying. "If you say so." 

"That's what I thought." 

— 

Contrary to Jason's (likely) belief, things don't end at the medicine cabinet. In fact, that had just been the start. 

The next revelation comes when they’re supposed to be infiltrating the Iceberg Lounge for a business exchange between a mysterious broker and the Penguin—back from a brief stint in jail, again, much to Jason and everyone else’s chagrin. 

This is a no-mask occasion, just to play the harmless civilian and not get a beatdown from the bouncers. 

It’s loud inside the lounge, a heavy bass beat thrumming at such a strength that Roy is wary to even brush up against the walls. The soles of his boots stick to the floor, gummy in the way only nightclubs can be; the air is soaked with the scent of sweat and booze. He’s already flicked his shades on and pushed them all the way up to his eyelashes, but the strobe lights flashing through the nightclub still need squinting to get through. 

Thus, he almost misses Jason’s hand tapping on his shoulder, too busy shrugging off the hot press of clubbers swarming the floor. 

Roy turns, raising his eyebrows at his partner. He gets the feeling that this is a little strange, being on a mission bare faced with a stupid Gotham U shirt and a half-broken comm chip in the ear. Jesus, he looks and feels like a frat guy despite being a decade too old.  

Jason doesn’t seem to mind though, dressed in a thin, maroon hoodie that does nothing to hide his shoulders, and grey jeans. Casual, in a nonchalant way. The I’m a frat who just threw on whatever and I’m ready to get sloshed way. 

His hand is still incessantly tapping on Roy’s shoulder, not really aware that they’re already facing each other, Roy expectant and ready to listen. 

“Hell-o?” 

“Oh.” Jason blinks, seemingly snapped out of it. There’s a sort of far-off look in his eyes, mouth barely parted, like he’s just seen a ghost and he’s trying to hide it. His gaze darts around, but it’s inevitably drawn to the blue-neon shelves on a back wall. 

Slow to say, tongue wetting his bottom lip, “I’ll take the bar.” 

Roy huffs, crossing his arms. “Alright. I’ll take the floor.” 

They both nod to themselves, though Jason looks very satisfied that he’s gotten what he wanted. Usually, they flip a coin or play rock-paper-scissors or use whatever is on hand at the time to decide scouting positions. 

Like that one time, with the water bottle. They had spent so long trying to get it to land upright that they almost missed their cue. 

But that’s a story for another night, because Jason is peeling away and making quick strides to the bar. He slides into an empty stool to the left of a woman, leaning his elbow on the counter with a small smile. 

Roy posts up against a wall on the opposite side of the bar, eyes roving. There’s a suspicious-looking guy in the far corner—a black suit type, slicked back hair and shiny laced loafers swimming with a leather-warped reflection of the strobe lights. The man is nursing a glass of whiskey, dark amber liquid turned to pitch when the music switches up. 

He scoots closer for a better look at their potential broker, and then he catches a glance of Jason at the bar, still talking to... 

Oh, shit. 

The screenshot passed around hero communications like a virus resurfaces in Roy’s mind. Sure, she’s wearing a cute outfit and some makeup instead of soft sleep clothes, but it’s unmistakable. 

Jason Todd is talking up his not-girlfriend in the Iceberg Lounge during a mission. 

People’s eyes bugging out of their sockets used to be an impossible concept, and yet. Here he is, helpless on the other side of the club as all the little pieces click together and catch up to him. 

The hardly used medical supplies. The ‘oh, shit’ look. The fact that Jason lied to Roy’s face.  

You smile in that teasing, kind of girly way you did in Damian’s leaked screenshot, much to Jason’s apparent enjoyment. He leans the side of his head on his left fist, that elbow in turn balanced on the bar top. 

Transfixed, Jason watches your hands move as you explain the mentality behind the designated driver role, how your day went, and say something that sounds like: it was super chaotic, but I can’t really say more ‘cause of HIPPA, so… 

Wait. 

Roy can hear you. 

He has to laugh softly to himself when he realizes. Fuck, Jason is so whipped that he isn’t aware of the fact that propping his head up has activated their comm chip. 

Not so much of a tough guy now, it seems. 

Keeping an eye on the could-be broker, Roy presses his earpiece in a little deeper and plugs his other ear to block out most of the club’s thrumming noise. 

“Anyway,” you say, and even though Roy can’t see it, he knows you’re grinning wide. “What do you do, stranger?” 

Roy’s eyes flick to the ceiling, but only for a fractured second ‘cause the lights are starting to give him a headache. Of course you don’t know his civilian identity. 

“Uh—” and there’s that telltale sound of Jason wetting his lips “—you could call me Jay. I’m…a fixer.” 

Funny. Fixer is quite a versatile word, it seems. 

You laugh in a tone Roy has only heard when a girl looks down and brushes her hair away. “Is it weird that I kind of guessed? I dunno, you just look like a guy who’s good with his hands.” And then a little faster, earnest, “I’m so sorry, Jay, that came out—” 

“No, no,” Jason is quick to interject, “I appreciate it.” 

“Is it weird that I think you’re a great guy after talking for five minutes?” you ask after a moment. For the briefest second, Roy manages a peek over to the bar—you’re mirroring Jason’s pose, except the hand you aren’t resting your chin on is tracing the rim of a crystal water glass. You smile, close-mouthed, and he gets it. Gets why Jason is so drawn to you (even if Roy doesn’t feel the beckon himself). 

It’s a kind look about you. An open flame, ready to warm. You look at people without expectation, and knowing Jason, that’s big. He doesn’t have to be the Big Bad or the sweet, martyred Robin for you. 

You know the cabinetry of Jason’s body so well already, and most of all, you know him at his most vulnerable. Blue-green doe eyes, sweat-matted hair, hydrangea-bloom bruises—the whole works. 

You stand for everything Jason protects in the world: the raw, unfiltered good. 

Roy snaps back to what he’s supposed to be watching right as Jason ekes out a rough chuckle. 

“Sounds like you have some assholes in your life. Need a hand?” Jason says it in the stilted, fish-out-of-water way he always does when he’s trying to flirt without fulfilling the half-dead requirement first. 

At arm’s length, quivering for the chance to come closer. Like two poles on a magnet, rejection and attraction. 

(Mhmm, an asshole, Roy thinks, I wonder who. He feels like putting his head in his hands and screaming.) 

Giggling like you’re kind of drunk and aren’t the designated driver, “It’s just one. Well, kind of—he’s…a guy who shows up sometimes.” A pause, as if you’re thoughtfully tonguing the next words into your cheek. “He’s a fixer too, in a different way, but I think he’s really sweet under all that meanness.” 

Jason hums, considerate and falsely sympathetic. “I’m sure he’ll come around someday.” 

(This fucking dickwad just loves to play in everyone’s faces.) 

“Sorry,” you breathe for the second time tonight, “you just have this really reassuring feeling, but I don’t wanna put my troubles on you.” 

“Well, I did technically start this,” Jason says, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he has the gall to sound sheepish. Roy almost can’t believe his ears. 

“Right, right,” you agree, that smiley sound in your voice again. Then you pitch it down, mimicking, “Rough day? Looks like you’ve seen some shit.” 

“That’s—I don’t sound like that.” 

(Agree to disagree. You’re pretty good with Jason’s tone.) 

Scoffing in amusement, you tease, “You do.” 

“Even if I did, you definitely practiced that,” he says. It’s in a fake-nonchalant voice that Roy can instantly pinpoint even through the shitty Bluetooth connection and the club’s deafening EDM slop. Jason really is defying all expectations tonight. 

You hum, “I might’ve picked it up from a certain guy. Can’t help it—you have the same accent.” 

That gives Jason pause, if only for a moment. The cylinders in his brain are probably firing at maximum power. “That’s...impressive.” 

Roy wipes a rough hand over his eyes. God, can this guy’s game get any worse? 

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Roy considers picking up a better job than people-watching. For example: right now, he could be building a crazy spaceship to take him to a planet far, far from Earth and Jason’s hopeless situation. 

A flicker of movement catches his eye. Approaching the broker is one of the Penguin’s bodyguards—Roy remembers him from the last encounter they had with the crime lord. He’d whipped his bow into the guard’s nose. 

Still looks like that nasty break hasn't healed well. 

Slipping a deft hand into the back pocket of his jeans, he pulls out a vape. At least, that’s what the bouncers thought it was when they patted him down. 

Roy disassembles it, and a little silver pipe slides into his palm. It’s warm against his skin. A mini blowgun is definitely not his ideal weapon, but a guy’s gotta do what he’s gotta do. 

And now, that’s to shoot a tiny bug onto the broker’s jacket. 

The man is already mid-escort to the stairwell that leads to the more private lounge, flanked on the right by the bodyguard. It's a tough shot, and it’s dark and noisy and stuffy as hell in the club, but it’s also Roy Harper who’s doing this. 

(Duh, it’s in the name. Arsenal, former protégé of Green Arrow, anyone?) 

Slotting the pipe between his lips, he waits for the perfect moment. In a dense, obstructed club like this one, the stars would have to align for him to make the shot. 

He does anyway, the tiny listening dart flying across the room and latching onto the broker’s shoulder. 

Pat on the back, Roy Harper, he thinks, mission well done. 

— 

“She looked kind of familiar,” Roy teases as they stroll out of the club, almost singing.  

The thudding bass is still audible, even from the other side of the doors, and his ears will probably be ringing for another week. Not that he needs them to maintain his stellar aim, but how will he listen to Dick’s incessant voice messages about his recent round of stalking Jason’s not-girlfriend's LinkedIn? 

Their feet are light on the concrete, only making a greater degree of sound when they briskly traverse the many puddles plaguing Gotham. 

Case in point: Lake Glenn, named after Glenn Avenue, where a twelve-foot-long, shallow concrete basin of stale rainwater is slowly colonizing the remaining sidewalk. It reeks of piss and sour dick, too.  

Meanwhile, Jason seems eerily at peace. They cross the street to avoid the pond of pee, and he’s got his hands stuffed in the pockets of his faded jeans.  

He dodges a whirlwind of litter—it curls into a ball and bounces down the sidewalk like fucking tumbleweed—with a pep in his step. One block over, a patrol car wails out a single chirp, and Jason doesn’t pay any mind.  

Roy has never seen a smile linger this long on his partner’s lips, and it almost looks uncanny. 

He seriously considers grabbing the other man and howling: who are you and what have you done to my best friend’s little brother?  

Jason Todd does not walk with a bouncy gait. He doesn’t stick his hands in his pockets, where the confinement can double the time needed to grab the nearest weapon. And it’s certainly more-than-irregular to ignore a police siren and keep a faint smirk of anything but smugness on his face for more than five minutes. 

Diana H. Themyscira, he’s in love and he’s stupid with it. 

Instead, Roy just slips back into his practiced nonchalance and truthfully remarks, “Seems like a good person.” 

“She is.” 

The answer is curt. Stony. No room for questions, but boy, does Roy have questions. 

And since when has he paid any mind to social conventions? 

Naturally, he must keep pushing. “Alright, I can excuse blatant flirting on the job, but dancing?” 

Jason grimaces, finally wiping off that disgustingly fond expression on his face. “We didn’t—” 

“Dude, you don’t even try to defend yourself—I saw you grinding on her like a lovey-dovey teenage boy with both of my deadeyes.” 

The chilly, damp air of the city does nothing to disguise the way his ears bloom with a dusty pink. The Red Hood may be able to school his face, but he still can’t control the involuntary rush of blood to his ears. 

Roy almost coos at the adorable observation, but he rather likes the shape of his nose right now.  

Anyways, the thought is quickly overwritten by the sheer regret of witnessing how Jason’s fingers twitched when you guided them to grasp your waist on the dance floor. How his blue-green eyes sat at half-mast and dinner-plate dilated when he pulled your hips to his. How his lips had grazed the shell of your ear, whispering things that made your movements more desperate as you strayed from the pounding beat. 

Or how Jason, with a furrow of utter shame between his brows, definitely adjusted the fit of his clothing—specifically his jeans—after you kissed his cheek and bid a wistful, starry-eyed farewell because your friends needed you to step up as the designated driver. 

Said horny fool only scoffs, but a quiet smirk of amusement (holy shit, Roy just unlocked a new emotion) dawns on his face, and the sweet rays gradually brighten his gloomy countenance until the soft pink blush in his ears begins to warm his cheeks, too. 

And with it comes the slow, sweet creep of realization over Jason’s soldier-like posture. 

There’s that lovey-dovey look.

“Yeah,” Jason admits after that moment of reluctance, flicking his still-dilated gaze to a rare patch of starlight glimmering in Gotham’s cloudy sky. He lingers on the pretty sight, the rigidity in his shoulders melting slightly as newfound fondness swims in his eyes. “Maybe we did that.” 

The small whimpers he tries to hold back when you grind your soaked pussy lips into his cock desperately. 

Or when he loses himself in your velvet walls, he’ll moan involuntarily before forcing his mouth shut. 

So you decided to put a stop to his hiding. After all, you guys were in it for life. 

It had been a normal day for the two of you. Relishing in the fact that Jason actually had a day off.

You guys had deep-cleaned the apartment and finished off the night, becoming one with the living room couch. After dinner, Jason helped you to a glass of wine. 

And ended up with his head between your legs.

“Fuck”, he whispered appreciatingly, “Look at you”. Your legs were caging him in as he gazed down at your glistening heat. You were close, getting to a point that really only Jason could get you to. 

Before you hit your peak, you stopped him. “Let me make you feel good this time?” you murmured, sitting up to slot your lips against his, turning the two of you over. 

Before he could voice his confusion, you lined him up with your entrance and slid down. The moan he let out was sinful. 

The pace you set was borderline cruel, leaving him unable to hold his whimpers back.

“Tell me how bad you need me”, you murmured against Jason's mouth. 

He stiffened for a second before a whisper, “Please”, made its way out before he could stop himself. 

Your lips made their way to his throat, sucking dark marks into his olive skin. And he wasn’t sure where to put his hands. 

Exactly why he creased whatever part of your body he could reach. 

Your first orgasm of the night was quickly approaching. Your toes tingled as you felt the familiar twinge in your lower belly. 

Jason could sense you were close and he began to piston up into you as well as he could. Your moans joined his just as you began to climax. 

A particular angle he hit made the two of you let out a string of lewd noises. 

His thrusting has begun to lose its coordination and you could tell he was getting close. Your fingers pulled his hair as you traded between whispering sweet nothings into his ear and sucking on the lobe. 

The pleasure was nearly too much for Jason who has tears building, ready to spill over. His groans in your ear only spurred you on more. 

Your hips desperately rolled over his as you asked, “You want to cum for me baby?”  Jason’s face turned a deep shade of red before he nodded. 

You pushed yourself harder onto him while grabbing his hands and pinning them above his head. He could’ve pushed you off if he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. 

“Do you think you’ve earned it?” 

His breath hitched before his eyes dropped lower. A whimpered yes made its way out of his mouth before you began to bounce yourself on his length. 

The tears he tried to hold back began to fall from his eyes as his pleasure took over his body. 

Licking up his earlobe, you whispered, “You’ve been so good for me Jay. You can cum now”. 

Like a man possessed, he started to piston into you, no longer holding back to reach his climax.   

The sensation pulled you into another orgasm, making the two of you moan into each others mouths. 

You climbed off of him, lying on his side as he panted. 

“We’re definitely doing that again” you finished with a giggle. 

it was a friday evening, the first friday evening without an obligation. 

the past month had been a flurry of papers, readings, assignments, papers, presentations, more papers. for once, you had one evening to yourself. 

all those plans went to waste as the taste of smoke that curled up from your car invaded your senses. 

you had texted a please of rescue to your best friend twenty minutes ago.

you were no car expert, and you had no desire to begin poking around under the hood of your car. 

through the sounds of the birds singing in the trees, you finally heard the familiar rumble of tim's own car. a loud engine that rattled the pavement under it's tires. the white car pulled to a stop just behind yours. 

his boot stepped out first, crunching the gravel below. 

"please, just do this for me," you heard tim's grumble of annoyance. he ducked his head out of the car, phone raised to his ear. his knuckles were wrapped tightly around the device, bordering white with exertion. 

you turned your face back towards your car out of privacy. the conversation seemed to be bordering tense. 

the only indication of him coming closer was the continued thumping of his boot against the pavement. out of the corner of your eye, you could see the tips of his shoes stop just beside you. 

"yeah, yeah. yes, bro, oh my fucking god. i'll see you soon," he muttered, his clipped tone becoming increasingly more annoyed before sliding his phone into his back pocket. 

he smiled at you in greeting before leaning his head to inspect the undercarriage. his eyes roved over your battery, your transmission, before analyzing another part that you couldn't name. 

you were utterly lost. 

"how is this thing still going," he grumbled softly. 

you frowned at his words, hand coming up to slap his shoulder. 

"don't talk about shark like that," you scolded. shark was special to you. she was reliable (for the most part). she was a constant. she had been with you since your first year of university, after you had saved up 3 summers worth of money to purchase her off your neighbour's hands. 

"listen, shark is beautiful, but constantly fucking you over," tim pointed out, waving a trickle of smoke out of his face. 

"she's getting old, is all. she's fine," you defended weakly, though your voice held a hint of defeat. 

"jason's on his way, he said he'll take a look," tim responded, turning around to rest his backside against shark's side. his arms crossed over his chest as he craned his neck to the side to gaze at you. 

"jason? like your brother jason?" you asked, planting yourself beside him. 

tim hummed in confirmation. 

"i've never met this brother," you added hesitantly. 

"he likes to keep to himself. got a small shop. doesn't take too many clients, but sells a lot of parts to other people. i think. i don't know," tim shook his head, pinching his nose slightly. "he'll bring the tow to get shark to the shop."

just as tim finished explaining, the sight of the bumbling tow truck came into view. 

"go wait in the car," tim said, nodding his head in the direction of his own car. 

"oh, but don't you want me to—" you began, furrowing your brows towards the tow truck that was backing into the space in front of yours. 

"no, i'll handle it," he stated, turning to face his brother as his brother stepped out of the car. 

your world stopped as you saw jason over tim's shoulder. 

god, he was beautiful. 

your mouth dried up, the bustle of nature quieted down, and tim's presence ceased to exist. he was large. comically so, yet he moved like he didn't know how much space he took up. 

his brows seemed permanently furrowed, shoulders tense like the weight of the world constantly rested on his shoulders. though it didn't take away from his beautiful features. jet black strands with streaks of white in the front that flopped over his forehead, a strong set jaw that framed a plump lower lip. 

"let's make this quick, shithead," his voice rang out, deep and smooth. your knees almost buckled under you. it was then that jason had noticed you, half hidden behind tim's frame. he barely blinked in acknowledgment, eyes shifting back to tim within a second of landing on you. 

why hadn't tim let you meet jason before this?

you had been introduced to his other siblings at some point or another, even had established your own friendship with some of them. but jason, jason was a different ballgame. the way your breath thinned when you saw him scared you. 

tim glanced at you over his shoulder before returning his attention back to jason. his eyes narrowed slightly at his brother, "dude, you owe me for covering your ass last week, stop being an asshole," 

their conversation faded when you finally opened tim's passenger door, sliding your body into the seat. their sibling squabble wasn't of interest to you. curt bickering over small shoves; side eyed glares and quick quips over memories that didn't include you. normal brothers is what they were. you were tired and annoyed — and the sight of jason did something to you, something you weren't ready to admit — and tim's desire to push his brother's buttons did nothing to help. your skin felt tight over your bones, a flush settled under your skin and threatened to restrict your airways. your jeans were sticking to your thighs under the piercing rays of the sun. the warmth felt unforgiving in this moment, cooking you from the inside out. 

the road in front of you stretched for kilometres, a long-winded gray road that led nowhere, that led to home. 

a short time later, tim opened the driver's side and slid into the seat. 

"gonna drive you to the shop, jason said it's an easy fix," he explained, turning the car on and pulling out of his spot. your car had been hooked up to jason's tow truck, your heart sank at the sight. 

"did he say what happened?" your voice was hoarse from lack of use. 

"nothing to worry about," he responded, a finality in his tone — one that you had decided wasn't worth the questioning. your car would get fixed, you were sure. then yourself and shark could be on your way. 

﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒

jason's shop was small. 

quaint. 

it was messy, yet clean at the same time. it was a dizzying paradox. the shelves of his shop were meticulous, not a spec of dust could be seen on any surface. though, his belongings overtook the area. his toolbox lay discarded on the floor next to the post-lift, with an assortment of tools laying scattered across the area. they each seemed placed with purpose — like each was there for easy access. 

the melodic beat of a rock song was playing in the back, some old one from the 80s that you recognized instantly. though, the familiar tune did nothing to drown out the silence that stretched between you. 

jason was under the hood, back on a trolley that was rolled under shark. his shirt had ridden up, exposing a sliver of his muscles stomach. the smooth patch of skin. you were sat beside of work bench, a small metal chair that froze the back of your thighs — a stark contrast to the sweltering heat you were stuck in only an hour prior. 

tim had left shortly after dropping you off — he, himself, had papers, assignments, exams to study for just as you did. 

your voice rang out into the air, introducing your name to the man under your car. the clanging of metal paused for a singular second, and the only sound heard was a guitar solo playing quietly through the speaker.

…okayy…

his lack of response unnerved you. you weren't comfortable in this silence. your teeth gnawed into your lower lip, your eyes raking down his lower half. dark blue jeans, faded with use, paired with brown boots with scuffed toes. 

"so, what exactly is wrong? tim didn't tell me," you attempted again, leaning forward in your seat. his legs shifted, knees falling apart, as he changed the angle in the undercarriage. your eyes raked up the inside of his muscled, jean-clad thigh and sand filled your throat. 

"when was the last time you got an oil change?" his muffled voice rumbled back, ignoring your questions.

"uhhhh, the previous owner did one before i bought it?" you recalled, brows furrowing with retrieving the information from your memory. 

"which was when," he continued. a particularly loud clang erupted from beneath the car and you heard jason swear under his breath. 

"since tim and i's first year?" 

"the fuck?" he pushed the trolley from under the car, head lifted to regard you in shock. his features were even more pronounced in the dim lighting. the blazing sun was setting, coating the shop in a twilight. the overlight light fought to burn bright enough to light up the room, but fell short. you almost struggled to form another thought as you watched the cut of his jaw clench. 

"what…?" your voice came out smaller than you intended it to. you cleared your throat quickly, masking it with a soft cough. "my car runs fine." there it was. your voice was steady. clearer. how you usually sounded. irritation laced your mind, fogging up your senses. you could have been home right now. 

"you haven't changed the oil since you got this car?" he repeated. his tone disbelieving. a small pit of dread formed in your chest. you hadn't changed the oil, no, you didn't know that you had to. 

your head shook before you even knew you were committing the action. 

jason's only response was a huff — a puff of breath and a shake of his head as he rolled himself back under your car. his arm reached out, fingers curling around a tool — you didn't know which — that lay off to the side. you were amazed at how seamlessly he moved underneath your car. how he was able to grab each tool without hesitation, how he knew where each tool lay placed on the floor. it was a harmonious dance between himself and his tools. 

the silence ate at you again. it was loud. 

eventually, he wheeled himself out from below your car again, abs flexing through the imprint of his shirt as he pushed himself up. a small streak of grease lined his cheek, cutting a contour down his cheekbone. his hair stuck to his forehead, the white streaks mostly hidden by the black on top of his head. 

"my cigarettes are beside you, do you mind?" his head nodded towards the pack of marlboro reds and a lighter neatly placed on his work station beside you. you nodded, the items laying heavy in your palm before tossing them to him — one after the other. 

he shoved one in his mouth before glancing up at you again. his brow raised. "need me to step out? or?" 

"oh! no, no, you're good," 

"want one?" an extra cigarette was pinched between his fingers, extended out towards you. 

"no, thank you. i don't smoke," you declined politely, your hands settling under your thighs. your mind wandered to the situation at hand. the state of your car was unknown. tim had said there was nothing to worry about, but jason wasn't giving you a reason to believe otherwise. his tools were clanging around down there, creating all sorts of noises that were unfamiliar to you. 

jason's eyes wandered to the clock on the wall, lips forming an 'o' around an exhale of smoke. the grey cloud streamed out of his lips and curled into the air. your nose wrinkled slightly at the smell, though, you didn't comment. 

"shop's closed now, darling, gotta come back tomorrow," he inhaled around the cigarette again, eyes flickering over to you. his arms were perched over his bent knees. a position of leisure. 

"what? no? what about my car?" you protested, back straightening instantly. 

"it'll get finished tomorrow," his smokey words floated towards you. 

"you were down there for an hour and a half? what the fuck takes that long?" you stood up in frustration, your hands flailing before your chest. 

"car shit takes that long. like i said, shop is closing. your car'll be done tomorrow," he pushed himself up, height towering. imposing. his shoulders practically blocked out the little yellowed lighting the room already had. 

"how am i supposed to get home then?" you snapped, going over to your car to retrieve your wallet from the glove compartment. your car had been lifted onto the post-lift so that jason could work comfortably underneath. you stood on your tip toes, sprawling your body across the height to reach into the consol and grab your belongings. 

jason couldn't help the way his gaze lingered on your back, over the brown tank top that you wore that accentuated every dip and curve that had his mind spiraling for the past two hours. down to the jeans that hugged your figure like it was made for you. he tried to ignore the way your backside pushed out against the protrusions of your car, unknowingly displaying yourself in for his eyes to see — and hopefully only his eyes. 

when you finally turned back around, his eyes snapped back up to meet yours. 

"call your boyfriend to come and pick you up," jason stated flatly, turning his back to you as he began to reorganize his tools. his ears were tuned to your movements, though, tracking every sway of your hips as you shuffled in spot. 

a scoff left your mouth before you had the chance to catch it. 

jason paused momentarily, reigning in his silent victory. you didn't have a boyfriend. but he knew you'd call tim, he would retrieve you and jason would finally be able to breath again. 

you had to bite your tongue. the weight of the situation was pressing down on you, threatening to push you into the earth's crater with every passing moment. it wasn't just your car — no, your car was minuscule in the grand scheme of things. it was life. it was school. it was your job. you didn't have time to deal with a broken down car, you didn't have the funds to repair it either. 

suddenly, you felt slightly shameful at the sudden burst of attitude you had just given jason. this was his job, not his life. the inconveniences of your life had nothing to do with him. his shop hours were his shop hours, and you would just have to come back to deal with your car in the morning. 

"well?" he turned to regard you with a raised brow, his eyes shifting up to the clock again. he couldn't be in your presence for another second. his senses were invaded by you. the sweet scent of your perfume that wafted through the air had been torturing him the second you had sat down in his shop. the sight of tim giving you a hug before he left had his nostrils flaring — something he wasn't particularly proud of. 

but he couldn't stay away from you either. and he knew it too. 

"yeah, no, that's fine. what time should i be here tomorrow," you blew a soft breath out of your mouth, smoothing a hand over the top of your head. 

"anytime after nine is good," jason's muscles bulged from where they lay across his chest. the tight black t-shirt he wore scrunched against his biceps. you tried to hide your eyes wandering down his arms, down the sleeve of tattoos littering his arms. a few small birds in flight stood out from the rest. 

cute. 

you nodded in agreement, pulling out your phone. "okay. and the address of this place?" 

he told you, his leg crossing over the other. he remained leaned against his work table, head cocked to the side. his bottom lip was pulled between his teeth. he told you slowly, words enunciating around each number and letter.

you nodded, giving a small polite smile as you moved to leave. "see you tomorrow then, jason, thank you for your help." 

he dipped his head slowly, eyes never yours as he watched you leave. 

by the time you had made it outside, your phone call to tim had already been declined. his contact picture — a picture of him asleep in his bed with a facemask on — stared back at you, the brightness blinding you in the setting sun. 

you let out a sigh and looked around. jason's shop was in the middle of fucking nowhere. with navigation pulled up on your phone, you began to slowly walk in the direction of your home.

﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒⭒﹒

the road felt endless. not a person around for kilometres. you were unsure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing. the rumble of a car in the distance unnerved you. you wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, pushing yourself further away from the road while remaining on the walking path. your head remained high, giving the illusion of confidence. 

a car slowed to a roll beside you, old and black, dark on the inside. you kept walking, your eyes shifting to the vehicle out of caution. 

"get in," a gruff voice called out. a familiar voice. your brows ticked downwards before your head snapped towards the vehicle. 

jason. 

he was the last person you had expected to see. his car followed your pace, tires crunching over the cracked road. it was eerily quiet out, dark in a way that left you unsettled. once the sun had dipped below the horizon, a chill blanketed the city, extinguishing all traces of sweltering warmth that the daytime had brought.

"i'm almost home, i'm good," you called back, continuing to walk, flashing him a smile that he knew was made of plastic. 

"i didn't know i had asked you a question," he quipped back. his car remained in a slow roll beside you. "i'm telling you to get in."

"and i'm telling you that i'm fine," you attempted again, shaking your head. 

your name on his tongue stopped you in your tracks. he hadn't referred to you by your name yet, only nicknames that felt like a punch to the chest everytime he said them. but the syllables — your name — in his voice affected you more than any "darling" or "sweetheart" that had left his lips so far. 

he didn't say anything further. letting your name linger in the air between you. you knew what words were meant to follow. and you knew he wasn't going to say them again. 

"fine," you breathed out and stepped towards his car. jason leaned over the consol, shoulder muscles shifted under the strain. he opened the door for you from the inside, his gaze remained fixated on you until you settled with the seatbelt securely before he drove off again. 

the only way to describe the atmosphere in jason's car was… awkward. 

"you didn't have to do this, i was fine to walk," your voice was more clipped than you had intended, your shoulders shifted behind the seatbelt digging into your neck. 

"don't think timbo would like it very much if i let the pretty lady walk home while it's dark out," he gave you a sidelong glance. "especially since her car is still in my shop." 

"i can handle getting home just fine," you huffed, your arms crossing over your chest. 

"never said you couldn't," his chin tilted slightly. his gaze remained fixed on the road ahead, eyes scanning the street. 

you didn't know what else to say. your heart was beating so hard, you were sure jason could see it thumping out of your chest.

jason's appearance seemed calm — burdened, even. because he had refused to admit that he had secretly hoped tim declined your call so he could drive you home. rescue you, he had rationalized. he hadn't let you get far before he began following you. no, he was making sure you were safe. 

you had the survival skills of a leaf, he had learned. you hadn't noticed him once. your eyes shifted between your phone and the road ahead, never once at the car that had been trailing you for the past 15 minutes. 

and now that you were in his car, he was losing his mind. his grip was steadily tightening on the wheel with the force of his restraint. his back molars were threatening to crack with each clench of his jaw. you were killing him and you had no fucking idea. 

you were infuriating. and you were kind. it pissed him off. the sight of your face, beautiful and angelic. he could see the fire that sparked in your eyes, and the glow that radiated under your skin. he was sure there was a fucking halo hovering over your head as well. 

and you were sitting there. in his car. shoulders visible from your tank top. your skin on display. goosebumps raised your flesh, allowing him to see the visible sign of chill and the way you were fighting to hide the shivers that wracked your body. why the fuck weren't you wearing a jacket?

he couldn't stop the puff of annoyance that left his mouth. his arm reached into the backseat, fingers curling around a sweater he had left discarded in the backseat. 

your brows furrowed when he dumped the sweater in your lap. 

"what—"

"wear it. you're cold," he cut you off, his eyes flickering between you and the sweater. 

you didn't fight this time, letting yourself be enveloped in the warmth of jason's sweater. the sweater was 3 sizes too big. but so warm. you continued to murmur directions to your home to him, letting the silence overcome you again. 

the ride was coming to an end, and you were unable to tell if you wanted to stay in his presence or be as far away from him as possible. the conflict was eating at you. his car slowed in front of the building, the streetlights illuminating only a small patch of the otherwise dark street. 

"well, thank you for the ride," your lips pressed together as you shot him a shy glance. 

he nodded slowly, his fingers pressing the button of your seatbelt. the click echoed through the car. he placed the seatbelt back in it's rightful place near the door, his steady arm brushing against the front of your shoulder. 

you tried not to let your breath stutter, but the pitiful sound escaped you regardless. if he had noticed, he didn't let on. 

you were sure you were going to have a heart attack. his proximity was dizzying. you didn't even know him, yet his presence affected you to an embarrassing degree. 

god, you were pathetic. 

his arm shifted to the door handle, body leaning over the consol once again — across the front of your chest — to push it open. his fingers moved with precision. with a level of care that contradicted how much strength he visibly had. up close, you could see each freckle that dusted his cheeks and his nose; the slope of his nose that had a bump right at the bridge; and the dip in his cupid's bow that twitched with every word he spoke. 

you were mesmerized. 

jason's eyes met yours, face inches from yours. nose inches from yours. he gave you a languid blink before his gaze flickered down to your lips. his tongue darted out to wet his own before they snapped back up to meet yours. 

his irises had dilated in size, sucking you into the black void. 

"don't worry about it," jason murmured back. he was so close that you could feel his breath dust your cheek. 

his gaze flickered down again, calculating. it would be so easy to kiss you, to taste you like he had been wanting to all evening. but he wouldn't. 

he pushed the door open slightly before sitting back in his seat. another shudder crawled up your spin from his lack of warmth, despite his sweater covering your body. you pulled it off slowly, setting it in it's place in the backseat again. 

see you tomorrow, pretty girl," he murmured as you climbed out. you froze momentarily before stepping out and turning to face him. your upper body ducked so you would be eye level with him. 

"see you tomorrow, jason,"

𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁! @batwngs , @boo-123456 , @xuzui , @starshine-girl , @brinawing , @jasontoddsthunderthigh , @outpostsworld , @xx-kino-v , @currentblasphemy , @m-0ona , @vayabenson , @deadbeatphobos , @igotcrabs4u , @anne-chloe , @inesvisible , @ftkats , @branchesofmagic , @wrldbloom , @pantone2617c , @loserinadress , @optimisticalmondbananabiscuit , @patientofarkhamasylum , @arkhamknightmares

general taglist: @mollymal , @redhooduwu , @girlmeetsolivia , @athenxt , @nightlights-and-twiklingstars , @silverjaysz , @l0singctrl , @drea18881 , @calicocat-ina-tuxedo , @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger , @mrbusinessman , @starr-jazz , @bat2nsignia , @champagnesbiggestproblem , @indigoscribe , @luviery , @kennlovespink , @jiasfiles , @arfemiz , @givemefinganame

scuff marks masterlist

And there was nothing new about it. The sex, anyways. He enjoyed it. He liked the closeness, the heat, the release that was both physical and mental. And, of course, he liked that it felt good.

So he wasn’t sure why all of a sudden it felt like his chest was being crushed.

It all happened too fast. One second his eyes were fixed on you, watching, hands firm on your hips, his breath steady, synced with yours like for just a moment the two of you were one. And then his breath stuttered. His throat felt like something had wrapped around it and pulled tight. The air felt thick, sticking in his throat like he was choking on molasses.

He blinked hard, trying to wipe it away, but it did nothing to put the room back in place, it only continued to blur around the edges. Your sounds — the pretty whimpers, and soft, breathy gasps of his name — sounded distant, like the sound was traveling through water to get to his ears.

It sounded far away. Too far away. Too far.

No, no, no —

He tried to force himself out of it, tried to force himself to think his way back to reality, to figure out why this was happening.

You’re home.

He latched onto the thought, mind digging its claws into it.

Apartment. Bedroom. Bed.

He could feel the sheets under his back, the weight of you on top of him, the smell of the room. He went through it all. Everything he could see, hear, smell, feel. The whole bit. None of it seemed to help.

No blood. No bruises. All my limbs.

His eyes darted down to your body. A quick — almost tactical — assessment. And you were fine. No signs anything was wrong with you. No sign you were in pain, or in danger. Nothing was wrong. If anything, you seemed to be enjoying yourself. Completely unaware of what was going on in his mind and body. No fault of yours, of course.

She’s okay.

You’re okay.

So why did he feel like this ?

Was it because he had you on top ? No. That couldn’t have been it. He had you ride him all the time. He liked it. Very quickly it had become one of his favorite positions. Laying back and watching you use him to make yourself feel good, grabbing your hips to fuck into you when you got too tired.

He’d never had an issue with it before. He loved it.

His grip on your hips tightened before he realized it, nails digging a little too hard into the skin, leaving behind shallow half-moon shaped indents in the soft flesh. The sting made you flinch, small and sharp.

“Stop —”

The word tore from his throat, felt like it was dragging glass along the muscle and tissue inside it. He pressed down, slowing the roll of your hips against his.

“I need you to stop —”

The panic in his voice, the way it shook and cut through everything else, had you scrambling off him in an instant. No hesitation, no question. Just moving, leaving cold where your weight and warmth had been.

Jason stayed where he was, laying flat on his back, wide eyes fixed on the ceiling. His chest rose and fell too fast, each breath caught on the way in and burned on the way out. His body felt wrong, like it wasn’t really his anymore.

The room felt off, like it had gotten smaller and smaller around him.

“Jay …” Your voice was careful now.

He felt the mattress shift next to him as you moved, felt you get closer before he actually saw your hand reaching out towards him. And something in his chest spiked, his body moving before his mind could.

His hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could reach him. Too tight, he hadn’t meant it to be.

“Don’t —” He gripped on you loosened, but he didn’t let go, still holding you away. “Please don’t touch me right now.”

The request came out rough, but not angry. He wasn’t angry, he was scared. And his body had a bad habit of mixing the two up.

Confusion flickered over your face, your brows creasing, but you didn’t argue, didn’t push at him. You lowered your hand, bringing it back to rest in your lap.

“Are you okay ? Did I do something ?”

Jason only shook his head, the motion small and quick, and you weren’t sure which of your questions he was answering. He didn’t elaborate.

He forced himself to sit upright, dragging his hand down his face before pushing his sweat damp hair back off his forehead. His skin felt too tight, and every touch felt like he was being stabbed. Everything in and around him felt wrong.

He shifted to the edge of the bed, planting his feet against the carpet. His chest was still tight, breaths still burned, the world still felt small. He didn’t understand it.

“I need —” He swallowed hard, “I’m just … gonna go shower. Real quick.”

He didn’t wait for a response before getting up.

The lock on the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, followed by the sound of the running water.

He stepped in the shower before it had time to warm up, letting it hit him cold.

It helped.

A little.

For a second.

He pressed his forehead against the tile wall, letting the water run down his face and back. His heart was still racing, everything still felt too wrong, and too loud. He felt like he was going to be sick.

“What the hell ?”

He didn’t move to grab the soap, didn’t wash his hair. He didn’t do anything but stand there.

You’re safe.

He knew that. There was no threat, no danger. Nothing was happening, to him or to you. So why did he feel like there was, why was his body reacting like he was in some sort of crisis ?

Why did it feel like the world had him pinned down, stripped bare, with no way to get away —

His chest squeezed again.

He forced himself to breathe in, held it until his lungs burned, and let it out.

Again

Again

Again.

He’d never admit how long it took him to even out his breathing, to force the panic into something quieter. Not gone, not by a longshot. But quieter.

He still didn’t have an answer when he shut the water off.

He dried himself off quickly, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, tying them low around his hips. When he left the bathroom, hair still dripping onto his forehead, the bed was empty. For a second that made the panic feel sharp in his chest again.

Then he heard the quiet sounds of movement, the faint click of ceramic. He followed the sound down the hall to the kitchen. He found you at the counter, your back to him, dressed in a pair of soft underwear and a bra. Your hair was messy, shoulders relaxed in a way that showed him you weren’t upset.

You were just waiting. Always waiting.

Jason stepped up behind you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you back against him. His chin found your shoulder, taking its usual spot there.

You were making tea, and he could tell by the smell of it and the cup you were using that you were making it for him, not yourself. He watched your hands as you stirred honey into the cup, using that tiny spoon he always cracked jokes about. The one that looked like it belonged in a dollhouse, not a kitchen drawer.

You reached for the wooden salt jar next, stirring a pinch in with the same spoon. He remembered he cringed when you first showed him that. Now he can’t stand taking his tea any other way.

“‘M sorry …” He muttered against your cheek

Your free hand came up, fingers brushing against his jaw. It made his breath catch, softer this time. 

“No need to be sorry, Jaybie.” You assured him “Are you okay ?”

He shifted, tucking his face into the crook of your neck, pulling his shoulders in. A failed attempt to make himself smaller.

“Don’t know what happened” The admission made his mouth feel like it was full of sand and stones. “I’m sorry”

You didn’t rush to answer, letting the quiet linger comfortably as you finished his tea.

“It’s okay” You said gently, “You don’t need to know. Sometimes things just –”

“Don’t.” He didn’t mean to cut you off, and he didn’t mean to sound so snappy either. He forced himself to take a breath, forced his body to relax into yours before he tried again.

“I’m sorry. Just … Don’t do the feelings thing. I can’t –” He took another breath when he caught his tone again. “Just not right now.”

“Okay.” You nodded, “Habit.”

Apology.

Jason hummed against your skin.

Acceptance.

“Did you finish ?” He asked after a moment of quiet

“No.” You answered, no hesitation, no embarrassment or shame. Just a fact.

“But that’s okay.” You added, “I don’t need to finish every time”

Jason grunted against your skin, and that was enough to tell you that he did not agree with that statement.

“We can try again,” he suggested. But his tone was cautious, like he wasn’t quite sure.

And you picked up on that. Of course you did, it was how you were, how you’d always been.

You turned around in his arms, he raised his head to let you move, but his eyes didn’t quite meet yours once you faced him.

“Hey …” Your hands came up, holding either side of his face between your palms. You tilted his head up until his eyes were on yours. It took more effort than he’d like to admit to hold them there.

“We don’t have to” You continued, “We can. But only if you’re okay.”

He was quiet for a while. Checking in with himself, his teeth biting into the skin inside his cheek as he thought it over.

He felt better. A little. Not good, but better

But there was still that lingering feeling. Something biting under his skin. There was a quiet squeezing in his chest still that hadn’t fully gone away, like a memory only his body seemed to remember, that his mind couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“Maybe tomorrow ?” He whispered. He paused, letting out a soft, slow exhale. “Yeah … Yeah, maybe tomorrow.”

You smiled, bringing his face to yours to press a firm, gentle kiss against his cheek.

Quiet steps lingered down the hall as you got a handle on your bow, you knew your mission was only complete if he was taken down, and the last thing you wanted to do was betray Valentina. You were her favorite…which only started to click for you now. Of course you were. There’s no Valentines without cupid shooting arrows and manipulating the background. You were the baseline for The Sentry Project; a test dummy. And similar to the Sentry, you were the only one to survive. Valentina’s secret weapon. You were agile, quick, and seemingly docile and sweet. 

To quote Valentina, directly; “she’s like if Sabrina Carpenter and Natasha Romanoff had passionate sex and scissored out their love child…that’s you, by the way.” 

Of course, you didn’t harbor the same powers as Sentry, in fact, you were almost sure you were created to be the Eve in this situation. Some sidekick with the cute gift of emotionally manipulating the emotions of others, while also being a ruthless killer. You don’t emotionally manipulate others the way most people think off; sure, you bat your pretty lashes and you talk lightly and yes, occasionally, you play devil's advocate. However, you could feel and change the way others feel just by touching them. You know your hand to hand combat, but what's the point if you can just shake someone’s hand, hunt them, seduce them, and control someone so well that they do the job for you? 

No bruises, busted lips, or bloody noses if you will someone to…well, you know. 

It’s what made you so dangerous, and maybe, just as powerful as Valentina’s trophy. It’s also what made him such a good target for you. No need to take him down if you just shake his hand. You could feel the calmness around the room he stayed in, it was almost too calm. It was expected; Valentina just paraded him around and called him and his ragtime team of circle jerkers the “New Avengers”? New Avengers? The sentiment alone made you gag on envy. You hated that they got their flowers while you stayed put, while you obeyed, while you kept sweet. Sentry was just a glorified military weapon. You were the will of Eros and Sigmund Freud’s worst nightmare. 

It should’ve been you. 

And the fact that Valentina still wanted him gone, despite everything, made this operation all the more vital; promising you his spot, promising you everything you initially signed up for when you decided to go through the test trials for the Venus project; a better life. Not a life of suffering. 

It was easy sneaking into where the Thunderbolts were staying at, in fact, you already ran into two members already; that fat oaf Red Guardian and the family dollar (and slightly closeted) Captain America, John Walker. It was easy to get them out of your way, the same way you got men to move out of your way your entire life. Staring up at them with your big eyes and pretending that you were doing the opposite of what you were actually doing; And maybe you did pat a couple shoulders here and made them less…on guard. 

It didn’t matter, you weren’t here for them, you’re here for the poor man’s Homelander. Or whomever he really is. Despite having the same background, being from the same lab, you never once met him, or knew him beyond his project name. You knocked on the door, laying your weapon against the frame of the door as you straightened up. It was your time to shine. Your time to prove everyone wrong; dressed in a white blouse, a black skirt that was way above your knee, and knee high boots with tights underneath. 

The door slightly opened, a small crack of light entering the room as curious, doe eyes peaked out behind the slab of wood that separated you from your most treasured victim. The plan was simple; fill him with the doubt, the rage, the sadness that he had before, and then some. Let him do the rest. It wouldn’t surprise anyone considering his history. You were a character assassin. However, the awkwardness filled the air with its stiffness. You could smell how anxious he got as it sept through every pore. Once he opened the door, you realized he was a lot more timid than previously mentioned. You almost thought you had the wrong guy.

“Um…can I help you?” He stammered. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you smiled. “Yes.” a soft hum leaves you. “Are you Robert Reynolds? I-I got sent here by Mel to do a room check.” you lied, even dropping a slight stutter to convey just how nervous the idea of this made you; even if it didn’t bug you at all. “I already checked in with the others, you were last on my list.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “...Why couldn’t Mel do it?” he asked earnestly. 

He already had you stumped, but you just shrugged. “She got promoted, so I'm the assistant’s assistant now…funny how life works, right?” you stared up into his eyes, you could practically hear his heart beating faster and faster the longer he made eye contact with you. Anxiety mixing in with curiosity, and a hint of attraction; oh, he was in for a rude awakening. He didn’t need to know that just yet. “So, are you gonna let me in?” you ask kindly. 

He hesitated, you could see his jaw clenching–was that irritation? You didn’t care. The minute he stepped aside, you sauntered in, looking around at the bare room as your eyes went towards the nightstand. You slowly walk over as you open the drawers and rummaged through what was inside with only your eyes. “How come I’ve never seen you before?”

You snap over to him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I would have recognized you if you worked for Mel.. or Valentina, for that matter.” he leaned against the wall, looking down at the ground until his eyes met yours. You brushed it off with ease. “Was always more of a background actor.” you hummed as your fingers went to the other drawer. “Besides, I was away while everything was happening, just got back from a trip the minute you strolled in. I can't say I'm terribly inconvenienced by the suddenness of everything.” it was a white lie, you were inconvenienced. 

he just nodded. “I mean…you’re a government worker.” 

Yeah, and so are you; 1/4th of the military spending.  

You clenched your jaw, releasing it as you turned your head, flashing a fake smile as you shut the drawers behind you. “You can say that, yeah.” we’ll agree to disagree for now. You sigh softly and look around. There wasn’t much else to check for your fake assignment, it was time to move onto the real one. You approached him. “You should hit up an Ikea or something, and soon, it’s kind of sad in here.” you joke lightly, feeling him slightly relax.

“Eh, I guess…I could fill it up with some things like a bean bag or a nice rug, maybe a couple of posters like a SlowDive one or maybe even an FSU one-”

General disgust hit your face, and you weren’t too keen on hiding it, and he noticed it right away. He furrowed his eyebrows, laughing nervously. “...what?” 

“An FSU poster?” your voice winced softly.

Then it hits him, he takes a step back, and a smug look on his face replaces the timid one. “Are…are you from Florida too?” he questioned, and you shook your head, not to say no, that you’re not from Florida, but to say; “The Gators are so much better-” “-Ew, no.” he combated. “Let me guess, Orlando?” he joked softly. God, we really are in a sassy man apocalypse. 

You scoffed. “Gross, I’m from Tampa.” 

“Should’ve seen that coming.” he smiled softly. “You’re…a lot nicer than Mel and Valentina, despite your bad taste in college sports-” “-I’ll have you know, that the Gators have won multiple national championships, and I also root for the Bulls.” you cut off, then blush slightly. “Sorry…and thank you, Robert.” you stare up at him, and there it is again; Anxiety mixing in with curiosity, and a hint of attraction; a shot of attraction now, there might as well be a pint of it the next go around. The man looked down at her. 

“I’m…Bob, by the way. No one calls me Robert.”  He sticks his hand out. 

The golden opportunity, you practically water at the mouth to get your hand over his. You didn’t want to make yourself look desperate to touch him; that’s always a little awkward. You wanted to give it such a good shake that you were able to send him on that spiral, without having to use that weapon you brought and stashed in his blindspot. So you grin, your manicured fingers slowly slithering over and interconnecting with his fingers, as power surged through you. It felt like a runners high, better than sex, better than taking back what’s yours. “Y/N”

You could see it actively working, the uncertainty that lingered on his face, yet, something else started to swallow you whole. You felt it run through you as everything turned black, and for a second, Bob was gone. He was the Sentry, after all, maybe you were the delusional one for thinking you could be as powerful as him. However, Valentina didn’t mention this. She didn’t mention this unwavering ability he had that made you feel utterly alone.

You felt yourself shift to a new plane of existence, your body now sitting as slight murmuring grew louder and more coherent. The smell of coffee and old books hit your senses like a gut punch, and fluorescent lights peaked through your thin eyelids and lashes. Your clothes were the same, yet everything was different. When your eyes opened, you noticed yourself sitting in a group with people you wouldn't believe you were seeing. Because they were your classmates. Because it’s been years. Because..they’re all dead. The monotone voice was your teacher. She was dead. The clock struck 2:15, and stayed that way after that day. You were strapped to your seat, an adult, seeing your teenage pupils panic to news over the intercom. 

Stuck to your seat, you watched them scramble to barricade doors. Stuck to your seat, you watch them arm themselves with textbooks and chairs. Stuck to your seat, you watched as everything failed, and each life got ripped away from you, the way you couldn’t have seen back then when you played dead. This was what you were escaping. This is the promise Valentina failed at keeping; having to see it play out over and over again; until you realized you could move. You could always move. 

You try to run to the door, swinging it open and seeing yourself and Valentina going over your own project. Before you could run to your salvation, you see Bob on the other side of the classroom, staring at you in horror. 

You snap back to reality, stumbling back as tears reach the rims of your eyes. You were on the verge of hyperventilating as your legs shook, holding onto the edge of the bed frame. Your knees cowering as you look down at the floor. Bob puts his hands up, almost as shocked as you are. As your mind racks with the idea of how your powers failed you here, Bob stares at you. 

“I know what you are…” he says sternly, his jaw tensing up as he keeps his gaze. “Project Venus?” he asked. 

You try to calm down, your breaths slowing down slowly as your eyes finally meet him. You neither confirm or deny. “...Project Sentry.” you grit. You see him slowly put his hands down. “Valentina told me that everyone from Project Venus died…” you watch as he connects the dots as to why you were kept in the dark for so long. Before he had time to process the possible failed assaination by proxy attempt, you ran to hit, backhanding him, distracting him, before kneeing him in the stomach.

He groaned, annoyed, and before you could land another punch, he grabbed your wrist; holding it tightly as you tried to snatch it away. “I’m not gonna fight you-” “-bullshit, if you know me, and what I can do, then you know why I’m here-” “-it doesn’t work, and that’s why you were scrapped, now stop before you sprain something-rob” you didn’t listen, you kicked him and pushed him out of the way, running to the door and grabbing the bow, and aiming it at him. 

“God, what the fuck, Stop!” He holds his hands up. 

“What did you do to me?” you barked. “How did you-” your voice shook as Bob shook his head. “Look, it’s clear that Valentina fucked us both. Okay? You-You have every reason to be upset! She didn’t care about you then and doesn't now either. She probably sent you here to be killed just-just-put the fucking bow down, please!” he pleaded. “Please don’t make me hurt you more than I already have-” 

“Oh shut up!” you raised your voice over his. “I was supposed to be you! I signed over my entire life to be as great as you and you stole that from me, you stole my life…” your tears ran down your cheeks. “You stole my life, and I'm gonna get it back!” 

“I didn’t steal your life.” he snapped. “Valentina did. That man who did that to your friends back in high school did.” he huffed out as he dropped his hands. “God, Y/N, what was the plan here? You ‘infect’ me with depression until I kill myself? Do you know anything about me outside of me being the Sentry?” he stared in bewilderment. “Valentina used just about everyone in this building, you’re not alone.” 

Your hands shake as you hold the bow, and you start to realize that you never shot the bow before, and that you’ve always cruised simply by using your powers. Bob saunters over, his hands reaching towards her bow and lowering it. “There’s…nothing you can do that I haven't already done to myself.” he admits. “Please stop, before you hurt yourself.” 

You’re enraged, and you want to do everything you can to regain control, but there’s no use. You throw your weapon on the ground, drying up your own tears as you sniffle softly. “Did you learn all that after singing kumbaya with Red Room Barbie and her fucking friends?!” you spat. Bob just nods. “I don’t know, have you ever considered that maybe you could use your powers to help people? Instead of hurting them?” he barked back. “You know how much time you could save if you healed people instead of, I don’t know, inducing suicide–Can you stop fighting with me for a second.” 

You hate that he’s right. “If i started with you, we’d be here all night. You have enough personalities to keep me completely occupied.” 

“Now that’s a low blow.” 

You both just stare at each other, staying silent for a second as you sigh. “Why didn’t my powers work on you?” you were dying to know, even if it meant knowing that you were a failure, and you were meant to be scrapped. 

Bob shrugged. “I don’t know. I wish I could tell you.” he sincerely said. “Maybe instead of filling a…whatever I am with depressive thoughts, have you considered filling me up with happy thoughts? Let me live like that for a bit and then come back to take it from me? Maybe I'll do what you want then.” he muttered that last part under his breath. 

“Are you seriously giving me tips on how to kill you more efficiently?” 

“I don’t know anymore, Y/N. This is awkward–I’m feeling awkward, in case you can’t tell.” he stared into your eyes. “You know why your trial was called Project Venus, Y/N? It’s because Valentina wanted to make a-a seductress who was an assassin. A whole…Killing Eve situation.” he critiqued. “You put the super serum in Steve Rodgers, you get Captain America. You put the super serum in me, you-you get a clusterfuck of problems. But if you give it to a people pleaser? you get an emotional manipulator…” 

You had enough. “You know what? Fuck you, Sentry.” you pick up your bow, not drawing anything, but holding it, just ready to leave this all in the past. “If there’s nothing I can do that you ‘haven’t already done to yourself’ then my work here is done. You’re the ticking time bomb. Not me.” you spat, only to feel what you felt earlier again; the anxiousness, now masked with annoyance and anger, the curiosity, the attraction skipped the pint size, and the pitcher, and the gallon, it jumped two gallons three. Four. Five. You didn’t care, though. He kept pissing you off. 

“You aren’t gonna try?” he asked.

You groaned and turned around. “Jesus christ, Bob. What would make you happy, huh?” you bellowed. “A puppy? A girl? FSU actually winning something?” 

Bob sighed. “All I know is that we came from the same lab, and we’re both the only survivors. It’s not a fluke. If you truly want to know why your powers didn’t work on me, then I'm telling you that you’re using them wrong.” he looked down at your hand. “Put it on my chest, make me think of something good. Valentina sent you here to die…prove her wrong.” he earnestly suggested. “I was able to prove her wrong, so were the Thunderbolts.” 

You hated that this might be the reason why it didn’t work on him. Maybe he was already filled with such darkness, that filling him with more, oversaturating the inevitable, it was never going to work. The public knew about Project Sentry, but not Project Venus. It made sense as to why you’d never be in the picture. It was a losing game. It was always a losing game. Reluctantly, yet, willingly, you dropped your bow and placed your hand on his chest. Oh… there had to be a rock underneath his sweatshirt…was it always this tight? Didn’t matter, you tried to focus on something that would make anyone feel good. Chocolate, a good cry, ten hours of sleep. Something. 

Bob looks at your hand, then down at your face, studying every feature. Your hand glows a soft pink, your eyes moving underneath your eyelids as you try to change his demeanor. You just sigh and pull away. “This is stupid-” “-maybe.” he muttered. Looking up at him, you realized how close you two were to each other. “All I can feel is how much I annoy you and stress you out.” his heart beats faster, the blood rushes to his face, and you felt all of that too, you just didn’t want to entertain that possibility. “Can also feel how bad you want me.” 

Bob’s cheeks turned a dark shade of pink, he furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, Cupid’s Girl. at least you didn’t force me to feel that.” he looked down. 

Your breath hitches slightly, but you shake your head at the idea of it. “I’m not dealing with this-” 

“I’m just trying to help you see that you don’t have to follow her orders anymore.” He gulped softly, staring into your eyes. “None of us do. Actually, the last thing I want is to see another person like me be under her thumb-” 

“-I’m nothing like you.”

“Bullshit.” he said softly. “Traumatized Floridian escapes pain by signing up for a trial, instead of going to therapy, they become the sole survivor of said trial and, under Valentina De Fontaine’s thumb, they become her own personal weapon…Sounds familiar?” you couldn’t escape from the similarities after he put it into words. You just sigh, opening up your mouth to say something, but Bob cuts you off. “I mean, we own her. Don’t you want that? It doesn’t drain you to do her bidding every now and again?” 

Damn it. You just look down, but feel his hand slowly raise to your cheek. He was right. Part of you hated how something as beautiful as being an empath, emotionally attuned, as turned into some cheap party trick to make top scientists and government officials leave the world behind without a single thought. There was a time you wanted to help others. You figured after you learned what you could do, you could help yourself. It doesn’t work on you, but you wished it did. You felt Bob’s thumb run across your cheek, feeling his anxiety tremble once the both of you locked eyes. “...you’ll never have to force anyone to do anything awful ever again, you won’t even have to force them to love you.” 

“What makes you so sure?” 

Bob just gazed into your eyes, trailing along your soft features as his eyes fluttered down to your lips. Oh, because I didn’t have to force you to want to help me. I didn’t have to force you to see me as more than just a potential enemy. His eyes flicker back up to yours. He wants to say more, maybe even show you exactly what he means. He’s too anxious, too awkward, too nice, while also flooding with some sick desire to have his way with you. The air between the two of you gets thick. The same way it did when he first opened the door, except now the playing field has flipped itself on its head. You stare down at your hands, and so does he, before his eyes find yours again. It’s almost like he’s signaling you on what to do. 

Your hand slowly reached his chest, but before you could make him feel anything, he mustered up the courage and grabbed your chin, slowly bringing it over to him as he kissed you softly. Maybe he just wanted you to touch him, not to make him feel anything he doesn’t already feel, but to reassure him that he wanted to feel you and only you. You feel him relax into you, all the anxiety and curiosity quieting down as you gently kiss back, bumping noses and heavy breaths as the kiss deepens. One hand shakily goes to your waist as he uses the other to slowly shut the door behind him. 

You weren’t expecting this, and part of you wasn’t sure if this is something that should happen, but once you both pulled away, your lips chased each other again; like magnets trying to find their polar opposite. You felt his grip on your waist slowly tighten, almost scared he’d break you if he grabbed too roughly too soon. Your arms find themselves around his neck as you feel your body get warm with need, way too soon to be feeling like that until your tongues accidentally brush past each other; then it was game on for the both of you. 

He feverishly kissed you as his grip on you strengthened, a small huff leaving him as you felt yourself gravitate to him. Feeling his knee slowly slip between your thighs, it was all too convenient. His hand grappling to the back of your neck as he pulled you in more; like he was some needy vampire and you were a blood bag with his name written all over it. His hand on your waist slid over to your lower back as he pulled you more into him, as if you could fade into him, as if he wanted you all to himself. And who were you to deny him of that? Especially if you just started to feel yourself dampen, and wanting nothing more than to get rid of the chaste feeling of not knowing what to do, and wanting something more so bad. 

Alchemizing the hate into passion was something you never thought you could do for yourself. Your hate for Sentry turned into wanting nothing more than to show him just how deeply you felt about him, how deeply you felt for him. The kissing picked up more and more, until teeth started clashing and the both of you started running out of breath. You pull away, breathing heavily and almost mumbling against his lips. “Bob-” oh god, you can’t believe you were getting hot and heavy over someone who willingly goes by the name ‘Bob’. 

He whines softly after he stops chasing your lips for more kisses, you can feel the heat radiating off of him like a space heater. His fingers run through your hair, as he huffs gently. “Sweetheart…” he hoarsely said, his voice dripping in desperation as his thumb slowly ran across your bottom lip. He couldn’t believe that you’d let him get this far with you. “You stress me out.” he chuckles softly. And it turns you on. you think to yourself as he leaves soft kisses on the corners of your mouth. “Picking a fight with me just to…” his mind lingers on the idea of having you in his arms the way he has you now. He loves hearing your heartbeat speed up with such a slight or sudden move, and you realize you’re not the only one who can hear hearts too. 

He softly kisses you for a split second, before leaning his forehead against yours. “Please?” he asked tenderly against your lips. You nearly squeeze your thighs around his knee at the idea of him touching you without it whisking you away to some twilight zone. This could be a sweet dream instead of some awful nightmare, one you deprived yourself of since the trial. “Please I wa-want…” he chokes up, before you nod your head and reciprocate the kiss from earlier; short and sweet. You felt him smirk against your lips as he gently pushed you back up against the bed. 

The bed is plush, and soft; it’s a stark contrast compared to the surprising pair of abs underneath Bob’s shirt. He eagerly attaches his lips to your neck, taking a deep breath and smelling the sultry perfume and the vanilla shampoo that you lather your hair in each night. Your skin is the softest thing he’s ever touched, and he misses it more and more each time he pulls away from you. “So..fucking pretty.” he mumbles to himself as his lips trail down to your collarbone, your blouse getting in the way of everything he wants. 

Your breathing speeds up softly as his hands fidget with the buttons of your blouse, you can feel him have some semblance of self control, and how close he was with throwing it out the window just to have you. God, you can feel the self constraint. He was strong enough to rip your clothes off with one tug, but the last thing he wanted was for this to be shorter than he wanted it to be, even if he wanted nothing more than to dive into you. The more buttons he unclasps, and the more skin he sees underneath, the harder you feel him get. It was right up against your thigh, and all you wanted was to feel it break you in. 

He breathes out a soft ‘fuck’ as his eyes wander onto yours, almost pleading for permission to strip you from the rest; please let me undress you, let me tear this off of you, let me have you. You could feel yourself getting more and more wet with each passing second. The way his hands slowly went over to your inner thigh and softly stroke his thumb closer and closer to your core was just the tip of the iceberg. He slowly leans forward, leaving another kiss on your plump and chapped lips. He stares down at you. “I need to taste you…please?” his voice becomes rash, strained, restricting himself so he doesn't go crazy needing you. 

“You wanna taste me?” your voice is tainted with the desire to assume control, because he sounded so pathetic for you. He nods like a puppy, nearly salivating from the mouth like one too. “You wanna taste how fucking sweet I am for you?” you reiterate, feeling his thumb slowly slide between your clothed crotch, feeling how damp your tights were, knowing your panties had been lined with how sweet and wet you are. 

He blushes at your words. “That…mouth of yours.” he raspily voiced, and before you knew it, the self restraint he could have prided himself on melted away. He pulls your hips down, taking your black miniskirt with you and unzipping your boots in the process as well. You can’t help but let out a soft laugh. “Someone’s eager-” you hum before a gasp leaves you, because before you knew it, he had ripped your stockings; tears lining down your leg as he leaned down. God your panties were cute, and you weren't even planning on this happening. Lucky you. 

He leaned down and gently kissed your clothed clit, a shiver went down your spine as tender whines left your parted lips, and the more noise you made, the more Bob kissed and rubbed and sucked on your panties. The friction makes you more and more desperate. You then felt Bob slowly slide that strip of soaked fabric to the side, spitting on your clit before ravenously lapping his tongue over your sensitive, throbbing nub. 

A moan rips from your throat as you toss your head back, feeling your back start to sweat with anticipation as he buries himself more into your cunt. His arms wrapping around your thighs as he forces you down on his tongue. If there was a heaven, this was it; getting endlessly eaten out by someone you tried fist fighting with earlier. You feel your stomach churn with excitement as he drinks out of you, instantly getting drunk off of you, and muttering helplessly against your clit; “god so sweet–so fuckin’ sweet–sound so pretty” intercutting with a few moans and swear words. You relished in how weak he was for you. “Fuck, Bob!” 

Just the single mention of his name made him speed up, sucking on you as his tongue gently continued to savor every last drop of you. You’d squeeze your thighs around his head, and he forced them back open. If you wanted, he could stay like that for hours; tongue deep into you while prying your shaky legs open. He wanted to stay like that, until your moans became higher in pitch, and more airy in tone. 

His eyes searched for yours, and the way he was looking up at you made it impossible for you to look away or not beg for more. Before you had the chance to, his fingers slowly slid into you, causing your back to arch since there was no sign of him ever slowing down his tongue. Moans spilled out of you as your wetness leaked all over your ripped stockings; dribbling down Bob’s chin and making him even more privy to what you liked, what you wanted, what you needed. 

If he was drunk on your juices, then you were equally as drunk as him on his motions. You became a bumbling mess, and he hasn’t even stuck himself in you just yet. “Ohmygod.” you mumbled as more moans got caught up in your throat. You felt the urge in your stomach, blood rushing more and more to your groin as you whimpered. “Just…breaking…you…in” he muttered against your clit, a low hum escaping him as his fingers rapidly entered you, leaving you, entering again, and feeling it overwhelm you. 

“God-so close!” you whined as he sped up. He huffed out a small laugh, continuing to work on your clit as his fingers curled inside of you, pressing into that soft spot none of your past partners could reach. A small squeal left you as your legs shook with desire. Grabbing a pillow and holding it to your mouth, you came all over his tongue, and you watched as he licked up everything he could get out of you. Your muffled moans were music to his ears, as he pulled himself up, grabbing the pillow from you and engulfing you in another kiss. 

Tasting how sweet you were, how tart it was on his tongue, and how it ran down his neck; you grabbed his face and pulled him away from your lips. He kept on wanting to kiss you, pouting when he couldn’t. You tried to catch your breath before feeling him slide off his sweatpants, exposing his boxers and the giant bulge he was sporting. You could see it throb as he looked into your eyes. “Please Sweetheart…” he begged. “I wanna feel how soft and warm you are for me please.” his voice strained as he looked into your eyes. 

You nod, eagerly pulling off his underwear with him and staring at his cock. Your cheeks, as if they weren’t red already, turned crimson at the idea of him splitting you in half with his member, already dripping in precum. Your hand slowly goes over and wraps around him delicately, seeing a shiver run through him as he grabs a chunk of your hair and pulls you up just to kiss you, then softly letting go and slowly going back down with your lips still attached to each other. A soft moan passes his lips, which are red and plump from the excessive kissing. He teases your entrance. “Sweet thing…” he whispers before placing a soft kiss next to your lips. “Good girl” he hums as he slowly slips himself in you; whimpering the deeper he went

A gasp leaves you as you try to adjust to his length; you weren’t expecting it to make you feel so stuffed already, and it wasn’t even fully in you just yet. “Oh fuck…fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-” it all spills out you as Bob chuckles weakly, trying to keep himself together under the amount of pleasure he was feeling. He almost couldn’t think straight with how tight you were around him. How perfectly your cunt sucked him in; like you were both designed for each other. “So-so fuckin’ pretty when you swear-makin’ pretty noises for me.” he musters out before his hips finally react, finally slamming into you in a repeated fashion that’s just…perfect. 

A loud squeal left you, and his hand flies to your mouth as he keeps you quiet; clasping so hard around your jaw that the pain alone makes you cry out for him. Yet, it was overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you the way you were meant to be fucked. Your body jolts with each movement as cries spill out from the crevices of his hands. “My sweet fuckin’ girl…” he nearly growls, loving the way you were getting worked up for him; but also getting worked up over you himself. He moves his hand away from your mouth and kisses you softly; god, he had to be addicted to your lips. 

You took this opportunity to express just how good he was making you feel. You knew others were going to hear you anyway. “God-fuck you fit so well in me i-it-s just perfect for you!” your voice wavered, coated in pleasure, feeling him pick up the pace. “I fucking-love-it when you fuck me like this I deserve to get fucked out-” you cry, looking into his eyes.

He slows down, almost to get back at you for all the trouble you put him through earlier. “Never expected something so nasty to come out of those pretty lips of yours…”

“Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it, Sentry?” You challenged. 

You could see his eyes bristle with power as he grabs you and flips you over, forcing your head down into a pillow and holding your hips up as he slams into you; not caring about how rough he was being. You scream with pleasure as your arms try to hold you up, but the pressure of taking him in this position forces your face back down on the pillow. You whine and swear and cry out, but it’s muffled underneath all the pillows. His grip on your thighs holds you in place; you could’ve almost collapsed with how bad your legs were shaking. 

“Yeah?” he grunted. “That’s what I'm gonna do.” He murmured hoarsely, trying to keep his control for just a second longer so he could enjoy you, but he’s been close to cuming the minute you put your hands on him. He grabs your hair and pulls your head up; forcing you to take his cock deeper and deeper as he tries to whisper in your ear; “shut you up, sweetheart.” he declared as he let you flop back onto the pillow. He stops thinking about being gentlemanly, and more about how to make you cum for him a second time. He could fuck you for hours until you came if it came down to it. 

Your screams and cries and coherent thoughts turned into a jumbled up pile of words, as you drooled onto the pillow; hair sticking to your face as Bob continued to unapologetically thrust against your cervix. It didn’t matter how nervous he was at the beginning, you had him right where you wanted him; helplessly plunging into you and whimpering with each jab. Feeling him rub against your clit with the speed he was going was sending you into a frenzy, causing your thighs to tremble more and more. “What was that, sweetheart?” he slightly smirked as more and more of your muddled moans sept through the fabric of the pillow. 

“You…yes…fuck…so…good.” you cried out aimlessly. 

Bob’s breath shook as he sped up. “Sweet, dumb, thing.” he groaned with each lunge into your cunt. “Good…handsome…boy…fuck!!” you whimpered out as Bob felt his stomach churn with excitement. He didn’t care to slow down, the last thing he wanted was to ruin the moment just to catch his breath. Why do that, when he can finally release the tension he’s felt since laying eyes on you? He groans at the idea of cuming in you, filling you up and making you his. God, he wanted you to be his so badly. He doubted it, but he wanted you every day of the week. 

Sooner rather than later, he felt his own thighs shake. His hands climbed from your hips to your waist, pulling you deeper and closer as he groaned loudly. “Holy fuck…” you felt his cock seize inside of you, twitching every time you squeeze your walls around his member, and every time you did, he’d suck his breath and try to move. He couldn’t take it anymore, he quickly pulled out and pressed his tip against your raw and sensitive clit. He came on your clit, watching his semen roll down your cunt and veer off onto your inner thighs as your hips finally lower themselves.

Bob flops onto the bed and tries to catch his breath. His eyes still glowing as he huffs out in exhaustion, he looks over at you and smiles weakly. “You look…so cute when you’re tired.” he joked lightly.

You face him, blowing a piece of hair away from your face and blushing at the thought of Bob being one of the only people who’s ever seen you this tired. You kept to yourself up until now, and now knowing that someone has seen you all dazed and fucked out turned from an insecurity to something to be celebrated. You reciprocate the same smile. “Well…it’s not every day I get dicked down by someone I was supposed to…” you cringe at the thought of why you came here earlier. “So..this team you’re a part of…”

“The Thunderbolts?”

You nodded. “They…didn’t judge you? Like, at all?”

Bob stops for a second, then shakes his head. “No…you don’t even have to fight, Y/N, I just…don’t want Valentina to hurt you the way she’s hurt me or the others. No one deserves to feel that alone.” he looks into her eyes. “You have something that can…change the world. You always took care of Valentina’s problems, always took care of her. But..who takes care of you?” he asked with genuine concern. 

He was right. No one did. But maybe here there could be companionship, support, trust, everything you ran away from before Valentina, because you thought it was no help to you; and only got worse with Valentina sending you on pointless missions. Maybe you were done being under her thumb just like how Bob was, and the others were as well. Maybe it was time for you to forge your own path–talk about some serious post-nut clarity, but at least you have it now and not down the line when it eventually gets worse. If you wanted there to finally be someone who cared for you…why not have it be Bob? If he wanted to hurt you, he would have already. 

Your eyes stay on his, as his hand slithered to yours; no ominous black shadows included, or horrible memories that already plagued your mind; just a true alliance, an unadulterated connection (despite how smudged your makeup is and how red Bob was) and all the mess that came with it. “What do you say, Cupid’s girl?” and with a soft breath, you nod, giving him a resounding yes. He nearly leans in to kiss you, but you stop him. He pulls away and raises an eyebrow. “What? We’re team members now so we can’t kiss?” he asked, but you shake your head. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Then what is it?”

“…Cupid’s girl is not my hero name.”

 .·:*¨༺♱༻¨*:·.

"Jay, Jay, dearest." Your hand wraps around his forearm, squeezing as he refuses to meet your eye.

He meets you with silence.

"Jay, I love you too." You laugh, and he stares at you with panicked eyes.

"It's just the sex speaking. There's no way—"

"Jason. Did you say you love me because of the sex?"

Jason stops, heart hammering in his chest. He'd get laughed at to hell by his brothers if they saw how disheveled he was right now over accidentally confessing to you.

"No." He mumbles, and you cup his face as you press a kiss to his lips.

"Then neither am I. Was this too much? Do you want to call it for the day?"

Jason shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead gently as he moves again.

"Fuck," He whispers, pushing back into you slowly as he savors the feeling of you around him. He bites back moans in order to listen to the way your breath hitches so beautifully. So gorgeous. You're so gorgeous.

He can't believe he had to wait so long to bother confessing to you. If he knew you'd felt the same he would've done it forever ago. He gasps as you clench around him, pulling you up to press his lips to yours.

God, your lips feel divine against his. He melts against you as he just holds you there for a moment to make out with you, tongue pressed against yours as he bites at your bottom lip, groaning when you whimper, trying to shift your hips for some kind of friction.

"Jason." You pull back from his kissing, tilting your head back as he bites at your neck. "move."

He does.

You see stars, nails digging into his back as you struggle to hold on, whole body tense as he thrusts into you with each groan, and your heart hammers in your chest. You wonder if Jason can hear how badly your heart is hammering. Well, either way, you can barely think straight with the way he hammers into you. You wonder if you've just unlocked a primal instinct in him when you had told him you loved him too.

Silly man.

You spill over first, heart hammering in your chest as he comes soon after, collapsing over you on the mattress as you groan.

"Jay, get off of me."

"Rejected." He mumbles. "This is mandatory post-sex skin to skin."

"Since when?"

"Since now."

And, well. You don't find it in yourself to complain. Not when you know Jason will take care to carry you over to shower later.