#and he’d probably hate himself for that and etc etc

[zepskies]

Ahhhh finally I'm back to dive into the rich, twisty, time-bending amazingness that is this masterpiece! 🤩

They needed a body, and he needed a reason to exist, so Ben had said yes before the man even finished the entire pitch. Because he knew his father would’ve never approved. Not because he feared for Ben’s life – but because he would’ve seen it for what it was. Desperation. Weakness. Cowardice. But Ben saw it as his salvation: Power. Invincibility. Legacy. A chance to be something his father never was – something greater. The perfect American soldier. The symbol of a new era.

It hurts me so much for him, but because it's exactly the essence of when we got this reveal from SB in the show. This whole scene with Klara and Hardwick made my skin crawl, made me wish I could take Ben by the shoulders and push him out of that cave while he still could - even though he realized then and there that escaping was no longer an option the moment he stepped inside. Truly one of those terrible "point of no return" moments.

His transformation was also so traumatic and raw. Again though, I loved that moment when he sees the reader in vision form -- that she's probably the main reason he gets through it -- just arrow through my heart all over again. 🥲💔💔

It had been twenty-five years of this fucking shit.

I love the parallel of this line throughout this chapter. You really get that sense that Ben's just rolling bored, kind of aimless, hating life, still just desperate for her while he tries to keep himself occupied with fame, drugs, women, etc. There was definitely so much foreshadowing in what he said to the reader of, if he had to go back to living the life his father wanted for him, he'd have to bury himself in it because there was no other way he'd be able to stomach it all without her. 💔 [paraphrasing of course]

Word around headquarters was that the eggheads in R&D even finally went through with it and started injecting infants with this shit, not just young adults and late teens. Whispered projects. Off-the-books trials. A new generation of supes bred in labs, not born from battlefield legacy. It made his skin crawl. He didn’t trust any of it. Especially since nobody told him a damn thing anymore – not that he cared enough to ask about it anyway.

Ughhh you're so real for highlighting this. He had to have known something of this was going on. He just pretended it wasn't his problem. 😓

No one after him and Liberty had ever gotten the original formula of Compound V.

Yep, same HC over here! They can't have everyone living forever, after all. They needed to find a more clandestine way to push that story that these supes were "born this way," not made in a lab, injecting infants.

All he’d gotten was incredible strength, durability, and enhanced senses – and thank fucking God for that. Because the other shit he’d seen walking out of those labs? Fucking abominations.

lmfaooo he's not wrong in some cases. Nadia's daughter became a monster, for real.

“You know I only ever see you when I’m high,” he muttered as an excuse. “Only time you fuckin’ show up.” “Because it’s the only time you actually still let yourself feel anything,” you shot back. “Look at you! The same old shit. Snorting up your life, pretending it doesn’t fucking matter. You don’t care about the people you’re supposed to protect, do you? You don’t care about anything anymore.”

Gahhhh! I love how you did this, but also how dare you? 😭 lol She's the Gemini Cricket in his head at this point - the last part of his conscience.

You didn’t stop. You didn’t turn. You weren’t hurrying. You weren’t hiding. You were fucking skipping – hair swinging, laughing like the world hadn’t broken you yet. The hallway was dim, echoing with the muffled rumble of the encore behind him. You were just ahead, walking with that signature bounce in your step, still high from the concert and giggling to yourself.

Okay, my heart breaks for Benjamin, but I love that she had this moment of freeness loll 💛💛

And then Stan Edgar fucking showed up. Colder. Smarter. American-made. Less obsessed with genetics, more obsessed with markets. He didn’t give speeches about legacy or fucking manifestos about the Master Race. Stan just wanted numbers. Ratings. Brand loyalty. He made the Vought machine quieter, cleaner, meaner. He didn’t care about heroes – he cared about fucking products.

Honestly I think that's what makes Stan scarier, more of a threat. In the back of our minds, Nazis like Klara and the rest of Vought have already been (mostly) defeated. But Stan's weaponized capitalism is modern sharpness, even more insidious.

Her skin reeked of glitter body spray, cheap perfume, and desperation. There was nothing underneath the red suit – no substance, no soul. Just marketing.

Again, same HC 😅

“Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you…” Everything fucking stopped. His hips. His thoughts. His fucking breath.

He’d asked you once where the song came from. You’d smiled and said you’d heard it from some no-name bar singer in your hometown. Fucking liar.

Lmfao there are moments where I don't feel bad for him in the slightest, but this isn't one of those times 😂

“Months?!” She jumped in her seat when his voice accidentally got louder. Ben cleared his throat, softened a bit. Then he asked her if she’d ever known someone by your name. She hadn’t.

Poor Cyndi 😅 of course he's coming in hot and she's gotta be so bewildered

However, I LOVE the moment where he finally realizes that she's a time traveler. I felt relieved for him, honestly. 😂 At least he has one piece of the puzzle....even though of COURSE he fucked it up - not just for himself with Stan with his arrogance and tactlessness, but also for the reader, putting her on Stan's radar. You've done such an amazing job with this time loop, for real 😩👌🏽

And now I'm finally going to dive into the chapters I haven't had the chance to read yet!! 💖💛💖💛

Time After Time – Chapter 12

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, violence & a tiny bit of hate smut (Soldier Boy x Crimson Countess), flashbacks to 1944, 1969 & 1983, SB being his charming self and everything that comes with it, drug use, graphic Compound V injection, the Nazi Voughts, nihilistic themes, angst/hurt/heartbreak

Word Count: 13.7k

Posted on Patreon May 16, 2025

A/N: Welcome to the Eras Tour (Soldier Boy's Version) 🦅💚😂 Wanna see how the man, the myth, the monster was made? Welp, this is the rise and fall of Soldier Boy aka an introspection how Ben became such an insufferable ass. First part, I went full Captain America: First Avenger – just the evil Nazi edition. We also have the first appearance of The Legend (who's slightly aged up for this lol – couldn't resist putting him in, sue me 😝) and Stan Edgar. Plus, special appearances by: Led Zeppelin and Cyndi fucking Lauper! GAAAAH!!!)

PS: Getting to everyone's comments soon! Currently sitting here with a fever and wondering when life will stop coming at me lol. Miss you guys!!! 🩵

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 12: You're Not Just a Man, You're a Monument!

1944

Ben hadn’t done a lot of things in his life that amounted to much.

He flunked out of one of the most prestigious boarding schools in the country, had two fistfights (one outside a bar and one inside a country club), and once got thrown out of a brothel. He’d watched a war from too far away, standing in his father’s study while the steel contracts rolled in and the workers bled for the war effort – not him.

And there was also a string of women he couldn’t remember and one he couldn’t forget, no matter how hard he tried.

But this was supposed to be different. It was supposed to mean something.

Ben was dressed like a soldier – clean-pressed uniform, boots shined, buttons in place – but he’d never felt less like one. No scars. No dirt. No blood on his hands. Just a rich kid from Pennsylvania, the son of a steel mill asshole who thought service was a respectable PR move.

“Be a goddamn man for once.”

But Ben wanted to be more than just a son who his father was hoping would die in the trenches. He had always claimed Ben wouldn’t last a week on the frontlines and embarrass the family name on top of it. So, Ben had gone out of his way to do this without his father’s damn blessing.

With backdoor handshakes and the right kind of men in uniform. With whispers passed between scotch glasses and cigar smoke. His father had always said power was built on deals like that – so Ben had finally made one himself.

“You want to carve out your own way, son?” General Hardwick had asked him at his father’s Fourth of July party two years ago. “I might have something for you. Pays well. It’s a special project for men who don’t mind gettin’ their hands a little dirty.”

They needed a body, and he needed a reason to exist, so Ben had said yes before the man even finished the entire pitch.

Because he knew his father would’ve never approved. Not because he feared for Ben’s life – but because he would’ve seen it for what it was.

Desperation. Weakness. Cowardice.

But Ben saw it as his salvation: Power. Invincibility. Legacy. A chance to be something his father never was – something greater. The perfect American soldier. The symbol of a new era.

At least, that’s how a room full of army generals had sold it to him.

They’d told him it would be like going to sleep. Like closing his eyes, and waking up different. Better. Stronger. That was the goddamn promise.

Ben hadn’t entirely believed them. It sounded too good to be true. And still, he’d nodded anyway, jaw squared, heart slamming so hard in his chest it might’ve cracked ribs. Because in the end, it didn’t matter – he had already lost everything he ever held dear.

This was his last goddamn chance, the only door left open for him to be someone worth remembering.

The walls of the facility got colder the deeper he went, a chill settling in his bones. Concrete echoed under his boots as two soldiers, silent and purposeful, flanked him like they were escorting a prisoner – not a volunteer.

Ben had stopped asking them questions two hallways ago. It didn’t matter. They weren’t listening anyway.

He flexed his hands as he walked, trying to keep the blood flowing. He could still feel the slight tremble in his fingers, even if he kept them balled into loose fists. He doubted anyone noticed. He tried to convince himself he wasn’t nervous, but that was a damn lie, wasn’t it?

You wanted this, he reminded himself. You begged for it. You said you were ready.

But that was before he was swallowed by barbed wire and reinforced walls.

Before he saw the guards.

Before he caught the smell of something burnt into the concrete that never quite left.

This place didn’t feel like a lab. It felt like a bunker that had forgotten what daylight looked like – a prison. No windows. No clocks. Every door they passed was bolted shut. The smell of formaldehyde and bleach made his skin crawl – too clean and empty to feel safe.

From farther down the hall, he could hear two men whispering:

“–last one didn’t make it past the third minute. Seizure, cranial pressure–”

“Shh, not now. He’s here.”

Ben’s spine straightened, jaw locking tight.

They thought he was too dumb to hear them. Too dumb to understand. Just some steel mill owner’s son with a chip on his shoulder and nothing to lose – a disposable rich boy with something to prove.

The two soldiers finally stopped at a sealed door with a warningly blinking red light above. They buzzed him in with a clattering of mechanical locks and waved him through.

Inside, Ben was met with brass, scientists, a few men in white coats holding clipboards and murmuring numbers, and the Voughts – two scientists that had recently defected from Germany. None of them looked up as he stepped forward.

They didn’t expect much of him. He could see it in their eyes, in the way Klara Vought crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, smirking like she could smell the fear on him.

She was tall, elegant, sharp around the edges. There was too much control in her gaze, too much certainty in the way she took stock of him. Like she was already filing him away as either a success or a loss.

Her husband, Frederick, barely looked up from the clipboard he was scribbling on, either. “Welcome, Mr. Brooks. Take a seat,” he offered. “We’ll begin the briefing.”

Much like his wife, Frederick Vought looked like a man carved from marble – too clean, too controlled. His German accent was faint but unmistakable, hiding behind certain vowels. He didn’t offer a hand. Didn’t smile. Just gestured toward a steel chair bolted to the floor like it might run off if they didn’t anchor it.

Ben sat, trying not to show how fast his heart was beating, keeping his posture straight as the whole room studied him like an animal in a cage.

“Do you understand what we’re doing here, Mr. Brooks?” Frederick asked, opening a folder with his name on it.

Subject 13 – Benjamin Brooks.

Ben licked his chapped lips, his mouth dry. “Making soldiers. That’s what you said.”

“Something like that,” Frederick hummed. “We’ve been reviewing your file. You scored well on resilience, tolerance to pain, skeletal integrity. Not particularly impressive academically, but that’s irrelevant. You’re here for your body, not your mind.”

Klara made a sound like she was suppressing a laugh.

Ben’s jaw clenched, but he held his chin high. He knew they thought he was stupid – and maybe he was for agreeing to this.

“We’re not looking for damn philosophers,” General Hardwick added gruffly. “We need results. Boots on the ground that don’t die.”

“Well, I did expect someone taller,” Klara chimed in with a smirk – like a cat watching a mouse pretend it wasn’t afraid.

But Ben kept his muscles still and smirked. “Guess we’ll see if height matters, doll.”

“Oh, it doesn’t,” she replied easily. “What matters is whether your bones hold together.”

He didn’t flinch – not visibly. But the words stuck in his gut.

Frederick was already speaking again, turning pages in a thick folder of charts and diagrams that looked more like the anatomy of animals than men. Scientific terms poured out like machine oil – dense, acrid, impossible to pin down.

Ben understood maybe ten percent of it.

“We’ve had… partial success,” Frederick said smoothly. “Compound V is unstable in most adult systems. But you show exceptional tolerance markers. Similar to Subject Zero.”

Ben cleared the lump in his throat. “Subject Zero?”

Klara answered with a smile and a mock wave of her hand, crossing her legs. “Me. Surprise.”

That threw him for a beat.

He’d heard rumors about someone called Liberty – a woman who tore through battlefields like a storm. But he’d assumed she was a story. A pinup fantasy for soldiers with too many hours between firefights.

Ben’s gaze snapped back to Klara. She looked ordinary. Pretty, in that 1940s lipstick-and-waist-cinch kind of way. But he hadn’t missed the way the whole room looked at her – not with awe but pride. She wasn’t just part of the program. She was the goddamn program.

“The serum was… refined. Stabilized,” Frederick added.

“Refined,” Ben repeated, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “So, what, she’s the prototype?”

“She’s the future,” Frederick said simply. “And so might you be.”

Might. That word curled like smoke in Ben’s stomach.

“You’ve been screened. Physically, genetically, you are an ideal candidate. If this works, you'll be our first success outside controlled German trials,” Frederick continued.

“First success?” Ben asked, keeping his voice neutral. “What happened to the others?”

“Statistically irrelevant,” Frederick answered swiftly. “You’re not them. And unlike the others, you were selected. Hand-picked.”

“Most subjects barely made it past organ failure,” Klara added with a dismissive giggle like she was aiming to mess with him. “All previous ones died within minutes. Hemorrhaging. Cardiac arrest. Some even more violently than that.”

Ben didn’t react. He wasn’t sure he could afford it, but a shiver still ran down his spine nonetheless.

“We’ll begin with the injection after this briefing. You’ll be closely monitored, of course,” Frederick said, not elaborating on his wife’s taunts. “It will be intravenous. Rapid bloodstream integration. Your tissues will undergo an aggressive regenerative cascade – break down, rebuild. Organs will momentarily stress, then adjust. You may feel... discomfort.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Discomfort?”

“You may lose consciousness,” Klara clarified. “Or scream. That’s normal.”

He forced a casual shrug and a cocky smile, even though his stomach churned. “That’s fine. I’ve had hangovers worse than that.”

Frederick barely looked at him. “The serum is designed to alter your biology. It’s not just strength. It’s adaptive cellular optimization. Density manipulation. Accelerated healing. Auditory and visual acuity. Potential cognitive enhancement.”

He sounded like a goddamn textbook– one with a lot of big words.

“Right,” Ben said, smacking his lips. “So no more catching colds.”

“Your immune system will kill a virus before it finishes replicating,” Klara said, amused. “Your bones could stop a bullet. Your muscles will triple in strength without increasing in size. Your heart will be... tested.”

“Tested?”

Klara’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ll see.”

Ben caught a look between the two of them – barely a glance but enough. It was the kind of exchange scientists made when they’d seen what had come before – when they were still pretending the next experiment might not end the same way.

“The serum rewrites you,” Frederick explained proudly. “Not just your body. It makes you what you should have been. The best version.”

Ben looked down at his hands again, trying to control the tremble. “Sounds like a lot of poison for something that’s supposed to help.”

“Poison can be medicine,” Klara stated. “If you survive it.”

Frederick continued flipping pages like he hadn’t just described a dozen men dying on his table. “You’ll undergo rapid metabolic overhaul. Tissue degeneration followed by cellular regeneration. And yes, there will be pain. But afterward, you will have capabilities beyond conventional human limits.”

“How much pain?” Ben asked.

“Enough,” Klara replied. “But you’ll be stronger after. Think of it like being melted down and poured into a new mold. Like steel.”

Ben swallowed hard. “And if the mold doesn’t hold?”

Frederick smiled as if he’d made a joke. “Then you’ll have done your country a great service, young man.”

Ben was quiet for a moment. “You believe this can win the war?”

Frederick nodded surely. “Oh, it will end the war.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Klara said, voice almost gentle. “To become the kind of man who can’t be ignored anymore. You’ll never feel weakness again.”

Ben didn’t reply, but the words sank deep.

He could already feel it again – that same old, familiar pull in his gut he’d known since his childhood. That need to be something – someone. Not just a steel heir, not just a disappointment. Not the kid who never lived up to the family name. Not the one who flunked out of every damn thing he tried to take seriously. Not the guy who was left by someone he loved.

His father always said he was made soft by too much luxury. “All shine, no steel.”

Maybe this would finally prove otherwise.

This was his chance to be more than a shadow. To show them – his father, the world, himself – that he could matter. That he wasn’t just drifting.

No more being second-best.

No more being a failure.

No more almost.

Still, there was something strange in the way the staff avoided eye contact. The way two orderlies whispered just out of earshot and glanced at him like they were already mourning something. There were names crossed out in the folders on the table. Smudges of ink. Whole pages removed.

“And if I change my mind?” Ben asked and swallowed subtly, trying to keep it light. “I can still walk, right?”

There was a beat of silence before Frederick smiled thinly. “This facility is classified. No one walks out unaltered.”

Klara tilted her head, looking amused. “Besides, you don’t strike me as the quitting type, Benjamin.”

His heart pounded in his ribcage like it was trying to escape, but there was nowhere else to go. No way out now. Not unless he wanted to crawl out on hands and knees and let them all laugh behind his back – or get shot.

He couldn’t go back to Pennsylvania. Not to his father’s steel empire, to a house too big and quiet and full of disappointment. Not to a name that carried more weight than he did.

This was the only path left to prove he was something – a man forged like steel, not just born into it.

He’d signed the papers. He’d shaken the hands. And he’d sworn he was going to become the weapon they wanted – even if the man who woke up wasn’t him anymore.

Even if it killed him – especially then.

Ben stood when they told him to, the Voughts leading him to the injection chamber. It gleamed with chrome and was lined with medical instruments that looked more like torture devices than anything else.

It seemed like a goddamn morgue – metal table, thick straps, bright surgical lights overhead. A glass window lined one wall where he could just make out shadowy frames – doctors, generals, observers.

Ben adjusted the cuffs of his shirt as he sat down on the edge of the table, the fabric clinging faintly to his palms. Sweat – he hated that. It felt like weakness. Nervousness. But his pulse was undeniably high, and his jaw ached from how long he’d been grinding it.

They laid him flat on the table and strapped him down. The metal was cold and unkind beneath his back. He tried not to show how his hands flexed against the restraints.

“This will hurt,” Frederick said blandly. “But pain means it’s working.”

“You do want it to work, don’t you?” Klara smirked as she approached with the syringe – a gleaming metal cylinder far too large, filled with a glowing, poisonous blue-green liquid that seemed to pulse faintly in the light. She held it up like a trophy.

Ben gave a nod, but on the inside, he wasn’t sure if he just wanted to die quickly.

“You’re lucky,” she said, her voice seductive enough to brush the air like a secret. “I was the first. The only one to survive. And I was told I was too delicate, too emotional. But now? Now I could tear this building in half if I wanted to.”

Ben stared at her. She still looked human – beautiful, poised. But her eyes were sharp glass. There was nothing soft left in them.

“Begin the procedure,” her husband ordered her.

And then, she slid the needle into his arm without ceremony.

The first thing Ben felt was fucking fire.

Not like a normal injection. It wasn’t heat. It wasn’t a slow burn, not a warm spread of power – it was burning from the inside out. It was violence. Lightning under the skin. A thousand electric knives cutting their way through muscle, sinew, bone.

Every vein lit up like it was being filled with acid. His spine snapped straight, and his vision flashed white as his muscles seized and his eyes rolled back. He was aware of every inch of himself. The pressure building inside his skull. The joints in his fingers cracking and popping like they were being pulled apart. His blood felt like it was boiling.

He could feel himself tearing – changing, as if the serum was clawing through his body, unmaking and rebuilding all at once.

Bones throbbed. Skin screamed. Nerves flared. Something white-hot tore loose in his mind.

And then, through all the noise and the blur and the agony and the ringing in his ears, suddenly there was you.

At first only your silhouette, black and jagged at the edges against the blinding lights. But then you approached, your face becoming so clear and soft it felt like you were real – like you came back to him just so he wouldn’t be alone and scared anymore.

You crouched down next to him, hand reaching out to caress his cheek, fingers carding through his sweat-drenched hair. Your eyes were gentle, your voice even gentler. “Shh, baby, it’s okay. You’re gonna be alright. Trust me. It’ll be fine. Just relax for me, okay? You’re stronger than you know, Ben.”

“What are you doing here?” he murmured deliriously, gritting the words out between bursts of excruciating pain. He wasn’t even sure if he said them out loud or if he was imagining the whole thing.

He heard his own voice, somewhere far away, screaming – maybe begging for mercy. Maybe both.

Stranger’s hands then gripped his shoulders. “He’s seizing–”

“No,” Klara Vought’s voice snapped from somewhere in the room, colder than ice. “He’s adapting.”

You stroked his face and gripped his hand tightly, kissing his knuckles like he was a sick child in bed with a terrible fever. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you. Always.”

And the world faded to black then.

Ben could still feel the needle when his eyes fluttered open again.

But maybe he was imagining it – the phantom sting buried somewhere beneath his skin, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat or whatever had replaced it. His body didn’t feel like his anymore.

One of the nurses noticed with wide eyes when the restraints creaked, and Ben pulled against the strap on his right wrist.

It snapped.

The others followed in seconds, metal bands twisting like tinfoil. He sat up slowly, breathing hard. His shirt stuck to him with sweat. His mouth tasted like blood and metal. His hearing was sharp – too sharp. He could hear a light flickering three rooms away. Someone chewing gum down the hallway. A fly buzzing behind the window panel.

But the room was swimming, eyes unable to focus. It was too much and all at once.

His heart hammered in his chest, pulsing too fast. His muscles clenched and shifted, as if they were too tight for his body to contain anymore. Every cell of his felt louder. Everything was spinning, his skull pounding like something inside was trying to crawl out.

Bones too big for his frame. Skin too tight for his muscles. Blood too hot.

“Easy,” someone barked.

Ben couldn’t see them. Could barely see anything at all.

He rolled onto his side, retching dryly. His stomach had already emptied itself sometime before the blackout.

Voices then blurred above him, needles being jabbed into his arm again and drawing blood. They were testing him like he was a lab rat.

The pain was still there, humming in the background like white noise. He could feel the pressure building inside him, his body fighting against itself, as if trying to break free of whatever this was.

“Take deep breaths,” Frederick Vought’s voice cut through the fog. “It will pass. The initial shock is the most difficult. Just focus on stabilizing your breathing.”

But all Ben could feel was the power coursing through his veins – raw and uncontrollable. His fists clenched at his sides, every nerve alive, every muscle twitching with newfound energy.

There was nothing like this. Nothing he’d ever experienced before. It was as if his body had become an engine, a machine that wasn’t used to running this fast.

The sensation of power was intoxicating – and terrifying. His pulse roared like a flood breaking through a dam. His fingers tingled with electricity, his body humming with energy he didn’t think he could control.

Heat and force without focus.

He gritted his teeth and stumbled to his feet, trying to steady himself on the table, but everything around him seemed to tilt. He didn’t even notice the metal warping in his grip. His vision blurred, and he staggered forward, fighting the overwhelming urge to collapse. His legs felt like they might buckle under him at any given moment.

Ben then rolled his shoulders and something popped. The pressure eased just enough for him to speak.

“Where’s the head? I need a minute,” he rasped, but his voice sounded… wrong. Deeper. Rougher. Like he’d smoked two packs, drank a whole bottle of his father’s best bourbon, and swallowed the glass after.

“Second hallway,” Klara said, perfectly calm and still like a statue waiting to judge him. She observed him like a specimen in a jar. “Door with the red handle.”

No one followed him, but he felt their eyes on him long after he left the room.

Ben barely made it inside without knocking the door clean off its hinges. The rusted lock groaned under the twist of his wrist. His boots hit the ground too hard. His fingers twitched like they wanted to pull something apart just for the release. He slammed the door shut behind him, the noise echoing too loud in the empty space.

The bathroom reeked of ammonia, damp concrete, and mildew – the kind of place no one had cleaned properly since the Depression. A single lightbulb flickered above him like it might die, casting shadows on the stained walls.

The mirror above the sink was clouded with age – spotted, warped, smudged with fingerprints and the ghosts of men who’d probably stood where he was now. Before they failed the serum. Before they were zipped into bags and hauled out the back door under the cover of night.

His boots dragged as he stumbled forward, bracing himself with shaking hands against the sink. The old porcelain creaked beneath his grip and cracked. Sharp edges then crumbled in his palms, falling to the ground. He hadn’t even goddamn tried to break it.

“Shit,” he muttered as he quickly stepped back in shock – or horror. He wasn’t sure which yet.

This wasn’t what he had expected. This wasn’t what he had imagined when he’d volunteered for this. He thought he was doing it to prove something, but now, with this indescribable, untamable power coursing through him, he was realizing how little he knew what exactly he’d gotten into.

His mind was spinning, flooded with a torrent of confusion, fear, and an unexpected sense of disappointment. The poison in his veins was changing him, but he wasn’t sure he still wanted this change. Ben didn’t know if he could handle it, still feeling it move under his skin like a parasite.

The heat. The hum. The static buzz of something not quite human rushing through his veins.

They said it would be a miracle. A new frontier for mankind. The dawn of the American super soldier. But he didn’t feel like a goddamn miracle. He felt like something had crawled inside him and started screaming.

This power was like a wildfire, and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep it from burning everything to ashes and smoke around him.

He gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake the ringing in his skull. He steadied himself on the sink with more care this time and took in his reflection.

The man staring back at him looked like a myth. It showed a face he knew but didn’t recognize anymore. His pupils were dilated, blown wide, rimmed by a startling clarity in the whites of his eyes.

His jaw looked sharper, his shoulders broader, like he’d been carved out of stone. Even his scars were fading – the ones he’d earned the hard and tough way. His skin looked tighter over his muscles, like it had been pulled a little too far, blood vessels glowing faintly blue beneath it. His veins bulged with something not quite natural.

He could feel his body calculating. As if every step, every breath, every twitch of his fingers was being optimized by something foreign now living in his bloodstream.

Everything inside of him had been replaced with something smoother. Artificial. Altered. Angry.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and didn’t move for a long moment. His thoughts were too scattered, too clouded. But through the haze, something broke through.

You.

God, he hadn’t thought about you in years. Had trained himself not to. Had built walls inside his mind where your name couldn’t echo. You were a ghost. A heartbreak. A closed chapter.

He’d buried you like everything else. Like his mother. Like his dreams. Like his humanity. Like the idea that he might actually deserve love. But now, in this moment, with his blood still singing from whatever the hell they’d done to him, you were suddenly everywhere.

The pieces were clicking now.

Every excuse. Every little dodge. He’d been too blinded by love to see it for what it was.

“I don’t… bruise easily, you know? Kinda neat…”

“Good genes.”

“Oh, uh, adrenaline… I guess. Didn’t really think about it.”

“Who knows? Maybe I’m a witch.”

You’d laughed when you said that last one, like it was a joke only you understood.

But you were like this, weren’t you? Like him.

His head was pounding, memories firing off like bullets.

He remembered how you carried a whole crate of firebricks like it was nothing. When Ben had tried lifting it, he could barely do it without his knees giving in.

He remembered how you once sliced your palm on a broken bottle in the shed and it didn’t bleed more than a mere paper cut – if at all. You giggled and told him not to worry about it. It hadn’t been that deep. You’d been lucky.

He remembered how you’d never bruised, no matter how rough things got in bed. He had always chalked it up to your spirit, your fire, your grit.

But it had been more than that, hadn’t it?

And God help him, he had believed you. Had needed to.

Because he was in love.

Because he was a goddamn idiot.

For almost two years, he had told himself you didn’t love him. That you changed your mind. Had convinced himself you ran because you were scared or selfish or worse – that he wasn’t enough. That he was weak.

And then, the night you disappeared came rushing back to him.

How his father, the old bastard, had grabbed you like you were something to claim. How you then almost shattered his wrist and fought him off – a guy twice your size.

And Ben hadn’t stopped you. Hell, he’d wanted you to do worse. He’d never questioned it – not until now.

He remembered how he’d confessed everything then that night in the barn. That he loved you. That he wanted to marry you and build something new – run as far and fast as you could from the ghosts of both your pasts.

But maybe you couldn’t. Was that the real reason you left? That thing he felt inside of himself now?

“Ben, I can’t.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting into here.”

You were different, weren’t you? But you were also different from that cold woman in the lab out there. Your eyes had always been soft, your voice had always been kind, and your touch had always been gentle.

He squeezed his eyes shut and fought back the tears as more memories flooded his mind.

The feeling of you. The warmth in his chest. The scent of your hair. That breathy laugh you used to hide behind your hand like he hadn’t already branded the sound of it into his mind.

You, running barefoot in that yellow sundress through the orchard by the lake.

You, stealing his cigarettes when he’d looked away for two seconds.

You, singing by the piano.

You, crying in the barn.

You, gone.

Why did you leave him? Why couldn’t you stay?

Ben always knew you’d been running from something. Someone. He’d never pried too much, sensing your fear, but after you were gone, he’d tried to find you. Looked for you for months. Hired a private investigator, but no one ever found someone by your first name, your birthday – no one in New York or anywhere else in the world.

You were a ghost. Someone who shouldn’t have existed.

And maybe, whoever you’d been running from, were the same people that waited for him outside this bathroom now. Had you been running from them?

All he’d wanted for the past two years was to find a way to get you back. And a small part of him thought this might be the way – if he had been like this back then, stronger, unbreakable, then maybe you would’ve stayed. Maybe he would’ve been finally good enough.

But now he wasn’t so sure this had been the reason why you’d been running in the first place. Why had you never told him?

How was it even possible? According to the scientists out there, someone like you shouldn’t have existed – not yet.

No survivors.

But why the hell did it feel like he was only just now starting to see you clearly for the very first time?

Ben grabbed a shard of broken porcelain from the floor. His hand trembled as he brought it to his palm and hesitated for a moment, but then he pressed – hard. It barely did anything. Another piece chipped off before he managed the smallest nick. A single drop of blood appeared before the skin knitted itself back together before his eyes – fast, precise, flawless.

His breath caught in his throat as he staggered back from the sink, heart hammering in his chest with a force that could shatter concrete. He barely noticed how his breathing came faster now, how the walls around him seemed to close in.

And then, there you were – in the mirror behind him, sharper and realer than you had any right to be.

Your palm touched his shoulder, and he felt it – that familiar warmth that always gave him comfort. That always made him feel like he was home and less alone. But as he glanced behind him, there was no one there.

He missed you. God, he fucking missed you.

He wished you were here. You’d know what to do and what to say. You’d hold his hand and tell him it was okay to be scared. That he was strong. That he didn’t need to do this. That he was enough – that he would’ve been enough exactly the way he’d been.

But you weren’t here. You hadn’t been here for a long time.

Ben returned to the testing chamber on steadier legs, though every inch of him still felt coiled – like a gun that hadn’t gone off yet. There was an unknown hunger inside him now urging him to do something – to fight, to tear, to break. The thought scraped against his brain like claws against steeled walls.

A violent force with no outlet.

Klara raised an eyebrow when he entered. “You’re adjusting faster than expected.”

Ben leaned against the wall, arms crossed – carefully, deliberately, making sure not to press hard enough to shatter the tiles or anything else.

“You said I’d feel stronger. You didn’t say it’d feel like someone else’s bones inside of me,” Ben noted and tried to hide the bitterness in his voice.

Frederick didn’t look up from his notes. “Your cells are adapting. The Compound V is aggressive, but selective. It rewrites everything – efficiently.”

“Yeah,” Ben muttered. “Efficient’s one word for it.”

“You’ll feel imbalance for a few days,” Klara said smoothly. “Then your body will stabilize. You’ll understand your strength better.”

“Have you tested that strength yet?” he asked. “Or am I the guinea pig for that part too?”

Klara didn’t flinch. “You’re not a guinea pig. You’re the evolution.”

“Lucky me,” Ben scoffed under his breath.

Frederick looked up now. “Your vitals are good. Recovery is above expectations. How are your hands? Any numbness? Residual tremors?”

“No.”

“Any double vision?”

“No.”

“You appear slightly flushed. Any nausea?”

Ben exhaled an exhaustive sigh. “Only from the stench of your fucking cologne.”

Frederick blinked at first and then chuckled. “Sharper tongue. A side effect we didn’t anticipate. Emotional intensification could be worth tracking. Your brain chemistry is still in flux. Memory distortion is normal. Dreams, even hallucinations. We’ll monitor that.”

“Great,” Ben said flatly and subtly rolled his eyes back. “And how many more of me are you planning to make, huh?”

“None,” Klara said before Frederick could answer.

Ben stiffened unnoticeably, spine straightening.

“You were the goal,” she said. “A living, breathing prototype. One we could unleash without setting the world on fire – at least, not before we want to.”

Frederick added, “It isn’t a formula. It’s a trial by fire. Everyone else who’s tried has died.”

Everyone else. That stuck in Ben’s brain like a splinter.

“We want the public to get used to the idea of someone like you first before we begin with Phase Two,” Klara continued.

Ben cocked an eyebrow. “Phase Two?”

Klara nodded and smiled. “Children.”

“You wanna put this shit in little kids?”

Frederick answered in that typical scientist-without-feelings tone, “The adult body is not an ideal and viable host for the serum. Too many expected failures. We suspect better results with children. Their bodies are still more flexible. They adjust better to the changes.”

“It’s the future,” Klara said, smiling in that eerie way again that made his balls retreat into his body.

It’s sick, Ben thought. But he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to argue further. All he cared about was finding some answers.

Finding you.

Klara stepped closer to him, smirking and watching him like he was a caged tiger in a circus. “You okay? You seem… agitated.”

“‘M fine.” He bit the inside of his cheek and tried to look unconcerned. “So no one ever survived outside your labs? No accidents? No freak cases out in the wild? No one ever escaped from the camps? I don’t know… back in Germany? France, maybe?”

“No,” Klara said firmly. “If there were, we would know.”

Fortunately, they thought he was just curious – just trying to understand the scope of what he’d volunteered for.

Good.

He didn’t want them asking why his questions had a shape. Why his thoughts had a face. He didn’t trust them enough to tell them anything more.

But Ben knew that there was still you – out there, somewhere.

1969

It had been twenty-five years of this fucking shit.

The big war was long over, the headlines yellowed, and the world had moved on to sex, drugs, and rock music. But Ben was still here – crowned a hero as Soldier Boy and still suiting up, still smiling for the cameras, still pretending any of it fucking mattered.

Vought established itself as a company and looked different now. Shinier. Less fucking German.

The original two Voughts had gone underground some time ago like the cowards they were – and good fucking riddance. Ben never could stand their bullshit. Their Nazi roots had been harder to bleach out of public record than blood from a white uniform, and no one at corporate liked being reminded of the company’s roots in war crimes and eugenics. So they paved over it with a star-spangled rebrand.

Welcome to Vought-American. Land of the free, home of the sanitized PR rollout.

But the rot was still there – just deeper now. Smarter. Slicker.

Supes were no longer about war efforts or national morale – they were about fucking market share: Movie deals, cereal endorsements, and action figures.

The kicker? They told the public people were fucking born this way. Made him do a whole fake fucking biopic about how he realized as a young boy that he was fucking special – God-given superpowers.

Ben still snorted whenever he reminded himself of that one.

Word around headquarters was that the eggheads in R&D even finally went through with it and started injecting infants with this shit, not just young adults and late teens. Whispered projects. Off-the-books trials. A new generation of supes bred in labs, not born from battlefield legacy.

It made his skin crawl. He didn’t trust any of it. Especially since nobody told him a damn thing anymore – not that he cared enough to ask about it anyway.

Ben kept his head down. Showed up. Played their games. Did the commercials. Starred in the propaganda films. Let them dress him up and wheel him out like a circus act. Soldier Boy had been the face of it all, pretending like it was still worth something. At least the fucking money was good.

Because what the hell else was he supposed to do? America had moved on – but Ben fucking hadn’t.

Now he had a new manager, too. Some fast-talking, cigar-chomping asshole in bell bottoms and rhinestone-studded suede jackets who went by The Legend. The kind of guy who knew every casting couch in L.A. and kept a Rolodex of starlets like baseball cards. Barely twenty-one but already thought he was the biggest shot in all of Hollywood. Vought loved him and figured he’d bring more youthful ideas to the table.

More movies, more fame, more everything.

Ben didn’t care about any of that shit, though, as long as the checks kept coming, but if he had to sit through one more meeting about toothpaste endorsements with a fucking cartoon eagle, he was going to put someone through a goddamn window.

Ben finished a smoke outside Legend’s office in Los Angeles, the ember glowing in the night as he mindlessly flicked the Zippo in his hand with a bitterness that hadn’t dulled since fucking ‘44. He tossed the cigarette butt onto the pavement and ground it out with his boot before making his way inside.

He shoved open the door and found his manager behind a desk stacked with glossy promotional photos and scripts for movies Ben didn’t give two shits about.

“You’re late, asshole,” Legend barked, not looking up.

Ben rolled his eyes and dragged his leather jacket off, tossing it onto the couch beside him before flopping down like he couldn’t give a damn. The couch smelled like stale cologne and a decade’s worth of bad decisions.

Legend finally looked up, his eyes gleaming with that smug excitement. “Alright, Soldier Boy, listen up. We need to freshen up that image of yours. We’ve been riding on the same old shtick for too fucking long. You know how it is – the world’s changing. The kids are into new things. You gotta give ‘em something fresh.”

Ben was unimpressed. He just looked at the ceiling, letting the rambling words pass through him. The “kids” these days were a fucking joke. All they needed was a hero to cheer for. They wanted a goddamn fantasy – not real soldiers like him.

Ben was too old for this shit. Too fucking jaded. His fiftieth birthday was coming up and Vought still sold him to the public as a fucking thirty-year-old.

At least he still looked like one – barely aged a day since 1944.

His eyes glazed over as Legend rambled on, talking about movies, about starlets he could be “seen with” – like that would fucking help. Ben was only here to do his job, punch a few faces, make a few appearances, and roll in dollar bills with a bunch of women and coke. The rest was just fucking white noise.

“Alright, here’s the big one,” Legend said, leaning forward. His voice was lower now like he was sharing some big secret. “We’re putting together a team. A super team, if you will. It’s called Payback. We’re talking a group of supes, all under one banner. You’ll work with others, but you’re gonna be the face of it. New angle. Gotta get ahead of the game.”

“You want me to work with those fucking freaks?” Ben snorted and grabbed the bag of cocaine he knew Legend was hiding under his coffee table for guests.

Jesus fucking Christ, he needed something stronger than booze and nicotine for this kind of meeting.

The last thing he wanted was a bunch of second-rate heroes messing up his reputation. No one after him and Liberty had ever gotten the original formula of Compound V. All he’d gotten was incredible strength, durability, and enhanced senses – and thank fucking God for that. Because the other shit he’d seen walking out of those labs?

Fucking abominations.

Legend didn’t skip a beat, however. “Look, man, the Vietnam War is in full swing, and Uncle Sam wants to use you. Big PR move. Propaganda, morale boosting, all that good shit. You’re gonna help sell the war. After all those rumors about you and your government activities at protests, you’ll need this. Trust me.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Ben mumbled with an exhaustive sigh, already halfway tuning him out.

Instead, he snorted a line of coke off the back of his hand and leaned his head against the couch, the high burning its way through his sinuses and straight into his bloodstream. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again–

You.

There you were – like always. Sitting next to him, elbow resting on the back of the couch, legs bare and crossed like you had all the time in the world to sit here and fucking judge him.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked, your voice sharp like a whip, and when he finally glanced at you, there it was – that same old look of disappointment in your eyes.

Ben’s throat went dry, averting his gaze. “Gettin’ fucking high, sweetheart,” he muttered under his breath, reaching for the bottle of whiskey next to him and taking a swig. “Just leave me alone.”

But you never did. His hallucination of you was more persistent and annoying than the real version of you ever had been.

“Cocaine? Again?” You clicked your tongue, that disapproving sound hitting him deeper than a punch ever could. “Is that really all you are now? Some washed-up poster boy with a coke problem and a pension for not giving a shit?”

When Ben dared to look at you again, his lips curled into a lazy grin. “Took you long enough, sweetheart. Missed you.”

Truthfully, this was the only part of his day he actually still looked forward to – talking to you.

But you didn’t smile. You never did anymore. “Don’t get fucking cute with me, Ben.”

“You know I only ever see you when I’m high,” he muttered as an excuse. “Only time you fuckin’ show up.”

“Because it’s the only time you actually still let yourself feel anything,” you shot back. “Look at you! The same old shit. Snorting up your life, pretending it doesn’t fucking matter. You don’t care about the people you’re supposed to protect, do you? You don’t care about anything anymore.”

Ben lit another cigarette, taking a long drag before exhaling slowly, green eyes focused on the smoke. “Yeah? And what good has giving a shit ever done me, huh?” he said, rubbing his jaw. “You still fucking left.”

You leaned forward, eyes sharp. “So you’re just giving up? What about the kids, Ben? The ones they’re injecting with V now. Babies. Children. You didn’t even fucking flinch when you heard it.”

“What the fuck you want me to do, huh?” His jaw tightened. “They don’t want a hero. They want a fuckin’ puppet. A good little soldier with a shiny shield and a fake smile.”

“They’re not waiting for the next war,” you went on. “They’re building the next generation of monsters. You think that serum didn’t screw you up? What the hell do you think it’ll do to kids?”

He blew out a stream of smoke. “Not my fuckin’ problem.”

You laughed, bitter and cold. “Of course not. Nothing’s your goddamn problem anymore, is it? Vietnam’s not your problem. The kids pumped full of V? Not your problem. The wreckage you leave behind every time you lose your fucking temper?”

He rolled his eyes and leaned his head back again. “You’re really laying it on thick today, sweetheart.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so goddamn hollow,” you snapped.

He didn’t reply at first. Just stared at the ceiling, letting your voice echo in the back of his mind like a song he couldn’t turn off. There was no heat in his expression now. No anger. Just the kind of quiet that came from missing someone too long.

“You judging me,” he said after a moment, “is the only thing that still feels goddamn real.”

You softened slightly, enough for him to notice. “You were never this cruel,” you said. “Not really. Not before.”

He closed his eyes. “Yeah, well, I never was this lonely either.”

For a second, neither of you said anything.

“This isn’t what I fought for. It’s not what we fought for,” you said quietly but insistently.

“I know, sweetheart. I know…” he said softly and meant it.

Your image flickered slightly at the edges, the way it always did when the drugs started to wear off. He hated that. Hated watching you fade. It was like losing you all over again.

Then, just as he reached for another line, Legend’s voice sliced clean through the moment.

“Ben, I’m talkin’ about Led Zeppelin. You listening or just zoning the fuck out again?” Legend’s voice was loud and unrelenting. “Big gig in New York next week. A real scene. We’ll put your mug in the papers, get the hippies swooning.”

Ben blinked. The name hit like a hammer.

Led Zeppelin.

His hand froze mid-reach for the coke bag and whiskey. The memory rushed in without permission – you, stumbling into his arms in January of ‘42 with an odd t-shirt and a name on it that bore no meaning at the time. Just two words strung together that didn’t make any sense.

He still had it – in a box with a bunch of your other shit he never had the heart to incinerate. One photo of you, an old movie projector, a weird rectangular flashlight that never worked, a notebook with scribbles that looked like hieroglyphs and diagrams, that t-shirt, and those black basketball shoes you’d loved so much and worn like armor.

Granted, you’d been onto something there. He’d seen more people running around with them on the street in recent years, especially fucking hippies.

God, you would’ve loved the sixties. If you’d been here, he probably wouldn’t have dared to break up a single protest because you would’ve been in the middle of them all – most likely throwing shit at his head while spouting profanities.

“Led Zeppelin,” Ben repeated quietly, almost to himself.

“Right,” Legend said, tilting his head with an eye roll he held back. “We’re pushing their album next week. Big concert in New York, first tour, they’re opening for Vanilla Fudge and Iron Butterfly, but they’re blowing up fast. And we need you there, Ben. It’s great for Soldier Boy’s image.”

The words had been stuck in his mind for years, a constant reminder of that January day in 1942 when you’d run into him on the street, looking scared and frantic like you were running from something – or someone.

He remembered it like it was yesterday.

He had been walking down Market Street, barely paying attention, when he felt something collide with his chest. A jolt. A bump. He’d glanced down just in time to see you, disoriented and shaken, like you’d just appeared out of thin air.

You’d never told him where you were from. Not exactly. You’d said things that didn’t make sense, little pieces of conversation that he could never fully fit together. And he’d let it slide, because he was too busy fucking falling for you.

How could you have already known about them more than twenty-five years ago? About the band, the music, the name? It didn’t make fucking sense.

You’d always talked about wanting to go to New York. You’d mentioned it at the very start, almost like you were trying to find your way back to it. He’d assumed you were from there.

“You said New York? Led Zeppelin?” Ben checked, looking at Legend now.

The man exhaled a deep sigh. “Yes, that’s what I said. Jesus fuck, lay off the coke at least every once in a while. I need you focused for this. Are you in or not? It’s all set up.”

“I’ll do it,” Ben found himself saying, his thoughts still reeling.

He didn’t even fully know why he agreed to it. Maybe it was fucking instinct, maybe it was curiosity. Maybe, just maybe, it was a goddamn chance to get closer to the answers he’d been searching for.

Legend moved on to the next thing on his agenda, but Ben didn’t. He chased the cocaine and waited for you to show up again.

The walls shook.

Not from artillery or air raids this time, but from the screech of Jimmy Page’s guitar splitting the air like lightning. The crowd at the Fillmore East was a fucking storm – writhing, screaming, soaked in sound and sweat and weed under psychedelic light shows. A perfect American chaos.

Ben leaned against the wall backstage, arms crossed, cigarette forgotten between his fingers, dead behind the green eyes. He wasn’t really listening. Not to the music or the screaming or even Legend rambling to a couple of press leeches about “soldier-turned-superstar synergy” behind him.

His mind was fucking somewhere else – always.

Until he saw you.

Not a hallucination – the real you. And he locked onto you like a sniper on a fucking target.

Close to the front row, chatting and laughing with another couple of college-aged kids, sharing a blunt of all things. You wore bell-bottom jeans, a tie-dye shirt, and a military jacket. Your hair was longer and wavier, a flower crown gracing your head like a halo. And you were barefoot – of course you fucking were.

To be fair, so were most of the counterculture idiots here.

You looked different. Younger. But still fucking beautiful. Still you.

Were you fucking aging in reverse?

But in your hand? That fucking shirt. The same one the crew backstage was wearing. He’d asked about it earlier when he saw it – limited supply, roadies and band only. They wouldn’t even give him one, and it took some goddamn guts to say no to him.

How the hell had you–

More importantly, it couldn’t be the fucking same one he held hostage in a box. He’d just looked at it today. Still fucking there.

And then, Ben stopped fucking thinking and moved.

Down the narrow stairs. Pushing past people. Ignoring some wide-eyed girl asking for an autograph and ignoring his manager’s shouting. Ben ducked into the crowd, green eyes fixed on you as you disappeared through a side corridor near the green room exit as the band finished their last song.

“Hey!” he called out, voice swallowed by the music and people. He called your name, shouted it, but nothing.

You didn’t stop. You didn’t turn. You weren’t hurrying. You weren’t hiding. You were fucking skipping – hair swinging, laughing like the world hadn’t broken you yet.

The hallway was dim, echoing with the muffled rumble of the encore behind him. You were just ahead, walking with that signature bounce in your step, still high from the concert and giggling to yourself.

He had almost caught up with you when he heard your voice, clear as a bell:

“Best fucking twenty-fifth birthday ever!”

You threw your arms up like you meant it, spun once, and then–

Gone.

No door. No exit. No trapdoor, no trick. One blink, and you were smoke. Vapor. Air. Poof.

Ben stopped dead in his tracks.

He stepped forward slowly, staring at the empty space where you’d just been. Where your voice had rung out like a bullet. His fingers grazed the air like he could feel the static of you still hanging there. He could even still smell the faint hint of perfume and something that was just you.

For the first time since 1944, he wasn’t hallucinating.

You’d been fucking real.

Real enough to chase. Real enough to call out to. Real enough to leave him with goosebumps crawling up his arms.

And you’d vanished like you’d never been there at all.

1983

Fourteen years of this fucking bullshit.

That’s how long he’d been dragging Payback’s corpse around – smiling beside freaks and burnouts, posing for cameras and fronting public service campaigns with assholes who’d never seen a day of combat but still called themselves fucking heroes.

Fourteen goddamn years of being Vought’s poster boy with a pack of boot-licking weirdos trailing behind him like a fucking fart.

They called it “America’s second line of defense.” Ben called it what it was: a corporate fucking leash.

Payback was never his idea. That was The Legend’s fucking brainchild – sold to him in ‘69 as a PR stunt, a temporary gig, just until the war cooled off and the headlines moved on. But the war never cooled off, and the headlines only got hungrier.

So the team stuck.

And then Stan Edgar fucking showed up.

Colder. Smarter. American-made. Less obsessed with genetics, more obsessed with markets. He didn’t give speeches about legacy or fucking manifestos about the Master Race. Stan just wanted numbers. Ratings. Brand loyalty.

He made the Vought machine quieter, cleaner, meaner. He didn’t care about heroes – he cared about fucking products.

And he was the one who made Payback fucking permanent – more merch to sell.

Ben was never asked what he thought. Not really. He just kept showing up when they told him to, kept signing autographs and taping PSAs and standing shoulder-to-shoulder with people who made his goddamn skin crawl.

Gunpowder was a paranoid, psychotic little shit who kept muttering about the Constitution while sniffing glue.

Swatto had the IQ of a fucking fruit fly.

Mindstorm twitched when anyone got too close, like a goddamn Chihuahua in a hurricane.

The TNT Twins only spoke in matching rhymes now, some fucking weird twin-bond thing Vought was pushing for interviews.

Black Noir, though?

That one was different. That prick thought he was fucking funny.

Always cracking one-liners on live TV, writing his own bits into interviews, trying to fucking outshine him during group appearances. He never fucking shut up – he actually reminded Ben a lot of you in that way, which only made him hate the guy even more.

But Vought loved him – “mysterious, edgy, marketable.”

But Ben didn’t do fucking comedy. He did wars. Scandals. Legacy.

And then, there was still Crimson Countess.

Every red carpet they walked, she clung to his arm like a damn leech, blowing kisses and whispering in that fake breathy voice about their “perfect chemistry.” America fucking ate it up.

Behind the curtains, she was insufferable. A diva with a superiority complex and a perfume that could kill a fucking rhino. She flirted when she was bored, picked fights when she was high, and only let him fuck her when she wanted him to do something.

Like now.

Tonight’s “team initiative” was a glitzy, pastel-colored Vought Foundation charity gala for the Children of Tomorrow, where kids ran around in neon pink, Vought-branded sashes, pop singers on stage tried to make capitalism look cute, and the whole ballroom stank of corporate virtue.

It was his goddamn nightmare, and somewhere between the branded cupcakes and the flashing cameras, Ben was thinking about how easy it’d be to light the fucking place on fire.

All he’d been looking for was a distraction to slip away from the circus for a minute.

And Countess was there, winked over her shoulder with a smirk, and gestured for him to follow her into an executive bathroom to let him rail her over the sink because she wanted him to do a couple-branded Christmas special with matching pajamas and talk about Payback-themed wedding merch.

Fucking kill him now.

Christ, the thought of marrying that bitch made him want to peel his own skin off and pour acid over it. But Vought had been putting more pressure on him recently to put a ring on it, because apparently, you can’t date someone for a decade without making it a prison life sentence.

All the suits, Edgar, and Legend thought pushing the whole goddamn nuclear family thing would make him look “cleaner” – like the fucking Reagans. But Ben had no fucking plans of doing that.

Because he had already said those words to someone else and was still waiting for a goddamn answer forty-one fucking years later.

He still didn’t know who or what you were, but he knew you were out there, and that was enough to make him cling to that little flicker of hope that he’d find you again and finally leave this hellhole behind – probably in flames that reached high into the sky and burned fucking God himself.

Truthfully, he’d tried. He’d fucking tried with so many goddamn women that they all just blurred into a vague number in his head. He’d tried to replace you with their bodies, their fake smiles, and their hands running through his hair.

But it never goddamn worked. You were the only one who ever mattered. The only one who’d been real. You had been the one to see him, stand by him, and love him for who he was – or who he had been.

Fuck, he hated this life. He’d built this whole fucking empire on lies, on pretending, on doing the same fucking PR stunts over and over until it all blended together into one big blur of emptiness.

And now? Now he was lost in this broken shell of a man who was just trying to numb the pain with meaningless sex, drugs, and alcohol.

“Jesus, Ben, did you fucking lube up with sandpaper today?” Countess bitched and moaned under him, bent over the fucking sink as he slammed his hips into her with barely any enthusiasm.

“Yeah, well, if you’d shut up for a fucking minute and let me do coke off your ass, maybe I could’ve pretended you’re someone else and gotten in the fucking mood,” he huffed and drove into her harder, making her grunt as her body jolted harshly against the sink.

It was just like always. He didn’t care about her. He didn’t care about anyone anymore.

“Please, you haven’t made a woman come since the Nixon administration,” she hissed, bracing herself against the counter.

“Oh, I have. Just not you.” He sneered and met her glare in the mirror.

“God, you’re in a mood today,” she groaned and rolled her eyes. “Really making a girl feel special.”

Ben snorted cruelly. “You think I really give a shit?”

“Could at least pretend I matter instead of being an asshole about it,” she huffed.

He shoved her against the sink again, harder than before, making her gasp. The sound of his skin meeting hers echoed off the bathroom walls. She let out a small moan, one of those fake ones, but it didn’t fucking matter.

Nothing ever did.

“Don’t flatter yourself, doll. You’re not that good of a fucking actress,” he retorted. His thrusts didn’t slow, just got rougher. She winced, but didn’t tell him to stop. She never did. “You moan like it’s a fucking PSA.”

Her skin reeked of glitter body spray, cheap perfume, and desperation. There was nothing underneath the red suit – no substance, no soul. Just marketing.

He leaned in, mouth by her ear. “You wish I gave a shit about you. You wish I fucking felt something when I’m inside you.”

Her shoulders flinched. Bingo.

He used to pretend it was all part of the gig. The PR, the violence, the meaningless sex. But after all these years, he couldn’t even fake the illusion anymore. He was rotten clear through, and she was just another cheap lay helping him forget.

He didn’t care about the gala. He didn’t care about Payback. He didn’t care about her. All he cared about was the high that would come after this and the voice he might hear once he was there.

“You’re such a dick, you know that?” she gritted through her teeth.

He smirked coolly. “That’s the part you’re on, doll.”

Ben bit down on his lip, pushing into her with all the anger, the bitterness, the soul-crushing loneliness that had been suffocating him for decades. He didn’t love her. He never would. She was just the next in line of a long string of women who thought they could fucking replace you.

But they never could, could they?

He could feel Countess trembling a little, not from pleasure but from the reminder of what he was. Who he was. Soldier Boy. Living legend. America’s goddamn shield. And a fucking monster that should be feared behind closed doors.

Applause roared outside through the ballroom and drowned into the bathroom. Ben heard the emcee’s voice, amplified through the speakers:

“–please welcome the incredible Cyndi Lauper!”

He barely registered it at first. But then the synthesized music kicked in – soft, haunting, indisputable.

“Lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you…”

Everything fucking stopped.

His hips. His thoughts. His fucking breath.

Countess huffed beneath him, annoyed. “Oh what now?”

He didn’t reply. His pulse jumped. His body stiffened as his mind reeled.

No fucking way…

But it was the unmistakable melody of a song he hadn’t thought about in years. Your voice echoed in the back of his skull, singing that same song at a piano for him in that empty, lonely mansion back in ‘42 with a smile he couldn’t get out of his goddamn head. You always played it like the world could just fade away and it was just the two of you in that moment.

He shoved Countess off him like she was a fucking mosquito. Her heel skidded against the floor as she yelped, indignant.

She caught herself on the edge of the sink with a startled grunt. “You serious?” she snapped, breathless and pissed. “You’re just gonna stop mid-fuck?”

But he was already zipping up, dick still half-hard, mind racing. He didn’t even look at her as he slammed the bathroom door open so hard it cracked against the wall.

“What the hell is wrong with you lately?” Countess barked after him. “You’re worse than usual.”

Ben, however, was already out the door and stormed down the hallway, scanning the crowd like a man possessed. The name burned like a neon sign inside his mind. Cyndi Lauper. Those lyrics. That melody.

He’d asked you once where the song came from. You’d smiled and said you’d heard it from some no-name bar singer in your hometown.

Fucking liar.

And then there she was – the girl that went by Cyndi Lauper. Blonde. Young. Soft voice. Drenched in sequins and pop energy, bouncing onstage with a grin and a mic.

But not you. It was a fucking paradox.

His chest squeezed like a fist had wrapped around his heart and pulled. For a long while, he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He didn’t blink the whole time she performed – hypnotized. The lights, the noise, the crowd – it all faded into fucking static.

After the set, Ben pushed past crew members and camera guys, ignoring them all, and stormed into her dressing room. Didn’t even fucking knock.

The girl startled and spun around on her chair in front of the vanity when the door burst open. “Whoa! Shit, man! You can’t just barge in here!”

Ben stopped in the doorway and stared at her. Really stared. Head titled, eyes squinted – searching.

Cyndi mirrored his expression. “Wait… Aren’t you–”

“Yeah, yeah,” he huffed dismissively and stepped forward, gently shutting the door behind him as not to spook her more. “Where did you hear that song? The time one.”

“Excuse me?” She blinked and looked slightly scared.

“Just answer the fucking question,” he demanded, towering over her.

Cyndi swallowed. “I-… I wrote it. Co-wrote it with Rob Hyman.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, it’s true,” she insisted and wasn’t lying. He could see it in her eyes – blank confusion. “I wrote it a couple months ago.”

“Months?!”

She jumped in her seat when his voice accidentally got louder.

Ben cleared his throat, softened a bit. Then he asked her if she’d ever known someone by your name. She hadn’t.

“You sure?” he still checked. “Pretty. Smart mouth. Pain in the ass but played piano like a goddamn angel. Could light up a whole room when she wasn’t pissing you off.”

The girl shook her head warily. “I don’t–… I really don’t think so?”

His green eyes narrowed. “You ever met anyone who said they were you?”

“I am me.”

“Yeah, no shit.” He scoffed exhaustively and rolled his eyes back, running a hand through his hair.

“Are you like… okay? Are you high, dude?”

Fucking Christ, why did people keep asking him that? He wasn’t fucking crazy, but every muscle in his body buzzed with confusion. Frustration. And sure, it could easily be mistaken for the kind that edged toward madness.

Ben then turned and left the dressing room without another word, slamming the door behind him. He stomped down the backstage hallway past partygoers and handlers toward a backdoor alley, shaking his head the whole way there till his face was hit with the sting of the cool night air and the smell of weed and exhaust.

He lit a joint with shaking fingers, sucked in smoke like it might fill the hole that just cracked wider in his chest. He leaned against the side of the building, staring up at the night sky.

Ben had seen hundreds of supes over the years. He’d watched their little powers manifest and burn out, sometimes in fire, sometimes in tears. He’d seen enough weird shit to know the signs.

Your strength, the healing, the goddamn attitude… But it was more than that, wasn’t it?

The shirt. The shoes. The song.

As he glanced up, you were there right in front of him again – that same damn hallucination of you but never the fucking real thing.

“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, exhaling smoke through his nose, eyes fixed on your ghost. “You’re a goddamn time traveler, aren’t you?”

Your lips rose to a smirk like he’d just won a damn prize. “Getting hotter.”

It all made fucking sense now. The way you looked at him like you already knew him. The way you touched him like it mattered. Finite – like it would fucking end.

You fucking lied to him. Played him. Abandoned him.

And God, he wanted to fucking kill you for it.

He laughed, bitter and broken. The joint trembled between his fingers. Had he just been a goddamn fluke for you? Someone you’d visited for fun and ticked off a fucking checklist like Zeppelin and Lauper?

“You ever actually fucking loved me?” he asked out loud and watched your features soften, stepping closer.

“You know I did.”

He bit down on his lips to stop them from quivering. “Then why the fuck did you never come back, huh?”

Your lips tentatively brushed his cheek and left a kiss there, and he swore to God and the fucking devil that it felt goddamn real.

“It’s not that simple,” was all you said before fading away again.

Ben rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled a shaky breath. All this time, he thought he’d lost you. Now he wasn’t so sure you were ever his to keep.

But maybe it really wasn’t as simple as you lying and leaving without a care in the world. Maybe you didn’t have a fucking choice.

Either way, it didn’t really matter anymore because Ben was going to look for you and fucking find you – time after time.

Ben hadn’t slept in fucking weeks.

Not really, at least. He’d managed a couple hours here and there, passed out in the back of a limousine with glitter on his chest or face-down in the suede-lined bench of his private booth at Studio 54 with some wannabe starlet half-crushed under him. He was running on fumes and rage and whatever white lines they kept putting in front of him.

And it still wasn’t fucking enough because you were goddamn nowhere.

No paper trail. No aliases. No birth certificates. No marriage or driver’s licenses. No public records. Not even a whisper. And no one at Vought seemed to know or even remember you either when he’d quietly asked around.

Not PR. Not security. Not operations. When he’d barked your name at one of the suits during a marketing shoot, they’d just blinked at him like he’d said fucking Bigfoot. Ben had shoved the guy into a wall so hard after, his goddamn head bounced.

Payback was fucking tiptoeing around him too, even Gunpowder. Countess flinched every time she passed him in a hallway.

Good. Let ‘em be fucking scared. Let ‘em all burn if it brought him closer to you.

Which was why Ben ended up here – in this oversized glass coffin of an office, with the man he hated more than anyone in the goddamn world.

Stan Edgar sat behind his sleek, fingerprintless desk, cool and composed in his gray suit, hands folded, like he was interviewing a politician – not entertaining the half-coked-out national icon that had just kicked in his door.

“You wanted to see me?” Edgar’s voice was too smooth, too casual. He never took anyone’s anger seriously. Not Soldier Boy’s, anyway.

Ben plopped down in the chair in front of him, cool and smug as ever. He knew he couldn’t trust Edgar, but he had a fucking plan. He was going to be goddamn smart about this.

“I need a new recruit,” Ben began, his voice hard and cutting through the silence like a blade. “Countess is a fuckin’ liability. I’m done with her. Get me someone who actually knows how to fight.”

Stan’s eyes lifted slowly, meeting Soldier Boy’s gaze, calm and calculating. He folded the file in front of him with a soft click. “A replacement? I thought she was... satisfactory for your team. She’s a founding member of Payback.”

“Satisfactory is a nice word for fucking ‘useless,’” Ben spat with all the bravado he could muster. Good thing he was an excellent actor. Edgar would never be the fucking wiser. “She’s fuckin’ slow. Unreliable. Can’t follow orders, goes off-script, too busy fuckin’ singing to blow anything up. I need someone with real fuckin’ power. Someone who can stand up when it goddamn matters.”

Edgar nodded slowly, as though he was considering the request, fingers drumming on the desk. “I see. Well, I’ll be blunt – those kinds of supes are… difficult to come by. What kind of powers are you looking for, exactly? Something specific?”

Ben shifted in his seat, green eyes narrowing slightly. He chose his next words carefully, deliberately casual, as if the request were no different from any other mission. “I’ve heard of a supe with... unique abilities. Something like time manipulation. Time travel, maybe. Can you fucking get me someone like that?”

Edgar’s brow quirked, but his voice remained as cool as ever. “Time travel? You mean chronokinesis?”

Ben rolled his eyes with a huff. “Sure, whatever.”

Edgar hummed, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Well, that’s quite the claim, Soldier Boy. A supe with those abilities would be, well, hard to find, even for someone like me.”

“Well, I’ve got certain information someone like that exists. A woman. Off the grid,” Ben revealed, still carefully casual, leaning back in his chair.

Edgar’s expression didn’t change, but the subtle twitch in his eyebrow betrayed his interest. “And how exactly do you know about someone like her?”

Ben pursed his lips, meeting his gaze. “I’ve heard things. Not important how. What’s important is that you find her for me. Imagine the possibilities. Pretty powerful, right? Could be useful. You could get some real fuckin’ work done with someone like that.”

Edgar leaned back slightly in his chair, eyeing Soldier Boy closely with an amused smile. “Useful, yes. But also incredibly dangerous, wouldn’t you say? A supe who can manipulate time could potentially cause serious damage. Chronokinetics can be unpredictable. Unstable. A wildcard, if you will.”

Ben scoffed, not backing down. “I’ve handled worse. Don’t worry about it. I’ll keep her in fucking line.”

Edgar gave a placating smile. “I’m sure you will.”

Ben sighed in annoyance, running a hand through his hair. “Can you fucking find her or not? You’re fucking Vought, right? You’ve got all the records, all the data. If there’s someone like that out there, you should know about it.”

Edgar nodded slowly, tapping his fingers lightly on the paperwork in front of him. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of a supe with powers like that. And I do hear about everyone. Trust me. She wouldn’t have just slipped through the cracks. It’s a rare, valuable ability. Vought would’ve already had their eyes on her.”

Ben’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, you might have missed her. Doesn’t mean she’s not out there. You’ve got your hands full with a lot of supes, right?”

Edgar’s gaze remained unwavering. “Yes, but I can assure you we don’t exactly have a file on someone like that.”

“Then fuckin’ make one,” Ben snapped impatiently. He wasn’t going to give Edgar too much, but there was something in his voice that betrayed just how badly he needed this. Needed you. “Just find her. I don’t care what it fuckin’ takes or how much it’ll cost.”

Edgar’s eyes flickered for a moment before he carefully pressed on, his voice deceptively light. “I don’t think you understand the broader implications here, Soldier Boy. Chronokinetics are… tricky. They don’t exactly leave easy-to-follow trails. They don’t follow normal rules. You’re assuming she’s current.”

Ben’s jaw twitched. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well,” Edgar began, his tone mild, “if we’re speaking about time manipulation, someone like that wouldn’t need to exist now. She could be born thirty years from now and still show up tomorrow.”

Shit.

Ben swallowed subtly. He hadn’t even thought of that. Were you not even fucking alive right now? Had you not even been born yet?

Jesus fucking Christ, he couldn’t wait that long – however long that might even be. What if you were still in fucking diapers right now? What the fuck was he supposed to do with that?

“Still,” the executive added smoothly, “I can look into it. Quietly. But I’ll need more than just a vague power set. Where was she spotted? Do you have a name?”

Soldier Boy smirked coolly. “You think I’m gonna hand that fucking over just like that?”

Edgar gave a soft chuckle. “Of course not. But a trail helps the hunt.”

Ben’s patience was wearing thin, but he couldn’t afford to snap. Not now. Not when he was this close to finding you.

He let out a frustrated sigh, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small photograph – the only one he had of you. He slid it across the desk without saying a word.

Edgar’s eyes flicked to the photo, then back up to Soldier Boy. The quiet intensity in the room shifted, but Stan kept his expression neutral as he picked up the photograph. It showed a young woman. Smiling, eyes bright and warm – an image of someone you’d hold dear.

He set the photo down, but his fingers lingered on the edge for just a moment too long. He was already filing the details away, cataloging the pieces of Soldier Boy’s unraveling obsession.

“This is her?” Edgar asked, his voice still smooth but now laced with subtle curiosity.

Ben’s face was hard, but he ignored the churning warning in his gut. “Yeah, that’s her. She’s the one I’m looking for. You think you can find her?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Edgar replied, Soldier Boy’s obvious desperation not fazing him at all. “You have a name as well?”

Ben ground his jaw, teeth gritting. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly he almost broke it into pieces. The warning in his stomach only grew louder, screaming, but he was fucking desperate.

And so, Ben revealed the biggest secret you’d ever entrusted him with – your fucking name.

As soon as it left his mouth, he fucking knew it was a mistake – one he couldn’t possibly take back. You’d whispered it to him like a secret back then, one he’d sworn to protect and keep.

But feeding you to the fucking sharks wasn’t protecting you now, was it?

However, if Edgar was successful in his search and finally brought you back to Ben, he swore he’d keep you fucking safe from the vultures. No one would fucking dare to touch you as long as he was around.

“I’ll get started on this. Have our people look into it,” Edgar promised, leaning back in his chair again, folding his hands in front of him. “But let me remind you – power like that comes at a price. And even you can’t control everything. The consequences of such a supe could potentially be catastrophic. Reality-altering. Our enemies would weaponize it. Our allies would betray us for it.”

The edge in Ben’s voice sharpened. “I don’t care. I’m not asking for your goddamn advice. I want her. I’ll fucking deal with the rest.”

Ben didn’t show that the thought worried him. But deep down, he finally understood why you fucking lied – why you probably ran and had been running for a long time.

“As you wish, Soldier Boy,” Edgar said in that placating tone of his again. “But in the meantime, I think it’s best if you concentrate on your… image.”

Ben snorted in amusement. “Image? You think I give a shit about that right now?”

“You should,” Stan insisted. “You’ve been spiraling. The collateral damage. The outcry from the public about your actions. Your team can barely work with you. The number of complaints I’ve received from Crimson Countess alone could fill a filing cabinet.”

“She’s a bitch,” Ben scoffed with a shrug. “Hence the replacement.”

“She’s afraid,” Stan corrected. “And she’s not alone.”

“Good,” Ben said, sneering. “Fear keeps people in line.”

Edgar didn’t respond immediately. He was letting the silence stretch out, as if weighing Soldier Boy’s words carefully. “I’ll get you what you want. But for now, you need to keep it together. If this goes too far, if you push too hard, I’ll have no choice but to consider more... permanent measures.”

Ben huffed a laugh, amused. Cocky. “You’re fucking underestimating me, Edgar,” he said through gritted teeth, fed up with the bullshit. “I’m not playing by your fucking rules anymore. You think you’re the one in control? Well, you’re not. I’m in fucking control now. And I’ll burn it all down if I have to.”

He rose from his seat with a grunt and strolled to the door, sending one last threatening glare over his shoulder. “I’m not fucking around, Stan. Find her. Or I swear to God it won’t be just Crimson Countess who’s fuckin’ replaced.”

Edgar didn’t flinch. “I’ll take care of it.”

When the door finally slammed shut behind Soldier Boy, with a force so hard one of the wall sconces tilted, Stand Edgar simply sat at his desk, hands neatly folded, and stared at the photograph still in front of him.

No last name. No date of birth. No dossier. That already told Stan everything. If this woman really existed in this world, she’d be on record. Vought’s files were vast, its archives deeper than the Pentagon’s, and he’d never once seen a file go missing without cause.

Which meant she hadn’t been born yet. Not in this time. Not in any time Stan Edgar had mapped.

His eyes lingered on the image, committing your face to memory. There was nothing extraordinary about you at first glance – no glowing eyes, no suit, no telltale sign of power.

But Stan had learned long ago: the most dangerous ones didn’t always look the part.

He sighed faintly. Complaints. Injuries. Public backlash. Payback was a PR nightmare already. Soldier Boy was even worse.

The supe was unraveling. The signs were subtle, but they were there: paranoia, fixation, long silences followed by irrational violence. The man had always been volatile. But this? This was personal. That made him unpredictable.

And an unpredictable asset was a dangerous one.

Edgar picked up the phone and dialed. No notes. No names. He didn’t need them.

“Begin prepping the contingency plan. We need to accelerate our timeline,” he said evenly. “Yes. Nicaragua. Make sure our Russian contacts are ready.” He paused for a moment, eyes landing back on the photo. “And I have a name and a face for you to put on our watch list. Might be years before she shows up, but I think it’s worth our attention.”

Stan hung up. He threw one last glance at the photograph, and then it disappeared into a locked drawer. Out of sight but never out of mind.

He then leaned back in his chair, satisfied. Soldier Boy could chase ghosts all he wanted – but Vought would make sure it was the last time he ran off-leash.

▶️ Chapter 13: It's Alive! It's Alive!

Oh, you guys, please let me know what you thought of this one! I tried to weave so many time loop puzzle pieces together here and I hope I pulled it all off somewhat believably 🤓 This was so much fun to figure out, though! You probably guessed that reader was a bit responsible for Soldier Boy's descend into madness (and yes, I did imply that HL's little mirror hallucinations might be a genetic thing from the OG Compound V strain passed down from his father 😝), but did you guys see the plot twist with Edgar coming? 👀

Next part we're not fully going back to the present, but at least 2022 and the events of season 3 – the full reader insert version. I tried to keep the overlap at a minimum, though, and wanted to give you guys more "bonus scenes" if you will – aka Ben reacting to reader, figuring out the loop, and what really was going on in that big mellon of his. See ya next week 😉

Coming Up:

“What about her?” Ben gestured with his chin toward you once the asshole had finished his pitch. “Who’s she?”

“She’s one of you. Supe. Chronokinetic,” the guy told him and smirked. “Bit of a wildcard, but bloody handy in a pinch.”

So Ben had been right. He was almost proud of himself for solving that one.

But what the fuck were you doing here? Why were you so fucking calm around men with guns? This shouldn’t be your fucking life.

“Oi, sunshine. C’mere. Introduce yourself,” the Brit called you over.

You stood slowly and dusted off your jean shorts, muscles tense as Ben’s eyes pinned you in place like a knife through a photograph. You weren’t wearing a band shirt, a ‘40s dress, or even an overall this time. Just a plain black hoodie with white lettering that read: ‘Without geometry, life is pointless.’

Yeah, definitely you.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Ben asked, a charming but feigned smirk tugging at his lips, eyes squinting and grazing over you. Observing. Studying.

Still not a trace of recognition in your eyes.

Did you really not know him? Were you lying again? Might as well give it a shot and see what poured out.

And then you just gave him your name. No muss, no fuss, no lies. Like it wasn’t a big deal to begin with. You weren’t guarding it like a state secret or nuclear codes. Just your name, plain and simple.

“You know who I am?” Ben asked next and watched your face contort – brow knitted, nose scrunched, lips pursed. You thought he was fucking crazy – but definitely not someone you once shared a goddamn bed with.

“I mean, yeah,” you said and snorted an amused laugh. “You’re Soldier Boy. You were in my high school history books. My grandpa liked to talk about you when I was a kid.“

Ben bit his lips, hummed. Nodded. And he wasn’t sure yet what, but something had died inside of him.

The fuck–

What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

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Tag List Pt. 1:

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[pitchswift]

do you guys think baz would ever come back to watford and become a teacher? because ive always thought he wouldnt tbh. he’s said he didnt love watford like his mom did… and there’s the whole nursery attack that makes me think he’s not really enthusiastic about being there

[stars-obsession-pit]

Hello! Can do a chapter fic off this fic prompt Danny phantom x dc: https://www.tumblr.com/corkinavoid/767516270934556672/dpxdc-legal-power?source=share

This isn’t a one-to-one recreation of that dialogue but it’s based on that as a framework/premise

Batman dropped down into the room behind a pair of figures—a teenage boy and a slumped adult—letting his landing create an audible thump to alert them of his presence.

If the teen noticed, he didn’t react. Even as Bruce approached, he continued to stare impassively at the wheezing figure on the ground, an old wooden bat with flaking green paint on its side loosely held in his right hand. Bruce had already suspected who the figure would be since he arrived, but seeing the Joker so broken was still bizarre. No laughing, no schemes. He didn’t even seem to be attempting to escape his binds, just… lying there, almost as if pinned in place.

Bruce paused a step behind the teen. “I don’t know what the Joker did to you, but this isn’t the right way to go about this.”

The teen scoffed, and Bruce felt a painful lurch in his chest as he was reminded oh so strongly of his son Jason. “And what, let him go kill more people?”

“I know he deserves to face justice, but not like this. Everyone deserves a right to fair trial. No one person should be judge, jury, and executioner.”

The teen turned to look at him with glowing green eyes, and Batman felt himself freeze. He had faced gods before, yet even using that as a comparison felt like an understatement. The boy’s eyes belonged to someone far older than his teenage form implied, and they radiated power. Inevitability.

When the teen—no, the entity—spoke again, his words carried an unearthly echo. “Perhaps, but I’m not acting for just myself.” He paused, glanced down at the Joker, then asked almost conversationally, “Do you know how many people he’s killed?”

Another pause, but before Bruce could even try to answer, the entity continued, “Eight hundred and fifty-six. He’s ended the lives of eight hundred and fifty-six human souls. I can tell you about every single one, if you want. About who they were, what their dreams were before he killed them. About the pain they felt at his hands.”

He punctuated the word ‘pain’ by raising up the wooden bat in his hands and ramming its end down onto the Joker’s arm. He let out a wheeze, muffled by the gag in his mouth.

“I have a duty to my people. I am the King of the In-Between and of all the souls that pass through it—even ones whose stays were as brief as his. I am the rightful arbiter of his fate. And with that power, I sentence him to death.”

He raised the bat again, adjusting his grip so he’d hit with the side rather than the end this time, then paused and let out a chuckle. “Of course, just because it’s based on some justice doesn’t mean I can’t have a bit of fun with it too.” He swung the bat down, slamming it into the Joker’s side, then hooked it under the clown’s torso and flicked him up through the air to slam into the wall. “We all really hate this guy.”

With the entity’s attention fully turned away from him as he sauntered towards the Joker’s slumped figure, Bruce could finally unfreeze himself.

Even if the Ghost King did have the right to pass judgement on Joker, Bruce still couldn’t let torture go on like this. He wouldn’t win a direct fight, but he could hopefully at least grab the Joker and bring him over to the police. Carefully, he reached for some of the smoke bombs and batarangs on his belt and readied his grapple. He’d have to do this very, very fast.

But before he could move, another figure entered the scene. Red Hood, emerging from the shadows on the far side of the room, an unexpected bit of a pep to his step.

“Nice to see someone else who gets that that bastard needs to die. But if I may make a suggestion, how ‘bout you use a crowbar instead of that old bat? It’d be a bit more… fitting.”

[inactiveaccount-lovendeepsecrets]

Domestic + Intimate Headcanons

*Minus Caleb only because his myth and cards aren't out yet, and I don't feel confident adding him when there's so much lore and little quirks we still don't know about him. I shall make a separate post for him if this goes well.

But Hi! This is my 1st hc so please go easy on me. I believe some of the bullet points on here are canon, but I can’t help talking abt how cute this all is 🫠 I'm not the best writer and I tried so hard to be impartial, but you can probably still tell where my bias lies LOL

As always these are just my opinions!!

tags: headcanon, fluff, mostly gender neutral, but these lean towards an afab + fem!reader, 18+

***MDNI; by choosing to interact with this content, you have consented to viewing something nsfw despite the warnings and will be BLOCKED***

Disclaimer: I personally think all of them like praise, body worship and are humungous eaters. If the specifications aren't noted under your fav LI, it's because I didn't want this too become too redundant!

✵ ✰ ✷ ✭✮ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ ❅ ❆ ❃ 𓆰· 𓆃

Rafayel

SFW

• Has definitely set up a date where you do that TikTok trend painting portraits of each other

• Hates the caricature you two posed for at the amusement park

• On more than one occasion you've (jokingly) threatened to frame said caricature at his gallery to shut him up during an argument

• Is an escape artist. He has a long history of being captured/on the run. It’s no wonder he could easily untie himself from your ropes

• I don't think we talk enough about how rich this man is, but I think he'd be quite into second hand fashion. Think runway archives, vintage designer pieces, custom couture, etc.

• Always drives over the speed limit

• Will never tease you during your art lessons with him

• THE best bf to take pictures of you for your social media accounts. He’d suggest different poses while contorting himself in odd positions on the ground just to get the perfect angle

• Sings you to sleep

• Surprisingly good at doing hair. If you need help dying, braiding, or putting your hair in rollers, he'd actually do a pretty good job.

• Created an entire album on his phone of candid photos he took when you weren't looking

• Also made a scrapbook of polaroids from all your scenic dates and vacations together, most of them are of you

NSFW

• He’s a mermaid. He is the motion of the ocean. The hip movements? Stamina? Best (and prettiest) dick game goes to him, I’m sorry.

• LOUD, noisy, and talkative. Starts to ramble when he’s close

• Wax play? [in the submissive]

• Nipple play [in the submissive]

• Edging + Milking

• I think his open vulnerability makes people think he’s more sub leaning, but some of it’s for show

• Because of your bond, he’ll submit; but he’ll do it in such a way that you’re right where he wants you to effectively make the switch

• Make no mistake, he doesn’t mind subbing from time to time. He loves seeing you on top of him, using his body. He feels a sense of accomplishment being a vessel for your pleasure

• There was a tweet that explained how Raf would be a bit of a bully as a dom, but in the best way (recommended read)

• Chuckles and coos at you after each of your orgasms

• Isn’t into watersports, but gets a massive ego boost if you squ*rt

• Is sometimes overly arrogant about toys, but is also so obsessed with you, that he made you get molds of each other on the rare occasions you’re apart for too long

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚

Sylus

SFW

• Has asked his private chef for a one on one culinary lesson to impress you with a home cooked meal

• A patron and secret lover of the arts. Dabbles in the opera, theatre and certain musicals

• He’s*slightly* better at drawing and singing than he lets on, but loves taking the piss

• This man is so funny, but his life and profession is all too serious, making the small moments of banter more precious for the both of you

• Will also hum to lull you to sleep

• Secret polyglot

• His way of ending petty arguments with you is by throwing you over his shoulder and going to bed

• Retail therapy connoisseur

• Surprisingly handy

• He of course, only likes visiting Linkon to see you, but also likes your apartment. While it’s microscopic in his eyes, he slowly understands what small things make a home feel cozy and tries to replicate that at his

• He’s intrigued by your self care sessions and will often indulge, joining in with the sheet masks, aromatherapy, massages and waxing (he likes the heat of the wax lol). He’ll put on a brave face and deny the pain, boasting about his high tolerance

• Spoils you in general, but especially when you’re sick or on your period

• Will carry you around just cause -much like a typical cat owner who loves to randomly pick up and cuddle their cat LOL

• Would buy out a restaurant for the night and have the orchestra play a medley of some of your favourite songs you’ve discovered from his record collection

• There’s really no such thing as small gestures with him

NSFW

• Marking

• Nipple play (giving and receiving)

• Blindfolds

• Certified munch; almost loves it more than penetrative sex

• AND HE 10000% HOLDS YOUR HANDS WHILE GOING DOWN ON YOU— WHY ISNT THIS WRITTEN MORE IN FICS

• Pleasure dom. He’s not sadistic or a bully when it comes to overstimulation (unlike Raf), he’s the very definition of “will talk you through it”

• Absolutely the type to coo at the sounds and faces you make. You could not look more adorable in his eyes

• Likes watching you solo

• Your satisfaction is his priority, so he’s not intimidated by toys. That being said, he definitely owns a remote vibrator

• Phone sex. No question

• In addition to phone sex, he bought those long distance bluetooth couple’s toys that sync up with each other so it’ll react to both of your movements in real time

• In the submissive, he really loves to see you in control of your own pleasure. He’ll encourage you to use him (eg face sitting, leg humping, cowgirl, etc)

• Slight masochist; those cuffs, paddles and chains are for him 😭 he’s curious to see how far you’ll go. By the end of it all, he’ll use his evol to free himself of whatever restraint he’s under

•As far as a degradation kink, I don’t see it for him, sorry. He adores you too much to call his sweetie a “slut”, “whore”, “filthy,” and so on

• Not as rough as he appears. Really the only time he’s rougher than he realises, is when he’s biting you

• If you want it more aggressive, you’ll have to ask. Even then, he’ll be cautious not to overdo it. The last thing he wants is to hurt you

• It’s canon he loves praise. Giving and receiving

𓆰· 𓆃 · 𓆩♡ 𓆰· 𓆃 · 𓆩♡ 𓆰· 𓆃 · 𓆩♡ 𓆰· 𓆃 · 𓆩♡

Xavier

SFW

• Low-key likes to carry you around and his fav way is by piggyback ride (loves being physically close to you and the way you cling to him)

• Will fast all day just for Hotpot or Brazilian steakhouse

• Is much better at baking than cooking

• Leaves you Post-it note love letters in places like mirrors, cabinets, and drawers, before he leaves after spending the night

• Unintentional comedian. He's sometimes taken aback by your laughter, but it only encourages him to keep talking just to hear it again

• He honestly loves sharing things with you; food, books, (his) hoodies, etc. He just doesn’t like sharing YOU

• Would plan a scavenger hunt date

• Is always playing coy because he knows it triggers your cuteness aggression

• The pettiest of petty when he's upset or threatened (look up his affinity lvl 140 video call)

• Sometimes stricter than Zayne when it comes to your health & recovery. He hates to see you over-exerting yourself after an injury and has scolded you before about taking it easy

• Loves to get ready for bed with you at the same time. Showering together, doing skincare together, brushing teeth together; whatever you’re doing he’s either tagging along or sitting there watching you

• When he’s spending the night, he can't fall asleep without you playing with his hair and holding hands

• Learned your favourite flower and has been secretly sneaking into Jeremiah’s greenhouse planting and tending to a small bush of them to gift to you whenever

NSFW

• Thigh job

• Mating press

• Morning sex, specifically morning head (f receiving)

• While going down on you, he def seems like the type to keep going after you’ve climaxed, but he slows down his movements, giving languid kisses to your center to help ride out the wave of pleasure vs intentional overstimulation (though he isn’t against that either)

• It seems that the consensus on here is that he's the best eater of the LIs? I don't necessarily disagree; I'm just not completely sure if that title goes to him quite yet

• The most primal and rough of the LIs. Hair pulling, choking (safely), spanking, leashes

• Also likes it when you’re rough with him

[I know I said I wasn’t confident making any hcs abt Caleb yet, but I have a slight hunch he rivals Xavier for most primal]

• Goes feral when you say his name

• This man is a dom, don’t let the puppy eyes and bunny ears fool you 💀

• He's not as noisy as he is talkative, especially during foreplay

• BOSSY

• I don’t put it past him to feel like he’s in competition with vibrators. He’d rather him use one on you, but knows he’s being irrational

• While he’s not really into feet, he’d suck toes during missionary to see how you’d react

✵ ✰ ✷ ✭ ✧ ✸ ✮ ✵ ✰ ✷ ✭ ✧ ✸ ✮ ✵ ✰ ✷ ✭ ✧ ✸

Zayne

SFW

• Alternatively to Sylus, this man is comprised of small gestures that snowball (hehe) over time. One more meaningful than the next

• While he respects and admires your independence, he needs you to need him. He’ll never vocalise it, but he feels most useful and accomplished when you ask for his help

• Won’t let you carry any bags when you’re out shopping, not even your purse

• Like Rafayel, he also has an album on his phone with pictures of mostly you. Though he feels odd taking your picture when you’re not looking, he’s snuck in a photo or two when you were looking particularly lively mingling with the people at his work event

• Knows your go-to orders at all of your fav restaurants by heart

• Stargazing dates. When either of you are out of town for a while and are catching up on the phone before bed, he’ll tell you to go outside and look at the moon

• After a long shift at work, he’ll kneel by your side of the couch waiting for you to embrace him, hugging and nuzzling your waist

• He also secretly loves being the little spoon

• Subscribed to a delivery service that sends you flowers on your birthday every year

• There’s something about Zayne that makes me think dogs absolutely LOVE him even though he’s not particularly fond of their energetic nature

• Spoils you rotten when you’re on your period. Full princess treatment; plushie heating pads, full body massages, raspberry tea, and hand feeding you snacks. Basically Dr Zayne turns into Nurse Zayne

• He’s more lenient with your cravings, letting you have a small portion of desserts or snacks only after you’ve finished your meal

• Loves your laugh but knows his dry wit won’t always work, so he’ll just tickle you if the joke doesn’t land

• Fell in love with you after the Drunken Intimacy card. It made him realise how much he likes holding you and tending to your needs

• Doesn’t even bother lecturing you about how bad high heels are for your joints and muscles anymore. He now keeps a pair of slippers in his car just in case you start to complain

• He can never resist the urge to kiss your cheek or forehead when he sees you’re fast asleep (Canon 🥹)

NSFW

• Has a weakness for lingerie, lace and stockings

• In the submissive, he’d be just like the kitty butler in his card -the goodest of good boys

• …Feet? I’m not sure if it’s anything freaky. Kudos to whoever clocked that for sub! Zayne months prior to the kitty butler quad banner

• Soft dom, but not as gentle as his voice lets on. He’s already a bit strict with you in your relationship, and he’s the same way in bed. How is he supposed to know what feels good if you don’t vocalise it?

• The only time he’s pretty rough with you is when you provoke him. But he checks in with you to make sure he isn’t being too hard

• Once he loses his control, he gets a tiny bit greedy too (“We’re not done here. Quitting halfway isn’t something I would do” —Silent Poem Secret Times)

• His methods of brat “taming” aren’t anything over the top or domineering. Though he enjoys spanking, he thinks there are better lessons he could teach you to combat your brattiness

• Has definitely gone down on you and stopped altogether right before you climax as a form of punishment

• Shibari + Hitachi -girl run!

• Ice play

• Nipple play (giving and receiving)

• The size of your chest doesn’t really matter to him, he just really likes to hold and massage them. It’s his favourite way to keep his hands warm

• This man is so good with his hands and in more ways than one. The placement and movement of his hands in the Nightly Rendezvous card sent me into orbit. The body worship he’d do is insane

• Needless to say he’s the best at fingering

• You’re irresistible to him. He breathes you into every kiss, deepening as your bodies continue to merge. There’s no sex without passion, even the “quickies”

• Quickies usually only happen when you’ve teased or provoked him too far during (or on your way to) an event. Otherwise, he likes taking his time with you

• He knows your body like the back of his hand. He’s memorised what triggers the sounds, faces, and jolts your body makes

• Much like Xavier, he loves to hear you cry out his name

❅ ❆ ❃ ❊ ❉ ❅ ❆ ❃ ❊ ❉ ❅ ❆ ❃ ❊ ❉ ❅ ❆ ❃ ❊ ❉ ❅ ❆

[rafeslvbug]

introducing…nba!rafe

back to basics!! (physical)

height: 6”6/6”7 (power forward) second tallest player on his team, uses his height for intimidation over the ball, and in other ways too - outside the court.

build: 220lbs. built, but needs to be agile at the same time. 6”8 wingspan. back muscles you could honestly die for. probably always has some bruises/scratches up his arms and back that no one knows if it’s from training or from you.

age: early to mid twenties. considered one of the most significant power forwards currently in the nba.

looks!! (specific)

tattoos/piercings: has a small tally on his upper arm for nba championship wins. currently set to two. doesn’t wear earrings, though he’s got one piercing from a bet he made. nothing other than that.

signatures: always wearing sports shorts. around the house, out and about in summer, training, etc. unless you actually have to go somewhere, in which case he knows how to dress up. he’d have a thin chain around his neck. silver. small. plain. about the only jewellery he lets himself wear.

personality

jealous: on a scale of 1-10? 11. he can’t help it, if i’m honest. with your popularity, you’ve dated other men who you still see often in your industry. and he knows your quick with relationships, finding something stable is hard. but he wants to be stable. he doesn’t need other people getting in the way of that. arm around your waist at any of your events, showing up to every concert. wouldn’t hide under a hat in the vip section, probably glare down every man who’s staring at you on stage. i’d hate to think of what he’s like with the male dancers.

straightforward: rafe’s clear about what he wants. you. to win. stability. there’s no questioning him, or his intentions. it’s refreshing in a way, no guessing, no wondering if your partner loves you as much as you do. it’s what you need. in other ways it’s often the cause of his stress. when he knows what he wants, and how to get it, and it doesn’t work out for him. he’s too rigid at times, not as flexible or fun as he should be. on the brightside, it fixes arguments quickly.

charismatic: out of a line of men, no doubt wanting to date you, he got you. his biggest brag, but in the end it was how he did it. irresistible charm, didn’t pretend even for a minute that he was only trying to befriend you. made it clear, took what he wanted. flirtiest idiot alive.

supportive: would be at every concert, every show, every event. whenever he can make it, he’s there. no excuses. expects you to do the same, could cause arguments. biggest fan, though. online, in person. never ashamed to say your his, loves when he gets to talk about you.

dislikes

arrogant players. people who think it’s pure talent that got them here. that they’re untouchable. he’ll straighten them out, show them on the pitch that no one is undefeated.

exes. your exes, specifically. hates that you still work with them on occasion. hates how the media is always raving about you and them. always comparing him and them. also hates how people compare you to his exes, when you & him know full well you’re the best gf he’s ever had and vice versa.

small doorways. can’t fit himself through, has to duck his head, will bang it anyways. and if they’re narrow? might just stay outside, doesn’t want to do the awkward sideways step through.

time wasters. in matches, in life. hates doing things without purpose unless it’s actually comforting. walking around aimlessly? unless it’s supposed to be a relaxing walk, it’s just dumb. hates boredom. restless af.

likes

analysing plays. it’s all he does really, studying how to improve himself and get better at the game. if someone is doing better than he is? fine, he’ll learn from them. improve himself. believes he needs to learn from the greats rather than mope around and envy them - that’s how he becomes them.

emotionally intelligent people. people who can understand him, those he can have deep conversations with while still bantering.

someone who has their priorities straight. wants to be with someone who’s resilient. when they set goals, they meet them. where they can support each other.

listening to you talk. at night, when he’s tired, he can lie down on the bed, and just listen to you talk. about anything. your day, stories, song ideas/lyrics and album concepts. he could do it all day long, that is not purposeless.

family & people-specific hcs

nicknames for you: star, pretty girl, baby, missy

nicknames you have for him: baller, my man, cutiepie (as a joke)

- his jersey number is your favourite number

- you guys are most likely engaged. he’d put the biggest rock on your hand and you wouldn’t be private per say. you’re always at his matches, he at your concerts, always out and about together. you’ll record tts from time to time with him in them, or he might post photo dumps with you in them.

- he’d want kids. definitely. all these basketball players he’s surrounded by have the cutest families. he wants it. wants a little boy/girl to take to all his matches, have on his lap during after match conferences, hold on his hip during concerts.

- he’ll do anything you want. star in a music video? sign him up! attend your concert on stage? yes yes. be part of a tiktok? of course.

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny no longer has a haunt. So… he decides to find another one. And while he technically has a whole world (other dimensions aren’t an option because he’s going to stay near where Jazz’s grave is, damn it) there’s only a couple of other places with enough ambient ectoplasm to sustain him. Nanda Parbat, Tokyo, and Gotham.

Nanda Parbat had a weird old musty immortal that kept trying to summon him and exchange power for the ability to “take a worthy body and rain as much destruction” as he’d like. As if Danny would need a body to bring the world to its knees.

Tokyo… it’s too far from Jazz’s grave. He could ask Wulf or even open his own portal but when Danny tried it out, Tokyo was too peaceful. Obviously there’s crime, but nothing… nothing big like Danny’s used to.

Danny ends up picking Gotham, even if the sewer zombies and the weird group of rich fruit loops with an adoption problem creeps him out. So, he destroys the portal, packs up his parents’ house and sells it, and hauls ass to the cesspool calling his name. His family’s stuff is stored respectfully in a vault located on the deepest parts of his personal haunt in the Infinite Realms.

And honestly, he’s doing better. Sure, he’s got a shitty apartment near another revenant’s almost-haunt and he feels like he’s drowning all of the time, but Danny isn’t in danger of turning into Dan, he’s catching up on royal paperwork, and he’s got like a job as a barista. In his own coffee shop that paid for using his parent’s money (who, despite their hazardous everything, made a crap ton of money off of their more normal inventions).

Gotham’s got some pretty interesting local gangs, most of which respected the sanctity of Danny’s cafe. Sure, they tried blowing it up and tried extorting money from him in the form of “protection costs” but after three months of failure, they gave up.

(Really, the local gangs gave up when they saw him take three shotgun shells to the chest and continued to work.) (They didn’t know it never hit him. Intangibility is extremely useful.)

The Rogues, on the other hand, just gave Danny flashbacks. Their gimmicks are different, sure, but after years of Box Ghost, Skuller, Lunch Lady, etc., Danny’s more than done with costumed villains. They don’t bother him either. Some of the reason is probably due to Harley and Ivy, who had walked into the cafe and (because they were bruised and scratched up from a fight) triggered Danny’s mother hen tendencies. They were promptly fed and watered and caffeinated and their hyenas were also similarly taken care of. They declared the cafe under their protection and that was that.

Red Hood stops by, and begins to interrogate him. But when Danny met his… helmet eyes? The crime lord paused, paid for his coffee, and sat in a corner table of the cafe for the rest of the day.

And he kept coming back?

But Danny figures it’s because Hood was a revenant and people who had come close to death tends to feel more comfortable around him.

(Considering this is Gotham where people almost die every other day? Yeah, he’s pretty much friends with everyone. Or at least, less likely to get shot.)

(Hood does stay because of the King’s presence and the Pit calming itself, but also Danny’s hot and he’s got a sleeper build and Hood definitely did not imagine himself in the place of the heavy box he saw Danny lift effortlessly onto a table. No.)

But of course, the peace couldn’t last forever. But by then, Danny was so antsy, he welcomed the trouble with open arms.

It starts with a clown. Danny knows who he is. He knows who Danny is.

So, Danny has no idea why the clown thought it would be a good idea to aggravate the owner of Gotham’s official neutral grounds. See, Clovkwork? Danny’s learned how to gauge his own political importance!

“HAHAHAHAHA! COME OUT, DANNY-BOY! LET ME TELL YOU A JOKE!”

Danny comes out and grabs a chair, and with a flat expression, says, “you’re not funny and I hate clowns.”

And then he swings and slams the chair into the Joker’s face. Over and over again until Danny’s sure the clown won’t get back up. The thing about Gotham’s outdoor chairs is that they’re mad out of steel and are bolted down to the ground to prevent undedicated thieves (dedicated thieves can and will steal the bolted down steel chairs). The Joker’s hired muscle just watched this scrawny twenty-something year old yank the steel chair and take some of the fucking ground and the bolts with it and beat the fuck out of their boss who is the literal Joker.

They surrender on the spot and is taken to jail. Danny just smiles at the officers who come by and since he’s got pretty privilege and they don’t want to mess with the guy who, again, owns one of Gotham’s official neutral ground and also beat up Joker without breaking a sweat, the officers just lets him go with a warning.

And then the bats comes, and wow, Danny’s playing mentor to a formally dead person again!

But before that, the Red Hood asks for an autograph on the Gotham Gazette article with a picture of a tired Danny standing over Joker’s prone body. Then Hood stammers through asking Danny out (which Danny said yes to because he’s tired, not blind, and Hood is built like a brick house and HOT).

Batman interrogates him. Danny, who can tell that this man needs therapy and is Sad TM, tells Bats that Danny’s died before and that’s why he’s like this. He also calls Batman a furry, but like in a nice way. And then he kicks Batman out with a coffee and a file on Nanda Parbat.

Now, Danny’s got a date to prepare for and he realizes that maybe this is what Jazz wanted for him- to be happy and mostly safe and happy. (Or, happier, he thinks. It’s been a long time since he’s been truly happy, but this might be a good start)

[minswriting]

POKER FACE - SPENCER REID X READER

About: You’ve been practicing your poker skills and want to try them out in a game of strip poker with your boyfriend. And when you lose, you decide to make it more of a punishment for him than for you.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, inaccurate portrayal of poker probably, masturbation (f), cumming untouched, voyeurism, sore loser!reader, pathetic!spencer, etc.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Border made by @cafekitsune and fic proofread by @beenreidingaboutyou !! A separate post will be created with the AO3 link!! Please comment and reblog to support your creators.

You knew it was likely a bad idea to challenge your boyfriend to a game of poker. Spencer had grown up in Vegas and was a mathematical genius, so really it was inevitable that you’d lose. However, you have been practicing your poker skills for a few months, doing whatever you can to get better. You read online forums, you played with strangers on the internet, and you had weekly game nights with your friends. And at one point, you kept winning.

So you had challenged your boyfriend and now you were reaping the repercussions of your own decisions. At first, the two of you were using poker chips to play the game. But Spencer had suggested making things a bit more interesting and now you were sitting in nothing but your bra and underwear while Spencer was wearing all of his clothes except his socks.

You had a frown on your face as you placed down your cards, revealing four of a kind. Spencer looked smug as a smirk formed on his face. “Sorry, darling,” He exclaimed before placing down a royal flush, ultimately ending the game.

You groaned in frustration, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. “That’s so unfair,” you exclaimed, a small annoyance in your tone but nothing genuine. After all, it’s okay a game.

Spencer pouted at you in sympathy but his eyes were fixated on your chest, you took off your bra. “I’d say I feel bad but truthfully, angel, I do not,” He murmured.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, tossing your bra to the side, revealing your tits to your boyfriend. “I think you should feel bad,” You said, adjusting your position on the couch so that both of your legs were on the piece of furniture. You had an idea and you were going to make Spencer pay for beating you once again in poker.

Spencer curled an eyebrow at you, watching the way you got yourself comfortable on the couch. “Is that so?” He asked, tilting his head slightly, turning his body to face you as well rather than facing the cards on the coffee table. “And why do you think that, sweetheart?” Spencer licked his lips as he looked at you with a small smirk.

You giggled, tilting your head slightly as you looked at Spencer. You bit your bottom lip, bringing your hands to cup your tits. “Because,” You began, massaging your chest. “You can watch me but now, you’re not allowed to touch me.” You said seductively.

Spencer’s lips parted as he watched the way you moved your hands over your boobs, his brain short circuiting. “But-” He stopped himself from speaking when he saw the way you spread your legs. There was an obvious wet spot in your lace panties, showing your arousal. Spencer hated being able to see you but not able to touch you. But he also adored it. It added to the thrill, to the attraction he felt for you.

“You’re so mean to me,” You sighed, moving your hands down your body. “Going full force in the game while I’m just merely a girl who’s learning,” You knew you were being a sore loser. Did you care? Not at all. Not when Spencer was looking at you like you were the only person he’d ever laid eyes on. Perhaps you were.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Spencer said before biting his lip as he watched your hand move down to your barely clothed cunt. He thought about how you tasted. With all the times he’s gone down on you, Spencer knew you were very sweet. You were a constant craving he had, much better than any drug he’s taken. “I could make you feel so good.” He swallowed, eyes fixated on your pussy.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I’m sure you could,” You replied, moving your panties to the side. “But karma is a bitch, Spencer, and you, my dear, are not allowed to touch until I say so.”

Spencer’s gaze fixated on your cunt, his mouth watering at the sight. He was like a dog in one of Pavolov’s experiments. As soon as he sees your cunt, he’s practically drooling. A small whine left his lips, desperate to taste you. His cock was already achingly hard but he didn’t dare to touch himself. You hadn’t given him permission.

You dragged a finger along your slit, spreading around your wetness. “I’m so wet,” You murmured seductively, looking at Spencer. You took your pointer and middle fingers to your clit and began rubbing slow circles, eliciting a soft moan from your lips.

Mutual masturbation was something you and Spencer did quite a bit. Getting off while watching each other, it was thrilling. But you hadn’t experienced getting off while Spencer simply just watches. It was new, electrifying, and incredibly arousing.

“You’re so beautiful,” Spencer said hoarsely, watching as you flicked the bean. It was true, of course. You were the most beautiful woman Spencer had ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on.

Your response was a simple moan as you continued rubbing your clit. After a few minutes, you dipped a finger to your hole, teasing the entrance. “If only you weren’t so harsh on me,” You breathed out, licking your lips. “I’d let you get a taste,” You said as you showed Spencer the slick on your fingers from your cunt.

The whine that left Spencer’s lips as his hips bucked into nothing, a small pout forming on his lips. “Please,” he whispered, the words barely leaving his lips.

You giggled, shaking your head no. “No, baby,” you replied, bringing your finger back to your entrance. You eased your finger inside of yourself, moaning softly. You were very wet, to say the least. You moved your finger slowly in and out of yourself, almost teasingly so.

Spencer let out a frustrated noise as his cock was aching against the confines of his pants. He brought his hand to his crotch, about to palm himself when you shook your head. “You don’t get to touch yourself either,” you said breathily. “You can look but you cannot touch.”

“This is so mean,” Spencer replied, moving his hands to grip the cushion beneath himself so that he wasn’t tempted to touch himself. He knew to listen to you. If he didn’t listen, your punishments would be worse. Spencer wasn’t in the mood to defy you today.

“Well you win some and you lose some, sweetheart,” You chuckled, adding another finger inside of yourself. You whined as you curled your fingers inside of you, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment. You thrusted your digits, hitting your sweet spot with each movement. “Spencer,” you moaned out as you used your other hand to cup your boob. “If you hadn’t been so harsh on me, you could be the one making me feel so good,” your tone was between a moan and a whine as you pleasured yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer groaned out. He bucked his hips into the air once more, trying to gain any sort of friction but was met with nothing. “Let me take care of you to show you how sorry I am,” he tried to bargain, a pleading look in his eyes.

You shook your head, looking at Spencer with a pleasurable expression on your face. “No. You need to learn your lesson,” you exclaimed. After a few moments, you began thrusting your fingers faster, mewls of pleasure leaving your lips. You threw your head back, feeling that familiar pit in your stomach that drew closer and closer.

Spencer watched intensely, wishing he were the one fucking you into oblivion right now. His cock could do so much better than your own fingers. His fingers could do so much better. His lips were parted, his cheeks flushed from the heat of the situation. He could feel his cock stiffening in his trousers, begging for attention.

“I’m so close,” You whined, biting your lip as you looked at Spencer. His intense gaze fixated on you was what drove you to the edge as your walls clenched around your cunt and your back arched, thighs shaking with pleasure as you came with a loud moan of Spencer’s name.

Spencer let out a groan, watching the way you fell apart from your own fingers. You were such a sight to behold. And without any warning, he felt himself cumming, a whine escaping his lips as a wet spot formed on his crotch. “Oh fuck,” Spencer groaned, unable to help it.

When you both came down from your highs, you looked at Spencer as you removed your fingers from your cunt. “D-did you-“ you stuttered, breathing heavily. “Did you just cum?”

Spencer swallowed, nodding his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raspy. “I-I didn’t mean to.”

You bit your lip, thinking for just a moment before responding. “I think you’ve been punished enough,” you exclaimed before moving to crawl onto Spencer’s lap. “I think it’s now time for a reward, hmm?”

Spencer hummed in response, nodding his head. “Oh yes, please.” He replied, grabbing your hips.

And so, you gave Spencer the ride of his life.

[patchouii]

It’s peak comedy how in episode one, Alana’s all like “Even if he doesn’t see me and even though Hannibal is great, Will hates therapists and knows all the tricks, so he avoids being honest, etc”. And Will is very vocal about his dislike of therapists, especially since one of them presumably leaked his patient information in the past with Chilton’s comments about how the Baltimore psychiatric scene probably wants to slice open his skull Hannibal-style. And then in episode two he shows up to see his new therapist, who had previously seen him in his underwear and brought him breakfast instead of just sending him some autoreply email for new patients, and says he wants to go back to work because killing Hobb felt good and powerful.

And instead of being disturbed, his new therapist goes on a tangent about how that’s totally valid because God kills people, actually, corners him up against a ladder while asking him how he feels, serves him alcohol during their 7:30 pm appointments, constantly says that Will’s his “friend” and that they’re having “unofficial therapy” or “just conversations”. And pushes the chairs closer so that he can sit closer to him. If that was my therapist, I would’ve been out of there like a shot, so there’s absolutely NO way that Will didn’t smell something generally fishy. Even Bedelia calls Hannibal on his obsessive behavior and says that it’s verging on unhealthy for him, too, and going to turn out badly, and sets a clear boundary between patient and friend while Hannibal affords her the freedom.

Like Will was a professor of criminal profiling who had to study psychology and was constantly begged by the BAU boss to glean people’s thoughts and motives, who’d seen therapists before and is friends with a generic nice therapist, can probably use his empathy to sense the massive weirdly intimate vibes Hannibal is giving off, there’s no way he thought to himself “Yeah, this is totally normal and not at all legally, procedurally, and morally sketchy as fuck, and also very lacking in homoerotic tension and heated eye contact.” Will saw the tip of the iceberg from the start. Instead of letting Will dive in on his own like he probably would’ve, he had to hit Will with it all Titanic style after hiding it by messing with his head. Hannibal could’ve been messing with his other head all along if he’d had less of an insane control complex….

[maybankcore]

rafe cameron — nsfw alphabet ༝༚༝༚

context : the alphabet.. but each letter has a new rafe cameron nsfw/sfw concept. this is also bunny!reader x rafe.

tws : smut, nsfw, rafe x sweet/bunny reader, cream pie, voyeurism, brief degrading, brief daddy kink. fingering, porn/nudes, tying reader up, oral sex, a ton of nsfw headcanons.

A: aftercare • you would tend to get sleep almost immediately after you come, and the first thing rafe does is take you to the bathroom and let you pee so u don’t get a UTI, n he’ll probably wait outside and keep asking “u done baby?” ‘till you clean up. and obviously, after the oh so harddd task of peeing, he’ll carry you back to bed. rafe somehow doesn’t get tired after sex, but seeing you already get lazy eyed, he has no choice but to lay down with his little bun and cuddle up with her.

B: boobs. literally boobs. • rafe loves your tits, and he loves grabbing them even more. he’ll randomly come up behind you when you’re doing your makeup, hair, etc. and just grab ur boobs. he loves the way they fit perfectly in his big palm, and how flustered you get too. “rafe! stop— i’m doing my makeup!!” you’d say, as you wave his hands away, feigning annoyance. “relax baby, their just too tempting.” rafe snickered, smirking. rafe just can’t get enough of them, especially when your wearing the thin, baby pink, lacy top from victoria’s secret.

C: cum • okay, rafe knows that he has to use a condom, blah blah blah. but on those days where he just needs a good, raw, fuck.. trust me, he’d cum inside you, making sure every inch of his hot cum fills you up to the brim. and rest assured, you’d hate and love it at the same time.

D: dirty talk • he’d soooo dirty talk you in public, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, knowing how wet your sweet pussy gets just by the sound of his voice. he’d sometimes say the most vile things about what he’d to you when you both get home.

“do you really think i’m not noticing your blowjob eyes as i’m golfing, huh? y’know.. i’d love seeing those eyes of yours when i’m fucking you endlessly. making you cum so hard. oh god, baby, i can hear those pretty moans of yours already. hmm?” he’d huskily whisper, inches by the shell of your ear. and then, he’d walk off as if nothing happened. leaving you anticipated for the entire day, squeezing your thighs and drinking an excessive amount of water to help with the heat building in your cheeks.

E: experience • rafe deffo has experience with sex. but i wouldn’t call him the biggest man-whore, since he met you in s2 of obx, i’d say he had 4 bodies by then. 2 of them being random hookups and the other 2 being girls from a short term relationship w/ him. i also hc that bunny!reader would have a few bodies, but would act like she’s a virgin just for rafe, similar to how maddie perez did it.

F: fingering • mmm, rafe is a master at fingering. he knows how to get your pussy wet and make it even wetter when he’s touching you. he’d start off with just a few strokes on your clothed pussy, building up tension that you so desperately want to release. n then when you’d get all needy he’d slide your panties down and spread your thighs.

you’d position yourself on his lap, head on his shoulder, looking at him with your big bambi eyes, pleading. and he’d slowly circle your clit in circular motions, taking pleasure in the way your hips jerked and lips parted with heavy breaths. and then he’d sink two fingers in, slowly at first, and then going faster. the cold touch of his golden rings slipping between your lips made you moan. loud. and in amidst of all this, he’d be doing some random thing on his laptop, but secretly taking a voice memo of your sweet moans. to obviously jerk off to later, you really think he’d pleasure you and restrict himself from doing it later on?

G: g-spot • imagine no guy has actually found your g-spot before, they’d just fuck you and you’d get that tiny ounce of pleasure that made you cum, but when rafe first fingered you, curling up his fingers to hit that sweet spot that only you yourself could find, you UNRAVELED. i’m sure he was shocked at how loud you moaned. he had thought you’d never gotten fingered before. but when you told him that no guy had actually fingered you that good, he was both pleased and shook. “what d’you mean no one’s found your g-spot? isn’t that like— the main thing in sex??” but to be honest.. him being the only guy that found your g-spot really boosted his confidence lol.

H: hair • rafe absolutely loves your hair, playing with it, braiding it, seeing how it drapes over your shoulders elegantly. he had never met someone who takes care of their hair like their life depends on it. you’d have serums, hair masks, good hair days and bad hair days, and rafe was all here for it.

(this is for my curly hair readers btw). sometimes when your hair wasn’t cooperating you’d get annoyed and bang your hairbrush against your head, clearly disheveling your hair, and rafe would come over and brush it for you. putting in your gel, mousse and even diffusing it.

rafe also is weirdly obsessed with how your hair smells, he’d bury his shoulder into it, or randomly smell it throughout the day, and once he’d even gotten wheeze to smell your hair.. “her hair smells so good right? i don’t even know how, it just smells fuckin’ amazing.” he’d proudly state, and you not being sure if wether that’s creepy or cute.

I: initials (tattooed) • right on his chest, beneath his heart, are the two letters of your name, more so, your initials. Y/N.Y/L/N written in a bold, italic font. and right next to it is your favorite animal, a bunny. you were struck when he had actually gotten a whole ass bunny tatted next to your initial!!

J: jerking off in ur absence • whenever rafe has trips, or if you’ve been away for some time, rafe deffo jerks off to pictures you sent to him. you’d send a teasing mirror pic of you getting dressed, your hand covering your nipples. and then you’d send a soapy tit pic of you in the shower. but lastly, a day before you come back, you’d send the hottest picture of you in rafes favorite pink lingerie set, playing with yourself and moaning rafes name. leaving him needy and desperate until he lands..

K: kinks • omg the amount of kinks u and rafe would share imagine him fucking you for the first time and slowly starts roughing you up, only to see you cooperate and urge him to do more. the smirk on his facee😩.

L: location (where you fuck) • personally, public sex is a huge turn in for rafe, but being the little slut you are, it’s an even bigger turn-on for you. obviously you’d fuck in his bed or yours, and sometimes i’m the couch or kitchen counter. rafe would also take you on the druthers boat and make you ride his lap, stopping when a boat comes buy, your sweaty face and messed up outfit being evident.

M: marks • rafe would leave hickeys everywhere. stomach, thighs, neck, collarbone, shoulders, tits, even inches away from your pussy. you’d leave bite marks on rafe, scratches illuminating his back, and lipstick stains all over his collar and cheek.

N: nudes • he just has a hidden album filled with your nudes. wether its videos of you both fucking, teasing pictures you’d send him of your bikini try ons, or you fingering your self. he’d also have voice memos of your moans saved. p.s, rafe would so ask you to talk about something random for a minute on voice memos and jerk off to your voice.

O: only fans acc • a little similar to the one on top ^. but imagine making an only fans account where ur only follower/subscriber is rafe. and trust, he will act like a whole ass fan. he’ll comment on your videos; “omg ur so hot can i request food play” with a +400$ message next to it. youd livestream and he’d be your only viewer, talking you through playing with yourself. and when i mean he’s a fan, i mean this man would literally pay you 1000$ per month as per his ‘subscription’..

P: plushies • whilst fucking you hard, rafe would grab your favorite plushy and tell you to hold it. he found it so fucking hot seeing you cling onto the soft toy, bringing it to your mouth to bite onto to hold back your loud moans.

Q: quickies • yall would deffo have quick fucks in between parties, hangouts, dinners, etc. sometimes if your ovulating you’d practically beg on your knees for a quickie with rafe. “rafeyy, please. if you don’t do anything i’ll go to the bathroom n’deal with it myself!” you whine, nudging his arm to get up from his seat at an event. and obviously, he gives in. every. single. time.

R: riding his thigh • when your extremely horny, and need an immediate relief youd prop yourself on rafes thigh and start grinding. this would be your only option as he’d dismiss your attempts to make him fuck you, so he’d tap his thigh and say “if your really that horny jus’ ride my thigh. cmon, you wanted to come, right?”. you’d get so wet, making a mess on his sweatpants.

S: sucking his dick • messy blowjobs>>. sucking him off after a hard day, at a party when he’s high and needy, or right after you went to his family dinner. you’d look so perfect with your big, glossy eyes staring up at him. head bobbing as you perfectly swirl the pad of your tongue against the base of his cock. him groaning and praising your amazing head-giving skills.

T: tying you up • hands above your head, a belt knotted against both your wrists, restraining you from pushing rafe away whilst he fucks you mindlessly. rafe would be destroying you, pounding in and out as you take the pleasure like a good girl. you are his little bun, after all.

U: unfair • teasing you when your sat on his lap, waiting for him to finish off his work, whilst he slowly and lightly circles your clit. “daddy, i really need you.” you’d moan in his ear. “i know baby, i know. daddies gotta finish this off first, ‘kay?” and so you waited, only for him to go into the shower, not even letting you in.

V: voyeurism • sliding your panties off and stuffing it in his pocket is his favorite thing to do when he’s off golfing whilst your sitting in your garden chair, feeling the coldness of the air blowing against your sticky cunt. not being able to fix the unbearable tension in your pulsing clit, and having to wait till you get home.

W: what/how big is he • a whopping 7.3 inches. a tad bit specific ik, but the way he’d ruin you.. and what’s funny is the fact that rafe knows he’s big!! and he knows that you can take it too.

X: ion know what to put for this one.. so i’m gonna put a random hc of rafe.. • has a weird food play kink?.. i just feel like he’d take ice cream and lick it off your tits, or spread chocolate syrup all over your nipples and stomach and lick it off too. (obviously nothing down there, don’t wanna get a yeast infection).

Y: ‘your too big!’ • lining himself up against you, seeing his big cock already needy of slamming into you, made you worry. your eyes slightly widened at his size, how the fuck is he gonna fit?. “rafey, i don’t think it’s gonna fit.. your too big.” you mustered out, wanting but at the same time not wanting him. “shhh bun, ts’ gunna fit, i’ll go realll slow? okay baby?” he stated, making you ease up and unclench your pussy, allowing full entrance. he slowly slid inside you, already owning a long moan and scatters of whimpers escaping your mouth. he went in further, and you took him in fully. “good girl, i told you it’d fit.”

Z: also have no idea, so another random hc one again! • loves seeing you spit out his cum after sucking him off. just seeing his cum drop down your chin turns him on sm and makes him hard asf.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

[infictionalwonderland]

Heyyy! I’m the anon that asked for JJ overstimulation & was wondering if I could make a smut req for Rafe now! Tutor reader putting Bully Rafe in his place??? Like, she’s been tutoring him for a few weeks and all he does is make lewd comments and passes and be a dick etc - so she decides to shut him up and make him learn. Edging him with every question he gets right and not letting him cum until the whole page is done and all right - he’s a babbling, pleading mess. No Bully Rafe in sight 😫😫

“Oh—fuck, oh shit—“ Rafe fucking Cameron choked out desperately, his hard hot cock throbbing and pulsing hopelessly in your hand, the trip an angry neglected purple with pre cum slathered all over it.

“Answer the question Rafe.” You guide him sternly, one hand wrapped lazily around his dick, giving him just enough it make him shake and whine and throb but cutting it off everytime he got close, leaving him aching and wanting. You were sitting next to him at your desk, in your bedroom, the material for your tutoring session in front of you—his trousers and boxers pooled around his feet, hips bucking into your hand uncontrollably. You were fully clothed next to him, the picture of calm and authority.

He’d been your tutee for a while now—and you’d known him even longer as the fuck boy bully of your school. As a student, he wasn’t much better, also making inappropriate, dickish remarks and barely focusing on the learning. So, here you are now, forcing him to learn by using his pleasure as derivative.

(And, if you enjoyed seeing Rafe Cameron, the big bag bully at school, a whimpering whining shaking mess from just your hand, your denial of his pleasure.. then well, that was your business)

“Shit, shit, shit—I’m gonna—“ He whined out, loud and obscene, his dick twitching in your hand. You let go of him immediately, your hand going to his hair and tugging harshly in reprimand, bringing his eyes to yours.

Rafe cried out, body shaking and cock pulsing hopelessly - he sniffled as he brought his eyes to yours, the baby blues red rimmed, with anger and need and desperation (and probably coke too).

“Answer the fucking question Rafe.” You demand sternly, his hair in your grasp still. Eyes holding his.

He closed his eyes, nose scrunching in futile anger and overpowering painful need. He stammered out the answer to the question you’d asked—voice broken and garbled, thighs trembling faintly.

“Good boy.” You cooed patronisingly, giving his cheek a light slap. “It’s not so hard to listen to people when they tell you what to do, huh? You should learn to do it more. People might actually like you then.”

(He hated that way his dick throbbed and twitched like some desperate bitch at the praise. At your mean tone of voice)

“You fucking—I’m—you’re such a bitch.” Rafe gritted out, his voice cracking with a pitiful whimper, opening his eyes to give you a half lidded scowl—ruined fully by the flush on his cheeks, the way his legs were squirming about in the chair for something anything. Pathetic.

You laugh at him outright, your hand in his hair tightening even more as you move your face closer to his—letting your breath ghost over his lips.

“And you’re a dumb fucking slut.” You smile mockingly, moving his head to expose his neck and run your fingers over it, lightly holding it. “So desperate for anything, can’t even speak properly. Stumbling over your words like a toddler, baby. What happened to big bad Rafe?” You coo tauntingly, fingers tightening around his neck. “All your promises to make me feel good if I let you have me. Now fucking look at you, you couldn’t handle even a second in this pussy, baby.”

He bit down on his lips hard, almost drawing blood, his hands white knuckling his bare thighs as he squirmed and withered about in his chair—the heat in his cheeks flaming even hotter at your words, as well as the heat in stomach. The muscles of his abdomen clenching.

“I—I—I cou—“ Rafe stammered desperately, wanting to prove himself. Wanting to defend himself. He was on the verge of tears at this point, his mind foggy and wanting. Dick aching and pulsing harder than it had ever before. The hand on his neck and the brush of your breath against him sending shockwaves of pleasure up his spine that had him clenching his legs together, trying not to come from just your fucking words (god, he was so pathetic).

“I—I—I—“ You mock back, your hand traveling down from his neck to wrap around his pulsing neglected cock again, squeezing him. Spreading his thighs wide once more. “What you can do is finish answering the questions with that stupid slutty brain of yours, okay? Then maybe I’ll let you in my pussy. Even though you won’t last a second. Fuck, you probably never do.” You giggle tauntingly again, reciting off the next question for him to answer.

[tsandoll]

✮⋆˙ LEEHAN NSFW ALPHABET A-Z

| sungho | riwoo | jaehyun | taesan | leehan |

warnings: mutual masturbation, cum eating, hair pulling, lingerie, choking,, i think that's it idk tbh.

A - aftercare (what they’re like after sex) 

he gets really bubbly and almost dopey after sex. his eyes form crescent shapes and they're accompanied by the biggest smile. he'd stay closeby, probably pulling u to sit in his lap or cuddling you really close to fall asleep. he'd love to place little kisses all over your face, but especially on your forehead while poking at you playfully. 

B - boobs or ass (are they a boob man or an ass man?) 

boobs!! this man loves your boobs so so much, he sorta uses them as if they're stress balls. his touching and kissing and things like that sometimes isn't even sexual, he just really loves your breasts. if he had a really long day or when he's bored sometimes he just really likes to play with your boobs like a curious little cat. sometimes he'll keep his hands in your shirt just to soothe himself. 

C - cum (anything to do with cum) 

don't ask why because honestly i don't know but i feel like he has a pretty big load, like when he cums there's usually a lot. since he cums so much i feel like he also makes a big mess with it almost every time :(( when he masturbates it spills all over his hand and sometimes gets on his bed under him or on his legs or tummy. 

D - dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) 

going along with the previous one, he also is a cum eater im sorry guys but he will eat his own cum after jerking off or he'll feed it to you if you're around or he'll eat yours. he'll cum all over his own fingers and smile at u while licking his hand clean.. when you guys masturbate together he loves to stick his fingers in your mouth and to stick yours into his. i feel like the first time you ever found out about his cum eating kink was after you guys masturbated together which is something else he loves doing. after he cums all over his hand he'll look into your eyes and lick his cum off the back of his hand, a dopey smile coming over his face when he sees your reaction. 

E - experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) 

i don't think he's super experienced if at all. i feel like he hasn't really done much of anything. leehan is a #gooner like i feel like he spends a lot of time with his own hand. 

F - favorite position (what is their favorite sex position?) 

199 / 230

leehan loves to be able to hold you in place, whether its with your arms behind your back or with your pretty face towards him. he loves seeing the way you squirm under him and the way he can push himself so deeply inside of you with these kinds of positions. position 199 is most similar to how he’d regularly fuck you i think, he can see your face and also grab your boobs which is a win win for him.

G - goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) 

i think he's one of the goofiest members during sex, especially if you're taking the lead a little more. when you take the lead he takes it easy and gets all giggly and plays around a lot more. you make him so happy and it's apparent during sex a lot of the time. 

H - hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) 

i think he would be pretty hairy, honestly i don't think he'd really shave or groom himself much in general. he doesn't give me the vibes that he would care that much, as long as you're happy and don't complain, he doesn't care. all he cares about is making you feel good! 

I - intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) 

a lot of the things he does is for the intimate aspect but i feel like sex with him isn't always “romantic”. like it's not always all sweet and gentle, it's rough and filthy at times. sometimes he fucks you like he hates you and other times he fucks you like he'll never be able to let you go. 

J - jack off (masturbation headcanon) 

lovessss jerking off to your photos or to your videos or even just to the sound of your voice. you're the most perfect person in his mind and when he sees you or hears you his mind can very easily wander. if you sent him a video or voice message complimenting him or even a video of you rambling about something random he would be able to use that video to get off to. he loves pictures of you looking all pretty as well because he can just let his mind wander and imagine any possible thing while he drags his hand up and down his length. 

K - kink (one or more of their kinks) 

mutual masturbation - when you guys are just sitting around at home, sometimes he'll just suggest masturbating together. he feels very close with you and he feels very connected so he would love to get all close and see you make yourself cum right in front of him. sometimes leehan also misses you so much that he needs to call you so that you guys can hear each other. if he's busy at the time he would make time to call you, your voice bringing him comfort. he needs to hear your little whines through the phone and hear how you gasp at the feeling of your own fingers. he would moan out your name quietly too, furrowing his eyebrows and biting at his bottom lip. 

clothed sex - he loves the desperation of not being able to get fully unclothed before getting your hands all over one another. one of his favorite things is when he can just pull your skirt or shorts to the side and he can just play with you easily like that. no need to get fully unclothed, you're sexy enough even with them on. he really enjoys when you wear easy access clothing for this reason as well because of this. he can easily sit you on his cock without having to do too much in between work because he's sooo impatient sometimes. 

eye contact - no matter what the two of you are doing, masturbating together, when he's fucking you, when you're giving him head, no matter what it is, he loves eye contact. he searches for your eyes and stares deeply into them when you guys are intimate. it makes him feel even needier, the knot in his stomach grows so much faster when he can see the desperation in your eyes. he loves when he's fucking you so good that you can't even keep your eyes open but he urges you more and more to keep them open, even putting his face in whatever direction you're looking so he can lock eyes with you. he even loves eye contact while you give him head or even when he gives you head, he finds it so intimate and important which is why he loves it so much.

L - location (favorite places to have sex) 

im not sure why but i feel like he really loves sex on the couch. he loves to try out different ways to fuck you and he'd like having something to lean against. a second favorite would definitely be the kitchen, he loves sitting you on the counter and feeling your legs wrapped around his waist. 

M - motivation (what turns them on?) 

i think leehan would really have a thing for lingerie and for inappropriate touching. like if you wear lingerie for him and give him a little peek and touch his thighs or something like that he would get hard so fast. he loves seeing you look all pretty for him. previously i mentioned that he loves easy access clothing, this is another motivation for him. he loves that you're so available for him to love on and appreciate the most intimate parts of your body easily. 

N - no (Something they wouldn’t do) 

leehan a freak, something he wouldn't do is not give something a chance. he loves to experiment and try out new things so he almost never turns down a new challenge. 

O - oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) 

he honestly loves both, feeling your warm mouth around him and seeing how you look up at him is one of the most rewarding things in the world for him. he can see you on your knees and he thinks you're so pretty like that. he also loves to give you head though, you can easily play in his hair and tug at it which is one of his favorite things. you can also close your legs around his head which he enjoys so so much. 

P - pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) 

a lot of times he's on the faster side but he's definitely rough at times. he snaps his hips into you roughly and loves when you can't catch your breath because of the way he's sucking into you. he finds it so sexy when you're sinking your fingers into his skin when he picks up his pace. 

Q - quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) 

he loves quickies and u guys have them often because he loves to randomly touch all over you. he's a huge fan of just randomly having sex and then moving on to do something else cuz it's really fun for him. 

R - risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) 

super!! a big part of sex for him is discovering new things. when you come to him and ask him to try something new with him he gets so excited and wants to try it immediately. i feel like he would smile so big and would start trying to take ur clothes off as soon as possible. 

S - stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) 

honestly i think leehan can go for quite a few rounds, he does good at keeping up. he can go like 4 rounds regularly because he's a horny guy and also doesn't run out of energy too fast. 

T - toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) 

i don't think he owns any toys for himself or even for you in general, if he did though i feel like he would have a fleshlight. he loves having something to thrust into so this just makes sense for him, but he much prefers fucking you. he does love toys though, especially when you use them on yourself and could literally just sit there and watch you cum from using a vibrator or something like that. 

U - unfair (how much they like to tease) 

always!! teasing!! not even just during sex, sometimes he'll tease you about your moans or about how you reacted to him. he also loves to joke, making you think he's going to expose something about you, only to joke about something else instead. he just loves to see the slight panic that comes over your face sometimes. 

V - volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make) 

leehan's pretty quiet during sex, the most noise he makes is usually when he cums. he's big on saying little teases or praises but as far as noises of pleasure he isn't super loud. he'll groan when he's about to cum or when he does come and gets pretty breathy and that's when he let's out little moans as well. i think overall his volume and the projection of his voice is a little louder though, you might not wanna sneak around with him cuz he'll give it away. 

W - wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) 

when you sit in leehan’s lap bouncing up and down on his length he’d press his forehead against yours. i mentioned how much he loves eye contact so it wouldn’t be any different here. he’d stare into your eyes, watching the way yours change as you get closer. he also has a thing for when he leans back and his neck is on display for you, he shivers when you wrap your hands around his throat. he’d let out a low groan, his hands gripping at you even harder than before.

X - x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants) 

he's definitely on the bigger side. he's got length and girth, definitely the biggest out of the other boys. i think he'd have such a pretty dick, it's probably a little blushy under his tip. 

Y - yearning (yow high is their sex drive?) 

it's pretty high, definitely not high like taesan's but i do think he's kinda a sexual person. i just feel like especially with a partner he would have sex on his mind pretty often and he acts on in however he can. whether it's masturbating, calling you for help, or fucking you, he's doing it! 

Z - zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

honestly i think he'd fall asleep pretty fast. he'd be all smiley and may mumble to you for a little bit but as soon as he lays on your chest and you start rubbing his back or touching his hair he would doze off so fast. it depends on how he's laying and what you do, as soon as you start loving on him he gets so cozy and falls asleep.

[leyavo]

| I am my father’s daughter | 4 |

💖 Dad!Price & Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader

PART FOUR: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over a year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help. 2,565words

[18+] MDNI | TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship

Previous parts > [Series Masterlist]

🔈Reader’s view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

You learnt from a young age to stay silent when it came to the adults in your life. Made it easier to get the talk over with. Less words to get you in trouble, something you always tried to dodge.

Silence, your best friend. The one thing that kept you company most days. You stared at your dad, arms folded over your chest as you leant back on the stiff wooden chair. Not quite tucked in under the table, slightly angled in case you needed to make a quick exit.

The shiny new phone on the varnished surface, some sort of peace offering or something to be held over you, another thing for you to figure out.

The Captain however, he wasn’t as easy to read and that added to the weight on your chest. You weren’t sure on the limits, what he’d allow or how he’d deal with something he didn’t like.

You cleared your throat, gaze flitting to his across the table. “So, I can probably find a place in like a couple days or so, a week tops you know,” you said rambling on about a friend of a friend who lived close by.

Not a total lie, you’d slept on your mates sofa’s here and there as a teen when things went south before. You’re sure you can pick up some bar work to help you out till you find something more permanent.

The Captain shook his head. “Stay as long as you need, kiddo. Anything you need your old man’s ‘ere.”

As long as you need, another open ended thing for you to figure out. You didn’t want to overstay your welcome or get too close to him. Didn’t want to rely on your dad, knowing that he’ll come and go as he pleased. Blame it on the job, send you a message to check in and rid himself of the guilt.

“You know, it’s not just us living here,” he said, interrupting the constant thoughts rattling in your head. You know the little voice that’s always second guessing other people’s actions and trying to decipher the true meaning of their words and actions.

Oh shit, you didn’t even think of his team living in the same house. They’d given you and the captain space since you’d got here. You’re hoping you won’t be there for long, even if you have to stay at a shitty hotel until you get enough money to put down on a flat to rent.

“I’ll stay out of the way, no problem.”

Out of sight, out of mind. Least he wasn’t taking you to his house with your brother and stepmother.

“Nah kiddo, this is just as much your space now,” he said, his brows scrunching together as his eyes roamed your face. Like he was also trying to figure you too. “There are some rules though.”

“Rules?” You echoed back at him. You weren’t so good with rules, they normally came with expectations and punishments when they were broken.

Not that you’d be breaking them, willingly anyways. You didn’t want to think of the outcome if you did either.

“We’ll be in and out of the house, no set routine. All you gotta do is look after yourself kiddo, we eat mostly in the canteen as it’s convenient. So you’ll probably be having your meals alone, help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, but add to the list on the front if you run out of stuff,” he said, sliding a notepad in front of him. The scratch of his pen jotting down numbers and words.

You nodded, “sure that’s okay.” You’d been fending for yourself for years, knew how to make the most of the basics or go without. Skipping a meal a day wasn’t a big deal for you. You could survive on just one if you needed to. You wondered if they kept track of the food or if they labelled their own food. There wasn’t any locks on the kitchen cabinets, so it looked like it wasn’t too strict.

“Now, you’re on base. So you won’t be able to walk anywhere and everywhere. There’s a map here,” he mumbled, pointing to an unfolded leaflet. He placed it in front of you and started to circle some areas, blue ink tracing the paths and road. “All the places I’ve highlighted you can go. Do not, I repeat do not go anywhere else.” His voice lowering as he got to the last sentence, gaze flicking up to yours. He jabbed the tip of the pen in your direction, brows raising as if daring you to argue about it.

The look of someone you did not want to piss off. You glanced back to the untouched areas, half of them with no labels or names.

“Uh, yes sir. I won’t go there.”

He doesn’t question the formal sir you’ve thrown his way, the line between his brows softening and eyes relaxing from their narrowed gaze.

“You got any idea what type of work you’re looking for?”

You shook your head. There wasn’t much you could do, a few different jobs here and there. You’d take anything at this rate, you weren’t picky. Money was money at the end of the day.

“Alright, I know someone hiring,” he said, raising his hand to stop you interrupting him. “Three days a week, entering data into a computer. Gotta interview kiddo, nothing comes for free.” He ripped off a piece of paper from his notepad, pushing it to you. A number and name, along with a date of the interview.

The ever prepared Captain already scheduled you an interview. Part of you wondering if he’d planned the rest of your time here.

Boring work, but you didn’t have the luxury to care. You needed to find something as fast as you could.

“It’s not working here is it?” You asked, trying not to offend him.

The Captain chuckled, “nah kiddo. A fifteen minute drive. If you get the job, I’ll sort the insurance on the truck and you can borrow it for now till you find your feet.”

It’s been years since you’ve seen him smile, the curve of his lips making him seem younger. Like the dad who used to ruffle your hair and put you over his shoulder when you were six. The years seemed to harden your parents, your mother’s snapping tone still sent a shiver down your spine. Your father’s stern face, lines in the corners of his eyes and the centre of his forehead painting him serious most of the time.

“What about rent?”

Nothing comes for free, his own words repeating in your mind. You wonder what else you’ll have to earn whilst you’re staying with him.

“Keep ya’ money,” he grumbled, his chair scraping back as he stood up. He walked over to the fridge, pinning a piece of paper under a magnet. His finger jabbing the scribbled mess. “If you need to reach me, this is my office number. Mobile first, office is last resort.”

“And mum?” You dared to ask, still expecting her to appear with each waking day. Least you'd hear her before you actually saw her.

“We’ll talk about it another day. Rest up and look after yourself. You still need to take it easy.”

You nodded, releasing a deep breath. The weight on your chest lifting, the tension loosening from your shoulders.

The Captain turned his back from you, flicking the kettle on. You rose from the chair, tucking it back under the table. He handed you a steaming cup of tea and you settled down into the sofa, placing the cup on the coffee table.

A kiss landed on the crown of your head, "gotta go back to the office, you know what to do if you need anything."

You didn't get a chance to react, the front door closed before you could catch a glimpse of your father.

Sleep had been fleeting the past week, as soon as your cheek hit the pillow on the couch you were out. You were never much of a heavy sleeper, but the rough weight on your forehead soothed the heat and sweat coating it, that you didn’t question it. The cool touch easing your faltering breaths.

You shifted, the cushion wedged behind your back brushed against the wound near your shoulder blade, a groan slipping from your lips. The hushed tones of someone shushing you and the hair sweeping behind your ear, however, sent alarm bells ringing. You shot up, head crashing into the nearest thing.

Johnny Mactavish stumbling back with a grunt. He cradled his jaw, a string of curse words falling from his lips.

"Fuckin' hell, Johnny," you snapped, clutching your forehead and scrambling to sit up. "Why are you breathing over me?" You traced the stitches above your brow, lowering a trembling finger tip expecting blood, but there was none.

Your heart drummed against your chest, the shirt you wore drenched in sweat and sticking to the dip between your breasts. Your fingers pinched the fabric, allowing the excess to swallow your figure once again.

The crick in your neck stopped you from turning your face quickly to the man in front of you.

Johnny rubbed his chin, red tinge marring his jawline. "Thought you'd passed out again, checking for your breath lass." He sat on the edge of the coffee table, wood groaning under his weight.

The distressed denim jeans hugged his thick thighs, baggy t-shirt skimming over a leather belt. Sergeant written across his firm chest. Your gaze wandered to the short sleeves and the way they curled around his biceps. A few nicks and scrapes dotted his bare arms, fading green bruise on his knuckles.

He reached out and you dodged his hand, trying to sink further into the sofa. Wanting it to swallow you up, anything to go unnoticed.

“You’re hot.”

It took you a second to register what he'd said.

“I’m what?” You stuttered, trying to pull the thin blanket over your shoulders as you slid down in your seat. God, he was so hot. Different to your ex, something untouchable about Johnny too though.

A deep chuckle shook his chest, his head cocking to side. Smile stretching his lips as if he noticed your stare. “Yeah, your head. Fever maybe?” He mumbled, leaning forward and placing the back of his hand on your forehead for a few seconds.

Of course, he wasn't looking at you like that. You don't even know why your mind went there either. Must be the fever messing with you.

You blinked, not sure of why he was checking you over again. If you’ve got a fever you’ll be taking a bath right? Or just riding it out? You weren’t quite sure. Did the Captain put him up to this?

It was the first time taking medication like this, normally you took paracetamol and hoped for the best.

Johnny’s touch is light, brief as he pulled away and clasped his hands in between his legs. “Did ya’ miss your meds?” He glanced over his shoulder, the ridiculously large clock ticking away.

“I fell asleep.” You shrugged, “I’ll just take them in a bit.” It’d been four hours since you’d settled on the sofa and three hours ago you were supposed to take two pills.

“You gotta take them at the specific times,” Johnny said, popping the pills out of their packaging and into your palm. He walked to the kitchen, returning with a large glass of water.

Sipping the water and throwing back your medication, you went to place it on the table, but he shook his head.

“Drink all of that, will help with that fever,” he said, sinking into the sofa beside you. The cushion dipped beside you and found your body leaning to his. "Might wanna, take that blanket off too." He snatched the blanket from your lap, balling it up and tossing it on the armchair beside him.

You drank half, gaze locked on his as you placed the glass on the coffee table. Wondering if he’d tell you to drink more, but he picked up the remote, flicking through the tv guide.

“Captain got you babysitting?” You checked your phone, a chain of texts from your father and an alarm notification you slept through that alerted you of the time and the meds you needed to take. forty-six missed calls and twelve voice messages, your ex's name lit up the screen as you turned it over on the table.

Johnny slouched against the back of the sofa, legs widening. Your knee brushing against the side of his denim clad thigh. His hand resting ever so close to yours on his own leg.

“Nah, watching the rugby.” He pointed to the tv with the remote, the match three minutes in already. There’s a bottle of beer in his other hand, the same one your ex liked.

The one you used to stare at in the shop, wondering if this pack would go in your favour or go against you.

Johnny seemed pretty calm though, you don’t know him well so the beer in his hand doesn’t help you feel any better. People are totally different after consuming stuff like that.

“You like the rugby?”Johnny said, his deep voice pulling you out of your head. He sucked in a breath as the players tackled each other for the ball.

You shook your head, “I hate sports.” You can't think of anything worse, a group of men shouting and hollering at a match. The spike of violence when their teams didn't win, all because of a game. You tried to keep away from all that.

The bottle doesn't touch his lips, a chuckle shaking his shoulders. "Yeah my sisters hated it whenever I watched the rugby." A smile playing on his lips, his fingers picking at the label on his beer bottle.

"You've got sisters?" It doesn't surprise you. He's respectful towards the women on base, well from what you've seen so far.

"Yeah, three of them. Don't know what's worse, three of them or that they're older."

You wonder how different your life would have been if you had siblings, someone else around your age to take the load off of you. Another person who could relate to everything, someone you could talk to without judgement.

Johnny rambled on about his siblings, telling you little bits of pieces of his childhood. The more he said, the more you felt like you'd missed out on a lot. You nodded along, lying when he'd asked you if you were close with your mum. The instinct to paint everything good still ingrained in your being.

The phone in front of you vibrated, kept doing so until you picked it up and turned it off. You don't even need to look at who it is, no matter who it is, it's not someone you want to deal with right now.

"Block 'em, don't want the Captain getting a hold him." He doesn't spare you a glance as he spoke, the tic in his jaw pulsing.

Johnny meant well, but you couldn't stop the cogs turning as you thought of what would happen if the Captain knew everything. A part of your life you'd never shared with your dad, for good reason too.

And if he'd even believe you.

[PART FIVE]

✨ Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed it :) there might be some errors/mistakes as I'm dyslexic, I do check my work a couple times, but I do miss bits and pieces - Leya

Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @reiluvr @elita1 @tired-writer04 @kaoyamamegami @gallantys @leon-thot-kennedy @trulovekay @harley101399 @misshoneypaper @rpgsandstuff @tomatto1234 @lolyouresilly @madsothree @astrothedoll @grandfartvoid @delaynew @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @little-mini-me-world @exitingmusic @majocookie

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[notafunkiller]

she chose me

Summary: Steve's hopes get crushed when he wrongly assumes you'd choose him over Bucky.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x agent!female reader

Warnings: 18+, no condom (but f is on birth control), teasing, pet names, jealousy, sergeant + sir + daddy kìnk, vibranium arm kìnk, language, degrading, praising, no mention of y/n etc.

Word Count: 6.9K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I really hope you’ll enjoy it! This was inspired by the "She chose me." TikTok trend.

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

You’re all quiet, watching the back and forth between Cap and Bucky. Not even Sam intervenes.

“You didn’t-”

“This is just not gonna work, Buck.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, with an expression you like to describe as bitchy. He’s so sassy without even intending to, and you wonder how bitchier he’d be if this wasn’t his best friend talking.

“Let’s see if people agree.”

He looks around waving at you and the rest of the team while Sam just snorts, covering his mouth with his hand.

But you’re not amused because you have no idea how to handle this diplomatically.

“Whose side are you on?” Steve’s tone is deep and authoritative, making you feel a little uneasy.

You don’t know how to talk to Avengers sometimes. You are on friendly terms, even when you train. Sam always cracks jokes, Steve shares stories and gives advice, and Bucky is Bucky. Nat and Sam call him The Machine for a reason. But he’s a really good professor and an even better observer. He pays attention to every recruit and remembers what they need to work on. You find him extra intimidating because he’s also the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. No exaggeration. And it’s not in the usual clean and golden boy way you are used to, anyway. He’s been through shit and it’s showing in the way he carries himself and doesn’t talk much when it’s not needed.

But you pay attention too, and this is why you think you were chosen to lead the recruits for this mission. You are on good terms with the Avengers, and Bucky probably approved the idea of working with you because you didn’t piss him off like most do. You know he hates chit chat, you learned how to read most of his stares and to not take it personally when he makes remarks about your fighting skills. They’re not your strongest asset, but you have a flair and you come up with the best solutions under pressure. You managed to pin him down once for a few seconds, and that is probably your greatest achievement.

But in moments like this, you don’t know how to say things without upsetting one side.

“You won’t get in trouble, don’t worry,” Bucky adds confidently. You’re not surprised when four out of your six colleagues agree with Bucky. They explain quickly why, emphasizing how much faster and efficient it would be if you followed that route, but their voices are still trembling. And you get it. Telling Captain America to his face you prefer his best friend’s plan over his will always be a risk. But if he gets mad, that says more about him as a leader than about anyone else.

Sam raises his hands in the air defensively, probably enjoying this as a show, but based on the looks he shares with Bucky, it seems like he agrees with him too.

You try to find your words, knowing you’re the last one from your team to speak, but before you can even open your mouth, Steve already smiles, pointing at you with his index finger. “Look at this, though! She agrees with me… She chose me.”

His grin is cold and a little arrogant. What you don’t notice, though, is the intention Steve had when he decided to use those exact words, but Bucky does. And he clenches his jaw at the same time his vibranium hand curls into a fist; a silent response to the not-so-innocent assumption that Steve made.

After a few seconds, Bucky leans in, his gaze steady and confident. “Did she?”

There is no way you would pick Steve’s plan. You are too smart and you have too much integrity to pick his side just to kiss his ass. He raises an eyebrow at you this time, a confident smirk forming on his lips. “Did you really choose him? You really think his plan would work better, doll?”

You feel surrounded by Bucky… attacked even. Your cheeks are getting hotter, too, and you know there is nothing you can do to hide your redness. Doll… He called you that when he turned you again on your back the day you managed to pin him down. It’s something about the way he says it that makes it absolutely deadly. Your first instinct was to be offended, but you reminded yourself he is a man born in 1917. He lived his twenties in the 40s, and doll was used as slang for sweetheart.

Taking a deep breath, you tilt your head slightly, directing your response to Steve. “It’s not about choosing sides, but considering all perspectives for the best outcome. And your plan, Captain, has its strengths, but I’m inclined to agree with Sergeant Bucky.” You bite your lip. “It’s about finding the most effective strategy for the mission, not a personal preference of any kind.”

Steve’s smile falls off, but your attention shifts back to Bucky’s grin that lightens up his face.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Well, then,” Steve sighs. “Can I have a word with you in private?”

You don’t realize he’s speaking to you until he says your name.

Surprised, you jump. “Yes, of course.”

*

Steve leans back in his chair, a slight smile playing on his lips as you write down the last details. “You know, I value your insights on the mission.”

You look surprised because how can he value your opinion when this is your second mission only? He’s Captain America!

“Oh?”

“I trust your judgment, and your training is going great. If you and the team chose Bucky’s plan, then we do it.” You see his jaw clench, though, so you know it’s not easy for him to say it. Even if it’s his friend… interesting. “Maybe, when all is over, we could grab a cup of coffee and talk about other things. What do you think?”

You’re silent for a couple of seconds, trying to realize if he means it in the way you think he is. There is no way, right?

Just in case, you offer him a friendly smile, “Thanks, Cap! I value our teamwork too. Coffee sounds great after. It could be a good way for all of us to unwind as a team.”

He nods, sighing. “I’m glad you’re on board. I’m looking forward to that coffee, even if it’s with the whole team. And please, call me Steve.”

So he was flirting…

“Thank you,” you pause as you stand up. “I’m gonna talk with Sergeant Barnes so we can get things ready for tomorrow. Have a good night, Steve!”

*

You knock only three times before the door opens and a Bucky dressed in shorts and a white tank top lets you in with a smirk.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you nod as you take a step inside his bedroom. He only stays here before and after missions when he is too tired to go to his apartment, so you don’t expect to see any personal objects there except for a few clothes.

“What happened to Bucky?”

You look at him surprised, tightening your hold on the tablet you are holding.

What?

“Sir?”

Bucky closes his eyes for a second. “Earlier, during the meeting, you called me Sergeant Bucky.”

Shit!

Maybe you should start calling him Sergeant Barnes in your head as well to avoid these fucks up. You feel so embarrassed that you want to disappear. You don’t want him to think you disrespect him in any way. His rank carries a lot of weight and trauma.

You clear your throat, slightly flustered. “My apologies, Sergeant Barnes. It won’t happen again, sir.” You offer him an apologetic smile while trying very hard to maintain a professional tone.

Bucky’s smirk softens as he places his flesh hand on your shoulder. You feel your legs transforming into jelly.

“My point was, doll, there is no need to be so formal. We’re off-duty here, and titles aren’t necessary. Just call me Bucky.”

“Alright, Bucky,” you smile. “I’m sorry for bothering you, but I came to discuss the plan for tomorrow. I talked to Steve and we agreed it would be wise for you to lead the way as Mr. Wilson-”

“Steve?” Bucky interrupts before you can finish your sentence. He doesn’t even bother to look at your tablet, either.

“Yes, we talked in the office.”

“No, I get that. But you call him Steve? What happened to Cap?” Bucky knows that might sound really childish, but he can’t help it. What is Steve trying to do?

Was it some kind of test? Did you misunderstand everything with Steve?

“Oh, Cap allowed me to call him Steve earlier. I am sorry if it sounded disrespectful.”

He squeezes your shoulder even before moving his hand to your chin, raising your face, and you feel yourself blushing again.

The blue of his eyes is so intense that you can’t see how anyone would be able to survive it.

“You apologize too much, doll. I don’t like it.”

You can’t breathe. “Sor-” You pause, realizing he is right. Apologizing is second nature to you. It feels wrong when you don’t, and you do it without even thinking about it. “I guess I do that a lot. I’ll work on it, Bucky.”

“I’m not your teacher right now, doll.” He smiles, letting go of your chin. “Just remember, we’re not all about formalities here. Relax a bit.”

Easier said than done. But you need to keep it together and ignore the urge to grab his face and finally kiss him. So you focus on talking about the mission and the members of the team. You talk about all of your colleagues, and Bucky helps you take notes. He switched so easily from friendly to the sergeant mode, which is fascinating.

He explains step by step your positions, the way things are gonna happen and even two back up plans. Two!

You’re not overwhelmed by the amount of information, but you’re quite surprised by how much he talks and how well he answers every possible question any of you could have. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him speak for more than a few seconds continuously so you try to focus on every word.

Only when he finishes and you close your tablet after sending everyone the plan, do you see him relaxing again.

With a smirk, he asks you, “How did Steve take it?”

“He was fine with the plan, even suggested if we feel like doing it, to get one or two more members. But based on what you said, we won’t need it.”

“He has a point, of course, but if you said you don’t think you need it, good.” You try not to stare at his lips as he speaks, but it’s so hard. “And I meant how he took that you chose my plan. That you chose me.”

You meet Bucky’s gaze, trying to keep your composure, “Steve seemed more than okay with it from what I saw. He values the team’s decision. Plus, it’s not about choosing sides, and-”

“And not a personal preference of any kind,” he interrupts just to quote you, and you don’t know if you should feel flattered he remembers word by word or to prepare yourself for a negative reaction. To be honest, your head is spinning and him being so close makes it worse. “I heard you very well, but I’m curious…”

He extends his hand and carefully tucks your hair behind your ears. You swear you can hear your own heartbeat going crazy. And if you do, so does he.

“About what?”

“Would the answer be different if it was about personal preferences, doll? Would you choose him?”

You freeze. You are simply in shock because this cannot happen to you. From Steve asking you out earlier to your crush basically doing this. You’re confused and a little tired, but you didn’t imagine all of this. Does Bucky want you? Is that it?

You take a deep breath praying you won’t choke on the words. “In a hypothetical scenario based on personal preferences, Bucky, I would still not pick him.”

Your voice is trembling, but you maintain eye contact even after admitting it. You didn’t choose Bucky’s plan because of your crush, so you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or exposed. He’s the one who let you call him Bucky, who touched you and asked you that. You don’t know if he counts romance as a personal preference, but there is an urge inside you to find out. You wonder how he’d taste, if he’d kiss you back if you kissed him first, how your mission would be if you crossed the line. Your thoughts are foggy.

“So you’d choose me.”

You clear your throat. “Yes.”

“Over Captain America.” His grin is so boyish and cute that it makes you smile. He looks younger and less… burdened when he gets like this. Bucky chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Well, well, well. Looks like I got someone not kissing Captain America’s ass for a change. That’s really rare. You’re a naughty one, aren’t you?”

You mask your gasp with a cough, deciding to play along, a sly grin forming on your face. “Maybe I just have a thing for underdogs.”

Bucky’s eyes light up with amusement to your annoyance but also excitement, and he leans in, taking the tablet from your hand and placing it on the floor without a care. “Underdogs, huh? Ouch, that hurt a little. I thought I was your favorite super-soldier.”

You can’t help but giggle, feeling enough encouragement from his reaction to touch his vibranium arm just to feel it. You got the chance to do it only for a couple of seconds and it always fascinated you, especially the golden pattern. The fact he can feel everything because it’s connected to his nerves is insane to you. It probably is to him too. “Oh, you are. And my favorite teacher too. But a little competition never hurts, Sergeant Barnes.”

You can see he feigns offense. “Competition, huh?” Bucky’s playfulness turns into a serious tone as he adds, “Well, let me show you why I’m the only choice.”

And without warning, he closes the distance between you and kisses you.

You gasp, taken aback, but you bring your hands to his face and hip before you deepen the kiss. He’s not as gentle as you expected, his left arm flying to your ass and bringing your hips closer to his immediately.

You moan when you feel his hard on so close to your pussy, and tug on his hair a little.

“Aren’t you a naughty girl?” He lowers his lips to your jaw. “I could basically smell how wet you got earlier as soon as I called you doll. And so did Steve.”

You want to open your eyes and tell him to stop talking about his friend. You don’t want to be turned off, but he already continues.

“He thought he stood a chance with my girl.”

“Your girl?” You whimper when his teeth graze your neck before his tongue licks on the spot. He intends to leave a mark, you have no doubt, and you absolutely love it.

“Mine.” His whisper makes you shiver. “I want to mark you. The thought of having you covered in hickeys during the mission makes me so hard it almost hurts. Gonna show everyone you belong to me.”

“Do I belong to you, Sergeant Barnes?” You take a step back but let your hand linger on his chest teasingly. “Because I don’t remember you asking me to dinner.”

Bucky grins. “Dinner is a classic move, and I adapted very well to the present. But of course I can stop with the kisses right now, and we can have some late dinner.”

You roll your eyes at his unbelievably good answer. Fucker!

“This is not what I meant, Barnes, and you know it.”

“I don’t know it. But I want to know something else.”

You don’t even doubt he means something dirty because it’s too obvious.

“Like what?”

“Like how your pretty pussy tastes while you come all over my face.”

You gasp at the no-filter words. You’re so used to Steve’s warning you to use proper language, that you did not expect it.

“I thought men your age were all about being proper and refined… Don’t they teach subtlety in the 40s etiquette class or did you skip it?”

You tease him on purpose, and he knows it. You are well aware what a nerd he was in school. Such a nerd that it was displayed in the museum. You snort. You were a nerd too, so you love it.

Bucky chuckles, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he brings his hands to your pants, unzipping them without warning. Holy. Shit. The way you love this. He reads your body language very well and he has his super soldier senses.

“Well, doll, proper and refined went out the window with the 40s, right? Because otherwise you’d not be standing here letting me undress you.”

You raise your eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement on your face. His energy is so light, and he looks like a man without a worry in moments like this.

“You���re the one who offered to show me what the little upgraded version of you can do, after all.” You take off your shoes before pulling down your pants as soon as he drags them to your ankles. You can’t believe you’re about to fuck James Bucky Barnes! “Why would I say no?”

“Just sit back and enjoy the ride, doll. Gonna make sure you have the time of your life.”

You snort, amused by his eagerness, and decide to take off your shirt yourself to see his reaction. And he doesn’t disappoint.

He grins like a child, his hands flying straight to your back without taking his eyes off your chest. And before you know it, your bra is on the floor and Bucky cups your breasts, bringing your left tit to his mouth.

If you gasped when you felt the cold touch of the vibranium, now you moan loudly, enjoying the way he licks around your skin. He avoids your nipple on purpose, so you decide to take matters into your own hands quite literally and get a grab of the top of his hair, forcing him to suck on your nipple.

“Fuck! I didn’t expect you to be so whorish,” you say without realizing, and you feel his snort and breath on the wet patch he left with his tongue.

Bucky’s grin turns into a sly smirk. “This is what you call whorish? I guess I’ll give you an experience you won’t ever forget.”

“Talk less, do more.”

You want to enjoy more of this. You have a mission in a few hours, and it might be just a one time thing anyway since he is Bucky Barnes. You don’t want to get your hopes high.

Bucky lets go of your breast with a pop and moves up, raising your head so he can kiss you.

It’s electrifying, and desperate, and not enough. You move your hands to the bottom hem of his tank top and lift it, interrupting the kiss so you can take it off completely. You just want to feel him, all of him.

You step back for a second, wanting to look at him properly, but you notice a change in his eyes that he, of course, tries to mask.

“Why are you nervous? You look like a fucking god! I should be nervous here.”

Bucky’s eyes flicker with vulnerability.

“I guess I’m not used to someone seeing my scars or my,” he waves toward his vibranium arm, and you frown.

“I will sound totally weird, but they all make you really cool, Serge.” You trace down a few scars when you see he is completely relaxed and continue. “Do I have to lick them all to make you believe me?”

You move your hands under his shorts before he can answer, though, finally touching his cock. You both moan at the feeling. He’s hard and thick, and the head is wet. You bring your fingers to his lips, smearing some of the precome before leaning in to suck it off.

You’re not prepared for his moan or for the way he attacks your mouth, and definitely not for him to snap your underwear using his flesh hand. Not even his vibranium one!

You moan into his mouth. He makes you feel like you’re floating and you need to fuck him right then.

“You’re not just whorish, you’re a whore!” You pause when you feel his fingers close to your entrance. “No wonder why you didn’t belong in the 40s.” Then you move, allowing him to touch you. You don’t realize what you said, and when you do, in the middle of dragging his shorts down, you curse yourself in your mind. It sounds like the most disrespectful thing ever. This man’s fate was changed by monsters who cryogenically freezing him and brainwashing him, and you are selfishly talking as if he belonged to you. “I’m sorry that was awful of-” But he interrupts you before you can get a chance to properly apologize.

“You like that, don’t you?”

A wave of shame surges through your body. Your cheeks are burning.

“I’m really sorry,” you take your hands off his shorts and look away, not even peaking at his cock. You ruined it, didn’t you? “I will just go.”

Bucky shakes his head, puffing. “For such an amazing agent, you’re not a good room reader, are you?”

Your eyes finally drop to his cock, which you’ve been trying to avoid in the last minute out of shame, but there’s no need anymore since he’s teasing you. He’s just a bit longer than average, and he’s really thick, and the veins do not make it ugly at all. You are curious how it’d feel in your hand, how much it’d twitch, how Bucky would moan.

“You aren’t a good room reader, either then, Barnes, since I’m not getting dicked down and my hair pulled, am I?”

Something snaps in him, and it’s visible in his eyes. You don’t know what to expect so you just watch him. But you can’t. He is so quick that, despite your crazy training, you don’t anticipate his move. His hand wraps around the hair from your nape and fists it hard enough for you to move along with him.

“Wanna be dicked down? Fine by me, get on your hands and knees.”

You’re surprised, of course you are, but his tone is firm and you find yourself nodding and doing what he told you. You know you can say no; there is nothing in Bucky’s energy that makes you feel unsafe or as if you have no choice.

At the same time, he lets go of your hair just so he can take off his shorts completely.

“Are you not gonna make sure I’m wet enough for you?” You ask when you see him getting closer to you again, even though you are very wet. You just want to push his buttons.

“I can smell you if I focus on it, let me remind you.” He smiles. “I know you’re soaked, and you wanna be dicked down. Or are you backing off?”

Challenging prick!

You roll your eyes. “I’m not scared of your dick.”

“Good, because he wants to be friends with you.”

You close your eyes, cringing. “God, you were this close to turning me off.” You raise your hand in the air, putting your weight on the left one as you bring your thumb and index finger close to each other to show him exactly what a thin line this was.

Bucky laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna make you forget it in a second.”

Your first instinct is to want to tease him about the second remark, to ask him if this is how long he can last, but you’re too horny now. And you also need rest for the mission tomorrow.

“How, uh…” You pause not knowing how to ask this properly. “Can you, uh, make babies?” You cringe at your words. “I mean, widows can’t… and I just wanted to know if we need a condom to be extra careful since you might be extra fertile because I am on the pill and I have no idea how sex with a super sold-”

Bucky’s lips press against yours suddenly, making you stop talking.

“Breathe.”

“I’m breathing,” you whisper and he cups your face.

“Not enough. We can use a condom if you want, but I’ll need to check where I can find one. Or we can go bare if you trust me… I can pull out and you are already protected, so there shouldn’t be a problem, I think.” He pauses to kiss your lips again. “But we can still use a condom anyway to be extra careful as you said.”

You frown at that, suddenly more desperate to feel him bare than ever before.

“No, I trust you. I have never done it without a condom before, and I assume you didn’t have much time to uh… have sex.”

Bucky snorts amused. “Now why do you assume that?”

“You look like you haven’t been fucked since 1945.”

The fact he doesn’t even deny it makes you feel even bolder, so you reach for his cock and place your thumb on his wet head while wrapping the rest of your hand around the length. “Are you gonna even last for a second once you’re inside me, Sergeant Barnes?” You snort when you see him trying to hold back his moan by biting his lip. It makes you feel happy. “Or do you even manage to get inside me before- ahh!” He is predictable this time as he pulls your hair, so you laugh.

“Are you familiar with this whole red, yellow, green color code?”

You gasp. “Yes, read about it, never needed it. But how do you know that?”

“I read about it, too.” His grin is so wide and beautiful that you melt again.

“Quite naughty of you, Serge. Reading dirty books. Needed some ideas?”

Bucky smirks, kissing you again and again. “Gonna need a review after I finish with you.”

“You finishing with me?” You smile. “Big words, Barnes, but no action.”

He knows you challenge him, and you don’t try to hide it. Do you have to beg for his cock for him to finally fuck you? He is edging you on purpose at this point.

You let out a whimper in anticipation when he moves behind you.

“Are you sure you’re fine with no condom?”

“Ihm, I’m not ovulating anyway,” you whisper, trying not to sound too eager. But you are. You want to get dicked down, indeed. And you wanted it for months.

His silence makes you a bit nervous, but the sounds of him dropping to his knees behind you, followed by his hand grabbing his cock and positioning it at your entrance while squeezing your hip with the metal arm.

You love the sensation of the coldness, but you love even more when he leans in to kiss your back before he pushes inside you.

It takes two tries, though, for him to be able to push halfway inside you because you kept pushing his dick out of you instantly. You managed to take him only when he brought his fingers to your clit and rubbed a bit.

You still laughed though because the sounds were too funny and his little frustrated whimpers were hilarious. The amusement turns quickly into more horniness when you feel him stretching you without even being fully inside you. You dreamed and daydreamed about it… fantasized about it, but it still wasn’t even close to how it actually feels. How full it feels. It’s like you cannot even think, your body is weak.

“Fuck,” your voice is cracking. “Deeper.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” he whispers.

“So?” You bring your hand to his ass, trying to show him you really need it deeper. “Why do you make it sound like a bad thing? Or are you trying not to come, Mr. Super Soldier?”

“You have quite a mouth on you, I think you need it-”

“You talk way too much. Are you nervous or-” It’s his turn to interrupt you with a thrust. Such a deep thrust your head is spinning. He’s not fully inside you, you realize, but he doesn’t try to, instead, he starts to fuck you, taking your breath away. His fingers leave your clit, grabbing your hips with both hands.

There is no question anymore, just fucking as you wanted.

And it feels like heaven. You try to keep your eyes open just so you look at him over your shoulder, but it’s impossible.

“Cat got your tongue?”

You groan. “No, you did, n-now fuck me harder.”

“Well, well,” he slows down and you almost wanna die. “This is not how you talk to your Sergeant, is it?”

He can’t do this!

“Fuck you!”

“What does my baby want?” His thrusts are too slow and teasing, just like his voice. “Use your words, beg for it.”

You’re not turned off, surprisingly. Not at all, on the contrary, the firm tone he uses, the words… you’re getting hornier, if that is even possible.

“I love your cock, Sergeant, so please give it to me. Fuck me harder and faster. Need you to pull my hair, and choke me, and… be rough.” You would be embarrassed if you weren’t so desperate. You know he wouldn’t make fun of you for this, so you trust him.

“Only mine.” You take a deep breath relieved when you feel his right hand wrap around your hair. “Do you hear me? Answer me.”

You nod, unable to say anything because he starts to thrust hard and fast, just like he did before he stopped. Your tits are jumping at the impact, and you have to dig your toes into the floor.

“Use your words. If you want my,” he moans. “If you want my cock and my hand wrapped around your neck, you have to use your big girl words. Tell me you’re only mine.”

You can’t hold back your tears this time. You love it so much, you can’t believe you waited so long to have him.

“Only yours.”

“No Steve.”

He lets go of your hair, wrapping his hand around your neck. No pressure, not moving it, he’s just holding it there.

“There’s n-no Steve, Sergeant. Only you. My pussy belongs to you. I o-only want to get filled by you.”

You know he’s smiling without needing to look at him.

“You love your Sergeant’s cock, don’t you?” You have no idea how he’s able to speak while thrusting so hard. He’s a fucking robot, indeed. “No one else could give you this, no matter how much they tried.”

You feel the building in your core. You’re so, so close already, so you try to place your weight on only one hand and bring the other to cover his, and before he can say something, you encourage him to choke you by pressing his fingers on the sides of your neck.

You moan so loudly you surprise even yourself. You sound like a cat.

“Please, sergeant, please, choke me.” You repeat your move and you close your eyes. “Please, daddy, I’m so c-close.”

He pauses for a second, and you don’t know why.

Before you can ask what’s wrong, he doesn’t just start to thrust inside you again, he dicks you down just the way you wanted. It’s as if he fucks the air out of your lungs every time you exhale. You’re crying and screaming at this point, so loud the whole floor must hear you. But you’re not ashamed. You feel so close you can almost taste it.

You barely hear his whimpers, but they’re there and they’re so beautiful.

You get no warning when he decides to squeeze the sides of your neck: gently at first, but then? Perfect. So perfect you come without warning, not being able to even say his name. You just scream some nonsense, your hand dropping from his to the floor so you can ground yourself properly. Your whole body is burning, and burning, and burning, coming alive for what feels like an eternity.

He doesn’t wait even for a second after you come down from your orgasm. Instead, he gets his dick out of you, grabbing you by your ass and raising you in his arms. Still weak, you barely have the strength to wrap your legs around his waist and your hands around his neck. He’s sweaty but not that hot. His metal arm is making you cool down.

“Daddy’s gonna take good care of you.” His lips find your forehead and you fight the urge to kiss his neck. You feel so small in his arms… and as if no one can hurt you.

You’re smiling like a fool when your back hits his bed, and so is he. Such a beautiful, blinding smile.

You let him spread your legs before you drag his face down so you can kiss him. You bite his lip hard until he opens his mouth, moaning when you feel him entering you again. This time, you’re relaxed so he thrusts inside you so much easier.

“Gonna make you come again around your daddy’s cock..”

His hands wrap your legs around his ass when he starts to thrust again.

“You’re quite… into it, Sergeant Barnes. So dirty!”

He gently grabs your jaw. “Tongue out.”

You do it, opening your mouth and waiting, and waiting until you finally understand what he’s about to do.

Instead of being grossed out, as you expected, you eagerly swallow the saliva that he lets drip from his mouth, which lands on your tongue.

You bat your eyes as you start to move your hips to meet his thrusts halfway, and that sends him into a frenzy.

“Fucking hell, you don’t want to sleep tonight, do you?” He asks sarcastically, but you don’t have enough air to tease him with a stamina comment. “You want me to make you scream and swallow my spit and come till we have to go to that fucking mission. Till your beloved Steve needs to come to us himself and hear us covered in come but still fucking.” You moan at the idea of your teammates finding out about this. You get awful comments anyway; at least you can get him for real and rub it in their faces. “You would like that, wouldn’t ya? Having all my undivided attention on you, not caring that my best friend is mad…” The thrusts are so deep that your head falls on the pillow instantly. You cannot keep your eyes open for even a second and you’re crying again. “Not caring my pal wanted you so badly he even tried to take you out tonight.”

“Sergeant-”

Thrust after thrust. You grab his forearm as tightly as you can so you can have something to hold onto.

“He thought he could have you, that you’d choose him. Come on, love. Come on, scream my name, let them hear. Let them all hear whose cock you cry for. Who is the one you belong to.” His balls slap against your skin so hard they tickle you. But not even that can distract you from almost reaching your orgasm. His words, his cock, his possessiveness…

“Sergeant, please. No one but you, can I… c-can I touch my clit? I’m so, so close.”

You don’t have to, though, because he is quick enough to bring his flesh hand between your bodies and rub your clit just the way you need it.

“F-fuck, coming,” you manage to warn him before the pleasure hits you. It’s so overwhelming you see white, digging your nails into his forearm.

You don’t know what you call him… daddy, Bucky or sergeant, but it doesn’t matter. You hear his praise, how you’re his good girl, and his words encouraging you to come for him.

When you can focus again, you kiss him with everything you have.

“Need you to come for me, Sergeant Barnes,” you whisper between kisses. “Need you to come inside me, need you to fill me up with your come, sir.”

He hisses loudly, his eyes being more grey than blue.

“Don’t tease me.”

“I mean it,” you make eye contact, wrapping your legs tighter around him. “Not the heat of the moment. I need your come, daddy. I’m on birth-”

He kisses you so hard your teeth end up hitting, but you don’t care. This is everything.

“Gonna come, gonna give you what you want. Gonna make you my come s-slut. Is that what you needed?”

“Yes, yes.” You’re so excited to watch him finish you don’t even realize how much you like being called his come slut until he says it again. “Come on, Sergeant, come for me.”

After you say that, it only takes him two more thrusts to finish, moaning your name.

His eyes close, and you notice how pretty his eyelashes are. And the little moles on his face… his mouth semi-open and his hair in all directions.

You want to witness this every day.

Before you can stop yourself, you lean in to kiss his nose and cheeks, letting your hips move at the same time.

“C-can’t… doesn’t stop,” he manages to groan, and you bring your hand to his nape, caressing his hair as he rides out his orgasm.

When he finally finishes, though, his head falls on top of your breasts, his mouth finding your nipple and playing with it before sucking it fully into his mouth.

“Easy, Bucky,” you moan, but he keeps going, though.

You have to pull his hair, to make him stop.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but I need to uh… I’m tired.”

You’re back to your shy self. But his smile still makes you feel so relaxed.

“Got you tired, huh?” He winks, giving your breasts a kiss before pressing his lips against yours. “Fuck, I’ve never been so aroused in my entire life. Won’t even mention how happy I am.”

“Me neither,” you whisper.

“Well, we need to get used to it.”

You laugh so happily that you think your chest will explode. It’s surreal.

“You owe me that dinner after all.”

“A million dinners.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Trying to charm me?”

He pecks you one more time before getting out of you with a whimper.

“I’ve already done it.”

It’s weird to be empty like this again, but seeing your come and wetness on his pubic hair or dripping out of your pussy just to soak the sheets beneath you distracts you. You made a mess.

“We need to clean this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says distractedly as he uses his index finger to push some come back inside you. Jesus! “This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You smile. “You’re a whore.”

“Your whore.” He slowly gets out of bed, grabbing his shorts from the floor.

“Want me to go?” You ask all of a sudden, gaining a confused look from him.

“Why would I want that? Unless you do, of course…” He runs a hand through his hair, trying to fix it a little. “But I want you to stay.”

“Saw you dressing.” You bring your knees up just to put your chin on top of them. You feel extra shy.

He smiles. “Just gonna get you some water. I don’t want you dehydrated.”

*

Bucky knew Steve was in the kitchen as soon as he went down the stairs. He smiles casually, not giving him a second look as he goes straight to the fridge. It’s not like he hasn’t seen him in shorts or shirtless before, and Bucky knows he knew exactly what happened upstairs.

“Can’t sleep?” Steve’s tone is so obvious Bucky almost laughs.

“Not sleepy yet. What about you? You’re alright, punk?”

“Yeah,” he says, taking a sip from his own glass of water; his hands tightly wrapped around the glass.

“Still mad about earlier? You know I’m right.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s all good.”

Bucky sighs dramatically. He loves Steve, he is his brother, but sometimes he is so annoying.

“Well, try to get some sleep. I suggest you wear some earplugs or something, though,” Bucky suggests casually, taking a whole bottle of water. “We wouldn’t want you too sleepy tomorrow. And the night is young.” He even winks at Steve, making him clear his throat.

“Buck…”

“Not a super soldier perk, I know, but you understand, right?” The smirk he suddenly gives Steve is almost sinister. “She chose me after all, and I gotta let her test-drive me. Have a good night!”

Even though he turns around, Bucky doesn’t miss the way Steve’s hold gets so tight that his glass almost breaks.

Bucky doesn’t regret it. He had it coming when he thought you’d choose him.

[smileysuh]

forget him

🌙 staring. Haechan x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “What if… what if I helped you out a little?” His words hang in the air, and your room feels thick with tension. You’re acutely aware of the toy still pressed between your thighs. “Look,” Hyuck says, voice softer, “I hate seeing you cry- but seeing you cry about something good might make us both feel better.”

tw/cw. recent breakup, fingering, Hyuck walks in while y/n is masturbating, masturbation, assisted masturbation, toy/dildo use, overstimulation, dacryphilia, reader has multiple orgasms, squirting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, big dick Hyuck, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, talking about y/n's ex while they fuck, marking/claim kink, full/breeding kink, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, babe, good girl.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 7.1k

🍭 aus. friends to lovers, roommates au, recent breakup, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. When I tell you I need to be demolished by this Hyuck-

Hyuck absolutely hates seeing you like this. 

He’d thought it had been hard seeing you in love with his best friend Mark Lee, but seeing you in the throws of depression after your recent breakup takes the cake for Hyuck when it comes to him having a straight up horrible time.

Obviously, you have it worse, and he’s not trying to contest that fact- he just hadn’t realized that when the thing he’d been hoping for actually came to pass- it would feel this bad. 

In the dark reaches of his mind, he wonders if he’d had something to do with the separation, although, in truth, he knows that’s ridiculous. He’d been as supportive as a friend and roommate could be about you and Mark. He’d forced smiles and words of encouragement when you’d gushed through the talking phase. He’d found ways to ditch the apartment when you and Mark started to get physical, doing his best to give you privacy while getting high as a kite at Lee Jeno’s place to distract himself from the fact that you were getting railed by someone other than him. And now, he supposes, he’s doing his due diligence in making you feel better when you’re at your worst.

Hyuck’s doing the best he can to make things easy for you. He’s set up movie days, and he’s made you ramen. He’s allowed you to shuffle closer to him on the couch, even resting your head on his shoulder any time you start to tear up. He’s paused films to listen to you explain things like “When Mark and I watched this, he would always get so excited when Totoro would show up” or “Mark hated No Face.” 

He wonders if doing a Ghibli marathon is the best idea, given how much you associate it with Mark, but when he’d asked you about it and you insisted you would feel better watching the films, he’d left it at that.

You’re your own person, and Hyuck’s always trusted you to make the best decisions for yourself… even when he doesn’t agree with them.

Cuddled next to you on your living room couch, Hyuck does his best just to be there for you. He ignores the boys’ group chat messages, where other friends are taking care of Mark. As far as Hyuck’s concerned, he’s team you, all the way, and he always has been.

He notices the way you start to shift next to him, pulling away from his shoulder to stretch your arms over your head.

“You good?” Hyuck asks, looking away from the movie to give you his complete and undivided attention.

“Yeah,” you sigh, frowning slightly. “Just tired.”

“Do you want to go to bed?” He studies your face, noticing all the signs of exhaustion- although, to be fair, you’ve been a sleepy wreck of a thing since your breakup two weeks ago.

“I probably should,” you concede, taking another deep breath. “Thanks for making me dinner and watching movies with me.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hyuck says, flashing you a small smile as he straightens in his seat, reaching for the remote to stop the movie.

“You’ve been so nice since… since the whole Mark thing.” He can see you swallowing back tears, and you reach up to wipe your eye with the sleeve of your hoodie. 

“That’s what friends are for,” Hyuck assures you, although, his attention toward you has always far surpassed that of a friend. It’s a shame you’ve never realized that fact.

“Just… thanks,” you say again, holding open your arms for a hug that Hyuck is more than happy to give you. 

He adjusts on the couch, leaning forward to scoop you into his arms. Your cheek presses to his shoulder and he breathes in the smell of your fruity body wash. He tries his best not to hug you too hard- because if he did, you might actually realize that every time you hug him, he has no true intention of ever letting you go. 

“Sleep well, okay, gorgeous?” he prompts, stroking your hair and using the petname he’d given you far before you’d ever met Mark. “You really need your rest.”

“I’ll do my best,” you assure him, giving one last gentle squeeze before you pull away.

Hyuck watches you stand up, your hoodie skimming your mid thigh. He knows you’re wearing sleeping shorts under the oversized fabric, but he can’t help but swallow thickly, imagining what it would be like if you were just in panties.

He really has to get his mind out of the gutter, and Hyuck knows that- he’s been trying to, in all honesty he has- but it’s been four years of knowing you, one of living together, and he still can’t manage to keep his thoughts PG. 

With one last small smile, you turn and begin to shuffle to your room.

He misses your lively movements. The first night you’d moved in together, you’d had a small dance party together, and Hyuck’s always been adamant that no one’s hips move like yours do. 

He misses your joy. The way you sparkle when you’re happy. You used to smile like a kid in a candy shop anytime you watched your favourite movies or ate the ramen he’d made for you, but these days, the most you can muster is a small upquirk of the sides of your lips.

Hyuck wants to make you smile again. He’s just not sure how to do it. 

He knows you need time. Time heals all wounds, or so they say. He just wishes he could fast track your recovery.

Your bedroom door shuts and the spell of watching you is broken. Hyuck takes a deep breath, looking around the messy living room. There are blankets and pillows strewn all over, take out boxes from your day inside, tissues from when you’d cried. 

He’s not generally known to be the cleanest man around town, but Hyuck feels that in times like these, the least he can do is keep things tidy. He’s sure you’ll feel better to come out of your room every morning to a nice apartment, so he begins his work of collecting water cups and take away boxes. 

You’ve definitely lost your spark, and Hyuck thinks maybe he has too. He’s used to playing music loudly, using it as energy at all hours of the day, but tonight, while he cleans, he keeps things quiet. His head is full, and his ears are on edge, paying attention to the sounds coming from your room.

In those first days after the breakup, he’d heard you crying a lot, and he’s sure that barging into your room to give you a hug had cheered you up. He’s hoping it won’t be necessary today. 

As much as he loves hugging you, seeing you cry always makes him feel like someone is trying to tear open his chest and clench his heart. It’s an ache he doesn’t enjoy.

When you’d moved in together, he’d decided that as a girl - with monthly girl issues - you should have the bigger room with the connected bathroom, and he listens to the sound of you brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed. 

You begin to hum something, and Hyuck realizes it’s the first time he’s heard you sing since your breakup. 

Maybe tonight will be a good night.

Hyuck has moved all the clutter to the kitchen, and he begins to put stuff in the garbage and dishwasher while he listens to you hum. He thinks about the day you met, at uni orientation. He’d never become friends with someone so fast in his life, and when you’d discovered you had three of five classes together- well, he’s never looked back, not for one second.

He wonders how things would be different if he’d ever manned up and told you how he felt- how he feels- how his affection for you has only been growing and growing- 

Hyuck finds himself heading to the fridge and taking out a beer. He hasn’t been drinking much since you and Mark broke up, hasn’t needed the mind-numbing effects of alcohol, so when he takes a large swig, he finds that it immediately takes the edge off. 

He can’t be thinking about wifing you up right now- no matter how much he might wish to.

Although… as he leans against the sink and downs the can, grabbing another, he begins to wonder if offering himself up to you as a distraction really would be the worst thing in the world. 

Sure, it wouldn’t be the way he’d want to start things with you- but maybe he could make you fall in love with him and forget all about Mark Lee. However, in all honesty, he’d probably be risking your friendship. 

He’s played this mind game with himself too many times before, and Hyuck always finds himself at a stalemate. Frustration bubbles up inside and he looks out at the living room, determined to set himself back on the task of cleaning.

Hyuck throws the pillows onto the couch, and he even begins to fold up a blanket, and that’s when he hears a familiar sound.

You’ve never been the type to seek much affection, especially when you’re in your room, so whenever he’s caught you crying, it’s always started with a whimper.

What Hyuck’s just heard was definitely a whimper, and his whole body surges with white-hot, electric energy, his eyes darting to your door. His breath catches, and he tosses the blanket down to the ground, frozen as he waits for another sound of distress. 

A small gasp can be heard under the crack of your door, and Hyuck’s body bolts into action. He’s moving so fast he stumbles a little over his own feet just as he reaches your room, and he wonders if drinking two beers was a good idea. His hand lands on your door, and he knocks aggressively.

“You okay in there, gorgeous?” he calls.

“I’m fine!” you respond, but there’s definitely an edge to your voice. 

He can tell something is wrong- can tell you’re lying to him, and in a split second, Hyuck is making a decision. 

“I’m coming in.”

You let out a small squeak of surprise, tearing your hand away from the toy still lodged inside of you so you can pull the blankets up around your shoulders, jaw dropping as your roommate barges into your room.

“Hyuck!”

He stands in the doorway, studying you, and you can see a look of confusion cross his face. “I thought I heard you crying.”

“I’m not crying!” you insist, core clenching around the dildo. “Get out!” 

Hyuck doesn’t move. “I definitely heard a whimper,” he insists.

Your heart is practically racing in your chest, and you’re very much aware of the pleasurable feeling still thrumming from your core. Cock warming was something you enjoyed doing with Mark, and the fact that you’re cock warming a toy while Hyuck stares at you is having a wholly unexpected effect on your entire body.

“People whimper for all sorts of reasons!” you say dumbly. “Leave!”

Hyuck tilts his head to the side, assessing you again. “You never speak to me like this.”

“You usually don’t just barge in here unannounced!” 

“Yes, I do,” Hyuck points out. “Why’s tonight different?”

“What do you mean-”

“Something is different,” he says, more firmly this time. His gaze dips, taking in the blanket still wrapped tightly around your form. “Wait…” you see the exact moment he realizes what you’re up to, and even from a few feet away, you see the way his pupils dilate. “Are you…”

“Hyuck-” you groan, lifting the blankets to hide your face, hoping he can’t see the shame that’s beginning to consume you.

“You are, aren’t you?” 

“Are what?” you ask, deciding to play dumb.

You can hear him scoff, and you peak from under the blanket just in time to see his signature eye roll. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, something he does when he’s getting annoyed, and you can feel yourself dripping down your dildo. 

He meets your gaze again. “I didn’t hear a vibrator, so let me guess…” You watch him swallow thickly. “The toy’s still inside of you, isn’t it?”

Curse him for knowing you so well.

Curse him for having a dirty mind.

And maybe most of all, curse yourself for being so stupidly turned on that you can’t even deny what he’s just said. All you can do is groan loudly, hiding again. 

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks after a beat of silence.

“Yes!”

You hear him click his tongue. “Come on, gorgeous. We both know I can tell when you lie to me. We’ve been friends for years, you don’t have to be… ashamed about this.”

But shame is exactly what you’re feeling, and his words don’t help at all. 

“Please, just leave,” you sigh, so embarrassed you think you might actually die.

“What if… what if I helped you out a little?”

His words hang in the air, and your room feels thick with tension. You’re acutely aware of the toy still pressed between your thighs.  

“Look,” Hyuck says, voice softer, “I hate seeing you cry- but seeing you cry about something good might make us both feel better.” 

“You’re being crazy.” You peak out at him. “We’re roommates- Mark is one of your best friends-”

“I’ve known you longer and I’m loyal to you,” Hyuck insists firmly. “And besides, stranger things have happened.”

“Yeah? Like what?” you can’t help but laugh a little, and the contraction of your stomach muscles pushes the toy slightly out of your core, making you groan at the loss.

From the look that crosses Hyuck’s face, he obviously notices your sound, and you watch his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “For one, the fact that you even dated Mark was a little crazy.”

“He’s a nice guy.”

“But nice doesn’t fill you up at night. Nice doesn’t make you cum so hard you feel it through your whole body.” Hyuck holds up a hand. “And before you try to tell me Mark was good in bed, remember that I have a room next to yours. Mark is a nice guy, but that doesn’t mean he can fuck. Not the way you deserve.” 

You shift in your bed, sitting up a little to address your roommate. “Yeah? And how do I deserve to be fucked?” 

“You deserve someone who’s going to worship every inch of you. Someone who’s going to make you cum over and over- make you gush so good you’re begging for it, begging to finally get dicked down so hard you can’t even walk after. Someone who makes you cry for all the right reasons.” 

You stare at Hyuck. 

You’re not even sure what to say. 

He’s never talked like this to you, ever- at least, not in your waking hours.

You’ve had dreams about his sharp tongue, his long fingers, and his big cock- but never gave credence to your lustful fantasies. Hyuck’s always just been a friend- 

“Why now?” you find yourself asking. “After all this time-”

“I’m tired of watching you hurt over something I might be able to help you fix.”

“So cock is the fix to a broken heart?” 

“Gorgeous, I think we both know that what I’m offering you is more than cock.”

“Right, I’m guessing tongue and fingers-”

Hyuck gives you an unimpressed look. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

“That I’m super into you? That I’ve been into you since we met? That it killed me to watch you be with Mark when I knew you should have been with me?” 

“Hyuck-” you breathe, feeling even more whiplash from these words than his dirty talk.

“Look, you don’t have to say anything about that stupid feels shit, just… just let me take care of you tonight.”

“What if we regret it?” You press your thighs together, keeping the toy just inside of you while you begin to fidget with your blanket. “What if it ruins our friendship?”

“I’ve asked myself that same question for years,” Hyuck admits. “But… after looking at you now- I really don’t think that’s something we have to worry about.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m about to make you cum so hard you forget about every other man in your life.”

“Promise?”

He nods. “Promise.” 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Hyuck lets out a small laugh. “So… you going to lift those covers and let me see what I’m dealing with or…?”

“God,” you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

“I call you gorgeous for a reason, don’t I?” Hyuck grins. “Come on, I wanna see.”

You grab at the blankets, taking a deep breath. Then you start to move them off your body.

Your roommate watches your every movement, dipping his head to focus as you lift the fabric covering your feet, then your calves-

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you tell him.

“Yeah, me neither,” Hyuck admits. “I’ve been waiting so long to see you like this.” 

His words make your stomach erupt in butterflies, and you feel the toy still half wedged in your core. “Should I… should I remove the dildo first?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I wanna see that too.” His eyes meet yours. “Don’t be embarrassed. You’re so fucking hot, I’m already hard.”

He reaches a hand down to cup the front of his sweatpants, and you realize he’s not lying. You can see the impressive print of his cock pressing against the fabric, and it makes your mouth water. It also gives you the confidence to fully reveal yourself to his hungry eyes, and the moment he sees you, Hyuck lets out a deep groan.

“Shit, gorgeous,” Hyuck says, letting out a deep breath. “You’re even more perfect than I’ve imagined.”

His words make you feel shy, and you close your legs, only for Hyuck to press a knee to the bed, both hands reaching out to prompt your thighs back open. 

“Don’t hide from me,” he warns, and there’s an edge to his tone. He’s still being soft with you, his touch gentle, but there’s an obvious hunger rising inside of him. “Tell me about this toy.”

“Well, I uh…” you search for your words. “It’s one of the first ones I ever bought-”

“It’s small,” Hyuck notes, which is kind of funny considering it’s Mark sized. “Can I use it on you?”

“You want to fuck me with the toy?” You blink at your long term friend and roommate.

“Gotta stretch you out to take something bigger.” Hyuck smirks devilishly, and your pussy throbs- he’s definitely bigger than Mark and the toy still half lodged inside of you. You can’t wait to find out how much bigger. 

“You can-” you bite at your lip, “you can fuck me with it.”

“Good girl,” Hyuck praises you, and you can feel yourself practically dripping around the dildo now.

You hold your breath in anticipation while Hyuck gets settled on the foot of the bed. His warm palms smooth over your thighs, forcing you wider, and then his fingers grab the base of the toy. “Do you like it slow?”

“I think… to start off with?” You feel too hazy to be able to answer questions, and he hasn’t even started with you. “But… when you fuck me, can you go fast, please?”

“Of course, gorgeous. I can do anything you want,” he assures you, applying pressure to the toy so it begins to lodge deeper inside of you. You let out a small sigh and Hyuck looks up at you, grinning. “You’re so wet, babe, making this too fucking easy.”

“It’s not my fault-” you defend yourself, voice shaky. 

“It’s mine, isn’t it?” His smile widens. “Talking dirty gets you going, huh, gorgeous?”

You nod, resting your head back against the pillows and closing your eyes to enjoy the feeling of him beginning to work the toy in and out of your pussy. 

“Bet Mark’s dirty talk game was weak,” Hyuck says under his breath.

You don’t have it in you to agree with him, although… he’s correct. Something tells you he knows it too, because he lets out a small chuckle. 

Hyuck’s using his right hand to fuck you with the toy, and his left moves from your thigh. A moment later, his thumb is rubbing gentle circles on your clit and your toes curl from the stimulation. A gentle gasp escapes you and you can practically hear Hyuck smile.

“Feels good?” he prompts.

“So good,” you nod. You need something to hold onto, so you grab at the one piece of clothing on your body, a night shirt, which you lift up your to your abdomen, giving Hyuck more room to work. 

He rubs your clit harder and you let out a whine, feeling the familiar build of tension in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Hyuck tells you, and you can feel his breath on your pussy which makes you twitch. “God, I could watch you squirm like this all night.”

“Please-”

“Please what?” 

You don’t even know. All you know is listening to the squelching sound of the toy going in and out of you while his thumb rubs your clit is driving you insane.

“I want to kiss you,” you decide, realizing Hyuck’s about to make you cum and you haven’t even really gotten a taste of him. 

Hyuck stops what he’s doing immediately, manuevering up the bed so he’s on top of you, one hand pressed to the pillow while he looks down at you.

“Hi, gorgeous,” he grins.

Your hands explore his shoulders and one snakes into his hair, then you’re tugging his mouth down to your own. Hyuck’s gentle with you at first, but when you go to bite on his lower lip, he groans loudly. His tongue darts out to brush against your own, and the kiss deepens. 

You’re done with your toy. You want to feel him, and you reach between your bodies to remove the dildo, pulling it out and tossing it onto the floor next to the bed.

Hyuck breaks your kiss to look at the wet toy on the ground, and he lets out a small laugh, gaze returning to your own. “Why’d you do that?”

“I want you.”

“Yeah?” His hand slips between your forms, and two digits stroke the length of your pussy, making you moan. “Want me to make you cum all over my fingers?”

You nod, grabbing at the front of his shirt, tugging his mouth back to yours while he buries himself into you knuckle deep.

He strokes your walls, and the feeling is absolutely delightful, especially when he angles his hand, palm pressing to your clit while he seeks out your gspot. 

His lips are hot against your own, and they don’t muffle the sound of pleasure escaping you. 

Hyuck’s a bit of a gamer, but you never really realized his fingers could feel this good- 

“Shit, gorgeous,” he groans, breaking the kiss to move his mouth to your throat, where he lets out deep breaths. “You’re dripping all over my hand.”

“I’m so close-” you confess, gripping his shoulders tighter while he finger fucks you even harder, chasing your release.

“You’ll be a good girl and cum for me, right?” Hyuck prompts, which makes you mewl. “Yeah, you’ve always been such a good girl, gonna be good and cum all over my fingers-”

His words make you throb, and he applies more pressure to your clit with his palm. His lips press kisses to your neck and he finds your sweetspot, making everything feel all the more intense.

You’re on the edge, and you let out a loud gasp, clenching your eyes shut in anticipation.

“Cum for me, gorgeous. Come on, I wanna feel you.”

His words make the cord in your stomach snap, and your body is flooded with the pleasure of your release. You feel it everywhere, and it makes you cry out while holding onto him tighter. His hand continues between your thighs, fingers unrelenting, palm heavy on your clit. 

Hyuck works you through your orgasm until you’re gasping and pushing at his shoulders, and then he straightens a little, motions stopping while he looks down at you. “Did you enjoy that?”

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes a little. “You know I did.”

“Yeah, but you could still stroke my ego a little.”

“Stroke your ego?” You reach for his cock, gripping him through his sweats. “Like this?”

Hyuck lets out a low groan, thrusting forward to meet your hand. “As much as I’d love to watch you jack me off- tonight I’m here to make you feel better, and I’m not anywhere near being done with you yet.”

You’d never realized Hyuck had any self control, and you watch in shock as he gently moves your hand away.

“I’m going to eat you out now,” he tells you, slipping down the bed so he’s on his stomach between your legs. Hyuck spreads you open, gently kissing your inner thigh before looking up at you. “You good with this?”

“Uh huh,” you breathe, swallowing thickly as you prepare yourself for his tongue. “I’m still sensitive though.”

“I’ll go easy on you,” Hyuck promises, pressing a very soft kiss to your clit. “I can be gentle, contrary to popular belief.” 

You can’t help but let out a giggle, but the sound is cut short when Hyuck unexpectedly buries his face between your thighs. His tongue presses into your hole and the feeling has your legs quaking as he adjusts them over his shoulders, trying to dive even deeper.

“Shit, Hyuck-” you whimper, grabbing at his hair.

He’s always been a bit of a liar- maybe you shouldn’t have believed him when he said he’d go easy on you. But… at the same time, the way his nose repeatedly bumps your clit has a fire building in your abdomen again, and you really aren’t even that mad about it.

You can feel Hyuck smile against you, and it’s such a turn on to know he’s enjoying himself while providing you with pleasure. Mark had always been somewhat rigid in your sexual interactions, much more serious than the grinning cheshire cat between your legs now. 

Where Mark had been slow and tentative, Hyuck’s eager and passionate. He switches between lapping at your hole, sucking your clit, and pushing his tongue into you as deep as it can go, licking at your walls and working you up way faster than anyone else ever has in your entire life.

Then he begins to groan, and you realize he’s grinding against the bed-

Is eating you out really that sexy for him? 

You feel another gush of wetness from the thought and your pussy throbs, warning you both that you’re close again. Hyuck responds by adjusting ever so slightly, lips wrapping around your clit while he pushes a hand to your entrance, slipping two fingers inside.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum-” you gasp, back arching off the bed while the cord in your stomach is pulled unbelievably tight. 

Hyuck’s fingers twist in and out of your hole, and he licks at your clit in the most sloppy manner- it’s enough to have you exploding, a cry of pleasure escaping you while your core clamps down on your roommate. 

He groans loudly, sinfully, and the vibration against your clit has your legs shaking around his head, orgasm pulsing deep through your entire being. 

You’re practically crying at this point, and you can feel tears even while you clench your eyes shut, taking everything Hyuck’s giving you while moaning like a whore- you’ve never sounded this way, and there’s something almost addicting about the noises being torn out of you.

You know he feels it too, because Hyuck is completely unrelenting. If anything, he’s even more sloppy with the way he worships your pussy, fingers crooking up expertly-

You’re literally gushing around him, and you can feel it, can feel that your bed is going to be ruined after this. But you can’t bring yourself to care. All you can do is grab at your sheets, crying to the ceiling while your best friend makes you feel pleasure so intense that you can’t even think. 

He’s fulfilled his promise about making you cry for good reasons… and he hasn’t even taken his cock out yet.

You’ve never been this needy in your entire life, and when he pulls away from your core, allowing you to catch your breath, you peak out at him from under wet lashes. 

“You’re literally perfect,” he tells you, voice deep. His pupils are completely blown now and he’s breathing as heavily as you are.

You watch him bring glistening fingers up to his lips, slowly sucking them clean and moaning loudly at the taste of you before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fuck, and you’re already crying-” Hyuck sits up, leaning over you and reaching out to brush some of your tears away. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.” 

“Hyuck-” you whimper, shocked that you’re choking up.

Your body is still being flooded with emotion and sensations. Your nipples are hard under your shirt and the fabric is becoming uncomfortable, making you more sensitive-

“Going to let me take care of you now, right, gorgeous?” he asks, pinching at your chin and leaning in to kiss you softly.

“Please-” You grab at your shirt and Hyuck follows through by helping you take it off.

You’re now fully revealed to him, and your best friend sits back to appreciate you, letting out a deep breath. 

“Mark’s so fucking stupid for letting you go,” Hyuck says.

His words are bitter sweet, and in your overstimulated state, you find your lower lip wobbling as you hold back a choked sob. 

“Shh,” Hyuck whispers, reaching out to cup your cheek. “It’s better to be with someone who knows your worth, like I do. I’d never fucking treat you the way he did- I promise.”

The look on his face is so intense, and you know he’s telling you the truth.

Your body relaxes a little- Hyuck really is such a good guy, and what he’s doing for you helps more than he’ll probably ever know. He’s making you feel sexy again, making you feel needed and wanted and maybe even loved. 

“Besides,” Hyuck clears his throat, taking off his own shirt, “I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll forget all about that asshole.”

You can’t help but laugh sadly, wiping at your own face to get rid of the last tears while you watch Hyuck move to work on his sweats. 

When he pushes the waistband down, revealing his cock, you think you might actually faint.

You’ve always thought Hyuck was a pretty guy, sexy of course, but pretty too- and his cock? It’s as stupidly pretty as the rest of him.

He must be a little over seven inches, and he’s girthy too-

You can feel yourself practically drooling as you look at him, and Hyuck smirks at your reaction. “Sure you’re ready for this, gorgeous?”

“If you don’t fuck me I think I might die.”

He laughs at your words. “Then I guess I better fuck you.”

“Should we…” you bite at your lip. “Do we need condoms?”

“Babe,” Hyuck scoffs. “Babe- we’re both clean, right? And I know you’re on birth control… do you want me to wear a condom? I always kind of imagined you’d be the kind of girl who wants to be full.”

How many times has he imagined this, you wonder. 

But he’s right. You want him to fill you up like no one else has.

“Come here,” you say, holding open your arms while he kicks his sweats off.

Hyuck’s hands find the pillows by your head and he slots himself between your legs, lips pressing against your own.

You thread your fingers through his soft brown hair, kissing him eagerly. You want to get lost in him, and it’s easy to do that when he begins to rut his cock against your pussy, bumping your clit and making your thighs shake around his hips.

“Just fuck me,” you groan, already feeling so unbelievably needy.

Hyuck smirks against your lips, pulling away to look down at you with mischief in his eyes. “You’re so fucking hot it’s insane.”

“Then why aren’t you inside me yet?”

He moans a little, dipping his head to look between your bodies while he reaches for the base of his cock, lining himself up with your hole. “If it hurts, I’ll stop.”

You’re about to scoff and tell him he’s not that big when he pushes his head into your entrance and a gasp leaves your lips. The stretch is very real, and you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, closing your eyes and focusing on getting your body to relax.

You can practically feel your pussy struggling to make room for him, and even though you’re as wet as a fucking slip and slide, it’s still a little difficult for him to push in inch after inch-

“Fuck,” you whimper, and Hyuck rewards you by burying his face in your throat, peppering your skin in kisses. The soft feeling of his lips is enough to distract you from the intrusion opening up your pussy, and soon his hips are flush against your own, making you both release groans of pleasure.

“You ready for this?” Hyuck asks.

“God, yes-” 

He reaches for your hand, pressing it to the pillow and threading your fingers. Then he kisses you softly-

When he begins to rut into you, it’s anything but soft.

Hyuck’s motions are calculated and rough, the tip of his cock hitting a spot deep inside of you that has you squeezing his hand. You’d be cussing if it weren’t for his hot lips against your own, lips that have gotten increasingly demanding, his tongue stroking yours while you gasp.

It feels amazing- like, truly. You’ve never been fucked like this, and he’s only just started.

He stops kissing you, breathing heavily while he fucks you even harder. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“You’re literally balls deep inside of me,” you nearly laugh. “You can ask me anything.”

“I’m just,” Hyuck groans, squeezing your hand. “Did you ever think about me when you were fucking Mark?”

Your pussy clenches at the question, from shock or hornyness, you’re not sure. 

“I-”

“You did, didn’t you?” Hyuck grins. “Don’t think I didn’t just feel you get super fucking tight around me- God, you are dirty like me, aren’t you, gorgeous? I thought… thought that when you started dating soft boy Mark, maybe you were more vanilla, but that’s not you, is it?”

“No-”

“You like to get fucked, properly, don’t you, babe?” Hyuck continues.

“Fuck, yes-”

“And Mark didn’t know how to do that for you, did he? Mark didn’t know how to make you wet like this, didn’t know how to make you cry or scream or beg-”

You can’t bring yourself to verbally slander Mark while Hyuck’s fucking you like a wild man, so instead you just shake your head. Your confirmation makes Hyuck grin, and he fucks you even harder, the whole bed rocking while the sound of skin on skin fills the room. 

“You know what? Enough about Mark. Forget him. You don’t need him anymore.” Hyuck’s mouth is hot on your neck and his words make you shiver as he moves to suck your earlobe. “You only need me. You only need me, I promise.” 

Hyuck lets go of your hand and you’re about to argue with him about it when he shoves his fingers between your bodies, rubbing at your clit while he fucks you.

“Hyuck!” you whimper, writhing beneath him.

“That’s it gorgeous. I wanna ruin you for anyone else. After this, no one’s going to make you cum like I can.” He’s groaning now, voice all breathy and super sexy- “If I make you cum three times the first time I fuck you, that means you’re mine right?”

You moan loudly at the idea, grabbing his shoulders while he works you closer and closer to yet another orgasm that you have no doubt will be as mind blowing as the first two. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” Hyuck says, voice gruffer now. “Fuck, gorgeous, I want you so badly- just say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp when he applies more pressure to your clit.

“That’s my girl,” Hyuck smiles against your neck. “You’ll let me mark you right? Let me suck some pretty bruises into your skin so every time you look in the mirror you know your roommate fucks you right-”

His tongue darts out, licking a stripe of your throat before his lips press to your sweet spot. He suctions his mouth onto you, teeth grazing your skin and causing you to cry out while you move your hands to tug on his hair.

Hyuck lets out a sinful groan when you pull gently on his soft brown strands, but he doesn’t let up. He’s entirely focused on you and your pleasure, cock continuing to rearrange your insides while his fingers abuse your nearly overstimulated clit-

“I’m so close-” you whimper, eyes closed as your body once again approaches the edge with startling speed. 

“Yeah?” Hyuck moves away from your neck and you get the sense that he’s looking down at you. “Gonna cum on this cock and let me fill you up? Gonna let me breed you like the good girl you are? Make you so stupidly full that you’re fucking dripping?”

“Yes, fuck, Hyuck, please-” You’re on the verge of tears again, whole body thrumming with energy-

“Then cum for me. Let me fucking feel you.” 

You twitch from his words, and then you’re falling over the edge, gasping and clawing at him while you’re overcome with ecstasy. You’re not sure if it’s because this is your third orgasm, or if it’s because his cock is balls deep inside of you, but this orgasm is the most intense of them all.

You’re reduced to a completely primal side of yourself, brain short circuiting while your body takes over. There are no thoughts, only the attempt to process all the pleasure that’s flowing through you like a river that’s broken through a dam. 

The sounds escaping you are unlike anything that has ever come from your vocal cords, and Hyuck is also cumming, groaning loudly as he presses his lips to yours. His tongue is hot as it licks at your bottom lip, and his thrusts are erratic. 

He takes his hand away from your clit in favour of finding yours again, fingers locking while he squeezes you. You can feel the passion radiating off of him, can feel that this won’t be a one time thing and you both know it.

Hyuck takes care of you through your orgasms until you’re both finished, and his motions begin to slow until he’s simply half laying on top of you, his kisses much more gentle as you gasp into each others mouths. 

His hips are flush against your own, keeping his cum inside of you while you make out. His body is warm and it almost feels like a security blanket draped across your own. Hyuck’s fingers are still tangled with yours, and it feels nice just to be holding someone’s hand again.

“Fuck, gorgeous,” Hyuck groans, pulling away from your lips, “if we keep kissing I might have to fuck you again, and I don’t think you could take another orgasm.”

“Not tonight,” you agree, blinking up at your roommate. 

It’s like you’re seeing him in a new light, and you assess the soft details of his features. He really is a beautiful man.

“And we ruined your bed,” Hyuck says with a grin. “You were squirting earlier and your sheets are too wet to sleep in, so I guess that means you’re coming to my room tonight.”

“You want me to sleep with you?” you nearly laugh.

“I’d honestly be offended if you didn’t.” He lets go of your hand, pushing himself off of you. “I didn’t get to touch your tits at all, and I’d like to have something to grab onto when we sleep.”

“God, you’re such a menace,” you giggle, pushing at his chest.

“You love it,” Hyuck insists, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Come on, we should shower.”

“So we’re showering together now too? Weren’t you the guy who said Mark was being clingy by wanting to see me every day when we started dating?”

“It’s clingy when Mark does it,” Hyuck notes. “When I do it, it’s endearing and charming and sexy-”

“Sure it is,” you say sarcastically, shaking your head at him.

“What happened to my good girl?” Hyuck teases. “If you keep talking back, I might be tempted to ruin you in the shower.”

Now that you’re thinking about it, that doesn’t actually sound like the worst thing in the world.

“Fine, let’s go,” you concede, letting out a sigh.

There’s so much you could say about what has just taken place, but one thing you can state with confidence is that you do feel better. Hyuck had made you forget about Mark, if only for a short while before he started shit talking his friend- but, his words of slander hadn’t actually made you mad or sad or upset- they’d actually kind of had the opposite effect.

Life will go on after Mark Lee, and Hyuck’s made you realize that.

In fact, maybe your life after Mark will go on with Hyuck. 

Maybe it was always meant to be this way. 

You’re too tired to think about these big ideas in detail tonight, not after everything that’s just happened. Instead, you allow yourself to live in the moment, allow your roommate to take care of you the way he always has.

For now, this is more than enough. 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I'm back in my Hyuck feels again

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🔮 preview. “So perfect,” Hyuck tells you, reaching his hands up to cup your breasts.  Before he can dive in, however, you press the ice pack to his face again and he winces below you. A scowl forms, and he glares into your eyes. “Maybe I don’t like it when you take care of me.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, thigh riding, multiple reader orgasms, dirty talk, praise, claim kink, boob worship, big dick Hyuck, sex in on the living room couch, physical altercation between new boy and ex, overstim, holding off an orgasm, cumming together, light spanking, etc… I pet names: (hers) gorgeous, babe .

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.9k I teaser wc. 220

🌙 staring. Haechan x afab!reader

bonus

“Dude,” Jeno sighs, staring at the man sitting on his couch. “You did not-”

“Except that I did,” Hyuck smirks. “You should be happy for me.”

“Is that what you’re going to say to Mark after you tell him you fucked his ex?” Renjun asks, narrowing his eyes at their naughtiest friend. 

“Actually,” Hyuck sighs, leaning back against the couch, “I think we shouldn’t tell Mark, not yet at least.”

“So now you’re making us all culpable in your bullshit,” Renjun groans loudly, rolling his eyes. 

Hyuck gaze shifts from the angry aries to Jaemin, who’s yet to say anything since Hyuck’s big reveal. “You’re cool with this, aren’t you?”

“I mean…” Jaemin cocks his head to the side, “you have wanted to be with her for years-” 

“See, Jaemin gets it!” Hyuck grins, eyes turning to his part time gym buddy next. “And Jeno? You understand where I’m coming from, don’t you?”

“Mark is not going to be happy about this,” Jeno frowns.

“And I wasn’t happy when he started dating my roommate crush,” Hyuck states, “or when he broke up with her unexpectedly.”

“Don’t lie,” Renjun scoffs, “we all know you probably celebrated when they ended things.”

“Only a little,” Hyuck confesses, grinning again. “Okay but for real,” his expression turns serious, “guys, I think I love her.”

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[soukokuforthesoul]

dazai’s texts to chuuya are a lot of very random things like telling him to get something for him, blurry pictures of himself, complaints about work, complaints about life in general, and chuuya rarely actually responds because why should he (though he does read the texts, and dazai sees and knows and thrives in the attention),,

but when chuuya’s drunk, chuuya’s the one sending nonsensical texts that are occasionally asking for his location, fifty texts under half a minute about how he hates dazai (or that dazai should die), etc.—

and then, dazai’s favorite, not that he’d admit it: sometimes chuuya sends pictures of himself, and not the stupid, low-effort, blurry ones dazai sends; okay, they’re usually blurry, but, like, high-quality blurry because his phone camera is perfect. ugh. oh, and they’re probably low-effort too, but— but not really. since somehow they’re always so pretty. of course, chuuya always immensely regrets sending them once he’s sober again, always threatens dazai to delete it from his side or whatever, threatens to take his phone, but dazai can’t, really, because chuuya’s beautiful and he hates it so much, hates it enough so that he’s printing the pictures out and keeping them in a folder full of chuuya dating back from when they were, maybe, sixteen or so, one of the few things he’d taken with him from the mafia, and he keeps them safely tucked away PURELYFORBLACKMAILPURPOSES he doesn’t actually look at them, he just—

okay maybe he does, but that’s beside the point. the point is that chuuya is also stupid and also sends stupid texts and pictures and dazai doesn’t respond to be petty (…but he does read them), and chuuya can’t call dazai a dumbass for his own texts (which are sent when he’s completely sober) when chuuya also sends stupid texts (when he’s really drunk)

… yeah

[eclips-moon]

Batboy's dating younger Reader headcanon

Hey y'all ! So this is my first time writing, please feel free to give your thoughts on the headcanon and if you want I would really appreciate some tips and advice :)

Tim Drake (Robin/Red Robin)

Protective AF: Tim would be a bit obsessed with keeping you safe, like... he already has a big brother vibe, so dating someone younger turns that into overdrive. He’s always checking on you, making sure you’ve eaten, got home safe, etc. Dude’s basically your life manager.

Super Respectful: He would NEVER cross any boundaries, especially knowing that you’re younger. He’s all about giving you space to grow at your own pace, while quietly supporting you from the sidelines.

Overachiever mode: Expect random gifts like "I did your homework for you" or "I hacked into the school system, and you’re now top of the class." He’d be lowkey smug about it but also super sweet, blushing when you thank him.

Jason Todd (Red Hood)

The Rebel with a soft spot: Jason? He’ll tease you about being younger, throwing around nicknames like "kid" or "baby" just to rile you up, but deep down, he’s got this protective instinct that runs DEEP. Anyone messes with you? They're about to meet Red Hood.

Conflicted feelings: Jason’s probably the most worried about the age gap. He’s already got a lot of self-doubt, so he’s constantly overthinking whether he's bad for you or if you deserve better. You’d have to reassure him that you’re all in, age difference and all.

Gentle Giant moments: Under all that sarcasm and tough exterior, Jason’s a softie. When you’re alone, he’s way more affectionate than you’d expect—always making sure you’re okay, wrapping you up in his leather jacket when you’re cold, stuff like that. He has this big-brother energy but romantic vibes creep in, making it all the more intense.

Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Mr. Charming: You think the age difference bothers him? Nah. Dick’s the smooth talker of the Batfam, and he’ll joke about being your "wise older boyfriend," but he takes the relationship seriously.

Casual PDA King: He’s super affectionate. Always sneaking in little kisses on your forehead, holding your hand, or pulling you into his lap when you’re both chilling. He’d lowkey treat you like you’re the most precious person in his world.

Big Brother Mode Activated: Being the oldest of the Batboys, he’s super used to looking after younger siblings. This means he’ll also be extra watchful of you, even when you don’t realize it. He won’t overstep, but his protective side would slip through when he thinks you’re not noticing.

Damian Wayne (Robin)

Denial City: Damian hates admitting he cares for you at first because you’re younger. He’s probably the most resistant to the idea of romance. He’d tell himself (and you) that you’re too immature or inexperienced for a relationship... but his actions say otherwise.

Tsundere Vibes: He’ll brush off anything romantic at first. Compliments? "Tt, don’t be ridiculous." But then he’ll turn around and make sure no one else gets too close to you. If anyone flirts with you, they're getting the classic Damian death glare.

Secret Softie: Eventually, he’d accept his feelings, and when he does, he’s surprisingly thoughtful. Damian may not say "I love you" often, but he shows it through his actions—whether it's training with you, sharing his books, or letting you sit in on his quiet moments with his pets.