#What is an solid-state drive

[wli2cllmm]

https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/semiconductors--memory--storage--nand-drive/xr17v352ib113-f-maxlinear-3662145

SSD internal hard drive, storage device, programmable flash memory, memory card

XR17V352 Series 31.25 Mbps 3.3 V High Performance Dual PCI Express UART-FBGA-113

[pagesofkenna]

if i ever DO decide to move to the midwest, or just generally the US east, which is where the midwest is, ive got to start an influencer-style shortform video series where i try out non-Californian things for the first time from an extremely Californian-perspective

[thirteens-earring]

oh another backup thing I’ve learned this year is that external hard drives are like tiny now ?? and way more affordable than you probably think. like you can get a kingston terabyte SSD that fits in your palm for under $100

[anomalouscorvid]

dearly love my computer obviously but she tests my patience so often

[babsaros]

do you guys even realize how magic computers are

[vacuously-true]

Say you want to make a map of the US. Like, you want to color in a map of the US to indicate certain properties like income or elevation or whatever. So you go online and find a map to color in. And there's never a perfect one. There's always something difficult about each one. I got sick of that shit and made a map without the problems that have been driving me insane for years. Presenting, my maximally manipulable US map!

This map doesn't show anything in particular but exists for you to use it to show whatever you need to, with minimal headaches! As the name says, its goal is to be manipulable.

Features:

Crisp lines, solid colors, easy to fill in with the paint bucket

Clearly labeled with postal abbreviations

Labels do not touch each other or borders

State labels are unaffected by the paint bucket hitting the surrounding land, so you don't need to fill in holes in letters

State labels can be removed and replaced with whatever you need

No tiny land masses that you miss with the paint bucket, most states can be filled with one paint bucket and the ones that can't have large pieces to avoid missing them

Territories included in case you need them for your map, but easy to remove as well

Easy to add background or move pieces around to add text

Probably other stuff too idk I'm making this post several weeks after making the map so I've forgotten some of what went into it

I hope this is useful to folks because I spent hoursssss on it but that's fine, it's already been useful to me :)

[hoshigray]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐧' 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 | nanami kento

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: werewolf! Nanami x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - heat/rut cycles - masturbation (m! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - clitoral play - mating press position - breeding kink - unprotected sex (psa: wrap the willy, you sillies!) - knotting - biting/love bites - first he's sweet, then he's a bit feral - pet names (angel, baby, honey, my love, sweetpea, sweetie) - mention of cum, and spit/drool.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.9k

Nanami Kento, your stoic, judicious, respectable, and attentive husband, is a werewolf. It is a fact that might sound exciting on the outside, yet it is quite a hassle for the blonde to go through. Despite that, he ensures he cares for his partner and their needs because you, his beautiful lover, are his priority.

“—Ahhhck, ohhhfuckkk!! Harder, Ken, hardeeerr!!”

…Until his ruts kick the door, and he’s wired to fuck your brains out. 

Imagine it, right? Nanami’s been under the motions of his rut for hours, and it’s been going cataclysmically unpleasant. We’re talking very long – excruciatingly long – hours of writhing under the blanket of his horniness. Bad enough that he’s called off work for two days straight, writhing and sweating in his sheets because his head is pounding nonstop, pushing his face deep into the pillow because it hurts to think, and the tent of his sweatpants becoming more and more solid with every whiff of your scent on his bed.

You. That’s all he can think about; it’s like a necessity. Fair-colored eyebrows knitted together tightly the more he sniffs your scent off the pillow, messy bed hair sticking to sweat the more he squirms and trails a hand down to his raging boner. Choked groans slip out his lips as he fists himself, the friction becoming faster and stronger as his wish to be here beside him propels his heartbeat to leave him winded.

“Hahhhfuck…baby…” he says your name in a blurry haze, memories flaunting pictures of you to worsen his drive. The grip on his dick goes firmer, to and fro, from the crown of his glans to the base and top of his ballsack. All he wants right now is for you to be closer, to kiss, to suck, to bite, to mate — to breed.

“Kenny, baby, I’m home!” And just like that, his prayers are answered. “I brought some food on my way back!”

He can hear you by your footsteps waltzing around the apartment, your scent becoming pungent and seeping from under the bedroom door, adding more fuel to aggravate the fog in his head. His teeth are clenched, strokes are rampant, and a spot on his grey sweats is dampening. 

“Babe, you here?” You draw near the room, knocking on the door before opening it. “Ohh, Kento—Oh!!” Of course, you walked in on him in a vulnerable state, already throwing apologies his way and turning your heel back. “Sorry! I didn’t know you were—“

“No, n-no, it’s okay,” he stammers, and you halt. “Please, sweetie…I need your help here.”

Your lips flatten at the plea; the way he borderline begs for your participation pulls a chord. You silently close the door, taking soft steps to the bed before sitting on the mattress. Your spouse-in-heat pulls his sweatpants down to his ass for his length to spring out, erect and angry to be used.

There is slight diffidence in your hands until Nanami pulls yours to switch; your breath hitches at the contact of his glans on your palm. Nanami hisses as your cold fingers curl around his shaft; the contrast of the temperature as you glide up and down forces his thighs to quirk. “Ahhh, yess, yes, my love,” he melts under your touch, subtly bucking his hips to your tempo.

“Holy shit…” the sight of his precum slipping out of the urethra and trailing down and slipping under your fingertips makes you chew your lip. “It’s that bad?” Your husband nods. “What you need, baby?”

He grabs for your shirt with a vicious grip as you keep stroking his pulsing dick, and you gulp thickly. “You,” he says lowly. “I need you. Right now.”

And just like the lovely and pleasing person you are, you allow him to have his way with you.

Stripped off your pants and panties, your legs spread apart by his hands, a dominant hold on the back of your knees as he pushes them to your chest, and your cunt is bare for him to ravish. He’s fucking hungry for you, his tongue practically glued to your labia and swishing around to collect your slick. Sounds of intense slurps on your vulva can be heard, pushing his face deep for his nose to brush up on your clitoris while he drinks your come. You moan aloud, a sharp cry as he flicks his wet muscle on your bud, encircling around it. 

“Ohhh, hoohh…!” You grip the sheets beneath you as he sucks on your peal after spitting on it. “Fuck, Kentooo, wait a—Nnmm!”

“Hnnmm…Mmpah, shit, you taste so good, baby,” he mutters before lapping on your clip lazily, and you throw your head to the pillow. “Smell so good, too…” Nanami returns his mouth to your opening, wet with your liquids and his saliva, coursing his tongue again to pervade through your sensitive flesh. And he pushes the muscle into your slit, and you jerk upwards.

“—Mmm, Kento, stooop!” Trembling legs fail to muster out of his grip. “I caaan’t; I just came already…!!” He pushes his tongue to and fro, fucking you with every push and sucking in more of your nectar to coat his tastebuds. Your nerves have already spiked thanks to your orgasm prior, yet your partner continues to double you down to a whimpering mess. 

He places chaste kisses on your privates, then substitutes his mouth with a swift insert of his middle finger. He already has you wailing from the digit wiggling inside. Fuck, you looked so cute. 

You nearly choke on the spit as his middle finger grazes against your vaginal walls. “—Fuuuck, Kenn’, don’t, I’m too sensi—“ 

“I know, honey,” he coos while his finger pleases you to the knuckle, secretly teasing his ring finger before you gasp sharply at the insertion. Now, two digits push and pull your innards, venturing knuckles-deep to erupt more uncontrollable moans to fly out your mouth. “But I gotta have you ready for me.”

“…B-But I am readyyy!!” Your words slur unintentionally; damn his fingerwork! “I want iiit; I want you so bad!”

“What’s that? What do you want?” He teases with a grin on your clitoris with his thumb; he knows what you want – the exact thing he needs right now. It’s just better when you say it.

“Kento, please! Fuck me!” you beg with glossy eyes. “Fill me up, ‘kay? Make me all fat and full tonight…!”

God, did he love to hear you say it, quivers crawling up his spine as he removes his fingers to suck on. What you said was all he needed to hear; he was going to fuck you regardless, but you have no idea how much he needed to dump every bit of him into you. 

And the moment his dick slips inside your tightness, the last piece of his persistence is thrown out the window.

Animalistic — for lack of a better term — is how Nanami is during his cycle. It’s not something you’re unfamiliar with based on prior intimate moments, but during times like this, it’s nothing but. It’s evident in the way he has you right now, with your legs propped to your chest and his fat cock stuffed inside your wet chasm.

Under Nanami’s bow, you lie on the receiving end of your husband’s inexorable pace. The moment the blonde man added the tip of his cock to your warmth, he gave in to his inner desires. He snapped his hips so hard and fast that your entire frame rippled with his harsh movements, not giving you time even to breathe, nearly choking on your spit.

Sounds of skin slapping against each other go louder by the second, and he moans aloud to add to the chaos of the bedroom. Jesus, fuck, you felt so fucking good! So snug and warm, so suitable for his aching dick, which he’s been drilling into your slit already stuffed with his come, filling your womb after two previous rounds. But it wasn’t enough from how much kept coming out from every push; he needed to fuck you — he needed to knot you! 

“Shiiit, shit—Hnnngh!” The way your vaginal walls keep clamping him is enough to snatch his soul. “Damn, this is crazy…!”

“Ahhh, ahhhhh, ohh!” Your cries grow squeakier, Nanami’s fat girth grazing your sweet spots easily. “Ohhhhyesss, keep fucking meeee….Harder, hardeeerr!”

Oh, you’re such a bad influence telling him that, kindling the fair-headed man’s primal desire to fuck you loose by rutting into you with increased speed and strength and frequent pokes to your cervix cause you to howl. “Yeahhh, you like that, angel? Like when I fuck the shit out of my pussy like this?” You were twitching like crazy as he growled those words to you; fuck yeah, you liked it – no, LOVED it.

“Yessss, babyy!!” Your expression was so fucked out, drool coming down from your puffy lips slide to your cheek. This position leaves you utterly submissive to Nanami like some breeding toy. It was pathetically euphoric! “Ohhhhh, fuck, more, gimme moree…!!”

“More?” God, he can feel it, his pacing going astronomically slower as he thrusts into you, and the way you whine at the abrupt change sends shivers. “Want me to bust my load again, my love?” You nodded frantically; fuck, you were so cute. “Want me to fill you up so bad so you can give me pups, huh?”

The more he talked, the more your excitement dialed. He then comes to your neck to lick and place a bite to your glands, and you shrill. “Yesss, yesss!! Stuff m’e up, make me fat with y’r babies, Kennyyy!!”

Holy fucking shit, his head pounds harder, elicits more loving bites, and he sneaks a hand to swipe your clitoris erratically. “Nnmm, fuck…Knot, I need’ta knot…!”

“Give it ‘o meee, Kento!!” You’re sure you sounded ridiculous, yet there’s no care in sight. Everything felt too good and right. “Gimme y’ur knot, baby, I want it, I want iiit…!”

That’s all you need to say before Nanami crashes his hungry lips onto yours and returns his hip to a jackhammering motion. Your tongue swirls with his, eyes rolling up with more hits to your womb while he sucks on your tongue wantonly. Grinds up against your G-spot has you squeezing him like no tomorrow, and you cry aloud as you sense something inside your inner channel expands. 

The base of Nanami’s penis inflates, the limb swelling up within your wetness and stays locked inside your cunt as he continues to piston himself into you as deep as he can. The more you scream into his mouth, the harder he ruts into you until the fated and desired reaction comes to rattle you both. 

Nanami ejaculates into you for the third time that night, padding your insides with more of his white, sticky, and thick jizz while the waves of his orgasm trap him in a state of elation. You come with him, wailing into the passionate kiss as your lower body quivers in its soreness, the walls of your vagina fluttering around the length in a sporadic pattern until your muscles gradually transition to rest. 

The knot keeps your lover inside you for a bit longer, even after Nanami’s done filling you up to the brim. But it doesn’t matter; your unionized state allows the both of you to spend this clarity together, kissing and tittering sweetly within your shared proximity.

“Make me a mama, Kento,” you whisper with a soft kiss on his sunken cheek.

And Nanami smiles breathlessly; the thought of you and a future pup to liven his happy little family swoons his heart with gladness.

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ⊹ transparent edit made by me + dividers from @animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[sunshineangel0]

-late night adrenaline.. ☾

pairing– han jisung x reader summary– after a suffocating day, the walls start closing in, and you need an out. so, naturally, you show up at jisung’s doorstep in the middle of the night, throwing your car keys at him. fast cars. empty roads. music so loud it rattles through your bones. it’s supposed to help, supposed to clear your head. but nothing—not the speed, not the wind whipping past—drowns out the fact that jisung sees right through you. genre– friends to lovers, slow burn, high tension, late night recklessness word count– 2.5k warnings– mentions of stress/overwhelm, dangerous levels of tension, reckless driving, suppressed feelings finally snapping, intense first kiss, mutual pining, jisung being unfairly attractive while behind the wheel. a/n- so. i wrote this yesterday evening after a fight with my boyfrined so it may be a litle angsty (sorry). hope you enjoy it anyways babes. also, i accidentally published this on the wrong acc, so here is take number two.

It’s one of those nights—an unbearable weight of stress compresses against your chest, squeezing your ribs until breathing feels like a challenge. The walls of your apartment seem to inch closer, threatening to swallow you whole, while your thoughts clamor noisily in your head, refusing to quiet down. Restlessness buzzes beneath your skin, making it impossible to stay put.

You don’t even know where to start.

It’s everything. All at once.

You're drowning in work, deadlines looming ominously, the weight of responsibility pressing down like an unyielding vice. Each task you complete seems to multiply into three more, a relentless cycle that leaves you questioning if you'll ever catch up. No matter how hard you push yourself, it's never quite enough.

Then there's your personal life—an entangled mess you can't quite face. Texts go unanswered, calls are ignored, plans canceled because the thought of dealing with people feels insurmountable. Everyone seems to want something from you, pulling you apart in every direction, leaving you utterly exhausted.

And then there's Han.

Han, your best friend, the one you've secretly loved for five long years. Han, who never demands but somehow intensifies your turmoil just by being there—those dark, knowing eyes seeming to peer into your very soul, hearing what you never dare to say. Han, who dates other girls but never really commits, leaving you in a limbo of hope and despair. Han, who treats you like you're something more but never takes that crucial step.

You're caught in a whirlwind of exhaustion and restlessness, feeling on the brink of breaking apart. The thought of staying still for even a moment longer is unbearable, yet moving forward seems just as impossible. You're torn, unsure if confronting these feelings will bring relief or only deepen the chaos.

So you do the only thing you can think of.

You grab your keys and go.

Fifteen minutes later, you find yourself standing at Jisung's doorstep, your heart hammering violently against your ribs as your knuckles strike the solid wood with a desperate urgency, defying the screaming impulse to flee. The door bursts open, and there stands Jisung, blinking in bewilderment, his expression an electrifying blend of confusion and intrigue as he absorbs your chaotic state—hair whipped into a frenzy by the wind, eyes blazing with intensity. Without uttering a single word, you hurl your car keys toward him with a flick of your wrist, the silence between you thick with unspoken tension.

He arches an eyebrow but catches them effortlessly, his fingers curling around the cool metal. “Uh… hello to you too?” he says, a hint of amusement tinged with concern in his voice.

“No talking. Just get in,” you demand, your voice edged with urgency and an undercurrent of something raw and restless, like a storm about to break. It sends a shiver down his spine, an electric charge in the air.

For a second, he hesitates, his eyes lingering on your tense figure. Not because he doesn’t want to follow—he always does—but because he can almost see the crackling energy swirling around you like a brewing storm. Your fingers twitch restlessly at your sides, like a coiled spring ready to snap, as if you're on the verge of punching something or bolting out the door. Jisung exhales sharply, the sound slicing through the charged air, then he snatches his hoodie from the couch and trails after you without another word.

The cityscape blurs by in a muted rush as you speed along the highway. The usual city noise is subdued, reduced to a low hum as streetlights streak past like scattered stars, casting brief, glowing halos through the car windows. Jisung grips the steering wheel firmly, his knuckles pale in the dim glow, driving with his signature style—quick and efficient, yet with a touch of caution. Normally, he's in control, but tonight there's a different energy in the air.

The car's speakers thrum with heavy bass, each beat pulsing through the seats, merging with the thunderous growl of the engine. It creates a cocoon of sound that isolates you both from the world outside, intensifying the charged atmosphere inside the vehicle. The faint scent of leather mingles with the crisp night air that sneaks in through the slightly open windows, carrying a hint of something almost smoldering, like the promise of something about to ignite.

"Drive faster," you urge, your voice barely cutting through the blaring music

. Jisung casts a quick glance at you, his jaw set. "Y/N, I'm already pushing almost 100 miles per hour,"

he snaps, his tone fraught with urgency. But you fire back instantly, your words sharp and impatient, "Clearly, it's not enough."

“Y/N, for God's sake, what’s going on? What the hell happened?” H

His voice quivers with raw concern as his knuckles turn white, gripping the steering wheel with a desperate intensity.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, your eyes fixed on the blur of landscape racing by, your voice a ghostly whisper.

“No, you’re not,” he presses, his brow furrowed and his eyes wide, filled with alarm. “You just told me to go faster when we’re already tearing through the speed limit. Are you trying to get us killed?”

"I'm fine, Jisung. I just need to clear my head, that's all," you insist, your voice strained, struggling to sound convincing.

Jisung’s gaze remains locked on you, worry etched deep into his features. "Tell me what’s wrong, or I’m pulling over," he demands, his voice a mix of firmness and gentle resolve.

You feel the tension in your body as your fingers curl tighter around the worn fabric of your jeans. You turn your head slowly to look at him. The streetlights whip past, casting sharp, fleeting shadows across his face. You can see the way his jaw is set, the hard line of his determination. His knuckles are white, gripping the steering wheel with a force that betrays his worry.

"Keep driving," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a while, he obliges. The car speeds down the highway, the engine humming beneath the loud, rhythmic thump of the music that fills the space between you. It’s a familiar escape—driving too fast, the music too loud, pretending the weight of your thoughts is just a whisper in the wind. But eventually, the car slows, and Jisung pulls over onto the gravel shoulder, the tires crunching softly beneath you. The engine idles quietly, and the night air seeps in through the cracked window, cool and expectant.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just shifts the car into park with a soft click and leans back against the seat, eyes fixed on the empty stretch of asphalt ahead. The silence is suffocating, a heavy blanket smothering all other sounds. Outside, the world feels frozen in time—only the gentle hum of cicadas fills the air, and the distant, sporadic flicker of neon signs from a lonely gas station punctuates the night.

Inside the car, the tension is palpable, thick enough to make breathing a struggle. Jisung remains motionless, his fingers gripping the steering wheel as if preparing for an unseen collision. The music plays softly in the background, a faint, steady rhythm that fails to distract from the oppressive weight of the unspoken words hanging heavily between you.

You can feel his gaze on you, a palpable weight that you choose to ignore. Your forehead leans against the cool, misted surface of the window, and your eyes are fixed on the dark horizon stretching beyond the highway.

But then—

"Y/N."

His voice is quiet, yet there's a sharpness to it, like a blade edge barely concealed beneath a velvet sheath. There's something raw, something unyielding in the way he says your name. You swallow hard, feeling the dryness in your throat. “What?”

Jisung lets out a sudden, frustrated breath, his hands finally loosening their tight grip on the steering wheel. He shifts in his seat, turning his body slightly towards you, determination etched into his posture. “Look at me.”

You hesitate, your fingers tracing the seam of your jeans. The seconds stretch, filled with the hum of the engine and the rhythmic thump of the tires against the road.

He waits.

When you finally muster the courage to turn, his eyes—dark and intense—are pinned to you with a force that makes your chest constrict. He looks at you as though he's peeling back every layer, seeing through every flimsy excuse, every half-hearted "I'm fine" you've ever tossed his way. His gaze says he already knows the truth, but he's patiently waiting for you to find the strength to voice it yourself.

But you can’t.

You don’t know how.

So you do what you do best. You deflect.

"You didn’t have to pull over," you murmur, shifting your gaze to the dashboard, anywhere but him. "I just needed to—"

"Needed to what?" His voice is quiet, but there’s a bite to it, something pressing, something fraying at the edges. "Race through the city like you’re running from something? Pretend like you’re fine when you’re clearly about to break?"

Your breath catches. “I don’t need you to fix me, Ji.”

His jaw tightens. “I never said I did.”

The words sit between you like an open wound, bleeding, aching.

You close your eyes for a second, inhaling deeply. The night air slips through the barely-open window, but it does nothing to cool the heat creeping up your neck. The words slice through the space between you, raw and aching, like an open wound that neither of you have the strength to ignore anymore.

And then Jisung shifts closer. Not much. Just enough for you to feel it. And suddenly, the space between you feels unbearably small. His presence a slow-burning fire licking at your edges. Jisungs hand lifts, hesitant at first, before his fingers ghost over yours, a barely-there touch that sends something electric racing up your spine. You freeze. His thumb brushes lightly against the back of your hand, tracing slow, aimless circles. It’s soft. It’s careful. But somehow, it feels louder than the pounding of your heart, louder than the music still humming in the background.

“Just tell me,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. "Whatever it is, I can take it."

His words wrap around your ribs, tightening. You want to tell him. You want to tell him that it’s not just the stress, not just the deadlines or the exhaustion or the way the world keeps demanding more from you. It’s him. It’s always been him. It’s the way he’s been your constant for five years, the way he’s the only person who can read you like an open book. It’s the way he looks at you—like you matter, like you belong, like you’re his even if he’s never said the words. It’s the way he’s never crossed the line, but he’s always stood so damn close to it that you’ve spent years wondering if he ever would. It’s five years of wanting, five years of aching, five years of pretending that this friendship is enough. It’s the unbearable ache of wanting him.

And suddenly, the air inside the car is too thick, too heavy.

You don’t think. You don’t second-guess. You just move.

Before either of you can process it, your hands are tangling in the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him closer. Jisung barely has time to react before your lips crash into his— messy, burning, rough and desperate, a wildfire consuming everything in its path. With something neither of you are ready to name.

He makes a sound—soft, surprised—but then he’s gripping. The sound swallowed by the way he presses you closer. One hand tangles into your hair, fingers threading through the strands, tilting your head back just enough for him to deepen the kiss. The other finds your waist, curling tight, pulling you closer like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

The kiss is nothing like you imagined. It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s reckless—like an open flame. It’s adrenaline and burning rubber on pavement and breaking every unspoken rule. It’s five years of tension snapping in an instant, five years of stolen glances and almosts unraveling between his teeth. It’s the taste of midnight air and unspoken confessions, the kind of kiss that leaves no room for doubt.

When you finally pull away, both of you breathless and wide-eyed, the world outside feels eerily still, as if it, too, is holding its breath.

Jisung stares at you, lips parted, eyes dark and stormy. His chest rises and falls heavily, like he’s struggling to process what just happened.

And then—

Jisung exhales sharply, a breathless sound that’s half-laugh, half-disbelief. He drags a hand through his already-messy hair, his fingers tangling at the roots as if he needs something to ground himself. His lips are still parted, kiss-swollen, the ghost of your touch lingering there like an unanswered question.

"Holy shit."

Your hands remain clenched in the fabric of his hoodie, knuckles white, as if releasing him means accepting the weight of what just happened. Your pulse is a violent drum against your ribs, your lungs burning like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

"Yeah."

The word barely escapes, a whisper carried away by the hush of the night.

Silence stretches between you, no longer suffocating but something else entirely—something that crackles, something that waits. The only sound is the steady tick of the cooling engine, the soft hum of the radio playing a song neither of you are really hearing. The air in the car has thickened, charged with something electric, something inevitable.

Jisung is staring at you, his gaze dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling in uneven waves. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and you follow the movement, pulse jumping, skin prickling. His eyes flicker down to your mouth again—once, twice—before dragging back up, locking onto yours.

And that’s when you realize.

You don’t regret it.

Not even for a second.

His fingers twitch against his thigh, and before you can think, his hand moves—slow, tentative, yet deliberate. The rough pad of his thumb brushes against the back of your hand, tracing lazy circles, sending a shiver rippling through your entire body. It’s nothing, barely a touch—but it’s everything.

You exhale shakily, the sound catching in your throat, your grip finally loosening on his hoodie. He notices. Of course, he does.

Jisung’s lips part, his voice low, careful. “So… do we talk about this, or do I just keep driving?”

His tone is light, teasing, but there’s a slight waver to it—an edge of hesitation, a quiet vulnerability that tugs at something deep inside you.

Your breath hitches. Your heartbeat stumbles, then picks up again, harder, faster.

You could talk about it. You could dissect every moment, lay everything out on the table, risk everything you’ve built with him over the last five years. But the thought of breaking this fragile, raw moment terrifies you.

Instead, you bite your lip, eyes never leaving his.

"Drive," you murmur.

Then he spoke. Softer, deadlier—"But don’t you dare run from this." The smirk that tugs at his lips is slow, almost dangerous—like he knows exactly what youre about to say. Like he’s daring you to hold him to it. His fingers tighten slightly around yours, a promise, a warning, a silent challenge.

"Not a chance." you whisper.

And then, just like that, he’s moving.

The engine growls back to life, the soft rumble vibrating through your seat. Jisung’s hands find the wheel again, steady now, but his knuckles are still faintly pale, his pulse still erratic beneath his skin. The car eases back onto the highway, tires rolling smoothly over the asphalt, but the energy inside the vehicle has irrevocably changed.

The city lights blur past, neon reflections casting shifting patterns over his skin. You watch him out of the corner of your eye—the sharp angle of his jaw, the tension still coiled in his shoulders, the way his fingers tap absently against the wheel like he’s thinking, processing, feeling.

You exhale, letting your head drop back against the seat, the adrenaline still humming through your veins.

Outside, the world rushes past in a blur of midnight hues.

Inside, the two of you are no longer just running.

This time, you know exactly where you’re headed.

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗗𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗞𝗟𝗬, 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗟𝗬 lando norris x friend! fem! reader (fluff) fic summary . . . After going out with lando to a club for funsies and drinks, the Brit's jealousy kicks in after someone tries to hit on you, which somehow finally leads to your first kiss.

( my master list | more of lando norris ) ( requests )

He was drunk. Horribly drunk.

A dreamy smile stretched across his face as you wiped the blood trickling from his nose, his head constantly tilting in your grip as you tried—without much success—to restore some semblance of dignity after the fight he just started and promptly lost.

See, your friend Lando got jealous. Ridiculously, stupidly jealous. And his jealousy didn’t mix well with the copious amount of alcohol he’d consumed. So when the guy you were chatting with dared to wrap a hand around your waist, Lando happily shoved his way through the crowd of dancing bodies to wedge himself between you and the other guy, pushing him off and throwing the first punch.

It did not end well for him.

Lando wasn’t built for fistfights—Fortnite and COD, maybe. Driving? Absolutely. But street fighting? Not a chance. One uppercut later, and he was out cold on the floor. And you, being the ever-loyal, ever-angelic friend, had no choice but to take his side. A well-placed kick to the groin and a solid punch later, you ended the fight.

Now, because you were such a good friend, you found yourself hauling his sorry, bleeding self to the club’s bathroom, plopping him on the counter so you could patch him up. At the very least, he needed to be in a presentable enough state to leave without anyone capturing the moment on video. F1 Twitter was already chaotic enough without footage of a bloodied Lando Norris surfacing. The cars needed to go racing—what would the fans do if they weren’t busy debating whether or not Lando was secretly vaping while pregnant? (Which, if men could get pregnant, Lando would surely be the first.)

“I bet you wouldn’t kiss me,” Lando blurted out suddenly, smiling up at you like the lost puppy he was.

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes.

He let out a loud laugh, arms lazily wrapping around your waist as he pulled you in, resting his chin on your chest and gazing up at you with that classic no-thoughts-head-empty expression.

“This is drunk Lando speaking,” he announced, promptly letting out a burp. You glanced up at the ceiling, hoping for divine intervention—or at the very least, an angel laughing at him and not at you.

“And as drunk Lando, I’m very angry at you,” he continued.

“You don’t look angry,” you countered, taking in his dopy, grinning face.

“I am very angry,” he insisted, shaking his head before nuzzling against you, eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh no, I wonder why?” you deadpanned, threading your fingers through his curls. That only made him squeeze you tighter, his grip firm but entirely affectionate.

“Because you let other guys touch you,” he muttered, voice muffled against you. “And you were talking to that guy. And you know I like you, but you still talked to the guy and let him touch you.”

You opened your mouth, but before you could say anything, he added, “I wanna touch you too. In a respectful, demure way.”

“Lando, don’t say demure.”

“Demure.” He huffed, just to spite you, swinging his legs where he sat on the counter like a child. “I’m just saying, I’ve been waiting in line longer, and I didn’t even get to do my elevator pitch yet—”

You cut him off, cupping his face and tilting it up before kissing him. Just to shut him up.

Lando melted instantly, hands fisting the fabric of your dress as he tried to pull you even closer, as if you weren’t already pressed against him.

When you finally pulled back, you smirked. “You owe me… I don’t know what yet. But you lost the bet. I kissed you.”

Lando just stared up at you, dazed—his smile completely wiped away, lips parted, eyes flickering to your lips again.

It was like you had just fried his last brain cell.

[commodorez]

Zoomer here, and I do indeed have questions about computers- how do filesystems work, and why should we care (I know we should, but I'm not exactly sure why)?

So why should we care?

You need to know where your own files are.

I've got a file on a flash drive that's been handed to me, or an archival data CD/DVD/Bluray, or maybe it's a big heavy USB external hard drive and I need to make a copy of it on my local machine.

Do I know how to navigate to that portable media device within a file browser?

Where will I put that data on my permanent media (e.i. my laptop's hard drive)?

How will I be able to reliably find it again?

We'll cover more of the Why and How, but this will take some time, and a few addendum posts because I'm actively hitting the character limit and I've rewritten this like 3 times.

Let's start with file structure

Files live on drives: big heavy spinning rust hard drives, solid state m.2 drives, USB flash drives, network drives, etc. Think of a drive like a filing cabinet in an office.

You open the drawer, it's full of folders. Maybe some folders have other folders inside of them. The folders have a little tab with a name on it showing what's supposed to be in them. You look inside the folders, there are files. Pieces of paper. Documents you wrote. Photographs. Copies of pages from a book. Maybe even the instruction booklet that came with your dishwasher.

We have all of that here, but virtualized! Here's a helpful tree structure that Windows provides to navigate through all of that. In the case of Windows, it's called Explorer. On OSX MacOS, the equivalent is called Finder.

I don't have to know where exactly everything is, but I have a good idea where thing *should* based on how I organize them. Even things that don't always expose the file structure to you have one (like my cellphone on the right). I regularly manually copy my files off of my cellphone by going to the Camera folder so I can sift through them on a much bigger screen and find the best ones to share. There are other reasons I prefer to do it that way, but we won't go into that here. Some people prefer to drag and drop, but that doesn't always work the same between operating systems. I prefer cut and paste.

Standby for Part 2!

[kleopatra45]

Moon in the Houses of D9 Chart

1st House

When the Moon occupies the first house of your D9 chart, feelings become the driving force in establishing your identity. What you seek in a partner is someone who understands your need to feel things deeply and does not stifle or shun your emotions. This makes for a spouse who is most likely instinctive and sensitive to your moods. They may ease your self-soothing pursuits, providing solid support and peace of mind merely in their presence. You will be able to explore how relationships enhance your self-perception, and together with this individual, you will be at ease revealing the innermost layer of your identity. Prepare for someone who cares about your emotional state and pushes you to go beyond your limits.

2nd House

Possessing the Moon in the 2nd house indicates that the individual seeks a sense of stability and emotional containment within the constraints of relationships. Such a placement often indicates a spouse who prefers coziness, sameness, and pooling of possessions. They may have a serene down to earth personality that provides you with the peace and the assurance you need. The potential mate is most probably an individual who appreciates the need for anchor, perhaps more so one with a strong inclination towards creating a house and providing for the family. Somebody to help you build and maintain good foundations that impart a sense of security and encouragement within the connection and oneself.

3rd House

Having a Moon in the third house indicates a propensity towards relationships that are intellectually stimulating and characterized by plenty of dialogue. One requires a partner who is inquisitive, articulate, and emotionally available. Your spouse might resemble someone who loves talking about anything, serious topic or trivial, thus making you feel bonded by such verbal exchanges. They could be funny, artistic, or thirsting for knowledge and they will offer the mental and emotional challenge you seek. Conversations come easily with them, and you can anticipate enjoying the processes of learning, discovering, and creating with one another.

4th House

When the Moon occupies the Fourth House, one feels the intense craving for a warm and nurturing home which is laudable. Finding a mate who understands the importance of connections, heritages and emotions is the expectation. The potential mate is most probably one who derives satisfaction in the art of home making and prioritizes emotional connection with the propounded mate. Protective, and loving are some of the qualities that she possesses as well as ensuring that you are emotionally secure. It feels as if a fortress will be constructed, and more so, traditions and rituals will glue the two together. This deity will restore order and comfort within you as well as contentment with the relationship.

5th House

If the Moon occupies the fifth house, it implies that romance, creativity, and fun are significant features of your emotional life. You are more likely to attain a spouse with a certain innermost child, probably of a romantic, creative or an artistic nature. This individual will promote your self-expression and will aid in bringing active and playful dimensions to the relationship. Additionally, they might motivate you to explore your artist side after experiencing something beautiful together. This type of bond will have its share of play and leisure, and your wife will be very instrumental in helping you meet your emotional needs amidst love, laughter and various activities.

6th House

The Moon in the sixth house indicates that one has a craving for stability and constancy in any relationship. A spouse who pays attention to schedules, exercising and relies on the feeling of togetherness is required. Therefore, your prospective marriage partner is potentially disciplined, committed, and active in carrying on with her works— a spouse who plays an active role in sustaining their day to day activities. He might also urge you to create better habits and even assist you in bringing order in your life. This individual nurtures stability and peace within the everyday interactions of the couple and will carry you through the storms and rain with a warm embrace and unwavering affection.

7th House

The placement of the Moon in the seventh house indicates that such individuals have an emotional connection in most of their relationships and that they are inclined to believe that being in a partnership is the key to happiness. Such individuals probably seek a spouse who is loving, gentle, and responsive to them. Shisamba’s mate will most likely be the person who seeks symmetry and closeness in the relationship. This mate will know you instinctively and probably assist you in finding parts of yourself that you could not access by yourself. There will be a very intimate bond between the two of you and feelings of safety, respect, and fulfillment will be given to you in a way that is warm and affectionate.

8th House

With the Moon located in the 8th house, there can be a tendency for an individual to seek emotional depth, intimacy, and transformationalism in any relationship. A partner for this person is most likely to be someone with a dark, romantic and intense character. They may provoke your protective emotions, making you deal with your fears and weaknesses. They could be interested in something like working with the mind, the spirit, or the body, and they will encourage you to feel your buried emotions. Such a partner will not shy away from walking on the emotional deep end with you, hence, making the relationship very meaningful and healing as well. Together, you will experience love that is purging and liberating at the same time, through the process teaching you that there is strength in being vulnerable.

9th House

Having the Moon positioned in the ninth house indicates a profound joy in emotional pursuits of studies, travel or extensions in one’s views. A prospective life partner in due course will be a free-spirited and adventurous person who, most probably, belongs to a different culture or ideological setup. This person will promote your inquisitiveness, and urge you to seek answers about spiritual matters, or the big questions in life. This person allows for emotional growth in the relationship and also makes you feel bigger and better than before. It is with them that you will step out of the boundaries and gain lessons from experiences as well as from the internal spiritual quest.

10th House

With the Moon being positioned in the Tenth House, it suggests that you search for someone who will be a stabilizing force, enshrined in respect and potentially elevated social standing. This individual would apply themselves to the work at hand, fulfill commitments, and be dedicated to a cause. Such a person will be supportive of your work and ambitions, and together you will build a lifestyle that will be envied by many. They will help you maintain your public persona and assist you in integrating work and personal fulfillment. This bond will most likely have a beneficial and practical approach, where focus on joint results helps each feel secure emotionally.

11th House

If the Moon is positioned in the 11th house, one’s sense of belonging and emotional contentment are more inclined to friendships, group activities, and common objectives. You are most likely to marry someone who is rather liberal, social and broad-minded, probably someone in the field of charity or in a kind of teams’ work. They will push you to achieve your dreams and strive together with you for them, broadening the scope. This partner will be a confidant, who helps and motivates you to achieve desires that you both cherish. You will embark on a cause, and transform into a pair, inspiring and drawing strength from each other’s endeavors, while the relationship remains the area of comfort and cordiality.

12th House

When the Moon is placed in the twelfth house, it reflects an inclination toward spirituality and a desire to bond with one’s spouse on almost a mystical level. With this position, it can be assumed that one’s future spouse is likely to be an intelligent and kind-hearted person with creative or spiritual interests. They likely are soothing and serene by nature, encouraging you to examine the recesses of your mind. With them, you’ll be able to find emotional comfort, learning how to enjoy one’s company along with peace within oneself. This individual will assist in the loving exploration of more concealed layers of oneself, offering an unwavering love and primeval experience that is far from ordinary, and allowing for the appreciation of deeper, more occult dimensions of existence.

©️kleopatra45

[rebelssvy]

embarrassed

kageyama x reader

LABELS: smut, fingering.

-getting better i think!! still new to fic writing.

this is the most embarrassing thing ever. your boyfriend had just started fingering you and you had already cummed on his fingers.

you didn’t even know you were close untill all of the sudden the sensation was far to overwhelming and you were clawing at his wrist to stop.

but now here you were, a solid minute- ish into your sexual activies with you boyfriend and already drained.

you didn’t even want to know what he was thinking. he probably thought you were such a loser for that.

“oh my fuck” you heard him say out though a groan. you were so so so embarrassed!

you peaked up through your hands to find your boyfriends eyes trained on yours.

“i’m so sorry tobio. that’s so embarr-“ you started, before you could finish he cut you off.

“that was the hottest thing i’ve ever seen. do you think you could do it again?” he said with admiration. in his eyes there was somthing unrecognizable.

it was a passion, a drive to make you cum on his fingers again.

“i… i don’t know.” you stated.

before you could re- adjust yourself his fingers found his way into your cunt again.

“i’ll make you feel good i promise. just please let me make you feel good” he begged while pumping his in and out of you.

your back arched up off the bed, into his touch. your hands wandered looking for his wrists. it was too much! you just came already.

“you know you want it just let me fuck your cunt with my fingers” he said continuing his assault.

you moaned his words. there was a tone that you liked. he could say anything and it would turn you on.

“you liked that huh? felt you clench around my fingers.” he stated.

you moaned in response.

“t-tobi..oo.. i don’t know- how much more i can take.” you struggled out. trying to close your legs.

your weak attempt at stopping him was met with a stable grip on your thigh.

“shut up and just take it.” he curled his fingers into your gummy walls.

before you knew it, you snapped. moaning you to him. mumbling thank yous and sorrys to your boyfriend.

eventually taking his fingers out of you to then lick them clean.

your face felt hot. your body felt hot. everything was hot.

“told you it’d feel good” he said popping his fingers out of his mouth.

………………………………………………………………………………..

-# i love you kageyama

[gilverrwrites]

Toy Maintenance

Arkham Knight/Reader, 900 words Ft. Slade Wilson Kinktober entry 13: Interruption Warnings: Extremely dubious consent/non-con | implied/mentions of violence | bondage | gags | exhibitionism, sorta | a darker portrayal of Jason Requested by: Anonymous

“Oh, you poor baby. Does it hurt?” The eerily modulated voice of The Arkham Knight jeers at you from above. You’re not exactly sure what he’s referring to, but the answer is yes. Your very bones ache to their core after hours of use. Your wrists are cut from their metal bindings, knees scuffed from the hard floor. Your jaw stings from having your lips locked around a ring gang for such a long time, and you were beginning to fear he was right; your tight little cunt would never be the same again. Everything hurt.

Even as he teasingly slaps his cock between your slit, what should only sting a little, burns. “I asked you a question.”

To emphasise his impatience, he smacks a gloved hand on your already beaten ass, laughing that infuriating fucking laugh when you cry out in pain.

“Uhhh.” Your sob is distorted by the O-shaped piece of metal lodged between your teeth. “Yuush e hopts.”

“Awh.” He continues to mock as he slowly pushes his length inside your used up walls. The pace is not a kindness, you know he wants to feel every inch of it splitting tender walls. As he presses deeper inside, the cum from his previous exploits leaks out of your gaping hole. The wet sound of it escaping and dripping to the floor is absolutely vulgar. Once he bottoms out, he leans over your arched back, ensuring his tip sits snug against your cervix and getting close to your face. “I don’t care.”

The worst part is that once he starts driving into your raw and worked up pussy, ruthlessly snapping his hips at an animalistic speed; the pain is worth it. Just for that modicum of bittersweet pleasure. Even his foul-mouthed compliments and derogatory insults make your eyes roll back, and so he cracks wise at you all the more.

“God you’re pathetic.” He spits in response to your quiet sobs. He likes this angle because he knows he’s hitting that inner sweet spot that makes you crazy with every thrust. “Look at you, fucking loving it. You don’t know even know who I am. Do you?”

You’re shaking your head, scuffing your own cheek on the concrete floor when the door suddenly swings open and slams closed, a tall figure carrying a thick folder entering in between. The Knight doesn’t let up his unrelenting attack on your cunt, not even as the solider stops beside your rutting bodies, depositing the file on The Knights desk.

Up close you recognise him, specifically the two-done armour, and his singular, jarring eye. Deathstroke.

“When you hired me, I came on as a mercenary, not an errand boy.” He states bitterly. You can’t get a good look at him from your spot on the floor, but he seems to be watching your captor. It occurs to you that most would be attempting to cover their modesty about now, but The Knight isn’t done with you, so you remain still, enjoying the euphoric drag of his cock.

“Ohh, sorry, old man. Am I running you ragged?” The Knight replies, voice raspy from exertion but still acrid. Even more sour than it is with you, which you earnestly hadn’t thought possible.

“Not likely.” The merc deadpans. If you had the energy, you might have jumped when his masked head swiftly tilts to meet your eye.

He considers you for a moment before lifting his boot and lightly placing it on your shoulder. You don’t fight, The Knight has long since fucked that out of you. But for the first time since you’d been brought here, you wonder how you must look. Bruised and broken, face planted in a puddle of your own drool. How small and worthless you must seem.

With his foot, Deathstroke shakes your form, only briefly, grunting when you don’t respond and turning back to The Arkham Knight.

“You should take better care of your toys.” He says, chiding him like a father would a child. The Knight doesn’t take too kindly to his tone.

“Fuck off old timer, don’t tell me how to run my shit.” You howl in a twisted mix of relief and anguish as The Knight pulls out of you to get in Deathstroke face. “I got her just how I want her.”

“Is that right?” The older man snickers, his one eye falling back to you, it takes you a moment to register that his proceeding question is directed at you. “Far be it from us to have an opinion, huh girl?”

If or how you should respond is redundant, before you can muster any sound The Knight jams his finger in Deathstroke’s chest. “Do I pay you to have opinions? No, I pay you to do a fucking job. N- “

He cuts himself off mid-sentence, also looking over at you before the two masked men turn to face each other in tandem.

“Oh, I get it. You’re sniffing around because you want a piece.” Deathstroke scoffs in reply but doesn’t deny the accusation. Resolutely unbothered by The Knight’s impeachment of personal space.

Like a carrot on a stick, The Arkham Knight reaches down to you, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck and hauling you upright so that Deathstroke can get a better look at your naked body, cuts and bruises and all.

“Well get me some goddamn results, an’ I might let you take a turn.” You’re not sure how you feel about that, but you doubt your position on the matter will be considered. “But until then get the fuck outta my face.”

You will achieve great things, even though small steps.

Kinktober Masterlist

[neverendingford]

.

[itadodori]

#note: obsessive nanami with a breeding kink?? i think tf yes!

obsessed!nanami who necessarily doesn’t like to show how head over heels for you he is. he’s the type that likes to cover it up, keep it a secret just in case it creeps you out. however, he couldn’t very well hide his addiction to you when he was inches deep in you, thinking about changing both of your lives for the better.

he’s been begging to try for a baby for months now, and he was getting really fed up with your answers. you would always say yes but when it finally came down to it you’d make him pull out. what type of shit was that?

“so what d’ya say baby? gonna let me fill this pretty lil pussy up? give ya’ all my babies?” his hands flew to your hair, pulling it so hard that your head was forced back. you couldn’t even give him a solid answer with the state you were in.

not with the way his hips were snapping back and forth to meet yours, or the way his lips roughly sucked on your neck— leaving marks which were very well intended.

your shaky hands involuntary found their way to his stomach, trying to push the man out of you so you could catch some type of break.

“k..k..kento please! t’s too m..much i-“ your words were quickly cut off by him smacking your hand. you should’ve knew better honestly, he never liked when you tried to push him away, but that still didn’t stop you.

this time, you used your foot to try and push him away—but again.. you should’ve known better. as soon as he saw your leg move he was quick to slap your thigh, causing you to hiss and put it right back where he had them pinned.

“you didn’t answer my question princess.. can i?” now his thrusts were even faster than before, and he made sure to give your clit some extra attention as well, slowly teasing it by rubbing small circles around the throbbing bud.

now that was enough to drive you insane, nanami knew what he was doing, he always did. he was purposely trying to overstimulate you because he knew how easy you give into him when you’re in that state.

with curling toes, and a wide mouth you tried to escape from his grasp— well, more like you quite literally tried to run away from him.

you knew exactly what he was planning and you weren’t giving in that easily, that’s what you hoped at least.

his face fell into a frown when he realized your weak attempted to escape him, you did this every time the two of you had sex.. you could never last for longer than thirty minutes, and usually he would let you off the hook.. but this time, he had other plans.

when nanami finally got fed up of you trying to run, he became more serious. his touch was no longer passionate and steady, it was sloppy and rough.

the hand he was using to hold your legs up soon became the hand he used to grip your neck. it caught you off guard at first since he’d never done it before, but you soon became used to the feeling, and it only added to your pleasure.

“stop tryin’ to run from me. i told you about this before, keep it up and you just might get fucked up.” it was a small warning. the way his eyes locked with yours, and held that familiar gaze of seriousness, you knew he wasn’t fucking around.

you didn’t miss the way your pussy clenched tighter around him at his words, or the way you suddenly got the feeling to let him do whatever with you.

this time was different than all the other times you two had sex.. usually he wouldn’t be so— aggressive. not that you were complaining though.

you knew he was finally getting serious when he let go of the hold he had on your legs, what was he planning next? he pulled out of you without a word, and your face studied his for some type of answer.

confusion quickly took over your body, but you weren’t left confused for long.. nanami rocked his hips backwards before slamming back into you without any warning, continuing his previous goal.

the scream you let out was loud, all your neighbors most likely heard it too, probably wondering what the hell was going on.

nanami’s hands gripped on your waist, keeping you still since he knew you loved to fucking move, or better yet run. “what do you have to say to me, darling?”

“’m sorry baby— fuck! ‘m so sorry.” you had no choice but to stay still this time, you knew he wasn’t letting you get away again. even if you never really got away in the first place— he’d make sure you never thought about running from him (or his dick) again.

by this time nanami was already too far gone to listen to you. the way your pussy was squeezing around him like this, and sucking him in.. he couldn’t listen to you. not when he had a job to do.

the more your walls sucked him in, the more he felt his rationality slipping away. he couldn’t hold out much longer.. you knew he wanted kids from the beginning right? plus, it’s not like you didn’t want this. you told him yes many times before, so why not just get it over with already?

“pussy’s suckin’ me in so fuckin’ good princess, gonna fill you up real good. m..make your tummy all nice n’ round with my babies. fuck.. you’re gonna look so beautiful. tits all swollen and shit,”

his hand involuntarily came down to your stomach— carefully rubbing it as if there was a baby in there already.

you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on. just as you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to carry this man’s children.

feeling him rub on your stomach while mumbling such vulgar words.. it was enough to throw you over the edge.

“oh fuck ken! ‘m cumming baby, please ‘m gonna-” he pushed down on your lower stomach, knowing that’d be more than enough to get you where he wanted you.

without warning, liquid starting pouring out of you and it was only then that you realized it wasn’t just cum.. you had squirted. and because of that, nanami wasn’t too far behind you.

“yes mama, milk this shit. let me give it all to you.. this pretty lil pussy takin’ me so well- shit!” as you were still riding out your orgasm, he was right behind you, finally filling you up with the warm cum he’d been storing so long.. just for you.

“mm yes ken. wanna have all your babies, my love. give it to me please!” little did you know, he had a lot to give, poor guy had been waiting for this moment for years now. and it was finally here.

the two of you couldn’t keep quiet even when you both already finished cumming. nanami didn’t want to pull out, he wanted to stay buried inside of you forever. the feeling of your pussy gripping him was something he’d never get tired of.

sadly, he eventually did have to pull out. you kept fussing about wanting to go to sleep, and how you didn’t want to go to sleep with him inside of you because of what he did last time.

“fine, but before you go to sleep let me just..” he got on his knees, holding your legs up just like before but this time he had a clear view of your pussy. no, his pussy.

she looked so worn out, and even now she was still clenching around nothing— clearly missing the feeling of his dick. however, what peaked his interest most was his cum spilling out of you.

well we surely couldn’t have that, could we? what was the point of all that hard work if it was all just going to go to waste..

without a second thought he ran his fingers down your folds, lapping up all the liquids that were already spilling out, earning a low moan from you.

“w..what are you doing?”

he ignored your question— focusing on collecting all the spilled out cum purely with his bare hands. once he felt he’d done enough, he wasted no time plunging his fingers into you, pushing back all of the cum that tried escaping.

“go to sleep. im going to stay like this for a while, i don’t want a single drop wasted.”

all rights reserved ©itadodori ♡

[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 3

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, angst, humor, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, fluffier, SB being a nice and kind human, rewrite of a S3 scene, drinking, lots of daddy issues to unpack here 😂

Word Count: 7.3k

Posted on Patreon March 14, 2025

A/N: This is where the word count slowly began to crawl upwards from this point on. I never had the patience for descriptions, but I tried challenging myself more with it recently. Hopefully, you'll get the feeling and vibe of the mansion I was going for. Might I have overdone it a little? Maybe. But I hope you still enjoy the picture I was trying to paint here ☺️ ✨ Chapter title comes from Dinner at Eight (1933)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 3: I'm Going To Be a Lady If It Kills Me

The thick, plush leather seats of the Cadillac provided you with warmth, the heater working on overdrive to fend off the chill outside. As you passed through the rolling countryside of fancy suburbs, your gaze drifted out the window, snow swirling around the vehicle. Streetlights with icicles cast a warm, yellow glow on the road, the snow piling up in drifts around the edges.

The car glided past grand stone homes with icy window panes and leafless trees stretching heavenward before the sight of the biggest mansion on the street came into view. You had a feeling this was the place and swallowed thickly.

Jesus fuck, were you going to the mansion of the fucking Count of Monte Christo?

The wrought-iron gates then swung open on creaking hinges, framed by soaring stone pillars at the entrance, and opened to a long, imposing driveway. The mansion itself was a monument to another era with its stately presence, every inch of the house whispering of wealth and distinction. The façade was a patchwork of sandstone and intricate brickwork, crowned with arched, ornate windows. Much like its inhabitants, the mansion stood like a silent sentinel – stoic, intimidating, and cold against the winter’s breath.

Ben had remained quiet the whole drive, letting you enjoy the view in peace. But as the Cadillac came to a stop, he rounded the front of the car and hopped to your side, the soft crunch of his boots mingling with the low hum of the wind as he opened the door for you.

The soft glow of antique lanterns by the mansion’s entrance flickered in the breeze and beckoned you to step closer as you followed him to the stunningly carved, mahogany front door with slightly tarnished brass handles.

Patiently, he held the door open for you, gauging your reaction as you stood frozen on the snowy ground of the stone porch and blinked inside the dark and looming foyer. A smile flashed on his lips at your hesitance. “You coming in or what?”

“Uh-huh, I think so…”

With that, you stepped inside, and as the solid front door closed behind you, you could feel the panic rise in your chest again. Oh God, what had you done? This felt like a big fucking mistake – like saying yes to a dinner invitation at Hannibal Lecter’s place.

I always thought if I were to kill you, I would have to do it in some dramatic fashion, but then I thought, no, I’ll simply tear your head off and bury it under the house.

Shit, you hoped you got to keep your head as an eerie shiver ran down your spine.

Your worn sneakers were contrastingly planted on the sparkling marble floors as your eyes darted around the entrance, a grand staircase sweeping up to the second floor. You heard the soft crackle of fire on the hearth, the scents of wood polish and winter flowers in vases wafting through the air.

The scene was one of old money, long-established class. There was nothing hasty or modern about it. Everything spoke of a life built not just on wealth, but on tradition – on the quiet, assured certainty that the past would never be forgotten, and the future, no matter how uncertain, would always be shaped by the grandness of what had come before.

And granted, it explained a few things about the grumpy fossil you’d come to know. Mostly why he felt so out of place all the time – because he fucking was.

You still stood rooted to the spot, your breath coming in shallow bursts as your mind raced. Ben – your future captor, the one you’d been trying to escape for what felt like forever – was now playing the gracious host in his historical mansion like nothing was wrong. The fire crackled behind you like a ticking bomb, its warmth a stark contrast to the icy tension running through your veins. You forced yourself to exhale, but the air felt thick, as though the house itself was holding its breath – watching you.

Ben’s footsteps echoed in the grand foyer as he moved to the fireplace, pushing logs into place. His broad back turned toward you as he crouched, adjusting the fire, the warmth from the flames briefly dispelling some of the chill that had settled in your bones. But you couldn’t shake the unease twisting in your gut.

He hadn’t spoken yet, but you knew he was watching you through the corner of his eye, waiting for something – waiting for you to either make a run for it, or for the mask to slip and show that you weren’t as calm as you seemed.

But you had to keep your secret. You couldn’t risk him knowing the truth. You were just a stranger to him, and as far as Ben knew, you’d stumbled out of thin air – no past, no future, no real identity.

“Well,” he said finally, breaking the quiet with that low, measured tone of his, “I’m assuming you’re here for more than just the weather. You’ve got a lot on your mind, sweetheart?”

His words, though polite, were edged with something you couldn’t quite place. Curiosity, maybe? You couldn’t tell, but you weren’t about to let him pry too much.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, your voice almost too sharp, betraying your nerves. “I just need a minute to... adjust.”

Ben gave you a long, considering look, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he could see past the walls you were building. It felt like he was evaluating you, weighing every tiny shift in your expression. You weren’t sure how much you were giving away, but you didn’t like it.

“Well, uhm, whatever you’re running from, you’re safe here,” he said softly, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than was comfortable.

“Like I said, I’m not gonna stay long. I’ll leave by tomorrow morning. I don’t wanna be a burden,” you replied cordially. Admittedly, you could care less if you burdened him with your visit, but there were other, more important, variables in play you had to consider.

By now, you knew he’d remember you for sure. There was no way around it, but until you had figured out how to leave again, you were stuck with him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The timeline was fragile – too fragile – and the longer you stayed, the more at risk it was.

However, you knew you could fix it somehow. Not only would you have to get your powers magically working again, but you’d also have to travel back to the starting point a few hours ago when you arrived in this era and stop yourself from running into Ben in the first place. The current version of you would cease to exist, but your other past version could easily return to her own time.

Yes, a fucking simple, straightforward plan without any complications in sight. Time travel is so fucking easy…

Ben’s lips then quirked upward in that faint, knowing smile again. “A burden? You’re hardly a burden, sweetheart. I know this might all seem a bit... overwhelming. That’s part of the charm, I suppose. You can’t come from something like this and not carry a little weight with you… But you’re welcome here. Make yourself comfortable, alright?”

You still didn’t trust the kindness in his voice. It sounded too practiced, like a well-rehearsed speech. It was hard to tell if he was being sincere or just trying to play the role of the gracious host.

“I-, uh, I appreciate that. Thank you,” you managed, still on edge, but unable to ignore the pull of the fire’s warmth – and his.

Ben’s eyes softened, just a little, but there was still that sharpness to them, like he could see straight through your act. He then waved toward the stairs with a calm gesture of his hand. “If you’d like, I’ll show you to your room. We can talk more once you’ve had a chance to settle. And maybe we can–” He paused, considering his next words carefully. Then, as if dismissing it, he finished, “Maybe we can talk about what brought you here.”

You knew what he meant. He was fucking fishing. Trying to draw you out. Trying to find out just who you were. But it was too dangerous. You couldn’t slip up – not when you still had no idea what kind of game he was playing.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure. “Yeah,” you said finally, your voice low as you forced a smile. Be like Grace, Betty and Sheila. “I think I’d like that.”

You hoped it didn’t sound too much like a lie because it was. And if you weren’t careful, it might just be your downfall.

Ben didn’t seem to notice the tension in your tone. With another smile, he turned and led you up the steps and down a long hallway, his footsteps steady and confident as they echoed in the hollow quiet, but there was an undercurrent to his pace – like he wanted to fill the silence but didn’t quite know how.

You followed reluctantly, already planning your next move in your head. You weren’t sure what this was yet. But you knew you had to stay one step ahead, or risk losing everything.

The sprawling mansion stretched out before you like a labyrinth, every hallway and every door telling a story of old wealth and expectations you had no interest in. The walls were lined with portraits, some regal, some faintly haunting, of men and women whose lives seemed to stretch back centuries, all looking down upon you with a silent, judgmental gaze.

The floor beneath your feet was cool as you moved deeper into the heart of the house. The atmosphere of the home – the heavy silence, the grand, dark walls – it was all too much. Too much for someone like you.

Someone who wasn’t supposed to belong here.

When you reached a door at the end of the corridor, Ben stopped and spun toward you, his face softening ever so slightly. “This is your room,” he said, his tone quieter now, more distant.

As he pushed open the door, the soft light from the hallway revealed a large, opulent space – dark wood furniture, a large bed covered in thick velvet curtains, a plush rug beneath your feet, and a tall bookshelf that looked like it hadn't been touched in years. It was a room designed for someone to feel both grand and small at once.

You nodded, stepping inside, and the weight of history seemed to settle on your shoulders the moment you crossed the threshold.

Ben kept his distance, not entering with you, but he waited in the doorway, watching you. “If you want to take a bath, there’s one through there,” he said, gesturing toward a door on the far wall.

You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll-... I’ll be fine.”

Ben’s gaze stayed on you a moment longer before he turned, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Take your time,” he said, his voice soft, almost tender. Then, without another word, he stepped back, leaving you alone in the vast silence of the room.

You watched him leave, the door falling into its lock behind him. The room felt suffocating now that you were finally alone. You walked over to the bed, running your hand over the fabric. This wasn’t your life. You didn’t belong here. And yet, for the first time in a while, you couldn’t ignore the tug of something real, the world you’d come from slowly starting to fade away.

It had happened before. The longer you had stayed in a time that wasn’t yours, the more twisted it had become, as if your brain was being reprogrammed by the universe itself.

Make yourself comfortable. 

You tried to shake it off. You weren’t supposed to get attached. Not now. Not ever.

You let out a slow breath, the tension of the day settling heavily on your shoulders. The bath sounded like a welcome escape, something to clear your mind.

It wasn’t just the layers of grime from the world you’d left behind that you wanted to wash off. No, it was the overwhelming weight of the timeline – of Ben – pressing down on you. You had to focus, think, plan. Your mission hadn’t changed, but the idea of him being so close, of having to act like this wasn’t a carefully calculated, life-or-death game of chess – it made your skin crawl.

After a few minutes, you made your way to the bathroom at last. The tub was a luxurious affair, deep and wide, its marble sides shimmering in the soft light of the room. You sank into it, the hot water enveloping you like a warm embrace. For a moment, you just allowed yourself to breathe, to let the noise in your mind quiet.

Home…

Still nothing. Your powers were refusing to entertain you. Sometimes, you thought they had a mind of their own – like the Time Lords themselves had possessed you and only used you as their tool whenever they pleased.

Your thoughts then drifted back to Ben – the guy you hated in your future, but who seemed like something altogether different now. Here, he wasn’t the monster you’d come to despise. He was kind, helpful, almost… charming. It unsettled you. How could someone be so different in two time periods?

When you finally rose from the bath, the water only lukewarm at this point, the weight of your decisions felt heavier than before. The towel around you, though soft, didn’t help. It only served to remind you that you had no real clothes here. Nothing was yours. You stared at yourself in the mirror, the reflection of a stranger in a foreign time. You didn’t want to put your old clothes back on after your refreshing and clean bath. They were wet, cold, and dirtied with mud.

Shit…

Reluctantly, you stepped into the hallway, unsure of how to ask, but the need to find something – anything – took over. It wasn’t like you could just wander around in a towel, although you were sure your host would probably appreciate the sight.

“Uhm, Ben?” you called softly, your tone a little shakier than you'd intended.

A few moments passed before his voice answered from down the hall, a bit too loud, as though he’d been waiting for this. “Yeah?”

“I-, uh, I don’t have... anything to wear,” you said quietly and swallowed, your gaze drifting to your bare feet on the floorboards.

There was a long pause before he appeared in the doorway, his face flushed. “Right. Well, I-... I can get you something,” he said. His eyes flicked to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again, the awkwardness hanging between you like a palpable thing that you could reach out and touch with your fingers. “I–” His voice dropped lower as he turned away for a second, his hand on the doorframe. He then gave a brief chuckle, almost self-conscious. “I don’t usually keep spare clothes for, uh, guests. But I’m sure I can find something that fits you. One second.”

You felt tethered to the ground as he disappeared down the hall, unsure whether to laugh or fucking scream. He came back a few moments later with a shirt and pants, an outfit clearly meant for a man, and you were pretty sure they were his own. The fit would be loose, but better than nothing.

“Here,” he said, offering it to you. His gaze lingered on you a second longer than was probably polite before he turned away again, his cheeks tinged pink.

Yeah, you had to get rid of the towel. You didn’t want to give him any ideas – or more, for that matter. He’d already seen you naked various times in the future. You knew privacy was an alien concept to that man.

“I’ll be in my father’s study downstairs if you need anything. If you want, you-, uh, you can meet me there.”

“Sure.” You nodded hesitantly and took the clothes, retreating into the guest room to change and debating whether or not to take him up on his invitation.

Did you really want to spend more time with this man?

But this particular timeline was already ruined. You’d have to fix it anyway, so why not take this opportunity to get to know the man behind the beast? You would finally know what made the monster tick like a bomb.

When you emerged, clad in Ben’s clothes – his white button-down shirt hanging loosely over your frame, the sleeves rolling up your arms as if you were drowning in it – you tried to ignore the strange flutter in your stomach. You couldn’t think about how the fabric smelled faintly of him – a new, alluring scent that didn’t reek of reefer and junk food.

The study was tucked into a quieter part of the house, one where the oppressive silence of the halls seemed to thin out a little. It was a warmly lit, intimate room filled with bookshelves that reached the ceiling, leather-bound volumes with forgotten stories. A fire burned quietly in the hearth, the crackling of the flames mixing with the soft ticking of a grandfather clock. Framed portraits lined the walls, and the weight of decades of family history hung like dust in the air.

Naturally, Ben was already behind the bar when you entered, mixing a drink with careful precision – a trait he shared with his older version.

Manhattan, you realized and remembered the story he had told Butcher once.

“Used to sneak my dad's Manhattans when I was a kid.” 

Ben didn’t look up when you entered. “I wasn’t sure you’d take me up on my offer,” he said, the deep baritone voice low and almost reflective, not quite like his earlier confidence. “I thought you might prefer to be alone.”

You shifted on your feet, unsure of how to approach him, but the pull of curiosity had led you here. The air smelled of whiskey, mahogany, and something more elusive – faded dreams, maybe?

The moment his piercingly green eyes met yours, his expression shifted – like something had clicked, but not in the way you expected. His gaze lingered on you again, wandering down your frame, his mouth slightly open, as if caught off guard. You’d seen a version of that look before many times, but this was… different.

“You-, uh, you look...” He cleared his throat, suddenly very aware of how close you were. “Different. But... good. It suits you.”

“Thanks,” you said, feeling exposed as you tugged nervously on your too-long sleeves. Had you just entered the fucking lion’s den?

Strangely, though, you began to feel more at ease, the longer you were around him.

“Maybe I should wear your clothes more often,” you quipped teasingly. If aggressive rudeness hadn’t worked to deter him, maybe forwardness would. A guy like him probably enjoyed the chase more than the prey.

Ben offered a tentative smile, his cheeks haunted by a blush. “Right, uhm... You want a drink? I can make you one, you know... to relax.”

And the eerie feeling is back…

You hid the goosebumps in the nape of your neck behind a polite smile. Relaxing wasn’t something you would ever do around this guy.

“I’m good.” You shook your head and cautiously strolled through the study, taking note of every framed picture and trinket in the room.

Ben shrugged, taking a sip from his tumbler before setting it down, the amber liquid catching in the light. “You sure? It’s not the best, but it’ll do. It’s a Manhattan. My father’s favorite. Thought I’d try to get it right for once.”

“You don’t have to get it right for him,” you said without thinking, the talk with Butcher from that night trickling back into your mind.

Ben’s eyes flickered with something close to surprise, but the smile never left his face. He swirled his glass absently, looking out the window as the wind howled outside. “Maybe not. But I keep trying anyway...”

“It's all bullshit,” Soldier Boy had scoffed after telling Butcher the plot line of the autobiographical movie Vought had produced for him – The Soldier Boy Story.

“Blimey, you don’t say?” Butcher hadn’t seemed the least bit interested in the ancient supe’s nostalgic trivia facts. You had been aware the Brit had only been entertaining him till he’d gotten what he wanted – Homelander served crispy on a stick.

You hadn’t cared much about the men’s chit-chatting either, just listening quietly in the corner as you’d sulked on Annie’s desk, wishing you could be with the others. But technically, you’d been Butcher’s personal pet, and he had threatened you rather quickly once you’d taken Hughie’s side. You’d been stuck with those two idiots since then, thinking how Homelander would probably kill you later that night because of them.

“Actually, my father owned half the steel mills in the state,” Soldier Boy had continued then, settling down on the worn, leather armrest of the couch. “I went to boarding school. Got kicked out of boarding school. Because I was a fuck-up. But he made sure I knew it.”

“Use the belt, did he?” Butcher had asked, certainty swinging in his voice. You knew he had a pretty fucked-up childhood, too. In fact, everyone on the team had one, including you.

“Never laid a hand on me,” Soldier Boy had replied, the ignorance seemingly tormenting him more. Emotional scars, you had guessed. “He couldn't be bothered. Said I was a disappointment. Not good enough to carry his name.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him to go fuck himself?”

It had slipped out of your mouth before you had realized what you’d said. Butcher had only smirked at you, probably agreeing, but Soldier Boy’s head had turned to you, blinking in surprise. His green eyes then had slightly narrowed at you in curiosity, a smile of amusement slowly rising on his lips

“Ha, I imagine that would’ve probably gone over well…” He had snorted into his drink. “I went to his golf buddies in the War Department instead, and they got me into Dr. Vought's Compound V trials. I became a superhero. Strongest man alive. Fucking ticker tape parades when I came home.”

“And what did the old man say then?” Butcher had asked, but you both had known where the story was headed.

“Ah.” The supe had chuckled lowly and raised his tumbler, but there had been resentment and pain brimming in his dark green eyes. “He said I took a shortcut. That a real man wouldn't have cheated.”

“Did you kill him?”

Again, Soldier Boy had seemed greatly amused by your question, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes. “No.” He shook his head, smacking his lips. “Would you kill your parents? You told me they were assholes.”

Before you could reply, Butcher had answered for you: “Our little Y/N here doesn’t kill people. She did, however, drop off her lovely parents in England of 1349.”

Soldier Boy had arched his brow at you. “What’s in England in 1349?”

You had shrugged coolly and snatched the drink from his hands, taking a sip. Your nose had scrunched in disgust as the liquor had burned down your throat, hearing Soldier Boy’s laugh at your reaction before you’d handed the drink back to him.

“The Bubonic Plague,” you had replied with a Machiavellian smile. “Sure, not as fun as Butcher’s ass cancer, but it’s been close to 700 years now. I’m guessing they’re dead.”

“You two have a funny way of dealing with family,” Soldier Boy had noted and taken another sip of his drink.

“Says the guy who’s been on a vengeful murder spree of everyone who’s ever wronged him for the past weeks,” you’d countered.

“Hmm, I suppose you do have a point there, sweetheart,” he’d said and sent you a sly smile. “Too bad your powers are gone. Could’ve dropped off my old man there, too.”

“Tell you what – if I ever get them back, I’ll put him on the list,” you’d said, smirking.

“Oy, look at you two becoming bloody friends,” Butcher had huffed in annoyance.

But Soldier Boy had only smiled, his green eyes never leaving you. “You’ve done a lot of these little adventures?”

“Yeah, kinda. Mostly, just the fun stuff, you know? 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s…” you’d shared.

“I do know.” He’d chuckled cheekily into his glass as he drank. You’d figured as much from his various stories. “Although, I missed the 90s and most of the 80s… Anything before the 60s? You ever met me, sweetheart?”

“Uh, no, never. Kinda stayed where the fun was,” you’d sassed and wiggled your eyebrows. “‘Sides, wouldn’t you remember me if I’d met you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve slept with a lot of fucking women over the decades, sweetheart. They kind of all blend together,” he had quipped, smirking.

“Nah, you’d remember me,” you’d said, returning his little smirk.

That had probably been the only time you’d ever flirted with him – and it had been solely out of fun, not that you’d actually been serious. You’d just figured he was about to have a showdown with his own offspring – better send him in with a winning mindset.

“Care to prove that cute little theory?” His smirk had then turned lopsided and teasing – hungry.

“I don’t,” you’d said and folded your arms, but the coquettish smile never disappeared from your lips. Then, something had popped into your mind. “Wait… You know, I think I did see you once, though.”

“Huh, really?”

“Yeah, caught half of the speech you gave at Woodstock. People really hated it.” You’d grinned. “Then I saw you fuck Grace Slick behind a tent. Was kinda jealous.”

A smug smirk had widened on his lips then. “Jealous, hm?”

You’d snorted a laugh, expecting he’d react that way. “Yeah, but of you, not of Grace Slick. Fucking someone from Jefferson Airplane? Pretty fucking cool, dude.”

“Meh, she was alright.” He’d shrugged and downed the last of his drink.

“Oy, are you lot about done now?” Butcher had sighed exhaustively, having made himself comfortable at his desk.

“What about you, asshole?” Soldier Boy had thrown the Brit a raised look at the interruption. “You got kids?”

“It's complicated,” Butcher had muttered into his whiskey glass.

“I always assumed I had a few out there,” Soldier Boy had then melancholically drifted off. “Somewhere. I always wanted ‘em. ‘Cause I thought I could do it better than my father did.”

“Homelander ain't yours. Not really.” Butcher had then proceeded to list all the ways Vought had essentially bred a fucking lab rat.

But when the Brit was finished, Soldier Boy’s eyes had found you instead. “What d’you think, sweetheart? You fucking agree?”

Granted, even if you had disagreed, one pointed look from Butcher had told you: You didn’t have much of a choice.

“Yeah, kinda…” you’d replied carefully, your brow knitting in thought. “I mean, I disagree with killing him–,” Butcher’s look was morphing to a glare, “–but I think you should… disable him, you know? Just turn him into a pathetically suffering human. For a guy like that, his own mind is probably worse than death.”

“Admittedly, that does sound funnier,” Soldier Boy had (somewhat) agreed with you, but you’d considered psychological torture over death a win.

“Well, you do what you want there, guv. But I’m killing this cunt as soon as he’s bloody capeless,” Butcher had announced with a dark chuckle.

Sighing, you’d glanced back at Soldier Boy. “You like movies, right? You’ve seen Frankenstein?”

“I think I did before you, sweetheart.” He’d smiled in amusement.

“It’s not a competition,” you’d retorted playfully. “Anyways, just look at it this way, okay? You donated a... pinky finger to Frankenstein’s monster, but just because Dr. Frankenstein yelled, ‘It’s alive! It’s alive!’ doesn’t mean it should be. You wanna be a hero, right?”

“I am a fucking hero,” he’d huffed, a bit offended.

“Then slay the fucking dragon and save the panicked villagers,” you’d said with an astute grin.

Thoughtfully, the supe had pursed his lips, then nodded. Butcher had seemed pleased, too, judging by the devilish smirk he threw your way.

“‘Sides, I still look young. Guess I can always have more kids.” Soldier’s Boy’s eyes had then slowly raked over your body, his teeth tugging at the plush pad of his lower lip, hiding a suggestive smirk underneath.

“Barking up the wrong tree here, Romeo,” you had gently declined his silent proposal. “But yeah, generally speaking, I guess that’s the spirit…”

And God, you had hoped the guy would never procreate in the future.

“I’ll do it,” Soldier Boy had then told Butcher, getting up from his seat.

“Alright, let’s pack up, lads.” Butcher had keenly rubbed his palms together. He’d been antsy all day, waiting for this.

“Leave her here, though,” Soldier Boy had said, which had surprised both you and Butcher. His voice had been casual, almost cold. He had then thrown you a dismissive look. “Her powers aren’t working. She’s useless, anyways. She’ll just be in the fucking way.”

Butcher had seemed suspicious by this, lifting a brow at the supe. “And since when do you care about collateral, mate?”

A quick beat of hesitance had passed before Soldier Boy’s signature smirk reappeared. “Well, maybe I’d still like to fuck her after I win.”

Butcher had only rolled his eyes at that and given a nod before eagerly thundering ahead, leaving you alone with the supe. As Soldier Boy’s shoulder had brushed yours, he’d used the opportunity to lean closer.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he’d whispered devilishly into your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin, a ripple of chill sweeping over you. “You can show me how much you wanna thank me when I get back.”

He’d winked at you and then disappeared after Butcher. 

As your mind drifted back from the past to the… well, past, you watched Ben by the window and wondered again what had happened to him. Soldier Boy had shown you traces of the kindness you’d witnessed in the younger version in front of you – at least in the beginning.

But maybe that was just the fucking Stockholm syndrome talking…

After all, as time went by, Soldier Boy had become crueler, rougher, and more vile toward you. It even seemed like the more he got to know you, the more he started to hate you.

Would that happen with his younger counterpart as well?

“So, uh, you said you enlisted today? Are you going to fight on the frontlines?” you asked and masked your curiosity with slight worry for his wellbeing as you finally broke the silence.

Ben’s head turned to you with raised brows as though you had just ripped him from deep thought. “Uh, we’ll see. I went to my father’s golf buddies in the War Department. They said they’d find something for me. Maybe an officer position.”

“Huh.” Your brow creased slightly, tongue poking your cheek. “Well, uh, good luck.”

“Yeah, uhm, thanks. Hope it makes the old man finally proud, you know?” he said, his voice low and raspy, as if testing the waters of what he could share with you.

“Why do you wanna make your father proud so badly you’re willing to risk your life?” you asked as you settled into the leather armchair by the bookshelves.

“Well, that’s what a man does, right?” he replied with a hint of amusement.

“Being stupid?”

Ben tilted his head at you, a smile playing across his lips. He scoffed a chuckle. “You’re different, you know? Not like the girls I meet… not like anyone I’ve met, really.” His tone shifted, curiosity mingling with something more personal. The playboy mask was slipping slightly. He seemed interested, not just in you, but in the enigma you were presenting.

By that, you figured that wasn’t what Grace, Betty, and Sheila would’ve said. Being a lady was fucking hard.

“Well, maybe it’s just me," he continued, his voice carrying a subtle edge now. "Guess I’m used to people being… a little easier to figure out. But you–,” he paused, frowning slightly, “–you’re not like that. It’s almost like... you don’t care what I think.”

You leaned back in the chair, legs crossed, trying to read the change in his tone, the way his posture had shifted subtly. “Maybe that’s because I don’t,” you said with a puckish twinkle in your eyes. “Or maybe it’s because you’re so predictable, I already know what you think.”

You didn’t, though. You knew what Soldier Boy thought, but his younger version was harder to read, your own bias of the man you knew well from the future fighting against your present judgment.

His brows shot up at that, the surprise flickering in his eyes again, but he quickly masked it with a short, dry laugh. “Predictable? Oh, I’m full of surprises, sweetheart.”

“Are you?” you challenged, your gaze steady. “Then why the same old routine? The drink, the smile, the way you try to act like you don’t care but it’s clear you do.”

There was a long moment of silence between you two, broken only by the wind that howled louder outside, as if urging him to respond, but Ben seemed to hesitate, looking at you like you’d just shown him a piece of himself he didn’t quite know how to handle.

You shifted in your seat, the leather creaking under you as you scanned the room again. The portraits on the walls, the old books, the reminders of everything he was supposed to live up to – it all felt a little suffocating. For a brief second, you almost felt a pang of empathy.

Finally, he let out a low breath, leaning his hip against the bar with a sigh as he picked up his tumbler and swirled it in his hand again. “Maybe I just wanted to get you to loosen up,” he said and took a sip from his drink, deflecting, masking. “Doesn’t seem to be working, though.”

“You really think making your dad proud will fix something?” you asked instead of taking his bait, keeping your tone casual, even though you weren’t sure why you were poking at that particular wound. Maybe you were just trying to see if he’d crack.

Ben’s green eyes darkened, a flicker of something almost painful crossing his face before he quickly concealed it with a shrug. “It’s all I know how to do. People like me... we don’t get to decide how things go. We just follow the script.”

Ah. No wonder he’d been Vought’s perfect superhero puppet for so long. He’d been used to the theatrics from the start.

“And if the script’s broken?” You raised an eyebrow, studying him. The honesty of the conversation strangely kept you going. “You’re just gonna keep following it blindly?”

He leaned forward slightly, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “What else am I supposed to do?” he asked, the words coming out rougher than he'd intended. “I don’t get to choose what’s in my blood, what I’m born into. I don’t have the luxury of throwing it all away. My father wants me to be this… perfect son. The dutiful heir.”

“And you’re not?” Arching an eyebrow, you rose from your seat and sauntered to the bar. You snatched the half-empty tumbler in front of him and drank from it. The moment the glass touched your lips, you could taste the sharp burn of alcohol, but there was a sweetness to it too. You didn’t drink often, but tonight seemed like a necessary exception.

Besides, you’d already seen him drink from it, so you were sure the Bill Cosby fanboy wasn’t trying to drug you.

Slightly amused, he lifted an eyebrow at you. “You know, if you want a drink, my offer still stands. I can make you one.”

You shrugged with a mischievous smile. “I’m good with yours. Thank you.”

A subtle smile crossed his lips at your response, his cheeks warming in the glow of the fire. “You know, my father thinks I’m a disappointment – the black sheep. He thinks I’m not good enough for his legacy. He-, uh, he wants me to marry someone from a prestigious family. Thinks it’s good for business.”

“Grace,” you realized quietly. “So, this is like an arranged thing?”

“Yeah,” he said and poured himself another drink since you had stolen his. “You’d be surprised how well you can tolerate a person when it’s part of the plan.”

You thought about Crimson Countess and the highly publicized relationship they’d led. You knew he’d cheated on her multiple times, too. You recognized a pattern. His father, Vought… Had he ever known a different life?

“Why do you keep going along with it?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, the warmth of the drink making you bolder. “I mean, you already cheated on her, right? Doesn’t seem like you care that much what your father wants, after all.”

He chuckled lightly, scratching his throat. “Well, I don’t remember actually proposing, so I don’t see the issue. I mean, hell, I barely can stand her,” he replied, his lips quirking into a dry smile. “Guess I’m not really the marrying type.” His gaze then lifted from his glass on the bar to you. “What about you, sweetheart? You got a husband? Fiancé? Someone you’re running away from?”

“Uh, no, nothing like that. I’m kinda on my own. Lone wolf, you know?” you replied and hoped it was enough.

Ben let out a soft laugh at that, shaking his head as if the idea of a woman all on her own was utterly ridiculous. You knew you were a mystery to him, one he seemed too eager to unravel. You didn’t like it, but you couldn’t deny how it tempted you.

“Alright, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he relented, smiling assuringly. His tongue swiped over his plump upper lip. “Just tell me something. One true, personal thing about you.”

You paused for a while, considering your options. Your lips briefly flashed with a smile, then you met his eyes. “Today’s my birthday.”

Technically, it was in June in your own time, but to you, it was still true. Loophole.

“Huh.” He seemed pleased with the information, giving you a soft smile. “Well, happy birthday, sweetheart.”

Ben left it at that. He didn’t ask more questions. Didn’t ask who you were exactly, where you came from, what you were doing here, or why you were running around lost on your birthday.

“So, uhm, if you don’t want any of this, why not walk away?” You couldn’t help but press a little, steering him away from his own curiosity about you. The tension between you two was thick enough that it almost felt like a game now – tit for tat. “Why are you doing all of this for a guy who never saw you as more than a name on a list?”

Ben’s forest green eyes darkened again, his jaw clenching. “I’m not like you,” he snapped, more harshly than you expected. “I don’t get to make choices like that.”

The sudden defensiveness was raw, and you could feel it in the air, in the way the light from the fire cast long shadows across his freckled face. For a moment, the version of Ben you saw felt less like the charming man you’d met and more like the soldier he was becoming – the one you knew. Someone trapped in a cycle they couldn’t escape, no matter how hard they tried.

Or in Soldier Boy’s case, not trying at all.

There was an uncomfortable pause after that, the kind of silence that felt like a bridge too far to cross. Ben glanced out the window again, the wind howling louder, rattling the glass. You could feel the distance he was trying to keep – he was trying to be strong, to act like he wasn’t letting the high expectations weigh him down. But it was there, in everything he said – and everything he didn’t say.

When he turned back to you, an apologetic smile tugged at his lips. He cleared his throat, slipping back into his designated role. “I-, uh, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Swallowing, you shook your head and met his gaze. “No, I-, uh, I crossed a line. I’m sorry,” you said. “You’re right. It’s not my place.”

Contemplatively, he bit his lips, the study falling back into the night’s silence. “You know, I guess I do it because I’m supposed to,” he suddenly answered your question, his green eyes avoiding yours like they were the midday sun. “It’s easier to pretend that I don’t care, you know? I mean, what else can I do?”

You found his eyes, your own heart strangely heavy with understanding. “Maybe you don’t have to be what he wants. Maybe you just have to be yourself,” you said, keeping your voice soft.

Perhaps, you weren’t in a position to offer advice – or give him any, for that matter, the protection of the timeline still in the back of your mind. But you couldn’t control it, your own curiosity getting in the way. You had begun to play the dangerous game every woman on this earth, no matter what time, liked to play: What if he could change? What if you could fix him?

“Maybe you could try something else. Something that’s just... yours.”

Ben looked at you for a long moment, the weight of your words hanging between you like a challenge he wasn’t sure he could accept. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he seemed to consider it, before he let out a breath through his nose, a small, almost bitter smile on his lips.

“Yeah, maybe…” For a fleeting moment, his brick façade cracked, and you saw something softer, more vulnerable. He looked at you, an unreadable expression in his piercing green eyes – something between exhaustion and the remnants of defiance. “I’m not sure who that even is anymore,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I’m too far gone for that.”

You didn’t know what to say, but you could see he was fighting to be someone he wasn’t, and it made you want to reach across the distance.

Your hand tentatively clasped his forearm that rested upon the mahogany bar top. You could feel him tense under your unexpected touch, his lips parting, confused green eyes flickering to the spot where your fingers brushed his skin before they landed back on your face.

“I don’t think you are,” you said, your voice only a soft whisper that was almost drowned out by the crackling fire and the ticking of the grandfather clock.

The moment was fragile, suspended in the air between you. Your heart hammered against your ribs. But it was gone in an instant, as Ben pulled his hand away like he’d been burnt and downed the last of his drink, clearing his throat.

“You should get some rest, sweetheart,” he said, his voice suddenly distant again – guarded. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

You nodded, not sure what to say as you held your breath. You didn’t want to leave, but the tension in the room was too much to ignore. There was a line you couldn’t and wouldn’t cross.

As you reached the door, he gave you a half-smile, almost apologetically. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Goodnight, Ben,” you said, and for a heartbeat, it felt like you were saying goodbye to something you didn’t quite understand yet. 

▶️ Chapter 4: After All, Tomorrow's Another Day

Something tells me there's something else burning and not just the fires on the infinite hearths 👀🔥 (And yes, there's a fireplace in almost every room lmao)

Coming Up:

The door to his father’s study stood ajar, Ben sitting at the large oak desk as you carefully peeked your head inside and halted in the doorway. He was hunched over documents in concentration, scribbling something on paper with murmuring lips and a tensely knitted brow.

You took a deep breath and stepped inside, and the moment his eyes lifted and found you, he froze, the pen in his hand faltering midair. His gaze swept over you, not just disbelief but hunger creeping into the lush, green moss of his eyes.

Well, this was even worse than the Zeppelin shirt, the towel, or his clothes. You hadn’t expected the dress to be so noticeable. Maybe you should’ve gone with the pastel green one that made you look like a minted cupcake?

Ben’s mouth parted, but no words came out at first. He blinked, slowly, as if trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “You look, uhm…” he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

Uh-oh…

“Weird, right?” you offered in an attempt to deflect.

Ben snorted a chuckle then, breaking out a bit of his stupor. “Uh, that wouldn’t have been the exact adjective I would’ve used.” The laughing crinkles around his eyes then softened to something warmer, the heat of his lingering stare rushing straight into your veins. “You look… I guess ‘breathtaking’ is the right word for it.”

Yup, that melted your heart right down to your core.

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