#I don’t fucking know how all of this exists

[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: none just prickly Simon

“What the fuck is this?”

You glance at the photo. It’s your patient from yesterday in his crib, except there’s a teddy bear stuffed against one of the rails, next to his face. Fuck. 

“I don’t know. That wasn’t there when I left. I would have removed it.” His eyes drill into you, fire blazing in them, hot enough you’re sure it will burn you to a crisp. 

“Do we need to go over the SOP for toys in cribs?” 

“No.” You bite out, looking over his shoulder to focus on the wall. It’s not that parents do it intentionally, they just don’t know. They don’t think about the fact that soft toys, plush toys, can carry bacteria since they can’t be wiped down. You can’t fault someone for wanting their child to have something of comfort. “It must have happened after I left, like I said.” 

“Well it didn’t.” You want to push back. You want to tell him again, that it didn’t happen on your watch. That you’re not stupid or careless or not paying attention like he so clearly thinks, but you don’t. You know how it will go. 

“I’m sorry.” His jaw clenches, lip curling like you disgust him. 

“You’re sorry.” The air is being sucked from this room, the walls trying to go with it, closing in on all sides. “Keona seems to think you’re doing an excellent job, but I’m starting to think she’s just covering for you.” The accolade he gave you last week fades into oblivion, panic taking its place. You can’t lose this job. You can’t. 

“It’s a transition. I’m learning as fast as I can.” Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. He rises from his chair, coming around his desk to lean against it, thick legs stretched out towards where you’re standing, arms crossed over his chest. It could be considered a casual stance, but on him it’s anything but. He lords over you, terrifying and dominant, ready to pick you apart. 

“You need to figure out if this is the place for you before I do.” 

“It is. I can do it.” You rush out, desperate to reassure him. It’s a crack, a very small one, and you scramble to stuff it up, plaster over it to reinforce the wall it’s trying to crumble. “I can do it.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” 

You stare at the fancy lotion for too long. 

Before, you would have chucked it in your cart no problem. Twice even, one for home and one for your work locker. 

But now, your entire existence is built around a budget that’s calculated down to the dime. 

And that budget really does not have wiggle room for a twenty dollar bottle of lotion. 

Still- 

You toss it in your cart. A mistake. An irresponsible indulgence. Something you absolutely should not purchase, but the girl buried so far beneath who she is now, the one who was once reckless and wild and free, she wants that lotion. She wants it bad. She wants a relief, a reprieve, a little treat for the hell that this week has been. 

You really, really wish you hadn’t listened to her. 

“Wait… what?” 

“Sorry, the tag was incorrect.” You stare at the bag of cherries unbelieving. They were the last thing on the belt, bringing your total to a whopping one hundred and forty dollars. Forty dollars over the budget that was already twenty dollars over. 

“Okay.” Thank god for small miracles, there’s no one in line behind you to watch your shame unfold like a car crash in slow motion. 

“Do you still want them?” You do. Riley loves them. She asked for them specifically. She eats them raw from a bowl until her fingers are stained. She feeds them to the mares even though you tell her a million times not to. 

“I mean��� you’re saying this bag of cherries is twenty dollars?” The clerk’s smile is sad. 

“They are twenty one dollars and fourteen cents.” The lights in the grocery store suddenly seem too bright, and the noise, the beeping and the intercom and the chattering is too loud. Too much. It’s all too much. Everything. This weight will crush you. Your vision tunnels until there’s nothing else, just you and this cashier and your stupidity. “Miss? Do you still want them?” 

“Yes, sorry. I want them.” She rings them up, total flashing on the reader in front of you. You sigh as you tap your card- 

and then freeze when it makes that dreaded sound. 

The “you’re a fucking idiot if you think you’re buying this bottle of lotion” sound. The clerk is looking at you with sympathy now. Camaraderie. 

“Maybe it was a bad read. Try again?” She tries keeps her voice down, bless her, but she’s also older than dirt so it doesn’t do much. You try your card again against your better judgement. Same noise. Same sinking feeling. You must have made an error somewhere, screwed up the math. 

“Do you have another card dear?” You swallow and shake your head. 

“No, I don’t. I’ll… can we take the lotion off?” This is your fault. Your self indulgence, the little devil sitting on your shoulder who told you to pick that stupid bottle of lotion up and put it in your cart. 

You’re not that girl anymore. You’re Riley’s, and you’re sure as shit not picking it over her cherries. Lesson learned.

“Take the lotion off?” She repeats, you’re assuming to make sure she got it right before she starts pressing buttons on the screen, and you nod. Force a smile. It’s fake but they’re the best shields. “Do you want to run back and grab a cheaper one?” Insult to injury. 

“No, I’m okay, thanks.” Your tunnel vision finally widens when the new total pops up, and your chest loosens with relief. 

For a second. 

Until you see Doctor Riley. Standing in the other line just over your cashier’s shoulder. 

Staring at you, head just barely cocked in consideration. 

Oh my fucking god. 

You lock eyes and freeze, a deer in headlights, a woman tied to the tracks. It lasts for a second and then you look away, silently praying for a tornado to come by and rip the roof off this place, carry you off. 

No such luck. 

Instead, you go through the mortifying motions of loading your cart up with the bags, casually tracking him from the corner of your eye. He finishes before you, thank god, and you stall at the end of the checkout lines until he’s fully out of sight, beelining to the truck lest you get caught in some awful, awkward small talk or worse, more eye contact. 

Great. 

“The British are coming.” 

It’s the long standing joke. Started spreading after they got here, though Doctor MacTavish apparently throws a fit over it, considering he’s not British at all. 

They all showed up together too, an already forged unit, strong alliance to one another that stretches across the hospital. There’s history there, a lot of it, but you worked with John for a while and he was pretty tight lipped. No one ever pushed him, but you and others can’t deny the curiosity. There’s nothing a hospital loves more than gossip. 

“Where?” You still eat with the ED. There’s always at least someone on break at the same time as you, and you indulge in the comfort of your friends. It’s not that you dislike anyone in the NICU, you don’t. They’re all lovely, it’s just the team in the ED knows you. They supported you when you stumbled, when you fell, when you went through hell and came out on the other side. They knew you before, and those precious pieces are long gone. The ED is your last tether to the girl who wants to buy lotion, who rode recklessly and screwed around. 

Olivia jerks her head towards the double doors on the other side of the cafeteria. 

You hope for Price. Instead, you get Garrick and your walking nightmare. “Fuck.” 

“God he’s so hot.” You bristle. It comes out of nowhere, strikes you like lightning until you look over and realize she’s staring at Doctor Garrick and not Doctor Riley. The reaction is nonsensical, and instead of trying to diagnose it, you move on. The two of you reach the end of the line, and Clara behind the counter gives you a big, genuine smile. 

“Hey honey. How’s that baby?” 

“Not a baby anymore, that’s for sure.” She asks this every time. It’s sweet. “How are your grandkids?” 

“Oh you know. Terrors.” You snort. 

“I know your pain.” You wait for Olivia, who clears her throat when she makes it back to your side. 

“Is it just me or… is Doctor Riley staring at you?”  Heat floods your cheeks. 

“It’s not just you. He does that.” You don’t look. The embarrassment from the last time you saw him, the grocery store fiasco this weekend, is still stagnant in your brain, taking up way too much space. She raises an eyebrow. 

“I’ve never seen someone so scary, and hot at the same time. It’s like the fear makes it better.” You swallow that feeling again, and nod. 

“I saw him without a shirt on like two weeks ago.” She squeaks. Just the memory of the bulk of him, the broad expanse of his chest and shoulders, the well carried layer of fat on his belly covered in hair makes your stomach swoop. 

“You what?!” 

“Yeah I had to wake him up. Needed him at bedside. He’s... huge. Built like a bear, I bet he could take one. And he has a full sleeve.” She gives you a look, and you give her one back. Mischief and malice. “Don’t.” 

“I’m just saying… how long has it been for you? Since before Riley?” 

“Olivia, come on. You know I don’t have time. And even if I did, you’d never catch me sleeping with a provider. Especially him. He’s a dick, and he hates me.” It’s not like you have anything against it, you don’t. You don’t judge. It’s just not for you. There are happy endings sure, but they’re rare, and it’s not worth the headache. Olivia however, is an equal opportunity employer. She sniffs. 

“Don’t knock it until you try it.” 

“I won’t be trying it.” 

You could cry. 

You could. 

You haven’t done it so long and it would be well within your right today, though you won’t. Even if you wanted to, your automatic response is to hold your tears back no matter what, no matter how, and this is no different. 

You spot Mabel on the hill right away. She’s the only one who strays from the pasture when the gate gets loose, always taking off towards the highest point on the property, probably so she can look down on her kingdom. 

It doesn’t help that she hates Blue, your horse, and as soon as you get close, she bares her teeth. 

“We know, we know. You’re in charge. Come on lady.” You reach for her halter, but she side steps away from you, jerking backwards. “Mabel. Stop.” You squeeze Blue with your thighs, urging her forward, closer, and reach again, snagging your fingers into the side of the halter. She tries to pull away again, but you hold her firm. She won’t follow Blue back because following any other horse or even human is beneath her, but if she realizes you’re not going to be giving up, she’ll high tail it back to the barn. You’ve got a good grip, now you just need to wait until she gets the picture. You lift your face to the pink streaked sky. “You know, it would have been a lot easier on me if you hadn’t spoiled the shit out of her.” You chastise the clouds and give them a dirty look. “It’s like I’m still getting bullied by you through your god damn horse.” Mabel snorts, and you glare at her. “Don’t start with me. You’re worth tens of thousands of dollars. I could have sold you.” It’s an empty threat. You’d rather lay down and be trampled. 

She decides she’s had enough and pulls ahead, intention clear, and trots off towards the barn. 

For a minute, a brief, hazy minute, she’s not alone. 

Your sister is there, turned around in the saddle, laughing and telling you to hurry up. The sunset is painting her in a rainbow of pink and coral and orange, glowing on her face, saddle squeaking under her pregnant belly. Mabel’s gait is smooth, smoother than it’s ever been, like it has been for months, since she started to show. You’re convinced she knows, instinctively. One mother to another. 

“Come on crazy Daisy.” She moves Mabel into a canter, and you grit your teeth. 

“Tess,” you’re about to tell her for the seventeenth time that she’s supposed to be taking it easy, but she cuts you off. 

“I’m fine. Hurry up. I’m hungry and Liam is making mac and cheese.” She looks over her shoulder one last time, smile bright, so bright it could blind you, a nearly perfect mirror of your own, and you roll your eyes. 

“You’re the worst.” She laughs. 

“But you love me.” 

The minute passes. It slips through your fingers and you swallow, once, twice, three times. 

You could cry. 

You could. 

But you can’t. You have a little girl back at the house who doesn’t need her aunt fucking crying every time shit gets hard or sad or both. You have a responsibility, and that responsibility depends on you to be strong, to be in control, to take care of her and make sure she’s safe, healthy, happy. 

So you are. 

And that’s all there is to it. 

[mooningningg]

notes, ya'll been fighting for who likes my roomie sukuna more. (also taglists are full guys, im soooo sorry)

★ Roommate!Sukuna when his friends heard you both all night.

The apartment smells like burnt toast, cheap coffee, and last night’s regret.

You shuffle into the kitchen with your hoodie half-on, socks sliding against the floor as you dig around the drawer for a spoon. Your throat is scratchy. Your thighs ache in a way you’re trying not to think about. But mostly, you’re just trying to survive the morning without—

“Oh look,” Gojo says loudly from the kitchen island, raising his coffee cup in a mock toast, “the noisemaker’s awake.”

You blink. Stare. Regret existing.

On his left, Suguru sips from his mug like he’s watching an ancient tragedy unfold.

They’re both still here. Of course they are.

You forgot Sukuna invited them over after last night’s rehearsal — a blur of beers, loud music, and your poor judgment crawling into bed with him again. You thought maybe they left early this morning. Or died in their sleep.

Clearly not.

“Why the hell are you still here?” you mutter, moving to the counter.

Gojo beams. “Your couch is disturbingly comfortable. Plus, I wanted to personally ask you what song was playing last night while you were screaming your lungs out.”

Suguru adds without looking up, “I Shazamed it, but all I could hear was the headboard.”

You groan into your bowl of cereal.

Before you can throw yourself into traffic, he walks in.

Sukuna. Half-dressed. Tattoos on display. Sweatpants hanging criminally low. One hand running through his bedhead as the other opens the fridge.

You feel the shift in the room instantly. Like gravity’s heavier.

He doesn’t even look at you. He just yanks open the fridge door, scoffs at the lack of Gatorade, and slams it shut again. “Where the fuck’s my drink?”

“Good morning to you, too,” you mutter, not looking up.

Gojo snickers behind his cup. “Tense in here. Roommates fighting?”

You roll your eyes. “We’re not fighting.”

“Ah,” Suguru says. “So you’re just roommates who scream each other’s names into the night. Got it.”

You shoot him a glare. “Nothing’s happening.”

“Right, right,” Gojo says, nodding. “I, too, have screamed my roommate’s name while slapping the walls. Very platonic.”

Sukuna finally turns, his jaw sharp with irritation. “You two got a fuckin’ problem?”

Gojo raises his brows innocently. “We’re just making observations.”

“Well how ‘bout you observe the front door and get the fuck out.”

Suguru sips. “That’s not very host-like of you.”

“Not a host,” Sukuna growls, walking past them to your side of the counter. His hand comes up to grab a cup from above your head — unnecessarily close. His chest brushes your shoulder. His voice lowers. “You make this shit yet?”

You tilt your head up. “Do I look like your barista?”

He smirks. “No. You look like someone who’s still sore from last night.”

You flush instantly. “Don’t talk like that with them here.”

“Why? They heard it all already.”

“Jesus christ,” you mutter, pushing him away with a hand to his chest.

But instead of backing off, he grabs your wrist. Casual. Possessive. Like it means nothing.

Gojo watches, eyes glinting. “You know,” he says thoughtfully, “for two people who aren’t together, you fight like a couple.”

Suguru hums. “And fuck like one, apparently.”

You finally snap. “We’re not together. He’s— He’s my roommate.”

Sukuna lets go of your wrist. Slowly. Then he steps back and looks at you, jaw ticking.

“Say that again,” he mutters.

You blink. “Say what?”

He points between you. “That I’m just your roommate.”

“I mean…” You falter. “Technically, you are.”

The silence drags. Then Sukuna laughs—sharp and humorless.

“Right,” he mutters, storming toward the table. “Just your roommate. That why I’m the only one you come crawling to when you're needy as fuck?”

You freeze.

Gojo raises his eyebrows. Suguru still doesn’t flinch.

“You wanna play dumb? Fine,” Sukuna says, spinning a chair and straddling it backward as he stares you down. “But don’t pretend like it’s just sex when you’re moaning my name like you fuckin’ mean it.”

You stare, heart pounding. “You’re being an asshole.”

“I’m being honest.”

He turns to Gojo and Suguru, chin lifting.

“Y’know what her problem is?” he says, loud and clear. “She’s too fuckin’ loud when I’m bein’ nice.”

Gojo almost chokes on his toast.

Suguru finally cracks a grin. “We figured.”

You, meanwhile, are dying. Slowly. Internally combusting.

“Fuck all of you,” you mutter, turning to leave.

Sukuna just grins after you, biting into a slice of bread like he won the war.

Because maybe he did.

You were halfway back to your room before he yells, “HEY. I’m still makin’ breakfast! You want eggs or what?”

“…Scrambled.”

“Atta girl.”

Suguru shakes his head.

Gojo smirks. “Roommates, huh?”

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie. @after-laughter-come-tears. @minasuniverse, @chewiebee @ilovebeansya @drowsysausagedog, @shroomysstuff, @angel4-miba @paperalphys. @eyeless-kun @etsuniiru @inzayneforaj @domainexpansionmypants @bloodb3nders @toesucker59, @qsidrea @spidergirlnr1

[rosy-hollow]

Katsuki Bakugou has seen you in dozens of forms.

Suit-clad and bloodied on the battlefield, hair wind-whipped and eyes steeled with determination. He’s seen you in a hoodie and mismatched socks at midnight, mascara smudged, laughing with your whole chest. He’s seen you crying. He’s seen you snort-laugh. He’s seen you soft, seen you strong.

But this?

This is new.

To be fair, the situation itself was new - your parents were inviting family friends over for a big celebration that required you to dress in your own culture's traditional wear - something that Katsuki knew next to nothing about aside from what you've told him yourself.

You weren't faring any better.

You step out of your dorm in a swirl of color and fabric and self-conscious fidgeting, smoothing your hands down the sides of your outfit before glancing up shyly. “Hey.”

It takes him way too long to respond.

His mouth is parted. His eyes wide. And not in the subtle, wow-you-look-nice kind of way.

No, this is gobsmacked, I-forgot-how-to-breathe territory.

“Woah.”

You pause. Your smile falters just a little. “Is that a good ‘woah’ or a bad ‘woah’?”

Katsuki doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are still devouring you, like you just walked out of a dream he didn’t know he was having. The colors. The gold. The way the fabric flows around your body like it was tailored by the heavens themselves. You’re radiant.

And for some reason, you look nervous.

Why the fuck do you look nervous?

“Fuck—” he mutters, stepping closer, voice barely above a whisper. “How come ya never show me this, huh?”

His fingers hover for a moment before gently brushing the edge of your sleeve, reverent, careful. Like he’s afraid he’ll ruin something sacred.

You blush. Eyes darting away.

“Good ‘woah,’ then?” you ask, voice small, still unsure.

He blinks. Stares at you like you’ve grown a second head. Then—without another word—his hand finds your cheek, callused thumb brushing gently over your skin, grounding and worshipful all at once.

And then he kisses you.

It's slow, unlike the rushed and aggressive ones you're used to. Katsuki kisses you like he's trying to savor you. The kind of kiss that says things he’s still learning how to put into words. The kind that curls into your lungs and steals the air from your chest. The kind that says: you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

When you part, it takes you a second to steady yourself.

“Kats—”

“You're too perfect for this world,” he mumbles, gaze still locked on you like he hasn’t blinked in minutes. His voice is soft in that rare way he reserves only for you — half frustration, half awe.

Butterflies detonate in your chest.

You roll your eyes with a soft smile, reaching up to swipe at the smudge of lipstick now resting on his mouth.

“Seriously,” you pout, “how come you pull off this shade better than I do? Stupid model face.”

He scoffs, immediately wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, ears turning a familiar shade of cherry red.

“Tch—shut up, dummy. Ya pull it off just fine.”

But his eyes betray him. Because he’s still staring.

Still trying to figure out how the hell someone like you even exists — and how he got lucky enough to be yours.

And you? You're starting to believe he means it.

Living a life were you feel like you don’t fit neatly into one box or the other - you finally feel like standing between two worlds doesn’t make you misplaced — it just makes you more.

And Katsuki?

He’s the one person in both worlds who sees all of you. And loves you even more for it.

A/N: multicultural baddies line up !! my indian american ahh writing this oml 😞 second gen immigrants are not for the weak

[ask-mtt-blog]

The fandom as we know it is absolutely not over, and it certainly will not be due to the fact that you left it. You aren’t that fucking important.

I have no sympathy for you. Do you have any concept of how disgusting it is that you did any of this? You don’t deserve forgiveness. You don’t deserve a second chance. Hell, I firmly believe that pedophiles shouldn’t even be allowed to exist. That means you, by the way.

Many people have been supporting Horrortale and Undertale as a whole for a really long time. I myself only got into it more recently, but the whole reason I even got into UTMV is because of Horrortale. You utterly disgust me.

If you were genuinely sorry, you would stop talking. You’d stop posting the story that YOU ruined with your selfish and disgusting behavior, and you’d do yourself a favor and never come online again. But that isn’t what you’re doing, because you’re a damn coward. You hide behind excuses (“oh, I was pressured!! I didn’t wanna do it!!”) and shallow apologies to try and keep your platform. Shame on you.

And shame on anyone supporting this POS too. You’re all just as bad if not worse. I firmly believe each and every one of you needs serious help.

You claim to have misjudged the community and thought that more “mature” ships were allowed. They are? Mature ≠ PEDOPHILIC. You drew a twelve year old girl in a sexual situation with a grown man and posted it for attention.

Your lack of accountability astounds me. I sincerely ask if you were born and raised under a rock in the deepest parts of the ocean and only surfaced to immediately get on rule 34. There’s genuinely no way you think this is anywhere near an acceptable response.

“It’s all in the open now” you’re right. For the first time in your miserable existence, Sour Apple, you’re right. It is. And I and many others will NEVER forgive you for it.

Fuck you.

TDLR, you’re not that damn important, you’re disgusting, anyone who associates with you is disgusting, end of story. Yuck.

*Edited last paragraph* I’ve matured so much over this decade of drawing, and now, as the world has discovered, my art matures with me.

Here’s a farewell to those who enjoyed it while it lasted, and my sincere apologies for causing all this shock. I hope we can agree on one thing; the fandom as we know it is pretty much over.

The story of Horrortale will continue for patrons. For the rest, I hope you find the upcoming changes concerning my online presence understandable.

I really can’t think of anything else to say but, thank you, and I’m sorry for what’s happened. Many creators release mature tiers successfully, and I thought the existence of "all grown up" Undertale ships was kind of established. Instead, I've gravely misjudged the community and have paid a tremendous cost.  But it’s been done. The mold has been broken, it's all out in the open, and I will say my goodbye.

[hgfictionwriter]

Still Yours - Part Three: Downfall

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: After a silent truce, you finally agree to talk with Jessie after her confession. Things are worse than Jessie feared.

Warnings: Angst. Mention of self-hate. Language.

A/N: Series can be found here.

“Can we talk? Please?”

Jessie’s beseeching voice carried softly through the kitchen to your retreating form. The girls were fast asleep and you two had independently and silently worked through the tasks you had to do before tomorrow.

You wouldn’t even look at her.

It had been a couple of days since she told you about her indiscretion with Mia. Outside of that first night when you cried in her arms, you’d been cold and kept your distance.

On the surface, things were functioning normal enough. You were civil to her. The days and activities ticked on without much of a hitch. You put on a mask for the girls, offering a polite smile if Jessie cracked a joke. Engaging with her as needed, but contact outside of the girls was essentially non-existent.

Jessie was still very much relegated to the guest room. She got up at the crack of dawn and headed downstairs each morning before either girl could see her leaving that room, but it was nothing short of a miracle that they hadn’t caught her yet.

It was only a matter of time until the girls would notice something was wrong. And unfortunately, you and Jessie were no closer to a resolution of any kind. Any time she tried to catch you alone, you made an excuse to leave or simply told her you weren’t ready to talk.

It was driving Jessie insane. You’d never been withholding and cold. If anything, she’d been the distant one at times. She had no clue how to navigate this properly and she was terrified of what was to come.

She was trying to respect your boundaries, but it was hard.

To her surprise, you paused at the base of the stairs and eventually turned to face her. She found herself subconsciously swallowing through her apprehension.

You didn’t say anything at first and instead walked past her, making fleeting eye contact, and took a seat at the kitchen table.

“I suppose we’re on borrowed time. I think the girls already know something’s off,” you said in a near mumble as you placed your hands atop the table and idly played with your fingers, eyes determinedly focused on them.

Jessie’s heart raced as she tentatively took a seat across from you. You finally glanced up at her before averting your gaze again. You took a quiet breath.

“I was able to get in to see my therapist today. So. I feel a bit more prepared for this conversation,” you relayed evenly.

Jessie pushed down the worry that spiked at mention of your therapist. Your therapist would tell you to leave her. She was sure of it.

“Oh. That’s good that you got in to see her,” Jessie offered.

You returned a tight smile. “Mhm.”

“I know it helps you,” Jessie went on in an attempt to be supportive. She didn’t anticipate the glare you shot from across the table.

“Maybe you should’ve actually used your resources, too. You get access to therapists and all sorts of help and you don’t use them for the things you should. Maybe if you’d talked with them about how you were feeling - even if you couldn’t tell me-" you added bitingly, "we wouldn’t be in this mess."

You let out a single, delayed laugh and added, “Mind you. You had no problem telling a girl you hardly knew about all your deepest fears and concerns, so, you know. Who needs therapy anyway.”

Jessie hung her head in her hands and grit her teeth together, failing to hold back a groan of frustration. She dropped her hands right away with a breath.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I can’t express that enough. I know it was so fucked up of me. I-I honestly didn’t even know how much I was harbouring until…this. It just happened,” she said dejectedly.

“Cheating doesn’t ‘just happen’, Jess,” you stated harshly, sitting forward. You glanced at the stairwell before sitting back with a weary sigh.

The room was heavy and quiet for a moment, your gaze set on the table before you spoke once more, your voice softer while you shook your head in disillusionment.

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. It doesn't feel real. Like - there’s no way Jessie would do this. My Jessie. My love. She would never do this. She loves me. She loves our family. She’s my person. She wouldn’t want someone else. She wouldn't stray. She wouldn't betray me.”

Jessie heart sank and she opened her mouth to speak. You spoke over her tearfully.

“And it’s so hard to reconcile because I’ve always felt so lucky. I’ve seen the other wives and girlfriends, what they’ve been through, and I would just sit and think ‘I’m so lucky. Jess loves me. She really loves me. And she’s so dedicated and sincere. I can rest easy and trust that we choose each other and if we have a problem, we'll work together and get through it together. There were many times I felt so lucky I could hardly believe it.” You paused, working to swallow your emotion. "Guess it really was too good to be true."

"Y/N," Jessie breathed, her chest aching painfully at your words.

"I think that's been the worst part." You now wore a weak smile. "That I didn't know at all. I would've never suspected a thing." You dropped your gaze with a quiet sniff of a laugh. "I thought things were good."

Jessie went to interject, to reassure you, but you filled the space first.

"I thought we were solid," you said, a tremble in your voice despite the way you tried to look unbothered. "That we had each other's backs through thick and thin. If there was one constant in this world, it was each other. I thought you were happy with us. With me."

"I am," Jessie protested, scooting to the edge of her seat. "I-"

"Do you know how scary that is for me? If you'd expressed discontent or if things were off - we were fighting, being distant - whatever - then at least I could point back to that. Say I should've seen the signs. But to be completely blindsided? How do I come back from that? How can I ever feel safe or trust things again?"

"Baby, please," Jessie pleaded yet again. "It's not you. It's not us. I am happy with you. I love you so much and you're everything I could ever want-"

"That's clearly not true," you cut in with a steady stare and immediately subduing her. Jessie rubbed her hands together between her knees and stared vacantly at the table as she gathered her thoughts. More silence permeated the room.

"It's my fault. 100%. I-I honestly didn't even realize how much retirement, my career - all of that - was weighing on me," she stammered as her shoulders rounded out in dejection. "I-I think that I felt like if I didn't talk about it, if I just ignored it, then it wasn't real. And it would be fine."

"This has always been your problem," you snapped. "You don't talk about your feelings. I have to drag them out of you. And it takes coaxing, and encouragement, but I thought we always got there," your voice tapered and grew tight.

"And until now - I thought," you paused abruptly, seeming to tamp down your emotions. You carried on more steadily. "I thought I was special. That you could open up to me when you couldn't to others. That you trusted me and could be vulnerable. But it wasn't true," you finished tearfully with a pained smile. "You hide from me as well."

"Not intentionally!" Jessie refuted, feeling desperation building up through her chest.

"Jess! I asked you - various ways - how you were feeling about retirement, going into this next stage - and time and time again you assured me you were ready, you felt good, you were looking forward to it. It would've been entirely natural to have hesitation or fear - but you repeatedly told me not to worry. So I trusted you." The heartbreak in your eyes was quickly overshadowed by resentment and anger. "And to hear that you could bare your soul to this other girl, and then fuck her-" You had to stop and take a breath. You exhaled slowly. "It's fucking horrible. I can't even put it into words."

Jessie rubbed her face wearily. Tears beginning to sting her eyes. She was so frustrated - with herself, with everything. She felt so out of her depth and overwhelmed.

"I know," she cried. "I'm sorry. I was - I don't know, I guess I was scared," she offered, voice meek. "I've been thinking a lot more about it. Because I want to hold myself accountable and understand how and why the fuck I did what I did." She braved a glance at you to see you were watching her quietly. She continued.

"I've always had expectations, a clear next step. My life has been so heavily structured and controlled. This is the first time where things aren't so clear cut. Even if I move into a staff role. It'll be different. And I," your voice gave for a moment, "I think I'm disappointed with how it's all ended. Like I didn't meet expectations."

You frowned. "Jess, you're one of the most decorated players. And you're universally loved. What do you mean?"

She sighed in frustration. "It's hard to explain. I don't even know. Just - the last few years have been hard."

You studied her, the harshness in your eyes had mostly faded.

"How come you didn't tell me?" You asked quietly, the hurt evident in your voice. "I know you were frustrated after certain games and tournaments. And we talked about it. But in the end you always said it was fine. And you'd get irate if I pushed."

"I'm sorry," Jessie repeated. "I-I'm discovering I'm not great at really dealing with things."

You scoffed lightly with an empty smile. You shook your head as you stared distractedly at the wall.

"Well. I'm glad you finally found someone you could talk to." You meant it to be cutting and cold, but your voice broke.

"It was just that one night," Jessie maintained, her voice rising. "I didn't talk to her about anything like that before. I need you to know she doesn't mean anything to me. It wasn't about her."

"Right. It's about you. And me. And us," you refuted tearfully. "That you didn't feel like you could talk to me. For years apparently," you nearly sobbed. "What the fuck. Do you even want this relationship? Or is this some way of your subconscious finding you an out and your head just has to catch up."

"No, oh my God," Jessie protested. "I want you and this relationship more than anything. I swear," she went on, her own voice trembling with emotion. "Please. I know it's hard to believe me right now. I've always felt like I could talk to you. And you are my person."

You looked unconvinced.

"I-I think I just talked to her because...she didn't know me. There were no expectations. I couldn't disappoint her," Jessie theorized solemnly.

"It should've been me, Jess!" You said in a harsh whisper, still mindful to not fully raise your voice. "Or, God, talk to your friends, your family, the team psychologist - my God. And it shouldn't end with you fucking them."

You sniffled, followed by an irritated eye-roll at your own emotions.

"And disappoint me? That's so unfair. And so disheartening. I love you and have always been so proud of you. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. To follow your dreams. All I needed from you was to honour our relationship and marriage. To be honest with me. But, fuck that, I guess," you finished bitterly with a harsh sniffle as you wiped at your tears.

"I know," Jessie cried. "This is why I know it's 100% me. I'm sorry, Y/N. I don't know what I can do," she finished beseechingly, hoping for any kind of guidance on how to fix this disaster.

"Have you talked to her since?" You asked in a terse tone. You shrugged, but your face fell briefly as you fought to control your emotions. "I mean, if she was tempting before. She must be extra tempting now. With your wife being such a miserable, cold bitch to you. I'm sure you could use some comfort," you challenged.

"No," Jessie said adamantly through her dejection. "Please. I have no interest in her. Yes - of course I've been struggling and upset. But I've only talked to you, Elysse and Janine. I haven't talked to her since I left and I don't intend to. And I don't want to at all. I promise."

"Your promises don't mean much anymore, Jess," you said coolly, leading Jessie to sink further into her chair. You released a shaky breath.

"You know. Part of me wonders if I should just fuck someone else. Call it even," you pondered nonchalantly though your eyes were red with tears. Jessie's chest tightened painfully at the statement and she stared at you wide-eyed. You snickered. "However. At least I'm self-aware enough to know that it wouldn't make me feel better. It wouldn't fix anything. I'd just feel a thousand times worse." You laughed ruefully as you picked at your fingernail distractedly. "Believe me though. Part of me wishes I could be so flippant."

"I-I have no right to ask you of anything. But," Jessie swallowed, "I really, really want to figure this out together. I want us to fix things. And I want you to feel confident and happy again. Please give me another chance."

You studied her from across the table. Your quiet unnerved Jessie.

"How can I trust anything you're saying? Even if I assume you're being genuine - how can I trust you to even know what you want or what you're feeling? Now I'm worried you're just trying to fix things because you 'should' and - if you're worried about instability - well, the dissolution of our family would certainly be something you want to avoid so you can feel safe and in control."

"I love you! I love our family and I want us to be together more than anything. And not because I 'should' or anything like that. If I was afraid of instability, I would've never told you about this! But I wanted to be honest with you," Jessie proclaimed in exasperation.

"Yeah. You deserve a medal - let's add it to the collection," you said snidely. There was a flash of regret in your eyes and you readjusted in your seat, dropping Jessie's gaze. You spoke softly. "It doesn't excuse what you did."

"I know," Jessie accepted quietly. "It was fucked up. And wrong. And I am determined to fix things. I swear. I need you to know I'm sorry and that I love you, and I want a future with you as much as I always have. You're the one for me and I'll do everything I need to earn your trust and fix things."

You brought your hands to the side of your face and ducked your head.

"This is so hard. I don't know what to do," you said despondently. "I don't know what to believe."

The pit in Jessie's stomach grew heavier. And as desperately as she wanted all of this to just be brushed under the rug, she knew it was impossible.

“You know I’ve been cheated on before. You know that. Did I expect it from you?” You asked with a faint laugh. “No. Stupidly no. But I guess there’s just something about me not worth keeping around.” Your voice was even, but tears were forming again and you wiped at the corner of your eye irritably.

"Y/N," Jessie breathed, mortified by your statement. "Please don't say that. You're the most incredible woman I've ever met. I've always felt so lucky to be with you and so grateful for your love. This was all on me. And I've fucking ruined everything. And I've hurt you. And I hate myself for it."

"That's hard to believe right now," you said, a slight edge in your voice. Your eyes narrowed and you lip trembled. "You hate yourself? I hate myself. You're sitting here telling me you're so upset with yourself. You're fucked up. You hate yourself. And some stupid part of me just wants to console you. Reassure you. Like you didn't just cheat on me. Disregard me. Destroy my trust. I still love you so much but I'm so hurt and scared and confused."

"And it's not just about me," you went on tearfully. "We have our girls to think about. Believe me - part of me just wants to pack up and leave, take the girls, tell you to fuck yourself - or fuck whoever you fucking want to - but that wouldn't be what's best for them."

The mention of taking the girls away sent an overwhelming wave of anxiety through Jessie. You must've seen the panic in her eyes.

"You may have turned out to be a shit wife, but you're a good mom to them and they need you," you went on, some level of regret in your voice.

"But I'm also debating back and forth with myself what sample I'm setting for them. When they settle down someday and if their partner cheats, hurts them, makes them doubt their self-worth - I'd want them to advocate for themselves. To walk away," your voice broke as you picked absently at the table.

The visual you laid out broke Jessie. She bit back a sob and rubbed harshly at the back of her neck as she tried to calm herself.

"So I don't know what to do," you said in a high and wavering voice as you gave her an imploring look.

"Please give me another chance," Jessie begged. "Let's go to counselling," she added hopefully. "I've looked some up and I have a couple we can choose from."

You were quiet and it was a struggle for Jessie to wait patiently for your response. You eventually sighed wearily.

"Eventually," you said, voice thin and tired. "I-I just don't think I'm at a place where it would be useful at all."

Jessie's stomach twisted in tighter knots, but she gave a nod of understanding.

"Sure. Whenever you're ready," she said with a tight smile.

"If you can't wait. If you realize you want her or someone else - you'll tell me right away?" You asked, again, trying to keep your voice even, but it was thin with the effort of suppressing your upset.

"That's not going to happen," Jessie said resolutely. "There's no one else for me."

"You don't know that, Jess," you said with a vague shake of your head.

"I do. I really, really do," she said, looking you in the eye though you couldn't do the same.

You sniffled and rubbed your face in frustration. Jessie couldn't help but flash back to how just a few nights ago you sat across from her, smiling at her with all the adoration and love in the world. She'd broken everything. And you.

"I have one more thing to ask you," you said as you met her watchful stare again. She nodded.

"Anything," she invited.

You took a steadying breath. "Did you use protection?"

Jessie's stomach dropped and in the moment it took her to gather an appropriate response your eyes flared up with greater anger than you'd expressed all evening.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You asked, bewildered and mortified, surely your voice now finally carrying up the stairs. Jessie glanced over her shoulder and leaned in whispering in emphasis.

"I didn't, but-"

"Oh, you better fucking pray you didn't knock her up," you seethed. "I swear to God, Jess."

"Babe," she cut in, "I talked with her about that after. She's on birth control. It's okay. And I saw my doctor yesterday to get tested, so-"

"Oh my God," you laughed coldly as you held your palms to your face and shook your head. "You asked her after? Are you fucking-" You shook your head in utter disbelief. "I can't with you. I fucking can't."

You took a steadying, shaky breath. "Well, halle-fucking-lujah," you said sarcastically. "She on birth control. Great. One small mercy. At least one of you is responsible! I can't believe you fucked her raw. Are you fucking kidding me." You laughed again, your eyes welling up anew. "I'm so mad at you. I can't even fucking look at you." You tried to laugh, but your voice broke instead.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping noisily against the floor and causing Jessie to flinch. You stared down scathingly at her as she sat in the wake of her mistakes.

"I feel like I don't even know you right now," you added painfully. You shook your head as tears continued to brim. "I can't do this right now," you stated with finality as you stormed off.

You hadn't even reached the stairs by the time Jessie began to cry. She couldn't even bring herself to look over her shoulder to watch you leave or to attempt to coax you back.

She sat alone at the table crying quietly in this silent household for several minutes. She couldn't will herself to move. Her thoughts spiraled and her breathing began to quicken in time with her pulse.

Her fingers began to tingle and she stood up just as abruptly as you had earlier, banging her leg on the table harshly, but not even flinching or caring. In fact, finding some kind of reprieve in the dull, throbbing pain.

She turned on her heel and rushed to the laundry room to grab some workout clothes out waiting to be put away - idly berating herself for how she couldn't even go up to your room to grab clothes because she'd fucked things up so thoroughly. She got changed, grabbed her keys and threw on her runners and took off down the front steps and down the road at a fast clip.

The moon was high in the air and the sidewalk was illuminated in patches from the street lights. The neighbourhood felt still - no cars in sight as she grit her teeth and picked up her pace, taking full, quick strides and soon leaning into a sprint.

She balled her fists tightly as her heels pounded the concrete with each step, breath coming in sharp bursts as the sound of her footfalls echoed down the empty street.

She hadn't stretched and her muscles began to strain, but she relished in the pain.

She just kept replaying parts of your conversation over and over again. Her self-reproach grew deeper and more biting.

Things were far worse than she feared. She couldn't see a way back. She wanted it desperately. And she was dead set on working for it, but right now, she couldn't even see a glimpse of a future where you'd forgive her. Never mind one where you'd love her openly again.

She blinked back tears, but it was pointless. In a matter of moments her tears began to roll down her cheeks, mixing with the beads of sweat that poured down her face.

She ran harder, breathing roughly and unevenly as she fought to control her emotions. Her lungs burned, her muscles ached, but she pushed harder, willing away the emotions that threatened her.

She tried, she really did, but eventually she let out a sob, then another and slowed to an abrupt stop. She didn't even know where she was anymore and she didn't care. She leaned against the streetlight and found her body collapsing to the concrete, her back against the streetlight as she breathed in ragged gasps. She cried into her hands.

What had she done?

[celestialgallaghers]

Cherry [18+]

Note: I've had this draft saved since yesterday and contemplated not posting bc it feels a bit tone deaf right now. But I decided to do it bc i worked too hard on it and didn't want to disappoint those who expected a post this week.

this one turned out uhhhhhh a LOT longer than i thought. white mustang changed the way i write i think……..anyways this is based on this request. i hope you guys can still enjoy although i understand if you don't wanna read about liam rn💗

Summary: Tired of feeling left behind, you’re on a mission to lose your virginity before starting uni in the fall. The only problem is finding someone to help you out in that department. As it turns out, the last person in the world you would've thought of is willing to fill that role.

Word count: 11.6k

Liam Gallagher wasn’t your friend. Well, you didn’t really know what to call him. Coworker felt too formal. Dealer felt too transactional. Acquaintance? But even that implied a kind of mutual acknowledgment that didn’t really exist between you. Maybe it was easier not to label him at all. 

You’d known him most of your life. Sort of. The way people know each other when they grow up in the same town and go to the same schools. But your paths never really crossed. He was one of those kids that was always getting in trouble for being too loud or too hyperactive whereas you were more on the shy side and never caused any trouble.

As you got older, girls started seeing him less as annoying and more cute. He’d grown into those big, doe-like eyes and his hair had darkened from blonde to a soft brown that suited him better.

You weren’t blind. You knew he was attractive. But it was more of a detached recognition. Like looking at someone in a magazine who was completely unattainable. Not someone you'd ever bother trying to talk to. He’d never seemed like the kind of person you’d get on with. And he’d never noticed you either.

Until recently. 

You’d just finished school and taken a job at a corner shop to tide you over before uni in the fall. You hadn’t known Liam worked there. If you had, maybe you would’ve thought twice. You’d been so ready to leave it all behind. Your hometown, your classmates, the whole awkwardness of adolescence. But there he was.

At first it was fine. You worked mornings, he worked afternoons. There was little overlap, save for the occasional handoff at shift change. He’d show up late more often than not, leaving you irritated and stuck there longer than you wanted to be. You occasionally got a muttered hello, but it always came with that vacant stare like he couldn’t be arsed.

You didn’t bother making conversation. Neither did he. And that was how you preferred it. Everything was fine until your boss started scheduling you for afternoons.

It was already a shit day. Customers were more infuriating than usual, your back ached, and the fluorescent lights were giving you a headache. By the time your break rolled around, you were equal parts exhausted and fuming.

You stomped out back, craving a moment of peace, only to find the overturned milk cartons-turned-chairs already occupied.

Liam. Of course.

He was slouched low, long legs stretched out, smoke curling lazily from the corner of his mouth. At first, he didn't even look your way.

You hovered in the doorway, debating whether to head back inside. Then he flicked his eyes toward you and back to his cigarette. But now that you were closer, it didn’t quite smell like tobacco.

“You smoke?” he asked.

You stared at him for a moment. “You get stoned at work?”

It came out more judgemental than you meant. The truth was you didn’t but it wasn’t like you were against it. 

He gave you a slow grin. “Always.”

You blinked. “And you’re not worried about—” you gestured vaguely back, “I don’t know, getting caught?”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “He don’t give a fuck. Neither do I.”

Then he looked at you properly, a gleam in his eyes that made you uneasy. He held out the joint casually.

“Might help with all that uptightness.”

Your eyes shot to him. “I’m not uptight.”

He just shrugged and took another drag. You hated how uncool you felt right then.

“Wait,” you said, surprising even yourself as you moved to sit beside him. “Give it here.” 

He raised an eyebrow but passed it over without a word.

You inhaled and immediately regretted it. The smoke burned the back of your throat and you fought the urge to cough, swallowing hard as your eyes watered. You passed it back silently.

He took it, that same half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His gaze flicked over you. Just once, but it lingered.

“First time?” he asked knowingly. 

You coughed quietly and bit your nail instead of answering.

“Figures,” he muttered under his breath. 

“What?” you asked, head snapping towards him.

“Nothing,” he said, still grinning.

You sat in silence after that. The joint burned down to nothing between his fingers. He stubbed it out on the edge of the crate and stood without a word.

You stayed there a while longer, limbs softening, thoughts loosening. The hum of frustration that had been clanging around in your skull all day faded to a dull buzz. You closed your eyes and thought about the look he’d given you.

Like maybe he had been seeing you after all.

It became a pattern without meaning to. You’d find him out back on your break, sprawled out, joint in hand. He never said hello. Just passed it your way like it was expected. Eventually you stopped hesitating.

You’d just sit there and listen to him ramble about football or the Beatles or random conspiracy theories. You didn’t have much to add and he didn’t seem to mind. It was easy to let his voice fill the space. Easy to be quiet around him. Sometimes he made you laugh. Even if you tried not to show it.

Once, he didn’t even wait for your break. Just sauntered up to the front and jerked his head toward the alley.

He never let you take more than one hit. 

“Don’t need you freaking out at the register,” he’d said, plucking it out of your fingers.

You’d rolled your eyes and insisted you could handle more, but he’d waved it off like it wasn’t up for debate.

He liked to joke that he was corrupting you. You never knew how to respond to that. Maybe he was. But the truth was you were tired of being the girl who didn’t know anything. Who hadn’t done anything. And maybe, just maybe, you liked the attention.

Still, you told yourself you didn’t really like him. You just...didn’t mind him. He made work tolerable. Still annoyed the hell out of you, but you were, reluctantly, starting to get to know him. 

Maybe you’d judged him too harshly. Or maybe you were just starting to pay attention.

Lately though, something else had been gnawing at the back of your mind. Something you’d started fixating on in your final year of school but had never really acted on.

You didn’t want to start uni as a virgin.

It wasn’t some big, dramatic thing. It wasn’t even about romance. You just wanted to know what it felt like. Get it over with. And to be prepared so you didn’t end up in some awkward, fumbling experience down the line.

You were tired of feeling like the only one who hadn’t figured it out. Like you were lagging behind somehow. Sure you’d kissed people before, but nothing more. And the longer it went unaddressed, the more it messed with your head. Like it was something people could somehow tell just by looking at you. 

You wanted to stop wondering. Stop feeling left behind. You just needed a willing participant.

Mid-summer rolled around and you still hadn’t made any progress. You’d lay awake staring at the ceiling and chewing on your thumbnail and get mad at yourself. The more time that passed, the more pressure you felt.

The solution was obvious. Even if you didn’t want it to be.

Liam was there. He was attractive. Experienced. You knew that much just from overheard hallway gossip in school. Girls had thrown themselves at him. He had a reputation and from what you could tell, he’d earned it. He was cocky, sharp tongued, and probably knew exactly what he was doing. He could teach you.

But the thought of revealing something so deeply personal about yourself to him made your stomach twist. You weren’t even that close. You didn’t talk about real things. Besides, how were you even supposed to ask something like that without sounding completely pathetic?

A week passed and you were no closer. The idea had been eating at you more than usual. You’d even started eyeing up strangers on the street. Anyone who might solve your problem.

You caught yourself staring at Liam more often. The way he sprawled in his chair. The way his fingers moved when he lit a cigarette. The grin he got when he knew he’d gotten under your skin. It was getting harder to pretend you weren’t thinking about it.

You kept turning it over in your head, until one day you just blurted it out.

“Do you have any friends you could set me up with?”

He paused, then gave you a look. Like he was trying to figure out where that had come from.

Then he smirked. “Sure. Come out with us tomorrow night.”

He gave you the name of the pub and added, “They’re a bit rowdy, mind.”

You nodded like it didn’t bother you. Like this was a normal thing to ask. But as soon as his back was turned, your stomach dropped.

What were you even doing? It was probably a bad idea. But maybe bad ideas were better than no ideas at all.

The next night had you dressed in one of your more revealing tops and a mini skirt you almost changed out of twice. Liam introduced you to his friends without much ceremony. A few you recognized from school, others you didn’t. They were loud. Full of pints and jokes you didn’t get. The kind of group that could swallow you whole if you let them.

You started downing drinks to settle your nerves, trying to summon up some courage. There was only one of his friends that stuck out to you. He leaned in when you spoke. Let his hand brush your arm when he laughed. It was going well enough.

Until Liam leaned in beside you, voice low and almost too casual.

“Girlfriend.”

You blinked. “What?”

He nodded toward the guy. “He’s got a girlfriend.”

Just like that. Deflated.

You leaned back in your chair, heat rushing to your cheeks. Of course he did. Because of course the one guy you’d felt bold enough to flirt with was already taken.

Liam didn’t look particularly sorry. In fact, he was smiling. Amused like your disappointment was entertaining to him.

“Don’t pout,” he said, nudging you with his elbow. “There’s always me.”

You shot him a look. He seemed like he was joking so you laughed it off, took another drink, and tried not to overthink what he’d just said like he somehow knew exactly what you were after.

This was nothing like work. The atmosphere was looser. Enough that it felt like the dynamic between you was shifting. Everything was a little more cheeky and oddly charged.

Later you found yourself outside with him, standing in the alley behind the bar. You weren’t sure why you followed. You just did.

Liam leaned against the brick wall, cigarette between his fingers, his head tilted back. You swayed slightly, tipsy and quiet, watching him. In the dark, his features softened—long lashes and sharp cheekbones catching the glow from the light above the door.

He was annoyingly pretty. Pretty in a way most boys weren’t. You found yourself a little mesmerized by how his plush lips wrapped around the cigarette. You must've been staring a bit too long because a slow grin spread across his face. 

“You checking me out?”

Your face went hot. “No.”

He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked delighted.

“Really?” he drawled. “’Cause it looked a lot like you were checking me out.”

You flushed and looked away. But then something tugged at you. Maybe it was alcohol or maybe just a week of pent-up want and frustration.

You turned back to him. “Maybe.”

His grin widened, eyes sparkling. “Knew it. You like me,” he teased.

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Nah nah nah, you do. I can see it in your eyes. You want me. Big time.” 

“Just because you’re nice to look at doesn’t mean I like you. I tolerate you.”

That didn’t deter him. “Just keep telling yourself that love.”

He was annoying you again. You muttered a ‘whatever’ and began to turn away, but he caught your wrist. You spun back around, eyes flicking down to his hand then locking with his gaze.

He stared at you for a moment, then leaned in without warning, kissing you like it was no big deal. Like he’d just decided to. His lips were warm, soft, and slightly chapped. The kiss didn’t linger, but it was just long enough for your brain to register how much you liked the way he felt against you.

When he pulled back, he didn’t move far. Just looked at you, still smirking.

“Well?” he said.

You pretended to think it over. “Not bad.”

He laughed at that. “Cheeky.”

Neither of you made a move to push things further, but you wondered if he felt the sudden buzz between you too.

You reached for his cigarette, pulling it from his fingers and taking a slow drag. You tried to look more relaxed than you actually felt.

He raised an eyebrow. “You gonna steal all my bad habits?”

You glanced sideways at him. “Depends. What else you got?”

He laughed under his breath. “Plenty. Most of ’em worse than this.”

You took another drag, then handed it back. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh, I am tempting you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away.

He leaned back against the wall, watching you like he was still trying to figure you out. “Didn’t think you’d let me kiss me.”

You crossed your arms. “Why not?”

“Thought you were too…” He trailed off, tilting his head. “Uptight.”

You groaned. “You love saying that.”

“Because it winds you up.”

“It doesn’t wind me up.”

He grinned. “It definitely winds you up.”

You shook your head, heart rate picking up.

“I’m just saying,” he went on, almost mockingly sincere, “you’ve got this whole quiet, innocent thing going on. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Maybe you don’t know me that well,” you shot back, feeling a bit bold despite the pounding in your chest.

That seemed to catch him off guard. His smirk faltered, just slightly.

“Maybe I don’t,” he said, quieter this time.

The silence stretched a little too long. He almost looked like he might kiss you again. You would’ve let him—until he bumped your shoulder lightly.

“C’mon let’s get back in before they think we’ve run off to shag in the alley.”

You snorted. “As if.”

He smirked again. “Not yet, anyway.”

You shoved him playfully, laughing despite yourself, and followed him back in—heart racing, head spinning, the taste of him still lingering on your lips.

The days that followed weren’t as awkward as you expected. If anything, he got a little flirty. Not overtly, but enough to keep you off balance.

Anytime he passed you, he’d pinch your waist. Just a quick squeeze. The first time made you freeze. By the fifth, you were swatting his hand away, half-heartedly trying to kick him while he darted off laughing, only annoying you more.

He always seemed to be bumping into you around corners. You could tell it was deliberate. He liked seeing you flustered. Liked standing a little too close and watching the way your cheeks flushed, that smirk tugging at his lips every time.

Another night, you went out with him and his friends again. Not for a setup this time, just for fun. It was louder, rowdier, and you got drunker than you meant to. At some point you ended up outside with him again, pressed against a brick wall. 

That kiss had been messier. His hands had steadied your waist while his mouth moved against yours. It wasn’t serious, but hours later you could feel exactly where he’d touched you.

None of it seemed to be leading anywhere. You hadn’t talked about it. But slowly, you were getting more comfortable around him. A little braver.

Which was probably why you were sitting out back with him again, biting your nails and quietly working up the nerve to ask.

It was quieter than usual. No rambling stories. No teasing. Just the rhythmic click of his lighter as he flicked it open and shut.

He was leaned back in his usual sprawl, shoulders relaxed, eyelids low. You watched him from the corner of your eye, studying the slight curl of his mouth when he exhaled.

He caught you staring.

“What?” he asked, voice low and faintly amused.

You looked away too fast. “Nothing.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and smug. “You’ve been weird today.”

“I’m not.”

“You are though.”

You didn’t argue. Just stared down at your hands, fidgeting with a loose thread on your jumper. You chewed your bottom lip before forcing yourself to speak.

“Can I ask you something?”

Liam glanced sideways at you, more curious now. “Course.”

You hesitated. Your heart felt like it had climbed into your throat, thudding hard and fast.

“It’s kind of serious so please don’t laugh at me.”

He leaned back slightly, sensing the change in tone. “Alright.”

You took a deep breath. Then another. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as you said it.

“I don’t want to start uni without…knowing what I’m doing.”

The silence between you felt unbearably loud.

 “Sex-wise, I mean.” Your face burned like it was feverish.

He didn’t say anything right away, so you rushed to fill the space, heart pounding.

“I just—I’ve been thinking about it for ages, and I’m sick of overthinking it. And you’re…I don’t know, easy. Not like that. I mean—”

You stopped yourself, wincing inwardly.

But Liam didn’t tease you. He didn’t laugh. He just blinked once, expression unreadable

“Are you asking me to help you with that?”

You nodded once, your mouth suddenly dry.

“I was thinking you could teach me. I mean if that’s not too weird.”

He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes studying your face with something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but not fully serious either.

“So you’ve never…” he trailed off.

“No,” you said, blushing and looking away.

“Hm,” he murmured noncommittally, as if debating something inside his head.

A rush of embarrassment hit you all at once. “I mean, you don’t have to,” you added quickly, words tumbling out. “We can just pretend I never said anything and forget it and—”

“I’ll do it,” he cut you off. 

Your eyes shot up. “You will?”

He nodded, a grin finally breaking through. “Yeah. Sure.”

You blinked. “Just like that?”

“Well…” He leaned back, looking too pleased with himself. “I figured you’d ask eventually.”

You smacked his arm, half-glaring. “You’re such a dick.”

“Hey, I could take it back right now,” he joked.

You laughed, nervous and relieved and still very unsure of what you’d just signed yourself up for.

He glanced at you again. “So when do we start?”

The next time you worked together, it was already decided that you’d go back to yours after. But all day, a fluttery kind of anxiety hummed beneath your skin. Excitement tangled with nerves. You couldn't stop thinking about it. About him. About what was going to happen. You kept replaying everything you knew, what little you knew, and wondering if it would be enough.

By the time your shift ended, you were a mess. Every time he caught your eye, your nerves had spiked.

He found you near the back and gave you a small smirk, all confident and unbothered.

“Ready?” he asked casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. And maybe it wasn’t. For him, at least.

You nodded, though your palms were already sweating. “Yeah.”

Now the both of you were standing in your room. Unsure what to say, you blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Do you have condoms?”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Easy now,” he said with a grin. “Can’t just dive headfirst into the deep end. Gotta work our way up.”

You nodded, a mix of disappointment and relief washing over you. “Right. Sorry.” 

You crossed your arms, then quickly uncrossed them, unsure where to put your hands. “I don’t really know how this goes.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said with a smirk. “I was thinking we’d start simple. Just toss me off.”

Your head whipped toward him, eyes wide. He raised his eyebrows, clearly enjoying your reaction.

You gaped, trying to respond, but your brain stalled completely. Of course he could say that so casually. You, on the other hand, felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest.

You were really doing this. And with Liam Gallagher of all people.

He caught your flustered silence and softened, just a little. “C’mere,” he said gently.

Nerves twisted through your stomach as you stepped closer. You reached for his zip, hesitant, and he immediately stilled you with a laugh.

“Hang on,” he chuckled, placing a hand lightly over yours. “We’ll get there but I’m not exactly ready if you know what I mean.”

You laughed nervously, biting your bottom lip. “I really don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted. “You’re going to have to…I don’t know, guide me.”

Something about your honesty must’ve struck a chord, because his teasing faded just slightly. His hand came up, thumb brushing your cheek with surprising gentleness.

“Right, first things first,” he said, a bit lower now. “It’s all about the build up. No rush.”

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “And how do I do that?”

“Best to start with a kiss,” he murmured, leaning in.

That, at least, you could handle. You let yourself lean into it. His lips were warm and slow against yours. Unlike before, there was no urgency. He was patient, his mouth gentle as he eased you into it, letting the tension drain from your shoulders one kiss at a time.

Then something hot flicked against your mouth. With a jolt, you realized it was his tongue, brushing tentatively against your bottom lip. Your other kisses hadn’t gotten this far. At least from what you could recall. Or maybe you were just sober now. More aware of him.

You froze for half a second before opening your mouth a little more, letting him in. It felt strange. Slick and new, but not unpleasant. You could taste the lingering traces of smoke and something sweet. Maybe cola. Maybe weed.

You mimicked the way he moved, letting your tongue brush against his. It sent a ripple of something hot through you. Excitement maybe. Or nerves. Or both.

When he finally pulled away, your mouth instinctively chased his.

He chuckled, his breath a little uneven now. “That’s step one,” he said, his voice rougher. “Then there’s the neck.”

He brushed your hair aside, fingers trailing gently along the back of your neck. “S’got all these spots that feel…well you’ll see.”

You held still as he tilted your head, breath ghosting over your skin. Then he kissed you there, light and experimental. At first you felt nothing. But when his lips trailed further down and found a spot that made a shiver ripple through you, everything shifted.

He grinned against your skin, clearly pleased with himself. He kissed again, then sucked gently, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm. Over and over, he found new spots you hadn’t known existed until your pulse was erratic and you were sure he could feel it against his lips. 

By the time he pulled back, his lips were a little wet and his eyes were half-lidded.

“You wanna try?”

You felt completely out of your depth, but still nodded breathlessly. He was too tall for you to reach his neck properly standing like this, so you sat on the edge of your bed. He tilted his head, exposing the line of his neck. 

Leaning in, you tried to replicate what he’d done, focusing on the spots that had felt good. You pressed your lips just below his ear, but the angle was off. Awkward. Your confidence wavered.

You shifted, placing your hand beside his leg for support, and tried again. This time you were able to elicit a response. He let out a low hum and you felt the vibration under your lips. It startled you at first, then you realized you’d made that sound happen. And you liked it.

You moved to the other side of his neck, but the angle was off again. You were too far, too bent.

Without warning, he reached out and grabbed your hips, pulling you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your breath hitched as you found yourself straddling him, legs on either side of his hips. The shift in position made you feel more exposed, more aware of everything. Of his hands resting lightly on your waist. The growing heat blooming between your thighs. How little space there was between you now.

He looked up at you, voice softer now. “This okay?”

Your hands had settled on his shoulders to steady yourself, your heart pounding somewhere in your throat. “Yeah,” you breathed.

He waited a moment, then tilted his head again, offering the other side of his neck. You leaned in, lips brushing the curve of his skin, a little more confident this time. You kissed him slowly, lingering just long enough to feel him shift beneath you. When you sucked gently at a spot below his jaw, he inhaled sharply through his nose, and his fingers flexed against your hips.

A quiet thrill ran through you. You were doing it right.

Without thinking, your hands slid around the back of his neck, fingertips curling into his hair. You felt heady with it. The weight of his body under yours, the way he reacted to your touch.

Then he pulled back slightly with a low laugh. “Okay, okay—not too hard you’re gonna leave a mark.”

You glanced down and saw the skin where your mouth had been already darkening.

“Oops,” you said, though you were smiling.

He grinned. “Oh, I’ll get you for that.”

You laughed softly, grateful for the banter. It helped ease the nerves still fluttering in your chest. Made this feel like less of a performance.

You caught your breath and asked, “Okay, that was step two, what’s next?”

Liam’s eyes dropped to your waist as his hands slipped from your sides. “Step three,” he said, his voice a little lower now. “It’s where things get interesting.”

He shifted you gently, guiding you off his lap and laying you back against the pillows. His touch wasn’t rough. Just enough to steer you. You let him move you, body still buzzing from before.

Your shirt had ridden up slightly in the shuffle, and you saw his gaze dip down to it.

“Can I?” he asked quietly.

Your breath caught, but you nodded. Slowly, you lifted your arms above your head, giving him room. He pulled your shirt up and over you in one smooth motion, dropping it somewhere off to the side. The cool air hit your skin and instinct took over, your arms crossing reflexively over your chest.

“Hey, hey. None of that, okay?” he said gently, his hands finding your wrists and coaxing them away. His eyes dipped briefly to the lacy black bra you’d picked for the occasion. His voice dropped again. “You’re gorgeous. Don’t hide it.”

You weren’t sure if it was a line or if he was being sincere. Either way you still blushed as you looked away, fighting the urge to cover up again. When you turned back to him, you took a breath and met his gaze. 

“At least make it even,” you said, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

He let out a soft laugh and pulled it over his head, tossing it beside yours. You couldn’t help but look. He was skinny. Pale. A bit of sparse hair across his chest that caught the warm light of your bedroom lamp.

“Stop staring at me tits,” he said with a smirk.

You grinned. “Sorry.”

Then he was leaning over you again, body hovering above yours, his warmth already sinking into your skin. He braced himself on one elbow beside your head.

“Tell me if you wanna stop,” he said, quieter now, just for you. “I won’t be offended.”

You nodded and then his lips were on yours again, a little deeper than before. His free hand started at your bare shoulder, the heat of his palm seeping into your skin as it slid down your arm, then your side, until it settled at your waist, making you twitch. It stirred something in your belly and you found yourself turning into him, seeking more. 

Your leg slotted between his without thinking and he let out a pleased sound against your mouth, squeezing your hip in encouragement. Your hand found the warm stretch of his back, your fingertips exploring the smooth skin, hesitant but curious, as your mouth parted beneath his.

Then you felt the subtle pressure of him grinding against your thigh. A low sound slipped from him, muffled by your kiss, and your stomach flipped. You pressed back, trying to mimic the motion. Then his hand moved lower, found the curve of your ass, and pressed you closer. Your breath caught.

Then you felt something hot and rigid pressing against your thigh and your head spun when you realized it was his dick. He was hard. Because of you. Or at least what you were doing. The realization landed like a jolt—part thrill, part nerves, part disbelief. You’d never made anyone feel like that before. 

“Liam,” you broke away, breath unsteady. You caught a glimpse of his face. His lips were a bit swollen and slick with spit and his eyes had darkened. 

You swallowed thickly. “Can I…I mean, is it time?”

He smirked, but it wasn’t unkind. “Impatient are we?”

He leaned back, sitting up enough to tug his zipper down and shimmy out of his jeans. They hit the floor with a thud and you suddenly felt a little overdressed. Your fingers trembled slightly as you unbuttoned your own jeans and easied them off.

Your eyes flicked to the tent in his boxers. It was…intimidating. More obvious than you’d expected. You couldn’t help staring a bit. Then, casually, he pulled himself out.

Your eyes widened. It looked…angry. Red and heavy and very much real. He gave it a few lazy strokes and it sprang up firm against his stomach. The motion was so normal, so practiced, and you realized with a start that your mouth had gone dry.

You looked up, eyes darting from his cock to his face, uncertain. “So what do I do? Or where do I…”

He caught your hesitation and his smile turned crooked again. “Alright first rule: no one likes a dry handjob.”

You blinked, nodding quickly.

“Spit works. Or lube, which I’m guessing you don’t have.”

You shook your head, cheeks burning.

“Then spit it is.”

You hesitated, then did as he said, awkwardly spitting into your palm. It felt weird, unsanitary almost, but you were committed now. 

He watched you with an unreadable expression, then gently took your hand and guided it toward him. His fingers closed around yours, slowly curling them until you were gripping the base of his cock.

“Not too tight,” he said, his voice noticeably rougher now.

He was burning hot in your palm. The skin was softer than you expected, but firm beneath and somehow impossibly alive. You could hardly believe this was happening. That he was letting you touch him like this. That you were touching him.

You glanced up. His chest was rising and falling a little faster now.

“Start slow,” he said, his eyes fluttering for a second. “Most girls rush it, but I like to take my time.”

Your face went warm again. You couldn’t help picturing him alone in bed, stroking himself, and knowing that you were now doing what he’d probably done a hundred times before made your stomach twist with heat. You shifted a little, suddenly aware of the wetness between your thighs.

You took a breath and started moving your hand. Tentative at first, slick with spit, slow strokes up and down. His hips twitched beneath your touch. You watched his expression closely, trying to read it.

“The head,” he murmured. “Make sure you—”

He didn’t finish. Your hand had reached the tip, and he groaned low in his throat, hips bucking up into your palm. The sound shot through you like lightning.

“Was that good?” you asked, breath catching.

He let out a short, breathless laugh. “Yeah. Yeah—now twist your wrist, like this.” He demonstrated the motion in the air, and you copied it, your movements smoother now.

He moaned. 

You froze for half a second, startled by the rawness of it. But he didn’t look embarrassed. He looked wrecked. And the sight of it sent a rush of pride through you.

You kept going. Up, down, twisting slightly. The rhythm came naturally and you watched as he unraveled beneath you. His lip caught between his teeth, chest rising sharply, brow creased in pleasure. You liked watching him like this. Liked the sense of control. It felt powerful.

A bead of something glossy appeared at the tip, and on impulse, you ran your thumb over it. He shuddered violently and you stilled. “No no no—don’t stop. Faster.”

You picked up the pace, nerves giving way to instinct. His hips began to rock into your hand, just slightly, and then a soft, desperate whine escaped his throat. His head tipped back, neck exposed, lips parted, lashes fluttering. He looked beautiful like this.

“That’s it, keep going, don’t—fuck.”

And then he was coming. His hips jerked forward and a low groan tore from his throat as he spilled into your hand. You watched, mesmerized and breathing hard, your grip still curled around him as he rode it out. Some of it had hit his stomach, but most was in your hand.

You blinked, staring down at the mess in your palm, frowning slightly, unsure what to do next.

Then he spoke.

“Try it.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. “What?”

Liam was still breathless, chest rising and falling steadily, but his eyes were locked on yours with a flicker of mischief. His cheeks were tinged pink, making him look even more debauched than usual.

“Give it a taste.”

You glanced from your palm to him. He couldn’t be serious. But the look in his eyes said otherwise. Cautiously, maybe just to prove to yourself that you weren’t a total coward, you brought your hand to your mouth and gave the smallest kitten lick.

You recoiled instantly.

“Oh my god,” you said, face twisting. “That’s disgusting you bastard.”

You smeared the rest across his stomach in retaliation, and he let out a surprised laugh.

“It’s not meant to taste good,” he said. “Just tryin’ to prepare you. You’re gonna have to get used to it if you plan on blowin’ me proper.”

You paused, eyes drifting down to where he was softening, trying to picture fitting him in your mouth. You chewed the inside of your cheek, then glanced back up and gave it one more experimental lick.

Your face twisted again. “No. Nuh uh.”

He just shrugged, unbothered. “Acquired taste then.”

You shook your head, wiping your hand again on his stomach just to be petty. He squirmed. “Alright, alright. Do you have tissues or a towel or something?”

Right. You stood up and rifled through your hamper until you found one. It wasn’t clean, but it’d do. 

He took it, wiped himself off, then handed it back. You quickly scrubbed your hand, still mildly horrified.

“Not bad for your first time,” he said, voice light again, almost smug.

“You’re just saying that.”

“Nah, not when I’m teachin’ ya. Impossible to fail under my guidance.”

You let out a quiet laugh, and the room felt a little lighter. Until his gaze flicked over your body again.

“You ever been fingered?”

The bluntness of it made you bark a surprised laugh. “What?”

“I’m tryin’ to return the favor here,” he said, nonchalant. “But I need to know what I’m workin’ with.”

You hesitated, cheeks warming. “No…not really. I mean, just my own.”

Liam let out a sharp exhale. “Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, eyes pinned to you like he was picturing it.

You blinked, unsure if he was turned on or overwhelmed. Possibly both. He was watching you closely now, eyes darting over your features. You realized he was waiting for permission. Slowly, you nodded.

He sat up, and when you shifted to lie back, he stopped you gently. His fingers tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, then he leaned in, voice low, breath ghosting across your skin.

“I was right about corrupting you,” he murmured. “Watchin’ it happen in real time. You’re so fuckin’ innocent it’s almost wrong to do this to you.”

Your breath hitched. The words shouldn’t have turned you on but they did. He liked this. Liked showing you. Ruining you. Maybe you kind of liked it too.

The thought had you leaning in, pressing your lips to his soft and slow. He met you halfway, mouth warm and pliant, and you threaded your fingers into his hair without thinking. It was soft between your fingers, slightly damp with sweat, and he hummed into the kiss like he liked it.

You were throbbing now. Heat pooled low in your stomach, a growing ache that felt impatient and overwhelming all at once. You didn’t know if it was just from finally having someone touch you like this or if it was because it was Liam. Maybe both. Either way, you wanted more. And you could tell from the way his hands slid slowly up your thighs, so did he.

His hand cupped your breast through the lace of your bra and you gasped into his mouth. He reached behind you, fingers fumbling near the clasp, but you pulled away. You were about to let him inside you, yet somehow baring your chest felt like a step too far. 

He backed off without question. His hand dropped and instead he guided you back against the pillows, his body settling over yours. He didn’t push. You were grateful for that. One of his hands rested at your waist, his thumb tracing slow strokes into your skin.

Then, gradually, that hand began to wander lower.

He reached the waistband of your underwear, toying with it lazily, like he was giving you time. Still, your stomach fluttered with a flicker of panic until his thumb brushed your clit through the fabric.

A jolt of pleasure surged through you. Your hips jumped. A helpless little sound slipped out before you could stop it. He pressed again, firmer this time, and you shivered.

Then he kissed you once more and slowly began to tug your underwear down. You nodded again, a little quicker this time. He peeled them down slowly and the air felt cold against your skin. Your heart jumped into your throat. No one had ever seen you like this. No one.

Liam must’ve felt the shift in you, the sudden stillness, because he paused. His hand returned to your waist, smoothing over your skin in slow, steady circles.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You don’t have to do this.”

You blinked up at him. The thought of stopping and leaving the ache between your legs ignored felt unbearable. Plus you wanted him anyway.

“I’m okay,” you murmured, your voice shaky but sure. “Keep going.”

He leaned down to kiss you again, slower now. Then his hand slid back between your legs. When his middle finger brushed through your slick folds, you jumped, startled by the rougher pad of his fingertip.

His eyes flicked to yours again, checking, and you gave his arm a quick squeeze in response. He kissed you as he gathered the wetness then slowly pressed the tip of his finger inside.

You stilled. It was strange, being filled by something not your own. The sensation was sharper. Deeper. His finger was bigger than yours and the stretch felt unfamiliar. When you’d tried on your own, you could never quite get it right. Never found anything that felt good. 

You felt the same now. Just full. Not uncomfortable, but not quite pleasurable either. He slid his finger to the knuckle and paused.

Then he curled his finger up and your whole body tensed. A shocked sound escaped from deep in your throat before you could stop it.

He froze, pulling back just enough to look at you, searching your face for any sign that he’d hurt you. 

You stared back at him, just as shocked. But you weren’t hurt, you were stunned. He’d hit something and the sensation had lit up your entire body.

Liam’s mouth tugged into a slow, knowing smirk as he figured it out. Then he curled his finger again, this time with a little more pressure.

“Good?” he asked, voice back to that cocky lilt again.

You nodded, unable to speak. Your mouth parted on a breath, eyes fluttering shut as the spark flared again, deeper and hotter this time. He started to build a rhythm and you couldn’t believe how good it felt. Couldn’t believe you’d ever tried to do this alone and thought you were just broken.

When he tried to add another finger, you gasped and flinched slightly at the stretch, so he backed off without a word. God if you couldn’t even take two fingers, how the hell were you supposed to handle his cock? 

But that thought dissipated as fast as it came, replaced by the surge of pleasure when he found that spot inside you again. He kept the rhythm steady and you were nearly overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it. How insanely good it felt. 

Then his thumb found your clit again, circling it in time with the thrust of his finger, and a choked whimper slipped out before you could stop it.

Your hand flew to your mouth, face burning.

He just laughed under his breath. “There we are.”

The orgasm was building fast, far more intense than you were used to. Your legs tensed. Your stomach clenched. Your hands fumbled for something, anything, grabbing at him, at the sheets, needing an anchor. Your mouth stayed frozen in an silent gasp. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Could barely breathe.

Then it hit.

Your body arched off the bed as the pleasure tore through you in a wave, shuddering and all consuming. You felt it from the base of your spine to the tips of your fingers, white hot and blinding. You were dimly aware of the gasping moans falling from your mouth, unfiltered and raw.

When it finally let go of you, you collapsed back into the mattress, limbs trembling. Every part of you felt loose.

Liam was watching you, still stroking lightly, his expression somewhere between smug and soft.

“Fuck,” you breathed hoarsely, eyes barely open.

“That,” he said with a slight grin, “was step four. In case you’re keeping track.”

You gave him a wobbly smile, trying to catch your breath.

Then, casually, he pulled his finger out. And instead of wiping it off, he brought it to his mouth, sucking it clean. The sight made your stomach twist. It was filthy. You had to look away for a second. When you looked back, he was still watching you.

You just stared at him, speechless.

The following weeks were fun. Surprisingly fun. You’d expected this whole thing to feel awkward or clinical. Like checking a box. But instead it felt like something else entirely.

After you got the hang of handjobs (and Liam very smugly declared you a natural), blowjobs had been next. You’d been nervous, terrified if you were being honest, but Liam had been patient. He let you figure it out at your own pace, guiding you when you needed it, praising you when you got it right. And you did get it right. Apparently you were a “fast learner.”

What surprised you most though was the appetite you’d discovered in yourself. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been holding back. The way desire for someone could twist through you. Every time you got off with him, which was multiple times a week now, it only left you wanting more.

Once you’d gotten used to his fingers, he’d gone down on you. And that had changed everything. You hadn’t expected it to feel so good. Or to feel that good that quickly. The way he used his mouth, his tongue, the little noises he made, it was enough to make you lightheaded just thinking about it.

You caught yourself staring at his mouth all the time now. In the break room. On shift. Even when he was just smoking or mouthing off about football. You knew exactly what that mouth could do. The memory alone was enough to make your thighs press together involuntarily.

There was even a moment at work, mid-shift, where you'd caught yourself fantasizing about dragging him into the broom closet and dropping to your knees. And once the idea was there, bold and impossible to ignore, you realized there was nothing stopping you. So you did it.

Found him. Grabbed his wrist wordlessly. Got on your knees and took him into your mouth until he came hot and heavy down your throat. His hand had gripped your hair, his breath ragged, and the sounds he made…god you’d have teased him later if they hadn’t made you so painfully turned on. 

You’d spent the rest of that shift flushed and frustrated while Liam sauntered past you now and then with that crooked smirk.

But for all his swagger, he never rushed you. Never made you feel like you owed him anything. If something made you nervous, he slowed down. Checked in. You always had a way out, and he made sure you knew it. 

It didn’t go unnoticed. You were still figuring everything out, but one thing was certain. You’d picked the right man for the job. Even if you would never say that to his face.

Even if sometimes you thought too hard about why it was him. Why it felt safe with him. Why his voice, his hands, his teasing meant more than it should’ve.

There was an unspoken rule between you: no feelings. This was strictly about sex. Learning. Experience. Whatever you wanted to call it. And it mostly worked.

Except when he flirted with you at work. Or looked at you too long. Or made you laugh mid-kiss and then just held your face in his hands.

The line between “just sex” and something else kept blurring. But neither of you said anything. That was part of the deal too.

One day, out back on break, you told him you wanted him to fuck you. He’d just taken a drag and immediately choked on it, coughing out smoke like he’d swallowed wrong.

You’d smiled, far too pleased with yourself, and walked back inside like it was nothing.

And now the day had come. You were going to let Liam take you.

You were equal parts excited and nervous. It felt like the right time, but there was still that low hum of uncertainty running through you. 

You’d never done this before. You had no idea what to expect. But also…you’d seen him. He wasn’t exactly small.

Still, you trusted him. And that made all the difference.

You hadn’t worked that day, but you’d agreed on a time for Liam to come over. The hours leading up to it felt surreal, like you were hovering just above your body. You were restless and fidgety, your nerves tangled up in anticipation and something that felt uncomfortably close to fear.

You kept telling yourself it was fine. That you wanted this. But you’d built it up so much in your head it had started to feel more like a test you might fail rather than something to enjoy.

So when he finally arrived, you launched yourself at him. Kissed him hard. Tugged him onto your bed.

It wasn’t just eagerness, it was distraction. Maybe if you threw yourself into it fast enough, you wouldn’t have time to second guess everything. He seemed to be able to tell that you were overcompensating. 

“Hey,” he said between kisses, his voice steady. “We don’t have to. You’ve still got a month ‘til uni. There’s time.”

You paused, his words sinking in. The way he said it, no pressure, made your throat tighten.

“I want to,” you said quietly. “I just… I don’t know. I guess I’m a little scared. Because you’re—” 

You gestured vaguely toward the front of his jeans, cheeks heating as you tried to laugh it off.

A smirk tugged at his mouth before he reined it in. “Can’t help it if me dick’s big. Sorry ‘bout that.”

You let out a breathy laugh, grateful for the shift in tension. Of course he’d say that. Of course he’d make it easier.

Then he surprised you by pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you. No wandering hands. No grinding. Just a hug. 

You froze for a second, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. Then you leaned into him, letting your own arms wind around him. Your head pressed into his chest where you could feel the steady rhythm of his heart. His breath slowed beneath your cheek. You inhaled. He smelled like skin and laundry powder and faint cigarette smoke. Like Liam.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, just holding each other, but it calmed something inside you. Helped quiet your nerves.

Then you felt something pressing into your lower stomach and leaned back with a half-smile.

“You perv,” you said, smacking his arm. “We were only hugging.”

He grinned, totally unbothered. “Can’t help it. My body just reacts to you now.”

The words hit you. You stilled, the smile fading slightly. It wasn’t just about you anymore, was it? He wanted this too. He wanted you. And he wouldn’t have been so patient with you if he didn’t care on some level.

“Can I ask you something?” you asked, voice softer now.

He nodded. “Yeah. Go on.”

“When I first…proposed this idea to you, why'd you say yes?”

He exhaled slowly and was quiet for a moment. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and looked at you seriously.

“Honestly the idea of you finding some random guy to help you made me feel a bit sick.”

Your chest tightened.

“You’re just…” He paused. “You’re so gentle. You need to be handled with care.”

It was so uncharacteristically earnest that you didn’t know what to say.

“Didn’t want some knobhead taking advantage of you,” he added, more gruff now. “Plenty of weirdos out there.”

“Plenty of weirdos who don’t get a stiffy from hugging,” you managed, trying to lighten the sudden shift in mood.

“Oh please,” he grinned, pulling you closer. “You love it.”

You laughed, lighter this time. But then you felt him twitch against you and just like that a bolt of heat ran through your body. It hit you how much you wanted him. Not just to do it. But to do it with him.

“I do,” you murmured, eyes flicking to his lips, then drifting back to meet his.

He looked back at you, gaze steady. The air between you shifted, charged now. Not rushed like before. Something unspoken passed between you before you leaned in and brushed your lips against his.

He responded instantly, one hand sliding into your hair, holding you gently as he deepened the kiss. It wasn't frantic this time. It was steady. More patient. His mouth moved with yours in perfect rhythm, like he was giving you room to find your footing again.

Your hand slid to the nape of his neck, fingers threading through the soft strands. You’d learned what he liked by now. How he’d go slack when you tugged lightly at his hair. How he’d shiver violently whenever your hand drifted down to that particularly sensitive spot just above his hip. And how much he liked it when you got confident enough to lead.

So you did. 

You shifted, rising just enough to swing a leg over and straddle him, settling your weight onto his lap. A soft breath escaped him as your hips met, his exhale catching in your mouth. You rocked forward slightly, feeling the hard line of him pressing up through his jeans. He made a quiet, helpless sound in return, and you smiled against his lips.

Men, you’d learned, were surprisingly weak. You just had to touch them in the right places and they’d fall apart. At least Liam did. You hadn’t tested that theory on anyone else yet.

Your smile grew against his lips as you did it again. Dragged yourself over him through the denim, savoring the way his fingers flexed against your hips, the way his breath started coming faster. And god, the heat between your thighs was already pulsing, slow and aching and addictive.

His hands found your ass and squeezed, guiding you down harder against him as his hips rolled up to meet yours. The friction, even through the layers between you, was electric. Your breath hitched, the sound escaping before you could stop it, and your hips began to move in slow, searching circles, chasing the feeling. Every nerve felt lit up, skin buzzing, brain hazy with the sheer need that was building in you.

Your fingers found his zipper, fumbling slightly in your urgency. He chuckled against your mouth, the sound low and fond, before pulling back just enough to help. You shifted clumsily together, kicking your jeans off with little grace, but none of it mattered. 

Not with the way he was looking at you. Eyes dark and full of want.

You settled back into his lap, drinking in the sight before you. Liam, flushed and half-dressed and looking unfairly good. 

His boxers did nothing to hide how hard he was, a dark patch already blooming at the front. Your eyes lingered a second too long, something pulling tight and hot low in your belly.

These past few weeks had taught you a lot. That the buildup—the tension, the teasing, the grinding—could be just as thrilling, sometimes more thrilling, than the release. There was something intoxicating about the sounds Liam made, those little moans and stuttered breaths you could pull from him. You loved it. Loved how much power you had when he was beneath you like this.

You leaned forward, pressing down firmly against him, and the pressure made you both gasp. He twitched beneath you, hips jerking slightly, and you kissed him harder, messy and open mouthed. The drag of his cock against your soaked underwear was dizzying. You could feel just how wet you were, the thin cotton sticking to you with every motion.

You rocked again. And again. Each motion was a little more sure. A little more desperate. Your thighs trembled slightly with the tension, with how badly you wanted more, wanted him. 

Your shirt clung to your back, damp with heat. You broke the kiss, panting, and pulled it over your head in one motion. Your skin prickled in the cool air.

Liam watched you, eyes half-lidded, drinking you in. His gaze made your stomach flip. You paused, familiar nerves rising, but you didn’t look away. You reached back and unclasped your bra, letting it slip from your shoulders and onto the floor. 

You still got shy sometimes, still hesitated, but he made it easier. Made you feel braver. Every time.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. 

His hand came to rest on your waist, thumb dragging slowly across your skin like he couldn’t stop touching you.

You felt your face flush, still not used to receiving such open affection from him. But it settled somewhere warm and deep in your chest.

Your hands reached for his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. He helped you out of it and tossed it aside, and you let your eyes wander over him.

“Now where’s my compliment?” he teased, breaking the silence, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was genuine. “Shut up.”

The teasing helped. It always did. It took the edge off your nerves. Reminded you of who he was. Someone who made you feel safe, who never rushed you, and somehow knew exactly when to pull back and when to lean in.

He reached for you again, pulling you flush against him, and this kiss was different. Hungrier. Like he was trying to consume you whole. And god you’d let him.

His hand skimmed along your side, down your hip, anchoring you in his lap. You could feel him thick and hard beneath you, pressed perfectly between your thighs, and it made your whole body throb.

Your hands wandered across his shoulders, down his chest, tracing the soft trail of hair below his stomach. You felt his muscles jump slightly beneath your touch. Then his thumb grazed your nipple and your whole body shuddered, a shock of pleasure tearing through you. You clenched around nothing, hips twitching with the ache to be filled.

“You’re really sure?” he asked after a moment, voice rough now, but still careful.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I want to.”

He kissed you once more, then gently eased you off his lap, guiding you back onto the mattress. You watched as he stood and slid off his boxers and for a second your confidence wavered. 

You’d seen him before. Touched him. But this was different. 

Your gaze flicked down before you could stop it, and the weight of what you were about to do hit you all at once.

He caught the flicker of panic in your face. “We’ll go slow,” he said softly, his voice steady. “I promise.”

You nodded, though your throat felt tight. You were nervous. But you still wanted this. Wanted him.

He reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out a condom, and rolled it on without fanfare. Then he moved between your legs, settling his weight on one elbow. His other hand traced down your side until his fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear. He peeled them down slowly, and then they were gone and there was nothing between you.

Your pulse quickened. The vulnerability crept back in. But it didn’t last long.

His fingers dipped between your legs, pressing into your center, and your breath caught in your throat. A full body shiver worked its way up your spine.

“This’ll be easier the wetter you are,” he murmured, his voice low and warm against your skin. “And I think you can do better than this.”

His fingers slid through your slick as he said it, tone dipping into something darker. Like he wasn’t just trying to warm you up, he wanted you wrecked. Completely undone.

You opened your mouth to protest, to say you were ready, but then his thumb pressed down on your clit and the words dissolved into a gasp. Your back arched, eyes fluttering shut.

He moved just the way you liked. That’s what got you more than anything. The way he knew. Knew your body now—every twitch, every breath, every tell. Knew exactly what broke you. There was something overwhelming about being understood in such an intimate, instinctive way.

He leaned in, lips pressing softly to your sternum, then trailing upwards with slow kisses. When he reached your breast, he paused, lips brushing your peaked nipple before sucking it into his mouth. His tongue flicked and swirled, making you twitch beneath him.

By the time he reached your collarbone, you were squirming, desperate for more. His fingers slid lower, finally sinking into you. You exhaled sharply, relief immediate and welcome. You clenched around him, your body greedily responding after so much buildup.

He worked you open with gentle precision, adding another finger to stretch you just right. His fingers curled to stroke that spot that always made your eyes flutter. His kisses grew sloppy, distracted by the soft, needy sounds spilling from your lips.

You couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel when it was his cock instead of his fingers. How utterly full of him you’d be. Just the thought made you clench harder, body tightening with impatient need. You were soaked now, trembling with desire.

“Liam,” you breathed, voice rough and unsteady. “I don’t think I can be any more ready than I am right now.”

He stilled, eyes lifting to meet yours. Whatever he saw in your face shifted something in him, and that dark, hungry look overtook his expression. He gave one last teasing curl of his fingers before slipping them out and wiping them carelessly on your duvet.

You were about to chastise him, but the thought vanished the instant you felt the head of his cock press against you. Instead of fear, all you felt was a fierce need to have him inside of you.

He paused, just long enough to search your face again.

You nodded, voice soft but certain. “I’m okay.”

And then he began to push in.

A sharp breath caught in your throat. It burned. The unfamiliar stretch had your hands scrambling up his back, fingers digging in as your body worked to accommodate him.

“Alright?” he asked, voice strained, jaw tight with restraint.

“Yeah,” you whispered, trying to breathe through it. “Just…slower.”

He nodded and inched in, even more careful now. Your body fought it at first—the pressure strange and bordering on too much—and for a moment you weren’t sure he’d even fit. But then you focused on everything else. The warmth of his breath at your collarbone, the soft press of his lips against your skin, the quiet reassurances whispered just for you.

Little by little, your body adjusted. Until finally, he was fully seated inside you.

You both stilled and the air between you shifted. Your hands found his neck, clinging to him. You’d never felt anything like it. To be filled like this. You could feel everything. The heat of him. The weight. How impossibly deep inside of you he was.

Liam was struggling too. You could feel it in the way his breath stuttered against your neck, in the tension coiled through his entire body. He was trembling slightly above you, holding still with effort, and inside, you swore you could feel his heartbeat in every pulse of his cock.

Then your body clenched unexpectedly around him and he let out a choked sound. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, one hand gripping your hip like it was the only thing keeping him from losing it.

A moment later, his hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit. The pleasure cut clean through the ache and it loosened something in you. The sting was still there, but it was fading. Transforming into something warmer and heavier. Still intense and foreign, but less sharp. 

You blinked up at him, breath shallow. He still hadn’t moved, eyes locked on yours, jaw clenched tight. Waiting for you.

You nodded. “I’m okay.”

And then he moved.

It was slow at first. A careful drag out, then a gentle push back in. Not quite pleasurable, but not unpleasant either. Just a new, strange feeling that your body hadn’t yet figured out how to process. So you focused on Liam. On the way his breath hitched when you clenched around him, how his hips faltered slightly. How wrecked he already looked just being inside you. It helped a bit.

Gradually, your body began to adjust. The ache receded. Your muscles loosened. You shifted your hips experimentally and he groaned, grip tightening on your thigh.

“Jesus,” he muttered, voice frayed. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

The praise went straight to your head, and somewhere much lower. Your body reacted without your permission, clenching tight around him. He cursed into your neck, hips stuttering like he was fighting the edge already. 

Then he shifted, just slightly, and a bolt of pleasure shot through you, sudden and blinding.

Your whole body jolted. Your grip tightened around his neck, nails digging in. A gasp tore from your throat as your eyes flew open, wide with shock.

“There?” he asked, voice low and ruined but faintly smug.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “That—yeah.”

He adjusted, chasing that spot, and suddenly you understood what the fuss was about. The reason people craved this. The obsession. 

His rhythm quickened, shallow thrusts hitting that place again and again until your thighs were trembling and your mouth fell open, helpless sounds spilling out.

“Okay?” he asked, slowing just enough to check.

You nodded frantically, gasping. “Yes—yeah, don’t stop.”

Your voice didn’t even sound like your own. It was husky and desperate and it made your face burn, but only for a second. Because then his thumb returned to your clit and your hips jerked, lightning shooting up your spine.

The added friction made you cry out, the pleasure tipping into something wild. Liam groaned, deep and needy, and you felt it in your bones. Everything was too much and not enough all at once. The stretch, the heat, the pressure. All of it building into something too big to contain.

Your orgasm slammed into you fast and hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. It twisted sharp and sweet through your belly before breaking wide open. You cried out, hips jerking, clenching around him, the world narrowing to nothing but sensation.

Liam cursed, barely holding on. His rhythm faltered, then stilled with one last deep thrust and a raw, ragged groan as he came. His whole body shuddered above you, arms trembling with the effort of holding himself up, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath coming fast and uneven.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your combined breathing and the soft rustle of sheets as your bodies slowly settled.

Eventually, he pulled out carefully and disposed of the condom. Then, without a word, he collapsed beside you and pulled you into his chest. 

You didn’t hesitate. Your limbs were still trembling faintly, your mind caught somewhere between disbelief and a soft, glowing buzz. You felt strangely empty and cold without him inside of you now.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead.

“Yeah,” you said after a moment, trying to find your words. “Yeah that was…yeah.”

He laughed softly, arms tightening around you, and for once he didn’t say anything cheeky in return.

You lay like that for a while, your cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. The silence was comforting. You were wrapped in it, safe in the weight of his arms, when you finally mumbled into his skin, voice low and a little shy.

“I’m really glad it was you.”

And you meant it completely. You’d be forever grateful it was him. Him, who you’d misjudged for years. Him, who surprised you. Him, who made this feel less terrifying and more like something you’d want again. Someone you were quietly growing fond of.

“I’m really glad it was me too,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You hesitated, then the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “Can I tell you something?”

“Hmm?”

“I was wrong about you,” you blurted. “You’re kind and patient. Still annoying, but in a way I actually like. And I think I do like you.”

It all came out in one rushed breath, and your face burned immediately after. There was a pause, brief but long enough for panic to rise.

“I was waiting for you to admit it,” he said eventually.

Your head lifted sharply, eyes narrowing. “Oh, piss off—”

“Because I like you too,” he added, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “Even if you’re a bit of a goody two shoes.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” you shot back, laughing softly as you pulled back enough to see him properly.

“No,” he agreed, grin spreading. “But you like me,” he sing-songed, smug and unbearable.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, pressing your face into his chest. “You like me too!”

“Yeah,” he said, not even trying to hide the amusement in his voice. “I do.”

You snorted. He leaned in to kiss your forehead and managed to knock your heads together.

“Ow,” you muttered, laughing anyway.

“Meant to do that,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose in retaliation.

He grinned, then tilted his head. “So now that you’ve officially completed your mission, does that mean I’m out of a job?”

You shook your head. “Not even close. You’ve got loads more to teach me.”

His smile softened. “Good. Because I’m not ready to be done with this yet.”

And neither were you.

You nestled back into him, your leg draped over his, and everything went quiet. Hazy in the best possible way. The kind of calm that settles when something just clicks. For the first time in your life, everything felt right.

There was nothing more you needed to say. You were exactly where you wanted to be. And you knew, without a doubt, how insanely lucky you were.

[runningincircl3s]

Who Are You?

Kickboxer!Noah x Reader

Chapter Six

chapter warnings: noah's across the world but it's still the same time for reader? (time zones just don't seem to exist in this universe i guess?) a little nsfw at the end...? reader is so oblivious lmao, i think that's it?

masterlist ♡

┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

"I'll miss you."

You watched him walk away and the second the elevator doors slid shut and Noah was out of sight, you let go of a breath you didn’t even know you had been holding. Holy fucking shit. 

You could still feel the press of his lips on your hand as you stood frozen still, staring at the empty space where he had been standing just seconds ago. His scent still lingered in the air even after he’d gone, something fresh and unintentionally sexy that you were beginning to obsess over. 

After a moment, after you’d tried your best to calm down, you turned to your door. 

Your keys jingled as you fumbled with them- clearly you weren’t as composed as you thought, your cheeks were still hot, your hands were shaking a little from the adrenaline of it all as you still tried to process the entire night. His hand in yours… the way his thumb had traced over your skin… the kiss to the back of your hand. You still weren’t sure how your knees didn’t give out beneath you. 

“Fuck, get it together.” You mumbled under your breath, managing to jam the key into the lock, twisting it and opening the door. You knew you were going to be bombarded with questions, but it was kinda your fault for asking your friends to stay until you got home- but that was before you knew things were actually fine between you and Noah. 

But you didn’t even get two steps in before…

“NO CALLS, NOT TEXTS?? WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN?!”

You practically jumped out of your skin as Kylie sprinted towards the door, her eyes wide with the fury of a worried best friend who had clearly been pacing the apartment for hours. James wasn’t far behind her, as always. 

“Jesus, can you let me shut the door first?” You chuckled, holding your hands up, still halfway through the door, your gym bag slung over your shoulder.

“So I’m guessing he wasn’t mad at you if you've just come home holding hands? C’mon, what happened? Where did you go? What did you do?” James grinned, leaning against the kitchen counter.

You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come. Instead, a nervous laugh escaped, and you pressed a hand to your flushed face as you finally kicked off your shoes and stepped all the way inside.

“I’m so glad you two didn’t let me cancel my gym membership.” You confessed, letting your bag drop to the floor by the door, shrugging your hoodie off next as you were feeling a little too hot…

“We figured,” James shot back, flopping down onto the couch, “So what happened? Spill.”

“Was he mad at you like you thought?” Kylie chimed in, eyes focused on you as you grabbed a glass of water to steady your nerves.

You busied yourself with the glass, avoiding their eyes for a little longer than necessary.

“…It’s a long story.”

“Girl, we’ve got all night!” James called from the couch. 

You leaned back against the counter, glass cool in your palm, your heart still racing… You looked at the back of your hand, the spot where Noah’s lips had been just minutes ago, before he pulled away with that stupid little smirk that made your stomach somersault, and you couldn’t help but smile. 

“C’mon,” Kylie urged softly, crossing her arms. “Don’t make me beg. You’re standing here grinning like that and won’t tell us why!”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen you smile like this before…” James chimed in from the couch, “It’s a little scary.”

You groaned into your glass, hiding your face behind it for a second. But it was no use. They already knew. They saw it the second you walked in.

“Fine…” You finally set the glass down with a soft clink and pushed your hair back from your face, cheeks still a little pink. “We went for food.”

“Food?” James gasped, his eyes wide, “As in dinner? A DATE?!” 

You nodded, biting your bottom lip to keep from smiling too hard.

“Yeah… kinda... he noticed I was hungry and offered to take me out after class. He said it didn’t have to be a date, but it really felt like one.”

“And?!” Kylie grinned.

“And… it was nice.” You shrugged, trying and ultimately failing to play it cool as you crossed your arms.

“Stop being so vague and just tell us if he kissed you!” James groaned through a smile. 

Your shook your head a little. 

“No… he didn’t…” You trailed off, a breathless little laugh slipping out, “But-”

“But?” Kylie’s eyes widened, stepping in closer, “But what?”

You couldn’t stop the grin now if you tried. 

“He kissed my hand.” You confessed, your voice coming out a little giddy. 

James was stunned into silence as he just blinked, and Kylie’s jaw dropped.

“…You’re telling me the hot gym guy kissed your hand, like fucking prince charming, and you’re standing here telling me it was just nice?” James cried, “NICE?!”

You let out an actual laugh, cheeks aching from smiling now as you finally crossed your apartment, flopping down beside him on the couch.

“Well, it was more than nice,” you admitted, a little quieter now,  remembering how his lips had lingered against your skin, how his eyes stayed locked on yours the whole time, “It was… fuck, it was really good, okay? He made me nervous as hell, but I didn’t want it to end.”

Kylie dropped down on the couch beside you, practically vibrating with excitement. 

“Why didn’t you invite him in?” She asked, “We would’ve left if-”

“I know, and I tried,” you confessed with a helpless little smile, “But he said he had a flight to catch.”

“And he still went out for food with you first?!” Kylie gasped, her hand smacked your arm playfully. “Babe… he's in love with you!”

You playfully rolled your eyes with a sigh, trying to hide the way your stomach flipped.

“It wasn’t like that-”

“Oh, it is like that.” James cut in with a big grin, “So, since I can already hear the wedding bells… when do we get to meet him properly?”

"When you learn to behave."

…

It wasn’t far off midnight when your friends finally left. Kylie hugged you tight on the way out, practically bouncing as she reminded you, 

“We’ll be back tomorrow, don’t forget! Rockfest tickets go live at midday.”

“Yeah, it’s gonna be a long day,” James chimed in, already halfway down the hall. “We’ve got outfits to plan, hotels to book, then we finally get to look at the lineup!”

Ah yes, the annual Rockfest ticket day. The three of you would get together to plan it all, and finally let yourselves see the setlist after. One year, there were hardly any band names you knew, but that only meant you found new bands and artists to listen to, and it was possibly the most fun year of them all.

You smiled, nodding and waving them goodbye, but the second the door clicked shut behind them, the whole place felt a little empty, and too quiet. All you could hear was the city traffic outside your window, the slight hum of your fridge and the quiet tick of the clock. 

You exhaled, leaning back against the door, finally letting the day catch up with you.

You ached a little from training, you had been silently struggling to sit ever since you fell on the mats, your cheeks hurt from how much your friends made you laugh, and your heart had never felt so full.

You pushed off the door, making your way through the apartment, dimming the lights as you went, changing into an oversized shirt to sleep in, taking off your jewellery, washing your face, all the small things that usually helped wind you down and get ready for bed- but tonight, your brain wasn’t settling down. 

You got into bed, crawling under the covers, curling onto your side and shutting your eyes. 

After a while, you still couldn’t sleep, so you turned again, laying on your front. Then your back. Then back to your side. Then you kicked the covers off. Then you tried laying on your back again. Then your side-

Nothing was working. You couldn’t sleep. 

You turned back onto your back again with a huff, and stared up at your ceiling. 

You never usually had an issue falling asleep, but there was something different about tonight. You couldn’t get him off your mind. Every time you shut your eyes, you saw his face, you could still feel his lips on your skin, you could still hear the softness of his voice- it wasn’t like you to obsess over a guy like this, but Noah wasn’t like anyone you had ever met before. 

Finally, you gave in. You reached for your phone, hesitating as you found his contact… was this too much? Would he even see it?

No. Screw it.

You: hey, thanks again for tonight. I don’t know how you do it but I haven't felt this comfortable with anyone in a long time. I owe you when you’re back :) 

Only moments after you sent the texts, your arm already reaching put your phone back down- it buzzed. 

Noah: You’re still awake?

Noah: I was just about to text you. I had a great time today, and I’m glad you came to class. You don’t owe me anything btw, I did it because I wanted to, I care about you.

Noah: They'll be calling us to board soon, get some sleep okay? I'll text you when I land. 

Your cheeks burned, a giddy little smile tugging at your lips like some ridiculous love sick idiot.

But you didn’t even care. 

You: But I can't sleep. I can’t stop thinking about you...

Noah: I can’t stop thinking about you either.

Noah: You should try though… I wish I was there, I'd help you fall asleep.

Your tummy was suddenly full of butterflies, you grinned into the pillow, trying your hardest not to squeal.

You: I wish you were here too, I keep tossing and turning but I just can't sleep :(

It only took a few seconds for his reply.

Noah: If i was there you wouldn’t be able to toss or turn

Noah: I'd have you tucked under my arm where you belong

Holy fucking shit.

You exhaled, cheeks warming, sinking deeper into the sheets as your heart felt like you had just ran a mile. You tried to stay calm, you tried to stay composed, but you were only one more message away from rolling around your bed, giggling and kicking your feet.

Noah: Go to sleep

You: but i wanna talk to you!

Noah: We’ll talk when you wake up

Noah: You need to get some sleep. 

You: okay fine… goodnight noah <3

You wondered whether the heart was too much... but he had literally just told you he wished he was there in your bed with you. You worried a little when his typing bubble kept appearing and disappearing, but then he finally replied.

Noah: Goodnight sweet girl. Sleep well for me

Oh, he's going to be the death of you.

...

You woke up the next morning to warm sunlight beaming through your bedroom window, and you stretched your limbs with a soft sigh. You had dreamt of Noah, which didn't come as a surprise, it also explained why you woke up with a smile on your face.

You looked over at the clock on your wall, it had just gone 11am- surely Noah had landed by now?

You reached for your phone, still blinking the sleep out of your eyes as you tried to read through notifications- most of which you didn't care about- until you found his.

Noah: Made it to France.

Fuck, at 6am?

Noah: I remember you told me you don't work on Wednesdays so you better sleep in, you need it. I'm gonna be busy for the couple days I'm here, I promise I'll text whenever I can but I’ll be thinking about you. Don’t miss me too much 😏

It was stupid how your heart swelled over that simple little teasing line at the end.

You stared at the message for a moment, rereading it at least three times through the sleepy haze clinging to your brain, trying to figure out if this was real or you were still dreaming.

The image popped into your head so easily: Noah, probably exhausted after hours of travel, standing in some busy airport surrounded by strangers. But he still took the time to text you, and not just to let you know he got there safe. 

You: glad you landed safe, i hope you’re not too tired. 

You: i definitely slept in, so you get your wish. And good luck with your busy days doing whatever the hell your job is

You: and i'll try not to miss you too much, but no promises 😏

A few seconds passed, and you were expecting radio silence from Noah, maybe he was busy already… but then your phone buzzed.

Your heart jumped as you snatched it up. Only to see it was Kylie…

Kylie: ROCKFEST DAYY!!! we’ll be over as soon as James makes a decision on what to get for lunch lol

15 minutes. It took 15 minutes for them to arrive, and to start banging at your door. You just about had time to take a quick shower, and by the time you were drying off, you heard them.

“Bitch open up, we have 20 minutes!” Kylie’s voice rang through the apartment, a little muffled through the door but still loud.

You quickly got dressed before swinging the door open. Kylie practically burst through with a grin, James trailing behind her with drinks balanced in one hand and a paper bag in the other.

“Kylie's brought her ipad, I've got two phones," James said as he dumped everything down on the counter and sat on the couch, "Can we use your work laptop too?”

"Sure." You grinned, quickly fetching it from the shelf above your tv.

“Okay, are we all ready?” Kylie asked, cracking her knuckles before glancing your way. Her eyes narrowed. “Okay, wait... pause!”

“What?” You froze.

“You’re smiling.” She pointed an accusatory finger. “You’ve been smiling since we walked in!”

“What's Noah done now?” James chuckled, before he gasped dramatically, "Have you two been sexting?"

"No!"

And because Noah’s timing is just impeccable, your phone buzzed on the counter, and the screen lit up with his name at the bottom. You snatched it before either of your friends spotted it. 

Noah: Thank you. I've just got to the hotel, I’m exhausted

Noah: You doing anything interesting today? :)

“What’s that? Who is it?... Is it him?” Kylie practically leapt over the counter, eyes wide as she peeked at your phone. Her jaw dropped. “IT IS HIM!” she practically screamed.

“Okay, okay- calm down.” you laughed, holding your phone just out of reach as James perked up from the couch.

“Can we see?” James asked, holding his hand out like a greedy child. “Pleaseee.”

You hesitated, biting your lip in thought. You wanted to share… sort of… maybe? But only if they behaved.

“I’ll let you read,” you finally agreed, eyes narrowing at both of them, “But under one condition… you do not call or text him. I mean it. I just wanna talk about him with you guys, not have you terrorise him before I even get the chance to properly like him. I don't want to think I've scared him off again.”

Kylie nodded, and James held up his fingers in some kind of scout’s honour. 

“Cross my heart. Now pleaseee let us see.”

With a reluctant sigh, you passed your phone into James’s eager hands. He immediately found your messages, Kylie looking over his shoulder to read along.

They both fell into silence for a second, eyes scanning over the texts, how teasing he had been, the goodnight sweet girl that had your heart in pieces, the texts from this morning, and the one you’d just received.

James’s jaw fell open.

“Oh my god.” His voice was hushed, like he’d just uncovered state secrets. “He’s so fucking cute... I want him.”

Kylie swatted his arm, giggling like a teenager. 

“I think he's good for you.” She turned to you with playful eyes. “I like him. Keep him. Marry him!”

“You’re worse than me.” You groaned, face flushed as you snatched the phone back.

“You need to reply,” James urged, "We'll help you!"

“He's probably trying to sleep," you rolled your eyes, "Maybe I’ll text him later. Cause right now, we have 5 minutes until-”

“OH SHIT THE TICKETS!”

...

Tickets were finally secured. The regular hotel was booked, outfits were sort of planned, though it was months away so you were sure to change your minds.

But there was one thing you hadn't done yet.

"Lineup time!" James grinned, nodding to your phone which was sat on the coffee table, "Wanna do us the honours?"

"Sure." You said, reaching for your phone.

As soon as you unlocked it, you saw you hadn't texted Noah back yet. So you quickly replied, without making too much of a scene.

You: just spending the day with my friends, so i'll warn you now if there's any weird texts or calls it's probably them

You: i hope you manage to get some sleep, and i hope you aren't too jet lagged

"Okay... here it is." You said, standing up as if you were about to make an important speech.

You read through the lineup for the first two days, your eyes lighting up as you pointed out some of the bands you knew you'd all be excited to see. It already looked like a great weekend.

And then… you scrolled to the final day.

“Okay, who’s headlining?” James asked, taking a sip of his drink.

You paused, eyes narrowing at the screen.

“Oh… Bad Omens.”

“Who are they?” Kylie tilted her head, furrowing her brows. “The name sounds familiar.”

"I dunno, but I've heard they're sexy." James smirked.

“Noah likes them,” you said with a soft shrug. “I noticed yesterday, him and his friends were all wearing Bad Omens stuff. Hoodies, shirts- Noah even had their shorts on… I think half his wardrobe is their merch.”

Kylie’s eyes widened with glee.

“Ooooh, so he’s a fan! Maybe you should get another ticket and invite him! I don't mind if he comes with us!"

“Or maybe, he's already going” James added with a smug grin, “If he's such a big fan.”

“Ask him!” Kylie grinned, nudging your arm.

You shook your head quickly, biting back a smile.

“He hasn't texted me back from before, he’s probably still asleep...” You explained, “And I don’t want to bug him too much. I might scare him off.”

James scoffed.

"I doubt that." 

"Okay, well, why don't we check that band out?" Kylie grinned, clapping her hands together, "Let's see if your future husband has good taste."

You rolled your eyes at her comment, but checking them out wasn't a bad idea, you've been thinking about it all night actually...

With a nod, you reached for your laptop, clicking on the spotify icon. It took a moment to load, then you finally typed in the name...

Bad Omens 5 million monthly listeners

You stared at the screen, leaning in and squinting a little at the picture of the band. The guy at the front caught your eye immediately, the one with the mask, his face completely hidden. But then his hands caught your attention they were... wrapped?

What the fuck? It's got to be a funny coincidence, right?

But the tattoos on his fingers looked strangely familiar. You’ve stared at Noah’s hands more times than you’d ever admit during class, you had always tried to see what the ink on his knuckles said, if anything, but you could never tell.

You didn't let it play on your mind too much, though. Maybe he was inspired by them and kinda copied him? It wouldn’t be a stretch, especially with how much Bad Omens merch he owned.

“C’mon, what are you waiting for?” Kylie leaned over your shoulder, peeking at the screen. Her brows lifted when she saw the masked frontman. “Ooh… another mystery guy? Maybe they’re doing the whole Sleep Token thing.”

You hummed under your breath, and clicked on their top song- Just Pretend.

The song began, and the moment you heard his voice, you froze.

I’m not afraid of the war you’ve come to wage against my sins…

"Oh..." James' eyes widened. “Okay, yeah. This guy sounds sexy. I like it.”

You didn’t respond, your focus was entirely on the track. His voice was like nothing you'd heard before, so good it had stunned you into silence. But the lyrics were pretty deep too, and honest. Whoever this guy was, you wanted to give him a hug.

I know the pain that you hide behind the smile on your face, and not a day goes by where I don’t think I feel the same…

“Shit…” You whispered under your breath.

You swallowed hard, the words hitting a little too close. You shuffled a little on the couch, like pulling yourself from the haze you were in and bringing yourself back to reality would ease the pain in your chest.

"They're good," Kylie nodded, tapping her fingers along to the beat. “I like them.”

“But do they look it?” James teased, wiggling his brows.

“It’s not about that,” you argued lightly, your gaze drifting back to the masked figure. “Music’s supposed to be about the art… not the looks.”

But still… something about him stuck with you.

...

You didn't hear from Noah at all that night, or the next day. No good morning text, no asking how your morning was or if work was kicking your ass. Just silence...

Or, partially silence, as Bad Omens has been filling the void for you all day. You couldn't get enough of them, and you were definitely excited about seeing them at Rockfest. You haven't even told Noah that you have started listening to his favourite band yet.

But now, you were getting ready for bed, you took a quick shower and as you stood at the bathroom sink brushing your teeth, you heard your phone buzz on your nightstand.

You couldn't move quick enough. You scrambled onto the bed, nearly slipping on the hardwood floor in your socks as you grabbed your phone.

Noah: Fuck I'm so sorry I disappeared… it's been a long day.

You smiled around your toothbrush, feeling ridiculous and lovesick and warm all at once. You walked back to the bathroom to spit the toothpaste out and rinse your mouth quickly, before you flopped down onto the bed and typed back.

You: it's okay, i kinda assumed you were busy with your myserious secret job... but i missed you a little

Your heart sped up when his typing bubbles appeared almost instantly.

Noah: A little? That’s harsh. I’ve been stuck thinking about you all day. It’s been driving me fucking crazy not talking to you.

But before you could even type a reply, your screen changed- your heart stopped in your chest.

Noah wants to Facetime

Your mouth went dry for a second. You stared at the screen, wide eyed and completely frozen still, like this was the most terrifying thing you've ever seen, but also the thing you want more than anything.

You quickly pressed accept.

The screen filled with his face, his hair messy, his hoodie hood pulled over his head. His eyes looked heavy, but they lit up the second he saw you.

“Hey." He smiled.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks, and you couldn't hold back the smile that spread across your face.

“Hey…” your voice was softer than you intended, even sounding a little nervous. “You look tired.”

“I am." He chuckled. He shifted slightly, the fabric of his hoodie rustling as he moved on the hotel bed, leaning his head back against the headboard.

“You okay?” You asked gently, reading between the lines, and seeing more than just tiredness in his eyes.

Noah sighed, eyes fluttering closed for a second before he opened them again.

“Not really,” he confessed, his voice a little lower now. “Today’s been shit. Nothing went the way it was supposed to. Everyone’s pissed and I kinda feel like I fucked everything up.”

Your heart hurt at his words, all you wanted was to reach through the screen and hug him, or do anything you can to comfort him.

“You're way too hard on yourself, Noah.” You frowned, shuffling a little on your bed.

He gave the smallest of smiles, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Maybe… but it’s been a long day, and I just-” he exhaled deeply, like he’d been holding his breath the whole time. “-I just wanted to see you. Hear your voice for a minute. That’s all.”

You tried not to show how that made you feel.

“I’m glad you called." You whispered, your voice soft.

"I'm glad you answered." He smiled.

You moved on the bed again, now laying on your side as you chewed your bottom lip, before you asked,

“When are you coming home?”

“Tomorrow night,” he answered without missing a beat, like the thought of seeing you again was the only thing getting him through. “And when I'm back… can I see you again?”

Your breath caught, your heart damn near imploding inside your chest.

You nodded, your voice stuck somewhere in your throat, only managing a quiet,

“Yeah… I’d like that.”

"Good," Noah smiled tiredly, “Now get some sleep. Text me when you wake up?”

You hummed softly in agreement, still slightly taken back by the tenderness in his tone.

“Goodnight, Noah.”

Noah’s POV

The screen went black after the call ended. Your face disappeared, but his heart was still warm.

Noah sighed, leaning his head back against the headboard, replaying the way you said goodnight, your voice sleepy and soft, and the way you said his name...

Fuck. He was in deep.

Today had been hell, one disaster after another. He'd been playing at a festival and when they were on, nothing was going right. The lights messed up, the sound was off, he kept forgetting lyrics. He let people down. But somehow, hearing your voice at the end it made him feel better.

“That's cute, I didn’t know you were the type to call before bed.” Davis chuckled, half asleep on the other bed in the room. Noah hadn't even realised he was still awake.

"Shut up." Noah rolled his eyes and put his phone down on the nightstand.

Davis chuckled, turning over, but Noah stayed still, staring at the ceiling.

Tomorrow... He'd see you again tomorrow, and maybe he’d finally tell you what you were starting to mean to him.

...

You pushed open your apartment door, switching the lights on and kicking your shoes off. You were still waiting for Noah to tell you he's landed, you've been waiting for the last few hours, ever since he sent the text to say he was boarding.

You tried not to think about it too much, maybe his phone died? Maybe he's been held up in security? You shrugged it off and instead went to your bedroom to change out of your work clothes, into something more comfortable- an oversized shirt with basically nothing beneath. Then you went back to the kitchen and grabbed a snack.

And just as you took the first bite there was a knock at your door.

You rolled your eyes, putting your food back in the fridge, and heading to the door, expecting it to be your friends turning up unannounced again.

"Guys, how many fucking times do I have to tell you-"

You froze the moment you swung your door open, and instead of being met with your annoying best friends, it was...

"Noah?"

There he was, standing right there in your doorway. He still had his bags with him by his side, you guessed he came straight here from the airport. You noticed his hair was a little messy, his eyes tired, but he still looked unfairly good for someone who just got off a long flight.

His eyes softened when they met yours, but there was something unsure in them too, like he wasn’t entirely sure you wanted him here, like he was beginning to think maybe this was a bad idea.

“Hey…” He said quietly.

Your brain stalled completely. You didn’t know whether to hug him, say hi, step aside, or just stand there like an idiot… but apparently, you chose the latter.

For a second, neither of you moved.

“I… thought I’d just show up and surprise you,” Noah finally broke the silence, his lips tugging up into a tired, warm smile. “Sorry... I hope that’s okay?”

"Y-yeah... Don't apologise." You nodded, mouth suddenly dry, your brain still short circuiting, "That's more than okay."

He grinned, his gaze dropping to the floor briefly before looking back up at you.

"I got you something."

"You did?" Your eyes widened, stepping to the side to let him in.

"Yep," he smiled, reaching into his hoodie pocket, "Put your hand out, shut your eyes."

Your brows furrowed, but you did as you were told, and you felt him place something fluffy in your palm.

"Okay... you can open 'em."

You opened your eyes and saw the cute little bear on a keychain, wearing a tiny beret and a blue and white striped top with the word Paris.

"I hope it's okay... I wanted to get you something whilst I was there, and then I saw this. I remembered last time I was here I saw you already had one like that on the shelf by your tv, so I thought I'd get it a little friend."

You glanced over at your shelf, and yep there it was. The little koala bear James had brought back for you from his trip to Australia, how the fuck did Noah notice that?

"I love it," you grinned, about to wrap your arms around him but quickly stopping yourself, "Thank you, Noah."

"I'm glad." He smiled, a proud look in his eyes knowing he'd made you smile. He had also noticed your hesitation, and he opened his arms, inviting you in for a hug. "C'mere"

You wrapped your arms around him, your face pressed against his chest as he held you warm and tight, and for the first time since leaving, Noah felt like he could breathe again.

"I meant what I was saying, by the way," Noah said quietly as he pulled away, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too." You confessed, swallowing hard as you pulled back, feeling your cheeks flush.

"Aww did I make you blush?" Noah teased, his hand softly cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing your pink cheek.

"No." You said through a grin, knowing it was clearly a lie. And his smirk said he could see straight through you.

His hand dropped back down to his side, and you immediately missed his touch. You crossed your arms, not knowing what to do with them as you stood awkwardly in front of him.

"Could I get you anything? A drink? Snack? I dunno if you wanna shower after the flight?"

"Is that your way of telling me I smell?" Noah smirked, eyebrows raised.

"No!" You shot back, before giggling, "Well, maybe a little."

Noah shook his head, chuckling as he set his phone down on the kitchen counter.

"A shower sounds good, if you don't mind?"

"Of course not." You smiled, leading him across your apartment.

You showed him into the bathroom, before quickly leaving to get a fresh towel. You made sure you reached for the softest one you owned, giggling a little at the colour as you handed it over to him.

"Pink?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“It’s the best one,” you shrugged, biting back your grin. “And I think the colour suits you.”

Noah’s laugh was softer this time, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

"Thanks. I won't be too long." He smiled as you backed out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind you and trying not to freak the fuck out.

You took one look at your apartment and groaned, it was a mess. Of course he'd decide to come over with no prior warning, you were waiting for his text saying he's landed to start tidying, not expecting him to just turn up at your door.

Quickly, you did the few dishes that had piled up by the sink, you threw the pile of clothes from the table into the washing machine and before you could do any more, you heard the shower stop.

You barely had time to straighten the cushions on the couch when the bathroom door open behind you.

You turned, your breath catching the second your eyes found him.

Noah stepped out, damp, dark hair falling messily over his eyes, his tattoos bold on his skin, still flushed from the heat of the water, droplets clinging to his chest and trailing down beneath the soft pink towel wrapped low around his hips. You forced yourself to look at his face, not anywhere lower...

But he caught you. His lips curved into a tired, teasing smirk, telling you he knew exactly where your eyes had been a second ago.

“Thanks for letting me shower,” Noah nodded, padding barefoot towards the kitchen where his bag sat. “I think I’m pulling off the colour.” He said, nodding down towards where the towel was wrapped on his hips. You did all you could not to look at the little trail of hair leading down from his belly button.

You opened your mouth, probably to say something dumb, but all that came out was a quiet, flustered chuckle.

“Y-yeah, um… it suits you.” You said, feeling your cheeks burn up again.

Noah reached for his bag, unzipping it halfway. His biceps flexed with the motion, and you forced yourself to look away, opting to stare at the wall instead.

But he seemed to notice.

“You okay over there?” His voice was softer now, but still teasing. And there was something shy behind it too, like he wasn’t as confident as he looked, standing half naked in your kitchen.

"Yeah..." You nodded, biting your lip. "I just- uh… you can get dressed in my room, if you want.”

“You sure?" Noah raised an eyebrow, amused, "I could keep the towel on, seeing as you can't stop staring.”

You swallowed hard, trying not to show what effect his words really had on you.

“Room’s down the hall,” you said quickly, flustered and fidgety as you pointed, “The door’s open.”

Noah chuckled under his breath, his hand brushing your arm as he passed by. The simple little touch made your heart race, and you swore his fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary.

“Thank you.” He said, before disappearing down the hall.

You stood rooted to the floor, your heartbeat pounding in your chest, your brain completely scrambled.

When he came back, he was in just a plain black tshirt and black joggers, his hair still slightly damp, his shirt revealing enough of his biceps to make you bite your lip. You watched him ruffle his hair with one hand, eyes softening when they landed on you.

“Better?” You asked, your voice a little more awkward than you intended.

“A lot better, thank you.” Noah replied, his voice gentle, but your could hear the tiredness creeping in. He crossed the room before flopping onto the couch. His hand patted the space beside him, his brows lifting. “C’mere.”

You left your spot by the kitchen, and wandering towards the couch, your tummy filling with butterflies as you saw how comfortable he looked here, in your home.

But the moment you sat down, you felt a sharp twinge across your back, making you stiffen slightly. You winced, barely but just enough to for Noah to catch it instantly. His brow furrowed, head tilting as his eyes studied you.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” You asked, playing dumb as you shifted a little in your seat as nonchalantly as possible, ignoring the pain.

But Noah wasn’t having it. His eyes narrowed slightly, and the smirk creeping up on his face told you he already had you figured out.

“C'mon, I saw you wince.”

“It’s nothing.” You tried again, but he knew. You tried to look away but Noah’s hand found your arm, and gently, his thumb brushed over your forearm.

“Hey…” His voice lowered, and he sounded a little more concerned as his eyes met yours again. “What hurts?”

You exhaled, biting your lip as you glanced away, embarrassed by the attention.

“It’s just my back. Ever since I fell on the mat it's been hurting and my office chair sucks so it's only making it worse, I’ve been meaning to replace it, but-”

Noah’s hand slid down, finding your wrist and guiding you gently without pressure.

“Come here.” He said softly.

Your brows lifted as he moved you, turning you slightly so your back was facing him. His hands settled on your waist first, his thumbs brushing over your sides before slipping upward along your back over your shirt.

“Here?” He asked, palms pressing in just enough to make your breath catch.

“Yeah…” You quietly admitted.

Noah hummed, his skilled fingers working slowly, massaging yuo. Digging into the right places just enough to send a relief through your lower back, and a very different kind of warmth to your stomach.

You barely had time to melt into the feeling when his hands lifted entirely. You blinked, glancing back at him in confusion.

“What-”

“If I’m doing this,” Noah interrupted, “I’m doing it properly.”

There was a little glint of amusement in his eyes as his hands slid away entirely, leaving your skin tingly in the absence of his touch.

You stared at him, your cheeks embarrassingly flushed, still a little dazed from those few blissful seconds. Noah chuckled softly, his palm resting carefully on your lower back now.

“Let's go to your room, it'll be better on your bed than the couch.” Noah said, his fingers brushing your side lightly.

Your heart stopped completely.

Your room?

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you were hearing this right, and unsure of what exactly he meant by that. But then he tilted his head, his eyes soft but still teasing, like he could hear your inner panic.

“For your back,” Noah added, his little smile told you he was clearly amused by your reaction. “Unless you wanna sit here in pain, hunched over like an old lady.”

"okay fine." You managed to finally say, giving him a playful shove as you stood up.

Noah grinned, rising to his feet beside you. He followed close behind as you walked down the hall, it was only a few steps but you felt your heart beating faster with each one. The way he made you feel was absoloutely ridiculous.

The second you stepped into your bedroom, you turned to face him, unsure what to do.

“Lie down,” he said softly, nodding to the bed, “Let me see what I’m working with.”

You moved slowly, a little nervous as you settled on your bed, lying down on your stomach with your arms folded beneath your head. You had only gone for one massage before, the gym across the road used to be a spa, and when you first moved into your apartment you were offered a free massage, so James convinced you to chose the couples massage and the two of you went together, holding hands as you walked through the door, calling each other honey and sweetheart throughout the afternoon.

You quickly snapped back to reality when you felt the mattress dip beneath Noah's weight behind you, the soft creak of your bed making your stomach flip.

“Can I touch you?” He asked gently, melting your heart as you nodded, barely managing a quiet “yes”.

His hands came down over your shoulders, working over the material of your shirt. The way his thumbs pressed into your tense muscles felt so good, and you exhaled against the pillow.

“Jesus,” he chuckled, his thumbs digging gently into the tight knots near your shoulder blades. “You’re tense as hell… no wonder you’re hurting.”

You hummed something in agreement, already melting beneath his touch as he worked slowly down your back.

But after a minute, his hands paused again. His voice came out low, with the same teasing tone he just loves to use with you.

“Can I…” He hesitated, and you felt the faintest brush of his fingertips against the hem of your shirt, at the top of your thigh. “Can you take this off?”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping back up to your cheeks. Your brain scrambled to form a sentence, but all you managed was an awkward little laugh.

"I'm-" But before you could finish what you were saying, Noah’s voice cut in again, quieter this time, reassuring but still laced with amusement.

“I'm just rubbing your back, okay? Promise.”

Nodding, you pushed yourself up slightly, reaching for the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head.

The moment the fabric cleared your back, you heard it... Noah’s soft inhale behind you. The pause in his movements. Then, you froze.

Because you’d been in nothing but your panties beneath your oversized shirt, no bra, no shorts- it was comfy this way.

For a second, neither of you spoke. You were too busy burying your face in the pillow, completely mortified. And Noah was too busy doing some quiet, simple breathing exercises to make sure he wouldn't explode.

His hands were even gentler as they settled back onto your bare skin on your lower back, thumbs brushing softly across slow and steadily.

“You didn’t mention you were practically naked under there.” He whispered, his palms spreading as he moved up your back.

“I forgot.” You muttered into the pillow, your voice muffled, your face on fire, "Sorry."

Noah chuckled softly, his palms dragging back down to your lower back, resuming the massage.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, leaning in slightly, his voice lower by your ear now. “Don't think I'm complaining.”

You didn't know how you haven't imploded yet, but his hands kept moving, slow and steady and almost teasing, he was giving you just enough pressure to melt away the pain from your back… and replace it with something entirely different.

One particular rub felt so good, and you melted into the mattress under his touch, you hadn't even realised a little whimper had slipped from your lips, filling the room. It was only quiet, but it made Noah freeze like you’d shouted.

His hands stiffened on your bare back, fingertips digging in just slightly before he exhaled slow, composing himself.

You tilted your head, barely glancing over your shoulder.

“Noah…” Your voice, soft and needy, only made him smile.

“Careful,” he said, fingers dragging slow over your waist again, teasing, “If you keep making those little sounds, and I’m gonna start thinking you want something more than a back rub.”

You smiled shyly into the pillow.

“Maybe I do…”

Noah chuckled, his thumbs pressed down gently just above your waistband at the base of your spine, slow circles that had your legs twitching slightly beneath him.

“Oh, I know you do,” he teased, voice dropping, “I can feel it in how tense you are. But…”

His hands left you entirely, again, the sudden absence making you almost whine again. He leaned down, his lips grazing your ear, the warmth of his breath making you shiver.

“If we’re gonna do that… I’m gonna be better prepared.”

Your brows furrowed slightly as you blinked, turning to glance up at him, flushed and confused, making him grin.

“You really think I’m gonna half ass that after I’ve been stuck thinking about it for weeks?” He confessed as he tilted his head, biting back a smirk, “Nah… I’m jet lagged tonight, I'm fucking exhausted, and this…” His large hand slid one more time down your bare back, featherlight and torturously slow. “…this deserves better.”

You whined softly, biting your lip, pouting into the sheets. Noah chuckled, brushing your hair gently aside.

“Be patient for me,” he whispered, “I promise… And when it happens, it'll be worth it.”

You groaned softly into the pillow, still pouting as you shifted beneath him, your hips wiggling just enough to test your luck. The movement was subtle, but not innocent.

“Oh?” You could hear the amusement in his voice. “You trying to be brave now?”

You tilted your head slightly, shooting him your best wide eyed, sweet little look.

“You said I was tense,” you whispered, feigning pure innocence. “Figured maybe you should… focus lower…”

Noah huffed a breath, a half laugh, half growl under his breath.

“Mhm, thought so.”

Before you could react, his hands slid lower. His big, warm palms trailing slow over the curve of your hips, past the waistband of your panties, and down to your ass. He then pressed in, kneading just enough to make your breath catch in your throat, his fingers strong but his pace infuriatingly controlled. How the hell did he do it.

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you gently squeezed your thighs together

“That better?” Noah teased, fingers squeezing gently. You let out a breathy whimper, hips shifting involuntarily beneath him.

“Maybe…” No. It only made it worse.

Noah smirked, leaning closer towards your ear.

“You can squirm all you want,” he whispered, fingers still massaging, moving so dangerously close to where you really wanted them, “But I mean it. I’m not giving you that tonight.”

You turned to look at him again, he could see the need in your eyes, but he was still holding his ground.

“Don’t give me those eyes,” he chuckled, his hands still smoothing over your hips and ass, squeezing gently at the soft skin once more before pulling back again. “Tonight's not the night, I want to be able to give you exactly what you deserve, and you'll thank me for making you wait... You should know by now I don't like to do anything half hearted.”

He leaned back a little, where he had originally been when he sat on the bed.

“Be patent for me, angel.” His smile softened, thumb brushing gently over your lower back again, before he carefully leaned down. You felt his hot breath against your skin, then you felt his lips at the base of your spine, pressing a slow, gentle kiss. “I promise you, it’ll be worth it.”

Noah’s hands worked your back for a minute more before they finally slowed, his touch feather light now as he finished working over the last stubborn knot in your upper back. You exhaled, feeling entirely melted into the mattress, your skin warm everywhere his fingers had been.

His hands lingered for a moment longer, but when you peeked over your shoulder, Noah was already leaning back, clearing his throat like he hadn’t been seconds from combusting.

“Okay,” he mumbled, flexing his hands like he needed a distraction. “Feeling better?”

"Yeah, you've got good hands," you chuckled, "Thank you." But it wasn't all better. He might've fixed the ache in your back but it was doing nothing for the ache between your legs.

You rolled onto your side, cheeks warm as you pulled your shirt back on. You caught him sneaking a glance your way, his eyes soft, expression a little shy despite the teasing from before.

“You look tired,” you observed, sitting up, pulling your knees to your chest. “You… wanna stay tonight? I mean, only if you want-"

Noah’s face softened, but he shook his head.

“God, I wish I could,” he frowned, running a hand through his hair. “But Matt’s picking me up soon, and I’ve got so much shit to sort at home tomorrow. Otherwise, trust me, I wouldn’t be leaving this bed.”

Your stomach sank a little, and your expression faltered, even if you tried to hide it.

“Oh… okay.”

Noah smiled softly, reading your face too easily, he could see the disappointment and the nervousness creeping back in.

He reached for you without thinking, crawling up onto the bed beside you. His arms circled you gently, pulling you into his chest as he hed rested on your pillows, his voice low by your ear.

“Hey… I can stay for a bit,” he whispered, his fingers tracing your arm. “Just wanna cuddle you for a minute… if that’s okay?”

“Yeah…” you whispered back with a shy smile. “That’s more than okay.”

You melted into him, your cheek pressed to his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist, his fingers gently brushing up and your forearm. For a while, neither of you said anything. You just breathed together, the sound of his gentle heartbeat slowly setting yours.

Then, Noah's voice softly broke the quiet, he was careful as he spoke, like he was trying to find the right words.

“Hey…” His thumb traced the curve of your waist. “I didn’t mean to… disappoint you. Not tonight.”

You pulled back a little, just enough to look up at him, your brows knitting togethre.

“You didn’t,” you whispered honestly. But his eyes were already drifting away, like he wasn’t entirely convinced.

Noah exhaled through his nose, his hand resting on your back.

“I’ve just… been working on changing how I think about that stuff,” he admitted, voice low but steady now. “Sex, I mean.”

You stayed quiet, just listening. Your chest tightening slightly with how raw and vulnerable he suddenly sounded.

“For a long time,” he continued, his thumb brushing absently at the hem of your shirt, at the top of your thigh, “I used it like how people use drugs or alcohol... Like an escape. Something to numb my head, to distract me. It wasn’t about anyone but me, really.” His eyes finally met yours again, softer this time. “I don’t wanna do that anymore.”

You swallowed, your heart pulling tighter at his words.

“I’ve been sober a while now, I told you that already” Noah added, “But I’m still figuring out how to… rewire my brain when it comes to it, y’know? I don’t want it to be how it used to, I don’t want it to feel like I’m using you to fill some void. You deserve so much more than that.” His hand squeezed your side gently.

“Noah…” You whispered, your voice cracking just slightly.

He gave you a little sleepy smile, eyes scanning your face.

“I know I’m overthinking it,” he shook his head, “But. I've never cared about someone this much before.” His lips twitched into a little smile. “It’s kinda scary.”

You gave him a shy smile back as you buried your face back into his chest, wrapping your arm tighter around him.

"But is it worth it?" You mumbled into his chest, looking up to meet his eyes, and you could already tell the answer.

Noah's eyes softened the moment yours met his, like your question broke down the last little wall he had. His hand slid up your back, fingers curling protectively at the nape of your neck as he brushed a strand of hair out of your face.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheek, “It’s worth it.”

You nuzzled impossibly closer to him, trying to hide how his words made your heart feel. But then your nose scrunched, catching the faintest, familiar scent clinging to him.

“…You smell like me.” You giggled softly, your lips brushing against the fabric of his shirt as you spoke.

"Oh yeah, I left my shampoo in France so I used a little of yours," Noah whispered, a little amused, "Your one smells better anyway."

You chuckled tiredly, eyes fluttering shut, your body sinking further into his, lulled by his warmth and the rhythmic motion of his fingers tracing patterns just above your knee.

His touch slowed even more as he felt your muscles relax completely, his palm smoothing along your thigh, the smallest hint of possessiveness behind the softness of his touch, like he was quietly reminding himself you were here, tucked against him, falling asleep in his arms.

Noah’s other hand came up, brushing your hair back gently, his fingers threading through the strands with care as he pressed a light kiss to the crown of your head.

“Sleep,” he whispered, barely audible now, his thumb still moving against your leg. “I've got you.”

And with his warmth all around you, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, sleep came easily.

...

Noah had meant to stay awake. But somewhere between your steady breathing and the warmth of your body, his eyes had shut too.

He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, but then his phone buzzed faintly on the bedside table.

Matt: I'm outside

Noah groaned softly under his breath, sitting up slowly, trying his absolute hardest not to disturb you.

But the moment your warmth left his chest, your lashes fluttered.

“Noah…?” Your voice was quiet, sleepy and confused.

He stilled immediately, already leaning over to brush your hair back gently, his voice low and apologetic.

“Shh… It’s okay, I didn't want to wake you.”

You sat up as your hand found his arm, your fingers curling loosely around his wrist.

“…Don’t go,” you whispered, voice still rough from sleep, so soft it made his heart tighten, "Please."

Noah exhaled, his thumb brushing your cheek, visibly struggling for a second.

“Trust me… I don’t want to,” he confessed, his voice rough too now, quiet in the space between you. “But Matt’s outside, I've gotta go home and unpack.”

You pouted, your sleepy eyes softening in a way that made walking away feel like actual torture to him.

“If I could stay, I would,” Noah added gently, his forehead dipping down to yours, noses brushing. His fingers brushed down your arm, squeezing your hand. “But… soon, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, reluctantly letting your hand fall away from his wrist. Noah smiled softly, brushing your hair back one last time.

“Lie back down, angel,” he whispered. “You’ll be asleep again before I even get to the car.”

But you stubbornly shook your head.

“No… I’ll walk down with you.” You mumbled, already sliding off the bed.

“You sure? You look half asleep still,” he teased softly, but the little smile pulling at his lips told you he liked the idea more than he was letting on.

You nodded, rubbing your eyes, padding across the room in your oversized shirt, not bothering with pants.

“I’m sure,” you yawned. “You flew across the world… I can walk you downstairs.”

"Okay," Noah chuckled under his breath, shaking his head fondly as he picked up his bags from your kitchen, "Let's go."

You walked side by side down the hallway towards the elevator, you had offered to take one of Noah's bags and he looked at you as if you'd offended him, making you giggle a little to yourself.

Outside, by the main doors, the soft glow of streetlights lit the road. You spotted Matt parked across the street, he was sat in the drivers seat, phone in hand.

You gave him a little wave, which he returned with a little smirk creeping up on his face.

Noah set his bags down by his feet, eyes landing back on you, softer now.

“Thanks again… for letting me use your shower.” He said with a little smile.

“Of course…” You bit your lip, hesitating for a second. “Could I maybe see you this week? If you’re not too busy?”

The reply was instant, no teasing this time.

“I’m never too busy for you.”

Your heart did something ridiculous. You tried not to show it, stepping in to hug him instead, your arms circling his middle, face pressing briefly to his chest, where it had been just moments ago.

Noah’s hand came up, lingering at the small of your back, his other curling gently around your jaw as he pulled back, tilting your chin up so you looked at him.

His eyes were a little darker now, his face glowing under the streetlight. His hand cupped your face again, his thumb brushing your cheek, before he ever so slowly leaned in, his nose barely an inch from yours. His eyes were on your lips, and you swallowed hard.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, his voice quiet... he even sounded a little nervous.

You nodded before your brain could even catch up, biting your lip to hide the giddy smile spreading across your face.

"Yes... Please."

Noah’s lips curved into the smallest smile too, barely there, before he finally leaned in, closing the space between the two of you.

The kiss was slow, like he was pouring weeks of wanting, restraint, and quiet affection into this one little moment. His lips pressed to yours so gently at first it barely felt real, and when you tilted your chin up to meet him halfway, his hand at your jaw slid back into your hair, holding you steady, holding you close.

He deepened the kiss by the slightest bit, still soft, still so careful, his other hand smoothing along your waist. His lips were so soft, and he tasted of mint, your arms came up to wrap around his neck as you kissed under the streetlight. You couldn't believe this was actually happening, you almost felt dizzy.

After what felt like minutes, but was only a matter of seconds, he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours. His thumb brushed your cheek again, and for a moment neither of you spoke. You just stayed there, breathing the same air, completely and utterly lost in each other.

Noah’s smile returned, a little shy but a little proud, before he spoke.

“Been wanting to do that for… longer than I probably should admit.”

“Yeah, me too.” You chuckled, not ready to let go of him just yet.

But then sound of the cars horn startled you both.

"C'mon, you two!" Matt laughed, "I've not got all night."

You chuckled, turning back to Noah, finally letting go of him.

“I’ll text you,” he promised as he grabbed his bag.

You stood there frozen for a second, heart still doing laps in your chest as he wandered over to Matt’s car, giving you a wave before you turned back to the doors of your building.

As Noah climbed in, you just barely heard Matt's voice teasing him.

“Took you long enough, lover boy…”

---------------------------

AHHHHHH <33

@dragoncopper @renegadebirch @super-btstrash-posts @pipidoll @xslavicprincess @foliosgirl @h4tef6ck @jesuisunchaton @saythatuwill @astronoids @missduffsblog @montgomery-929496 @lonelydragonlady @happyclifford @popularpopularmonster @bluehairpunklol @bruce9818 @itsyaboinoah @mayaslifeinabox @lonesomegrace @dominuslunae @lacy1986 @jesuisunchaton @overmydeadbodysblog @kenjipepsi1 @onlyethereal @theright-wrongway @geminigirlfromfinland @miss570 @trvshdxddy @spookieolson @sugaruapologist @latenightmusiclover @eversiinceny @shuiguans @lyschko666 @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @flowery-mess @pathion @bladeupnred @urafakebetch @mycheersricochet @bloody-spades @moostress19 @nojoyontheburn

[stlllle]

Headcanons: What It’s Like Dating Choi Su-bong (Thanos)

Content: angst, possessiveness, protective façade, soft moments and a very peculiar sense of humor.

Author's notes:

"I like to think that being in a relationship with Thanos would feel like this. Am I wrong? Maybe. Do I care? Not at all! (Honestly, everything I post is just silly little daydreams from my head 😛)

Anyway, if this made you smile, feel free to check out my masterlist! And if you ever feel like it, my requests are open too 🙂 (just don’t forget to read the rules before sending something!)

Masterlist –[link]

---

In the beginning:

He’s not easy to get close to. The kind of guy who’s always watching his back, guarded, intimidating without even trying.

You’d have to push a few times, tease him, start random conversations. He’ll pretend not to care… but he does.

Once he realizes you’re genuinely into him — not out of pity, not for gain — he starts to lower his walls.

Your first kiss happens after a stupid argument, where he grabs your wrist, mutters “Fuck, you drive me insane” and crashes his lips to yours without a warning.

---

His personality in the relationship:

Jealous. Very. The kind of jealousy that doesn’t show in tantrums but simmers under the surface, and if some other guy dares to look at you, his brain is already listing 50 ways to end him.

He’s not the type to say “I love you” all the time, but he shows it: fixing your coat, buying your favorite snack without a word, or pulling you close while walking through the streets.

His humor is dark, sarcastic. He’ll call you names affectionately just to get a reaction.

He hates showing weakness — but when you’re alone, he melts.

---

Private moments:

Loves spooning when you sleep together, but you better never mention it to anyone.

When you’re anxious or upset, he doesn’t know how to comfort with words. So he just sits next to you, holds your hand, runs his fingers through your hair in silence.

Low-key affectionate gestures — like stroking your palm with his thumb when no one’s watching.

His kisses are possessive, always like he’s trying to brand you, needing to prove you’re his.

---

Things he does but won’t admit:

Keeps your pictures saved on his phone.

Watches you sleep and sometimes smiles, but if you catch him, he’ll turn away and grumble “Stop staring, fuck.”

Gets irrationally angry when you’re hurt or sick, like he could protect you from the entire world.

Secretly imagines a future — a small house, just the two of you away from everyone.

---

If someone messes with you:

This man turns into a storm.

It doesn’t matter if it’s verbal or physical, he’ll deal with it immediately.

His glare alone is enough to make people shut up, but if needed, he’ll get physical.

And afterward, he’ll scold you too, like: “Are you insane? Don’t get involved with assholes like that!” — while checking if you’re okay.

---

If you fight:

He’s stubborn and hot-headed.

Will say harsh things in the heat of the moment and regret it hours later.

The type to apologize without words, showing up with your favorite snack or putting on your favorite movie, sitting next to you until you give in.

If you cry, he breaks immediately and feels like shit.

---

In the end:

Loving Choi Su-bong isn’t easy. He’s rough, aggressive, proud. But he’s the kind of man who’d protect what’s his until the very end.

Deep down, all he wants is a safe place to exist — and you become that place.

He’s chaos and home at the same time.

📖🔥 NSFW Headcanons: What It’s Like to Fuck Choi Su-bong (Thanos)

Content: explicit language, rough sex, possessiveness, jealousy, marking, light choking, dirty talk, unprotected sex, primal vibes, rough aftercare.

⚠️ Warning: This is explicit smut content. If you're underage or uncomfortable with possessive and rough themes, skip this one.

---

The Build-Up:

He’s not the type for romantic candlelight setups. Most of the time, it starts with tension — heavy looks, sharp words, a fight, or jealousy.

--

He loves when you snap back at him, it gets him hard instantly.

That “don’t fucking talk to me like that” turns into “come here and say that again” real fast.

--

He’ll corner you against a wall, one hand on your jaw, voice low and dangerous:

“Say it again. I fucking dare you.”

--

And you both know where it’s headed.

---

The Sex:

Rough. Desperate. Unapologetic.

He fucks like it’s a war — like he needs to leave you shaking, marked up and ruined so you’ll remember who owns you.

Loves hair pulling. Neck biting. Pushing you down onto the mattress and taking what he wants.

His favorite thing? Making you beg. Doesn’t care how tough you act, he’ll break you down, whispering in your ear:

“Look at you, begging for my cock. Knew you’d fold for me.”

Low, growled moans and filthy words in your ear.

---

Favorite Positions:

Doggystyle, no question.

Loves gripping your hips so hard it leaves bruises, pulling you back against him, watching the way your ass bounces with every thrust.

Also loves you riding him — watching you take him, controlling the pace, hands on your waist, murmuring “That’s it, baby. Take it like a good girl.”

On rare nights when he’s softer (but still possessive), missionary. Holding your face, staring into your eyes while he fucks you deep.

---

Jealousy and Marking:

If someone flirts with you? You’re not walking straight the next day.

Will bite, suck, and scratch you until you’re covered in marks — shoulders, thighs, neck, inner thighs.

And he makes you show them off.

“Pull your shirt down. Let them see who you belong to.”

Possessive growls when you moan his name. Nothing makes him come harder than hearing you scream “Su-bong” while falling apart for him.

---

Aftercare (His Way):

He’s not good with words but takes care of you.

Gets you water, cleans you up, holds you close afterward, even if he pretends it’s nothing.

Runs his rough hand through your hair, brushes kisses on your temple.

Grumbles if you say you’re sore, but secretly loves it.

“Told you to be careful, brat.” — while pulling you tighter against him.

---

Extra:

Obsessed with cumming inside you.

“You’re mine. All of you. Inside and out.”

Gets harder when you talk dirty back — it triggers something primal in him.

Will absolutely fuck you against a wall, in a car, wherever. He doesn’t care.

If you ever tease him in public, expect to be wrecked the moment you’re alone.

---

📌 Summary:

Sex with Choi Su-bong is wild, dangerous, and addictive. It’s rough hands, possessive kisses, bruised skin, and a love so obsessive it hurts.

And beneath all that violence is a man so terrified of losing you, he’d burn the world down before letting you go.

[formulafanfics13]

hellooo could u maybe write something angsty with Lando and a fat size/latin american reader where he want to have here for the first time in the paddock in her home GP but he doesn't want to because she knows the press would eat her alive but he doesn't get why would that be an issue...

thank your time

y muchas gracias 🫂

You Don’t Get It, Lando - LN4

Masterlist

Summary: In a Monaco hotel suite the night before your home Grand Prix, Lando suggests making your relationship public by walking into the paddock with him. What begins as a soft moment turns painfully honest as you explain your fear — that as a fat, non-white woman, the public will tear you apart. Lando doesn’t understand at first, but when he listens, really listens, he promises he’ll wait — and only do it when you’re ready. It’s tender, raw, and quietly shattering.

Warning: Themes of body image, racism, fatphobia, internalised insecurity, emotional vulnerability, public scrutiny, and fear of judgment. No explicit sexual content. Deep emotional intimacy and complex identity-centered dialogue.

It starts with a question. Not even a big one. He’s just sitting on the couch, scrolling through texts from his comms team, one leg bouncing like it always does, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. He’s been soft all morning, hands on your waist, kisses in your hair, forehead presses when you pass in the kitchen. You’re in his hotel suite, far above your city, your skyline, the country you call home. It’s your Grand Prix weekend. Your family is watching from back home. Your phone’s already full of group texts and good luck wishes. You should be excited. But your chest’s been tight since the plane landed. And when he looks up from his phone and says, “Hey, what if you came into the paddock with me tomorrow? Like, properly? Walk in with me. Be seen.”, you freeze.

Like cold water dumped over your spine. You blink at him. “What?”

He shrugs. “You’ve never been in the paddock with me, not officially. This is your home race. Seems right.”

Your stomach coils. You look away. Lando doesn’t seem to notice, he’s too busy tapping something out. You hear the gentle buzz of his phone vibrating. A notification. He’s talking again.

“I was thinking we could do it soft, not some big public debut. Just… walk in. Casual. No announcement or anything. But the photographers will get it. You’ll be with me. It’ll be obvious.”

You swallow. Your hands are suddenly too still. “Lando-”

His eyes flick up. “Hm?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

You hesitate. You don’t know how to say it. Not out loud. Not to him. He puts the phone down. Gives you his full attention now. You hate that you’re about to ruin the mood. But the words are already crawling up your throat like bile. “Because I know what they’ll say.”

His frown deepens. “Who?”

“The press. The fans. The ones who think they’re entitled to a piece of you.”

Lando shakes his head, confused. “So? They’ll be happy for me.”

You laugh, bitter, quiet, sharp. “They’ll be vicious.”

His face goes blank. And you see it. The exact moment he doesn’t get it. You hate that you have to explain. “They’ll rip me apart,” you say softly.

Lando’s voice is quiet. “Why would they do that?”

You finally look at him. “Because I’m not skinny. Because I’m not white. Because I’m not what they expect from the guy who dates supermodels. Because to them, I’m wrong.”

The silence is brutal. You feel his confusion before you see it. “You think people will care about that?” he says. Genuinely baffled. “Babe, you’re beautiful. They’ll see that.”

You shake your head. “You don’t get it.”

“Then help me understand.”

You sigh. Your hands are fists in your lap. “I’ve watched what they say about women in the paddock. The girls on the grid. The ones in the garage. I’ve seen them dissect every outfit, every roll of skin, every second they exist on camera. And those girls are perfect. What the fuck do you think they’ll say about me?”

Lando is quiet. His face tightens. “I don’t care what they say,” he says finally.

“But I do.” Your voice breaks. And there it is. The truth that’s been clawing at your ribs since you got off the plane. You do care. You’ve worked too hard to love yourself in private. To feel safe. To believe you’re allowed to be wanted by someone like him, golden, famous, photographed every second. And you do believe him. You believe he wants you. That he adores you. That he touches you in the dark with reverence, not shame. But the world isn’t kind. And you don’t trust them with this. With you.

You sniff. Look away. “I just… I don’t want the first time people see me next to you to be the moment they decide I don’t deserve you.”

Lando doesn’t speak for a while. Then,  “That’s not what they’ll see.”

You don’t answer. He comes to you slowly. Sits beside you on the couch. Reaches for your hand. “You think they’ll look at you and see a mistake,” he says, voice soft. “But I know they’ll look at you and see what I do.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “And what’s that?”

He kisses your knuckles. Staring at you. “They’ll see the woman I’m in love with.”

Your breath catches.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he says. “I never have been. I would walk into every paddock on earth holding your hand if you’d let me.”

You blink away tears. “It’s not about shame,” you whisper. “It’s about survival.”

He nods. “Then we do it your way. Your pace. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll wait.”

You stare at him. At the boy who’s never made you feel small, until the world around him threatened to. He kisses your cheek. Your jaw. Then pulls you into his arms and holds you like the safest place in the world. And for a second, just one second, you think maybe one day you’ll be ready to be seen. Because you were always his. Even when no one else saw it.

[cricket-reader]

Carving Skin Until My Bones Are Showing

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist

Summary: You'd thought that everything was fine, until one overheard conversation shattered the illusion, your rose-tinted glasses fading to black. The words cut deeper than anything you've ever heard, and suddenly, you're re-evaluating everything: your relationship, your body, your worth. Now, the man you love with everything you have exists peacefully beside you, as if nothing's changed, while you slowly unravel in silence. You're left wondering if he's already halfway out the door, and you're just the last to know.

Warnings: disordered eating, fainting, body image issues, insecure!reader, misunderstandings, female reader (no y/n)

word count: 4,059

A/N: it's a few days late cause i kept procrastinating on making the banner, whoops | prompt fill for day 30 of @juneofdoom | "This is it isn't it" | Doubt | Crying

{Read on A03} | what i'm listening to

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Sam.”

Bucky’s voice carries across the room and into the hallway, voice laced with mild exasperation. Sam, sitting across from him with an unimpressed look on his face, takes a sip of his coffee. You smile at the sight of Sam, his presence a welcome, if not completely unexpected, surprise at the start of your morning. He must have gotten home early from the mission he was on.

“She’s just so clingy,” Bucky says. “She literally won’t leave me alone. It’s almost annoying at this point.”

You freeze in the doorway, smile slipping off your face in an instant. His words tear through your heart, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.

“That just means she really likes you,” Sam says, shrugging his shoulders.

Bucky huffs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You don’t understand, man. It’s bad, like really bad. I can barely get any of my shit done with her begging for my attention twenty-four seven. I just need some damn space to breathe sometimes.”

You didn’t think you were that bad. Sure, you really liked to drag him away from his work for cuddles—but that was only because you thought he needed the breaks. You know that he used to run himself dry, never letting himself rest until he practically passed out from exhaustion. You didn’t want that cycle to continue. It wasn’t like you forced him to do anything. He could always say no to you. In fact, he has said no to you a few times before—when the work was too important to shove aside for later. All those times he allowed himself to be pulled away, reluctant as he was—how many of those times had he been covertly annoyed with your insistence? How many times did he wish you would just leave him alone?

Your stomach twisted, guilt looming over you. He struggled socially, ran on a limited battery when it came to social interactions—why did you think it would be any different with you? Why did you think you were special? Of course, Bucky is sick of you. When’s the last time that Bucky had some time to himself without you bombarding him with affection and small talk?

“She’s spoiled, that’s what she is,” Bucky grunts, shaking his head. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. Spoiled? Is that what he really thinks of you? How could he say such a thing? And to Sam, nonetheless. “She eats way too damn much. She’s been gaining so much weight recently; it’s honestly a problem. She ain’t gonna lose it any time soon either with how fucking lazy she is.”

Sam snorts. “Sounds like someone needs to go on a diet.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky huffs before taking a sip of coffee.

A wave of mortification crashes over you, tears gathering in your eyes. Heart pounding, you take a shaky step back, determined to run back to your room before either of them catches you eavesdropping.

You race back to your shared room, tears blurring the hallway beyond recognition. Once in the safety of your room, you sink down to the floor, back pressed heavy against the door. Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as you press a hand over your mouth—as if that alone could muffle the sobs wracking your body. The betrayal is sharp, sinking its claws into your chest and twisting deep inside of you. How could they say those things about you? How could Bucky say those things about you?

You weren’t that clingy, were you? You just liked being close to him, liked the warmth of his presence, the way he always made you feel safe. And sure, maybe you indulged a little too much lately, but had it really made that much of a difference? Have you clung so much that Bucky has started to resent you for it?

The words replay in your head, each repetition hitting harder, sinking deeper. He sounded so frustrated—so tired of you. Like he was already pulling away, one step from slipping through your fingers completely.

And could you even blame him?

You’ve seen the women he works alongside, the kind of people who seem like they belong in the world. Strong, confident, beautiful. Not needy. Not desperate. Not… you. Maybe he was just now realising what you had known all along—that you weren’t enough. That you never had been.

A fresh wave of tears burns your eyes, but you swallow hard, forcing them back down. You wouldn’t let this be the end.

You could fix this.

You could give him space—stop clinging, stop being so needy. You could take up less room, be less of a burden. And if you skipped a few meals, if you pushed yourself harder, maybe you could be someone he actually wanted again. Someone he’d be proud to love, instead of someone he merely put up with.

You just had to be better.

You would be better.

When you emerged from the bedroom for the second time that day, you made sure to make your arrival audible lest you walk in on them still talking about you and your shortcomings. Whilst you couldn’t stomach any breakfast, you needed your caffeine fix. Bucky greeted you with a wide, beautiful smile and a kiss on the forehead.

It almost made you sick—the way he was able to talk about you like you were the dirt underneath his shoe, only to turn around and play the role of your sweet lover. How could he act like everything was okay when he clearly held resentment against you? It almost makes you wonder how long he’d put up with you for the sake of maintaining this relationship—how long since he’d noticed your defects and realised that he deserved better. You almost feel selfish for keeping him tied to you. Now that the secret is out, there’s no point in dancing around the subject. And yet… here you are. In a kitchen you share with a man who doesn’t love you like he used to, and the man he entrusted with his troubles over you.

Just a little longer, you pleaded. You just need a chance to prove your worth. Bucky won’t have to worry about your overbearing clinginess. He won’t have to be embarrassed to be dating someone of your stature. Bucky deserves the best after everything that he’s been through; you were determined to be that for him in whatever way it took.

You startle out of your thoughts from the movement at your feet. A white ball of fluff looks up at you, meowing incessantly. You reach down to scritch between Alpine’s ears. “Hey, sweetheart,” you coo at her, abandoning your quest for coffee in lieu of holding your baby girl. At least Alpine appreciated your affliction for affection.

You don’t miss the look that passes between Bucky and Sam.

Stomach churning, you suddenly don’t feel the desire to make your coffee anymore. In fact, you don’t even want to be in this room anymore. “I’m going to go over to Nat’s,” you say, hoping that Nat isn’t too busy today.

Bucky’s brow furrows. “Weren’t we going to see that movie today?”

Shoot. You had completely forgotten about that. “We can go later, Nat wanted me to come over right away in the morning.”

“Let me make you your coffee before you go.”

“That’s okay, I’m stopping to get some for Nat and me,” you say, dismissal clear in your tone. It would have made you feel bad to act this way before—before his cruel words effectively tore your heart and spirit to shreds. You gave your baby Alpine a kiss on the top of her head, promising her that you’d be back soon before seeing her back on the ground. You grabbed your purse and sped out of the door without even saying goodbye to the two men.

You spent the majority of the day with Natasha, dread curling around your insides every time you thought about going back home, back to Bucky.

You had promised him that you’d be back to see the movie; however, so, too soon for your liking, you say goodbye to Nat and walk back to your apartment.

There’s a vase of your favourite flowers sitting on the counter when you enter. You frown at the sight, not sure why he would bother when he’s obviously upset with you.

You walk into the living space to see Alpine curled up on Bucky’s lap, his work laptop abandoned on the coffee table. Bucky greets you with a smile, setting a protesting Alpine aside to stand up and give you a welcome home kiss.

“What time were you thinking of for the movie?” He asks, arms resting around your waist.

Frustration begins to creep into your chest. If he had a problem with your clinginess, why is he initiating contact? That’s not fair. How are you supposed to leave him alone when he does stuff like this? “Doesn’t matter to me,” you shrug, not able to meet his eyes.

“There’s a showing in an hour, how does that sound? We can go get dinner afterwards.”

“Sounds great,” you replied.

The movie would have been great if you hadn’t sat there stewing in your own anxiety the entire film. Afterwards, Bucky took you to your favourite restaurant where you ordered a salad with the dressing on the side. Bucky’s brows furrowed at your unusual choice, but he didn’t say anything. The dinner was stilted and awkward, both of you running out of things to talk about sooner than usual.

For the next few weeks, you successfully distanced yourself from your boyfriend. You ignored the way your heart ached every time you saw Bucky alone on the couch, wishing you could go over and snuggle up to his warmth. You learned to ignore the hunger pangs, the way your stomach felt like it was eating itself. Your head split open with the force of the headaches pounding against your skull, vision swimming every time you stood up too quickly.

It’s fine, you told yourself. Who really needed breakfast anyway? Why eat lunch when you could have a few snacks? Bucky was right, you really did eat too much. You could survive on one meal a day, snacks thrown in when your hunger got the best of you, or your hands began to shake too much. You were getting better for him, though, so it didn’t matter. You were eating less, clinging less—just like Bucky had wanted; so why wasn’t he happy yet?

The bed felt colder than usual.

You used to sleep tangled up in Bucky’s arms, leeching off of Bucky’s furnace of a body. You used to tuck your perpetually cold feet against his legs, laughing off his grumbling about how your toes felt like icicles.

Now, you curl up at the farthest edge of the mattress, not willing to accidentally touch him when he clearly wants to be left alone.

You used to look forward to getting home from work, ready to melt into your supersoldier’s arms at the end of a long, tiring day.

Now, you’re filled with dread, wondering if this time will finally be the last.

You used to love the shared dinners at the worn table you had found at a thrift store long ago. Bucky and you would take turns choosing what meal to prepare—you had been on a mission to introduce him to the world of flavour the 21st century had to offer; he always used to say the best part of the ordeal was watching your expectant face as he tried the first bite.

Now your stomach twisted at the mere thought of eating in front of him. His words echoed through your brain with each bite you took—it was enough to make you sick.

Bucky had grown short and snappy with everyone (except you) lately; Natasha had complained ad nauseum about your grumpy boyfriend the last few times you’d hung out. You couldn’t help but think that all of those weeks of your overbearing clinginess were finally catching up to him, as if talking to Sam had opened the floodgates. He has finally realised what his problem was: you.

You really were too late to fix this. No amount of distance could fix what damage had been done. Bucky had a foot out the door for a long time now, and you had been too oblivious to notice.

It was a typical Tuesday when Bucky sent you a text that shattered any hope of repairing your relationship.

>>>Hey, after work, can you come straight home?

>>>We really need to talk.

The cursor blinked steadily even as your hand shook. Tears quickly blurred the damning texts beyond recognition—not that you’d ever forget those words; the words that signified the end of the best thing to happen to you.

After crying in the bathroom for the entirety of your lunch break, you passed through the rest of the day in a haze. Your coworkers knew something was wrong, of course, they did, but you didn’t offer up any explanation.

You felt something press against your throat as you slid the key into the lock, suffocating you with every step you took towards him. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable any further. You wouldn’t continue to drag Bucky down.

The vase of flowers was still sitting on the counter—he’d been buying you a new batch every time they started to wilt. Was he cheating on you? Was that why he was getting you flowers so much more often? The thought was something you’d have previously thought inconceivable, but now you weren’t so sure.

Breaking you from your thoughts, Bucky called out your name from the living room. You forced your gaze away from the flowers and to the living room.

Bucky was sitting on the sofa, hands clasped in between his knees and head hanging low. Your stomach swirled at the sight. This was it, wasn’t it? He was going to cut his losses—cut you from his life.

You crossed your arms, tucking your hands out of sight to hide the way they trembled. You waited for him to say something, not willing to be the person to instigate the conversation.

“Could you sit down?” Bucky asks, sounding so small as he gestures to the armchair. You walk over to the chair, despite wanting to stay as close to the exit as possible—ready to run away as soon as his words cut through you like a knife.

Bucky sighs deeply, his hands running over his face. You almost reach out for him, wanting to comfort him, wanting to kiss those lines away from his forehead. Stopping yourself, you remind yourself that it’s not your place, not anymore, and it hasn’t been for a while now.

“This isn’t working anymore, doll,” Bucky says, not even able to look at you. You saw it coming a mile away, and yet it doesn’t take away the anguish those words bring you.

You know you should say something, but words seem to escape you as soon as you open your mouth. Instead, a hot ball of grief and shame lodges in your throat. Tears spring to your eyes, despite telling yourself that you would not let him see you cry over this. It’s for the best, you try to tell yourself. You were but a stepping stone to Bucky’s recovery. You should be grateful that a man like him even offered you a second glance. Despite the way things ended, you know that you’ll look back on all the memories you made together and smile. Because, for once in your life, you knew what it was like to be loved so wholly. You knew what it was like to have a man who cared so deeply, loved so openly, and gave you enough devotion to last a lifetime.

“Yeah,” you agree with him for the sake of things. You hope he won’t look too deeply into your unshed tears, the way your voice wobbled and the way your body trembled. “I… I should go.”

“Doll-”

You cut him off before he can get another word in. “No, just… let me-”

Standing up to run away from this awful conversation, you feel the world sway around you. Black fades in at the edges of your vision as you stumble forward. You think you hear Bucky calling out your name under the sharp ringing in your ears. Clenching your eyes shut, you brace yourself for the hardwood floor.

—

“Doll?”

You groan as something prods your side. Just five more minutes, you think, burying your face into the warmth surrounding you.

“Sweetheart, please!”

Is that Bucky? Why does he sound so worried?

Blinking up at your boyfriend, you find that you’re both in the living room. Bucky’s clenching onto your body like a lifeline. “What’s wrong, Bucky?”

He stares blankly at you for a few seconds. “Doll… you just passed out.”

“Oh,” you eloquently respond.

The fog covering your brain begins to lift bit by bit. You were both sitting down… Bucky was… he was breaking up with you.

Jolting, you scramble out of Bucky’s arms, pushing him away, away, away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your heated face in shame. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

“Don’t be sorry, honey.” He scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you say, despite knowing full well that ever since you started skipping meals, you’ve been prone to blacking out if you stand up too fast.

Bucky frowns at you, eyebrows furrowed. “I feel like you aren’t telling the truth right now.”

“It doesn’t matter, Bucky.”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter! You just fainted. If I hadn’t been there to catch you, you’d have cut your head open on the side of the table. Tell me what’s going on!” Never before had you heard Bucky sound so worried.

“Why do you care so much?”

“Why do I–Why do I care?” Bucky scoffs in disbelief. “You did not just ask me that.”

“You’re finally breaking up with me, you don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore,” you shoot back, venom lacing your words as you extricate yourself from under his arm.

“Breaking… I wasn’t going to break up with you,” Bucky says as if the idea alone was unimaginable.

“Bullshit! I know that you’ve been wanting to break up with me for weeks—months even!”

“Where the hell would you get an idea like that from?”

“I heard you talking to Sam last month. You told him that I was clingy and lazy and fat.”

Bucky looks positively bewildered at your words. “I would never say any of that crap!”

“But you did.” You cross your arms, daring him to continue lying to you.

“Why the hell would I ever say that? I sure as hell don’t think any of that-”

“Oh, give it up, Barnes. Who else would you have been talking about? Who else is such a spoiled, lazy, clingy, fat-”

“Oh my god,” Bucky interrupts you. “Are you talking about that time I was complaining about Alpine?”

Your heart stops in your chest. “What?”

“I was telling Sam about how annoying it was trying to work from home. She’d always sit on my damn laptop and yowl in my face until I payed attention to her.” Bucky shakes his head—his bemusement is quick to fade, however. “You seriously thought that I was talking about you?”

Sniffling back tears, you nodded your head.

“Oh, Jesus, doll. Why didn’t you say something?” Bucky wraps his arms around you. “Hell, if I ever said something like that, I’d expect at least a slap to the face.”

“But I was too clingy, always cuddling you and giving you kisses-”

“Is that why you haven’t so much as touched me the last few weeks?”

“I thought you wanted me to stop,”

Bucky squeezes you tighter. “Never. I’d never want you to stop. Doll, I thought you were mad at me. I kept buying you flowers and making your favourite dinners to try and get you to forgive me. But you didn’t even give them a second glance, and half the time you’d already eaten or you’d just push the food around on your plate.”

You melt into his embrace, his reassurances a balm over the lingering anxiety of being too much for him. “I was just trying to make you like me again.”

“Doll,” Bucky pulls away from you, sounding completely gutted. “You should never change yourself to make someone like you more. I love how clingy you are—I missed you so damn much.”

“What about…” No, you can’t ask that—you don’t want to hear his answer. “Never mind.”

And Bucky, damn him, doesn’t let it go. “What about what?”

“It’s nothing,” you say, pulling away from him.

“Doll, please don’t shut me out,” Bucky pleads, using those sad eyes that always make you fold.

“It’s just… You never… Do you have a problem with what I look like?”

Bucky’s frown deepens. “Of course, not. Doll, you are so damn beautiful-”

“But I could be thinner. Lots of other girls are prettier and skinnier,” you interrupt him. You freeze at the way his face hardens.

“I love you just the way you are, sweetheart. You don’t have to change a god damn thing about you. You want to know who drives me crazy? You. You want to know who I want to spend the rest of my life looking at? You. When I fell in love with you, I fell in love with all of you. It’s always going to be you. I don’t want no one else, got it?”

“I…” You stumble over your words, tears burning in your waterline. “I started skipping meals again. That’s why I passed out.”

Bucky’s face turns ashen. “You… you stopped eating because of me?”

“I didn’t completely stop eating! I had snacks and dinner most days. It’s not that big-”

“So help me god if you were about to say that it’s not that big of a deal,” Bucky interrupts you, voice sharp. “You need to eat, doll. This beautiful body cannot live without food.”

“I just thought… I thought if I started skipping meals and working out more, I’d look more like Nat or Sharon or-”

“If I wanted someone that looked like them, I’d ask them out. You wanna know why I asked you out? It’s because I thought you were hot. It’s because you’re as gorgeous on the outside as you are on the inside. I don’t want you to look like Nat, I don’t want you to look like Sharon. I want you to look like you.”

Bucky says it with such conviction, you can’t help but allow the tears to fall down your face. “You really mean that?”

“Of course, babydoll. You’re it for me. Don’t want no one else.” Bucky pulls you back into his arms, nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Call off of work tomorrow.”

“What? I can’t-” You screech as he lifts you into his arms. Clinging to him like a koala as he makes his way to your bedroom, you protest every step of the way.

“Hush,” he says, laying you down on the bed. “I have been deprived of your cuddles for too damn long. We’re gonna order whatever you want, and snuggle all night long. Then tomorrow, I’m going to make you a giant breakfast and we can go on a picnic for lunch.”

“I don’t ever want my best girl doubting my love for her again, got it?” Bucky asks, leaning over you.

You huff at his antics, rolling your eyes. He pinches your side, only the hint of a grin belying his angered expression. “Got it?” Bucky asks again.

“Yes! Okay, I got it!”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know just how loved you are,” he says as a promise before leaning in and kissing your lips.

That night, as you snuggle into his warmth, you endeavour to never let a misunderstanding like this tear you apart again.

Taglist: @hallecarey1 @harleycao @filmsbyblair

[backtothechurch]

after an argument Bob Reynolds x reader 

smut +18, minors please don't

warnings: English is not my first language, no mentions of y/n, reader genitals and genre not specified, pet names used, smut, cum denial, lil bit of sentry fucking you, sassy bob (because we know he's a sassy rage baiter hidden behind a shy demeanor) , spit/saliva kink (does that exists?), dom!bob and sub!reader

notes: it's porn without a plot, I was bored and decided to make one, hope you likes it

You and your boyfriend bob always had sex after an argument, which wasn’t often, you two had a very good and healthy relationship, even tough he was an expert on rage baiting, he loved seeing you angry and then shutting you up with a kiss or his fingers inside you. But tonight was different, he was the one pissed off this time.

It was a stupid reason, you got jealous of a stupid action, didn’t thought trough like you usually do and got bitchy with him, insinuating he cheated.

Few things pissed bob off, he was calm — he had to be calm — but saying he cheated didn’t let him calm tonight. He pounded in you like he was proving to you he would never betray you, all the frustration he couldn't express in words he was expressing by pounding on you and you couldn’t deny how you loved.

Your eyes glassy, the brick of the orgasm almost breaking. 

“Don’t you dare cum” he said, his face was pressed on your neck, that was already red because of the sucking and nipping, his right hand tangled on your hair tugging it sometimes and his left hand holding your hips bruising it, he was lifting you causing more friction on your bodies.

“Bob please” he chuckled of your poor needy state, your hands that once were holding his shoulders were loosen now, you didn’t had strength to anything.

“You won’t cum until I say so” you were moaning loud, eyes focused on his head, a few blond locks shined on his head, so you knew he wasn’t just bob this time. he lifted his face resting his forehead on yours and looking deep at your eyes, his eyes glowing golden, sentry was there somewhere you knew it, and he smirked “you’re so pretty like this” then he kissed your lips, both hands on top of your head and he slowed his pace, you were barely kissing him back, you were a mess of spit, on your neck and now on your chin. “When you apologize I can fuck you hard again and let you cum” he said between kisses, now going painfully slow.

He smirks and his face goes to the other side of your neck, his left hand now on your neck almost choking and his other hand smacking your ass.

“Bob” you whine, with a bit of strengh to hold his red shoulders from your scratches. 

“Yes baby?” His voice a fake mocking whine, you could feel his evil smile.

“Im sorry” you say at one breath, like this was taking all of your force

“For what?” He pulls almost all of his cock from you and shove it again making you scream and grip his shoulder harder. He looks at you with doe eyes, you hated how sassy he was, even without sentry he liked to test limits, specially with you, his shy demeanor gone when you brought him comfort.

You hiccup “f-for saying y-you che-eated”

“Apologies accepted” he gave you a soft wet peck on your swollen lips “I think you deserve a reward, you want it?” You nod desperate and he pulled one of your legs over his shoulder and got his accelerate pace again.

Your hands grip the pillow, you looked at him moaning loud feeling the knot on your stomach, for the way he was moaning and how his mouth was dripping saliva and his eyes shut you knew he was also closer, was when both of you summed with a loud moan, both of your legs shaking. 

He collapse on you, his whole weight over you, he hides hid face on your hair whispering sweet nothings like; “you’re so pretty”, “you took me so well” or “you’re so good at that” 

A few minutes he takes his cock out of you and wiped the wet mess on you, caressing your red inner thigh. 

“Was I too rough? I-I just was very frustrated” you smiled and shake you head.

“I liked the Dom bob, he should come over more often” Bob blushes.

“I know how you like to cum when I let you” you laugh, usually you were the one who said that so you knew he was teasing you.

He lays at your side “I’ll be more dominant more often, maybe we have a round of battling for dominance”

You rest your head on is chest “It would be nice seeing you loosing” he laugh hard. 

[mim16s]

This story is much heavier than what I usually write. I drew on some of my own personal experience, and in a way, writing it down helped me a little. Of course, this story isn’t 100% my own experience — there are many parts that are fictional.

Warnings: angst/comfort, sexual assault, rape, neglect, trauma.

You had only been together for two months, but the truth was the bond between you had existed long before that.

A silent connection that screamed in the way you coexisted. Always together. Working out side by side, sharing quick meals in the mess hall, or just crossing paths in the corridors of the base. If someone was looking for you, they found Simon. If they needed to find Simon, they knew exactly where you’d be. It was like his shadows always knew where your light moved. For the longest time, you both knew what you felt. But neither of you dared say it — or rather, you pretended you didn’t feel it. Simon pretended even harder. Because for him, loving someone was like painting a target on his chest. It meant having something to lose. And he had already lost too much. A brother. Family. Identity. Peace. He had grown used to absence.

But when he realized he was holding onto you not just as a mission partner but as someone he wanted to protect even when there was no danger — the fear became almost suffocating. Because he knew: loving you was the same as throwing his heart onto the battlefield. He’d spent his whole life surviving in silence. Soldier. Warrior. Machine. Used to seeing death, pain, misery. Touch became a weapon; affection, a weakness. Love was a luxury he couldn’t afford. But you… you ruined all that.

The first time he really felt it was when he saw you smiling at a new recruit during lunch. It wasn’t jealousy — it was fear. Fear that you weren’t his, that you’d leave and take with you that piece of color you’d unknowingly brought back to his world. Simon knew he was fucked from that moment on. The night he gave in to that feeling was quiet, like everything that surrounded Simon Riley. You were already in your room, ready to sleep, when you heard three knocks on the door. Three. Always the same. You already knew it was him. You opened it, and there he was — the man everyone called Ghost but for you was just… Simon.

You knew him too well to fall for that cold facade. Tense shoulders, hands trembling at his sides, eyes darting anywhere but yours. He was nervous.

—Si, are you okay?—you asked softly, stepping aside to let him in.— You seem… restless.

—We need to talk,—he said, stepping in.

Your chest tightened. Those words always felt like the start of pain. But what came next shattered every wall you’d built.

—I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel it.—His voice came out low, steady, like each word weighed a ton.—Tired of pretending I can keep having you close without… without touching you, without being yours. I don’t know how much time I have, Y/N. What if I don’t come back tomorrow? I don’t want to die without you knowing how much I love you.

You never forgot that moment. The armor Simon wore fell away in front of you, and there was the real man. And you, heart pounding in your chest, told him you felt the same. And from then on, you were together. But love — even returned — didn’t heal your ghosts. His fear was losing you. Yours was… breaking what you had. Because you were already broken. Wounded. And the closer he got, the more you feared the scars of the past would start to bleed again. And they did.

One night, in his room, the kisses had grown more intense. His hands explored your body with care, patience, desire. Until you froze. He noticed immediately. He stopped kissing you, his eyes searching yours with worry.

—Si… stop.

—What is it, Honey? Did I do something wrong?

—No…—your voice trembled.—I just… need to stop.

Simon pulled back but stayed beside you on the bed. His words came out soft, contained, but there was pain in every syllable.

—It’s happened before. And I try not to push you, but…— he sighed, looking down at the floor.— I need to understand. Is it something about me? Do you… not feel attracted?

Your heart twisted — you were desperate to erase that thought from his mind.

—No! Si, you’re beautiful. You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. It’s not about you…

—Then help me understand.— His voice sounded harder now, but not out of anger, it was frustration, helplessness. — Are you a virgin? Is that it?

You swallowed hard, hands trembling in your lap.

— It’s not that either…— you murmured. —Si, please, I just… I’m not ready to talk about it. Not yet. But I just need you to understand me…

Simon went quiet for a moment. Then he nodded, though his eyes couldn’t hide how much it hurt him.

—Okay— he said. — I just want you to know… you can trust me. No matter what it is.

And you did know. But the problem was never trust. The problem was remembering. Every time Simon touched you — with so much love, so much care — your skin remembered the cold, violent hands of the monster from your past. It was like your body screamed, even when your soul begged it to stay. You loved Simon. Loved him in a way you never thought you could love anyone. But you also feared that one day he’d grow tired of touching a woman made of shards. And that hurt more than any memory.

A few weeks later, your walls finally started to crumble. The 141 had gotten leave after a mission, and during a phone call with your mother, you let the truth slip out. She begged you to visit. She sounded so lonely, so eager to see you, it made your chest ache. You missed her, you loved her… but she wasn’t the only one waiting for you in that house. There was him too. Barry. Your stepfather. Just imagining seeing him again made your body lock up, your breath short, your fingers tremble, and a silent nausea take over. You tried to refuse, tried to postpone, but your mother cried, pleaded — and you… you gave in. Like always. Because there was still a part of you that wanted to believe you could see her without reliving everything. But you knew you couldn’t do it alone.

That’s why one night, lying in bed with Simon, your head on his chest while some forgotten movie played on TV, you gathered your courage.

—Si… can I ask you something? — Your voice was small. Almost broken. You felt him shift beside you. He looked at you, calm, with that steady presence that always made you feel safe.

—Of course, honey. What is it?

You fidgeted, uncomfortable with your own anxiety.

—My mom called me. She asked me to visit. She insisted so much that I… couldn’t say no. But… I don’t want to go alone. Will you come with me?

Simon went silent for a moment. He seemed to process it. The request wasn’t unusual — but the way you asked, the tone of your voice… everything was wrong. He knew it.

—Yes. I’ll go with you— he said plainly, no hesitation.

You hesitated.

—I want to ask you for one more thing,— you said, heart racing. Simon just nodded.

—Please… don’t leave me alone with my stepfather.

The moment the words left your mouth, the air in the room changed. Simon didn’t react immediately. But you felt it. His body tensed. The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible.

—Alright,— he said calmly, but his voice was low, loaded with something he was trying to hide. — But why? What’s wrong with your stepfather?— He held your hand — a small gesture, but it kept you grounded.

— You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,— he said, voice softer, controlled. —But… I’m here. I always will be.

You froze. The fear was still there. But part of you knew he needed to know. That he deserved to know. So you pulled back slowly, sat up on the bed, facing him. Simon said nothing. He just sat up too — attentive. No rush. No pressure. You couldn’t look him in the eye. But you began to speak.

— My dad died when I was a kid. I was eight when my mom met Barry. He’s a cop, younger than her. She fell for him so fast… and he didn’t mind that she had a daughter. At first, he was good to me. So good. He’d buy me dolls, take me places. I… I thought he was amazing.

You paused, voice trembling.

—But it didn’t last.— You pressed your hands to your legs, trying to steady your breath. — One morning, I was asleep… and he came to wake me for school. But… he didn’t wake me up. I woke up with his hands on my leg. Stroking me.

Your throat closed up. Simon stayed silent, but his eyes followed you like blades — listening like he’d never listened to anyone before. Heart heavy. Chest tight. Jaw clenched.

— When he saw I was awake, he pulled his hand away. Pretended he was just calling me. I tried to believe I’d imagined it — that it was all in my head. But it wasn’t. I knew.

The knot in your throat became unbearable. The tears came, heavy.

— When I turned ten, my mom was working. He called me… said he wanted to teach me a new game. That was the first time he… that he raped me. But it wasn’t the last.

Your whole body shook. But you had to keep going. Had to set it free.

— My mom… she started noticing how I avoided him. She saw it. But never understood. I remember so clearly… We were in the kitchen. She was cooking dinner. I was helping. He came in, kissed her… and tried to kiss my forehead. I pushed him. Screamed for him not to touch me.

Your mother’s voice still echoed in your mind.

"‘Y/N, what’s that attitude? He’s just being affectionate. Apologize!’"

You remembered your response — the desperate scream.

"‘Never!’"

— She sent me to your room. Told me to think about your actions… and kept comforting him. Saying I was acting strange. That he was so good to me… He always said she’d never believe me. That she was too blind for him. And he was right.

You swallowed those last words like blood.

—I never told. Never. I stayed silent. I endured it alone. I joined the army because it was the fastest way to leave that house. It was the only way to never see him again.

The final words came out like a final confession. You cried — truly cried. Not just tears, but sobs, a weight, old pain pouring out of your throat. And then Simon pulled you in. Wrapped you up in his arms, strong, deliberate. You clung to him like he was your only anchor. Your body felt so small, fragile, stripped of all the strength you usually showed. But to Simon, in that moment, you were stronger than any soldier he’d ever gone to battle with.

—You didn’t deserve that,— he said, voice low, deep, but cracked. — You endured all that alone. You’re stronger than you know.

You buried yourself deeper against his chest. And Simon stayed there. Solid. Silent. His fingers moved gently through your hair, a contained touch, but one heavy with meaning.

—Now I understand… why you feel the way you do with intimacy— he murmured. You nodded, your head pressed to his chest. Then he said:

—That man will never touch you again. Never.

And you believed him. Because Simon didn’t make promises. He carried out sentences.

The day you feared most came faster than you wanted. In the blink of an eye, you were on a plane heading back to your home country — Simon by your side, his hand covering yours like he could hold back the panic boiling inside you. His touch helped. It always helped. But the knot in your chest didn’t loosen for a second.

When you finally stopped in front of that familiar old door, stepping out of the car Simon insisted on renting — for control, for security, for you — your legs nearly gave out. You squeezed his hand tight, like you’d lose yourself right there on the sidewalk. Simon looked at you with that unshakeable steadiness — a stone wall, but with eyes that, for you, had always been home.

—It’s alright, darling,— his voice was deep but calm, like he was anchoring your fear. —It’s just two days. And I won’t let you be alone with him. Not for a second.— You could only nod, breath ragged.

—Thank you, Si… you didn’t have to come with me, but still…— Your voice broke. He didn’t even let you finish.

— Of course I did.— His answer came instantly, solid as iron. —You’re my girlfriend. It’s my duty to be by your side. To support you. To protect you if I have to.

That squeezed your heart in a way nothing else could. You just nodded, too choked up to say anything more. You squeezed his hand like you could hide in it. Then you took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. The sound cut through your spine like a blade. Just seconds later, the door opened — it was like he’d been waiting for you. And there he was. The monster from every nightmare. Barry.

The eager smile that spread across his face died the second his eyes shifted from you to the man at your side. Simon looked even bigger up close — broad shoulders, the posture of someone who never bows his head. And even silent, the weight of death hung around him like a shroud.

— Who’s this?— Barry growled, voice already dripping with irritation as he searched your face like he still had that right. But Simon was faster. He was always faster.

— Simon Riley. Y/N’s boyfriend.— His answer came out low, controlled, but every word was like a loaded bullet.

Barry’s eyes darted to your joined hands — the vein in his neck pulsed. You felt Simon squeeze your hand gently — a silent reminder that you weren’t alone there.

— Boyfriend? — Barry spat the word like poison. But before he could say anything else, your mother appeared behind him, her face lighting up with joy — a joy that nearly broke you inside.

—Y/N, sweetheart, you’re here! — She threw herself at you, oblivious to the tension in the air. You hugged her back, trying to hold back the shiver running down your spine.

—And this must be your boyfriend!— She smiled at Simon, who offered his hand to shake — but she pulled him into a hug too, like she wanted to tear down the wall he was.

—Come in, come in! Let’s not stand in the doorway!— she said brightly, not noticing the poison dripping from Barry’s eyes just behind her.

Inside the living room, sitting on the couch, you could still feel the weight of his stare burning into your back. You shifted, uneasy, trying to breathe. Simon noticed — he noticed everything — and slipped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. His touch was a fortress reminding you that no one would ever lay a finger on you again without permission. Your mother, blissfully unaware, kept talking:

— Finally Y/N found herself a boyfriend! She’s so beautiful, the guys around here were always after her, but she never wanted anything with anyone… And now she shows up with such a handsome man, it was worth the wait!

Simon gave a small smile. It wasn’t the kind of smile he gave to just anyone — it was the smile only you knew.

— Yeah… I hit the jackpot with her. — he said, his eyes locked on yours, his tone so soft it almost made your chest ache.

— Did you know she was bringing a boyfriend? — Barry asked, irritated, his voice sharp.

— Of course I knew! She told me when she called to confirm the visit. — Your mother shrugged, not catching his tone. — Why?

Barry rolled his eyes, grinding his teeth. Simon raised an eyebrow — slowly — as if he were recording every reaction in his memory. You could feel his anger growing, but Simon held it all in, like a trained animal that knows the right time to strike.

— I made your favorite cake, baby! — your mother said, smiling. You smiled back, but your stomach twisted.

— Oh, really? I want a slice. I’ll go get it. — You tried to sound normal.

— Alright, bring it so we can eat together! — your mother replied cheerfully. But Barry stepped forward, already on his feet, his eyes dripping venom.

— I’ll help you bring it. — he said, smirking. It wasn’t help — it was a trap. You froze. But before you could even process it, Simon was already on his feet next to you — so close he felt like your shadow.

— No need. I’ll help her. — His voice came out so cold it seemed to freeze the air.

— You’re a guest. Stay there. — Barry insisted, trying to push it.

You felt your fear swallowed by a strength you didn’t know you had.

— He’s coming with me. — you said firmly. And in that second, you saw Barry’s eyes darken with hate.

He sat back down, pissed off. Your mother tried to ease the tension:

— Oh, honey, let it be, she just wants to spend a little time with her boyfriend…

You heard that like a punch but ignored it. In the kitchen, your hands trembled as you braced yourself on the counter, trying to remember how to breathe. Simon came up behind you, his presence wrapping around you like a heavy blanket.

— Are you okay, sweetheart? — He asked softly. — If you want, we’ll leave right now. I won’t make you stay.

You shook your head, swallowing hard.

— No… my mom’s so happy to see me… I can’t do that to her. — Your voice was small but honest.

Simon held your face, forcing you to look at him. That look — the one no one else ever saw — was pure tenderness, but also steel.

— And you? — He murmured, brushing his thumb over your cheek. — Are you okay with this? Don’t destroy yourself for her. Not again.

You took a deep breath, trying to believe your own lie.

— I can handle it. It’s just two days, Si… I can handle it.

He didn’t say anything — just pulled you into him, his chest a warm wall, his scent a silent promise. His lips touched the top of your head, and when he spoke, his voice was so low it almost scared you:

— Two days. And if that son of a bitch opens his mouth again… — He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to. You knew exactly what he meant.

The rest of the day dragged on under suffocating tension. Barry tried — God, how he tried. Every joke, every look, every attempt to corner you was cut off by Simon, who moved like an armed shadow, always between the two of you. You saw his jaw clench, his eyes narrow. And you knew: if Barry crossed the line — even for a second — Simon Riley wouldn’t hesitate.

And deep down, that scared you. But it was also the only thing that made you feel safe.

You were in your room, Simon was taking a shower, when the door suddenly opened — and the moment you saw his face, you froze. Shock took over your whole body. God, on the battlefield you were ruthless — you could kill men twice your size, fight off dozens and still come out victorious. But in front of him, you were paralyzed. Only trauma could do that to you.

The words finally came out of your mouth, trembling and broken:

— Get… get out of my room.

But he didn’t listen. He stepped closer to you, as if he had any right to invade your space while you stood frozen in the middle of the room.

— I just want to talk.

— There’s nothing to talk about. Get out. — Your voice, though shaky, tried to be firm. He didn’t listen. He never did. He never would. His question came out with a sickening coldness:

�� I just want to ask you one thing — he pushed, getting closer, so close you instinctively backed away — You didn’t tell your boyfriend anything, did you?

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your eyes darted to the door, silently begging Simon to come in.

— Don’t ruin my life over some stupid thing from the past.

Ruin his life? The irony of hearing that from the very man who ruined yours made your blood boil. The man who made you feel worthless.

— Please, leave… — You asked again, vision blurry, bile rising in your throat.

But he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. He never let you have peace — not then, not now.

— We can keep this just between us, come on, you’re gonna tell me you didn’t enjoy it, not even a little bit? — The bile rose higher. You felt like throwing up. — Come on, sweetheart, I know it wasn’t that bad…

“Sweetheart.” A word you loved when it came from Simon’s lips — now it made your skin crawl coming from this monster. You stepped back, but before he could reach out and touch you, a huge shadow crossed the room — a blur so fast you barely registered it before he hit the floor with a heavy thud. You stood frozen, watching Simon pummel him, punch after punch, the sound of knuckles on skin echoing like thunder in your chest. And for the first time in so long, you felt relief — Simon was keeping his promise. He was protecting you.

The sound of fists hitting flesh brought your mother running to the door.

— My God! Stop! Y/N, help me, for God’s sake! — she screamed, but you didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You just stared as your body finally reacted — not with screams, but with tears, pouring down your face like a waterfall. Simon only stopped hitting Barry when he heard a single sob break from your chest. He looked at you — and in that instant, he was no longer a merciless soldier, but the man who’d stand between you and the world. He wrapped you in his arms so carefully, so gently, while you clung to him, fists twisting into his shirt as your mother rushed to help the monster in your nightmares.

— What the hell is wrong with you?! — she shouted at Simon while helping Barry sit up. You saw his face, covered in blood — you knew Simon would have killed him if he hadn’t stopped.

— M-mom — you croaked, your voice breaking.

— I want your boyfriend out of my house now!

— I was protecting her — Simon said firmly, still holding you.

— Protecting her from what?! — your mother demanded, like you’d said something insane.

— From him — you answered, your voice so hoarse and small it barely sounded like you. She looked at you like you’d just lied about the sun in the sky.

— That’s ridiculous. Barry loves you! Your boyfriend is the crazy one.

— He doesn’t love me! He’s a monster — you shouted, the wall you’d kept up for years finally shattering.

— He is NOT a monster! Barry is the best man in the world! — your mother yelled back.

— The best man in the world wouldn’t have abused a child! — The words burst out of you like a wound finally torn open. No more secrets. No more silence. Everyone in the room went still. Your mother stared at you, horrified, while Barry tried to stammer out a pathetic denial.

— Don’t believe her, love, you know me — Barry pleaded, looking up at your mother, desperate.

— Y/N, that’s a very serious accusation. You don’t know what you’re saying, you’re just upset — your mother said, but you shook your head, violently.

— No… no, I know exactly what I’m saying.

— If you’re saying this just because you don’t like him, you’re making a huge mistake — she insisted.

— Mom, I spent my whole teenage years with bruises. How did you never see them? — you sobbed. — I avoided him like the plague. He grabbed me, Mom!

— No, no… — she repeated, in denial, tears rolling down her own cheeks now.

— Don’t believe her, she’s lying, I was like a father to her — Barry tried again.

— Shut the fuck up, or it won’t be just your face that’s broken — Simon finally snarled, jaw clenched, body radiating protective rage — Admit it, before I came in, you were trying to manipulate her, touch her again — his voice was low, but every word was a threat carved in stone.

— For so long, I couldn’t even be in the same room as another man — you cried, legs trembling. — You broke me. You ruined my life! Even my relationship with Simon was affected by the trauma. I hope you believe me, Mom… but even if you don’t, I’m done carrying this alone. — You turned to Simon, your voice just a whisper — Let’s go.

— Of course, sweetheart, let’s go — Simon said, grabbing your bags. Anything that didn’t fit could stay behind — he’d buy you new things if needed. He just needed to get you out of that house.

You stayed clinging to him as you walked out — Simon was your lifeline. You weren’t sure you could’ve done this without him, even in silence.

— Y/N! — you heard your mother call from the top of the stairs. — Are you sure about what you’re saying?

— I am, Mom. — You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to.

You left the house where you’d lived your worst nightmares — what you’d faced in the army didn’t compare to a fraction of what you’d endured in the home that should have been your safe place. And as you stepped out, your chest felt lighter, your mind clearer, even with the storm raging inside you. Speaking your truth didn’t fix everything — but it lifted a weight you’d carried alone for too long. Your legs gave out, and you would’ve collapsed if it hadn’t been for Simon’s strong arms.

— It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you — he whispered, lifting you in his arms like something precious — not fragile, not broken — precious. He set you down in the car, buckled your seatbelt, then paused, looking you straight in the eyes with a raw, unwavering honesty.

— I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. God, I can’t imagine how you held on for so long — but that just proves how strong you really are.

And just like that — so simple, so true, coming from someone who knew battle and pain, someone who’d fought for you — Simon gave you what had been stolen from you for so long: the certainty that you weren’t alone anymore.

You didn’t expect a call from your mother. You didn’t expect anything from someone who hadn’t protected you when they could have. Her silence hurt — but it didn’t hurt as much as it once did. Because for the first time in years, you weren’t carrying it alone.

Simon hadn’t asked permission to love you, hadn’t asked permission to rescue you — and he sure as hell wouldn’t ask permission to stay by your side while your wounds slowly learned how to heal

[zepskies]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, same HC 😅

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time After Time – Chapter 12

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

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

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

Word Count: 13.7k

Posted on Patreon May 16, 2025

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

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

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

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

1944

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

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

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

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

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

“Be a goddamn man for once.”

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

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

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

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

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

Desperation. Weakness. Cowardice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before he saw the guards.

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

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

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

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

“Shh, not now. He’s here.”

Ben’s spine straightened, jaw locking tight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Subject 13 – Benjamin Brooks.

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

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

Klara made a sound like she was suppressing a laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben understood maybe ten percent of it.

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

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

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

That threw him for a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Discomfort?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tested?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much pain?” Ben asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe this would finally prove otherwise.

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

No more being second-best.

No more being a failure.

No more almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it killed him – especially then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Begin the procedure,” her husband ordered her.

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

The first thing Ben felt was fucking fire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the world faded to black then.

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

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

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

It snapped.

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

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

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

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

“Easy,” someone barked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heat and force without focus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

The pieces were clicking now.

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

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

“Good genes.”

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

“Who knows? Maybe I’m a witch.”

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

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

His head was pounding, memories firing off like bullets.

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

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

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

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

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

Because he was in love.

Because he was a goddamn idiot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ben, I can’t.”

“You don’t even know me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You, singing by the piano.

You, crying in the barn.

You, gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No survivors.

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

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

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

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

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

He missed you. God, he fucking missed you.

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

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

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

A violent force with no outlet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lucky me,” Ben scoffed under his breath.

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

“No.”

“Any double vision?”

“No.”

“You appear slightly flushed. Any nausea?”

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

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

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

“None,” Klara said before Frederick could answer.

Ben stiffened unnoticeably, spine straightening.

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

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

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

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

Ben cocked an eyebrow. “Phase Two?”

Klara nodded and smiled. “Children.”

“You wanna put this shit in little kids?”

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

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

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

Finding you.

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

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

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

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

Good.

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

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

1969

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben still snorted whenever he reminded himself of that one.

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

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

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

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

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

More movies, more fame, more everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking abominations.

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a second, neither of you said anything.

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

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

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

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

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

Ben blinked. The name hit like a hammer.

Led Zeppelin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He remembered it like it was yesterday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The walls shook.

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

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

His mind was fucking somewhere else – always.

Until he saw you.

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

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

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

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

Were you fucking aging in reverse?

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

How the hell had you–

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

And then, Ben stopped fucking thinking and moved.

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

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

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

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

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

“Best fucking twenty-fifth birthday ever!”

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

Gone.

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

Ben stopped dead in his tracks.

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

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

You’d been fucking real.

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

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

1983

Fourteen years of this fucking bullshit.

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

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

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

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

So the team stuck.

And then Stan Edgar fucking showed up.

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

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

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

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

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

Swatto had the IQ of a fucking fruit fly.

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

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

Black Noir, though?

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

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

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

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

And then, there was still Crimson Countess.

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

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

Like now.

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

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

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

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

Fucking kill him now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing ever did.

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

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

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

Her shoulders flinched. Bingo.

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

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

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

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

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

But they never could, could they?

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

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

“–please welcome the incredible Cyndi Lauper!”

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

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

Everything fucking stopped.

His hips. His thoughts. His fucking breath.

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

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

No fucking way…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking liar.

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

But not you. It was a fucking paradox.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bullshit.”

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

“Months?!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I am me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The shirt. The shoes. The song.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben hadn’t slept in fucking weeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And an unpredictable asset was a dangerous one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coming Up:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, definitely you.

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

Still not a trace of recognition in your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

The fuck–

What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt. 1:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei

@perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming @hunter-or-the-hunted

@k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways @muhahaha303

@ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith @nesnejwritings

@samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02 @impala67rollingthroughtown

@star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13 @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v @youroldfashioned

[zeke-fanfucs]

Ooh? Did you think Karmor was safe? Oh please! He’s our oc! Us! And me? Fucking hell, you all must know how much I like to hurt my oc? So.. little Karmor, can’t wait to see your story end.

What the Mirror Forgot

Karmor had been staring at himself for a long time.

Not admiring. Not judging. Just… searching.

Two hands touched the mirror’s surface—one his, trembling and cold. The other, invisible, imagined. He dragged his fingers along his own face, like maybe the shape of his jaw might whisper a name he forgot. Maybe his eyes would betray a truth.

Nothing came.

Not a flash.

Not a flicker.

Just that sinking, echoing void behind the eyes.

“You think if you touch yourself long enough, you’ll remember who you are?”

Karmor’s breath caught.

The voice was oil-slicked glass shattering in his skull.

He didn’t need to turn. He knew.

Mad Crow stood behind him, visible only in the reflection—perched on the edge of the sink like a vulture draped in static. Their grin split across where a mouth shouldn’t be.

“You’re adorable. Pitiful, even.”

“Standing there like a glitch in a god’s save file.”

Karmor clenched his fists. The air in the bathroom was thick, sharp—like breathing in broken porcelain.

“Leave me alone.”

“Leave me alone, he says. To the hallucination he carved into his own brainstem.”

Mad Crow tilted their head.

“You don’t even know what part of you made me. Was I fear? Guilt? Your true self?”

“No wonder no one trusts you. You don’t even trust yourself.”

Karmor bit down on a sob and backed away from the mirror—then further, and further—until his back hit the door and he slid down it, legs folding like paper.

Mad Crow followed. No footsteps. Just presence.

“You’re a monster.”

“A mistake.”

“A thing that never should’ve existed.”

Their voice turned crueler, softer.

“You don’t even remember your real family, do you?”

“Who you were. Where you came from. What you did.”

A pause. A cruel, sharp pause.

“How sick is that?”

Karmor choked on air, trembling, arms around himself like he could hold the pieces together.

He wanted a name. A mother. A memory.

But all he had was the crushing echo of a laugh that belonged to no one and everyone.

Mad Crow crouched beside him, whispering now.

“You are the scar, Karmor.”

“And I’m the infection.”

Karmor covered his ears, eyes shut tight—but he could still see Crow behind his eyelids, smiling like the end of the world had already come and he was its wedding guest.

No one knocked. No one came in.

Because no one knew he was breaking.

And that’s what made it worse.

[untilwefind]

Literally Don't Call Me for This

Prompt Credit @sleepy-hyperfixations

Mack got knotted by Will but the knot won't subside and Will can't stop spilling his cum inside of Mack. Ofc they call Toff for help✨️

toff yelling for 20 minutes abt how they shouldn't call him for this stuff bcs they're basically his kids and its giving him trauma and the an additional 5 minutes of how they should've called fucking 911

“I think it’s stuck,” Will says weakly.

“No shit,” Mack snaps, voice tight and sharp.

The room smells like sweat and slick and panic.

Mack is lying flat on his back on the guest bed in the Thornton’s pool house, thighs wrapped tight around Will’s hips, arms flopped out like a chalk outline. His jaw is set. His eyes are damp. His breath comes short through his nose as he tries very, very hard not to cry.

Will, above him, looks equally wrecked. Flushed from hairline to sternum, arms shaking slightly from holding himself up, and clearly just as panicked.

“I swear this has never happened before,” Will blurts out, for maybe the tenth time. “I don’t—my knot never lasts this long. I don’t—I don’t usually—fuck, I don’t usually keep cumming like this, I don’t know what’s happening—”

Mack flinches. “You just did it again.”

“I know!” Will cries, looking down at their joined bodies like his own dick has personally betrayed him. “I can feel it, Mack, I’m so sorry—”

Mack breathes in through his nose and stares at the ceiling like it might offer him a portal to another plane of existence.

They hadn’t meant to go this far. It was supposed to be a quiet night. A simple sleepover. They weren’t supposed to be getting handsy but one thing led to another and Mack had tugged Will into bed with a low, “Don’t be soft, I can handle it,” and Will, idiot that he is, believed him.

Now?

Now they’re locked together, Will’s knot refusing to go down and Mack’s body twitching every time Will spills into him again.

Will strokes his thumb along Mack’s jaw, gentle. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Mack lies.

Will doesn’t press, but Mack flinches anyway when Will shifts even a little. He’s trying so hard to act unfazed, all clenched teeth and eye rolls and snippy comments like “you’re literally the worst alpha I’ve ever met” but the tears haven’t stopped and Will can feel his pulse racing.

“We should call someone,” Will says softly, brushing damp hair back from Mack’s forehead.

“No.”

“Mack—”

“I said no,” Mack snaps, and it’s all bark, no bite. He swallows thickly and tries to fix his face, but his mask is slipping faster now. Will watches him blink hard a few times like he’s trying to physically will the tears away. His lips quiver anyway.

Will kisses the corner of his mouth, soft. “It’s okay—”

“I told you I could handle it,” Mack mumbles, breath catching. “I can.”

“I know you thought that,” Will says gently, shifting his hips to try and get more comfortable.

Mack gasps, then chokes on it, whole body tensing like a rubber band about to snap. His hands scramble at Will’s arms like he can push him away even though they’re already locked together.

“Don't move! Stop,” Mack gasps. “Will, it hurts.”

Will freezes. “Shit. Shit—I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t—fuck, I’m sorry.” He presses kisses to Mack’s cheek, to the space under his ear, the slope of his jaw. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Mack breathes in slow through his nose. Tries again. “It’s fine. Just—just wait. It’ll go down.”

“It’s been over an hour.”

Mack lets out a sound that’s almost a sob but tries to smother it. “This is so fucking humiliating.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not. It’s my fault. I should’ve known, I should’ve—”

“Will,” Mack mutters darkly. "Please shut the fuck up."

Will winces.

After another minute, he reaches for his phone on the nightstand behind Mack’s head. Mack tries to protest.

“Don’t you dare call anyone, I swear to God I will fake my death and move to Alaska!”

But Will just shushes him and dials anyway.

“Toff’ll know what to do. I don’t know how to get us unstuck. I’ve googled everything and all the articles say if it lasts more than forty-five minutes you’re supposed to call someone, and we’re already past that and I’ve already—”

“You’re cumming again,” Mack groans.

It rings three times before Tyler picks up.

“Yo,” Toff says flatly.

Will doesn’t even try to ease into it. “Toff, we’re stuck!”

Silence.

Toff sighs. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not,” Will swallows. “But I need your help. So, like, hypothetically, if someone's knot was like, really stuck—”

"Mack should be in quarantine if he's in heat. You shouldn't be fucking like bunnies, Kibble," Toff sighs.

"He's not in heat."

Toff’s voice drops to a deadpan growl. “Tell me you did not knot that boy without him being in heat.”

Will hesitates.

“Oh for fuck's sake,” Toff snaps.

“I didn’t mean to!” Will says quickly. “We just, we were messing around and he was warm and smelled really good and he said he could handle it—”

“I can,” Mack yells weakly from under him.

“He’s crying,” Will whispers into the speaker.

“I’M NOT!”

“Oh my God,” Toff mutters. “You fucking idiot.”

Mack whimpers.

Toff loses it. “What did you think was gonna happen, huh? You were just gonna raw him for funsies and pop right out like it’s a fucking plug-and-play situation? You ever even take a health class or did you skip every seminar after draft camp, Smitty?”

Will tries, weakly, “He said he could handle it—”

“Oh, he said? Bro. That boy's fucking gone for you. He’d say he could handle a bullet wound if you kissed his neck right.”

“HEY,” Mack yells from below, muffled.

“I’m not wrong,” Toff snaps. “You’re supposed to quarantine him, not rail him. That’s like… basic rookie handbook shit. Jesus, Will. You don’t fucking knot an omega unless there’s an actual heat cycle or you’re bonded, which you’re not, unless I missed the wedding.”

Will is beet red. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think this would happen.”

“Well guess what, it did! And now you’re stuck in Jumbo's fucking guest house leaking into your boyfriend like a broken hose meanwhile I’m out here trying to enjoy a night off without getting play-by-play updates on your malfunctioning knot!”

Mack lets out a long, quiet groan of shame.

Toff keeps going. “Jesus Christ, you’re not even technically bonded. You got the chemistry of two frat bros and the impulse control of golden retrievers on Red Bull. Do you even know what you’re doing or are you just freestyling your way through this shit?”

Will is clutching Mack gently like he might shatter. “I’m really sorry.”

“And people ask me why I drink...”

Mack mumbles, “Can we fast-forward to the part where you help us before I have to move to Europe and fake my death?”

Toff sighs, all theatrics gone. “You don’t move. You don’t try to jerk out. You definitely don’t flex anything. You need to keep him calm and still and wait it out. Hydrate. Cool cloths. Calm his body down or his muscles are just gonna keep clamping around you like a vice and it’ll get worse.”

Will rubs Mack’s sides gently. “Okay. Okay, we can do that. Thanks, Toff.”

“And Will?”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever call me again because you’re stuck inside your boyfriend, I’m filing for a restraining order.”

Will hangs up.

They lie there in the quiet for a long moment. Mack still hasn’t looked at him, but his grip has loosened around Will’s biceps. His legs are still trembling.

“You okay?” Will whispers.

“No,” Mack mumbles. “I have your knot up my ass in another man’s guest house and Toff just gave us a TED Talk.”

Will presses a soft kiss to Mack’s forehead. “You’re handling this better than I would.”

Mack closes his eyes and exhales slowly. He’s still shaking, but he lets Will hold him a little tighter.

[spartancommander-2874]

As Auri rifled through the other bits and bobs strewn about the observatory level, the Gears’ conversation drifted over to her. Figures they’d pick up on something. Hopefully she’d be out of their hair before needing to reveal her AI’s presence.

Speaking of…

“Noe, any updates?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I’ve poured through and analyzed every star map this place had to offer. I’ve gone through it all several times now and have checked it all against the coordinates for Requiem. Commander, it simply isn’t there.”

That last sentence stopped the Spartan’s pacing. No. No, that couldn’t be right. That didn’t make sense at all.

“Check it again.” Her tone came out neutral. Clipped.

“I did. As I stated before, there was some data corruption within the archives-“

“So, then there’s chance.”

“No. There isn’t. Before Emergence Day, whatever team that was stationed here had been able to chart out the section of space where Requiem should have been located. There is irrefutable evidence that shield world is not where it’s supposed to be.”

“But that doesn’t- How- I don’t-“ Her sentences kept starting and stopping before Auri gritted her teeth and forced herself to physically stop what she was doing and take in a damn breath. “Explain.” It was bullshit. How in the fuck could Requiem not even be there? Simply not exist? It couldn’t have been taken out just like that. Those star charts were decades old by now. The planet should be there.

“We’re both aware of how advanced Forerunner technology is. There’s still so much to learn about them.”

“The one we did meet wanted to kill us.”

“Exception. Not the rule,” Noesis chided before continuing. “I’ve been analyzing the footage of our escape and moments before we jumped through the portal, the main terminal took a direct hit from one of those Prometheans. Likely to stall our flight or simply have the portal kill us outright. I believe the timing was just right that the wiring got crossed in such a way that the portal bridged the gap between our universe and this one.”

“You can’t be serious-“ Auri started to balk when she finally tuned back into the goings on around Delta team. That was actually when she realized that ever present asshole was missing. Strange. Wasn’t he-?

Scoping out a massive horde of locust some meters below their feet. Fuck.

She’d deal with her anxiety and AI’s outrageous theory about inter dimensional portals later. Right now, they needed to leave. She approached the same monitor she had briefly dropped Noesis off in and withdrew the construct as she neared Marcus.

“I’ve got what I needed, Sergeant. There’s… a lot to go over. Later. Let’s get rolling before those things know we’re here. Does Baird know if our exit is still clear? Can we get out safely that way?"

@bigmouthgenius

This was supposed to be a simple smash and grab. Get the blueprints of the place, locate the objective, nab it and run.

In and out.

Easy enough, right?

Nope.

There was a security program that had been running passively in the background that not even the team’s AI had detected while pilfering the system and she had Forerunner code built directly into her matrix. Alarms began to blare loudly, alerting the Prometheans of offending intruders, once the data left its protective, holographic casing. Their fireteam leader quickly placed a hand on the terminal and green pixels flowed up her gauntleted arm and into a slot on the back of her helmet indicating their AI had come home. Without another word, the trio of Spartan IVs took off, wanting to be as far away from this place as physically possible.

Red blips began pinging off their motion trackers during their flight through the ancient complex and the digitized roars of anger echoed off down the halls. Their AI, Noesis, was still tapped into the local network and began to shut down the massive gray-white doors to cut off their pursuers or at the very least slow them down.

Evac was well on the other side of the facility in the form of a D79-TC Pelican dropship. Their pilot, Spartan Kent, had already activated the autopilot, calling the dropship in closer as the LZ was going to be hot by the time they got to it. A pair of beam turrets popped up in front of bulkhead doors at the end of one hall and began firing white-hot lasers at the fleeing super soldiers, forcing them off their current path and to take a hard right down another hallway to avoid being melted down to slag.

A Promethean Knight had sprung forward seemingly out of nowhere toward the Spartans as they attempted to dodge the turret fire and had nearly pinned their XO to the wall with its gun when it received a shotgun shell to the side of its head. With the creature down, they continued onward with their flight.

“Finally! We’re almost out of here!” came the Spartan to their XO’s left. Her IFF transponder marked her as Cordova, Caterina A.

“About time. I think we’ve really riled up the locals. Kent,” their fireteam leader replied then glanced to the right at their other squad mate. “Kent, once we get out, get that pelican ready for transport. We need to get the hell out of here ASAP before they call in for more reinforcements. Last thing we need is for the Storm Covies clogging up the air.”

“Way ahead of you, ma’am!” came her companion’s reply.

Just as they reached the last stretch, however, a Promethean had teleported meters away from the exit and brought an Incineration Cannon up to bear. The weapon began to charge, red light glowing like death. Right as the thing fired, their commander cried out, “Move it!”, before diving out of the way herself. The creature must’ve been in the local network as well as it was fighting for control over the doorways and cut the commander off from the other two. She rolled up onto her feet just in time to jerk to the side to avoid another blast.

“Commander?! Auri-?”

“Hey, you still-?”

“Get outside! I’ll meet you at the LZ. This place is going to be crawling with Knights shortly. I don’t want them bringing down our bird before we even get out of here,” she called back over their COMMs.

Spartan Kent paused briefly before responding so his counterpart took over. “Yes ma’am! Noesis is still feeding us a map of the area and there’s another exit out here. We’ll see you outside.”

“Copy!”

The Knight attempted to fire on the Spartan once more and just before it released the trigger, a well thrown grenade took it out of its misery. Reloading her weapons and taking a quick stock of what was leftover, Noesis, the team’s AI, wormed her way past the defenses the Knight had thrown up and unlocked one doorway, placing a waypoint that led to the exit on the Spartan’s HUD. The commander took off and was forced to double back twice due to an influx of hostiles. Out of nowhere, a brilliant flash of blue and black lit up a doorway to the Four’s left. Hovering there, of its own volition apparently, was a portal. She was really backed into a corner right now, with Prometheans encroaching on her location. The construct hiding within her helmet was already following her line of thought before the woman even voiced her plan.

“Commander, as much as I’d like to be out of here, we don’t know where that portal leads,” Noesis protested.

“Anywhere’s better than here. They’re already starting to wrest control from you and you’ve already transferred over the data to Roland, right?” Auri had already started to back up toward the swirling vortex. Sure enough, another entrance on the far side of the room had opened up, revealing a mass of very angry Promethean Knights who thought they had the human cornered.

“Yes but…” the AI said, her sentence petering off. Oh hell. Her Spartan had already made up her mind and there was no changing it. “I’m notifying the others and I don’t think these Knights are going to wait much longer!” Moments before the Forerunner constructs could pounce, the Spartan dove into the portal’s center and her world went black and the machine shut off.

---

She could feel her body being spun this way and that. Her skin being tugged hard off her bones as she fell end over end. Or so it seemed.

Auri’s shields flared up as an unknown source drained the batteries until they cracked and died for a few seconds, the annoying alarm blaring right in her ear. Her equilibrium was way off and it felt as though she remained within the portal network for far longer than before although she couldn’t tell how much time had passed since she had taken the plunge.

Without warning, a hole suddenly opened up and spat her out into the dirt rather unceremoniously. The Spartan rolled to a stop, head spinning violently and she swallowed down the urge to throw up. Any attempt at getting to her feet were met with major protest as her vision swam sickeningly. Shutting her eyes tightly against the light filtering through her faceplate, the commander took in a few slow, deep breaths before rising up to her knees carefully. Her stomach was still her throat and her head throbbed something awful but she was alive and surprisingly in one piece. A few meters away from her, the portal floated and seemed to shudder. Had the Spartan not been paying attention, she wouldn’t have caught that slight waver that indicated something was off.

“Okay, good. You’re alright,” came her AI’s soft voice. “We may have a tail. Prometheans may have followed us and… I don’t think that portal is going to last much longer. We need to get clear of the blast radius and into cover.” Noesis sounded almost distracted and for a second, the Four couldn’t pin down what had caught her attention.

“Great… You don’t have to tell me twice,” Auri replied, turned around to get moving and stopped.

Oh.

That’s why.

They weren’t on Requiem anymore.