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sweetcalebb · 13 hours ago

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would you be open to writing caleb putting you in a headlock? Maybe you ask him to do it and he gets really into it 🫠🫠🫠

Headlock sex ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

wc: 2.6k

a/n: hii!! i can't tell you how excited to see this ask. i've thought abt caleb putting the reader in a headlock smm. thank u sm for this! i hope this was okay, and if it wasn't pls feel free to DM me, comment, or send another ask. i'm always happy to write more <3

content: prone sex, rough sex, light choking, bit of dry humping <3, cream pie, headlock (ofc!), power play, horny gym tension, biceps appreciation, reader likes to get all flustered around caleb like they aren't literally dating

——

You should've been counting Caleb's reps. You were—until you started staring a little too hard at his biceps. Suddenly, you forgot how to count, or think, or even breathe.

"Hey, what am I at, Pips?" Caleb grunted.

Shoot.

You just stood there, dumb, open-mouthed, and said, "Um... 10?"

He wasn't even training biceps. How the hell did they look so good when he was doing push-ups? It wasn't fair.

Caleb laughed, slowly sitting on his heels. "10? I could've sworn I hit 10 a few pushups ago."

Your face flushed. "I think you're counting wrong."

"And I think you're just ogling me," Caleb shot back, standing up and stalking over to you—sweat clinging to his forehead, muscles taut and glistening—

God. He was going to be the death of you.

"It's cute." He leaned in close, lips curled in a smug smile. "Can't count when you're horny, huh?"

You clenched around nothing.

"I'm not!" you scoffed, taking a step back, even when every cell in your body was screaming at you to pounce on him.

"Then why are you blushing?" Caleb teased, playfully poking your cheek before you could pull away. "I was just joking, but does watching me do pushups actually turn you on?"

You squirmed back, the tips of your ears burning.

"No!"

Caleb grinned. "Liar."

Heat dripped low in your stomach. Shit. Why was it so hot when he called you out like that?

"So, what about me doing pushups turns you on?" He squinted his eyes and cocked his head—all feigned innocence and charm. "Is it the way I grunt? Or the way I look when I'm focused? Or is it my muscles?"

Evil bastard. He knew what he was doing.

"C'mon. I gotta know," he coaxed.

"Nothing!" you finally huffed. "Nothing about you doing pushups turns me on!"

Everything.

Everything about him doing pushups turned you on. Especially his arms. But you didn't want to admit that, so without another word, you spun around and started heading for the exit.

Caleb laughed, watching the cute sway of your hips as you stormed off. "Hey! C'mon! We have to finish on cardio!"

But you were already outside.

—

Now, you sat, curled up in your bed, staring at pictures of Caleb—specifically the ones he sent after a grueling workout. Yes, you had a whole album of him, and he was always all sweaty and pumped... really pumped.

You took a shaky breath. God, his arms looked so good.

And Caleb? He was probably in your living room, minding his business all smug because he knew the things he did to you.

He was visiting for a bit, which was why you'd been working out together in the first place. You thought it would be a cute hangout, not—whatever that turned into.

You groaned, tossing your phone to the side.

You couldn't do this anymore.

You kicked your legs over your bed and slipped out of your room. Sure enough, there Caleb was—on the living room floor, completely relaxed, fussing with one of his model airplanes like he wasn’t the reason your brain had short-circuited.

He shot you a quick glance and smiled before turning back to his plane.

"Hey, Pips," Caleb murmured, brows furrowing as he chipped a piece of his model off. "You okay?" He took a double-take, a hint of smugness in his voice. "You look.. flushed."

You stood there for a second, your body burning and your mind swimming with all the dirty things you wanted Caleb to do to you. Especially now, with how nice his hands looked messing with his plane.

And he could see it. He didn't have to ask or look at you too long, he just knew.

Because that was Caleb.

"What're you thinking?" He quipped, tilting his head.

You shifted awkwardly, your legs squeezing together.

You took a small inhale, then carefully said, "I want to try something."

Caleb smiled, the model airplane in his lap forgotten the minute you uttered those words.

"Oh, yeah? What's this 'something' you wanna try?"

You glanced down, fidgeting with your shirt and shifting your the wooden floor.

Caleb grinned. You were impossibly cute when you were nervous—cheeks red and lip sore from how much you'd bitten it in thought.

Slowly, he stood and stepped over to you.

"You know I'll try anything you want, Pips," Caleb said, stopping in front of you and grinning that stupid grin that made your heart flutter. "C'mon. Have I ever judged you?" he coaxed.

"No," you murmured.

"Right. So, tell me."

"I..." Your eyes darted down to his arms. God. They looked nice. So nice, that for a split—horrifyingly horny—second, you wondered what they'd feel like wrapped around your neck.

Your whole body burned at the thought.

Then quietly—unbidden—the words, "I want you to put me in a headlock," came out.

Caleb laughed.

You must've been joking.

But when he looked at you—really looked at you—you weren't laughing or smiling. No, you were straight-faced, eyes hardened and jaw tensed.

Oh.

You were serious.

"What?" Caleb breathed.

You let out a stuttered breath. And as if this couldn't get any more embarrassing, you muttered, "During... it."

Caleb blinked. "During it?"

For a second, he just stared. His brain couldn't catch up. Had you seriously just asked him to... put you in a headlock during sex?

He let out a humorless laugh. "I—Pips, are you being serious?"

You paused, your heart thudding so loud you were almost certain he heard it. You knew this was a mistake. You should’ve kept your mouth shut.

"No. Never mind, I was just—I was joking."

You didn't care how lame that sounded, you just needed to get out of there before he saw the furious blush that crept up your cheeks and burned your ears.

But you weren't fast enough.

Before you could even turn around, Caleb's hand was around your wrist.

"Hey—don't do that." He tugged you back, forcing you against his chest. "If that's what you want, I'll give it to you."

Your breath quickened.

"Is that what you want?"

It took you a moment to learn how to breathe again before finally managing a quiet, "Yes."

At that, Caleb smiled—a big, crooked, and way too smug smile. Then, without warning, he bent down slightly and hauled you over his shoulder.

You yelped, clinging to his back. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"What do you think?" Caleb huffed. "I'm giving you what you want."

You wanted to argue. Pretend it really was a joke, but every nerve in your body lit up the second he said he’d give you exactly what you wanted.

He nudged your door open with his foot and stalked over to your bed before dropping you on the mattress and turning you over on your stomach. You gasped, your hands clinging to your sheets in anticipation.

Caleb crawled over you, wasting no time as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. "You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"

You squirmed, lips parting on a silent sigh of relief when you felt him against your ass. He ground against you once, then stopped before pinning you down when he felt you lift your hips to meet his.

"C'mon. Talk to me, Pips. I wanna hear you."

You groaned, dipping your head against the mattress. Of course. You should've known better than to think Caleb wasn't going to make the most out of every second.

"Yes," you breathed, struggling against his grip. "I've been thinking about this all day."

Caleb gave a groan of approval, rolling his hips again like he couldn't help it. "You should've told me sooner."

He dragged his lips lower, tracing them along your shoulders, the heat of his mouth seeping through the fabric of your shirt.

"You know I'd give you anything, right?"

"Not soon enough," you complained, your words earning a soft chuckle.

"But I'm going to." Slowly, he brought one hand around your throat—firm, but not too tight—and tilted your head to the side, "Aren't I?"

Heat pooled in your stomach.

It felt like a preview. A filthy, mind-numbing preview. If you were already losing it over this, you could only imagine what actually having his arm around your neck would do to you.

Instinctively, you pushed back against him again.

"Yes."

Caleb grinned, pressing a searing kiss to the crook of your neck. You barely had time to enjoy his hand around your neck before he was pulling away again, the bed creaking under his weight.

You couldn't help the small whine that tore from your throat. "Caleb—"

"I'm still here," he cut in, soothing his hands down your sides and stopping at your hips. "But it's kinda hard to give you what you want if this," he snuck his finger into the waistband of your pajama pants and gave a teasing tug, "is still in the way."

Caleb pulled them down just a fraction. "So, are you gonna let me take these off?"

You had to bite back another whine. "Stop teasing me."

Caleb laughed, slowly peeling your pants and panties down your legs. "You're cute when you get impatient."

"Caleb.. I'm serious," you huffed, trying your best not to break down and beg him to take you.

"Alright, alright."

You heard the sound of fabric shifting, then you felt him against your back again, warm, naked, and hard. You let out a shuddered breath, your muscles tightening with anticipation.

"Ready?" he murmured.

You nodded, then carefully, Caleb pushed in, a quiet groan slipping past his lips. Your back arched, the pressure in your stomach curling tight as he sank in inch after tantalizing inch.

You were soaked.

"H-hah... So, my arms really turn you on, huh?" he murmured, shifting his hips to fully settle against your back.

"Y-yes."

Caleb inhaled sharply, carefully slipping his arms around you in headlock. A light—very light—headlock.

You nearly lost it right then and there. You didn't know just how good this would feel until he was finally doing it. You shoved your hips back, the movement making Caleb huff.

"You're so... eager."

"Caleb. Please."

He gave a breathless laugh. "You remember your safe word?"

You nodded.

"You sure?"

You nodded again, more desperately.

"Yes," you bit out. "Please, Caleb, just move."

Finally, he pulled out, then pushed back in. Slow and deliberate. It was dizzying. He started a steady rhythm, your mess already spilling down your thighs and coating his cock.

You fisted one hand in the sheets and clung to his arm with the other.

Caleb grunted into your ear, brows furrowing with concentration. He gave you a brutal thrust, the movement pulling an airy moan from your lungs.

It felt too good. Too… right. His arm around your neck, your moans catching from the pressure there—it was everything.

Caleb groaned, dropping his forehead against your head, snapping his hips harder. He didn't mean to get so rough. This was supposed to he about you. But having you like this was so much better than he expected.

Every time he squeezed his arms around your neck, your walls gripped him tighter.

Everything about you was just so overwhelming.

Caleb gasped. "Fuck, Pips—I really—I'm—"

And you? You were too wrapped up in the bliss to notice how much Caleb was really losing it. You couldn't even form coherent words. You were just a mess of sounds and strangled pleas.

Caleb was going feral now—groans spilling past his lips, his hips meeting your ass with an obscene slap, his arms reflexively tightening around you.

"Tap—ugnn..—tap out if you... Fuck!"

He didn't even finish his sentence. Just buried his face in your hair and continued to pound into you.

You gave a teary moan, your nails digging into his arm.

"W-what?" Caleb breathed, easing his grip slightly. "Too—too rough?"

You furiously shook your head and tried pulling his arm firmer around your neck. "Not rough enough," you rasped.

That broke him.

Caleb let out a feral groan before gripping you tight and slamming into you so hard you were sure you'd feel it tomorrow.

"How's that?" he husked, tightening his arms around you and pounding into you with the same force. "Better?" It was meant to come out as a coo, but it ended up caught between a moan and a grunt.

"B-better!" you gasped out.

You two were lost in the bliss. Both feral and desperate. Animalistic. Until Caleb's pace faltered slightly. He huffed, the sound low and frustrated. "Some—something's... not right."

You whimpered. "Please don't stop."

Caleb gave a shake of his head and drew back, arms leaving your neck.

You nearly cried. You missed him. He hadn't even been gone for a second but you already missed the pressure on your back, on your neck.

Before you could ask what he was doing, he was hastily tugging your shirt up and tossing it to the floor. His own shirt joined in next to yours and then he was moving.

"Caleb, what—?"

You immediately shut up when you felt him again, warmer this time.

He molded himself to your body and snuck his arms around your neck again. "That's better." Slowly, he pushed in again with a slick slide.

Caleb groaned, shaking as he gave another slow push. He was trying to ease you back into a steady rhythm, but it wasn't enough. Without thinking, you slammed your hips back.

"Harder," you breathed.

Caleb didn't hesitate. He snapped into you. Deep and hard.

"Fuck. Yeah, that's it. Sorry, Pips," he breathed, quickly finding his rhythm again. "I had to feel you completely."

You could only moan, your hand coming around his arm to ground yourself again.

He was messy, but not sloppy. The slick sound of your bodies filled the space and made the room stuffy. But neither of you had any thoughts of stopping.

Caleb wasn't sure he ever would stop.

Not with you like this—pliant and sweaty and moaning so sweetly his dick twitched every time he heard you breathe.

"You love this, don't you?"

You didn't respond. You couldn't.

But you didn't need to.

Caleb pressed his face into the side of your head and let out a stuttered groan. You were getting close. He could feel it in the little flutter you gave every time he slid against that perfect spot inside you.

"You're close, huh?"

You squirmed, clenching around him tighter. "Y-yes!"

"Yeah? What do you need?" he rasped, willing himself not to spill himself right there. "This?" He squeezed your neck tighter, the pressure making your vision blur.

You gave him one last whimper before you were falling apart, your whole body tensing. Caleb gritted his teeth, trying his best to work you through it, but he fell apart the minute you did.

He rolled his hips lazily, his arms loosening around you. Sweat clung to your tangled bodies, your cheeks stained red from the intensity of it all.

Caleb sighed, dropping his head against your shoulder. "You okay?" he panted out, kissing your skin. "I didn't... didn't mean to squeeze so hard."

"Mm-nn. You were perfect."

Caleb breathed out a quiet laugh. "You think so?"

"Know so," you murmured.

His chest swelled at that. He gave you one last kiss before finally pulling out with a hiss. His mess slowly spilled down your legs and onto the mattress.

Caleb stared in awe, soothing his hands up your back, then down again to rest on the swell of your ass.

"Next time you want something, don't hesitate to tell me." He leaned back down, his breath fanning over your temple. "Don't stew in your bedroom, trying to think of how to ask for it, just do it."

You smiled. "Any—" you took a small breath, "—anything?"

Caleb nodded. "Anything. Everything."

Your cheeks warmed. "I love you, Caleb."

"I love you."

——

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#love and deepspace #caleb x reader #caleb #caleb smut #love and deepspace smut #caleb x reader smut #love and deep space #lads caleb #lnds #lads #reader insert #love and deepspace caleb #lads smut #love and deep space smut

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ofstarsandvibranium · 3 days ago

Text

Final Desperation

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x GN!Reader

Summary: Every time you and Bob try to fuck, you get interrupted. So this is your next attempt out of desperation.

Warning: smut - dry humping, car sex, semi-public

Marvel Masterlist

It started off as just cuddling. You’re spooning Bob from behind while he reads a book. Your hand tracing shapes along the bit of skin that’s been exposed due to his shirt riding up.

Your fingers get closer to the hem of his boxers right above his crotch. You toy with the elastic and Bob breaks the silence, “Honey?”

“Hm?”

“What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” you respond innocently, but Bob knows better.

He places the bookmark in-between the pages and sets the book on his nightstand. He rolls over and holds his body over yours, “You’re teasing.”

“Am I?” You ask with a smirk.

Bob leans in and presses his lips to yours. You open your legs and Bob immediately settles in-between them. He grinds down against you and you already feel how hard he is.

You run your hands down his toned body and to his boxers. As you’re ready to push them down, there’s a banging at the door.

“DINNERTIME, LOVEBIRDS!” Alexei hollers from the other side.

Bob groans in frustration, rolling off you. He falls back onto the bed, his brown curls falling around his face.

You sigh, “We don’t have to go.”

Bob scoffs, “You don’t know Alexei. Family dinners are important to him.” He then rolls out of bed and grabbing sweats and a t-shirt. He dresses up and you fix your appearance a little.

You two proceed to exit Bob’s room and head to the kitchen to have dinner with everyone.

________________________

“Fuuuuuck,” Bob groans. You continue to rut against him in desperation.

For the past week and a half, you and Bob have still yet to fuck. Since that first night, whenever you and he got close to having sex, someone or something would get in the way.

So you and Bob have been wound up tight and this is where it takes you: making out and dry jumping against one another in your car in a dark parking lot.

“Robby,” you whine Bob’s name as you grind your hips down into his lap.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmurs and pulls you in for another kiss.

You pull away, breathless, “Back seat. Now.”

He smirks and murmurs, “Yes, ma’am.”

You climb off him and get into the back, him following you. You’re pulling off his clothes and he’s pulling off yours. The windows are starting to fog up as you press your naked bonfires against one another.

“Waited to fucking long for this,” you mumble as you take Bob’s length into your hand and guide him inside you.

You both moan in relief as he fills you. He doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s snapping his hips into you.

The need and desperation is intense. You feel it in the way Bob thrusts into you. He feels it in the way your nails dig into his skin, anchoring yourself to him like your life depended on it.

“So good. Feel so fucking good,” Bob grunts, his hold on your hips tightening.

You reach out, grab the hair at the nape of Bob’s neck and tug him towards you. You see his eyes shine gold for a moment and you smirk, “Oh, he liked that didn’t he?”

“Don’t bring him into this,” he grits, “Lemme be selfish. Please.”

You nod, “I’m yours, Robby. First and foremost, I’m yours.” You seal the promise with a heated kiss and Bob continues to fuck you.

Your car isn’t big but it’s enough to fit the both of you in the back and that’s all that matters to you. Will your bodies be sore tomorrow? Probably, but you didn’t care when Bob is fucking you so deep and good.

“Shit, I’m close.”

“Right behind you, baby.”

“Fuck. Fuck!” Bob spills into you while he thrusts and as you feel him, your own climax follows.

You cry out his name, which is swallowed by his lips on yours. When you both still, the only thing that fills the air is the warmth of your bodies and the panting from both of you.

You can’t help but giggle, “Can’t believe this what we’ve resorted to.”

Bob chuckles with you, “Yeah. Maybe we should’ve gone to a hotel instead.” He helps you sit up and you wince.

“Oh yeah. Definitely gonna regret this tomorrow.”

Bob snorts and proceeds to help you dress and you him afterwards.

Once both of you are dressed, you step out of the car for some fresh air, only to freeze when you see Yelena and John standing there, looking uncomfortable.

“Um…hi?” You say.

John, looking like he wants to be anywhere but there, speaks up, “Val told us to follow you because you didn’t say where you were going. Wanted to make sure you two weren’t getting into trouble.”

“Oh they we’re getting into something, alright,” Yelena says with a snort. She pats John’s shoulder, “Come on. They’re fine.” She then looks at you and Bob, “Don’t stay out too long, lovebirds!” The two climb back into the car they arrived in and sped away instantly.

Bob looks at you with red cheeks, “That was-“

“Awkward.”

“So awkward.”

“They won’t tell the rest of the team right?”

“God, I hope they don’t.”

__________________________

“-and you two-“ Val points at you and Bob, “I better not find out you two went off to go at it like rabbits in an abandoned parking lot again! At least go to a hotel so you don’t risk another PR nightmare!”

You shrink in your chair and Bob hides his face in his hands as the rest of the team snicker and chuckle.

#Bob Reynolds x reader #Robert Bob Reynolds x reader #Robert Reynolds x reader #smut #Bob Reynolds imagine #Bob Reynolds fic

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uniquexusposts · 2 days ago

Text

Your private plane is not a magic wand | M. Verstappen

Summary: When plans go sideways, patience is put to the test. A weekend getaway turns into a waiting game; can they overcome the unexpected and still make it count?

The low hum of his gaming PC filled the living room, broken only by the soft clicking of the buttons of his controller and the occasional muttered curse in Dutch and English. Max leaned forward, eyes locked on the TV, expression a mix of calm focus and quiet intensity. The apartment was dim except for the glow of his monitors and the half-empty bowl of paprika chips forgotten at his side.

Outside, Monaco was golden and loud, gearing up for another wedding weekend full of people he didn’t really care to impress. Inside, it was just him, barefoot in sweats, headset around his neck, waiting for one small plane icon on Flightradar to move.

He flicked his eyes over to the iPad. Still nothing.

Flight KL1479 from Amsterdam to Nice. Scheduled departure: 16:45. Estimated: delayed.

He exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh, not quite annoyed; just that tight-lipped, silent reaction.

Y/n, his girlfriend, was supposed to land tonight. She had just wrapped a five-day rotation, flying across Europe, and had barely enough time to swap her flight uniform to her passenger outfit: her casual chill outfit. They would go to the wedding of one of their friends tomorrow, it would start with a group breakfast.

He picked up his phone. No message. No update.

Max clicked out of the game, letting the loading screen fade into silence. The apartment suddenly felt too quiet.

He stared at the screen once more. The little yellow plane hadn’t budged from Schiphol.

And then his phone lit up, Y/n was calling. Max put off his headset and answered it.

“Dear passengers…” A smirk covered his face.

“…your flight has been delayed,” Y/n finished his sentence.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “And now what?”

“I might hijack a plane and fly myself to Nice. Or I kidnap some crew to fly me to Nice,” she sarcastically said. “No, that’s not even possible. There’s a technical problem in the traffic tower.”

“Dat is kut (that sucks),” he replied, shifting on the couch, rubbing the heel of his hand over his face. “So… how bad is it?”

“We boarded the plane already, we are not back at the gate and nobody knows anything. The control room and HQ also have no idea about it. So take a wild guess.”

Max let his head fall back against the cushion. “So, like... bad-bad.” He could hear the background noise now; indistinct chatter, the occasional beep of airport announcements, someone’s child crying two seats over. Y/n sighed, and it came through the speaker like static, tired, annoyed, but not angry. Just done. Then she started to talk to someone, guessing it was someone from the crew.

“Uh, I will keep you up-to-date,” Y/n then said. “I might go into that tower myself to fix this shit.”

Max chuckled. “I’d pay to see that.”

“I wouldn’t even charge you. Front row seat.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “You sure you don’t want me to send the plane?” He knew she wouldn’t like that option.

“I knew you were gonna say that.”

“Well?”

“Max. The whole country’s traffic towers are messed up. Your private plane is not a magic wand.”

“Not with that attitude.”

She snorted softly. “Don’t start. I’m already sweating in the airport air and I swear my deodorant gave up an hour ago.”

“You’re still the hottest stranded person at Schiphol,” he said.

“That’s not a high bar.”

“Still counts.”

Y/n went quiet for a moment, then let out another tired breath. “I’ll look into trains. Maybe Brussels, Düsseldorf, or Paris has outbound flights. But it’s probably chaos there too.”

—

17:59 - Y/n Everything is still stuck. They are starting to cancel some flight

18:00 - Max Shit man 18:00 - Max And taking a flight from another airport? 18:00 - Y/n Fully booked

18:01 - Max Send me your location I’ll come get you on a bike

18:01 - Y/n Great, should only take you what, 3 days? Bring snacks

18:02 - Max I’ll tape paprika chips to my chest like a human vending machine

18:02 - Y/n You’re disgusting

18:03 - Max Romantic, actually

18:04 - Y/n Guess what? They just announced another set of cancellations. Schiphol is a graveyard.

18:04 - Y/n People are crying. There’s a guy singing like he is a Gerard Joling wannabe

18:05 - Max Not Gerard Joling

18:05 - Max Tell me what you need. Train? Helicopter? Submarine? Teleportation?

18:06 - Y/n Wat we nu gaan doen, kost heel veel geld (what we will do now, will cost a lot of money)

18:06 - Max Whatever it takes to not walk into that wedding without you

—

20:03 - Y/n Flight got officially cancelled

20:05 - Max Kutzooi (shit)

20:05 - Y/n Live, love, cry

20:05 - Y/n Trying to fix something. Keep you posted xx —

21:40 - Y/n Bonjour, we’re boarding. I (my beloved colleagues) fixed a ticket. Also managed to sit in the cockpit during landing (my cousin is flying)

21:40 - Y/n Don’t start cheering too loud 21:41 - Max Fucking finally

21:42 - Y/n Also, rumour is that we are the first flight allowed to take off

A photo appeared in the chat; a selfie from Y/n. She sat in her favourite chill outfit, her hair still in work mode, a faint smudge of exhaustion under her eyes and a messy makeup look that had been through a look. But the half-smile she wore was unmistakable: equal parts mischief and quiet triumph. It was the look she always got when she’d taken a chaotic situation and somehow wrestled it into her favour.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Max’ mouth. Of all the people he knew, Y/n had this uncanny ability to find the sliver of calm or humor in the middle of the mess. He imagined her sitting there at the gate, tapping her foot impatiently, half-ready to storm the control tower herself if needed.

But despite the grin, a flutter of nervousness crept into his chest. He set his phone down and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against his skin.

Please, he thought. Just get going.

His eyes flicked back to the flight tracker on his iPad. The tiny yellow plane, the symbol of Y/n’s flight, hovered motionless on the virtual runway. Time ticked by slowly, the silence in his apartment suddenly heavy, punctuated only by the low hum of his gaming PC and the distant sound of the city beyond his windows.

Then, almost imperceptibly at first, the icon began to move; just a few meters, rolling forward. It gained momentum, inching steadily down the runway, its progress measured but sure.

There she goes.

He sank back into his chair, the familiar weight of his headset forgotten, his attention entirely captured by that tiny moving plane. The plane now flew above Aalsmeer, she was up into the air, on her way to Nice, leaving behind the chaos of cancelled flights and stranded passengers.

A quiet calm settled over Max’s apartment, the tension draining away with every passing second. In that moment, watching the glow of the screen illuminate his face, Max felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the game or the city lights outside. Against all the frustration, the delays, the uncertainty.

She was on her way. Safe - hopefully. Flying.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @crashingwavesofeuphoria @maryvibess @ironmaiden1313 @sltwins @heart-trees @npcmia @llando4norris @freyathehuntress

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barnesonly · 2 days ago

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── ⊹ ࣪ ˖ Lust ˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──

professor!bucky barnes x reader

summary: You’re a literature student. He’s your English professor — brilliant, composed, and entirely off-limits. But the more you write, the more he notices you. And what begins as admiration quietly unravels into something far more dangerous.

word count: 9k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, mutual desperation, age gap, praising kink, secret relationship.

Part 7 | Previous Part

Your whole body shuddered at those words—you can tell me—and for a moment you stayed frozen in Sarah’s arms, heart pounding so loud in your ears that you wondered if she could hear it too. Every instinct screamed to keep it buried, to stay quiet like you had been for so long. But something in you was just too tired. Too scared. Too lonely.

“I…” you started, breath hitching as you tried to find a way to say it that wouldn’t sound as impossible as it felt.

Sarah pulled back just enough to see your face, hands still gripping your shoulders like an anchor. Her brow was furrowed with concern. “Hey,” she whispered gently. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. I mean it. You can tell me anything.”

And those words—that soft, steady honesty—just shattered what was left of your resolve.

You took a trembling breath, eyes already blurring with fresh tears. “It’s… him,” you managed, voice so small you barely recognized it. “Professor Barnes.”

Sarah blinked. Once. Twice. “Professor…” Her lips parted like she was waiting for you to take it back—like she hadn’t heard you right.

Your hands were trembling again, but you forced yourself to go on, the words spilling faster now like you’d been holding your breath forever. “We’re seeing each other, Sarah,” you whispered, every syllable making your stomach twist. “Have been for a while. And—and I’m in love with him.”

That was what broke you. Finally putting it into the air. Finally hearing yourself say it.

Sarah’s hands slipped from your shoulders as she stared at you—shock, disbelief, worry all flooding her face at once. “You’re… what?” Her voice was breathless, eyes wide. “You and Professor Barnes?”

You nodded, chin trembling as you fought to keep going, because if you stopped now you’d never be able to say the rest. “It’s not just some fling or something, okay? It’s real, Sarah—I’m so in love with him it hurts. But it’s so messed up and I feel like I’m drowning because nobody can ever know, and we almost got caught yesterday and it scared the shit out of me and—and—”

Your hands pressed to your face as a choked sob cut you off, your knees feeling so weak you thought they might give way. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” you managed between broken breaths. “God, Sarah, I’ve fucked up so badly. I don’t even recognize myself half the time—and I can’t tell anyone and it’s just so much.”

There was a long, aching silence where all you could hear was your own shaky breathing and Sarah’s sharp inhale.

“What…” she whispered again, voice barely audible. “Oh my god.”

And then you felt her arms wrap around you again—this time tighter, more protective, like she was scared you’d shatter if she didn’t hold you together.

“You’re serious,” she breathed into your hair, like she was still trying to process it all.

You nodded against her shoulder, hands fisting in the back of her shirt as you cried. “I wouldn’t lie to you,” you whispered. “I just—I didn’t know what else to do anymore. It’s been tearing me up, Sarah.”

And for a moment she didn’t say anything. She just held you like that—hands rubbing up and down your back, her own breath unsteady now, her grip firm as if she were anchoring you.

Finally, after a trembling heartbeat, she murmured, “God… you poor thing. How long have you been carrying this all by yourself?”

And you let yourself sink into that softness, into the sound of her voice and the way she held you close, knowing that at last someone knew—that at last you weren’t quite so alone.

You pulled back just enough to look at her, cheeks damp and eyes swollen. It took a few shaky breaths before you could manage words, your hands still trembling as you wiped at your face.

“Weeks,” you finally whispered, voice raw. “God, Sarah, it’s been weeks.”

Her lips parted in disbelief, but she didn’t let go—she kept one hand on your arm like she was scared you’d float away if she didn’t.

“You mean… Professor Barnes was that guy we talked about this whole time?” she asked softly, searching your face.

You nodded, sniffing as you dropped your gaze to the floor, feeling your chest tighten. “He was… He is,” you admitted. “It started small — just… little talks after class, and then emails, and then we just kept finding ways to see each other. And it wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. I told myself that a million times, I swear. But then one day I realized I was thinking about him constantly. Waiting for his texts. Going to his office hours just to see him. And I just—I fell in love with him. Completely.”

Sarah listened in silence, her brow pinching with sympathy as you went on, words spilling faster now that they were finally out in the open.

“I kept telling myself I could keep it separate—school and him, me and him—that nobody would ever need to know,” you said, voice trembling. “But then… then there was yesterday. Someone knocked while we were together in his office and for a second I thought my heart was going to stop. And I realized how close we came to losing everything. Him losing his job, me losing my place here—all of it. It scared the shit out of me.”

You paused to draw a trembling breath, hands knotting together nervously. “And today he told me maybe we need to slow down—whatever the hell that means. And I agreed because what else could I do? But god, Sarah, it felt like my heart was breaking just hearing him say it. Because I don’t know who I am without him anymore.”

Your eyes were shining again, and Sarah just stared at you—eyes wide and wet like she couldn’t quite believe what you’d been holding in for so long.

“Oh my god,” she murmured, rubbing her hands up and down your arms like she could warm you somehow. “That’s so much to carry. All by yourself? Jesus… You could have told me…”

A wobbly breath left your lips as you nodded, exhaustion washing over you now that someone finally knew—someone you trusted. “I didn’t want to put this on you,” you whispered. “I thought maybe I could just figure it out on my own. But I can’t. Every day it just feels heavier.”

And she pulled you close again, wrapping you up so tight it felt like she was trying to hold all your broken pieces together. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore,” she murmured into your hair. “I promise. I’m here.”

Your hands gripped hers a little tighter as you pulled back enough to look at her face. “Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Sarah, you can’t tell anyone. Not a single soul.”

Her eyes softened instantly, and she squeezed your hands in return like an anchor.

“Hey,” she said gently, leaning toward you. “Of course I won’t. You don’t even have to ask.”

You searched her face, heart pounding like a drum. “I know,” you whispered. “I know you wouldn’t, it’s just—I’m so scared, Sarah. God, if anyone found out…”

Your words trailed off, your throat tightening. Images of it all going wrong flashed through your mind—James losing his career, you losing him, losing everything you’d built.

“Hey,” Sarah cut in softly, brushing her thumb across your knuckles. “I mean it. Nothing you told me leaves this room. Ever.”

Her voice was steady, so sure, and that only made you feel more fragile. You exhaled shakily, leaning forward until your forehead brushed her shoulder.

“Thank you,” you whispered into her shoulder, relief and fear tangled together in your chest.

Sarah held you a moment longer before pulling back, her hands cradling your face with a softness that almost made you want to cry again. “And I swear,” she added firmly, “your secret is safe with me. No one will ever hear this from me—not a soul.”

Your lips wobbled into a fragile smile, eyes misty as you nodded.

You pulled back a little, rubbing at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie as a shaky breath left you. “God, I’m just so fucking worried,” you blurted, voice trembling as you looked at Sarah. “I don’t even really know what Professor Barnes meant by slowing things down. Does that mean less time together? Less… whatever we are? I just—”

Your hands flexed nervously in your lap. “And I keep second-guessing myself. What if this is his way of breaking up without really saying it?“

Sarah’s brows pulled together, gaze sharp but full of sympathy.

You shook your head, panic welling up all over again. “And then there’s Theo,” you went on quickly, your voice hitching. “He was so suspicious today. Watching me like he was putting all the pieces together. God, I could feel him staring at me during the lecture, like he already knew and was just waiting for me to slip up.”

Your fingers dug into the fabric of your hoodie as you spoke faster, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I’m scared, Sarah. Scared of losing him. Scared of someone finding out. Scared of ruining everything. It’s like I’m drowning in this—and I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just my own panic anymore.”

Your chest felt so tight it almost ached, and you glanced up at her, eyes shining with fear. “I don’t even know what to do,” you whispered, voice breaking. “It’s too much. It’s all too much.”

“Hey,” she murmured into your hair, her voice steady and warm. “Breathe. Just breathe for a second.”

You nodded against her shoulder, but the knot in your chest only loosened a fraction.

“I don’t want to lose him,” you whispered, hands fisting in the back of her shirt like you were scared she might disappear too. “And I don’t know if I’m losing him already. Or if I’m losing myself.”

“You’re not losing yourself,” she told you firmly. “And you’re not losing him just because you’re scared. Look at me.”

When you finally pulled back enough to meet her gaze, she brushed a thumb under your eye where a tear had tracked down.

“You care about him,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “That’s real. Even if this is complicated as hell—even if you have to be careful.”

You let out a trembling breath, nodding, but the anxiety still sat like a weight on your chest.

“You just need a little time,” Sarah continued gently. “To figure out what ‘slow’ looks like. And as for Theo…” she paused, lips pressing together thoughtfully. “He might suspect something, sure. But he’s your friend. And you’re smart enough to keep him off your trail, okay? You’ve gotten this far.”

You managed a weak, watery laugh at that—even if you didn’t feel especially clever after all this.

Sarah gave you a tiny smile back, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “You’re going to be okay,” she promised, her voice grounding you.

And at those words—at the solid comfort of her hands and her voice and her presence—the fight inside you eased a little. Maybe everything was a mess. Maybe you didn’t have any perfect answers. But at least you weren’t carrying it all on your own anymore.

Sarah eased back just enough to catch your gaze, her hands still rubbing your shoulders in those comforting circles. There was a gentle silence for a beat, and then her mouth quirked into the smallest smirk.

“Well,” she began, brow lifting like she was delivering some grand confession, “I’m gonna be honest with you. I expected a lot of crazy shit from you, but you smashing the professor? That’s one for the history books.”

You stared at her for a second—eyes glassy and lips trembling—before you burst into a laugh that was part-cry, part-relief. “Shut up,” you managed, wiping at your face with the back of your hand, breath hitching as you chuckled.

“I mean,” Sarah drawled, leaning her shoulder into yours playfully, “can you blame me? Forbidden romance with Professor Hot-and-Bothered? Pretty sure that’s like, top tier stuff.”

You groaned even as you smiled, feeling lighter than you had moments ago. “You’re impossible,” you sniffed, rubbing at your eyes again, voice still watery.

“Hey,” Sarah grinned, squeezing your arm, “someone’s gotta keep you laughing when you’re making terrible life choices.”

That earned another shaky laugh from you—and god, it felt good to laugh. Even with everything weighing on your chest, for just a second, you could breathe.

———

The next morning blurred into afternoon with the curtains drawn and your blankets pulled up to your chin, a faint headache humming behind your eyes.

You hadn’t even set an alarm. The thought of dragging yourself out of bed, forcing a smile through lectures, locking eyes with James across a crowded classroom—or worse, stumbling into Theo in some hallway corner—felt impossible.

Your phone kept buzzing on the nightstand, mostly messages from classmates or the occasional check-in from Sarah—“you alive in there?”—but you ignored them all. The ache in your chest was too much. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw James’s face yesterday—tense and conflicted—and heard his voice telling you to go, to slow things down.

God, it had felt like rejection.

You shifted onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as though it could give you answers. It was ridiculous, skipping lectures like some kid playing hooky, but you honestly didn’t care. Right now, the thought of putting on your shoes and going outside, of seeing anyone at all, made your stomach twist.

A part of you kept waiting for a message from him, some sign that everything was going to be okay. But the screen stayed blank except for Sarah’s last text and that just made you feel worse, knowing she was probably worrying.

With a sigh, you pulled the blankets up higher, rolling onto your side. Maybe if you stayed here long enough, the knot in your chest would loosen. Maybe if you ignored the outside world long enough, you wouldn’t have to face him, or Theo, or any of it at all.

Your phone buzzed again sometime mid-morning, dragging you halfway out of the fog you’d sunk into. Blinking at the screen, you saw his name pop up, and your heart gave a painful, guilty twist.

James | 10:08AM

You skipped the lecture today. Are you okay?

You stared at it for a long moment, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. Of course he noticed. Of course he’d worry, even though he was the one who thought you should slow things down.

And somehow that made it worse.

Your chest felt tight as you sat up a little against the pillows, rubbing your face with one hand. The sheets were tangled around your legs, the air in the room a little too cold, and you felt… empty.

God, you missed him. Even just seeing his name on your screen sent a pang through you—this mix of warmth and guilt and ache that had you clenching your hands into fists.

Your fingers finally moved.

You | 10:11AM

I just… couldn’t face everything today.

You paused, then added before you could overthink it too much:

You | 10:11AM

I’m okay. Just feeling a bit off.

Your thumb hovered over send as you stared at the words. It was true. And also a lie.

When you hit send, the read receipt popped up almost instantly—he was probably looking at his phone already.

And a few agonizing seconds later, the bubbles appeared as he typed.

James | 10:12AM

I hate that you’re feeling like this. Let me know if you need anything, okay?

Your heart sank deeper.

You could picture him perfectly in his office, brow furrowed with that quiet, protective concern. That was the worst part. Knowing he cared so much, knowing that you could still feel his hands on you, and yet there was this unspoken wall that had risen between you both.

You swallowed hard, blinking up at the ceiling as the phone rested on your chest.

You | 10:13AM

Okay. Thank you, James.

And even though the words felt so stiff and formal after everything you’d been to each other, they were all you could manage as your eyes burned and you pulled the blankets tighter around yourself.

You stared at the screen after that last text, your chest aching as you read and reread it—like you needed to burn the words into your heart.

Your thumb hesitated over the keyboard, the silence in your dorm room suddenly so loud you could hear the faint tick of the clock on the wall. You felt this tug in your gut—that unbearable, relentless pull toward him—and before you could talk yourself out of it, you started typing again.

You | 10:14AM

I love you.

Your breath hitched as you hit send, and then you just stared, pulse thudding in your ears. Maybe you were being too much. Too needy, too emotional—especially after he told you to slow things down.

But that was the thing. Slowing down felt impossible. Not when every part of you wanted him. Needed him.

The dots appeared and disappeared a couple of times, like he was hesitating too, before his reply finally came through.

James | 10:15AM

I love you too, sweetheart. More than anything. Please take care.

Your eyes stung, a lump tightening in your throat as you read his message over and over. It wasn’t long, but it was him—him reaching across this distance you were both trying to pretend was manageable.

And you held the phone to your chest like it was him, eyes slipping shut as you took a trembling breath.

———

Your room was dim in the evening light, the soft glow of Sarah’s desk lamp spilling over her notes as she worked. You were still buried under the blankets, the day melting into one long, exhausted haze. On the nightstand was the half-finished tea Sarah had brought you earlier, long gone cold.

Your phone buzzed against the sheets, lighting up with a new message.

Theo | 6:53PM

Hey! Knew you were absent today, but me and my friends are heading downtown. Wanna join us?

You stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering as a hundred thoughts rushed through your tired brain.

God, part of you wanted to sink even deeper into this bed and not come out until next week. Just hide under the blankets forever, where nobody could see how messed up you felt.

But the other part—the louder part—was tired of spinning in circles. Tired of your heart aching, tired of your mind going to the same worried places over and over. Staying here and doing nothing was just making it worse.

You glanced over at Sarah. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, pencil tapping against her lips as she studied. Even she had noticed how quiet you’d been all day.

And honestly? Getting out of this room, getting some fresh air and noise that wasn’t your own thoughts—it sounded like the only real plan.

You exhaled and typed back before you could change your mind.

You | 6:54PM

Sounds good. What time?

Your stomach fluttered as you hit send, a mix of relief and nerves swirling together. Maybe this was what you needed—a chance to breathe, to pretend like tonight was just a normal, easy kind of night. Maybe you could finally clear your head for a few hours.

You pushed back the blankets, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed as you caught Sarah’s eye.

“Going out,” you murmured, voice still scratchy. “I… need to do something.”

She tilted her head, concern softening her face, but nodded. “That’s probably a good idea,” she said gently. “You’ve been cooped up all day.”

You offered her a small smile as you moved toward your closet. Anything to put this mess on pause—even if just for tonight.

You pulled a clean top off its hanger and grabbed a pair of jeans, feeling strangely disconnected as you moved. It was like your body was going through the motions while your head was still stuck in a thousand places at once—back in that lecture hall, back in his arms, back in all the heavy conversations you weren’t sure how to navigate.

Sarah watched you carefully, as if she could read every thought across your face. “Hey,” she said softly, “you sure you’re okay to go?”

You paused, fingers clutching the fabric. Were you okay? Not even close. But you needed to do something other than stare at these four walls and wait for the anxiety to catch up.

“Yeah,” you answered, forcing a lighter tone as you dug for a pair of shoes. “I just need to… I don’t know. Get out of my head for a bit.”

Sarah nodded like she understood—and she probably did. “If you need me to come too,” she offered, “or if you want to come back earlier, just text me. I’ll pick you up. Seriously. No questions.”

That softened something in you. “Thanks, Sar,” you said, feeling the sting of tears you fought back before they could rise.

“You look like you could use a drink,” she teased gently, winking.

You laughed under your breath, dragging your brush through your hair and tying it up into a loose knot. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping for,” you agreed, reaching for your phone just as Theo’s follow-up text popped up.

Theo | 6:58PM

We’re meeting at The Red Fox. See you there?

You took a breath, glanced at yourself one last time in the mirror—still tired, still tense—and typed back.

You | 6:58PM

Sounds good. Be there in a bit.

You grabbed your jacket and as you slipped out into the hallway, the chill of the evening air meeting your skin, it felt like stepping into a different world—one you weren’t sure you were ready for, but hoped might make the weight on your chest feel a little less suffocating.

———

The bar was already buzzing when you stepped inside.

It wasn’t anything special—dim lights, chatter weaving through low music, the scent of alcohol and fried food lingering in the air—but the moment you crossed the threshold, the noise wrapped around you like a blanket, dulling the sharp edges of your thoughts. You took a breath—Okay. Just breathe.

Theo spotted you before you spotted him. He was perched at a tall table near the back, a drink already in hand, dark eyes lighting up as he lifted his fingers in a small wave.

“There she is,” he called, smiling as you approached.

“I almost bailed,” you admitted, sliding onto the stool beside him. “But then I figured… maybe I could use the distraction.”

“Distractions,” Theo agreed, raising his glass before taking another sip. “That’s what bars are for.”

You gave a soft laugh, your fingers curling around the cool glass of water the bartender set in front of you. Your nerves hadn’t settled entirely—your body still remembered the weight of yesterday, the way you broke down in Sarah’s arms, the way James had looked at you when he said you should go. But right now… you were trying. You had to.

Theo leaned forward a little, eyes searching yours. “You okay?”

You nodded—not entirely convincingly, but enough. “Getting there.”

“Well, good. We’ve got music, drinks, and possibly the worst darts team in the city playing behind us. So, we’re officially in healing territory.”

That made you laugh for real.

He smiled. “See? Told you. I’m a great influence.”

“You’re something, alright,” you muttered playfully, taking another sip.

For a few minutes, the conversation drifted—easy, light. Theo introduced you to a couple of his friends as they passed, and though you stayed mostly quiet, it felt okay to just… be for a while. To pretend like you weren’t drowning under the weight of secrets.

But every so often, you felt Theo’s eyes linger on you—thoughtful, perceptive. Like he still couldn’t quite place what it was you were hiding… but he knew something was off. You kept your smile on anyway, fingers tight around your glass, willing the pressure in your chest to loosen.

And as the bass thumped low through the floor and laughter floated around you, you tried—god, tried—to let yourself forget for just a little while.

But somewhere, in the back of your mind, you were still thinking about him.

James.

You didn’t mean to get drunk. At least not that drunk.

But somewhere between your second drink and the fifth (maybe sixth—you stopped counting after the shots arrived), something just snapped. Something bitter and tight inside of you finally gave out, and for the first time in days, you weren’t crying or spiraling or thinking about locked doors and the way his voice cracked when he said you should go. You were just floating.

Laughing too loud. Spilling half your drink on the table. Leaning your head onto Theo’s shoulder mid-story and not even realizing it until he gently nudged you upright again.

“Okay, alright,” Theo said after your latest attempt to slide off the barstool like a boneless ragdoll. “That’s it. You, my friend, need air.”

You blinked up at him, your lips parted in a soft, confused pout. “But I wasn’t even—”

“Fresh. Air.” He didn’t leave room for debate, already taking your hand and guiding you down from the stool with a carefulness that made you feel like your bones were made of glass.

You stumbled into him, giggling as your shoulder bumped his chest. “Oops.”

“Yeah, okay, come on,” he muttered, half-laughing as he kept one hand on your waist to steady you. “Before you throw up on someone’s boots.”

The night air hit you like a cold wave when the door opened—a sharp bite of wind cutting through the haze in your head, just enough to make you squint against it.

“God,” you muttered, blinking up at the stars, “why is the sky spinning.”

“It’s not,” Theo said, guiding you to the curb just outside the bar. “That’s you. You’re spinning.”

You sat down hard on the edge of a concrete planter, your hands braced behind you and your legs wobbly. “Shit.”

Theo crouched beside you, brows drawn. “You okay?”

You nodded, but your eyes burned suddenly—stupidly—like all the alcohol had loosened the fragile stitching you’d tried to keep in place all day. “I just… I wanted to forget,” you mumbled. “That’s all. Just wanted one fucking night.”

Theo didn’t say anything right away.

You didn’t notice the way he was looking at you —not yet—but he was quiet in that way someone is when they’re figuring out too much.

When they’re about to put it all together.

The streetlamp above you flickered slightly, casting a pale, golden sheen across the pavement and Theo’s face—just enough to catch the sudden shift in his expression.

You were still trying to catch your breath, head spinning, but it wasn’t the alcohol anymore. Not fully. Not when he looked at you like that.

Not when he said—

“You fuck him, don’t you?”

It hit you like a punch to the gut. Immediate. Sober.

You blinked, hard. “W…what?”

“Professor Barnes.” His voice wasn’t angry, not exactly. Just… firm. Like he’d held it in long enough and couldn’t anymore. “I’m not blind. Or stupid.”

Your mouth opened, but for a moment no words came out. Just air. Just panic.

„It’s not like that…” You managed to say.

“I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Theo continued, slower this time, like he was working it out aloud even as he spoke. “The way you don’t look at anyone else. How you disappear after class. The way he talks to you, the way you react to it—” He huffed, standing up now, like he couldn’t sit still anymore. “God. I knew it.”

You felt your heart drop, your stomach twisting into knots that made you want to throw up. “Theo…” you whispered, your voice cracking.

“I’m not gonna yell at you,” he said quickly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not even judging you, okay? I just—fuck. I can’t believe it.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you breathed, the words tumbling out fast, messy. “It just—it wasn’t planned, it wasn’t—God, please, Theo…”

He finally turned to look at you again. There was something in his eyes now — not just disbelief. Not just shock. Hurt, maybe. Sadness.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” you begged, stepping closer, grabbing his sleeve. “I’m serious. You can’t tell anyone. If anyone finds out—”

“I won’t,” he said immediately, but his voice was hoarse. Strained. “I’m not a fucking narc.”

You exhaled hard, like all the air had been knocked out of you.

“I just…” Theo shook his head again, quieter now. “I just wish you’d told me the truth. I wouldn’t have said anything. I just—I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” you insisted, your voice breaking again. “You are my friend. I just—there was no way to explain this. You have no idea how hard this has been.”

You felt your throat tighten again, tears prickling behind your eyes. You looked at him, really looked—at the disbelief softening into something quieter. Gentler. But it didn’t soothe the panic bubbling up inside you.

“I can’t have anyone know,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Please, Theo. Please. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore and I—I’m just trying to hold it all together, and if someone finds out, it’s over. Everything’s over. For him, for me—”

“Hey, hey…” He stepped closer, his hands coming up, careful not to touch you until he saw you nod. Then one of them rested gently on your shoulder. “Look at me.”

You did, barely.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” he said, low and certain. “I swear to God, alright? I’m not gonna ruin your life.”

Your chest hitched, and the tears finally broke free, hot and fast. You didn’t sob, not loudly — but your shoulders trembled as you pressed your sleeve to your face, the exhaustion and fear and guilt collapsing all at once.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “I’m such a mess.”

“No, you’re not,” Theo said quickly, his voice soft. “You’re just… scared, I guess. This… this is a lot.”

You wiped your face with the sleeve of your jacket again, breath still shaky but slowly leveling out as his words settled in your chest.

There was a moment of silence between you, only the distant thrum of music from inside the bar and the low hum of cars somewhere down the street.

You sniffled. “How long have you known?”

Theo exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not long,” he admitted. “I mean… I didn’t know. I’ve just been thinking about all these little things for a while. Like, why you’re always so busy. Why you started acting weird after lectures.”

He paused, his voice gentling further.

“And then the last lecture, during class… I saw how you look at him. But more than that? How he looks at you.”

You looked away, heart thudding.

“He doesn’t look at anyone else like that,” Theo added quietly. “Not even close.”

The words made your throat tighten again. Not out of shame or fear this time—but because he was right. James didn’t try to hide it anymore. He barely even could.

Theo shrugged softly. “I guess it all just clicked.”

You nodded faintly, the weight of it all still pressing on your chest. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” you whispered.

“I believe you.”

Then, more quietly—more vulnerable—he added, “I guess now it makes sense why you didn’t want to go out with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

Theo gave a small, crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Back when I asked. Thought maybe you just weren’t into me. But turns out you already had someone.”

He said it like a joke, light enough to play it off—but you could hear it beneath. The real part.

“Theo…” you started, your throat tight. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head. “It’s not like I didn’t have a feeling. I just… I liked you. That’s all.”

You felt your stomach twist, the guilt stacking heavier on top of everything else. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled again, softer this time, and shrugged. “Don’t be. I get it now.”

And you nodded, fighting back the tears again. Because you didn’t even know what to say anymore.

You pulled out your phone, screen slightly blurred from the alcohol still swimming in your veins, and glanced at the time.

12:20AM.

“I think I need to head back,” you muttered, already typing something out. “I’m—God, I’m feeling sick.”

Theo glanced at you, brows pulling together. “You want me to walk you back to campus?”

You shook your head quickly. “No, it’s okay. I’ll text Sarah. I don’t wanna be a burden.”

He studied your face for a moment, clearly not convinced. „First of all—you’re not a burden,” he said. „Second of all—are you sure?”

„Yeah… Sarah said she’ll pick me up,” you explained. „And…I’m sorry Theo. I’m so so sorry. I just… I need to be alone.”

He eventually gave a slow nod. “Alright. Just… text me when you’re home, okay?”

“I will.” You smiled, forced but grateful. “Thanks, Theo. Really.”

He gave your arm a light squeeze before stepping back inside the bar, the warm noise swallowing him up again.

You turned toward the curb, heart hammering, fingers trembling as they hovered over your screen—and instead of messaging Sarah, you opened a different chat.

James.

Because the way Theo had said it—the way he looks at you—had cracked something open in your chest again. Like the ache you’d been trying to numb all night had been ripped raw.

And that message from James was stuck in your head.

„Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

You didn’t want to go home. You didn’t want to cry alone in bed. You didn’t want this distance between you. You wanted him. Needed him.

Before you could second-guess it, your thumbs moved on instinct.

You | 12:21AM

hi… can u pick me up please…?

The response came almost instantly, like he hadn’t been sleeping.

James | 12:22AM

What’s wrong? Where are you?

Your throat tightened, tears already stinging at your eyes again.

You | 12:22AM

Red Fox. Please I need you here, James. I fucking miss you.

The three little dots popped up within seconds.

You stood at the edge of the sidewalk, heart in your throat, phone clenched in your hand—praying he’d come. That even after everything, he’d still come for you.

James | 12:23AM

I’ll be there asap. Send me your location.

Your fingers flew across the screen, dropping a pin, thumbs trembling from the cold and the flood of emotion still building in your chest.

You didn’t go back into the bar. You didn’t wait right by the door either—just drifted down the block, half-stumbling in your heels, until the Red Fox’s neon glow was behind you and the streets got a little darker, a little quieter. You leaned against the brick wall of a closed bookstore, arms wrapped around yourself, head ducked low.

Fifteen minutes passed. Maybe less. Maybe more. Time blurred.

Then you looked up and saw headlights.

His car pulled up to the curb like salvation, and the moment the door opened, James was out—striding toward you fast, worry etched into every line of his face.

“Hey—” His hands came to your arms immediately, warm and steady. “Are you okay? Did someone hurt you? What happened?”

You couldn’t answer.

The second his voice wrapped around you, the second his touch landed, your whole body caved.

A sob broke in your throat, sharp and sudden, and you buried your face in his chest, fists clutching the front of his coat. You couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t hold it in anymore. Everything—Theo, the bar, the lie that had become your whole fucking life—crashed down like a tidal wave.

James froze only for a second. Then his arms came around you hard and sure, pulling you close, wrapping you up like he could shield you from every goddamn thing outside his embrace.

“Sweetheart—” he whispered, hand stroking the back of your head. “Shh… I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

You were shaking in his arms, tears soaking through his shirt, but you didn’t care. Not anymore. You just needed him. Needed the way he held you like nothing else mattered. Like maybe, for one second, you were safe again.

He leaned down, lips brushing your temple. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you out of here, okay?”

And still pressed to his chest, you just nodded. Because there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

“Come on,” James murmured, tucking you closer to his side as he guided you toward the car. “Before anyone sees.”

He opened the passenger door and helped you in gently, like you were made of glass. You barely registered the slam of the door behind you, the engine starting, the quiet city slipping by as he pulled away from the curb—your whole body still trembling from the weight of everything.

You curled in on yourself against the seat, arms wrapped tight around your middle. But a moment later, you felt it—his hand finding your thigh, warm and steady, grounding you.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just drove. The streetlights cast a golden wash through the windshield, softening the lines of his face. His fingers rested firmly against you, thumb stroking back and forth in slow, soothing passes that made something tight in your chest begin to loosen.

You were still crying. Not loud, not like before—just silent tears slipping down your cheeks, catching against your jaw and soaking into the collar of your coat. But being next to him made it bearable. You felt safe. Less alone. Like the world was quieting around you, even just a little.

At a red light, James glanced over at you—eyes sharp, searching—and his voice came low, serious.

“Did someone hurt you?” He asked again.

You blinked, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. You could see it all in his face—the worry, the anger barely restrained beneath it, the way his jaw clenched like he was ready to kill someone.

Your voice cracked when you finally managed, “No… no, James. I just—”

You swallowed.

“I just got drunk,” you whispered. “That’s all.”

His hand stayed on your leg, thumb pausing, and for a long second, he didn’t speak.

Although he knew something was wrong—he knew you too well. But he didn’t press. He just gave your thigh a gentle squeeze and turned back to the road.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay, sweetheart.”

And for the rest of the drive, his hand never left you.

By the time you reached his apartment, the city felt like a blur outside the car window—a haze of streetlights and shadows and regret.

James parked quickly, then rounded the car to open your door. His hands were there the second your feet touched the ground, warm and steady around your waist, keeping you upright as your legs threatened to give out.

“Whoa, easy,” he murmured, his breath brushing your temple as he adjusted his grip. “I’ve got you.”

You mumbled something—you didn’t even know what—your head resting briefly against his shoulder as he led you up the stairs and through the door. The familiar scent of him hit you the second you stepped inside: clean laundry, cedarwood, the faint trace of his cologne.

He guided you straight to the bedroom, his arm firm around your waist, fingers curling at your hip as you leaned against him more than walked.

Once there, James helped you sit at the edge of the bed and knelt down in front of you, gentle and wordless as he untied your boots and slipped them off one by one. You were trembling again—from exhaustion, from the remnants of alcohol in your blood, from everything.

“Arms up,” he said quietly.

You blinked at him in a haze, but obeyed, and he tugged your coat and top off with careful fingers. Then, without a word, he reached into his dresser and pulled out one of his soft, worn T-shirts— dark grey, smelling like him—and slipped it over your head.

It hung loosely on you, brushing mid-thigh.

“There,” he said, voice low. “That’s better.”

He pulled the comforter down and helped you crawl beneath it. You were barely holding on, eyelids heavy, body aching.

“Come on,” James murmured, brushing your hair from your face and tucking the blanket around your shoulders. “Get some rest, okay?”

You blinked up at him, your throat thick, your eyes stinging again. “James—”

“We’ll talk in the morning,” he interrupted gently. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing once beneath your eye. “You’re safe now. Just sleep.”

And with that, he pressed the softest kiss to your forehead—lingering, grounding—before switching off the light and turning to leave.

Your voice stopped him just as his hand brushed the doorframe.

“Stay…”

James paused mid-step, shoulders tensing ever so slightly. He turned back toward you, his figure a shadow in the low light spilling in from the hallway. For a long moment, he just stood there— caught between responsibility and something deeper, something he couldn’t name.

“Please…” you whispered, voice barely there. Fragile. Broken.

That was all it took.

He nodded once and walked back toward the bed, quiet and sure. The mattress dipped as he lay down beside you, careful not to crowd you, but the second he settled, you moved—sliding across the sheets, tucking yourself into his chest like you were made to fit there. Your hands clutched his shirt, your cheek pressed to the solid warmth of him, and all the tension in your body seemed to exhale at once.

James let out a quiet breath and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. One hand splayed protectively across your back, the other cradling your head as if to shield you from the whole damn world.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “I’m here, baby.”

———

The first thing you registered was the light—soft and filtered through the curtains—and the second was the emptiness beside you.

Your fingers reached out instinctively across the cool sheets, but there was no one there. A quiet pang of panic flickered in your chest until you heard it—the low clink of dishes, the muffled hum of movement coming from the kitchen.

He was still here.

You sat up slowly, your head heavy and pounding with the weight of last night’s choices. Your mouth was dry, your limbs slow and sore, but it didn’t matter. Not when all you cared about was James.

You padded out of the bedroom, James’s oversized shirt still draped over your body, sleeves hanging loose over your hands. The moment you stepped into the kitchen, you found him by the stove—barefoot, hair slightly mussed, wearing a simple black T-shirt and sweats. He looked soft in the morning light, but his posture was taut, shoulders pulled back like his thoughts were miles away.

He turned at the sound of your footsteps, and the moment his eyes met yours, everything in his face softened. That worried crease between his brows eased slightly, but it didn’t disappear.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You’re up.”

You gave him a small, tired smile. “Barely.”

His gaze scanned your face, taking in the way your shoulders sagged and how pale you looked in the morning light. “How are you feeling?”

You hesitated, swallowing past the dryness in your throat. “…a bit better.”

He nodded, but the concern didn’t leave his expression. You noticed the cup of tea already steeping on the counter. You didn’t even need to ask—it was for you. Of course it was.

Your eyes trailed toward the clock on the wall and then back to him. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

James let out a quiet breath, turning the stove off. “I took a day off.”

Your eyes widened a little, a wave of guilt tightening in your chest. “James… You didn’t have to…”

He met your gaze again—gentle but unwavering.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone like that,” he said simply.

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around yourself, voice quieter now. “I’m sorry… for all of it. For last night. For texting you. For dragging you into this—”

“Hey.” He crossed the kitchen in two strides and reached for your hand, his touch grounding and steady. “Don’t. You didn’t drag me into anything, okay? You know I’d do anything for you.”

That made your chest ache.

You looked up at him, heart thudding in a rhythm that felt half-apology, half-longing. “Still… I didn’t mean to make everything so complicated.”

He shook his head gently and brought your hand to his lips, brushing a kiss to your knuckles. “You don’t have to be sorry for needing me.”

And god, that nearly undid you.

James was still holding your hand when his thumb began tracing a gentle line over your skin, his voice low.

“Will you tell me what happened last night?”

You blinked up at him, the question pulling the breath right out of your chest. For a moment you just stood there, bare feet on cold tile, his warmth steady beside you—and yet all that weight inside you throbbed again like a bruise.

You looked away, lips parting around a sigh. “I just…” You tried to find the words. “I didn’t know what you meant. By slowing things down.”

His brow furrowed softly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” you started, then shook your head. “I didn’t know if that meant we were breaking up. Or if you were just going to pull away without saying it. Or if I wasn’t gonna see you at all anymore, or—god, I don’t know.”

You could hear your voice tightening and you hated it. You weren’t trying to guilt him. You weren’t. You just—

“I didn’t want that,” you admitted, more quietly. “Any of it. I didn’t want space or time or distance or whatever. I just… I want you.”

James looked at you like that sentence had struck something in him. But he didn’t interrupt.

“So I went out,” you continued, voice duller now. “With Theo. And his friends. Just to get my mind off things. Just to not think about you for one fucking hour.”

You gave a dry, humorless laugh. “Didn’t work.”

You shrugged, like it would make the memory sit lighter. “I just drank too much. I didn’t eat. I thought it’d help. It didn’t. I felt sick. Everything was spinning. And I just… I felt so fucking far away from you and I hated it. Theo helped me grab some fresh air and then…”

You stopped there—the lump in your throat catching whatever came next.

James was quiet for a long beat.

“Then what?” he asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper. Not pushing. Just… wanting to know.

You looked up at him again, eyes rimmed with unshed tears, the ache swelling up like something you couldn’t push down anymore.

And then, before you could stop yourself—before you could think better of it—you whispered, “Theo knows.”

James froze.

“…What?” he asked, barely breathing.

You swallowed hard. “Us. He knows about us, James.”

He stared at you like he hadn’t heard it right. Like the words hadn’t landed properly. “Did you tell him?”

You shook your head quickly. “No. No, he figured it out and I—I tried to deny it, I did, I tried, but he just—” your voice cracked. “He just knew—”

James stepped back slowly, like he was physically stepping out of the moment, distancing himself from what he was hearing. His hand dragged over his mouth, then up into his hair as he turned and began pacing a slow circle around the kitchen island.

You watched him, heart hammering.

“And I told my roommate,” you added softly, shame creeping through your voice like a tide. “Sarah.”

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“You what?”

“I told her, okay? I had to. I wasn’t—I wasn’t coping, James, I couldn’t keep it all in. I didn’t know what you meant with ‘slowing things down’ and I was spiraling and I just—I needed someone.”

His mouth opened, then closed again, as if he didn’t know which fury to let out first. His voice, when it came, was razor-sharp.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

You flinched. “I’m sorry—”

“No, Jesus Christ—” he turned away, pressing his palms flat to the counter as he hunched over, breathing hard. “This was supposed to stay between us. This was supposed to be ours. Do you realize what happens if this gets out?”

“It won’t!” you insisted, stepping toward him, voice trembling. “They won’t say anything. I swear. I trust them—”

“But I don’t!” he snapped, spinning back to face you. His eyes were wide with panic now, with something desperate behind the anger. “I don’t trust anyone with this. That’s the whole fucking point!”

You stared at him, heart splitting. You’d never seen him like this. So raw. So afraid. So angry.

“I had to tell someone,” you whispered. “I wasn’t strong enough to go through this alone, James. I was drowning.”

His jaw clenched, his breathing shallow as his eyes searched yours, like he wanted to yell—but couldn’t. Like his whole body was tight with the weight of everything spiraling out of control.

He dragged a shaky hand through his hair again, pacing another slow step away.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Oh my fucking God…”

And all you could do was stand there, fighting the trembling in your limbs, watching the man you loved unravel in front of you—because of a secret too heavy to keep.

“I swear,” you whispered, voice thin. “James, I swear to you—it won’t get out. They wouldn’t do that to me. To us.”

But he just shook his head, eyes dark and unreadable, his jaw set with something more than just frustration—it was fear. Fear that made his voice sharp and low when he finally spoke again.

“Fuck, do you really not understand?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“James…”

He stepped back again, hands braced at his hips, head tilting toward the ceiling like he was trying to keep it together—trying not to explode.

“This isn’t about trust, it’s not even about them,” he muttered, his voice tight with restraint. “It’s about everything. My job. My entire fucking career. And you—your reputation, your degree, your future. If one wrong person hears the wrong thing…”

“I know,” you said, heart racing as your voice broke. “I know, I get it, okay? But what was I supposed to do?”

He looked at you again—finally really looked—and you hated the pain etched into his face. It wasn’t anger anymore. It was something worse.

“I wasn’t trying to betray you,” you said, and your voice cracked again as tears blurred your vision. “I just—I couldn’t carry it by myself anymore. I was falling apart, James. I am falling apart.”

You swallowed, lips trembling.

“And Theo? That wasn’t even me. I didn’t tell him. He just knew. And I tried to lie, I tried to protect this—but he saw it. The way we look at each other… he figured it out.”

James ran both hands through his hair again and sat down at the edge of the kitchen counter stool like his knees finally gave out.

His head dropped into his hands for a second. You could see his shoulders rising and falling as he tried to breathe, tried to get ahold of himself.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to make this harder. But it already was hard. For me. For you. For both of us.”

He didn’t answer at first, just sat there, hands covering his mouth, elbows on his knees. And when he finally looked at you again, the exhaustion behind his eyes broke something in your chest.

“I just wanted to keep you safe,” he said quietly. “That’s all I’ve ever fucking wanted.”

And all you could do was nod, tears slipping silently down your cheeks—because you believed him. You always had. But nothing about this love had ever been simple.

His eyes flicked up at yours—haunted, tired, raw.

You stood frozen in the soft light of his kitchen. “What’s gonna happen now, James…?” you whispered, voice fragile. “To us…?”

Silence.

No immediate answer. No reassurance. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of your own heart breaking in your chest.

You saw it the second it landed in him—the weight of it. His mouth parted like he wanted to speak, to say something, anything—but nothing came. His jaw clenched instead, and he looked away.

That silence?

It hit harder than any word ever could.

Your stomach dropped. A punch to the gut. All the air left your lungs, and the floor felt like it shifted beneath you.

“You’re not saying anything,” you said quietly, though it was barely a voice at all. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

James closed his eyes. His fingers curled into fists in his lap. And still—still—he didn’t speak. Like if he did, something inside him would snap completely.

God, it made everything worse.

Because no words? No denial, no promise, no fight?

It felt like giving up.

It felt like goodbye.

And it shattered something inside of you.

Part 8 soon 💋 „he holds me in his big arms drunk and i'm seeing stars this is all i think of „ Lana Del Rey, Video Games.

So sorry for all the wait with this one, had to take some time to rest and think this chapter through as I felt quite unmotivated. But here it is! And I’m very happy with how it turned out 🤍

tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @iamthatonefangirl @hiraethmae @im-feeling-blue-today @beforemdnight @just4w3irdo @bloodmocha @lovinqbella @its-in-the-woods @muchwita @iyskgd @harrietandcats @shortandb1tchy @luv4kook @grovelingmen @buckybarneswife125 @xamapolax @glitterspark @azrielsgirll @mortallydistinguishedwolf @shaheea @simp4f1 @voidanima @buckytakethewheel @thatsbucknasty @herejustforbuckybarnes @sebastians-love @wntersoidiertk @emcharra @user911224 @stell404 @peanutbutt3rcup @heymydearheart @s-sh-ne @fangirl-numero-uno

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edenfenixblogs · 22 hours ago

Text

Often the stuff that keeps you up this way is stuff nobody gives a shit about.

I had a very shitty roommate a few years ago, but before things went sour she was a high school friend (not a best friend. It wasn’t like some big implosion. We just were high school acquaintances and ended up living in the same city and needed to defray rent costs and didn’t end up being a good fit).

When we moved in together she sat me down and was like “I have something to tell you and I feel horrible about it and I’ve felt horrible about it for years.”

And the Kill Bill sirens went off and I was like oh no. We signed a lease. What is up?????

And she goes, “Remember in high school when you were the lead in the play and you had that kissing scene?”

And I was like “The scene where my extremely gay scene partner visibly wanted to be kissing a cactus rather than a human woman? Yes. I’m familiar.”

“Well, you heard someone shout ‘Woohoo!’ when you kissed. …it was me.”

And I just said, “…and?”

And she goes, “Well, it was a big moment for you. And usually the football team always went crazy whenever people kissed onstage and so I thought we were all gonna shout but then we didn’t and I feel like I ruined your big moment I’m so sorry.”

And I just went, “Girl. The only reason the football team didn’t shout that time was because the coach was friends with the drama teacher and the coach gave them all a lecture about respect that week. I do not care. I did not care then and I do not care now. It didn’t affect me negatively in any way. Let that shit goooooo.”

And we had a big laugh.

Chances are the thing that’s keeping you up is either big enough that you’ve already apologized and understand the damage and need to move on. Or it doesn’t matter at all and you’re pure spiraling.

You’re good my dudes. Memory distorts.

my new thing whenever an embarrassing memory jumps up out of some backwater neuron to t-bone my present-day thought process is to declare a statute of limitations. like i can burn down an entire building in the state where i live and the law deems it both unfair and illegal to prosecute me after six years have passed, i think that thing i said in high school can be expunged from my record.

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plasticflowersinahistorycemetery · 3 days ago

Text

stockholm sanctum part i: SNARE

content warning/s & word count: 18+!!!, kidnapping, violence, restraints (cable ties, rope, handcuffs), moderate threats, swearing, dark!ben & dark!butcher, psychological torture, i may have missed some. 8.2k

again: shoutout to @deanspookiebear for giving me permission to run with her moodboard!

The alley stank of piss and blood. Old copper and asphalt rot, cut with something sweeter—like syrup turned sour. Maybe vomit. Maybe wine. You didn’t know anymore. Didn’t care. The stink curled into the back of your throat and sat there like guilt.

You’d been waiting for forty minutes. Forty fucking minutes.

The sundress you’d been told to wear—soft blue, delicate embroidery at the hem—hung limp against your thighs. Pretty. Innocuous. Chosen for effect. Not warmth. Wind licked cold fingers up your bare legs, gnawed at your arms until goosebumps bloomed, but you didn’t shiver. Didn’t move.

Statue-still. Back pressed to crumbling brick. Phone clenched in your palm, screen black. No signal. No messages. No backup.

Only silence. And it stretched so long it stopped feeling like silence at all—it had started feeling like something alive.

You didn’t hear the truck. Not at first. You felt it—deep, guttural—like the alley itself was about to vomit it up. The rumble started in the soles of your shoes, rolled up your spine. A prehistoric thing, metal and menace, slinking slow and sure into the mouth of the alley. Not a cab. Not your contact. Not a coincidence.

You knew it before you saw the headlights. They swung wide, too bright for the narrow dark—like eyes opening. Hungry ones. The engine snarled low, like it was waiting to be fed. The door opened slow. Heavy. Hinges groaned. And then boots hit pavement. Big. Deliberate. Unhurried.

You turned your head just enough to see the shape step into the dull glow of a flickering streetlight.

William Butcher. Black coat flaring like some villain from a fever dream. Shadow clinging to him like he paid it to stay close.

"Well, well," he said, voice low and British and bone-dry. "Ain’t you a fuckin’ sight."

You didn’t even get a moment to react before the second door slammed shut. And then there he was.

Soldier Boy. Leather stretching tight across his chest, that smug fucking grin already blooming like a bruise. One hand casually adjusting the waistband of his suit like he was gearing up for something rough.

"She really wore the dress," he drawled. "Fuckin' adorable."

Your heart stuttered. Your feet didn’t move. You stood your ground, fingers curling tighter around your useless phone.

"...You're not supposed to be here," you said. It came out flatter than you meant. "You're not part of this."

Butcher tilted his head, eyes glittering like broken glass.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," he said. "That’s the fuckin’ point."

Then they moved.

Fast. Too fast. Butcher’s hand snapped out and grabbed your wrist like a viper striking, yanking you away from the wall and into the side of the truck so hard your shoulder cracked against the metal.

You screamed. Your body kicked into overdrive. You thrashed—kicked, clawed, bit. Your teeth sank into his hand and you tasted blood, hot and metallic. But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t even grunt, just slammed you harder.

"Christ on a fuckin’ bike," he hissed. "She’s a scrappy little cunt."

"She’s fun," Soldier Boy murmured behind you, amused. You felt him before you saw him—radiating heat, like a sun about to go supernova. "You sure we can't keep her?"

"You wanna house-train her, be my fuckin' guest," Butcher snapped. "But first—shut her up."

Ben chuckled. Low and warm like he was flirting. Then—

Crack.

You didn’t register the pain right away. Only the sound. Like wet leather meeting concrete. Then came the flash—white stars exploding behind your eyes. Heat flared across your face. The burn of it registered seconds later.

Ben’s hand hovered mid-air. Fingers splayed. Deliberate. He wanted you to see it. See him. Remember.

“There. All better,” he said with a grin.

The world tilted. Your knees folded. Darkness came in fast and thick, curling at the edges of your vision.

You barely felt the blood at your lip. Didn’t see the way Butcher popped the trunk open, bored. Didn’t hear the muttered “Get her in.” Didn’t feel Soldier Boy’s arms hook under your shoulders like he was lifting groceries.

You only knew the dark. And the cold. And the soft rustle of your pretty sundress as it rode up your thighs.

You woke to darkness.

Not the soft, familiar kind that lives behind closed eyes. This was the heavy sort—thick and velvet, rank with sweat and rust and something sharp, like something left to rot in a crawlspace. It clung to your skin, pressed into your lungs, curled into your nose and mouth like it wanted to choke you slow.

Your head throbbed. A slow, awful pulse behind your eyes. Your cheek burned where skin had split, and something sticky had dried into the corner of your mouth. Blood, maybe. Or spit. You didn’t know. Didn’t care. Every inch of you ached, but when you tried to move—just shift, just stretch—your body disobeyed.

Rope bit deep into your ankles, taut enough to pulse. Your wrists were zip-tied behind you, plastic cinched so tight it made your fingers tingle. The angle was wrong. The plastic burned. Each movement scraped hot.

You were in the trunk.

The realisation landed like a brick to the face.

Above you—somewhere beyond the thin metal skin of the truck, muffled by motion and engine growl—voices leaked in. Distant. Warped by steel and road hum. But familiar.

One: low and rough, all bite and bitterness. The other: louder, looser, too pleased with himself.

Butcher and Soldier Boy.

You couldn’t catch every word, not at first. Just the shape of them. Laughter bleeding through, something about squirming. Something about a look.

“—fuckin’ moved like a cat in a sack—”

“Told you she had that vibe. Bratty little thing.”

“Christ. Would you shut the fuck up for five seconds?”

The truck jolted. Potholes cracked through your spine. Pain shot up like lightning. You gasped, short and sharp, breath punching out of you in shallow bursts. Your body was trying to catch up with your mind—trying to piece together why you weren’t dead. Why they’d kept you breathing. What they wanted.

And then Ben’s voice, louder now—cutting clean through the haze. Smirking with every syllable.

“I’m just sayin’—if you’re gonna kidnap a girl, might as well enjoy the fuckin’ view, right? Those thighs? Tight as hell. Bet she’d snap a man in half.”

Butcher didn’t miss a beat.

“You lay a single fuckin’ finger on her before I say so, I’ll jam that shield of yours so far up your arse you’ll be whistlin’ the Star-Spangled Banner.”

Ben let out a bark of laughter. “Jesus. Relax. Was jokin’. Can’t make a fuckin’ joke nowadays without someone screamin’ war crimes.”

“You are a war crime.”

Your lip split again under your own teeth. You tasted blood. You swallowed it down. You didn’t make a sound. Not yet. Not while they thought you were still out cold.

But your fingers twitched behind your back, testing the plastic, the angle. You turned your wrists, flexed, pressed, tried to find give. There was none. Just plastic and pain and the bitter reality pressing in:

They’d taken you. They’d won. And they weren’t finished.

And then—before you could stop it—your voice rose, hoarse and cracked, from the dark.

“Go fuck yourselves!”

Silence. Immediate. Heavy as lead. Like a knife dropped point-down on tile.

Then laughter. That same laugh. Soldier Boy’s. Warm with delight.

“Told you I didn’t hit her hard enough.”

“Shoulda done it myself,” Butcher muttered, voice like gravel and acid.

“C’mon. Didn’t wanna ruin that pretty little face too much.” A pause. A grin in the dark. “She’ll need it, once she starts earnin’ her keep.”

Your stomach turned. Your throat closed. Panic flared bright and feral. You bucked against the ropes, snarling something that didn’t even sound human. Your legs kicked, bound and wild. The zip ties bit deeper. You couldn’t stop. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t shut the images out of your head.

Ben sounded entertained.

“Lively little bitch, ain’t she? Might have to gag her. Or don’t. Screams might be fun.”

You screamed then. Loud. Raw. A single jagged bolt of noise torn from your ribs like a sob set on fire.

The truck jolted. Brakes squealed. Gravel crackled under the tires like bones grinding together. Then the creak of a door. Another. Silence.

You didn’t have time to steel yourself. There was no warning—no shift in air pressure, no shout, no count to three. Just the groan of the trunk lid, hinges screaming open like something dying, and the sudden wash of yellow floodlight pouring down on you from a shattered streetlamp.

It bathed the world in sick gold. Harsh. Exposing.

Soldier Boy’s silhouette loomed above you, all sharp lines and smug satisfaction, grinning like the devil at a buffet.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart.”

You spat at him. It missed. Barely.

He laughed anyway—full-throated and delighted, like you’d just told him the best joke he’d ever heard.

Then his hands were on you. Rough. Fast. Unbothered by your thrashing. You fought like hell—kicking, twisting, screaming—but it didn’t matter. He manhandled you like luggage, hauling you up and slinging you over his shoulder, your ribs braced hard against the unforgiving weight of his armour. His grip around your thighs burned. Then—

Smack.

His palm came down hard on the back of your leg, open-handed and unapologetic. The sound cracked through the alley.

“Told you she’s got meat on her,” he called out, voice thick with amusement. “Bet she runs hot too.”

Behind him, Butcher followed at a distance—casual, like this was just another day on the job. He held a crowbar in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the glow of it flaring each time he inhaled.

“Less talkin’, more movin’.”

The world jostled. Tilted. Concrete swam beneath you. You caught glimpses of chain-link fencing and crumbling warehouse walls, rusted shut. The building ahead looked like it hadn’t been touched since the Cold War—an industrial carcass gutted hollow and left to rot.

Metal doors sagged from their hinges. Windows stared like the vacant eyes of the dead. The air reeked of mildew and smoke and something long-forgotten.

Ben carried you straight through the peeling entrance. The door screamed as it opened, protesting the invasion. Then it slammed shut behind them, and the outside world disappeared.

You were swallowed whole.

Inside, it was worse. The air was thicker. Clammy. Close. Wet concrete underfoot, rust in the walls, the sour stink of rot in every breath. Somewhere above, water dripped into a rusted bucket. Steady. Relentless.

Drip.Drip.Drip.

Ben didn’t loosen his grip. Not once. He carried you through a maze of cracked corridors and flickering fluorescents until finally, at the end of a long hallway, he stopped.

A boiler room. Tile cracked like broken teeth, a single grimy radiator hissing low in the corner. A mattress on the floor—thin, stained, and unspeakably familiar.

He dropped you.

You hit it hard. Your ribs took the brunt, your elbow caught rough fabric, and for a second the room spun sideways. But you didn’t stay down. You forced yourself upright, spitting hair from your mouth, panting, eyes blazing.

Butcher stood in the doorway, bathed in the amber glow of a dying light. He lit another cigarette with the butt of the last, watching you like a butcher eyeing stock.

“Here’s how this is gonna go,” he said, voice low and cruel. “You speak when spoken to. You eat when we say. You piss where we tell you. You try to run—” He exhaled. Smoke curled between his fingers. “—and you’ll wish we’d left you in that fuckin’ alley.”

He took a drag. Held your stare.

“Simple enough for you, love?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t blink. You watched him through swollen eyes, your lip cracked open like a petal torn at the seam. Your wrists burned. Blood had crusted beneath the plastic zip tie cuts, and the throb beneath your skin pulsed like a warning.

Behind you, Soldier Boy prowled the room like a tiger in a cage too small. Restless. Radiating heat.

“You gonna leave her tied up all night?” He asked, almost absently. “Bit stiff, don’t you think?”

“She stays like that,” Butcher said flatly.

But Ben didn’t listen. He crouched in front of you, hands on his knees, close enough for the scent of him to punch into your lungs—smoke, sweat, a ghost of whiskey. You turned your head. He followed it. Locked eyes.

“You won’t get far,” he said, voice lower now. “But hell, might be fun to watch you try.”

Then—silver. A glint. Knife. You flinched on instinct, your heart stuttering in your chest. But the blade didn’t come for your throat. Not yet.

Just your wrists.

He sawed through the zip ties, slow and deliberate, not looking away. Then he moved to the ropes at your ankles. His breath was steady. Patient. Like he was unwrapping something precious.

“I said—”

“She’s not goin’ anywhere,” Ben cut in. “Let her stretch her fuckin’ legs.”

The second the rope dropped, you moved. Fast. Not fast enough. But fast. You shoved yourself off the mattress. Your legs buckled, but adrenaline shoved fire through your veins and you ran. You hit the hallway, walls closing in, air thick with mildew.

You remembered the layout. Barely.

A curve in the corridor. A right turn. Then a left. There—light. Faint, but real. A single crack beneath the door. A line of gold. Your breath wheezed out of you as your hands slammed into the handle—cold, solid, real—

But you didn’t make it.

Your dress caught. Yanked hard. The collar snapped tight around your throat, choking you. Your feet slid on the concrete as your body was hauled backward, ragdoll-fast.

Back into the dark.

“And that’s why I didn’t wanna tie her up,” Ben crowed, laughter blooming hot against your ear. “Told you. Fuckin’ adorable.”

You screamed. Kicked. Clawed at the stale air—your fingertips scraped the doorframe, nails catching on rust and old paint, before your body was yanked backward with terrifying force.

Ben spun you around. His grip locked like iron around your waist, dragging you in close with the ease of someone reeling in a fish.

He was laughing. Still. Always. That cruel kind of amusement that lived in the eyes of men who'd never been punished for anything in their lives.

“Shit!” He wheezed, voice bright with delight. “That was cute.”

You thrashed harder. Useless. His arm didn’t budge. You were pinned against him, chest heaving, cheek burning against the scuffed edge of his armour.

“Really,” he went on, hauling you backwards like some misbehaving pet. “You almost had me goin’ there. All that flailing, that look in your eyes... you really believed you were gonna make it out.”

His voice dipped on that last part. Softened. Like a lullaby whispered through a meat grinder.

“She's got bollocks,” Butcher muttered dryly from somewhere behind you as your body was dragged, bruised and breathless, back into the boiler room. “Shame that’s not gonna help her now.”

Then—

Impact. The mattress caught your fall but barely softened it. You landed hard, your breath knocked clean out of your lungs, stars bursting behind your eyes.

No warning. No words. Butcher dropped to one knee like he was fixing a faulty pipe, grabbed your ankle like it belonged to him, and snapped cold steel around it.

A cuff. Thick. Heavy. Unmoving. The chain clinked once as he tugged it tight and locked the other end to the radiator.

“There,” he said simply, standing. “Sorted.”

You twisted, kicked—pointless. The chain held.

Ben crouched in front of you, all wide legs and wide grin, bracing his elbows on his knees. He looked at you like he was watching a lion cub throw itself against a glass wall.

“Still got the dress on, too,” he murmured. “Lucky you.”

You spat at his boots, but it landed short. He laughed anyway. You hated that laugh. Loud and alive and so certain he’d never face consequence.

The chain bit into your ankle as you moved, tested its limits. There was no slack. No give. Just the scrape of iron on concrete and the slow, choking realisation that you were going nowhere.

They knew it. You knew it.

Night in the warehouse bled slow. There were no windows in the boiler room. No clocks. Just the hiss of the radiator and the distant groan of metal, the building settling around you like some great sleeping animal.

Drip.Tick.Creak.Silence.

The mattress beneath you smelled of mildew and old sweat. It was flat, uneven, stained in places you didn’t want to think about. The cotton sheet twisted beneath you, damp at the edges. The radiator rattled every time you shifted. The chain tugged with every breath.

Your wrists throbbed—raw from the zip ties. Your voice had gone hoarse from screaming. The ache in your limbs blurred into the ache in your chest, until you could barely tell the difference.

They didn’t come in much. Not together. But when they did—you fought. You curled your lip. You spat, hissed, growled like a cornered dog.

Ben always laughed.

“Feisty little fuckin’ thing,” he’d say, leaning in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest, eyes shining like he was watching something obscene and beautiful. “Bet you’re a scratcher in bed, too.”

Butcher never smiled. He didn’t even blink. He just stared. Dragged his eyes over you like you were a piece of meat left too long in the sun. A nuisance. A task. Something unpleasant he wasn’t quite finished with.

You stayed awake long after their footsteps faded.

Long after the door groaned shut. Long after the silence came back. You counted time by the ache in your bones, the prickle in your legs, the dry rasp of your throat. You couldn’t lie down. Couldn’t stretch out. You curled in tight against the wall like you could vanish into it.

And somewhere near dawn—when your muscles were screaming for movement and your skin felt too tight—you cracked.

The words came out raw, scraped up from your ribs like broken glass.

“What the fuck is going on?”

It echoed. Loud and ragged. It bounced off concrete and metal and silence. A beat. Then—footsteps. Measured. Familiar.

Butcher entered like he’d been expecting it. Cigarette already lit, sleeves rolled to the elbow. That same look on his face—like he was headed to the kitchen, not the cage. He didn’t speak. Not at first. Didn’t rush. He exhaled smoke and watched it curl upward like it mattered more than your question.

He moved like someone who didn’t owe you answers.

“You wanna keep screamin’, or you wanna hear the fuckin’ truth?”

The words cut through the boiler room like a bullet—sharp and sudden, punching the air out of the space.

You stared at him.

Butcher stood just inside the doorway, framed by peeling paint and low amber light. His silhouette looked carved from steel, unmoved by the sound of your voice still echoing off the walls.

Your hair clung to your forehead, slick with sweat and grime. Your dress stuck to your back, damp and wrinkled, smeared with dirt where you'd hit the floor—twice. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out, so he kept going. No pause. No mercy.

“Got word from someone deep inside Vought,” he said, tone flat. Deadly in its restraint. “Said you were meetin’ up with Sage, the Deep, and A-Train in that alley. Had somethin’ to give ’em. Somethin’ about us.”

Your stomach dropped. The floor disappeared. A strange, empty cold settled into your limbs, crawling up the inside of your spine like frostbite.

“No,” you whispered. “No—I had to. They were blackmailing me. I didn’t have a choice—”

“Don’t fuckin’ matter,” Butcher snapped. His voice rose—not loud, but sharp, like he was cutting through bone. “They’d have got the intel. And if they did? We’d all be dead. Me. Frenchie. Hughie. MM. Kimiko. All of us. That’s if they didn’t string up our corpses and march ’em through the streets like a fucking warning.”

You shook your head. Hard. Like it might shake the lie loose. Like it might make it stop.

“I wasn’t going to tell them anything that could hurt you—”

“Don’t matter what you meant, love.” He drew the word like a curse. Not soft. Not sweet. Cold and clipped and venom-laced. “You’re not goin’ anywhere until we’ve taken Homelander and Vought off the fuckin’ map. Maybe not even then.”

The silence that followed was so thick you felt it settle on your skin like soot. You opened your mouth—rage and disbelief boiling to the surface—but he didn’t give you the chance.

“Ben, mate,” he called over his shoulder, already turning. “You’re up.”

You slumped against the mattress, fury carving itself into your spine. The chain at your ankle clinked as you shifted, and you sank deeper into the thin, sweat-damp cotton beneath you, willing it to swallow you whole.

Then you heard him. Boots. That slow, lazy stride. That little pause in the door like he was waiting for applause.

Ben.

He walked in like the room belonged to him—like you did. Hair disheveled, beard unkempt, sleeves shoved to his elbows, and that damn smirk already carved across his face like it had been waiting there all night.

He gave you a once-over. No rush. No shame.

“Morning, sunshine,” he drawled. “You sleep okay? Mattress a little firm?”

You didn’t answer. Just narrowed your eyes, every muscle coiled tight.

He crouched beside the mattress, hands braced on his knees, then pulled something from behind his back. He tossed it casually onto the edge of the blanket with a flick of his wrist.

A shirt. Faded white. Soft. Loose. Still warm from wherever he’d stashed it. It smelled like him—smoke, salt, steel, and something darker beneath it. Something animal. Not even pants. No underwear. Just that. A shirt. His.

“Figured you might wanna get outta that little dress,” he said, voice low and laced with something you couldn’t name. “You’re not goin’ anywhere, but hey—might as well be comfortable.”

You stared at it. Then at him.

“Fuck you.”

His grin split wider. Eyes glinting like headlights in the dark.

“Maybe later.”

You hated how soft the shirt looked. How warm it felt in your hands. You hated the smell of it—so deeply, maddeningly him. You hated the way it curled around your fingers like bait.

He leaned back against the doorframe, arms folded, watching you like a man watching a fire he lit just to see how long it’d burn.

“Well?” He asked. “You want help?”

Your glare could’ve split concrete. Could’ve melted bone.

“I’d rather fucking rot.”

Ben let out a low whistle. Slow. Mocking. Delighted. His grin turned wolfish.

“I mean,” he said, tilting his head, “you say that now.” A pause, a beat, like he was waiting to see if you'd give him even an inch. When you didn't, he continued. “Suit yourself,” Ben said, his voice curling lazily around the dim edges of the room. “Just figured you might wanna change outta that little dress before it starts stickin’.”

His eyes fell, slow and indulgent, dragging over you with all the subtlety of a man who had never once been denied something he wanted. The look wasn’t just lewd—it was studied, as if he were cataloguing every inch of your discomfort for later use.

“Not that I’m complainin’,” he added, lips tugging into a smirk. “That hem’s got a mind of its own. Keeps ridin’ up when you squirm.”

You didn’t bother answering. You turned from him, slowly, the chain at your ankle rasping against the concrete as you shifted on the thin mattress. The air inside the boiler room was thick and wet, clinging to your skin like hands, and your dress had fused itself to the sweat-slick lines of your body. It was a struggle to sit upright—your arms moved with aching resistance, wrists still lined with the angry red marks left behind by the zip ties—but you managed to hook your fingers into the straps of the dress and begin the difficult task of pulling them down without giving him the full show he so clearly wanted.

Behind you, the room settled into a silence that wasn’t silence at all. You could hear his breath, faint and amused, and the shifting creak of his boots as he leaned against the doorframe, perfectly still, perfectly at ease.

“Oh, c’mon,” he murmured, his tone softer now, but no less smug. “Don’t be shy. Pretty thing like you?”

You said nothing, teeth clenched, jaw tight with the weight of everything you refused to give him.

The fabric dragged across your back like molasses. It clung to the curve of your waist, the swell of your thighs. Every inch was a battle. You had to shimmy free of it, wriggling inch by inch, until it finally dropped in a crumpled heap beside your knees. The sound it made was soft, but it may as well have been a shot in the quiet. It echoed.

And still—he said nothing.

But you could feel him watching.

It prickled across your skin, crawling down your spine like electricity. You didn’t turn around. Didn’t dare.

Then came the voice. Lower now. Less smug. Something else beneath it. Something slower. Heavier.

“God damn.”

You froze.

There was something different in the way he said it this time. The joke had gone out of his voice. The laughter didn’t follow. It sat low in his chest, slow to unspool, like it was too thick to breathe through.

“Look at that,” he said, quieter now. “Bare ass, cuffed to a fuckin’ radiator, gettin’ into my shirt. That’s—” he paused, and you imagined him shaking his head, smiling like he’d discovered something sacred. “That’s a painting, sweetheart.”

Still, you didn’t turn. But your spine was straight as a rod. Your fingers had gone still at the hem of the shirt, the one he’d thrown you like a bone. It was soft in your hands—too soft. It smelled like him, like smoke and leather and something darker underneath. The heat of it still clung to the cotton, a reminder that he’d held it against his body not long before.

Then you heard it. Boots on concrete. One step. Then another.

The air shifted as he moved, and it pressed against your back like pressure in your lungs.

“I swear to God,” you hissed, voice trembling but loud, slicing through the stillness, “if you come any closer, I’ll fucking bite you, you prick.”

A beat passed. And then he laughed.

But it wasn’t the theatrical, brash bark he usually tossed around so easily. This one came quieter. Lower. Almost reverent. Like you’d said something beautiful.

“Christ on a cross,” he breathed. “You are fuckin’ adorable. You know that?”

You turned then—slowly, sharply—dragging the shirt down over your chest, your arms moving quick and defensive as you tugged the fabric into place. It just barely covered the tops of your thighs. Not enough to feel modest. Not enough to feel safe.

He was standing just out of reach, arms folded again, his body a silhouette against the doorframe. His gaze roamed over you shamelessly, but there was something hungrier in it now. Something less playful.

“You ever bite someone before?” He asked, his voice a murmur, head tilted slightly. “’Cause I’m into that. Little teethmarks? That shit’s hot.”

You stared at him with all the loathing you could gather in one body.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you,” he said, his grin deepening, “are fuckin’ gorgeous when you’re mad.”

He stepped closer. Slowly. Deliberately. He didn’t touch you. But he didn’t have to.

The heat of him reached you before his shadow did. He crouched in front of you, elbows resting on his knees, eyes level with yours now. And for the first time, he didn’t speak right away. He just watched. Drank you in.

“They’ll come looking for me,” you said after a long pause, voice softer now. Frayed. “Vought. They’ll find out what you’ve done. You won’t get away with this.”

His smile sharpened, and it chilled you more than if he’d sneered.

“Sweetheart,” he said, gentle as a hand on your throat, “you think I give a shit about gettin’ away with anything?”

He reached out—not to touch you—but to brush two fingers along the chain bolted to the radiator. Just a tug. Light. Symbolic.

“You’re mine until Butcher says otherwise,” he said. “Could be days. Could be weeks.” He paused, eyes glittering. “Could be longer.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

His head tipped back, exhaling slow through his nose like he was savouring your resistance.

“You keep sayin’ that like it’s a threat,” he said, straightening to his full height. “But I’m startin’ to think maybe you just like the idea.”

He walked to the door without looking back. Paused there, hand on the handle, that smirk still etched across his mouth.

“Holler if you need anythin’, doll,” he said over his shoulder. “Or don’t. Either way, I’ll be back.”

The door swung shut behind him. The chain stayed tight. The shirt stuck to your damp skin. And the air around you thickened again with silence.

You were still cuffed. Still half-naked. Still seething. Still theirs.

You’d lost count of the days.

Time blurred inside the warehouse. It came in the shape of cold concrete and the rhythmic hiss of the radiator. In the groan of steel beams shifting as the wind bit through their cracks. In the way the light changed—barely—from the thin seam beneath the door, from grey to gold to grey again.

There were no clocks, small meals, and footfalls, voices, stares. And the chain.

Always the chain.

It dragged against the floor with every movement you made, every failed attempt to stretch your legs or shift the stiffness out of your back. It had become part of your body now. An extension of breath and bone. You could hear it even when it wasn’t moving.

Butcher came in alone that afternoon.

No announcement. No words at first. Just the creak of the boiler room door, the dull thud of boots, the scent of old tobacco and motor oil and something metallic behind it.

You didn’t look up right away. You were sitting on the mattress, knees drawn loosely to your chest, one hand idly rubbing the bruise that had blossomed on the inside of your thigh like an oil stain. The oversized shirt hung off your shoulders, wrinkled and damp at the collar, the hem riding high from the heat and the way you shifted in your sleep. You hadn't worn anything else since that first night. There was nothing else to wear.

But you felt his eyes on you.

So you looked.

He stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a cigarette burning slow between his fingers. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were watching your legs. Not in the way Ben did. Not openly. Not loud. But sharp. Measured. Cold. Like he was assessing damage. Or calculating risk.

Or something worse.

You shifted. Just a little. The chain at your ankle scraped softly as you moved your knee to block the view.

“Somethin’ wrong with your fuckin’ leg?” He asked, his voice as dry as the air. He didn’t blink.

“Thought you were the type to knock,” you muttered, not bothering to hide the venom in your tone.

He took another drag. Didn’t move. Smoke unfurled from his nostrils in two slow streams. He exhaled like he had all the time in the world.

“Don’t recall you payin’ rent,” he said flatly. “This ain’t a hotel.”

You glared. He stared.

And then—his eyes dropped. Barely. Just a flick. From your face to the dip of your thighs. You were sitting with your knees parted, unconsciously, and the shirt had ridden high again. Your underwear was visible in the low light. Simple. Cotton. Nothing remarkable.

But his gaze lingered.

You saw it.

His jaw twitched. Like he might speak. Or grit his teeth. Or bite back something he hadn’t meant to think.

“You want somethin’?” You asked, sharp, folding your arms tighter over your chest. “Or you just gonna keep gawking like a fucking creep?”

His eyes met yours. Unapologetic.

“Keep talkin’ like that and you’ll find out just how fuckin’ patient I’m not,” he said, voice low and controlled. “You think this is hard time? This ain’t even the warm-up.”

You sneered. He stepped further into the room.

The air shifted with him—cooler somehow. He crossed the distance slowly, cigarette trailing smoke behind him like a tail. He didn’t look at your face as he passed. Just at your legs. The shirt. The chain.

He knelt, without warning, and checked the cuff at your ankle.

No words.

His fingers were rough, impersonal, quick—but you still felt them. His skin brushed yours where he adjusted the metal, where he re-tightened something that didn’t need adjusting at all. You didn’t flinch. But you felt your stomach turn, just once, sharp and tight.

Then—he stood. Back straight. Shoulders squared.

And he looked down at you like he always did. Like a man sizing up a problem. Like a man who didn’t like what he saw, but wasn’t sure he wanted to stop looking.

“You keep twitchin’ like that,” he muttered, voice quiet now, “Ben’s gonna start thinkin’ it’s an invitation.”

You didn’t blink.

“Let him think what he wants,” you said.

That was the closest thing to power you’d had in days. And it hung between you like a crack in the wall.

Butcher left without another word. The door closed behind him. The scent of smoke stayed.

And still—you sat there. Cuffed. Staring at the spot where he’d been. And the way his eyes had dipped. The way his fingers had lingered.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to scream or laugh. Or worse—if part of you wanted him to come back.

It was sometime past dusk when you heard someone again—the heavy scrape of boots down the hall, the familiar rhythm of swagger in every step. You didn’t look up at first. You were curled in the corner of the mattress, one leg tucked beneath you, the other stretched out, chain slack where it spilled across the floor in a lazy arc. Your stomach had begun to ache. Hollow and gnawing.

They never fed you regularly. Another way to remind you who was in control.

The door opened with a creak, metal against metal, and the scent of salt and soy hit you before you saw the carton.

“Dinner’s served,” Ben announced.

His voice was bright. Too bright. The kind of cheerfulness that made your skin itch.

You sat up slowly, wiping your palms down the front of your thighs, trying not to betray the way your stomach clenched at the sight of food.

He stepped in like he owned the place. Like he owned you. A familiar takeout container in one hand, wooden chopsticks in the other. No utensils for you. No plate. Just the cartoon panda on the side of the box and the smell of grease clinging to the steam.

He crouched beside you, balancing on his heels. Smiling like the devil.

“What, no thank you?” He said, breaking the chopsticks apart with a snap. “Didn’t even spit in it. Aren’t I generous?”

You didn’t answer.

He pulled a slick tangle of noodles from the carton and held them up, letting them drip—mockingly slow—before guiding them toward your mouth.

You blinked.

“Where’s the fork?” You asked flatly.

He grinned. “Oh, sweetheart. You think I’m lettin’ you handle sharp objects?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Smart.”

“Right?” He beamed, pleased with himself. “You’d take my fuckin’ eye out the first chance you got.”

You smiled, slow and venomous. “Exactly.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, and twirled the chopsticks once before lifting another bite. “See? You’re honest. I like that.”

You didn’t want to open your mouth. But hunger won out. You leaned forward, lips parting just enough to slurp the noodles in. The taste was familiar—oily, salty, vaguely sweet—and it made you feel human for the first time all day. A luxury you hated him for giving.

He kept feeding you. Slowly. Leisurely. Watching you like he was testing something. Each time you took a bite, his eyes dropped—tracking your throat as you swallowed, your tongue as you licked sauce from your lips.

And then—deliberately—he slipped.

A single noodle dropped from his chopsticks and landed on your bare thigh.

You flinched.

The room went still.

The noodle sat there like a line drawn in the sand—glistening with sauce, curling against your skin. You looked down at it. Then back at him.

He was already leaning in.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

You felt his breath before you felt his mouth. Warm. Damp. A ghost just above your skin. Then his lips touched the inside of your thigh—open-mouthed and slow—and the air left your lungs in one sharp gasp.

He didn’t pull away.

He lingered. Let his tongue flick out, tasting the sauce, lapping it from your skin like he’d done it a hundred times before. His mouth moved with lazy precision, a slick glide across your leg, and when he finally pulled back, he looked up at you like he was waiting for applause.

His chin still hovered close. His breath still fanned your thigh.

You were trembling. Only slightly. Enough for him to notice.

“Jesus,” he muttered, licking his bottom lip. “Fuckin’ delicious.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not yet.

He sat back on his heels and tilted the carton toward you like a peace offering.

“So,” he said casually, like he hadn’t just sucked a noodle off your body, “you wanna finish your dinner? Or call it a night?”

You stared at him. Still breathless. Still furious. Still burning.

“Sleep,” you said at last.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He stood, smoothing his hand down the front of his jeans, tossing the chopsticks back into the carton with a clatter. He didn’t look at you again. Just walked to the door, slow and easy, like nothing at all had happened.

“Holler if you get hungry again,” he called over his shoulder. “Or if you just want another taste.”

The door closed behind him with a metallic groan.

You sat there, thigh still damp, breath still uneven, the taste of soy sauce still clinging to your tongue—and you hated how loud your heartbeat sounded in the silence that followed.

The next morning, you heard them enter before the door even opened.

Ben's boots always dragged just a little when he was tired—he walked like someone who expected the world to move out of his way. And Butcher? You could always tell by the cough, the scrape of a lighter, the muttered curse under his breath as he flicked ash off his sleeve.

You didn’t bother pretending to be asleep.

They came in talking, just loud enough for you to hear, and that was the point. The table groaned under Butcher’s weight as he dropped into the chair, a mug in one hand, a manila folder in the other.

Ben followed, slower, slumped into the opposite chair with all the elegance of a wolf flopping into sun-warmed dirt. There was takeout on the table again—something greasy, something steaming—but the scent barely touched you anymore. You’d trained yourself not to react.

Butcher didn’t look at you. Not yet.

Instead, he flipped the folder open, thumbing through its contents with the lazy confidence of someone who already knew what was inside.

“A-Train came to me,” he said.

Ben grunted, already halfway into his breakfast. “Yeah?”

“Two weeks ago. Said he had somethin’ important. Somethin’ I’d wanna know. That she—” he gestured toward you without lifting his gaze, “—was meetin’ up with him, Sage, and the fish fucker. Supposed to hand somethin’ off. Files. Names. Dunno if it was real intel or just bait, but he reckoned she was gonna spill.”

Ben’s chewing slowed. He glanced toward you, mouth still full, then back at Butcher. “And you believed him?”

“I didn’t,” Butcher said. “Not at first. But then I saw her.”

Finally, his eyes lifted to yours.

“In that alley. Wearing that little dress like it meant somethin’. Twitchy. Shifty. Like she was about to bolt. And then I did believe him.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. Maybe because they were quiet. Measured. Like a conclusion he’d come to long before this moment.

You sat up, slowly. The chain rattled at your ankle.

“I wasn’t giving them anything that could hurt you,” you said. “They were pressuring me. It was blackmail.”

Ben let out a soft whistle and leaned back in his chair, arms folding behind his head.

“Blackmail,” he echoed. “Classic.”

“They said they’d expose what I’d been doing. That they’d go after the people I’d helped.”

“You mean us?” Butcher asked, deadpan.

You opened your mouth, then shut it again. They waited. Watching you like vultures waiting for the twitch that signalled death. Ben’s gaze slid down your legs, bare beneath the hem of his shirt. He didn’t hide it. He never did. His tongue dragged slowly across his bottom lip as he watched the way your knees shifted.

“I dunno, man,” he said. “She still looks like she’s got somethin’ to say. All that silence? Makes me wonder if she’s startin’ to like bein’ gagged.”

Your glare was slow to rise, but when it hit him, it was ice-cold.

“Easy,” Butcher muttered, but there was no real rebuke in it.

Ben smiled wider.

“Relax,” he said. “I’m just sayin’. She plays the role well, y’know? Tied up. Hair all fucked. That dazed little stare. Wakes up every day with nothin’ but a shirt on and her legs spread—what am I supposed to think?”

You looked away.

“Still not takin’ the bait,” Butcher observed, and there was something almost... impressed in his tone. “Look at that. Maybe she’s learnin’.”

Ben leaned forward, elbows on the table, his eyes never leaving your legs.

“Or maybe she’s waitin’. Plannin’ something. They get real quiet right before they snap, don’t they?”

Butcher snorted. “She reminds me of Kimiko.”

Ben raised a brow.

“Back when we found her,” Butcher clarified. “Didn’t speak. Just sat in the dark and twitched. Feral little thing. Looked like she’d never seen a shower. Blood all over her. Hair stiff with dirt. Just like her.” He nodded toward you. “Greasy. Filthy. Eyes full of hate.”

Ben exhaled slowly, grinning like it was Christmas.

“Difference is,” he said, voice lower now, thicker, “I like this one filthy.”

That was the moment you stood.

You didn’t say a word. You rose from the mattress, slow and steady, chain clinking as it stretched taut, and you walked the full length of it to the edge of the wall—far enough to turn your back on them, far enough to claim a few inches of space that weren’t drowning in their breath.

You sat down, knees drawn to your chest, cheek resting against your arm. You didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Didn’t give them anything. And still, you felt Ben’s eyes on your thighs. Still, you felt Butcher watching your spine curl inward. Still, you heard the scrape of a chair against the floor.

Then silence.

And when the door finally creaked shut behind them, the quiet that remained didn’t feel like relief. It felt like the calm between cracks in a foundation. The stillness right before something gives way.

It was late when they entered the room again, long after the building had settled into its bones and the boiler hissed in low, sleepy bursts. The air was thick with the kind of heat that didn’t comfort—it stuck to the skin, settled in your lungs, made your shirt cling to every bend of your spine. You lay on your side with your back to the door, one knee curled to your chest, your other leg stretched just far enough to let the chain rest slack at your ankle. The weight of it had long since become a part of you. You no longer flinched when it moved. You no longer dreamt of undoing it.

The radiator ticked beside your shoulder, casting a low warmth through the corner of the room, and your eyes, though heavy, remained open. Sleep hovered but didn’t claim you.

They didn’t speak at first. You heard the door creak open, the sound soft and strangely careful. Butcher entered with his usual scuffed tread and a muttered breath, as if even his exhaustion had grown bored of itself. A chair scraped against concrete. He dropped into it with a quiet exhale, lighter already out, the scrape of flint followed by the soft bloom of fire. Smoke bloomed with it, curling in lazy ribbons toward the ceiling.

Ben followed behind him, slower, more languid in the way he moved, one hand swinging a bottle of something amber and burning, his shirt half-undone, skin gleaming faintly at his chest. He didn’t look at you. Not right away. He turned a chair backward with a low scrape and straddled it, arms resting on the spine, the bottle dangling loosely from two fingers like an afterthought.

You stayed still. Not because of fear. Not out of rebellion. Just tiredness. Bone-deep. Slow-moving. It was easier not to shift. Easier to pretend your body was not your own. The shirt you wore had twisted around your ribs, bunching at your side, and your thigh was bare where the hem had ridden up. You didn’t bother tugging it down. Not tonight.

“She’s quiet tonight,” Butcher said, his voice coated in smoke, not looking at you.

Ben didn’t answer immediately. His gaze had drifted, and when it landed on you—soft limbs, heavy lids, hair sticking damp to your cheek—it didn’t carry its usual sneer.

“Soft,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Kinda nice.”

There was no mockery in his tone. Just something warm and slow, and that, somehow, made it worse. You felt the comment more than you heard it, the way it hung in the heat, heavy and uninvited.

Butcher took a slow drag and exhaled through his nose. “Maybe she’s finally figured it out,” he said, watching the smoke rise. “Fightin’ only gets you tired.”

You didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Your heart beat quietly beneath your ribs, steady as rain.

Ben leaned forward just slightly, one arm resting over the chair back, the bottle still dangling. His voice came quieter this time, almost soft.

“You warm enough?”

The question sliced through the room like a sigh. It hit something inside you you hadn’t prepared to feel. Not concern. Not care. But the echo of a human voice asking about your comfort when everything else in the world had stopped asking. You didn’t answer, but something in you shifted. Just slightly. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t spit. And he didn’t push.

Butcher grunted in disapproval, not at you—at Ben. “Don’t go tuckin’ her in.”

Ben smirked faintly, not taking his eyes off you. “Didn’t say I would,” he said. “Just askin’. S’not a crime.”

His gaze drifted lower, slow and lazy, tracing the shape of your leg where it bent, the strip of thigh visible beneath the hem. He didn’t lick his lips, didn’t leer, but something in the tilt of his head said he was already memorising the way the chain pressed against your ankle, the way your breathing deepened when you thought no one was watching. He shifted in his seat, lifting the bottle to his mouth before adding, almost idly, “You look cute like this. All sleepy. Sweet. Not tryin’ to rip someone’s throat out.”

Butcher let out a slow, dry breath, eyes flicking to you with less hunger, more curiosity. “Might keep her like this.”

The words weren’t meant as comfort, but they settled into the silence like the corner of a blanket tucked under your chin. Still cruel. Still calculated. But quieter. Less sharp. The threat had been replaced with routine, and routine was always more dangerous than rage. You were no longer the enemy. You were becoming the environment. Something that existed in the space between them. Something to be observed. Kept. Used.

You didn’t bite. Didn’t roll your eyes. You only closed them, gently, not to sleep, but to rest. It was the first time in days that it felt like rest was something you were allowed. And they didn’t stop you.

They stayed for a few more minutes. You heard the soft glug of Ben’s bottle tipping, the scratch of Butcher’s boot against the floor. No laughter. No jokes. Just two men sitting in a room with a girl chained to a radiator like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe, in this moment, it was.

The chairs scraped back. The door creaked. Cold air drifted in as they stepped through it, and for a moment, you felt it on your skin like a memory you couldn’t hold onto.

They didn’t say goodnight. They didn’t have to. The silence they left behind was warm.

And when you rolled back onto your side, curling gently in the heat, the chain at your ankle shifted with you—soft, slow, a single clink like a lullaby.

That sound didn’t startle you anymore.

It sounded like permanence.

Like metal hands closing around velvet wrists. Like a snare. Not springing shut—but holding. Tight. Sweet. Final.

And in that quiet… you let your eyes fall closed.

author note/s: guys, i haven't felt motivated to write anything for a while now, but this?? oh boy. (i promise i'll get back to cruel summer at some point, but for now, i need to work on some darker stuff.) okay, enough yapping bs from smin. i hope y'all like this. ahhhhhh. all the love.

ben/soldier boy taglist: @deansbeer @ambiguous-avery @angrydragon90 @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @soldiersgirl @bruisedfig @tinas111 @angelicjackles @lunaleah. @mostlymarvelgirl @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @ohgodimgoungtodie @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @kaz-2y5-spn @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @ladykitana90 @deangirlsstuff67 @adoredawn @sunnyfuffly @deansbbyx @kamisobsessed @artemys-ackles @prettywhenipanic @sunnyteume <3

butcher taglist: @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @losers-clvb @drakulana @bejeweledinterludes @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l @love2liz @angelicjackles @tinas111 @lunaleah @mostlymarvelgirl @kaz-2y5-spn @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @deangirlsstuff67 <3

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connieboo4u · 3 days ago

Text

𝐎𝐟𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚, 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ೃ༄.

synopsis/request here

The camera is rolling and going once you step into the frame. you had a comfortable fit on for this most likely messy ass video you were about to shoot.

It’s not like you meant to break the internet. but when you and Connie ended up in the same kitchen, cameras rolling,talking n getting to know each other, and tension thick enough to burst through the screen.

yeah… y’all kinda did.

you were already that girl online. funny, bad asl, soft-spoken but quick with it, the type to have brands and followers in your dms, and still make it feel like you were everybody��s homegirl. he was already Connie Springer.the kind of artist who could drop a single at midnight and have the internet quoting it by morning. laid-back on camera, sharp in every verse, and way too good at making people laugh when he wasn’t even trying.

most of all of your viewers were literally dying for you to do a video together. so when whispers of a collab started circulating

“Y’all need to do a video together fr,”

“The chemistry would be teww gooddd,”

“I fear the tension would be CRAZY 😭”

it was only a matter of time before both of y’all’s team made something happen. as the exposure would be great for both of y’all.

you’ve seen him a couple of times online. and you won’t sit here and lie, he was pretty cute.

and your fans swore up n down y’all would match each others energy’s to a tea. sooo shit what else were you supposed to do? not invite him?

tuh.

“aye listen…if this man come in here on some bs and y’all set me up,it’s a wrap. like i’ll deadass cut the cameras off. he better be on his bestttt behavior.”

you addressed the camera as if you were on facetime with one of your homegirls. and you’re hoping your so call homegirls didn’t set yo ass up with this collab.

you tried to hold back a giggle as you looked back at the side of the room where he was gonna make his appearance.

“alright for real. y’all asked y’all shall receiveee! and if his ass can’t cook…his ass gotta go.”

as soon as you said that Connie came through the side entrance to enter the video frame.

and damn

he came in with a chill fit of his own. his chain was shining from the lights. his grin displaying his bottom grills as he failed to hold back his own laugh.

yea scratch that.

he fioonneeee asllllll

“you gon’ talk sh*t before i even breathe good? damn, not even a ‘hey’?”

he mocked offense as he stood near me with his hand on his chest. as he went to stand near me to look at all of the ingredients we were using for the meal we would be making today.

“boy, puh-lease. we can ‘hey hi ho’ our ass into this food real quick before i change my mind.”

you said with a sly smile tryna keep your cool cause DAMNNN he was even finer in person. he came to stand a little closer to you letting you get a wiff of his cologne that was slowly driving you crazy.as he observed what was all on the table to cook with and looked back at you.

“mmhm. that lil smile gon’ get you in trouble.”

i rolled my eyes as he went in for a hug. his arm wrapped around your waist for a second longer than necessary, and the chain around his neck brushed your collarbone lightly when he leaned down. you hugged him back, quick, trying to keep it cute, but how long could you really.

yeaaa this might be the best set up ever.

“you keep playin’ like we not supposed to be cooking,” you mumbled under your breath, glancing at the camera mid hug like don’t do too much now.

“man whatchu mean? i’m chillin. you the one distracted.” he said as he leaned away a little,hand still resting on your back from the hug.

I grabbed some ingredients and put them in his hand.”since i’m the distracted one. gon head and put that in a bowl and mix it together while i work on seasoning the steak for the fries”

“yes ma’am” he took the ingredients for the sauce and started adding them to the bowl nearby as y’all worked hip to hip on different parts of the meal.

ೃ༄.

You stirred the fries in the pot, oil still crackling heavy, and leaned one hip on the counter. Connie stood across from you, messing with a towel in his hands.

you looked over at him. “alright, while these doing what they do… we gon’ hit you with a quick interview.”

he smirked. “awwhhh hell”

you laughed. “you’ll be alright. Just answer natural and honestly.”

he nodded. “aii bet”

“first one easy. What’s a song of yours you still not tired of performing?”

He thought for a second, rubbing his jaw as he leaned on the counter behind him. “probably ‘Top Floor.’ the energy always crazy when that drop hit, and the crowd usually get me hyped up on the first bar.”

You nodded. “oooouu i heard that one before. okay what’s something you feel like people get wrong about you?”

Connie thought about it before answering”that i don’t take a lot of things seriously. Especially with my music or something i consider important. like i joke a lot,yeah, but stuff i really care about, i don’t play bout that shit.”

“on his soullllll he dont play” i pointed to the camera “okay for real let me stop. i’m sorry”

connie damn there bent down laughing.

“okay, you single?”

he paused and looked at you before he responded nonchalantly “yeah”

he then leaned down with his eyes locked on yours “you?”

you blinked cause hellooo? “this my interview if you done forgot”

he grinned “that ain’t what i asked,pretty”

“yea i’m single.” you say back just as nonchalant.

Connie just nodded, like he already assumed. “Mmm. that make sense.”

you raised a brow. “and what’s that supposed to mean?”

“cause you carry yourself like somebody who don’t take no bullshit. you know your worth and dont settle for less. i can tell.” he said it like it was the most obvious thing.

you tried not to react, but you felt it in your stomach tighten. “You do this with everybody you cook with?”

“nah,” he said, licking his lips. “You a lil different. yo energy show that.”

you didn’t respond immediately and at that the grease from the fries popped me back to reality.

he just smiled a little.”so what’s your type?”

you picked up the nearest seasoning to fidget with”i guess somebody funny,laid back,sweet,dont do too much,clean.shii somebody that got some sense too” i said with a shrug

he simply nodded his head

He leaned against the counter again, arms crossed. “Sooo what I gotta do to get a second collab? Or is this a one-time situation? cause i think the fans was right about us matching each other energies n shi”

“I don’t know. you gon keep playing with me?” i said

“that’s not me playing, mami. that’s me being for real.”

you just looked away from him as you placed the seasoning down. all while he stared you down.

“that’s aii tho. i’m willing to work for it till you believe me” he said smirking to the camera with a goofy ass wink

i glanced up at him questioning him. cause what is this video turning into.

And he just laughed under his breath, stepping back. “what? I’m behaving. right?”

“mmm. the way you talkin’ i think i should be worried bout that if that’s what behaving gon be like.”

then i turned back to the stove, real chill

“…I ain’t”

Connie laughed under his breath, eyes still on you, then muttered, “yeah… you the problem.”

ೃ༄.

for some damn reason y’all were making a lot of progress cooking together. between occasional flirty comments and shit talking you both lowkey we’re getting along well. really well.

the fries were basically finished, just needed the finishing touches with the sauce that connie made and what not.and for two people who kept talkin’ over each other and flirting mid-task, y’all were actually getting it done.

every time you looked up, he was doing something helpful. rinsing, drying, checking the food without being asked. laughing when you teased him, playfully bumping your hip with his as if it was some day to day shi for y’all and the camera just so happened to just be there. every interaction felt overly domestic.

you were grabbing seasonings when he slid in right behind you, stomach brushing your lower back like he belonged there.

you didn’t react right away. neither did he.

“sooo you just gon hover behind me like that?”

“i’m just tryna make sure you don’t over-season the food,” he said, as you can hear the grin in his voice low and right in your ear. “matter fact—”

he swiftly took on of the seasonings and started doing it himself as he rested on hand on the counter lowkey caging you in as he worked.

before you could say something back to him, he slid his arm around you and reached for the lawry’s like he was the head chef all of a sudden and this was his channel. he didn’t even hesitate for shit.

he shook a little into the bowl while resting his other hand on the counter,his arms brushing yours.he was basically caging you in, casual like he did this every day.

“mannn…” you muttered under your breath as you looked up at him.

“i got it. relax”he said with a boyish grin.

you attempted to move around him to get the pan on the stove but he didn’t plan on moving far.

“let me just grab the pan with the stea-“

“wait- hold on, ma.”

he lightly grabbed your waist from behind to move pass you to reach for the hot pan himself. his touch was firm but soft. he didn’t think twice about anything he was doing with you.

like y’all had done this before

“scuse me,” he muttered as he reached for the hot pan for me as he let me take the steak pieces out to lay them on our fries.

“sooo you always this close when somebody tryna cook” i teased.

“nah.”

he said fighting back a grin. he then said just so causally-

“only when they this pretty.”

you stare right in the camera after he said that.

“y’all see his ass be saying anything bro”

Connie licked his lips and smiled. “nahhh. I just be saying the truth.”

you blinked. Then looked dead at the camera. “anyway,” you said, turning back to the food as if you weren’t internally screaming rn. “Steak’s done. Fries look crispy. We didn’t burn shit in this collab, so I feel like that’s a win.”

“that’s what teamwork do for you ” he said, walking over to grab the plates to help plate the food.

“i won’t lie you contributed a good amount today.”

Connie smirked. “awhh shit i get a compliment after all the shit talking you was doing.”

“alright not too much” i said as i took a seat on the little couch i usually do the food reviews on.

“nahhh that mean we making progress ma.” he said as he took a seat directly next to me.knees touching. his arm resting behind me like we just do this shit.

with both of our plates in front of us we then begin eating the creation we made as we both shared looks with each other.

“this shit good as fuck”

we both said at the same time catching each other off guard as we both burst out laughing.

“but nah real shit. this shit taste mad good”

“i’m sayinggg! we lowkey did that ngl”

you were about to reach for your drink when he-

“hol on- hold still”

you looked at him confused “huh?”

he reached up, thumb brushing just under the corner of your lip, real gentle. “you had somethin’ right there.”

“thanks.” i lowly said to him as i collected myself

he nodded “they gon eat this shit up”he said as he gestured to the camera ”just like we fucked this plates up”

at that i started laughing “you already knowww”

at that he took one more bite.

“eat eat eat ea-“

“man watch out.”

you were laughing so hard you fell into his chest, hand catching his hoodie like you needed support.

he just sat there, shaking his head with that deadpan stare straight at the camera. But it was only a matter of time—his lips started twitching before he finally broke into a smile too, lowkey trying to hide it.

ೃ༄.

he stood in the doorway,phone in one hand,his other hand still in his pocket like he didn’t really wanna go.

“I meant what I said earlier btw.” he said, eyes on yours. “I really enjoyed this. you made this whole night feel.. easy. real.”

you smiled, but it was soft now. quiet.

“I know this our first time meetin” he added, voice low. “but I wanna see you again. like, forreal. and I ain’t in no rush—I wanna show you i’m for real. i want you to see the effort”

“ohh you tryna work for it?”

“every bit.” he nodded with a serious tone

he looked down at your hand, took it gently, kissed it slow.

“thank you, pretty girl. for tonight.”

“mhm you welcome. back bout expanding overtime now”you said back trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach right now

“mmcht yo ass always got some to say”he said back tryna be serious but failing to fight his smile back

“i’m just playingggg” i say as i go for a hug

he lazily grins as he hugs me back warm n firm and before he let’s go he presses a lingering kiss to my cheek.

he squeezed your hand once, then stepped back like he was about to say something else, but his phone buzzed.he glanced at it and exhaled a short laugh through his nose.

“damn… studio,” he muttered, showing you the name on his screen real quick like proof. “they been blowin me up.”

he tucked the phone away again, eyes flicking up to yours, almost like he was about to ask something,but he didn’t. he just looked at you for a second longer, lips parted like he was weighing something.

you noticed, but didn’t comment.

“get in bed safe,ma. I’ma text you when I get there.”

you nodded, smiling back at him, “mkay.”

he turns toward the door, hoodie up, but pauses again with his hand on the knob.

“also…” he looks back, real chill, “don’t let no—”

you blink.

“…boy, take yo ass on to the studio.”

he laughs as he steps out, voice trailing down the hall “see,you think I’m playin.”

and you stand there for a second—smiling way too hard—before closing the door behind him.

and that was it.

You blinked, standing there for a second like you were waiting for something else.

then it hit you.

“wait… we didn’t even exchange numbers,” you muttered, talking more to the empty kitchen than anyone else. “damnmit.”

you sighed, half annoyed, half disappointed. his team and your team had set the whole thing up. calls, locations, timing. not once did y’all actually do the logistics yourselves.

quietly you went back to gather your belongings to leave and go home for tonight. maybe you’d see him at an event. maybe one of your team members could help you get his number tomorrow.

you didn’t feel like it’d be a good idea to bother his team about it now. he was probably already being pulled in five different directions the moment he stepped out.

* ೃ༄.

you got home quiet, the kind of calm that lingers after a good night. you tossed your purse on your chair, slid out of your clothes, washed up and cleaned your face slow, still catching yourself smiling in the mirror. cause today was something elseeee.

bonnet tied,even comfier night clothes on, big lights off. soft ambient lights on. you pulled your covers up and laid back with a deep breath—body relaxed, but your thoughts? Still stuck in the way Connie looked at you at the door.

well not just at the door.

throughout the whole day.

you opened your phone just to scroll a little before bed.

and froze.

#connieandy/n

“ion even care if it’s promo… the chemistry is crazy 😭”

“the way he looked at her after wiping her mouth… yeah they locked in.”

“they flirting like we not watching”

“naahhh the thumb on her lip? i SCREAMED”

“yeaaa they go together real bad”

the video had dropped. and the comments? unhinged. accurate. and loud asffff.

you couldn’t even scroll fast enough. clips were already being reposted and sent to you by friends, edits being made, and your name trending right under his.

the comments were wild. your friends were worse.

you leaned back on the bed frame. exiting out of every social media app as you collect yourself.

suddenly your phone buzzed just as your head hit the pillow.

Unknown number

new messages 12:36 AM

[unknown] Yo, when we seeing each other again?

you fight back a grin as you typed:

[you]how you even get my number

[unknown] my team. i wasn’t gon let you get far lmfao

[connie💕] sooo..when’s the next time i’m seeing you?

i’m thinking dinner on me.

no cameras n shi, just us.

“no cameras n shi,just us.”

you smiled as you responded to him turned your phone off and turned over.

yeaaa i can used to these type of set ups

AYYY i hope y’all enjoyeddd 😭and i lowkey wanna write more rapper connie stuff cause likeeeee whattt. also sorry for the wait again but ayy we here ANDDD request stay open! yk the drill.

other than that i love y’all lots and i appreciate y’all sticking with me as i slowly get a hang of this. 🥲really hope these last post were enjoyable fr fr.

but i’ll try to post random hcs in between drabbles and fic updates💋xoxo

#𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙗𝙤𝙤4𝙪𝙛𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙨*ೃ༄#rapper!connie x reader #connie springer x black reader #aot x black reader #connie aot #connie x black!reader #connie x reader #aot fluff #aot imagines #connie springer #fluff

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girlfromflor · 16 hours ago

Text

cw: slight angst, simon riley x reader, grieve, hurt/comfort.

You get home by seven. Your nose and cheeks are freezing cold from the windy weather outside – which you couldn’t have noticed enough to grab a jacket before leaving the house in a rush – and heavy shoulders from all the thinking you did about your fight with Simon.

As you toe off your shoes and step inside the kitchen, a part of you wishes Simon has already eaten, to spare both of you from an awkwardly silent dinner where the tension hangs too thick and the only sound heard is from the cutlery hitting the ceramic of the dishes as you eat – although, the other part of you would feel extremely disregarded if he did so.

So when you see his broad figure sitting by the table, with two plates set and his puppy-like eyes gazing up at you, you remember just how much of a softie he is and he’d never hurt you intentionally – that’s why you chose to be with him in the first place. You can’t help but feel guilty for considering he’d ever actively avoid your presence – especially after you’ve addressed it so blatantly earlier – you know he wouldn’t disregard your words in the long run, even if they took a while to pierce through his thick skull.

Letting out a sigh and gathering your mental and emotional strength, you sit down on your designated seat across from him at the table, mind racing to find the right words to say.

“Uhm– Did you wait for too long? I’m sorry I—”

“Can we not…? You don’t have to pretend it’s okay, sweet’eart.” Despite the fact that he had straight up interrupted you, you have to suppress a giggle at the way he grimaces at the nickname – too used to calling you by it, even if it’s an uncomfortable situation. “What I mean is… We fought ‘nd it’s awful, but shit happens, y’know? No need t’pretend I wasn’t an arsehole.”

Simon shrugs as he speaks, voice soft spoken and gentle, although you can tell he’s nervous by the way he over-uses his words – usually one to be very concise when conveying his thoughts.

“You want to be silent then? Or…” You trail off, mimicking his nonchalant movements as you two eat, a much normal conversation developing in comparison to what you thought would have happened.

“Nah, not silent… Jus’– We can talk about what we were talking and not fight about it… Now that we’re both calmer.” He suggests, sneaking small glances your way, trying to get your reaction without making it seem like he’s watching you – it doesn’t work, of course, you know he is.

“Okay… But I think I’ve talked a lot today, though. Don’t you want to start?” There’s no passive-aggressiveness in your tone and Simon is glad for it. He knows you’ve learned to be more careful with how you speak, because of him – even learned how to be more blunt too, which never fails to catch him by surprise, even after so much time together. He nods at your request and you eat as he thinks about his next words.

“When I asked you to not push me away then—” There’s a pause as he clears his throat, a habit you’ve picked up on a while ago – he clears his throat when he’s about to say something that makes him uncomfortable, especially if it puts him in a vulnerable position. “I meant it, y’know? No good comes from pushing each other away…” You can see as he swallows something dry – maybe his pride and ego, maybe the urge to not admit he was wrong for lashing out. What he does say, though, takes you by surprise – and you hate that it makes you want to kiss him for putting in the effort of saying it out loud. “I was just too caught up in my own feelings to notice yours and for that I am, truly, sorry.” He nods along his words, happy that he managed to properly express himself – even if it took a fight and too much of both your energy and his. “I think I got so used to you voicing your emotions whenever you needed me that I never learned how to notice them by myself…”

“Simon… You can’t just–” Simon tilts his head as he watches you stumble over your words. You cut yourself off, mouth gaping to say something but you’re not sure what. Regardless of it, Simon knows exactly what you’ll say – to many years listening to your point of view of things to not know you by now.

“I know, and it’s not an excuse either. I just want you to truly understand what went through my mind… Even if you don’t want to put up with this anymore.” His voice cracks at the end of his sentence and for the first time in a long time, Simon allows it to happen – if he’s to break down then so be it. “I’d always respect your choices, but know that that’s not what I want…”

You hold his gaze for a second too long, humming in understanding. There’s no intention of pressuring him when you ask: “What do you want then?”

There’s no hesitation in his voice, that’s when you know that wasn’t even a question to be answered – the answer is all too obvious. “You, here with me.” You can’t lie and say that you hadn’t thought of leaving, but to say you wanted to would be an even bigger lie. You let him speak instead of interrupting his train of thought. “It isn’t easy for me to cope with too much all at once…” And with the wait he takes in a shaky breath and closes his eyes, you know he’s talking about Johnny. “All I’d ask of you is to give this time, we can work through it– Talk through it… I’ll learn but only if you have patience to teach me…” You can see there’s a desperate echo to his words, each syllable being delivered wrapped on a layer of helplessness that makes your heart clench in your chest. “I’ll try and do better for myself, because I know I have to do it… But you’ll always be in the back of my mind, being the motivation I need to keep going.”

I can’t lose you too – Simon doesn’t say it, but you know he’s thinking it. And, to be honest, neither can you.

Losing Johnny was too painful by itself, that’s why you found yourself in this situation with Simon to begin with – well, maybe you were just projecting when you laid all those offences against him.

As you think about your fiance’s words, you can’t help but think of what Johnny would say if you two broke things off – and so close to the marriage too. Simon never gave you reason to worry about anything, with all the years that you’ve been together nothing was unsolvable between you both. To hold this against him seems unfair of you, condemning him to live without you – against your own wish of staying – because he did something wrong for once.

“I’m sorry. I’ve never intended to make this such a big situation…” You start simple, eyeing down your almost empty plate. “I just felt so distant from you, and consequently so lonely that I’ve just–” You sigh tiredly, mentally cursing yourself for not thinking better of your words before starting your speech. “I just wanted you to know that I am here but you wouldn’t allow me close enough to express it and that made me feel… Rejected.” You nod – much like Simon did – content that you finally expressed your emotions. “Though, I knew you’d most likely want to be alone to process your feelings better and I’ve completely disrespected it in order to seek reassurance and… I shouldn’t have done it like that, snapping at you, I’m sorry.”

To your surprise, Simon hums in agreement. “There were better ways to do it, but you wouldn’t have felt like you needed to seek my attention or– like you said, reassurance, if I had tried and showed you I was there for you… Like you did for me.”

You have to press your lips together to try and suppress a smile. You can’t deny how much you love Simon and his attempts at balancing both yours and his feelings makes your heart race in your chest – the way he's truly putting up an effort to deal with his emotions, because he’s afraid of losing you.

“Yeah…” You say, lighthearted. “I’d say we’re both accountable for it.”

“Yeah… I’d say we are.” Simon involuntarily echoes your lighthearted tone, finishing his meal just a minute before you finish yours. For the rest of the night, you don’t exchange many words – simply doing the dishes and getting ready to sleep in a silence much less awkward, although not completely pleasant yet.

As you lay in your shared bed, for the first time after Johnny’s passing, it’s Simon who hugs your body, spooning your body so you can sleep. He kisses your shoulder, taking in what you interpret as a relieved breath.

“I’m sorry I hadn’t asked this before… But how are you?” Simon whispers to you, lips brushing at your skin as he speaks.

“I miss him… I miss Johnny, Simon.” Your voice is choked, tone too light considering the depth of your heartache.

It helps that Simon shares the sentiment, so his words are actually comforting. “I… I miss him too, sweet’eart.” As to say: “it’s okay, we’re allowed to miss him – we’re allowed to grieve.”

There’s another kiss to your shoulder, this time it’s wet with his tears. You sniffle, your pillow becoming home for another night with tears – only, this time, you’re not in it alone. Simon hugs you tightly, as the both of you cry your sorrow away.

Soon after, you’re drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms.

a/n: continuation of this. @lemmewritethisshizdownrq, thank for your comment on my last post... i wrote this specially for you! (although, i did not make reader leave, lol).

#call of duty #cod x reader #cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #bel's works

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obaewankenope · 3 hours ago

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I've had cats my entire life (literally since I was a baby, thanks mam) and I've had pregnant cats who would birth in the weirdest of places (never in the bedroom because the cats weren't allowed to sleep in our rooms, thankfully) but they'd find spots that were safe and secure (and dark too sometimes) where the dogs wouldn't disturb them.

Mitzy gave birth to her litter in the potato bag and I found them in the morning when I went to the loo in the annex where she'd been kept whilst pregnant. Found three kittens in the bag with her looking at me like "what, they're potatoes too" and then found the fourth one that had sorta wedged itself amongst the spuds after school (lil thing was okay, thankfully, but oh boy do I still feel bad for missing that lil one that morning). Once they were safe enough to not be at risk of, ya know, being squished by the curious border collie (bless you Rosie, you didn't like cats but you were so gentle with these babies my sweet old, regal lady, you) they had free rein of the kitchen and, eventually, the lounge. Never got a moments peace until they were adopted by very happy people.

Mitzy would hide from them and use me, my mam, my stepdad, Rosie, even my brother on occasion, to be baby sitter whilst she relaxed.

Fond memories.

Mimi, when she had her first litter (she had two and each time it was because she escaped the house literally days before she was going to get spayed. She totally knew lol), we kept her in the little room in the house and she was most displeased that we wouldn't allow her to bring her kittens to wherever we were at that moment in time. She wouldn't let Mason or Tibby near the kittens until after me and my mam specifically had greeted them when they came into the world and had basically covered them in our scents. We had to keep the terrors contained in the little bedroom because of Glenn who was very reactionary to cats he didn't know and also very curious about the kittens but he was also kinda... Intense about it.

One of the only times I've ever seen Mimi actually use her claws was when Glenn got too close too fast to the kitten that had escaped the little bedroom and Mimi had chased after it (as did I because nope, get back here you little shit, you) and whilst he wasn't aggressive or anything, his size scared the lil kitteh and Mimi went Protecc™ mode. Poor Glenn was very careful around Mimi from that point on, bless him.

With her second litter, (again, Mimi you shit, you escaped a second time and I was honestly so stressed because I couldn't find you for almost a month and when I did you were already clearly pregnant, you absolute nightmare) we again used the little room for containment but Mimi was determined that her babies were to be in my room instead and I ended up with a den in my room for her. Her kittens spent about as much time in my room as they did in the little room.

Teya was from Mimi's second litter. So was Jac/Jaq. I wanted to keep all four of them but mam told me I could only keep one (same as bro) so I ended up keeping Teya because she was the one who really bonded to me.

And Teya... Well. Teya really was the most loving, most affectionate cat I'd ever had. She would greet me at the door more enthusiastically than the dogs. She would wait for me to come out the bathroom, sitting on the bannister and give me this specific meow that I can't forget but have no recording off so it's only audible in my memories. She would be grumpy when I'd leave for the week to uni (I came home every weekend because of her, literally, it was Teya I'd come back for) and would sulk for a little while until I'd give her cuddles and affection and she'd forgive me. She'd sleep in my bed with me, always between my legs or right against my head and chest. Even in the summer, that's where she'd be.

And when she died, I held her in my arms and gave her as much comfort as I could whilst she looked up at me. I was the last thing she saw and I wish I'd been able to save her, I wish I'd been able to fuckin teleport to the emergency vets. I wish so much.

Teya loved me from the moment she was aware of the world and I loved her the entire time and I hope that in her last moments, as horrid as they were, I was able to give her some comfort by being there for her. I was the first thing she saw in this world and I was also the last.

And throughout it all, every second was filled with love.

Anyone who says cats are heartless around me learns very quickly that cats aren't the problem, they are.

how can ppl say cats are heartless tbh

#Cat #Cats #Animals #Death mention #Pet death #Animal death #Well I'm now crying #Tasha is lying on me and I'm very fuckin glad she is #If she'd let me glom onto her the way I desperately wish to rn I'd be delighted #But she's a smol girl and is iffy about being contained #She lays her head on my arm however and that's close enough

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doomdaddytop · 2 days ago

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I LOVED ONE LAST TIME!!! can we please get a thanos fic where him and the reader take the pills together?

BATHROOM & PILLS

THANOS/SU-BONG X FEMALE READER

summary: you and thanos connect by taking a small detour to the bathroom when the lights are out. just innocent talking leads to something more and helps you relieve some stress.

WARNINGS: swearing, drugs, slight smut, thanos being himself.

A/N: sorry this took so long! i started writing this part offline and i kept disappearing, so i had to rewrite it so many times. i did my best. hope you all like it :)

it was hard to ignore su-bong. he was everywhere and anywhere. he stuck out easily in a crowd, purple hair and his tall frame already familiar to you. su-bong had some kind of superpower that always made you look for him in a room full of people. even before you were introduced to him, you would always spot him, unconsciously remembering where he was or what he was doing. su-bong had a charm that was hard to ignore in a room full of boring people.

it didn’t take long for su-bong to notice you either. he was immediately all over you, blabbing flirty comments your way. you knew what su-bong was clearly trying to do, but somehow you still fell for his irresistible charms. you tried to play it cool, giving him the cold shoulder or acting like you didn’t care, but at the end of the day, he was the only person you were thinking about.

things lead to another and that’s how you ended up stuck in bathroom stall with su-bong. at first, the two of you just talked, a normal conversation about life and a lot about his rapper career. it was easy to talk with su-bong, he always had something to say. the conversation flew, but the deep feeling of dread still remained in your stomach. you were stuck here, a place where you had to survive. if you didn’t, you would die.

you were scared, maybe even terrified.your eyes moved to the cross around his neck. you knew he had drugs in them, some heavy pills that worked almost immediately. you weren’t usually very interested in drugs, you stayed away from them. but now, they seemed so appealing. you wanted to get rid of this feeling, the emotions that wore you down. your anxiety would only make this whole thing worse. why would you pass an offer to get rid of it?

“can i have one?” you asked, not even specifying what you wanted. he knew immediately, hands moving down to the cross. he slid closer to you, opening up to necklace to show you the various colors of pills. your finger moved to reach for one, but su-bong moved the cross away from you.

“you sure? this shit is fucking crazy.” he expressed, emphasizing the part of it being crazy. you didn’t care how crazy it was, you needed something to ease your stress, the pain of emotions that were swirling through you. it was easy to see how nervous you were, hands shaking and flinches at sudden movements. su-bong could tell you were struggling, and that said a lot.you eyed the necklace for a moment, thinking over your choice. die with anxiety or die happy? the latter seemed like a better choice.

your eyes moved up to su-bong’s intense brown orbs, nodding your head. he didn’t react immediately, just stared into your eyes, almost like he was thinking deeply about something. he let out a huff as he was brought back to life, his normal enthusiasm shining in his eyes again. he shifted closer to you, opening and reaching the cross over to you.

some of the pills were different colors. blue, yellow and red. you tried to think which seemed the most appealing to you. it was clear they all had the same effect, but you wanted to pick a suitable one for yourself. the red ones screamed death to you, almost like a warning not to take them. the yellow reminded you of the sun or the hot beach sand that burned your feet in the summer. blue reminded you of the tracksuits you were wearing and the overall color of this place. then it had to be blue. this pill was going to guide you through the games, giving you enough of a boost to help you stay alive. hopefully.

you took the blue pill, popping it into your mouth. it didn’t have any specific taste as you chewed it, but the sensation of it in your mouth was definitely not very pleasant. soon the pill dissolved in your mouth, a layer of its contents still on your tongue. su-bong’s eyes stayed on you, gauging your reaction to the drug. you weren’t sure if he was worried or just interested, all that mattered to you was that he was here.

“how is it? you feel good?” he asked, curiosity evident in his voice. your body almost immediately relaxed, a sigh escaping your mouth. it felt better already. the stress you had experienced before was slowly easing into nothingness. your head fell to su-bong’s shoulder, hands moving around his arm. he felt so soft, so warm. he didn’t feel this soft before.

“you know, thanos is so stupid. i like your real name better. su-bong. su-bong. su-bong. su-bong…” you muttered out, body feeling completely limp against his. su-bong chuckled, wrapping an arm around your back. you heard the click of the cross opening, eyes moving to see what he was doing. su-bong picked up a blue pill too, quickly throwing it into his mouth.

after a moment in silence, su-bong shook his head, his alive eyes moving to see you. his leg started shaking, like he wanted to jump around the place. you on the other hand just felt fuzzy on the inside, a warm feeling flowing through your body. su-bong pushed himself up from the ground, pulling you with him. you didn’t complain, his hand was still around you. his head snapped over to you, eyes trailing your body. “can i show you how much your name means to me?”

su-bong turned his body towards you, his hands finding your hips. your eyes lazily moved over his body before up to his eyes. he hungrily stared back at you, fingers tightening around you. “fine. but don’t make too much noise.”

his hands instantly started roaming your body, lips crashing into you. your posture loosened as you felt his hand travel under your jacket and shirt, his rough calloused fingers rubbing against your skin. his touch felt so good and the drug he had given you before made you feel more relaxed than ever before. it was so hard not to give into su-bong. he was like a magnet, pulling you closer.

he crashed his lips onto yours again, hands firmly tied to your hips. his body was closer to you now, letting you feel him all the way. his body tried leaning closer to you, but that only ended up in you getting shoved against the bathroom stall’s door. su-bong wasn’t still pleased with the non-existent proximity between the two of you. he pushed himself even closer to you, his hips pinning you down on the door, his hard against you.

you swore you heard the bathroom door open, though that sound barely registered in your brain. your hands moved to su-bong’s hair, pulling his purple strikes up. moans escaped his mouth, the vibration of them against your lips making your knees grow weaker. su-bong craved getting closer to you, now rolling his hips against you. his hands frantically moved under your shirt, his silver rings already warm from the heat of your body.

suddenly, your body started to fall back, the stall’s door opening quickly. thankfully, su-bong’s held onto your body, still distracted by your lips. you slowly pushed su-bong’s face away from yours, his hungry lips still trying to get closer to you. as you leaned away from you, three pairs of eyes were staring at you and su-bong. player 120, player 149 and player 222 were all staring at the two of you. geum-ja immediately moved closer to you, starting to hit su-bong on the shoulder.

“is he bothering you? how did you get into the women’s bathroom?” she asked, first you in a sweet tone and then su-bong, raising her voice at him. she hit su-bong harder on his shoulder, making him let out small yelps. geum-ja pulled su-bong out of the stall by his ear, yelling at him about behaving himself. you just chuckled, too amused to stop her.

“it’s fine. we thought nobody was going to use the bathroom when the lights were out, so i helped him get in.” you smiled to the three of them, stepping out the stall, almost stumbling down from the effect of the drug. su-bong wrapped his arm around you, seeing how much you were struggling to properly move. geum-ja backed away from him, giving him one last glare before turning away from him.

jun-hee moved away from hyun-ju and geum-ja, walking into a different bathroom stall. the room was starting to spin. your body felt light and leaned against su-bong’s tall frame. his arms gripped your hips holding you steadily up. he looked down at you, his concerned brown eyes moving over your body. it was unusual to see him worried about something or someone. your eyes closed for a moment trying to regain your sense of balance and sight.

“you better get her back to bed before i pull those ears off your head!” geum-ja threatened, hitting su-bong’s shoulder again. he just waved her off, wrapping his arm around your back again. hyun-ju and geum-ja followed behind as su-bong guided you out to the bathroom door. your legs felt wobbly, almost like jello and you couldn’t help but wonder how su-bong was holding up so well. he must have taken these pills way more than you had initially thought.

“make sure she gets some sleep.” hyun-ju said, concern clearly evident in her voice. su-bong nodded at her before opening the door for you. you the women one last smile and stepped out of the bathroom. a guard was outside, eyeing you and su-bong. he just laughed at the guard as he helped you navigate through the place. you chuckled too, not knowing at what, but to you it was funny nonetheless.

#choi seunghyun #choi seunghyun x reader #squid game #thanos #bigbang #t.o.p #t.o.p x reader #thanos x reader #thanos x you

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starboye · 1 day ago

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throat goat

it was a silly dare, thats all, noah had dared you to give him a lap dance and you were all a little tipsy so you did it, noah sitting on the chair and you giving him the lap dance, hips rocking back and forth on his, your ass perched right on top of his growing bulge

while this was going on one of your friends were recording and posted it to their instagram which got the attention of vinnie, looking at the video in shock as noah gripped your hips and grinded you on him, he thought you were just over there having a good time but seems a couple drinks in and you're already acting a fool

and just before noah can really get going you decide that enough and get off to the dismay of him, and when vinnie showed up you were so excited, throwing yourself into hos arms before trying to make out with him in front of everybody, but he instead tales you to the bathroom

"what's this" he pushes the phone in your face, athe video of you giving noah a lap dance showing "it was just a stupid dare" you pull at the waistband of his pants "you really want me to fuck you here" he looks around at the place you're in, the pretty spacious but still bathroom

"if we be quiet no one would know" you kiss hik before dropping to your knees and bringing down his sweatpants, watching his thick cock flop out, but after a few pumps it was hard as a rock, slipping it in your warm mouth had vinnie struggling to keep quiet, gripping the edge of the sink tightly

"fuck yeah just like that" he groans tilting his head back, his hand making its way through your hair to shove you down on his length, making you gag and choke before he pulled you back to let you breathe, but that was short lived as he just went back to fuckung your throat "mhm take that dick baby, damn" he coos jerking his hips forward before emptying his load in your mouth

just as you pull off his cock noah barges in, reminding both you and vinnie you forgot to lock the door "oh shit im so sorry bro" noah almost closed the door byt after seeing you on your knees he was hard again "why dont we help him out hm" vinnie looks down at you nodding and he pulls noah in

"dont be shy, he loves it" vin turns you around too unzip noahs pants, his thick hard cock falling out and you immediately slurping it up, licking every inch of his dick while he moans out hut vinnie shuts him up with a little making out, the sight was just to sexy not to love

noah and vinnie making out while you deepthroat noah cock, fondling his balls and flicking your tongue on his tip "you gonna cum" vinnie asks pulling back from the kiss "mhm" noah whines, vinnie pushes your head onto noah cock harder, making sure you get down every single tasty inch of his meat

once his tip hit the back of your throat there was no stopping noah from flooding you throat with his thick warm load "fuck thats was so good" you rest your head on vinnies thigh before he pulls you up to kiss and lick the extra load off your mouth "and how do we thank our friend" vinnie asks you and you lean in to make out with noah a little "thanks noah" you coo

xoxo, starboye💋

taglist: @mailmango @boypied @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat @addictedtomalepits @staarb0y @crispysoup318 @its-ares @gargoylesworld09 @znerac @r0mcom-8ngel @bbibbiiu @tqrgaryenfilms

#vinnie hacker #noah beck #x male reader #x male y/n #x male #gay #male reader #gay smut #x male smut #bottom male reader #noah beck x reader #noah beck x male reader #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie hacker x male reader #vinnie hacker smut #noah beck smut

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mockingradfems · 3 days ago

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TBH no one gives a shit if you like rereading the old books you already own or looking up fanfic or whatever the important thing is you aren't still buying Harry Potter merch.

If you aren't doing anything to increase her wealth one of the works you like has a bigot for a author whatever. Like it happens sadly more often than you think.

If however you are buying merch playing the new game going to hp world you are contributing to what she's doing with the money. Aka donating to groups to spread transphobia. That's the big deal.

That's the real moral failing. Who gives a shit if you like Harry Potter if you aren't making her richer.

I mean if you like man fuck Harry Potter I feel that.

But if you're like man I used to love this series I'm not buying that shit anymore but why'd she have to be a bigot what it say about me that I loved it?

And it doesn't have to be a negative thing. What you take away from a book series what you find meaning in is independent from authorial intent

In fact if you had passion for it don't dismiss it. You can take that inspo really think though what you like and disliked about the series and then find other works using your reflections or even better create better works. Who knows maybe one day it will take over the mantle of cultural significance Harry Potter has gotten over the last few decades.

You can't hope to only be influenced by unproblematic things because the world is flawed but you can still take inspiration from what's around you and make it better.

Just don't give her any more money. Also remember that to do that you can't just talk to people online.

You can see people who spend a lot of time online critiqueing rowling. But you know whose not chronically online? The 80 year old who went to see Harry Potter 20 years ago with her grandkids did she read Rowlings Twitter melt down? Maybe not. Does she keep up with Harry Potter news? Probably not. But in the future if she has to go to a kids birthday party she may get them the Harry Potter Lego set. She might have HBO she might watch the new series to be nostalgic.

I think the general public who may be less online is forgotten when thinking about who buys Harry Potter stuff. And that's kinda what results in Rowling still getting more rich too. So like maybe explain to the people like that in your life why they should avoid buying Harry potter now.

Maybe one day we can have the debate of should we discuss Harry Potter be a "fan of it" if we aren't buying shit. But Rowling who fell off the billionaire list has been put back on it from HP related sales alone.

Its not a spreading of a idea issue right now its a money issue.

IMO focusing your irritation at people who don't buy the merch is silly.

You are morally bankrupt if you just look up fanart too

On the same level as people who buy the merch?

If you threw out your Harry Potter merch cuz you can't stand to look at it anymore I get it.

But if you trying to be helpful it's not actually doing anything. Moneys already been given to her save yourself money keep the extra coat or scarf or mug.

Because this isn't about whose more moral. We are way past that it's about not crowdfunding a billionaires hate that she's for some reason decided to pursue as a hobby.

You don't need billions to live ritzy life

If you guys stop buying hp stuff today you save like 80 million a year for the next 30 years being donated to fund transphobia. And fandom is free if no one is buying new things for a IP new projects won't be greenlit

This HP show isn't being made because tiktok made marauders edit its because enough people bought hogwarts legacy.

And I promise when they new things aren't being made Harry Potter will fade from being this prominent. The past can't be rewritten but old things don't always stay popular. Would star wars continue to be as popular as it is without the sequel series and TV show existing?

What if no one ever adapted lotr into anything after Rankin Bass

Hell what if no one ever made any lotr related media since the Peter Jackson trilogy. Even though it was Incredible would it be very widely discussed anymore? Sure things inspired by it would exist but that's not the same.

And when it gets to that level of cultural irrelevance even if it's still considered good it really won't matter if you like it or not.

it's a moral failing to still be a harry potter fan

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litsenn · 3 days ago

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Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about how Astarion would handle such new things as tenderness and care.

(Also sorry, since I'm exploring EA, I deleted all my previous playthroughs and can't make new screenshots to illustrate this post; So I'll use old screenshots/gifs + the datamined dialogues)

It’s clear to me that in act 1 and for most of act 2, it’s not part of who he is.

He doesn’t even pretend to care for anyone, except for himself. Yet, there are only a very few instances which indicate that something is moving inside him and that there is a growing sense of concern and eventually affection (for you and your companions). The first that comes to mind is when you refuse to sleep with him the second times he asks.

Or when you learn about Mystra asking Gale to sacrifice himself; Astarion seems to genuinely care, even though he immediately deflates it with irony.

(the last one is from Origin Gale)

Or even in the creche, if you use the zaith'isk.

There are probably a few other instances showing that he begins to care about you and your companions, but he’s still his own prioprity and you can’t really blame him for that; It actually makes a lot of sense, since we all know that no one had ever cared about him before.

Besides when he dared to care about someone else (the sweet boy he tried to save from Cazador, for instance), he was terribly punished for it.

So yes, in Act 1, he doesn’t want to be a hero, and he won't sacrifice himself for others. And he seems to associate being kind and showing sympathy as a form of danger/weakness. His bias make him believe that being kind would probably make him look "too precious", a vulnerability which was mocked/punished by Cazador and probably his siblings (I talked about it at the beginning of this post)

And what’s interesting is that the selfless, uncaring aspects of his personality already coexist with a genuine will to connect with people; He’s not pushing you or your companions away (unless you treat him like shit, of course) – he shows interest in you, in them, but he doesn’t want to get too much involved. Which again, makes perfect sense to me. He's self-centred but he doesn’t want to be alone, he reaches out, but he doesn’t want to get too close either, because

that would be too dangerous (trust issues included)

2. he wants to remain in control of you, of his own feelings

3. he doesn’t really expect anything from anyone.

Astarion doesn’t pretend to be selfless, and he doesn’t pretend to be caring. He’s used to violence and he himself is rough around the edges because of the violent environment in which he’s been evolving for so long. Which can make him difficult to like when you meet him for the first time. He's not gentle. And I like it, it's very good writing, spitting in the face of the 'perfect victim trope'.

Gentleness and tenderness are alien concepts to Astarion. Even if we consider the few gentle target-lovers - like Sebastian - he might have met during those 200 years, I don’t think that would be enough for him to give into gentle love-making.

Dissociation is easier, with mechanical responses to his 'lovers' - be they violent or not, especially since he knew they were doomed anyway. And if most of them were rascals so, better get used to violence and reproduce it to better protect himself.

I can’t imagine the first nights with Astarion in act 1 being particularly tender, and if they were, I’d tend to imagine that Astarion was performing. After all, there’s no cuddle in the morning, he won’t give into that kind of gentleness because he associates it to 'vulnerability', and it makes sense.

I can imagine a few cuddling nights in act 2, but I think it would be quite exceptional, and would never last long if only because Astarion isn’t used to that kind of intimacy and might quickly feel quite uncomfortable with it.

Still, it could happen. And he probably starts to enjoy it at this point. But he needs time. He needs more assurance.

As for support and care, he's capable of it in Act 2 - it shows in the Durge scene for instance, when he explicitly says "you will get through it. I'll be there to make sure you do."

On the other hand, he's still his old harsh self too in Act 2, sometimes cruel, accepting the darkest choices the PC can make.

Also, the way he talks to you if you don’t get the confession scene by the beginning of act 3 is revealing in terms of how harsh he can be even with people he trust(ed).

But with the confession scene, something entirely new and genuinely softer emerges, not just in his words, but also in his body language; the way he holds your hand is most explicit.

But if you choose the hug, it's even clearer.

Obviously, this episode doesn’t instantly change him and turn him into the sweetest partner ever. His kisses are gentle yes, but it's no peak of tenderness. Not only because he’s not ready for being 100% soft and vulnerable, but also because he doesn’t know how to. Tenderness is uncharted territory, and intimacy is way too appalling for him to give into that kind of open fondness (yet).

Things begin to change a little in act 3, but again, it takes time. He's capable of showing care, support and affection. He can be vulnerable with you when you show your trust. He wants to be there for you, to be real with you.

...but that's not the main aspect of his personality. He hasn't completely changed overnight.

After the meeting with Petras and Dal he returns to his old patterns of manipulation and pretended indifference. I says "pretended" because it's easier for him to think he doesn't care - it's coping mechanism. One could even say that he's gaslighting himself into believing that he doesn't give a fuck about his siblings as long as he can ensure his own safety.

Desperate situations call for drastic remedies, right? But is it what he really wants? (I'm not saying that he secretly adore his siblings, but I still believe that he's capable of feeling some empathy for them - he feels 'pity' for them, and it's made clearer later.)

His issues with his siblings is that it reminds too much of who he used to be, and the risks of being like them again:; controlled by Cazador. So he plays indifference and bitterness, to keep all those feelings away.

Likewise, when the spawns attack your camp, he’s distant again – a defence mechanism triggered by the presence of his siblings.

(My two cents on this line here)

And yet, we can already see a few changes in his behaviour after you reached Baldur's Gate; he's much more prompt to openly show genuine concern and support to you, when you consider taking Araj’s potion, for instance.

Or the way he worries about you if you accept Haarlep’s deal:

But that's because it's you. And in spite of this, the selfish and cruel parts of him still exist, because it's his personality and that won't disappear. Funny what he says here of you have low approval by the way:

If you're not close friends, he doesn't actually care, but still warns you. Interesting.

Anyway, if you're his partner, he can explicitly show in public how much he cares about you. And to a lesser extent, he also cares about your companions, especially when he can relate to what happens to them.

The first signs of a growing empathy for others. It's not just about himself anymore.

As for tenderness, it’s also growing little by little. First, through words...

...but probably in gestures too. Of course, this point relies on headcanons because the game doesn’t give us much before the graveyard scene. But I tend to believe that Astarion is progressively learning tenderness (in private settings) throughout the third act. I like to imagine both my Durge and Astarion learning about gentle gestures together; holding hands, a kiss that lasts a little longer than usual, a look that leads to a quiet hug, restinig in each other’s arms, etc.

Just like in Act 2, I don’t think they would cuddle every night. I believe that kind of intimacy would progressively take place in their relationship. But before Cazador’s death, I can’t imagine them being constantly et overly tender together (but that's a headcanon).

Now the graveyard scene marks a shift. Again, he’s not overly sweet or dripping with tenderness during the discussion. He’s tranquil. He’s at peace. He doesn’t need to perform any grand declaration. But the gentle way he takes your hands, the way he tells you he wants you, he loves you.... The gentle lovemaking. All of this seems to indicate a slow shift; he’s still learning, still discovering affection and gentleness, it's a reappropriation of his own intimacy, and he can do it freely now that Cazador is gone.

Baby steps.

Of course, even then, it’s not always easy to express that soft side in public – it’s all so new, there still must be a part of him that feels quite vulnerable about it. So he jokes, it's easier, safer.

And yet, he can do it, he can publicly show his attraction and love for his partner.

And he can even admit how good it feels to love and be loved - but again, he can't help jesting a little, just to look less vulnerable.

It takes time to get used to it, to learn how to enjoy gentleness and care, to learn how to show gentleness and care. It can be terrifying, destabilizing, and confusing. But I want to believe that Astarion and his partner will find their own love language through gestures and words. Maybe there will always be some kind of reserve in public, understandably. But by the epilogue, with that sweet hug, it's clear that he’s comfortable showing genuine affection in public.

And in the epilogue he feels bad for your companions who aren’t as free as you are, even if he doesn’t feel like talking to them.

Likewise, he’s genuinely happy for them and for the both of you if everything turned out well for everyone.

I could mention many other instances from the non-romanced epilogue that show how much Radiant Astarion cares about the companions.

And yet, as he says himself, darkness is part of him, and violence is still part of his life. He has not become an innocent puppy, he can still be cruel and violent, and he enjoys it.

And I tend to believe that Astarion is not the romantic type like Wyll or Gale, and that his demonstration of love and affection remain quite simple, quiet, even more meaningful in their temperance. Radiant Astarion, although capable of gentleness, remains someone who can also be harsh, with sharp remarks, sometimes hiding his vulnerabilities behind blunt irony. He has discarded the mask of the suave and charming lover and allowed himself to be true to his own personality, and I don't think the latter is the romantic, super kind type. I like my radiant Astarion caustic, sly and feral, while still being able to love and be loved by the few persons he trusts.

And that’s what I love about this character! The nuances, the subtleties of his narrative arc and of his personality, the way he learns and discovers himself and the gentle beauty of genuine love and affection without becoming an entirely different person. Even if he learns to care about others, he will still choose his own safety and sanity over others, he will not sacrifice himself. He's not that kind of hero.

But if you tell him how much he means to you, how much you care, he will support you and show his love and trust in you.

Of course, healing isn’t linear. There will be days during which being empathetic and caring and gentle might seem impossible to him. Some days he might be distant, and maybe even harsh. And it’s normal, not just because he’s healing but also because there is something selfish and violent in him. That’s the darkness which is part of him and which he has accepted.

And I think the game manages to show it pretty well in act 3 – this nuanced and ambivalent mindset, between his affection for his partner or his friends, his genuine will to be tender and vulnerable with the person he loves, and the darkness, the violence, which are parts of his temperament.

This ambivalence is precisely why I love him so much. The unpredictability of his reactions, and the fragility of the healing process, but also, mostly, the way Radiant Astarion is at peace with his own ambivalence.

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