#but it is my favorite out of all of them (for its place and its content; i'm particularly happy with this one) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zepskies · 1 day ago

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Okaaaay, time to dive back into one of my favorite series! 💛💛

Soldier Boy. Each memory that had come to you in the dead of night felt like a warning. A warning to watch out. A warning to keep your guard up. A warning to see the monster underneath the charming disguise. The gentle smile, the quiet manners, the warmth of his voice – it was all a façade. A beautiful, well-crafted mask. His kindness was a lie, and the nightmares were proof.

Oof, this is so scary but ingenious narratively. It's like her powers are coming back online subconsciously, giving her the Ghost of Christmas past, present, and future all in one. 😬 But the fact that it's all tied to Soldier Boy/Ben is really interesting as far as what her heart and powers may be trying to tell her...

And also the fact that she's seeing all the worst bits of Soldier Boy's life and his actions makes it that much more powerful that she falls in love with Ben anyway (the young version of him at least), and makes you hold out hope for the future version of him, if he can be redeemed. 🥲

You had to get the fuck out of here, or the mansion would become your goddamn tomb. Museum to mausoleum.

Again, freakin' loved this bit! 😭

You couldn’t escape. You couldn’t let him see. You had to play your part. You had to survive.

Your gaze dropped to his hands, large and mighty – the same hands that would be covered in so much blood in the future you weren’t sure he could ever wash it off.

See, the blood part should stop me, but now you have me thinking about his "large and mighty" hands 🤤

As you neared the steel mill, large clouds of black smoke billowed high into the sky. The ground around the factory was covered in soot and ash. In the distance, you could hear the whistling of trains, passing on the railroad tracks close by. The grit and grime of industrialism. [...] The only thing that came close to describing a place like this was Hell.

lol I still love this description so much! Really makes me feel like I'm there, inhaling smoke *cough cough* 😮‍💨

“Ben,” was all you said – a mindful warning. He lifted his hand but didn’t retrieve it to its entirety – hovering. Looming. “I’m just looking out for you. This place is a little dangerous for a woman. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt, sweetheart.” “I’m fine,” you replied with a firm tone. “I’ll stay close.”

Aww I feel for both of them in moments like these. He's just trying to be a gentleman and watch out for her, but she's basically traumatized by his future self. 😭

The office stood in stark contrast to the steel mill itself and reminded you of a miniature version of the mansion’s study – a massive and antique mahogany desk taking over the entire space, leather chairs, and blueprints and photographs of the mill in its prime on the walls around you.

Aside from this lovely description of the office, I always love a mention of a mahogany desk. I feel like there's something they can (eventually) do to break that in 😏

“Yeah, uh, my father wants to get the government contract, but our competitors are making it tough,” Ben said.

Oooh something tells me he's going to get that government contract 🫢

“Alright, what’s the formula for profit?” you shot right back. Expectedly, Ben blinked at you quite cluelessly. “Can you do a production function?” Again, silence. “Do you know what marginal costs are? Economies of scale? The law of diminishing returns?” “Of course I know what it is,” he huffed with an arrogant role of his eyes.

ahahaa of course you do, sweetie. Real convincing 😆😆

Again, I love how you illustrate her intelligence in this chapter! From physics to economics to finance, this girl's a triple-quadruple threat of brilliance in a "man's world," but at least Ben begrudgingly admires her for it lol

Exhibit A:

And Ben? Ben just took it. Resigned. Knew he couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t do anything. Knew he needed you. Knew you held all the cards. Knew you had the leverage. And he? Well, he had nothing. Not really.

You loved teaching. This was what you were supposed to do: Teaching physics classes as a professor to college kids, who were not only smart enough to understand you but also deserved to learn.

Also again, I so love that she's a teacher!! 😍

Though I felt so sorry for Charlie in this chapter, the way Ben was so condescending and mean in his jealousy. 😭 Though this scene really highlights that this young Ben isn't just an "AU Dean," how he's sometimes characterized in fics in the '40s. He's not quite so good-hearted at his core and has had a lot of negative influence on his character by his father.

“I guess…” He contemplated for a moment, thought about his answer carefully. “For reminding you of him. Especially today.” You nodded, gifting him a small smile that he returned. “Thank you for helping me, you know? Was real nice of you. Even when you’ve been kind of a… dick about it.” He tossed you a small grin at the four-letter-word. You snorted a loud chuckle, your cheeks turning red. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I pretended all day I had a dick.” Ben’s grin widened, sharing your laugh. “Oh, I could feel that.” “Bet you did. It’s real big.” Your smirk was downright audacious. So much so, you could see his cheeks blushing.

LMFAO. I love her so much. 🤣🤣 But I'm so glad he apologized here. Just like the previous part of the scene highlighted how we potentially get from here to Soldier Boy, this showed the difference between who he is now and who he'll become. He's still capable of self-reflection, sympathy, caring, and a genuine apology. 💚

Maybe you should’ve listened to Butcher. Soldier Boy would probably forgive you for a simple attempt on his goddamn life before he’d fucking forgive you for this. Killing him seemed kinder in comparison. Nicer. Less fucking crazy.

hahaha reminds me of SB's quip for her to go ahead and try to kill him. 😂

“Tell me one thing,” you said, interrupting the comfortable silence between you two. “What would make you happy? I mean really happy. Forget about all the money and your father and everything else. What’s your happy place?”

Awww I love that she asks him this. 🥹 Though I have a feeling that he asks for hers first because he doesn't know his own answer just yet.

“I guess… Paris. I’d wanna live in Paris. Go roller skating in the Louvre at night. Boop Mona Lisa’s nose.”

ehehe I love this too! She's so cute here 😂 I hope she eventually gets to do this with Ben in the present/future, if/when they're able to make their relationship work by then 😬

“I guess I just found mine,” he said, the raspy voice only a quiet whisper.

God, I just can't stay mad at this guy 😭😭

“Ben, I–” You swallowed heavily, shaking your head. Looking at him would’ve only broken your resolve. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

nonononononoooooo!!! (But I understand her hesitation 😢)

But you were. You were fucking sorry. This should’ve never happened. This line should’ve never been crossed. You took it too fucking far. Not because you didn’t like him or shouldn’t like him, but because you fucking did. You did, you did, you did…

Oh Godddd you're giving me BMD flashbacks lolll. The reader there has a similar moment of "I should hate you so much but I don't [anymore]." 😭😭

“What happened to ‘Ben, I can’t’? You know, if you start begging, it’s gonna do even less to stop me, sweetheart,” he taunted you with a deep chuckle that you felt rumbling through his chest. “Ben, I’m serious…” “So am I.” He claimed your lips before you could argue further. Without hesitation. Without a second thought. Without regrets. He kissed you deeply. Not a brush. Not a test. Not a question. Only raw hunger.

Just amazing, Wayne!! My rom-com heart was singing 😍😍😍

I loved this entire scene so much! She so desperately doesn't want to give in, and you really feel that rawness from both of them, how much they want each other despite the fact that he still doesn't understand her, and she can't let him. But it really does feel like she's slipping past the point of no return now 😏

But I'm so glad he backed off immediately when she made a firm "no." Her warning is soooo valid, and the "What if you stayed?" is gonna haunt both of them, if in different ways and different times and places. 💔💔

But! I'm now even more excited (and scared 🥲) to see how you time warp her back into the future and deal with present-day Ben, and his dastardly plan...

Time After Time – Chapter 5

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

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language and canon-level violence, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, angst, sexism, smoking & drinking, jealousy, fluff, a steamy end

Word Count: 10.3k

Posted on Patreon March 28, 2025

A/N: Another monster of a chapter, but I love this one haha! Probably one of the steamiest first kisses I've ever written 🫠 PS: I'm still a little slow with everything. April sunk its teeth in me and refuses to let go 🙈 ✨ Chapter title comes from Casablanca (1942)

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Chapter 5: We'll Always Have Paris

Your eyes snapped open, your entire body jolting awake as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on you. A violent gasp escaped your lips, your skin clammy, slick and sweat-drenched from head to curling toes.

Your pulse was a frantic beat in your throat, your heart thundering in your chest as your mind scrambled to catch up with the nightmare that still clawed at the edges of your consciousness.

The images were still all there – sharp and clear.

The hellish scenes of bloodshed – the brutality, the faces twisted in terror, the screams – felt like memories, raw and unrelenting. But they weren’t yours.

The bloodied and broken faces you’d witnessed were fragments, scattered pieces of time, fleeting and sharp. And they all had one thing in common:

Soldier Boy.

Each memory that had come to you in the dead of night felt like a warning. A warning to watch out. A warning to keep your guard up. A warning to see the monster underneath the charming disguise. The gentle smile, the quiet manners, the warmth of his voice – it was all a façade. A beautiful, well-crafted mask.

His kindness was a lie, and the nightmares were proof.

You flinched when the memory of Black Noir resurfaced in your mind. You couldn’t shake the images – the bones snapping with sickening cracks, the jagged screams, Soldier Boy’s cold and empty laughter. You could still hear the sizzling flesh and smell the melting skin when Soldier Boy burned half of Noir’s face off. The spray of blood and brain was so vivid, so hot, it blurred your vision. You felt the warmth of the blood on your skin as if it were your own two hands that had done the deed.

Then, there was Mindstorm and the sound of a skull cracking open as the shield hammered down – so sickeningly loud, it echoed in your bones. Soldier Boy’s body loomed like a shadow over the twisted limbs, no remorse or pity in his serpent green eyes, only cold, unyielding emptiness, stripped of all warmth and always waiting to strike anyone who dared to meet them.

And his proclaimed enemies weren’t the only ones. Men, women, children. The atrocities, the cruelty – acts too vile to speak of. And Soldier Boy didn’t care one bit about any of them, cold and impassive like it was just another casual affair.

It was always the same. He never hesitated.

The memories clung to you like chains. You were drowning in them. It was a kaleidoscope of horror that wove together a clear picture of the monster underneath the charm.

With shaking hands, you pushed your trembling body upright, gripping the bed like it was the only thing tethering you to reality. You had to remind yourself that it wasn’t you. Those weren’t your crimes, even though they felt like it, the nightmarish memories warping your perception.

How many had there been? How many more would there be?

Your gaze flicked to the door, your hair matted to your forehead. Dread filled the hollows of your heart at the thought of going downstairs. You couldn’t face him – not after everything you’d seen.

You had to get the fuck out of here, or the mansion would become your goddamn tomb.

Museum to mausoleum.

But what choice did you have? You’d already spent a week here and weren’t any closer to getting home. Instead, you’d gotten only closer to the enemy.

You couldn’t escape. You couldn’t let him see. You had to play your part. You had to survive.

On weak legs, you stumbled out of bed, washed the remnants of your dreams off your skin, and forced your feet to move downstairs.

Florence sent you straight to the sunroom to grab some coffee, not entertaining any other breakfast ideas of yours this morning. But you weren’t hungry anyways, your stomach still twisting into knots. The terror was seared into your mind.

“Hey.”

“Jesus fuck!” You flinched at the sound of his voice behind you, almost dropping the cup of brewing hot coffee in your grasp to the shining marble underneath your feet.

Ben chuckled warmly. “Well, good morning to you, too, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, trying to clear the haunting images from your mind. “Morning,” you muttered into your mug and swallowed a big gulp of coffee.

Ben’s brow knit, head tilting when he finally noticed the tension in your muscles. “You okay? You look-, uhm–” His hand reached for your shoulder in worry, but you pulled it back, bringing distance between you two.

“What happened to the no-touching rule?”

His hand dropped to his side, frown deepening. “Oh, uhm, I assumed we were past that since you–“

“Well, you know they say you shouldn’t assume things,” you cut in sharply.

“Did I-, uhm, do something to offend you?”

You scoffed internally. What didn’t he do?!

You glanced at Ben, seeing the confusion etched into the stern creases of his brow. Your gaze dropped to his hands, large and mighty – the same hands that would be covered in so much blood in the future you weren’t sure he could ever wash it off.

You still felt the sticky, scarlet wetness on yours. Could see the fear in their eyes. His victims.

“No, uhm, I’m fine,” you said, knowing you couldn’t blame the guy in front of you for something he hadn’t done yet. It didn’t mean you had to like him a lot, though, either. “It’s not you. Just didn’t sleep well. Bad dreams.”

“Plural, huh?”

“Yeah, plural,” you confirmed grimly. “Look, uhm, I think I’ll just go back upstairs. Not really hungry this morning.”

“Right…” Ben nodded and watched you head for the safety of your room. “Look, uhm, wait! Cindy?”

Right, that was you. Honestly, if you’d thought you’d be stuck here with him for this long, you would’ve thought of a better name.

Ben caught up with you in the hallway, and you could see in the determined gleam in his green eyes that he wouldn’t let this go – let you go. Of course. Why would he respect boundaries or personal space?

You didn’t say anything, only turned to face him and stared at him without trying to blink.

“I-, uh, I have to go into the office again today. Why don’t you come with me, huh?” he suggested. “You’ve already spent a week locked in here. Maybe you’re going a little stir-crazy.”

“Maybe,” you admitted. He honestly might have been onto something.

“I could show you around the factory. We could have lunch in town together after?”

Pondering his proposal, you crossed your arms and averted your eyes to your seesawing feet. You knew you couldn’t get plausibly out of this one without either offending him, causing more confusion, or making him question your entire existence even more.

“Sure,” you agreed after a beat. Maybe you’d find another kind stranger in town that you didn’t personally know in the future who could help you.

Maybe Hitler still had some space in his bunker for you.

“Okay, uhm, I’ll wait here for you while you get ready,” Ben told you.

“Great,” you replied wryly and headed for your room.

“Maybe opt for appropriate footwear today, sweetheart,” Ben joked – at least it was the attempt of one.

“Yeah, whatever you want,” came your deflated reply, accompanied by a deep sigh.

But you didn’t know Ben’s eyes stayed on you, on the way his shirt clung to your curves as you trudged up the stairs. You were still wearing it to sleep, had been the whole week, even when he was sure Ms. Vivian had given you plenty of other options.

And one thought stuck with him then: Maybe not all hope was lost.

The grit and grime of industrialism.

The air was thick with metal, oil, harmful fumes and chemicals as Ben led you inside the mill. PPE wasn’t a thing yet either, no masks or other protective gear for workers in place – unless you counted the leather gloves, hard hats, and steel-toed boots as an adequate safety measure against cancer.

The noise was deafening with the constant hammering of clanking steel and workmen shouting over the rumbling of enormous and intimidating machinery. The temperature on the factory floor was sweltering, especially when you passed a row of blast furnaces and molten steel pouring into molds.

The only thing that came close to describing a place like this was Hell.

And sure, a true and proper lady of the time would’ve been scared shitless here, but for you, a physicist and history buff, it was enthralling.

If the mansion was like the Museum of Natural History, the steel mill was its technical counterpart.

You’d been so in awe you hadn’t even noticed Ben had laid a palm between your shoulder blades, guiding you through the narrow paths. His protectiveness made your skin crawl.

“I will put you in the fucking ground. Understood?”

Soldier Boy’s threat to Black Noir rang in your ears. You stopped in your tracks, forcing him to find your eyes, and then gestured to the arm around you.

“Ben,” was all you said – a mindful warning.

He lifted his hand but didn’t retrieve it to its entirety – hovering. Looming. “I’m just looking out for you. This place is a little dangerous for a woman. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine,” you replied with a firm tone. “I’ll stay close.”

Ben accepted it with a nod, although you could tell by the clench of his jaw that he didn’t like it. You didn’t know exactly why he brought you here. Did he really just want you to get out of the house, impress you some more, or subtly scare you?

Frankly, you weren’t surprised you were channeling Black Noir’s memories, most of all. Being Soldier Boy’s newest victim of long-term abuse, you’d always related to the poor guy.

“You know how steel is made?” Ben asked you and flashed you a smile, cocky in nature.

Impressing you it was, then.

“Iron ore is molten in a blast furnace, which is then refined and poured into molds or rolled into sheets in the rolling mills,” you replied and tried to sound as casual as possible. Bored.

Good luck impressing me, fuckboi…

Ben blinked at you and shut up rather quickly afterward, ending the tour when you reached his father’s office upstairs, still offering a view of the factory floor below through a row of windows on one side.

The room was a another symbol of authority and influence.

“So? What d’you think? Ever seen a place like this?” Ben asked as he sat down at his desk – or his father’s – while your eyes still curiously took in all the items in the room, trying to fit puzzle pieces together.

“Can’t say that I have,” you admitted, your gaze drifting out the window and to the hard working men below.

Before Ben could respond, the phone rang and demanded his attention. It didn’t take long for you to realize that on the other end of the line was his father.

“Look, I’m trying. They said–… Yes, sir. I apologize. I know it’s important. I–… Okay, yeah, I’ll try my best,” Ben said, barely getting a word in as far as you could tell.

The gritted smile he pressed onto his lips was painful enough for you to guess that his father’s answer had probably been something along the lines of “Your best isn’t fucking good enough, son.”

“Everything okay?” you checked when he hung up with a deflated sigh.

“Yeah, uh… Sorry you had to hear that,” he said with a clear of his throat and a smile that faltered before it reached his eyes.

“You guys need to increase production for the war, right?”

Your question took Ben by surprise, but mostly because he was constantly underestimating you – or any woman for that matter.

“Yeah, uh, my father wants to get the government contract, but our competitors are making it tough,” Ben said.

“What’s the problem?”

“Oh, I don’t want to bore you, sweetheart,” he brushed your question off with a condescending chuckle.

Internally, you cracked your knuckles. Nuh-uh. You wouldn’t let that fly.

“You’re not,” you replied, strolling closer to his desk, pointing a finger at the opened ledger in front of him. “Are those the production records? Can I see?”

“You can, but I don’t think you’ll be able to make much sense of them,” Ben said.

“Try me,” you challenged with a smirk and plopped down on the leather armchair opposite him.

Ben clicked his tongue, fingers briefly tapping on the mahogany before he passed the leather-bound ledger over to you. You felt his eyes burning holes into you as he watched you carefully go through it, page by page.

“Well,” you finally said after an eternity and put the ledger back down on the desk. “Short-term solution would be to optimize your production flow downstairs with a few simple adjustments – like rotating their shifts, upgrading machinery... Long-term, you’re facing increasing costs in both labor and raw materials, especially with upping production output. You should move quickly on capital. The war’s only gonna drive up inflation.”

Ben pursed his lips, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I-, uh, I’d already thought about all of that. Wasn’t sure it’d pay off, though.”

Your brow furrowed, somehow not quite believing him. “Well, did you calculate it?”

“Did you?”

“Yeah, just now… in my head.” You gave him a shrug of your shoulders.

“Right…” Ben nodded with a swipe of his tongue over his lips. “Well, so have I. Why don’t you show me on the chalkboard over there, and I can see if your results match mine, sweetheart.”

Your lips drew a smirk, folding your arms over your chest. “Did that little trick actually work for you in school?”

“No idea what you mean,” he tossed your way, smile full of false halos.

“Of course I know what it is,” he huffed with an arrogant role of his eyes.

“Really? What is it?” you returned wryly, causing him to stump and swallow. “‘Cause I don’t know myself. Would probably help if a man explained it to silly little me. Go on. Impress me. That’s what you want, right?”

Ben smacked his lips in clear defeat. “Fine, you win.”

“Alright,” you said and rose from your chair in triumph, strolling over to a chalkboard in the corner of the room. “Let’s start with the basics, shall we?”

Two hours in, you had kicked off your uncomfortable heels across the room. They flung right past Ben’s head in his palm, elbow resting on the arm of one of the leather chairs. He’d turned it to you as he lazily sat, bowed legs man-spread wide, watching the equations you’d drawn on the board.

But you didn’t know the jade green eyes were mostly fixed on the curve of your ass in that tight, maroon dress. On the zipper in the back of your neck he wanted to pull. On the hem of your skirt his fingers itched to hike up your thighs.

Only when you’d turn to face him every few minutes, would his gaze lift back to your drawings, your nonsensical scribbles, your sparkling eyes, pretending he wasn’t entirely distracted. Pretending he understood.

You could tell he didn’t entirely, though. But it didn’t matter.

“If you implement these changes, you could increase output by 36%, which is enough of the market share to beat out your competitors,” you explained. “You’re looking at an additional profit of roughly 3.5 million.”

“Hmm,” Ben hummed, satisfied. “Not bad for a year.”

“Oh, no, this is per month.”

“Per month?!”

“Yes, per month.” You grinned, smug and victorious, having him right where you wanted him – a ‘fuck you’ to the patriarchy. “Guess we’re even for the clothes, then.”

His tongue swept over his lips, eyes narrowed, head tilting a little more as he watched you closely. A smile rose. Intrigued. Amused. Maybe even a little affectionate.

“Guess we are, sweetheart.”

And you? Your little win made you fucking gloat – and spurred you on.

The two of you had one thing in common – a shared need not only to impress anyone who ever dared to wrong you, but to show you were better than them. Smarter. Capable.

Your parents had constantly underestimated you. Your teachers had. Vought had. Butcher had. And Soldier Boy had, too.

But when you’d hit, they’d never see it fucking coming.

You weren’t scared of Ben. Weren’t scared of this world or this time. Weren’t even scared of his father, because you knew, if push came to shove, you could get out. You could beat them. You could make them fear you.

In your own time, you were a supe among many. Here, right now, you were the only one.

Knowledge was fucking power, no matter what shape it came in.

“How old are those furnaces? They don’t seem very energy-efficient,” you noted, sauntering over to the row of windows, watching the men work down below on the factory floor.

They were hardened and worn. Their skin was dirtied with soot. Sweat beaded along their foreheads in rivulets under their hard hats and dripped down their cheeks and necks. Their muscles were strained with each hit of a hammer and each heave of a steel beam.

Those guys were, what Soldier Boy had coined, real men.

And you respected them for it. Unlike the spoiled brat behind you, who’d only scoffed in amusement and said, “Are you kidding?” when you’d asked him if he had ever worked on the factory floor before.

“Well, they’re not the newest, but they work fine,” Ben replied, scratching the nape of his neck.

“Well, you don’t have to get new ones, but you can upgrade them,” you remarked. “Your cooling off period is too long. If you better insulate the furnaces, they can retain heat longer. Might also wanna make sure ventilation and airflow is sufficient. This way, you can reduce downtime and produce more. Faster, too.”

“And how would I do that?”

Smacking your lips, you contemplated for a moment. You could explain it to him, but you knew he wouldn’t understand it. “You got a head engineer here?” Slowly, unsurely, doubtfully, he nodded. “Great. Can you get him for me, please?”

Ben leaned back in his chair, lips pursed, considering your request. Considering you.

Then, he nodded again and rose from his seat with a heavy sigh, trudging toward the door.

“Oh, and Ben?” His eyes met yours. You sent him a smile, smug and utterly pleased. Innocent. “Can you also grab some food, please? I’m starving. All this thinking is making me hungry, and I skipped breakfast this morning.”

He licked his lips, rolled the bottom one between his teeth, bit down a little too harshly, but in the end, he gave you a tight smile. “Sure thing.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” You smirked broadly, knowing Ben was aware what you were doing, and if he’d been standing closer, you would’ve smacked his ass, too. Called him a “good little secretary.”

Ben brought back food. Anything you could’ve possibly asked for. More even.

Crispy bacon and pancakes and waffles. Hash browns. Toast with melted butter, soaked right through the bread. Sausages. Scrambled eggs. A thermos of coffee. A whole apple pie, still warm.

How had he possibly acquired all of this in a span of thirty minutes? You had no fucking clue.

Apparently, money could buy anything, anywhere, at any point in time.

Ben also brought a guy named Fred, head engineer.

Both men then stared at you as you held a TED talk and scribbled drawings, formulas, and numbers onto the board. Ben sat in his previous seat in the leather armchair, posture unchanged. Fred was perched behind him, nodding along with a furrowed brow.

The nods told you he was agreeing with you. The creases told you he was pondering two questions: Who the fuck is this chick? and How the fuck does she know all this goddamn shit?

When you were done, Ben’s lips curled, glimpsing up at the older man behind his right shoulder. “You agreeing with this, Freddie?”

“Uh, yes, sir.” Fred scratched his head as he narrowed his eyes at your equations, the hesitance in his voice not missed by you.

“Then why the fuck haven’t you suggested that yet? Isn’t that your fucking job?” Ben prompted, the sudden authority in his voice and the callous gleam in his eyes taking you by surprise.

So, there it was – that little piece of Soldier Boy you’d been missing. You’d known it was there all along. Dormant. Slumbering. But the beast had woken up.

It made sense. Here, in his father’s office, he had to pretend to be every bit the man he wasn’t.

“Well, uh, I didn’t–… I wouldn’t know how,” Fred stammered, scratching a hole into his head at that point.

It wasn’t entirely his fault. Some of the stuff you’d suggested wasn’t really common knowledge at that point in time. But you weren’t too shabby to Edison some historical dick. How many men had taken credit and downright stolen from women over the centuries?

Yes, that’s right. You were doing this for the matriarchy. Vive les femmes! or whatever…

“I can teach him,” you chimed in all too helpfully.

Sure, you had no personal beef with Fred. Your feud was with his boss, but you accepted the engineer as collateral damage.

“Heard that, Freddie? She can teach you.” Ben chuckled mockingly, but it wasn’t aimed at you. Fred got the full brunt of it. You, on the other hand, received a wink and a smirk as your reward.

By the end of the day, you found yourself in a cloud of nicotine as four men sat behind you – drank and smoked and listened to every word that left your lips.

Danny from accounting had joined to check your numbers. Then there was Charlie, the mill’s young boilermaker and technician, who seemed to be mostly there for moral support for Fred, but had quickly taking a liking to you and switched sides.

A part of you loved showing off to a group of men, who certainly didn’t believe you were smarter than them. Another part did it for revenge.

You loved teaching. This was what you were supposed to do: Teaching physics classes as a professor to college kids, who were not only smart enough to understand you but also deserved to learn.

And Soldier Boy had taken that all away from you and ruined it. Now, Ben had to pay for it.

“You need to line the interior with a thicker layer of refractories,” you explained, voice filled with an infectious enthusiasm you couldn’t hide. “Can I bum one? Thanks!” You snatched a freshly lit cigarette from Ben’s hand and took a long drag before turning back to the chalkboard, your fingers tracing the schematic of the furnace as the smoke enveloped you. “But you can’t just use any material. It has to be a blend of firebrick with a high alumina content. That’ll keep more heat contained within the furnace and reduce energy loss.”

“That’ll cut down on fuel costs for sure.” Fred nodded along again.

“I’ll have to run the numbers, but it seems like a smart investment,” Danny agreed.

Your lips twitched with a pleased smile. “If you insulate properly, you won’t lose as much heat, and the furnace can maintain higher temperatures with less fuel. More efficient operation, faster output. If you improve airflow as well, you’ll boost production speed even more. Means more orders completed in less time.”

Charlie, who’d been intensely hanging on your lips, stepped closer to the board – and you. “You’re saying if we change the ducting and get better air intake, the furnace will burn hotter with less coal? That’s brilliant.” He smiled brightly at you, eyes lit with genuine awe. “We’d see a reduction in downtime too, right? I mean, with the better airflow and more efficient heating, the furnace could cycle faster without cooling off too much between shifts.”

“Yeah, exactly! You’re on the right track here, Charlie,” you praised the young technician with a warm smile. In this particular class, Charlie surely was your gold-star student. “The higher temperatures will help reduce the slag buildup, meaning less time spent scraping and cleaning. You’d get more output with fewer interruptions.”

Charlie grinned, clearly happy to be on the same wavelength as you. “And with the better insulation, the furnace wouldn’t cool as fast between cycles, so we wouldn’t have to waste time waiting for it to heat back up. Hell, at this rate, we could almost run it continuously!”

“Now you’re thinking!” Your face lit up like the sun, beaming at your shared understanding. “If you integrate a few more temperature sensors, you could even automate parts of it. It’d save you on labor costs too.”

“That’s genius! You’re sure you’re not some kind of magician?” Charlie chuckled.

Your cheeks blushed furiously at the compliment. God, it felt good to be seen and understood. Heard. Respected. “You’ve got a great mind for this, Charlie.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Ms. Cindy, but I’d be happy to learn from you any day,” he replied with a charming laugh.

“Well, maybe we can talk more about advanced lessons after these furnaces are running at full capacity,” you said, too eager to teach more. Too delighted.

“Sure, I’d love to! Maybe we can grab a cup of coffee? Are you here tomorrow as well?” Charlie asked, causing you to suck in a sharp breath.

Uh-oh…

“Oh, uhm, I–“ Your eyes flicked to Ben for the first time in a while. You’d been too enthralled by your lesson, by your conversation with Charlie, to notice the shift in the air – the shift in Ben’s demeanor.

His jaw ticked like a bomb, the white-knuckle grip around his half-empty tumbler of whiskey too tight. The nails of his other hand clawed into the brown leather of the chair’s arm. His eyes had grown so dark, so sinister, so dangerous, all the green in them had been swallowed. And his teeth kept grinding and grinding and grinding…

Shit.

You knew that look. You’d never seen it on Ben before, but you’d surely seen it on Soldier Boy a thousand times.

The two thirds of the whiskey bottle he’d drunk throughout the afternoon worked like slow poison through his bloodstream, bringing it to a boiling point underneath his skin.

“Charlie,” Ben’s voice cut in sharply with a condescending chuckle.

He rose from his seat, sauntered over to the board – to you and Charlie – and pushed himself between you two like a barrier. Like that stupid wall Homelander had once proposed of erecting along America’s borders.

And this? Well, this was just as fucking stupid.

Ben patted Charlie’s shoulder roughly, and you were surprised the young man wasn’t coughing by the sheer force of it. And you knew, right at that moment, that Soldier Boy wouldn’t have hesitated to kill that guy. Humiliated him before beating him into the ground.

“It’s cute how you’re trying to play engineer, but maybe leave the real work to the experts, hm?” Ben continued with a sharpness that felt out of place, every syllable meant to mock and punch deep.

Charlie was caught off guard by the abrupt change in atmosphere and straightened up, his posture stiffening slightly. “I’m just trying to learn, sir. Nothing wrong with that, right?”

Ben’s smile was cold as he took a step forward, closer to Charlie’s face. “Well, you’re not exactly the brightest tool in the shed, Charlie. I’m sure Ms. Cindy here has better things to do than waste her time on you. Don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Of course. I was just trying to do my job,” Charlie mumbled, casting his eyes downward.

“Ben,” your voice was soft, soothing, reassuring when it reached his ears. You tried your best to smooth out the tension and get the target off poor Charlie’s back. You didn’t want him to pay for your mistakes – and they were yours. You should’ve known better than to poke the bear in any timeline. “I’m sure Charlie didn’t mean anything by it. He’s just got good instincts for th–“

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” Ben hushed you, not letting you finish. He flashed you a quick smile, but his glare flickered right back to the young technician. “Just stick to what you know. No need to go beyond your station.”

Then, Ben’s hand curled around your waist, pushed you closer, squeezed, not giving a fuck about your rules. He took the cigarette you stole from him back, kept it between his lips like he was sucking your taste from it. Controlling. Possessive. His smirk turned smug, his eyes still fixed dangerously on Charlie.

“I’m just making sure everyone knows their place and isn’t overstepping any lines here.”

As much as you hated his hand on you, how his touch burned your blood and made your skin crawl, you knew you couldn’t slap it away or free yourself from his grasp – not if you wanted to keep poor Charlie alive. Because any rejection of yours would’ve caused the volcano to erupt. It would’ve embarrassed him, and you couldn’t do that – not in front of his employees. Not in his father’s office.

It wouldn’t have ended well for anyone.

“Alright, guys,” Ben’s deep voice cut through the friction with a clear of his throat. “Think we’ve done enough work for today. Let’s continue this tomorrow, huh?”

Fred and Danny nodded, both certainly eager to retreat before things could get any more awkward. Fred looked at Charlie, who was still quiet, his head lowered. It was clear he’d been caught in the crossfire, and Fred didn’t seem to be one to stir the pot any further either.

Ben shot a glance at Charlie one last time, the unspoken challenge between them palpable as the former’s lips curled into a smirk, ensuring Charlie knew exactly where you’d be tonight.

And you let him win, let him have this one, but it didn’t mean you’d actually fall into his bed. He’d be direly mistaken.

Charlie left without another word, without another glimpse at you, following the others. And as soon as that office door closed, you were ready to twist Ben’s arm back till it broke in two, but as if he sensed the looming threat, he dropped his hand from your body all on his own and took several steps back.

He fucking knew.

Your fiery glare tried to find him, burn him, but he avoided it almost skillfully.

“You know, Charlie was right about one thing,” Ben said, baritone voice cutting through the silence that consumed the office. It carried none of the tension you felt – as if nothing had happened. He slipped right back into the charming mask. “You are brilliant, sweetheart.”

“What the fuck was that?” you blew right through the smokescreen, not entertaining his deflection even for a second.

“Don’t get upset, sweetheart,” he said and itched for a roll of his eyes, but he finally met your gaze – unbothered and calm. “I thought I was doing you a favor. Or did you really wanna have coffee with that guy?” He snorted a chuckle of amusement, like the whole idea of you dating someone like Charlie was ridiculous.

“I could’ve handled that on my own.”

“I’m sure you could’ve.” Ben only smirked that same amused and condescending smile and held a glass of whiskey out to you.

This time, you accepted it and emptied the whole goddamn thing down your throat, ignoring the razor-sharp burn. Ben’s brows shot up in surprise, but he didn’t comment on it further.

“It’s my decision who I have coffee with, not yours,” you bit. “And an invitation for coffee doesn’t mean I’m gonna spread my legs either, by the way.”

That seemed to amuse him more, grin widening. “Oh, I know. Otherwise, I would’ve already seen it.” He chuckled and leaned against the edge of the sturdy desk, bringing his glass to his lips, watching you. “Let’s celebrate a little, huh? Let me take you out to dinner.”

“I’m not hungry. Thank you,” you snipped.

Ben clicked his tongue, head bobbing in thoughtful defeat. He grabbed the pack of smokes from the desk, shook one out, and stuck it between his lips. “Can I ask you something?” He glanced at you from his periphery, lighting his cigarette behind a palm. You gave him a lackluster shrug. “Why don’t you like me?”

The question took you aback. You didn’t think he’d ever ask you this openly, but maybe it was the alcohol that made him more daring, more reckless.

“Who says I don’t?” you brushed it off, walking closer to him. You snatched the cigarette from him and took another hit, trying not to cough out the stinging smoke in your lungs.

You weren’t a smoker. Not really. More of a casual “bum one from Frenchie in a club after several drinks” type. But cigarettes in 1942? They punch harder than a hit from a bong.

“You take my drinks, you take my smokes… You know, sometimes I wonder what else you’ll take.” Ben smirked cunningly and met your eyes when you passed the cigarette back to him.

Your lips twitched slightly. “Why? You still got your virginity?”

“Do you?” he shot back and held your gaze.

God, he was worse than the nicotine in your blood. Worse than any other vice you could’ve thought of.

“No.” You shook your head, a hint of a smile on your lips. A tease. A bait. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“You’re not,” he said, mirroring your smile with mischief sparkling in the jade.

“You know, I wouldn’t have helped you today if I didn’t like you at least a little. I wouldn’t be here,” you remarked and settled down on the desk next to him, legs dangling over the edge. He quirked an eyebrow, almost scolding, half-amused.

People were so rigid and frigid back then. No sitting on desks. No fucking swearing. Undergarments.

Ben considered your words with a sip of whiskey and another drag of his smoke. “Then why?”

You cocked a brow and took the cigarette from him again. “Why what?”

“I could see it today,” he noted pensively. “You act different around me. Guarded. You weren’t guarded around Charlie.”

You inhaled more smoke into your lungs, letting it go with a slow exhale. “I told you this morning. It’s not personal.”

“Feels like it.”

You met his eyes, green, lost, hurt. “You remind me of someone.”

“And you don’t like him?”

“I hate him. Wish he was dead,” you replied, your gaze, much like your stance, unwavering.

Maybe Butcher was right. Maybe you should grab that golden, ornate letter opener from the mahogany desk next to you and end it all right here. Now.

How many lives would you save? None?

Because truth was, even if you killed Soldier Boy, before all the power and all the glory and all the bloodshed, Vought would just pick someone else. Maybe a bigger monster. Crueler, harsher, deadlier.

What would the future look like then? Would you find fifty Homelanders instead of the one? Would there even still be a world to come home to? Would you be the one that brought it to its knees?

Not Homelander. Not Soldier Boy. You.

Would you be the end?

It wasn’t an option now, was it? An option would be to get your ass over to Germany and nip it in the bud. Choke the living hell out of Frederik Vought before that Nazi piece of shit even had a chance to deflect to the Allied Forces.

Kill the monster who created the poison that ran through Soldier Boy’s veins. Through Homelander’s. Through yours.

But what would happen then? Would you still be here? Would you stop existing?

Dead end.

And what if you suddenly got your powers back but couldn’t return to the point of origin, to the point you’d screwed it all up? And you did screw it all up. Fucked up royally by just blinking at him for a nanosecond. You could prove it on the fucking board in black and chalk!

Oh God, oh God, oh God…

And what if you accidentally disappeared right this second? What then? A sneeze, a wheeze, and poof – gone with the wind again.

That Clash song came to mind. You’d seen them during their last tour. July 9, 1982 – Wembley Arena, London.

And it really all boiled down to this:

If you went, there’d be trouble. And if you stayed, it’d be double. So, really, what should you fucking do?

“I’m not him, though,” Ben broke the silence, ripped you from your endlessly looping mind. You were almost grateful for the interruption.

You knew you were slightly going crazy at this point. You had dug yourself deep into shit this time. There was no way out – none that you could see.

No decision right or wrong. It all just… existed. Parked in neutral. Just rolling, rolling, rolling…

You looked at Ben, really looked this time. And maybe he was right. Maybe you even liked the guy in front of you. Maybe you saw the potential. The softness. The kindness. It wasn’t all his fault. He’d been born and bred this way. Callous and cruel, seeing the world as his playground.

But maybe there was still something there, buried deep and chained. Something bigger and stronger than the poison, the greedy companies, and the timeline. Bigger than you and him. Something very human.

Cosmic.

“You were today,” you said quietly.

“Oh.” Ben paused, brow creasing as your words sunk in. “Did he hurt you? That guy?”

“Not in the way it matters,” you replied slowly, swallowing to loosen some of the tightness in your throat. Your fingers gripped the wooden edge of the desk. “Not enough to break.”

Ben looked at you for a long time then, trying to read you, trying to understand, trying to puzzle it all together. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

Your brows shot up in surprise. They always did whenever he uttered words of apology. “What exactly are you sorry for?”

You snorted a loud chuckle, your cheeks turning red. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I pretended all day I had a dick.”

Ben’s grin widened, sharing your laugh. “Oh, I could feel that.”

“Bet you did. It’s real big.” Your smirk was downright audacious. So much so, you could see his cheeks blushing.

Ben inhaled another drag of his cigarette. “I think Ms. Vivian was right. Maybe I should get Mrs. Helen for you,” he teased, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“Oh, c’mon! You love when I talk like that.” You grinned cheekily.

His lips tugged at a smile as he met your eyes. “Yeah, I fucking might.”

“See? Feels fucking good, doesn’t it?”

“It fucking does.” Ben mirrored your grin, laughing. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Yeah, heard that one before,” you said, but your tone shifted with a sigh, remembering Florence’s words of warning and the fact that you were constantly lying to Ben. He didn’t know you. Not really. Not at all. “Can I ask you something?”

He chuckled softly. “Sure.”

“Why do you wanna be like your father? Is that what you really want? That life?”

Ben blinked at you, exhaling a deep breath as he put out his cigarette butt in the overflowing ashtray. You could tell at this point he was used to your questions, which seemed never all that easy to answer.

“What d’you mean?” He wasn’t offended but curious. Patient.

“I mean, look at it. Really look,” you told him with as much conviction as you could find. “Do you want a wife who’s just a former shadow of herself because you sucked all the joy of life out of her? Do you want your kids to be lonely, growing up in an big, empty house devoid of love?”

Ben tried to laugh it off. “Why don’t you tell me what you really think, sweetheart,” he huffed wryly and arched an eyebrow, scratching his throat. “It’s not like your life was any better. You’re even more alone than I am.”

You didn’t take offense to it. After all, from his perspective, he had a valid point.

“I’m not as alone as you think I am,” you said, smiling mischievously. “And I’m definitely happier than you.” You grinned then, causing his brow to raise almost challengingly. “I also don’t strive to be like either one of my parents.”

Ben thought for a moment. “So, what do you want then?”

“I don’t know.” You twitched your shoulders. “I don’t think I have to know. Not yet, anyways.”

Ben scoffed a chuckle. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Challengingly, you arched a brow. “I may not know what exactly I want, but I know what I don’t want. It’s elimination by exclusion. There are a lot of options, so deciding what you don’t want as you go along narrows it down to the choices you do want.”

Ben pursed his lips, nodding. “Guess that makes sense... in a way.”

“So, what about you? You wanna be like your dad?”

Ben looked at you for a beat, then softly, almost invisibly shook his head. “No... No, uhm, I don’t want that… I’d wanna be better.”

‘Cause I thought I could do it better than my father did…

Your heart did that little sting again when you thought about that night, something gnawing in the back of your mind. Had he always felt this way? Maybe if you gave him a little push now, he could–

No, no, no! Stop fucking with the goddamn timeline!

But maybe if you stayed, if you let yourself fall freely, if you stopped thinking about cosmic consequences, you could–

Nuh-uh! Stop! Dear fucking God, just stop!

You’d already done enough damage. You had to rein in your inner Puck before it could cause any more chaos.

And yet:

“So, what are you gonna do about it?”

You felt bad. Really, really bad. You felt bad and guilty and fucking awful. You were a fucking despicable human being. Soldier Boy had been right – you weren’t worthy of powers this big. Neither was he, but the cruelty matched.

And sure, he was a gross asshole, but not even he deserved what you were doing to him. Not that you were doing any of it on purpose. Did good intentions fucking count?

You’d told him to stop following you, and he hadn’t listen. You’d needed help, and he’d offered it kindly to you. And now?

Now, you were fucking screwed six ways to Sunday. Both of you were.

Because even if you fixed it, fixed everything you broke without leaving a single crack behind, you were still snooping through his life – uninvited. Because you knew – you fucking knew – he wouldn’t approve of this or like it, and he’d probably also kill you for it.

You would if someone were doing to you what you were doing to him.

Musingly, Ben licked his lips. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “I never planned to be like him. I was gonna do it different, anyway. He’s not gonna be alive forever, you know?”

“You wanna hold out till he drops? You know, that might not happen till you’re sixty,” you noted. Not that age would matter to Soldier Boy, but Ben didn’t know that yet.

You knew. You knew everything, lying and pretending that you didn’t. But you did.

Why was that bothering you so much, though? Playing a role during your adventures through time had always been the trick of the trade.

“Well, I already enlisted. Might get some opportunities there,” Ben said, while you still tried to keep your spinning mind in orbit.

You swallowed thickly at his words. He surely will, you thought dryly.

“But you said you only did that for your dad as well,” you threw in and bit your tongue hard a second later.

Dear Lord! Stop fucking pushing! This is wrong! So, so wrong…

“Yeah, but aside from that, I don’t have that many options,” Ben remarked, and you took note of the strange self-consciousness in his voice. Like he knew deep down his father was right. Like he knew he was a disappointment. Like he knew he was fucking weak. “I flunked out of boarding school, so it’s either working for my father or–“

“Doing a job like Charlie’s?” you offered with a knowing smile.

“Yeah…” He nodded defeatedly.

“It’s not the worst, you know?”

He cocked a doubtful eyebrow. “What, having no money? Slightly disagree, sweetheart.”

“Happiness doesn’t come for free,” you pointed out. “Rich in spirit, poor in pocket.”

Amused, Ben snorted. “And you’d be fine with a man who has nothing to his name?”

“Yeah,” you said without a sliver of doubt or hesitation. “Not that my opinion matters here.” You shot him a warning look, but his lips only flashed an amused smile. “I didn’t grow up with a lot. Certainly don’t need a lot now. And besides, I can provide for myself, you know?”

“Oh, sure you can.” Ben chuckled teasingly.

Internally, you sighed at his comment, but you knew, to him, that statement must’ve sounded preposterous.

“I’m sorry, but did you shake 3.5 million out of your sleeve today or did I?” you challenged.

Ben’s lips formed a smile of acceptance. “Fair enough.” He scratched the nape of his neck, clearing his throat. “So, hypothetically, if you don’t need someone to take care of you, what kind of a man are you looking for?”

“Who says I’m looking?” You smirked a little, but Ben only indulged you with a raised brow. “Alright, let’s say hypothetically I’m looking…”

“Uh-huh, continue.” Ben grinned with triumphant mischief, making it a chore for your cheeks not to hurt from smiling so much yourself.

“I guess I’d just want someone good. Someone kind. Someone reliable. Honest,” you replied slowly and met his gaze. “Funny.” Your lips tugged at a grin. “Someone who’s gonna get into trouble with me. A partner in crime, you know?”

Ben laughed softly. “What, like a Clyde to your Bonnie?”

“Minus the murder, but yeah,” you confirmed, giggling, but you felt strongly to make that distinction, considering everything you knew about his future counterpart.

And then, your stomach churned and twisted this time instead of your heart. You were walking on thin ice, hearing the fucking cracks under your feet. Soon, you’d break through – not in a good way.

So, yes, maybe you liked him. Liked him more than you’d be ever willing to admit. But were you just supposed to ignore everything else? Everything you knew and everything that might come?

Were you a fool for thinking you could change destiny?

“Hmm,” Ben hummed, teeth chewing on the plush flesh of his lower lip. He found your eyes. “Tell me yours first.”

“Alright,” you accepted, knowing you’d pushed him enough for today, knowing you had to give, too. Knowing his vulnerability didn’t come without a price. You contemplated for a moment, exhaling a sigh. “I guess… Paris. I’d wanna live in Paris. Go roller skating in the Louvre at night. Boop Mona Lisa’s nose.”

Ben snorted a laugh, shaking his head. “Sounds a bit cockamamie.”

“Hey, you have your dreams, I have mine. And you’ll see. I’m gonna do it. I have more tricks up my sleeve than just math,” you retorted playfully, causing his smirk to deepen, but there was affection in every crease and crinkle on his face. “Before you mock, why don’t you just tell me yours, huh?”

Ben rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, green eyes flickering to you in his periphery, eventually landing on your lips. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I guess I just found mine,” he said, the raspy voice only a quiet whisper.

Time stood still for you then. You could see each inch he leaned closer in slow-motion while your heart pounded at double its speed. The wild beats rose to your throat, filled your ears.

The room started to spin, but you froze. Petrified, eager, aquiver.

He dipped his head lower. You didn’t move.

His breath fanned against your cheek. You didn’t move.

His nose ghosted along your skin. You didn’t move.

His gaze found yours. You didn’t break it.

He silently asked for permission. You swallowed, but you still didn’t move, didn’t look away.

Ben’s lips pressed against yours. Your heart exploded.

It was only a tentative brush at first, testing, testing, testing... It was light and soft and almost innocent, so innocent it stirred something deep within your soul. You let your eyes fall shut, instinctively leaning in.

Into him.

And that was it. That little movement of yours he’d been waiting for. Like it answered all the questions he could ever have about you. He exhaled, let go, too soft for a groan but close enough. Close enough to leave you wanting more. You could feel his fingers twitch for more too, even when they didn’t touch you.

Close enough.

It only took a fraction of a second to feel the shift – in the air between you, in your heart, in your bones, in the universe.

And your mind screamed to pull away.

You forced yourself to break the kiss, hands pushing lightly against his broad chest. Your heart hammered, your breaths shallow.

“Ben, I–” You swallowed heavily, shaking your head. Looking at him would’ve only broken your resolve. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

The words felt like painful little pricks on your tongue.

You did, you did, you did…

It wasn’t that you couldn’t do this. You could and you would. You so would. But you couldn’t fucking do this to him.

You liked him. Not because he was nice to you. Not because he was kind to you.

You liked him because you could understand him. Because he could understand you. Because he was like you. Because you both were shattered beyond mending.

Two souls undone beyond redemption. Frayed beyond the reach of time. Lost beyond the point of no return.

Ben didn’t move. Didn’t distance himself. Didn’t pull back. Didn’t do anything. But he was watching you. Watching every quiver in your bones, every shaky breath in your lungs, every doubt in your mind.

Ben stayed close. Closer. He leaned in just enough for you to feel his hot breath breeze along your skin. “Can’t or don’t want to?”

“Can’t.” Your voice was so quiet, so tame, so much lacking of any fight, you were surprised he heard it at all.

But he did.

His hand found the edge of the desk, and with one fluid motion, he turned and stood in front of you now, towering, tenacious, holding on. He reached out and gently took your small hand in his – warm, safe, reassuring.

There was a hint of a smile on his lips, triumphant, when you didn’t retreat. You let it happen. Let him pull you off the desk and toward him, flush against his body.

Ben’s hand cupped your cheek, thumb tracing along your jawline before he lifted your gaze to him, forcing you to look at him. “Why?” He leaned in closer and closer still, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before you felt the tip of his nose brush along your skin just underneath it. “What’s stopping you?”

“Ben, I can’t,” you repeated, but it was so meek you knew it wouldn’t deter him in the slightest.

“Then why’s your heart racing, sweetheart?” He smirked victoriously against your skin, right behind your ear.

Slowly, he placed your hand he was still holding on his chest. You could feel his heart beating underneath your palm, steadfast and persistent. His now free fingers wandered, trailed with a featherlight weight up your arm, down your shoulder, lower still, sending shivers down your spine as they brushed each vertebra, down to your lower back and waist.

Then, they settled.

The hand still on your cheek slipped to your throat, thumb resting on your thundering pulse point. He forced your eyes back up, back to find his. The grip on your waist tightened, firm and dauntless. Then he pushed you closer, smooth and swift and suave.

And you still wanted to be closer. Closer, closer, closer.

Your breath hitched, and he smiled that lazy, winning smile again.

“‘Cause seems to me like you have a demand, sweetheart,” he rasped, his voice dangerously low and hungry. His grin turned wolfish then. “And I could supply…”

“Is that all you retained from your microeconomics lesson?” you teased to pretend his actions didn’t affect you, but your voice came out too breathlessly. Too fucking weak to really make an impact.

“It’s the important part, isn’t it?” Ben chuckled and sent you a smug grin before taking both your hands and sliding them up his broad chest till they draped around his neck. “But you’re welcome to teach me more, sweetheart,” he whispered devilishly into your ear.

Two large hands then cupped your waist, hot and firm and deliberate, thumbs pressing into your lower ribs. And he pushed you closer again, this time not leaving so much as an inch of space between your bodies, so close your head became dizzy, not knowing where you ended and he began.

“Ben, I can’t,” you said, but the more you said those words, the more they lost their meaning.

“Why? Give me a good enough reason, and I’ll stop.”

His hands smoothed up your curves and grabbed hold of your face again. One hand brushed your hair back and settled on your throat, the fingertips of his other tracing along your jaw. And when his thumb only skimmed over the plush flesh of your bottom lip, your mouth almost parted and sucked it inside.

A smirk rose on his freckled face. He could fucking tell.

“You don’t even know me,” you said then, swallowing the thick lump in the back of your throat, but your heartbeat kept rising as his hands explored – unbothered.

“I know enough,” he countered with an amused smile.

A step forward pushed you back, feeling the edge of the desk press against your buttcheeks.

“You don’t even know my real name,” you admitted, but it didn’t have the effect you hoped it would. He didn’t stop. Not in the slightest.

Ben only snorted at your confession. “What? You don’t think I know?”

His lips then descended on your throat, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the column. Your breathing quickened. He pushed you a little further till you had no choice but to slide back onto the smooth mahogany surface, and he slotted himself right between your legs when you did.

“Ben, I can’t,” you said it like a prayer that got lost in the vastness of heaven.

“Then why are you still holding onto me?” he quipped slyly, nudging your nose with the tip of his. Teasing. “You’re shaking, sweetheart. Am I making you nervous?”

“You don’t know what you’re getting into here,” you tried to warn him, pleading with him.

“Well, hopefully you,” he returned smugly. Amused. And his hands kept roaming.

“Ben, please…”

“Ben, I’m serious…”

“So am I.”

He claimed your lips before you could argue further. Without hesitation. Without a second thought. Without regrets. He kissed you deeply. Not a brush. Not a test. Not a question.

Only raw hunger.

A gasp parted your lips enough for his tongue to slip inside, each stroke against yours like a sharp, fiery lightning bolt to your core. He explored your mouth with precision – fervently, ferociously, tenaciously.

Whiskey and nicotine invaded your taste, and you welcomed it all with a sigh.

“Ben, I can’t…” you tried once more, but your body betrayed you, your voice only a breathless whisper that fled into the void.

“Not good enough.” He crashed his lips harder against yours, sharp teeth dragging over your soft, pink bottom lip. Biting, teasing, convincing.

Your desperation reached a boiling point, chasing his lips, his taste, his touch with a fever you’d never felt before, igniting every sense you possessed.

And you let the flames consume your soul while your inner Puck cheered you on and demanded more.

“Ben, please…”

“Keep saying it exactly like that, sweetheart.” He smirked against your throat and sucked his mark into your pulse point.

You felt his palm clasp your knee, burning hot and firm against your taut skin. It hiked higher and higher on your thigh, past the hem, underneath the skirt of your dress.

“Bet you’ve been waiting for a big dick like mine, haven’t you?”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!”

“Ben, stop. Please. Please stop…” Your hand landed atop of his on your thigh and kept it locked in place.

And Ben complied without question, his grip loosening under your palm before he retreated it entirely and placed it gently on your waist instead. He met your gaze with half-lidded eyes and ragged breaths.

“You okay?” he checked, leaning his forehead against yours, patiently caressing your cheeks.

“I can’t let myself do this. Not with you,” you said quietly, still catching your breath, still trying to ground your reeling mind. That seemed to finally catch his attention, pulling back slightly from your face with a furrowing brow.

“What d’you mean?” His voice was deeper than before, less soft, a trace of offense in his syllables because he couldn’t possibly understand.

“I mean, this could end badly. Really badly. For both of us,” you said, swallowing, but you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch when he palmed your cheek.

“You know, I don’t care about the skeletons in your closet. Don’t even give a shit if you left a trail of bodies behind you, sweetheart,” he said jokingly, unaware what impact those words had on you.

But what about his skeletons?

“No, I mean this is going to be a disaster. As in cosmic consequences bad. Apocalyptic catastrophe bad. Almost certainly might end the world bad,” you explained, almost desperate for him to understand you, desperate to tell him everything right now, the mill’s office morphing into your confession booth.

But Ben only snorted a small laugh, thumb stroking your cheekbone with an unwavering softness. “Aren’t you exaggerating a little, sweetheart?”

“I’m really not,” you stressed and looked deeply into his green eyes. “I-… I can’t stay. You know that, right?”

His brows quirked, but then he leaned in and brushed his lips softly against yours. “I’ll take my fucking chances.” He smirked daringly, then placed another kiss on that sweet spot behind your ear that made your heart melt. “Go out with me.”

“Ben–“

“Gimme a chance here, huh? All I need is one,” he said, his gaze imploring. So convincing, so certain. “Let me prove to you I can be the man you want.”

“Ben, that’s not–“

“Please.” Ben’s Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow, giving you an insecure little smile. “Come on, don’t make me beg more. It’s not really my strong suit.”

And then, as you stared at him and every good thing he was and every terrible thing he was going to be, the only option you hadn’t explored yet festered in your mind:

What if you stayed?

You nodded, hesitant and unnoticeable at first till it became vigorous and sure. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Ben’s smile widened, happier than you’d ever seen it.

“Yes.”

▶️ Chapter 6: I Don't Mind a Reasonable Amount of Trouble – MAY 2

What did you think of their first kiss? Would you want Ben to convince you like that? 😏❤️‍🔥 I also absolutely love the reader in this part. Show those dicks who's the smartest in the room, girl lmao

Coming Up:

You adjusted the collar of your coat against the chill, tucking your hands into the pockets. Ben, sensing the shiver that ran through you, pulled you a little closer, interlacing your fingers with his.

“How’d you like the movies?” he asked, smiling softly and giving a quick peck to your temple.

“I loved them! Can’t go wrong with Bogart and Fonda,” you replied with a smile that soon turned teasing. You playfully nudged his shoulder. “So, you scared yet I’m gonna pull a fast one on you like Barbara Stanwyck did to Henry Fonda?”

Ben laughed loudly, throwing his head back. “I don’t know. So far, you haven’t really been interested in my money, so I think I’m safe. ‘Sides, I’m not as easy as Fonda.”

“You sure about that? You do look a little naive and fresh-faced to me,” you quipped, grinning.

“Well, just so you know, if you’re really trying to con me… it’s working,” he joked and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, pulling you into his arms with a fond smile and whispering a kiss onto your lips.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt 1.:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v

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lanalace · 2 days ago

Text

Our Last Hunt - Part 2

Yandere Caleb x Reader

[Chapter - 1]

Summary: Y/n made a mistake that changed her life forever. Once a fearless hunter of blood-sucking fiends, she is now becoming the very thing she once swore to kill. How can she live with herself? And how will her immortal brother—the one who raised her, trained her, and protected her react when he discovers she’s turning into a creature of the night?

Warnings: Manipulation, Murder, Dubious Consent, NSFW, Psedo-incest, Smut, Dead Dove Do Not Eat 🔞

Word count: 8.5k 🍏🍎

Chapter 2

The first thing Y/n registered was the insidious thrumming, a foreign vibration that pulsed through her veins, a sickening reminder of stolen life. Her skin still prickled where Caleb had touched her, a phantom sensation that sent a fresh wave of self-loathing crashing over her. She blinked against the weak morning light, disoriented, her limbs heavy and strangely energized all at once.

Fragments of the nightmarish feeding tore through her mind, the shocking heat of Caleb’s blood, like liquid fire scorching its way down her throat; the raw, involuntary moan that had been wrenched from him as her fangs pierced his flesh. The memory was a brutal violation, twisting her gut with revulsion. She had crossed a line so deep it was unspeakable, staining their bond beyond forgiveness.

‘I used him. I came grinding on my brother like an animal. I forced myself on him. My own brother. I let that— that thing inside me defile him.’ The shame was a crushing weight, suffocating her with guilt. She had crossed a line so unforgivable, stained their bond in a way she could never erase. ‘How can I even look him in the eye after that? I’m a horrible sister…’ She covered her face with her hands, it felt as if her life was falling apart again within the span of 24 hours.

‘Gege surely hates me. He probably thinks I’m some disgusting deviant after what I did. Ugh! How could I even do something like this?’ She whined, desperately wanting to disappear, have the bed swallow her whole so that she didn’t have to face him. Alas, that was impossible. ‘It’s all my fault for going out without gege. Now I’m this… monster. I hate it.’

In her distress, her tongue instinctively traced the subtle sharpness that still lingered where her fangs had extended. They were retracted now, thankfully, but the phantom ache was a constant, throbbing reminder of her new reality. And then there was the sound. A steady, rhythmic pulse, insistent and clear, emanating from the room next door. Caleb’s heartbeat. She could hear it through the wall, a horrifying intimacy, a constant testament to her irrevocably heightened senses.

The scent of freshly made rice and sweet aroma of braised chicken wings drifted under her door, a domestic normalcy that felt like a cruel mockery. ‘Caleb.’ He was up, moving, preparing food as if nothing monstrous had occurred between them. A fresh wave of shame, hot and searing, washed over her. ‘How am I going to face him? I don’t think I can…’

That thought was rendered useless because the moment it came, Caleb entered her room, carrying a breakfast tray with forced cheerfulness. He smiled, a gentle, nurturing expression that felt… calculated, his galaxy eyes holding a strange, unreadable depth.

“Morning, sleepyhead. I made your favorite.”

The sight of the familiar breakfast felt repulsive, despite the heavenly sight. It was now tainted by the memory of the night. ‘I don’t deserve his care.’ she lamented as she kept her head down, her hair falling in a way that exposed her neck to him.

Caleb’s gaze lingered on the bandage he’d placed on her neck after she’d passed out, his fingers brushing her skin with a possessive tenderness as he set the tray on her bedside table.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was soft, laced with concern. His hand felt warm on her chilled skin felt so good, she almost leaned into it. Almost. But she remembered her place and stayed still, allowing him to assess her wound. The brunette’s touch lingered a fraction too long, a subtle affectionate caress that made her skin crawl.

Y/n mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, as if to physically shield herself from him. “Tired. And… sick.”

He chuckled softly. “Of course, you are. Last night was… intense.” He paused, his gaze sharpening, as he replayed the events of the previous night.

“You were so close to losing control, Y/n. You’d have killed someone if I wasn’t here to… guide you. We’ve got to get a handle on things. You're going to need me now, more than ever.” The words were gentle, almost soothing, but the underlying message was a chilling assertion of his control.

“We?” She said, trembling. “You want to help me even after what I did?” Her whole body began to quake as tears fell from her eyes. Caleb’s brows furrowed as the familiar scent of salt cut through the air. ‘She’s crying?’

Without warning, he gripped her chin firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed her damp cheek, her beautiful crystalline eyes were glistening. “Meimei.” His voice was unusually tight. “What’s wrong?” He questioned her. ‘What could possibly be troubling you, little one?’

Y/n’s face scrunched up before a pathetic sob left her lips. “Why are you being so nice to me?” She cried, her voice raw with self-loathing. Before he could respond, she rushed out, “After what I did last night… I’m sorry gege. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you like that. I swear!”

Something inside Caleb snapped.

He hauled her small frame against his chest, wrapping his arms around her trembling body and holding her so tightly it was as if he could fuse them together. “You silly girl,” he murmured against her hair, rocking her gently. “I could never be mad at you. It’s not your fault. It’s just your biology now.”

His voice softened to a conspiratorial whisper. “What kind of brother would I be if I turned away from you in your time of need?”

He slid onto the bed properly, leaning back against the headboard, pulling her closer, cradling her on his lap like something precious. Something that now belonged entirely to him. ‘My sweet, naive meimei, of course you would blame yourself. Did you forget how much I enjoyed you that night?’ he thought bitterly. How easily she twisted the night into something shameful when, for him, it had been a revelation.

‘Only you would be more concerned about potentially upsetting me rather than the fact that you are now undead.’ He closed his eyes and rested his chin on top of her head.

“But I—I forced…”

“Ssshhh meimei.” He hushed her firmly, one hand stroking her hair, the other pressing her tighter against him. “Gege isn’t upset with you. You were hungry, that’s all.”

He tightened his arms around her, pulling her closer to him. He wanted to touch her like he did last night, he hoped for it— wished to feel her needy body come alive for him again. Alas, with her current state, he will have to take things at a much slower pace than he anticipated. ‘At least she isn’t fighting my touch right now. This is enough.’

“For now,” he murmured into her hair quietly.

“But—”

”That’s enough, meimei.” Caleb said sharply, his tone brooking no argument. Y/n stiffened instinctively, understanding the warning. She knew better than to respond when he was like this. His voice softened a fraction. “I will never abandon you. Never.” He knew her well, knew that was really what she feared.

“No more crying, yeah?” he teased gently, wiping her damp cheeks with his thumb. “What kind of vampire cries?”

A broken laugh escaped her lips, small but real and Caleb’s heart swelled. He kissed the top of her head, a possessive gesture.

‘Soon,’ he promised himself. ‘Soon, you’ll realize I am the center of your world just as you are in mine.’

🍏🍎

A few weeks had passed since the turning. A semblance of routine had settled over Y/n's life, though it felt fragile, like a thin layer of ice over a deep, dark lake. Caleb was a constant presence, a concerned shadow hovering just at the edge of her personal space. He found endless excuses for casual touches – a hand on her shoulder as he passed, a lingering brush against her arm when he handed her a book. Small gestures, carefully calibrated not to spook her, but Y/n felt them nonetheless, each contact a subtle reminder of the intimacy they had shared and the chasm it had created within her.

To her relief, she could still enjoy human food. A warm bowl of ramen, the sweet tang of fruit – they provided a small measure of comfort, a taste of her former life— of normalcy. But it was just that: a taste. A snack. The gnawing emptiness, the true hunger, only blood could satisfy. And on that front, Y/n remained firm. She refused to drink directly from Caleb ever again, the memory of that night still a raw open wound.

Instead, he reluctantly poured his blood into a porcelain cup for her, a ritual he performed with a sigh, his eyes lingering on her lips with a frustrated longing. He was becoming more agitated as the days rolled by, though he hid it well. He treasured the forced intimacy of their feeding, a connection Y/n desperately tried to avoid. But his need to keep her alive, his possessive desire to be her sole provider, ultimately outweighed his displeasure. Still, it never stopped him from offering himself to her every so often.

One evening, the familiar hunger gnawed at Y/n. Caleb approached, his eyes holding a familiar, possessive warmth. He offered his wrist, a silent invitation.

Y/n recoiled slightly, shaking her head. “No, gege.” Her voice was firm, despite the tremor in her hands.

Caleb’s brow furrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. “But, little one, the direct way is the best for young vampires.”

“Please,” She interrupted, her gaze fixed on her hands. “Just… just put it in a cup for me.” ‘I can’t do that again. I can’t bring myself to… to bite him like that. It felt so wrong.’

Caleb sighed, a long, drawn-out sound filled with frustration. “You know I don’t like that, meimei...” He hated it, in fact. It lacked the intimacy he was craving. ‘She’s pushing me away. Doesn’t she understand what we shared?’

“I know,” Y/n mumbled, still avoiding his gaze. “But… I can’t help it. Please, Caleb.” She pleaded with him. Y/n wished to keep her relationship with him as siblings. She couldn’t bear to damage it any further. ‘I feel so ashamed. Every time I look at his neck… I just remember…’ Though his neck had healed up immediately, the memories still linger.

He relented, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine.” He turned away, a hint of wounded pride in his posture. He returned moments later with a small, ornate ceramic cup filled with his blood.

“Here.” He offered it to her, his eyes searching hers. ‘She’s making this so difficult. Doesn’t she realize this is for us?’

Y/n took the cup grateful, her fingers brushing his. Even that small contact sent a jolt of unwanted awareness through her. She drank slowly, the coppery liquid satisfying the immediate craving but leaving a hollow ache in its wake. It wasn't the same as drinking directly from him. It lacked… ‘It’s enough. It has to be enough. I won’t let myself… need him like that.’

Days turned into weeks under Caleb’s watchful eye. He had long reported Y/n’s death to the guild, a necessary lie to protect their secret. But the past had a way of resurfacing.

One afternoon, as Y/n read, a sharp knock echoed. Caleb’s usual calm shattered. The door burst open, revealing Dalton.

“Caleb, I heard about Y/n. So sorry for your loss, brother.” Dalton began, his gaze sweeping over the living room before landing squarely on Y/n, who froze, the book clattering to the floor. His eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed with suspicion. “Y/n? But… Caleb said…”

Y/n shot up from where she sat. Her mouth opened to explain, to lie, she wasn’t sure. But her panic was evident. However, she never got the chance.

Caleb moved faster than she could see. One second Dalton was standing. The next, he was writhing on the floor, a terrible gurgling noise escaping his ruined throat. Caleb straddled him, hands blood-soaked, face twisted in something that wasn’t human. It wasn't the controlled precision she knew from their hunts. This was raw, untamed savagery. He kicked the door closed, his hand shot out, fingers like steel claws, and clamped around Dalton’s throat. Dalton gasped, his eyes bulging in terror as Caleb lifted him off the ground. A sickening crunch echoed as Caleb twisted his neck with brutal force. Dalton’s body went limp, his eyes staring blankly.

Y/n screamed, the strangled cry escaping her lips. She had seen Caleb kill before, but never like this. The sheer speed, the unrestrained violence… it was terrifying. ‘Oh my god. What did he just do? Dalton… he just…’

She backed away, hands flying to her mouth, heart hammering out of control. Caleb had ripped the life from Dalton with brutal, casual precision as if breaking a rabbit’s neck. Like it meant nothing to him.

It was horrifying.

They had hunted together for years. She had seen Caleb kill—but never like this. Never so… savagely.

Caleb turned to her, his chest heaving a heavy sigh, his eyes blazing with a primal protectiveness that bordered on madness. “It had to be done, little one. He couldn’t know. He would have told others. I had to protect you.” He dragged Dalton’s lifeless body towards her, his grip surprisingly gentle now. “Now, you need to feed. Practice control.”

Y/n stared, paralyzed with horror. She had hunted alongside Dalton over the years. He was a good man, a dedicated hunter. Her gut twisted. She remembered Dalton’s stupid jokes around the campfire. His family photos. His rough, easy laughter. But now he is just gone. And Caleb was the one that ended him. So brutally. Caleb let his control slip entirely, his features contorted in a primal rage. He couldn’t allow Dalton to reveal her secret, to threaten their carefully constructed isolation. He had to protect her.

Dragging Dalton’s lifeless body towards Y/n as if it weighed nothing at all, Caleb’s eyes, still blazing with a feral intensity, softened slightly as he looked at her. “He can’t tell anyone now, meimei. It’s for your own good.” Caleb approached slowly, crouching beside the body, his voice low and coaxing. “You need to practice, little one. To learn to control it. It’s better if it’s someone you know. Easier.”

He positioned the body before her. The scent of freshly spilled blood was thick and cloying, triggering an instinctive hunger. He gently took her hand, guiding it towards the still-warm flesh of Dalton’s neck. The scent of Dalton’s blood, freshly spilled, hit Y/n’s heightened senses. It was sharp, metallic, and undeniably enticing in a primal way. Her fangs descended instinctively, a horrifyingly natural reaction. Yet, revulsion warred with the burgeoning hunger. She knew this man. He had a wife, two young children. She couldn’t do this. Looking at Dalton’s still face, the vacant eyes… “How can you say that?”

‘I knew him. We hunted together— laughed at his terrible dad jokes around the fire. He had a family waiting for him to come home.’

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head vehemently. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Caleb’s expression hardened. “You have to, Y/n. It’s the only way to learn.” He coaxed her, his hand on her back, gently urging her forward. “Just a little. For practice. If you won't drink from me, you won’t know how to properly restrain yourself.”

“That will lead to deadly mistakes. It will land you on the guilds radar. You need to learn.”

‘She needs to understand her new nature. And she needs to rely on me.’

Tears streamed down Y/n’s face as she reluctantly leaned down. “I’m sorry Dalton. I’m so sorry...” She whispered before sinking her teeth into someone she once considered a comrade. The blood smells sweet, but the moment it hit her tongue, it tasted wrong. It tasted metallic and bitter, almost rotten compared to the rich sweetness of Calebs.

She covered her mouth with the palm of her hand and tried to swallow, her stomach churning. ‘It’s not the same. It’s… disgusting.’ She gagged, her body rejecting it. Bile rose in her throat, and she vomited, expelling the tainted blood and even the small amount of Caleb’s blood she had drunk earlier. It was barely palatable, a grotesque imitation of what truly satisfied her. Caleb watched from behind her with a strange mixture of concern and something akin to triumph in his eyes. Even after everything was out of her system, she still retched a few more times before collapsing, her body wracked with shudders.

Caleb was there instantly, gathering her into his arms, his embrace tight and possessive. Though the state she was in tugged at his heart, hating to see the one he converted in sure dire need of care. He allowed a small smile to grace his lips with satisfaction. ‘It was a hard lesson to learn but a necessary one. You won’t deny me anymore, will you meimei?’ He pulled her closer, nuzzling the top of her affectionately as he walked down the hall.

Caleb carried her into his bedroom with slow, deliberate steps, as if the simple act of holding her was something sacred. The heavy curtains sealed the world outside, leaving only the two of them cocooned in twilight. Y/n trembled in his arms, her body weightless, her mind fraying at the edges from hunger and horror.

He set her down on the bed, lingering over her longer than necessary, his hand cradling her cheek. His thumb brushed the hollow beneath her eye, tracing the fragile skin there.

“You’re too weak,” Caleb murmured, his voice low and thick with something more than concern. “No cup this time. You need it fresh. Direct.”

Her heart twisted violently at his words. She shook her head weakly, trying to push herself back, but he caught her wrists in one hand, pinning them gently against the bed. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting hot against her ear.

“No more running, little one,” he whispered. “You need this. You need me.”

She tried to turn away, tried to close herself off—but Caleb was relentless. His body pressed flush against hers, a heavy, possessive weight, his thigh slipping between her legs, anchoring her. His free hand slid up the side of her neck, tilting her face back to expose her mouth, her fangs, her desperation.

“Let me take care of you,” he breathed.

Without giving her time to protest, he bent his head, baring his throat to her. The strong column of his neck pulsed just inches from her lips, the scent of his blood saturating the air between them—rich, dark, utterly intoxicating.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the pull. But hunger gnawed through her self-control, stripping away every barrier she had left. Her fangs ached. Her breathing quickened. Her entire body strained toward him before she even realized she was moving.

Caleb’s hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her skull, and with a low, commanding growl, he pulled her mouth against his neck.

“Now, meimei,” he ordered, voice trembling with restraint. “Drink.”

Her fangs sank into his flesh with a soft, wet sound. Caleb’s entire body jerked, a harsh, guttural sound tearing from his throat. His hand tightened in her hair, the other sliding down her spine, fingers splaying against the small of her back, pressing her even closer. His blood flooded her mouth—hot, thick, perfect.

Y/n moaned against his skin, the sound raw and broken. Shame and desire twisted inside her, a vicious tangle she couldn’t unravel. Every swallow sent heat blooming through her veins, spreading outward until even her fingertips tingled. Caleb’s blood didn’t just feed her—it claimed her, seeping into every crack and hollow space inside her soul.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice rough, wrecked. He shifted his hips, grinding her deeper into the mattress, keeping her caged between his body and the bed. “Drink, little one. Take everything you need.”

His free hand roamed her body in slow, possessive sweeps—tracing the line of her waist, skimming the curve of her thigh, sliding up her back to bury in her hair again. Every touch was a brand, a silent promise: You’re mine. You’ll always be mine.

Y/n clung to him, lost in the heat and closeness and the dizzying pleasure of his blood on her tongue. Caleb tilted his head back further, baring more of his throat to her, surrendering completely. His breathing was ragged, his muscles taut as if he were barely restraining himself from doing more—taking her, binding her even tighter to him.

When she finally wrenched herself away, gasping for air, her lips were stained crimson, her hands fisted tightly in his shirt. Caleb cupped her face, his eyes dark and feverish with a hunger that wasn’t just physical.

“There’s my good girl.” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “You see? No one else can satisfy you. Only me.”

He kissed her temple, then the corner of her mouth, slow and reverent, tasting his own blood on her skin. His body still pressed hers into the bed, his hold firm, inescapable.

Y/n shivered beneath him, overwhelmed by the bond coiling tighter between them. There would be no escaping him now. No pretending she could survive without him.

And deep down, a part of her— the part that still remembered the terrible, aching loneliness of her new existence and didn’t want to.

🍏🍎

Caleb carried her into the bedroom with slow, deliberate steps, each movement imbued with a strange reverence, as if the simple act of holding her broken form was a sacred rite. The heavy curtains sealed away the outside world, plunging them into a suffocating twilight that mirrored the darkness engulfing Y/n’s mind. She trembled in his arms, her body achingly light, her thoughts fragmented by the gnawing hunger and the lingering horror of Dalton’s death. Yet, a heavy silence clung to her, a refusal to voice the terror that coiled in her gut.

He sank onto the bed with her still cradled against his chest, the mattress giving way beneath their combined weight. He shifted, trapping her between his body and the plush mattress beneath her. His hand, surprisingly gentle, slid down the side of her neck, his thumb stroking the frantic pulse with a slow, possessive intent that sent a shiver of dread through her weakened body. Her pale face seemed to shrink within his grasp, almost lifeless.

“You’re so weak, little one.” Caleb murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated against her ear, thick with a possessive undertone that belied his concern.

“No cup this time,” he breathed against her temple, his voice deepening, roughening with a raw urgency. “You can barely move. You need it fresh. Direct.”

Her heart lurched violently against her ribs, completely unwilling even in this dire state. She shook her head weakly, a pathetic denial. Putting her hands against his broad chest, she tried to push herself away, but his grip tightened, one hand snaking around her wrists, pinning them gently but firmly against the soft fabric of the bed. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting hot and possessive against her ear, stealing the air from her lungs.

“No more running, little one,” he whispered, his voice a silken command. “You need this. You need me.”

The words were a chilling echo of her own desperate thoughts, twisting her dependence into something sinister. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t need him this way, that she could drink from a cup but her throat was so dry, it felt as if someone rubbed it raw with sandpaper. She couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her lips as his words, it was all she could muster.

She tried to turn her face away, to burrow into the pillow, to create some semblance of distance, but Caleb was relentless. His body pressed flush against hers, a heavy, suffocating weight that stole her breath, his thigh slipping between her legs, a subtle invasion that anchored her to him. His free hand slid up the side of her neck, his thumb tracing the delicate curve of her jaw, tilting her face back to expose the vulnerable line of her throat, her parted lips, the faint, tell-tale lengthening of her fangs, her raw, undeniable desperation.

“Let me take care of you.” he breathed, his voice a low caress that felt like a brand.

Y/n squirmed weakly beneath him like a trapped animal. She was fighting against the inevitable, she knew, trying to turn her head away from the suffocating nearness of him but Caleb’s fingers tightened on her chin, forcing her to meet his determined gaze. The violet galaxy depths of his eyes held an intense hunger that mirrored her own desperate need. The strength in his touch was undeniable, not overtly cruel, just a reminder of his control. He wasn’t asking; he was claiming.

“Don’t fight me, little one.” he said, a low growl vibrating in his chest, a primal sound that sent a shiver of fear and a reluctant stirring of something else through her weakened form. “You know, you can’t.”

Without giving her fragile mind a chance to resist him further, he made a shallow, deliberate cut on the side of his neck, the bead of crimson welling instantly, a stark invitation. He bent his head, baring his throat to her, the strong column of his neck pulsing just inches from her parted lips, the intoxicating scent of his blood saturating the air between them, filling the dark room with an irresistible lure. She shudders violently, desperately wanting to taste him again.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, a silent scream trapped in her throat, fighting the primal pull that threatened to consume her. 'I can't... I'll lose control again. But... I'm so weak. And he... he smells so good!’ Her body trembled, a traitorous warmth spreading through her limbs. Her mouth opened, lip trembling as her fangs ached with need, her breathing quickened in shallow, ragged gasps. Her entire body strained toward him, an instinctual surrender that bypassed her conscious thought, shame a distant whisper against the roaring hunger.

Caleb’s hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her skull with firm tenderness, and with a low, commanding growl that resonated deep within her bones, he pulled her mouth against his offered neck.

“Now, meimei.” he ordered, his voice trembling with barely contained annoyance at her continued refusal. “Drink.”

A broken whimper escaped her lips, tears scalding the corners of her eyes as she obeyed, her body moving with a desperate will of its own. Her fangs sank into his flesh with a soft, wet sound that echoed in the suffocating silence of the room.

Caleb’s entire body jerked, a harsh, guttural sound tearing from his throat, a mixture of satisfaction and something else, something akin to pleasure. His hand tightened in her hair, anchoring her, the other sliding down her spine, fingers splaying against the small of her back, pressing her even closer, molding her body to his. His blood flooded her mouth—hot, thick, perfect, a stark contrast to the vile taste of Dalton’s.

“Ah~ That’s it.” He groaned, his voice rough, wrecked, a tremor running through his body as he restrains himself from taking her this second. He shifted over her, seating himself fully between her thighs, his cock grinding up against the insistent heat of her core through the thin layers of her clothes, a blatant invasion that made her gasp.

“Drink, little one. Take everything you need.” His other hand tightened on her captured wrists, keeping them pinned above her head in his large grip.

The heat of him, the weight of him pressing down on her, the suffocating closeness, the intoxicating scent of his blood was a sensory overload to her depleted body. A blurring of pain and pleasure, of fear and a desperate, unwanted desire consumed her.

Y/n gasped, the hunger clawing at her insides now a maddening beast. It wasn’t just thirst, no. It was physical desire and it was tearing through the last fragile threads of her resistance. She was doing so good by ignoring the way Caleb was touching her.

‘Please… no. Not now.’ Her own body was betraying her, a traitorous warmth spreading through her limbs. A shameful wetness pooling in her panties as she moaned prettily under him as he continued to roll his hips against her. She was about to cum and by the way he picked up the pace, he knew she was too.

Y/n stiffened, her body pressed tightly against him as her hips jerked repeatedly, using him to ride out her orgasm. ‘So good. So good!’ She couldn’t speak, only drink and with each pull from his neck, she sealed her fate. Y/n was no longer of sound mind. Now, a very persistent euphoric fog clouded her mind, stealing her will to do anything but respond to her body’s needs.

Caleb smirked. He felt it, felt her final, silent surrender. A low, triumphant growl rumbled deep in his chest and released her from his hold when her body went limp. ‘This is how it was always meant to be. She needs me like this.’ He had her right where he wanted, happily feeding, wet, needy and so pliant for him. He bent his head further, exposing the strong column of his neck, offering her lips more of him. The scent of him intensified, rich, metallic, utterly addictive. A siren’s call she never had the strength to ignore.

When she finally pulled her mouth away, fully satiated, her lips slick with his blood. Her hands fisted tightly in his shirt, clinging to him as if he were the only anchor in a terrifying storm. Her eyes were blown, unfocused, a blood-drunk haze clouding her vision. Caleb cupped her face with blood-smeared fingers, his eyes dark and feverish with a hunger that went far beyond feeding.

“There’s my good girl.” he whispered, his voice thick with affection, pressing his forehead against hers, their breaths mingling. “You see? No one else can satisfy you. Only me.” She didn’t respond. He knew she would.

“Tell me what you need, meimei.” he breathed against her ear, his teeth lightly grazing her lobe, dragging a low, involuntary whimper from her throat. He chuckled, bucking his hips against hers, earning him a louder, sweeter moan from her and she raised her hips to meet his. “Need more? Gege will make you feel so good.”

A weak mewl caught in her throat as Caleb pulled her in for a kiss. It was he twisted his hips against hers, the grinding pressure a blatant violation that sent a jolt of unwanted sensation through her weakened body, pulling a desperate, broken sound from her lips. Her gums itched as she nibbled her lip, instinct had long overridden fear, shame— everything.

“Still thirsty?” he asked, his voice tight with anticipation that sent a shivers down Y/n’s spine. She wasn’t, in fact she was full, her hunger for blood gone. She wanted something else, craved something more and he could feel it.

“I taste that good, huh?” He chuckled.

“Gege, I… need more.” She begged.

He guided her mouth back to his bleeding neck, his hand tangling in her hair, holding her in place, a controlling caress. Y/n didn’t hesitate to take from him again as she bit down again.

The reaction was immediate, violent. Caleb’s entire body shuddered, a raw, broken groan tearing from him, a sound that spoke of both exquisite pain and a twisted pleasure. His grip on her captured wrists tightened briefly before he released them, his hands flying instead to her hips, squeezing hard, dragging her hips up into his, a blatant demand.

He rocked against her hard as she drank. Quick, hard claiming thrusts made his breathing ragged with each movement. He was going to cum.

“Ah~ just like that.” he gasped when she licked his neck, refusing to let the trailing crimson go to waste. His mouth found the sensitive line underneath her jaw, pressing desperate, open-mouthed kisses against her blood-tinged skin.

“So greedy, little one.” He chuckled, a low, possessive sound, the tension pulled taunt in his body.

His hand slid under her shirt, splaying across her bare lower back, dragging her even closer, skin to heated skin, blood mingling with blood. His fingers dug into her flesh, not hard enough to inflict pain, but enough to leave her trembling, aching for a connection she both craved and loathed.

With one final thrust, he came with a long, torturous groan.

“Good girl,” he rasped, his thumb wiping a smear of his blood from her cheek, a possessive caress. “My good girl.” He kissed her then—messy, desperate, a brutal mingling of blood and breath and a terrifyingly possessive hunger.

“But I’m far from done with you.”

Caleb barely gave her a chance to breathe before his lips were claiming hers again. Rough and unrelenting, the metallic tang of his blood stained both their mouths. He kissed her like a starved man and when he finally pulled back, a strand of saliva and blood connected them.

Without a word, he dragged her shirt up over her head, baring her to him. Her tits bounces from the suddenness and her pert nipples quickly became erect from the slight chill of the room. He took in a breath at this sight.

“Beautiful.”

He cupped the succulent mounds of fat in his hands, palms flattening over every inch of newly exposed skin before squeezing them, committing her to memory, claiming her body by touch alone.

He lowered his head, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses down the curve of her throat, pausing to lave his tongue over the bite mark, tasting the bits of dried blood that lingered on it. As his mouth focuses on her neck, his fingers circled and flicked her nipples, pulling and twisting just the right way to have her trembling with need for him.

Y/n whimpered beneath him, her fingers clutching helplessly at his shoulders. Every touch, every sweep of his tongue over the wound sent jolts of electric pleasure straight to her core.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Caleb whispered against her skin. “The bond pulling tighter? You’re meant to be mine, little one. Meant to need me.”

He nuzzled against the bite, pressing his lips reverently to the broken skin, then bit down just enough to reopen it — not to feed, but to taste. His tongue darted out, catching a bead of her blood mixed with his own, and he growled low in his throat, shuddering with barely restrained need.

“No one else.” he said hoarsely. “If you ever drink from another… I’ll feel it. I’ll know.”

His hand slipped between her tights and her underwear, cupping her sapping wet cunt firmly through the thin barrier of her panties and groaned. ‘So fucking wet for me.’

“I’ll feel it.” he rasped, pressing his fingers against her clit, circling it gently, dragging a desperate moan from her lips. “Your body…your blood… everything belongs to me now.”

Caleb slid her panties to the side, wetting his fingers with her slick before plunging two long, thick digits within her. Y/n gasped and let out one of the prettiest, airy sounds he had even heard. It went straight to his dick, twitching and hardening in an instant. Coupled with how incredibly tight her leaking hole is, he would surely be unable to hold back the moment he was fully inside of her.

“Like that?” His voice held a smile as he began to fuck his fingers into her. She cried out, taking everything he was giving her with broken moans as he stroked her, scissoring and stretching her unused pussy. Caleb’s fingers found the small patch of flesh that felt different from the rest of her, changing the angle, he targeted it, focusing on pulling another orgasm from her.

Y/n squealed, gripping his shirt and looking at him with confusion and pure ecstasy swirling in her eyes.

“That good, huh?” Caleb grinned wickedly, feeling her tighten and squirt a little as he doubled down on his efforts. His fingers moved at an inhuman pace and thankfully she was dripping for him, allowing for him free reign to do so.

“I can feel you clenching around my fingers so much, little one. You wanna cum for me? Cum for gege?” He teases, speeding up, bullying that soft spot in her. In an instant, she came, squirting and convulsing. Her silent scream didn’t go unnoticed by him as he stared at her pretty little face with a shit eating grin and he removed hand from between her legs. He was so impressed he was able to make her squirt. He licked his dripping fingers, sucking them clean as if he couldn’t enough, making the most lewd sounds she had ever heard. ‘Does she even know how good he tastes?’ He thought as he licked the corner of his mouth, swallowing the last bit of her.

“That’s two, meimei. Think you can go again?”

He didn’t need to wait for a verbal response as he saw her surrender in the way her body shuddered. The subtle loosening of the tension in her muscles, the soft whimper she couldn’t choke back as he watched with her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

He felt it, just as surely as he tasted her blood on his tongue.

And it broke the last fragile tether of his control.

A guttural growl rumbled from deep in his chest as he pushed her back, forcing her down onto the bed. His body loomed over hers, caging her in, his hands spreading her thighs wide without asking, without hesitation. He was granted the mouth watering sight of her slick covered coral pink folds.

“Fuck, look how pretty she is. Were you expecting this?” His voice breathy as he admires the clean shaven, slick glistening rose petals. Truthfully, he knew she didn’t but he could not help teasing her. He lowered his face between her plush thighs.

Caleb tongue, ever so gentle, licked the strip of her drooling slit. His eyes nearly rolled back from the sweetness as he moaned in delight, savoring her taste on his tongue. Y/n soft gasp arching her back away from his hot tongue.

Caleb narrowed his gaze and in a split second, “Don’t even think about it.” his hands wrapped around the fat of her thighs dragging her back to his waiting mouth. His lip latched onto her tiny bud, circling it and sucking hard as the slick intensified. Y/n’s back arced off of the mattress, her body trembling within his hold as he pinned her hip to the bed.

“Be fair, meimei. I’m thirsty too.” He voiced muffled as he tried to drown himself in her leaking cunt. She didn’t protest when he did, doing her best to stay still while he continued his ministrations. Y/n’s hands shot out to tangle in his locks, pulling his face close.

Caleb was in heaven. He always knew she would taste good but this far surpassed his imagination. He released her reddened bud, swiping his tongue from her opening to back to her clit, once, twice, before teasing her little clit with the tip. He moaned, the sound reverberating through her core making whimper with need. He kept teasing her like that, enjoying the way her body writhed of his tongue, her little flinches before she rolls her hips forward, offering more of her dripping cunt for him to feat on.

“Gege… pl-please…!” She tried moving her hips, her body racked with need. But Caleb held her down so effectively that she couldn’t move her hips an inch.

He paid her no mind, taking his time devouring her at his own pace. He could tell she was close by her incessant mewlings and by the way her legs were trembling in his hold. He lapped at her opening, collecting her pooling essence on his tongue and drinking her in. ‘Fuck… she taste so good.’ Caleb mentally cursed, before burying his face into her folded.

He had a prominent, raging hard on, wanting to replace his cock with his tongue. However, he retained himself, he was a patient creature, he would finish his delicious meal before indulging further. His tongue digging into her core, lapping at her velvety walls as he curled his pink muscle, earning him a high pitched squeal from her while he shoveled her juices into his hungry mouth.

Y/n came violently on Caleb’s tongue, back arched and legs quaking, shaking the bed beneath them. Her finger pulled roughly at her brother’s silky hair. He grunted from the light pain but his tongue didn’t stop his assault as he fucked her tight hole with it through her orgasm. He kept at it, ruining her until she laid there, panting and flushed all over.

He pulled back to get a good look at her, her chest rising and falling as she huffed in exhaustion. He couldn’t keep the smirk off his face as pride filled him. Licking his lips clean, savoring the remnants of her release before wiping the rest of his slick shined face with the back of his hand. He was tempted to keep going, to eat her sweet little pussy 2 or 3 more times just for his own pleasure.

“You taste absolutely divine. I can’t tell whether I like your cunt or your blood more.” He muse, his eyes gleaming with amusement. Y/n said nothing, she didn’t even hear him, her ears were ringing from the rush of her orgasm. All she could do is suck in air and gaze up at him with half open eyes.

Caleb chuckled to himself, realizing she was far gone. He stepped off the bed, ridding himself of his clothes in the span of a second before returning between her legs, eager to finally become one with the woman he desired. He covered her body with his own, his face mere inches from her as he leaned in for a soft kiss.

“I am going to take you now.” He stated plainly.

”Take me?” Dazed out of her mind from the aftermath of cumming and still high from his blood.

“Yes, little one. I am going to fuck you into the mattress until you re full of me. And then, I’ll do it all over again. I’m not going to stop until my name is the only thing you can remember.” He smiled deviously. Normally, he would never be this crass but he knew she couldn’t fully comprehend anything he said so he spoke his mind.

He wasted no more time, nuzzling her neck affectionately, leaving open mouth kisses trailing down her neck as he gathered both her wrists into one of his much larger hands, securing it while using the other to stroke his impressive length. Caleb’s member sat heavily in his hand at 9.8 inches one and as thick as her wrist. ‘Thank goodness you are already turned, if not, this would hurt you immensely and I’d have to stop here.’

The warm blooded hybrid glided his stiff cock along her over sensitive folds. A shiver him, releasing a breathy sight at the feel of her warm, wet petals soaking the underside of his cock. He bit his lower lip, stifling the next sounds he continued to move along the lips a few more times. Deeming his length wet enough, he pulled his hips back, lining up the mushroom head with her entrance, he grasped Y/n’s jaw, forcing it open.

“Drink from me, Y/n. Pleasure yourself as I take from you.” He says as his hand slips to the back of her neck and forces her teeth into his neck, one again. They both groan in unison, Caleb throwing his head back before sinking both his fangs and his dick in one foul swoop, moaning loudly around the column of her throat.

This snapped Y/n out her lust filled haze momentarily. She squealed and whimpered, tears falling around from the corner of her eyes. She tried to dislodge herself from his neck, feeling the brain fog coming back the more his blood seeped into her mouth. To no avail as Caleb’s hand held her firmly, pressing her face harder the more she tried to struggle.

Y/n glance over to him, panic evident in her eyes. He felt her stare but ignored it, liking and sucking along the skin in his mouth with fervor. He pulled back slightly before slamming into her again, hitting her cervix hard. He couldn't stop himself from grunting and whimpering near her in pure bliss from her tight snatch constricting around him so hard.

Caleb released her from his neck and withdrew from her as well, sitting back on his knee’s. His pupils were dilated, black almost completely consuming his violet irises and he sat back to look down at her with a love sick smile gracing his features.

“You’re so tight— so hot— Ah~!” He moaned pathetically when her cunt spasmed, trying every which way to adjust to his length. He looked down, gaze focused on the place where his dick is plunging in and out her pussy. The site of a pink tinged ring forming at the base of his cock made him dizzy with excitement.

“Gege… we can’t! Wake up!” She seethed through clenched teeth, she was in great discomfort but also great pleasure. Y/n tried her best to fight off the effects of his blood, but she was losing fast. She couldn’t even force herself to struggle with the way her body began to relax for him.

“Still want to fight, little one?” He chuckled, caressing her warm cheek.

“That’s ok. Gege is just gonna have to fucked the resistance out of you.” He grinned as if he just won a first place prize.

With that, he used his free hand to grip her waist and began to fuck her, setting a brutal pace. Y/n’s back arched, mouth agape’s and unable to vocalize her feelings at her brother rammed into her repeatedly, stealing her breath away.

It didn’t even take a full minute for the pleasure to envelope her completely. Caleb smirked down at her when she attempted to match his pace, raising her hips to meet his every thrust.

Loud slaps filled the room as skin met skin, his hips meeting hers in a rhythemantic symphony. It felt unbelievable intoxicating, having her so willing to fucking him back so desperately, her blood, wet on his tongue and her drinking from him anytime he coaxes her to. It was the epitome of euphoria. He could die in this moment and would not complain.

Y/n came without warning, wrapping her legs around him and pulling his hips flush against hers. “F-fuck..!” Caleb came a little, her cunt clamping down around him, milking him for his seed. His thrusts faltered for just a moment before deepened his strokes, fucking her into the mattress just as he promised with renewed vigor.

Y/n whined, completely spent and sore. She didn’t want to keep going anymore— she couldn’t but Caleb continued to ram her swallow flesh, his tip bullying her poor cervix open.

She tried to twist away, trying to resist the tide of heat and hunger that was beginning to build again as Caleb rushed over her g-spot with every move. Caleb only growled, low and dangerous, pinning her hips with bruising force as he fell over her body again.

“Don’t run from me.” he snarled into her ear. “You’ll only make me chase you. And when I catch you…” His teeth grazed the shell of her ear, sharp and threatening. “I’ll mark you so deeply you’ll never forget who you belong to, just. Like. Right. Now.” He punctuated every word with a sharp thrust.

His mouth returned to the wound on her neck, suckling gently, coaxing another slow trickle of blood, savoring it with obscene pleasure. Every pulse of her heart fed directly into him, connecting them in a raw, visceral loop neither of them could break.

Y/n sobbed, half pleasure, half in shame. Caleb squeezed her hips hard, rutting into her like a wolf in heat. He needed to cum. Every fiber in his being screamed to fill her up, marking her as his so that she can never deny his love for her ever again.

“I’m close, meimei. So, so close.” He grunted out.

“Give me one more. Just..mmm~ one more. Let’s cum together.”

His hand that was on her hip moved to her engorged clit, using his thumb to circle it quickly, trying to match the speed of his hips. Y/n choked and tried to wiggle away again.

“To-too much. Too much, Caleb, please!” His dick dug impossibly deeper into her watery cunt, not allowing her to move away. He was too far gone to hear her out, not that he could stop himself, not when he’s this close to coming with her most precious girl.

“Be good. You can take it.” he growled, his voice rough with primal hunger. “You pretend you don’t want this. But I can feel you.” Dragging his nose along the line of her jaw, inhaling the scent of her arousal that coated the air thickly.

Caleb whimpered like a pup, hips stuttered and as he pistoned into her sloppily. After three long and hard thrust, he came inside her, grunting out her name as a blinding white light obscuring his vision. His orgasme trigger hers as her body betrayed her, arching into him, seeking more contact, wanting to be full of him.

Y/n collapsed on the bed first, the corner of her eyes darkening as she willingly succumbed to it, fainting beneath him. Caleb fell onto her, panting into the junction of her neck as he tried to ready his breath. Once he did, flipped their bodies, making sure to keep his cock warm inside her, laying her upon his chest. He could feel his cum leaking out of her and trailing down his dick but he couldn’t be bothered to care.

Caleb sighed in content, wrapping his arms around his lover in a warm embrace. ‘For the first time in my life, I finally feel truly happy. Satisfied. I finally own you.’ He queened her. ‘After all these years, you are finally mine and now, you can’t hide it. Can’t pretend it didn’t happen.’ He thought to himself as he placed a kiss on the top of her head before drifting into a blissful sleep, knowing five things truths that ensure it would be restful.

‘There is no undoing this.

There is no hiding from the truth of their connection.

There is no going back to what they once were.

She is mine now, body and soul.

And I would never, ever let her go.’

#love & deepspace #love and deepspace #caleb x you #caleb x reader #caleb x y/n #xia yizhou #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #yandere caleb #love and deepspace smut #Caleb smut #caleb x mc

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sgiandubh · 2 days ago

Note

Not really an Ask, just wanted to say I’m thrilled for you that you got to the Con and met Caitriona, though admittedly I’m seriously jealous 😉😊. I too am a BIG fan of Lauren, delightful and talented, and you must check out her podcasts, they’re unfailingly interesting, and fun at the same time! It’s been awhile since I’ve been to Paris and personally I did love the Orangerie, it was lovely! My big regret is that I haven’t gotten into d’Orsay yet on any of my trips, only managed to hit its closed doors on state days and strike days, sigh… I console myself with having made it to Monet’s Giverny home twice and leaving it with the memory tattooed on my soul of the scent of roses hitting me like a wall as I entered his garden!

I look forward to more of your reportage on the Con, AND on Paris! Bisous! 😘😘

Dear Bisous Anon,

How melancholically thoughtful and sweet of you to send this! These submissions are just the best. I don't know, can't figure out and do not even want to know who you are, but keep them coming 💖!

First of all and for all purposes and intents, the Landcon's schedule was grueling, especially for people who made a substantial effort to travel far and wide, in order to get there. By the time we managed to coordinate everybody, Versailles was sold out at the right visiting hours for us on Friday and closed on Mondays (as always). My mistake and I am taking full responsibility for being sloppy about it. And Monday's cruise lunch was deliciously rich, but also tiresome to many, who could have rather used a welcome nap. So, we had to limit ourselves to whatever we could quickly do, which is - I admit - almost a crime and certainly butchering our best laid plans.

The reason I chose the Musée de l'Orangerie is purely pragmatic, since it is compact enough to easily navigate and definitely off the beaten track. It is one of the most poetic places I have ever had the joy to see and it is, of course, very French ;). Once a glass house built on purpose to accommodate the Tuileries Gardens' citrus trees, it is now home to eight compelling late Monet murals, depicting - as you rightly pointed out - the painter's garden in Giverny.

With an absolute focus on the water lilies, or Les Nymphéas:

To me, this is a perfect, deeply introspective place, designed on purpose by Monet himself - who donated his labor of love to the French Government, in recognition of the First World War victory - to make people pause and meditate. Color and light and shimmering shapes are a synesthetic invitation to deeply explore one's own feelings and reactions. I can assure you they are never the same.

The best way to fully enjoy this is very, very early in the morning, with as few visitors as possible. This time we were not that lucky, but I think we still managed to share a special moment there.

Paris being lately a ridiculous mess, because of Mayor Hidalgo's stupid new traffic policy, we were unable to be in time for the Sainte Chapelle. But perhaps that allowed for more compelling memories, who knows?

PS: The Orsay is one of my favorite museums, on par with the Hermitage, in Saint Petersburg. I particularly love the subtle game of light and shade through the huge train station clock glass dial.

Off to take Baby the Lab back home. More about the Landcon - later ;) But thank you for this, Anon - and welcome!

#Landcon Paris 2025 #Orangerie #late Monet #Water Lilies #travel #France

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whambamsami · 1 day ago

Text

Red Velvet

my fist ever fic! hope you like it :) not really sure how this site works yet so so sorry if anything is formatted incorrectly!

Summary:

Bucky's found solace in a seductive jazz speakeasy, a perfect escape for whenever he isn't busy saving the world. But there's a new band performing tonight, and the lead singer has him questioning everything he knows about being a gentleman.

Warnings: no warnings! but if i ever do another part to this, i will be adding many warnings lol

Bucky Barnes was not known for his social aptitude.

Maybe that’s why he took to this specific place so much.

The Red Fox, a small Italian restaurant owned by a darling elderly man, was tucked away in a cobblestone alley, a whisper in a city that screamed. Despite the incredible tiramisu, it didn’t garner much attention.

That is, from those who didn’t know any better.

Lurking just below, hidden behind a brass door and a set of stairs that would creak with age, had it not been for the red plush carpet that swallowed any unwanted sounds, was The Red Fox’s best kept secret; L’Affare.

Dark walnut paneling and the permanent smell of cigars clung to the deep crimson velvet curtains draped around the place kept any sunlight- or wandering eyes- at bay. Leather banquettes hugged the walls like old lovers, and a curved mahogany bar anchored the room, the glistening glass of amaro, vermouth, and top-shelf gin winking at patrons like crown jewels. Customers spoke almost only in whispers, and laughed almost only with too many teeth.

People who knew L’Affare knew better than to run their mouths about the happenings of such a place.

Which made it the perfect spot for individuals who preferred a bit of discretion to accompany them on a night out.

This, in turn, attracted a wide variety of guests.

Including the Avengers.

Natasha and Clint were the first to stumble upon L’Affare, having followed a group of men who were believed to be involved the mob down the stairs, and were enticed to stay for the near-perfect cocktails and the comfort brought by the tight-lipped staff who moved as if two of the Avengers drinking at their bar was a common, if not boring, occurrence.

Soon, the rest of the team learned of the safe haven beneath the Red Fox, and couldn’t resist a chance to experience the normalcy brought about by its tact.

So, when Steve told Bucky about a little place that he could get an Old Fashioned without the all stares and all the questions that made even remedial tasks like grocery shopping a nightmare, he gladly took him up on the offer.

They became a bit like regulars, always making sure to give a friendly nod to the unassuming staff upstairs before descending into the hazy slice of paradise that was nestled under the busy street above.

Not only did L’Affare have bartenders that knew how to make a mean drink, the comforting yet seductive ambiance of the speakeasy lulled both Bucky and Steve into a comforting familiarity, reminiscent of their time before the war. Every Friday and Saturday that wasn’t taken up by work, they’d be nestled in a corner, telling old tales and chuckling between themselves. Sometimes others would join, Sam usually, but Bucky and Steve were L’Affare’s most frequent customers.

This Friday night was like no other. Steve and Bucky had returned from a mission earlier that day, and both were itching to return to their routine. Once they had rested a bit and showered off all the sweat, grime, and fluid that had accumulated on their bodies throughout the job, they happily made their way to their favorite secret spot.

Both men, enhanced and thus unnaturally giant, had to duck to fit under the brass door as they plod their way down to the familiar bar.

Tonight, however, they noticed a stark difference in L’Affare’s usual appearance.

The smaller seats and tables that typically sat in the center of the room had been pushed aside, replaced by a small stage, crafted by what looked to be the same wood used for the bar.

Bucky and Steve exchanged glances before making their way to sit at the bar, the weight of both of them plopping down enough to cause the martini glasses hanging overhead to clink together like glittering crystal windchimes. The bartender, who had served them many times, made his way over to the two men, cleaning his cocktail shaker and nodding politely at them, both in polite acknowledgement and to question what they’d like to drink.

Steve orders a single, aged, well-aged scotch. Bucky sticks with a simple Tiger Beer, ever the simple man.

Once the older gentleman serves them their drinks, he moves to give them a bit of space, but Steve motions for him to stay.

“Would you happen to know what’s going on tonight? With the stage and all?” he asks, gesturing to the center of the room behind him.

The man nods politely. “Boss hired a band for tonight. They’re supposed to be real good.”

Steve nods appreciatively, ever the gentleman, as the bartender returns to the other side of the bar, topping off the gin and tonics of the older, oily pair of men in inky black suits, unbuttoned far too much for their age.

“Band, hm? Sounds sort of fun” Steve says to Bucky between sips.

Bucky nods.

“Hopefully nothing too loud” he replies gruffly, a small smile betraying his interest.

The pair chat for a bit, the day slipping away, and soon the lights of L’Affare are dimming even more than usual, the typical amber glow lower than before.

The crowd hushes in anticipation.

Silhouettes were the only hint to what was happening on stage. A group of men who Bucky assumed to be a band were further back on the left side, where three womanly silhouettes were tucked away to the right in uniform fashion. A single figure stood front and center of the stage that drew Bucky’s eye the most. Legs that he could only assume were lengthened by heels led his gaze up to delicious hips and-

Before he could fully register what was in front of him, the sound of a low, lazy saxophone began, curling under his chin and beckoning him closer. The lights flicked on, with a single spotlight illuminating the figure that had caught his attention earlier.

Bucky gulped.

All of the women on stage, both the three backup singers and the lead, were in ruby colored silky gowns, like they had emerged from the velvet and leather that adorned much of the rest of the bar. But no one wore it like the main singer, who just filled it out so nicely.

And then she started singing.

The second she opened her plush lips, smiling like she knew something Bucky didn’t, he involuntarily tightened his grip, silently thanking God that his vibranium hand was grasping the stool and not the glass of the beer can.

She wasn’t loud. Didn’t need to be. Honestly, Bucky thought to himself, she didn’t even need to sing, for all he cared, that was how drop-dead gorgeous she was. She purred into the vintage-looking microphone, her dark painted nails glinting as she caressed it, pulling it closer to her lip gloss-coated mouth.

What Bucky would give to be that microphone.

Her voice was beyond sweet, like honey poured over a blade. She swayed her hips, Jesus, those hips, softly to the music, and Bucky wouldn’t look away. Couldn’t. He sat there, stupidly, staring up at her like she was something religious, something sacreligious, god, he could care less. All he knew was that she was glowing.

Steve turned to Bucky, wanting to see his thoughts of the performance so far, and smiled smugly when he took in his friend’s expression.

“Might want to close your mouth, Bucky. Unless you’re gonna take a sip, or make this a duet” he jests, nudging Bucky playfully.

Bucky snapped his mouth shut, stopping whatever retort he surely would have thrown to Steve if he was at all mentally available for their typical back-and-forth, his eyes darting to the forgotten beer in his hand. He took a heavy swig before returning to stare at the woman onstage that was quickly making him feel much drunker than he was.

The band stuck mostly with classics from the Rat Pack, some Peggy Lee thrown in here and there. No one in the room could look away. The lead singer was absolutely hypnotic.

Song after song, and Bucky didn’t think he’d blinked even once. He didn’t want to miss a second.

After the band finished up a lovely rendition of Gentle On My Mind, the lead singer leaned in to speak, not sing, for the first time all evening.

“Thank you all for being such a wonderful audience. We’ve got time for one more, so I hope you won’t mind if we do one of my favorites!”

God, her regular voice was just as enticing. Was that even possible?

Bucky didn’t have long to consider that until the band was striking up again, ending the night with a killer performance of Cross Over The Bridge.

Still, he sat at the bar, unmoving, beer untouched in his hand, lips slightly parted, unable to look away.

And finally, finally, the lead singer’s twinkling eyes locked with his as she sang and swayed, that same smile still gleaming out to the crowd, except now, it was gleaming right at Bucky.

It felt like someone had ripped his chest open and was squeezing his heart. Was this a heart attack? Was he dying?

He managed to compose himself enough to give her a smile back, his eyes still hazy from whatever godforsaken witchcraft she had used on him. She was too far away, he hoped, to see just how much she had affected him.

Soon, much to Bucky’s dismay, the song ended. She stood and thanked the crowd as they applauded (Bucky by far the loudest, which Steve found very entertaining) and the band cleared the stage, disappearing behind a wall of velvet. Bucky could breathe again. Much to his dismay.

“You liked it that much, huh?” Steve asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Bucky didn’t even have the strength to feign disinterest.

“Did you see her? The lead singer? I think she looked at me.” He does his best to mask just how excited he felt at the possibility, but Steve had known him far too long to let him get away with playing coy.

“Oh, she looked at you, alright. You should have said something. Ask her out, maybe.” “Said something? And interrupt? Plus, if she isn’t interested, we run the risk of having to find another bar that won’t make us take a picture for their wall.” Bucky huffs, clearly torn by his intense attraction and mild fear of rejection.

Steve put his palms out in surrender. “Fair enough. Just… haven't seen you that excited about a girl since the 1940’s. Plus, we already know you guys have similar taste in music” he jokes, finishing off his second scotch.

Bucky can’t stop a half-smile from forming on his stubble-covered face. He likes the idea that they would have things in common, that they do have things in common.

It takes a second for him to respond.

“...Hypothetically…”

“Hypothetically?” Steve questions.

“If I were to consider saying something, what would I say? Hypothetically, of course.”

Steve paused to consider.

“I hate to say this, but you’re asking the wrong guy. I never exactly learned how to pick up women. But we should definitely use our resources here.”

“Use our resources” Bucky asks, tilting his head a bit. Interested. Confused, but interested.

Steve pulls out his phone, a more modern version than his previous flip phone, but still definitely outdated.

“Hmm… definitely not Tony… maybe Sam? No… Oh! Got it.”

Bucky waits for him to finish the text, looking expectantly.

Steve turns to face him, grinning, clearly proud of his quick thinking.

“So, who’d you ask?”

“Natasha.”

“Natasha?” Bucky furrows his brow involuntarily. As much as he’s grown to be close friends with her, he’d still like to keep this under wraps as much as possible, to minimize potential embarrassment.

Before Steve can say anything, his phone lights up. Natasha’s ID pops up. The two lock eyes before Steve answers.

“Nat, hey! Did you see my text? Figured we could use a woman's opinion.”

“Good idea, Rogers” her voice comes through a bit fuzzy. She’s definitely out as well, in some other hidden pocket of New York City, eager to blow off a bit of steam after the work she’d put in this week.

“So, what do we know about her so far? What kind of interactions have you guys had?” Natasha inquires.

Bucky and Steve pause for a beat.

“...Well… we haven’t really gone farther than eye contact so far.”

Nat matches their moment of silence.

“Hm.”

“...Yeah.”

“Okay, well, you’re at a bar, aren’t you? Why don’t you buy her a-”

She’s cut off by the bartender appearing in front of the two supersoldiers. He drops two clear shots off in front of them, doing a terrible job of hiding his smirk.

“Sorry, sir, we didn’t order-” Steve begins.

“They were sent by the band, sir. It’s vodka. Top shelf. Enjoy.”

And he’s gone again, retreating to the dark corner from which he came.

Bucky and Steve share a bewildered look. They were no strangers to free drinks, of course.

But this was from the band.

Slowly, they do their best to see through the smoke and darkness that shrouds the far corner that usually allows the bartenders to melt into the background. And there, nursing martinis, are the ladies in red who had just graced the stage, smiling sweetly, raising their glasses in appreciation to the two heroes that sat across from them.

Nat’s voice breaks their silence.

“Was that what I thought it was?”

Bucky is quick to interject.

“Thanks, Nat, really, but I think we’ve got it from here.” He hangs up, and looks at Steve, a bit of a wild look in his eyes.

Steve smiles.

“Guess we found our excuse to go talk to them, huh?”

Bucky doesn’t reply. Instead, he takes both shots, ignoring the burn of the liquor as it pours down his throat.

Steve’s eyes widen a bit, surprised by his friend’s sudden actions, but he’s never been one to get in Bucky’s way.

“You alright, Buck?”

Bucky’s breathing has noticeably picked up, his eyes still a bit wide. But he smiles.

“Better than alright. I’m going over there. Would be ungentlemanly not to thank them, wouldn’t it?”

Steve chuckles.

“Fair enough. But I got dibs on the cute backup singer.”

They head over, Steve putting a gentle hand on Bucky’s broad shoulder to slow him to a normal pace.

“Easy, big guy. Those shots were from the band, not just your favorite singer. They could be from the saxophone player for all we know.”

They don’t need to announce themselves, usually, due to their large presence, both physically and metaphorically. All four of the women turn when the men approach, easy smiles on both their faces.

“We just wanted to thank you ladies for the shots. You were all great up there.” Steve begins, addressing the group. Bucky can only look at her.

How can she be even prettier off the stage?

She’s smaller than he thought. Being on stage makes people look a bit taller, he guesses, but now that she’s perched on a barstool, he looms over her. He smiles politely, praying he looks at the very least like someone close to sanity. His enhanced senses are absolutely drowning in her sweet vanilla perfume. He can see that she used a bit of… what was that, body glitter? Maybe an oil? Something shiny that draws his attention to her delicate collarbones, and then lower, lower…

His mother would absolutely murder him if she saw him acting so improperly. He collects himself and smiles, nodding after Steve. “Yeah, you were... You were all great up there, really.”

The women smile politely, thanking them.

One of the backup singers, her dark curly hair cut short in a pixie cut, speaks first.

“Don’t be too thankful for those shots! We drink for free on the nights we sing” She jokes.

The two men laugh.

“Guess we better stick close to you tonight then” Bucky jokes back, eyes unintentionally flitting to the lead singer.

She smiles warmly.

At him.

“If you know what’s good for you, you sure will.” She teases lightly.

Bucky thinks he might die.

Was she flirting? Just joking with them to be polite? Bucky didn’t even care, he only cared that she was talking. Talking to him.

Or, talking to a group that he was a part of. It didn’t matter to him.

“Aw, you’re too kind, doll.” He subtly shifts a bit closer to her, fighting his instincts to turn her away from the group, so it can be just the two of them. “You don't have to share with us.” He’s joking, but there’s something genuine behind us. He’s giving her an out.

“No, no! Please. It’s the least we could do for you boys.” She beams, her smile so dazzling it nearly knocks Bucky on his ass.

“Really, you two are heroes” another backup singer, the one with long, caramel braids flowing down her back, gushes at them, sipping her martini shyly.

Bucky and Steve both rub their necks bashfully.

“You flatter us. We should be getting your drinks after that show tonight. But, if you drink for free…” Steve leaves his sentence open ended, a cheeky smile adorning his bearded face.

Speaking of, the bartender returns with a chilled bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, paired with a large platter of oysters.

“Good timing, you two. We can’t finish all this on our own!”, the first backup vocalist, the one who looks a bit like Betty Boop, looks expectantly at Steve and Bucky.

The two men don’t take much convincing before they pull up seats, each on either end of the group of women. Bucky sits next to his lead singer. They must look ridiculous next to each other, he thinks to himself, as he absolutely dwarfs her. He hopes she doesn’t mind, she’s such a tiny little thing….

“So… you like older music? Or, do you only like it when you’re paid to?” He inquires, desperate to speak to her about something. Anything.

She laughs softly, and oh, god, if he liked her voice, her laugh is just… something else entirely. He’d like to make her laugh forever, he thinks, or at least for the rest of the night. As long as she’ll let him.

“Oh, I love it! My dad raised me mostly on Frank Sinatra, so anything he’s been near, I’m a pretty big fan of.”

“Frank, huh? I think I have just about all of his records.”

“No way! I’ve been collecting some of his! I just found a really great Dean Martin one, actually…”

The conversation continued with ease, the only discomfort came from whenever Bucky would have to wrench his gaze away from her lips before she caught on. The bar was closing soon, and even though the band typically is allowed to stay late, all pretty exhausted. Steve, Bucky, and the band all head out together. Bucky thinks he overhears Steve asking for one of the backup singers’ number, the one who looks like Betty Boop, he thinks to himself. It dawns on him that the night is coming to an end.

“Hey, doll?”

“Hmm?”

She turns to face him, the red glow of the signs in the window illuminating her beautifully. Bucky’s breath catches, but he clears his throat.

“Let me walk you home.”

“Oh, really, Bucky, you don’t have to-”

“It’s not safe for a lady to be walking alone at night-”

Her giggle, her adorable giggle, cuts him off.

“I was going to say you don’t have to because I was going to Uber”, she says through a smile.

He falters for a split second.

“...A car, alone, with a strange man? That’s worse!”

“So your solution is that I walk home in the dark, alone, with a strange man?” She counters playfully.

He laughs, surprised.

“A strange Avenger, thank you very much. It’s practically in the job description at this point.”

She rolls her eyes, the discrete tug on the corner of her mouth betraying her as she counters.

“Oh, so you walk women home all the time, then?”

He lets himself feel a bit more confident than usual, mentally blaming the champagne as he leans in closer to whisper, “Only the special ones…”, a daring smile, one that he hadn’t worn since before HYDRA, breaking across his usually broody demeanor.

He swears once he gets closer that he can see the tiniest bloom of rosy blush start to form on her cheeks.

Maybe it’s the cold of the night air. It could be the alcohol as well. But Bucky doesn’t care. Because for the first time in the past 70 years of his life, he feels like himself, like he felt before the war.

He’ll be damned if he lets the woman that brought him back to that feeling Uber home.

“C’mon. You said you live on 6th, right? It’s a nice walk that way. Plus, I have a surprise…”

“A surprise? It’s not like, a knife, right? Or a sex dungeon?” she teases, letting him softly lead her across the street, his vibranium hand cool through the thin fabric of her dress, as he gently moves her to the side of the street furthest from the road.

He laughs, surprised at her bold joke.

“A sex dungeon?” he laughs, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over her small shoulders. The jacket was comically huge on her, practically brushing her knees, but he’d rather her dress be a bit hidden as opposed to her catching a cold.

“You aren’t denying it!” She quips, trying her best to ignore the warmth his jacket brings her, his cologne filling her nose as she inhales on instinct. Pine overtakes her senses, and… mint, maybe? His toothpaste, perhaps, or a mint he’d popped in before the walk. She wonders if he’d taste like it.

He chuckles, the sound snapping her out of her thoughts, as he returns her teasing smile with a gentle nudge, quickly returning his hand to rest on her waist. Not too low, not too high. His mother would be proud.

“Well, that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it?”

“Bucky!” she squeals in surprise, swatting his broad chest, making him break out into laughter as well.

They make their way, nearing her apartment, when he pulls her across the street, toward a dimly lit storefront. The LED ‘Closed’ sign hanging in the glass display window emitted the only light, spare the streetlamps.

“Bucky, are you sure this is the place you’re thinking of? Looks extremely closed to me..” she muses, pointing helpfully to the sign in the window.

He grins. “Don’t you trust me, doll?”, and he places one hand on the doorknob, outstretching the other for her to take.

She narrows her eyes, placing her small, warm hand in his cool metal one. “Not really, no…” she mutters, half serious.

He closes her hand and effortlessly pulls her into the building. The lights, which must be motion-activated, she cleverly deducts, flicker alive, illuminating the room to reveal a cozy, but empty Italian bakery.

Her mouth falls open, taking in the perfectly decorated pastries that sat tauntingly in the display case. Rainbow cookies, cream puffs, varying cannolis… and she was starving. Those oysters from earlier were long forgotten.

“Wow… okay, breaking and entering is definitely a great surprise, but are you sure we’re allowed to-?”

He holds up a hand, still smiling knowingly, and points to the hallway.

Sure enough, a short, portly man emerges. At first, he looks a bit irritated to be bothered at such an hour, but when he sees Bucky’s face, he lights up.

“Ah, James!” he exclaims, throwing his arms out to wrap Bucky in a hug.

James?

Bucky smiles, a bit red in the face. He introduces the singer as his date for the evening (which, in turn, makes her a bit more red than Bucky). He quickly explains that the man, Sal, owned the bakery, which, despite the sign outside, was actually open 24 hours to friends and family.

“Friends and family, hmm? Which are you, then?” She muses, trying to see if there are any physical similarities between the two.

“Oh, James is a friend, but he’s basically family at this point.” the cheery old man explains, wrapping her in a friendly hug as well. “And any friend of James is a friend of mine! Come, take whatever you’d like. On the house.”

She turns to Bucky. “On the house, huh?”

He shrugs, the sheepish action not matching his wolflike grin.

“You’re not the only one with connections, you know.”

He looms behind her, bending a bit to be closer to her ear while they peruse the baked goods.

“You’re one cheap date, you know that?”

He snorts at her comment.

“Yeah, yeah. I hope you’re fine with an Italian bakery, I took a gamble because of the restaurant you sing for, so…”

“Oh, no, I love it! You picked great, Bucky, this is an amazing surprise. You’ll have to help me choose, though… there’s so many options, and if you’ve already been here, I’d love any recommendations you might have.”

He straightens a bit, feeling pride at his ability to steer her in the right direction. They select a few cannolis and are on their way, waving happily with goodies in tow.

As they cross the street, finishing up the cannolis (best in the city, Sal promised, and he definitely delivered. They were some of the best you’d ever had), she spoke through bites.

“So… James, huh?”

He smiles a bit.

“Yeah, James. You didn’t think my actual name was Bucky, did you?”

They laugh, a sense of familiarity enveloping them both as they stroll. Bucky found the confidence to drape an arm over her shoulder, keeping her close as they crossed the street to her apartment.

For safety, he thought to himself. Just for safety.

When they arrived under the awning under her apartment, they both paused. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. She glanced away, wary.

She broke the silence.

“Thank you for walking me home! And for the cannolis. Sal wasn’t kidding, these are incredible, really.”

“I’m really glad you liked them. And I’ve said it a million times tonight, but you were incredible on stage. Thank you for letting me walk you home, I had a great time…”

He stepped a bit back, preparing to head off, refusing to overstay his welcome. A small flash of something crossed her eyes. What was it? Disappointment?

Bucky was screaming at himself to ask for her number, for something, anything, that might result in the continuation of tonight. But his gentlemanly ways demanded that he not push his luck.

“Well, goodnight, doll.”

He turned, and made it a single step, cursing himself mentally.

“Bucky?” she called, nerves plaguing her voice.

He turned to see her, hands clasped to stop herself from doing anything too rash, eyes a bit wider than before.

“...Think you’ll come see us again? The band, I mean?”

Her voice was shy, the shyest he’d heard it all night. Maybe she just wanted to secure customers for the bar, to make sure that her band would be asked back if patrons wanted to see them perform. But Bucky didn’t care. He knew, or he hoped he knew, that this was her masked way of asking to see him again, her thinly veiled questioning of if tonight had gone well, if he was.. Interested.

God, was he interested.

Was that not how he had come off?

Well, he can’t have that.

He stepped closer, gauging her reaction.

“Oh, definitely. I’d love to see you again.”

Another step. His icy blue eyes darkened in the light, pupils blown wide, raking across her face.

The blush on her cheeks from earlier had returned. He could write that off as the alcohol, hell, even as makeup.

But his enhanced senses picked up on other things.

Like her heartbeat. Pounding in her chest. Yeah, that had absolutely accelerated when he stepped closer.

So he took another, testing the waters.

“The band, I mean. I wouldn’t miss a show.”

And her heart rate definitely picked up a bit. Was he imagining it?

Her lips parted softly, her words coming out a bit breathy.

“Yeah? You liked the show?”

He could be imagining it, he told himself. He refused to misread this, to blow this opportunity. He would go as slowly as she wanted, until the end of time, if she asked him, if she only let him.

But he had to see. He had to see if she’d even give him the chance, if he could get away with even just a little flirting, his night would be made, that’s all he needs…

“Oh, I loved it. Good music, great band. And, between me and you, I definitely have a thing for the lead singer.”

His words were playful. His eyes were anything but.

And he took one more step. Close enough to touch. He lifted his arm, the same one that was draped over her mere minutes ago, subtly, to graze her hand with his. Staring down at her, barely constraining himself for just scooping her up in his arms and shoving her against the steel of the elevator in her apartment, and showing her, really showing her just how bad he wanted her, how good he could make her feel, how many times he could make her-

Her scent was intoxicating, so much so that he could barely think straight. He had been a perfect gentleman thus far (at least in action), and he would be damned if he blew it at the finish line.

Until she glanced down at his lips.

It was so fast he almost missed it.

But nothing gets past Bucky Barnes.

It was like he could feel a dam break inside him, his resolve slipping fast.

He let his metal arm wrap around her waist, pulling her body flush against his, slowly. So slowly it was killing him, keeping his eyes locked on hers. He dipped his head down gently, their noses touching, just barely.

“Can I kiss you, doll?” he murmurs, and if she says no, he thinks, he’ll politely accept, bid her goodnight, and then go run into the nearest busy street he could find. It was New York City, after all, it shouldn't take too long.

She smiles sweetly, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she stands on her tippy toes, drawing him a bit closer as she wraps her arms around his neck, their lips ghosting each other.

Fuck it.

He finally makes his move, gently pressing his lips to hers. It’s slow and gentle, like the whole night has been. She tastes impossibly sweet, like cannolis and champagne. He tastes like sharp mint, she thinks to herself, like she thought he would. She’s soft, so soft and small and warm in his big arms, her hair and lips and body so welcoming, drawing him in, his mind firing in a run-on sentence of more, more, more.

Quickly, very quickly, he’s getting lost in the kiss.

Too quickly.

His concepts of chivalry are dissolving in front of him as she melts into him. He keeps one arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her impossibly closer to him, as he snakes the other around the back of her neck, deepening their embrace. She gasps softly into him, and fuck, that does it.

He’s tried to resist, he really has, but when he hears that pretty noise, when he feels her body react to him, he pulls back without thinking and brings his lips to her jaw, leaving hot, open mouthed kisses trailing down to her collarbone.

Whatever lotion or perfume she put on earlier must be laced with nicotine, because it was seriously egging him on.

Acting purely on instinct, his hand trails from behind her neck, down her waist, and slowly back up again, softly cupping her breast, drawing a gentle moan from her kiss-puckered lips.

The sound goes straight through him, but also serves to snap him out of his trance. He realizes quickly what he’s doing, and straightens, absolutely mortified with himself.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to let it go that far, I’d really like to get to know you more, and take you out properly, I just got carried away-”

He rambles frantically, horrified that he might have lost his one chance with her, until she cuts him off.

“Bucky.”

“...yeah?” he answers tentatively.

“Do you want to come upstairs?”

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x you #winter soldier #the winter soldier #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky barns fanfiction

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callalillywrites · 1 day ago

Text

Midterm Inspiration

Written for @steverogersbingo. C2 - Art Class.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Steve Rogers Bingo | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Modern Pre-serum!Steve Rogers x Female Classmate!Reader

Word Count: 2167

Summary: You and Steve must complete your midterm projects for art class. With a little inspiration from one another, you just might pull it off and gain something a little extra for all that effort.

Warnings: mutual pining/attraction; fluff; lots of fluff; some whining about art projects but not too much; gentlemanly Steve; sweet Steve; smitten reader

A/N: I did write this fully with pre-serum Steve in mind, but minus a sentence or two, you can also absolutely imagine 'normal' Steve for this piece if you'd rather.

I do not give permission to have my works copied, translated, reposted, or fed into an AI machine.

****

"Don't forget your midterm projects are due next week," the professor shouted over the din of gathered backpacks and other supplies. "It's worth a third of your grade."

"As if I could forget," you mumbled beneath your breath.

You'd filled up one sketchpad already with various ideas, but nothing had stuck out as good enough. Certainly not good enough to earn you a good enough grade on this project.

If only your professor had allowed you to switch to what you were good at. Portraits. That's where you shined even if your technical skills lacked a little. But, no, you'd picked landscapes from his blasted hat.

Sure, you could do a few specific animals, but you hated drawing trees and flowers and especially architecture. They never turned out as they should. Something was always off enough to make others second-guess whatever it was that you'd drawn.

At least with people, you could always get enough of their likeness and their personality that others could easily identify the person you'd drawn.

To make it more complicated, you had to choose the art style you'd be making said landscape. The options almost limitless, which presented its own problem when you had no idea what type of landscape you wanted to do.

"It can't be that bad," Steve, your table buddy, said, his shoulder bumping yours.

You scoffed. "Says the best artist in our class. I'm sure you finished your midterm masterpiece weeks ago."

When he didn't say anything, you glanced up from gathering your supplies to find Steve's cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. His eyes quickly dropped to a small nick on the table's edge near him. His nail picked at it as he seemed to struggle with his answer.

"Please, don't tell me you're stumped, too. If you are, then I'm surely doomed," you said so only he'd hear, only half-teasing. If you couldn't figure it out by the end of the day, you feared you wouldn't ever figure it out. To have that happen, it would mean a repeat of this class, which you could ill afford to do with your demanding course load and the strict plan you had in place for yourself.

Steve slowly shook his head. His voice was so low you could only make out the first half, "No, I have it pretty well planned out, but I…"

Like you, Steve had drawn his project's subject from that same blasted hat. But his had been what you'd wanted. Portraits. While you'd seen his skill at them, the few sketchpads he'd shown had been filled with various pieces of architecture, the cutest little animals he'd spotted, and quite a bit of nature. He'd do a landscape justice if he'd chosen it from the hat instead.

"Would you like me to look at it? Offer some insights?" you asked, really wanting to help him out. It didn't matter that he was the best in the class. You hadn't been lying about that, but you also really wanted to help him out.

More like, you really wanted to spend more time with him.

Steve wasn't like any of the other guys you knew. He was a gentleman through and through. From opening doors to pulling out your chair to even loaning you his favorite pencils, he always made sure you were taken care of. While most guys would do it to win points, you knew these actions were so much a part of him. It would never occur to Steve that they weren't expected of him. Not nowadays anyway.

Yet, it didn't stop him from doing them each class for you.

And you couldn't help the crush you'd developed, either. It went so much deeper, too, with Steve than it had with any other guys from your past. Him having manners was a small part of what made you fall for him. It was everything about him. His blue eyes, his laugh, his caring nature, and especially his sassier side. It was his zero tolerance for bullies and his sweet nature towards those with less than him. He never forgot where he came from, and you knew he never would.

How could you not fall for someone like him?

Steve coughed even as he ducked his head. It did little to hide how pink his face had gotten. He followed up another shake of his head by saying, "Nah, I'll figure it out."

"Are you sure? I really don't mind."

"I'm good," another cough escaped him before he cleared his throat, "but I'm free if you'd like some help with yours."

You couldn't help the smile that slid over your features.

Every week, he asked you in some way to join him after class, and every week, you accepted. It'd been like that since your first day of class.

The two of you had just hit it off.

Maybe it was the way you'd practically landed at his feet after tripping over someone's backpack strap. Or maybe it was the way he'd stood up for you when that same person yelled at you for trying to wreck their stuff. He didn't have a snowball's chance of winning the fight with the burly football player, but he'd stood up anyway.

To make your bond even stronger, he'd even offered you some of the snack he'd brought with him as you dusted yourself off. He was never without some type of healthy snack and always too small to typically share with someone else. It never stopped him from offering.

"Got a place in mind?" you asked, picking up your stuff and situating it in your arms. "The cafeteria or off-campus this time?"

"Off would be nice but only if you want to."

Unable to help yourself, you leaned into his space and pressed the quickest of kisses to his cheek. The impulse was something you'd never really indulged in before, but you just couldn't help yourself this time.

Pulling back, you caught how much more pink had suffused Steve's cheeks. It might've worried you if not for how quickly his shock was giving way to the largest grin you'd ever seen on him.

A few jeers were lobbed your way and Steve's, but neither of you paid any attention as you said, "I'll drive. Tell me where you were thinking."

Steve nodded. "My treat this time, okay?"

You didn't dare argue, letting him lead you out of the classroom.

*****

That lunch had really been the real beginning for you both.

Not only had he helped you with some real inspiration for your midterm landscape piece, he'd promised you'd been just the inspiration he needed to finish his own midterm portrait. To your dismay, though, he refused to go into any details about it or even give you a single hint of what he was going to do. Nope, he kept completely mum about it, changing the subject every time throughout your lunch together.

Midterm schedules worked out in such a way that you didn't see Steve again until late the following week.

You'd missed him even as you spent most of your time studying for other exams and getting the final touches on your art project. It would've been nice if you could've done more than the occasional texting you two allowed yourselves.

At least, you'd get to see him during your art class's scheduled midterm.

Easels lined the outer edges of the classroom, awaiting whatever piece someone had made. Some of them were already occupied by fellow classmates. Your gaze swept over their pieces as you sought out the easel with your name on it.

If you also happened to seek out Steve's easel, you couldn't be blamed for that.

Honestly, it was his fault that you did.

Since your lunch together, he'd continued to tease you about his project though he still refused to give you any real details or hints about it. The way he'd built it up though, you were practically buzzing with anticipation at seeing it finally.

When you came upon your assigned easel, a quick glance to the side told you Steve's easel was next to yours, but it remained empty. A small pang of disappointment tugged within you, but you pushed it aside, knowing he'd be there soon enough.

With the few minutes you had left, you carefully set your piece on your easel. Not about to waste those final bit of time you had, you checked for any flaws that could easily be touched up. It wouldn't take much as you'd gone for a simpler style with your time constraints. Minimal color filled in the mostly soft black lines you used to provide all the details of the scene you'd chosen to depict.

"Wow," Steve breathed behind you, making you jump as you'd been concentrating so hard. "You did an amazing job, but I had no doubts you would. Your attention to even the smallest details really comes through despite the few lines you've actually used. It's like being back there all over again."

"It was a good day," you murmured, a small smile gracing your lips. Your midterm project really had come out better than you'd thought it would. There was no doubt as to why, either, as your reason was standing right behind you. In a bold move, you added, "I wouldn't mind going again soon. Maybe make a day of it instead of an afternoon."

You dared a peek over your shoulder to see Steve's mouth dropping open.

He recovered quickly enough and offered you a hopeful smile that dared to light up his entire face. "You'd really want to? With me, right?"

A soft giggle escaped even as you nodded.

"Mr. Rogers isn't wrong. This is an amazing piece," your professor said, coming up to the two of you. His wide grin as he studied your piece was enough to have your feet leave the ground. "I'm glad I held my ground. If this is what you can do when you don't want to, I'm curious to see what you'll do when you have carte blanche for your final project. I'm expecting great things from you."

"I won't let you down, sir," you said, barely containing the squeal that wanted to erupt from you. Your gaze moved from your professor to Steve who shot you two thumbs up. Your desire to squeal settled into something warm and fuzzy in your chest as you added, "I had some really great inspiration to help me with it."

Neither you nor Steve noticed the amused glance your professor had as his eyes bounced between you two. A chuckle escaped him as he mumbled, "Indeed."

After another moment of simply watching you two being so smitten, your professor cleared his throat. "Alright, Mr. Rogers, let me see your piece, then you two may head out for whatever awaits you next."

Steve nodded though he grew fidgety as he slowly pulled his piece from its protective sleeve.

It took you several moments to recognize the inspiration for Steve's portrait.

When you did, you couldn't help the gasp that escaped you.

"That's me," you breathed.

He'd gone with markers for his piece and fine-line pens for the finer details. It was in the finer details where he'd really made you look so beautiful. The realistic vision he'd gone for surpassed your greatest expectations, especially when you noted the light reflected in your eyes. There was something else in them that you couldn't quite define, but you really wanted to.

"Very well done, Mr. Rogers. I'll take them from here." Your professor quickly shooed you both from the room though his smile remained kind. "Now, you two, go on. I'm sure you have plenty to talk about, and I'll be looking forward to whatever else you create the rest of this semester."

He shut the door before either of you could think to say anything.

Left alone in the hall, you turned to Steve, only to find him fidgeting worse than he was before.

"I hope I didn't overstep," he said, one of his hands rubbing the back of his neck. The other clenched and unclenched at his side, still gripping the protective sleeve.

Not wanting him to doubt your feelings another second, you cupped his cheeks and pressed your lips to his. The kiss didn't last long, but you poured everything you could into it. Even as you pulled back, you didn't go far, choosing instead to rest your forehead against his.

"Steve Rogers, will you be my guy?" you asked in another rare show of bravery.

This time, his lips were the ones to meet yours before he pulled back and said, "I was supposed to ask you that, but yea, I'd really like that. Can I take you out this weekend? Maybe go back to that spot you drew from memory so well?"

You matched his hopeful smile with a sweet one of your own.

This, you knew, was going to be the beginning of something wonderfully sweet.

#steve rogers bingo #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #x female reader #art class #pre serum steve rogers #pre serum steve rogers x reader #mcu #modern au #college au #fluff

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peggyao3 · 16 hours ago

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Wow. I think this may be my new favorite fic/piece of writing of yours!!! 😳❤️🙏 You write mesmerizingly well. Mixing poetry-esque descriptions with filthy smut is just right up my alley, that's what I'm here for, and also the fact that all of this is written from Feyd's POV - MUAH, I literally love you 😩😩😩🙏

In the orbit of his world, where power and privilege spun like moons around his name, denial did not exist. From the moment he was plucked from the obscurity of childhood and placed beneath the ever-watchful eye of his uncle, his life had changed irrevocably.

The very beginning already put its hook in me. It's nothing short of perfect. He is spoiled, he is terrible, he gets everything he wants, but at what cost? 🥺

And it hadn’t even taken much. Just a few smiles, all teeth and hunger, the glint of something wicked in his eyes. The slow, deliberate drag of his tongue over one of his black canines, a silent promise of the kind of pain that made pleasure burn all the brighter.

The reference to pleasure and pain is absolutely perfect 🙏

How the girl raised to rule, to be bowed to, to be protected like a sacred relic was nothing but a trembling, breathless, gasping slut for his cock. She was supposed to be untouchable.

The last line hits HARD. I adore this trope. The princess in the gilded cage of course wants to be taken apart on the cock of someone like Feyd, who is royalty too, but doesn't pretend to be *good* like the rest of them.

dragging every sound from her lips like it was owed to him.

Like it was owed to him, because it *is*, because he is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen and he gets everything he wants 🥵🥹

Feyd wasn’t the kind of man to wait long for obedience. He’d drag it out of her, again and again, until there was nothing left of the princess… only his precious whore.

Again, he gets everything he wants, and I love that for him. He deserves it... doesn't he? 🥵

I'mmmmm in love with your writing, your honor, I will be eagerly awaiting more one shots from your skilled hands, and the next chapter of Folie a Deux 🥹🥹🥹

Take What You Need

summary: if only the emperor could see his darling daughter now, bent and broken over silken pillows, stripped of her titles and trappings, reduced to nothing but need and whimpering want beneath the heir to house harkonnen.

warnings: 18+ only. corrino ! reader. very slightly hinted cnc. light bondage. dirty talk. sub/dom dynamics. pet names; (princess). name calling; (slut, whore). forced orgasm. breath play. hinted breeding kink? honestly, feyd is feral and therefore his own warning.

words: 2k

notes: honestly, it was high time i wrote something for feyd. and the leia x feyd brainrot has been eating away at me, and inspired this. you have @sandwormrp to thank for their wonderful portray of feyd. <3 <3

Feyd-Rautha had never been one to hear the word no—not truly. It was a word that rarely, if ever, carried any weight behind it. In the orbit of his world, where power and privilege spun like moons around his name, denial did not exist. From the moment he was plucked from the obscurity of childhood and placed beneath the ever-watchful eye of his uncle, his life had changed irrevocably.

To be mentored by the Baron was to be both elevated and cursed. It was not a mercy. It was a burden masquerading as a gift—a double-edged sword gilded in gold. Feyd was given everything a young man could possibly want, and far more than he ever asked for. Fame followed him like a shadow; wealth was piled at his feet in obscene excess, and women were offered as distractions, rewards, and amusements.

Everything—everything—was handed to him, the world cracking itself open in servitude to his whims.

And Feyd, for all his cunning and cruelty, accepted it all without question. He hoarded his blessings with the greed of a dragon, curled protectively around his ever-growing treasure, arrogant and untouchable atop a mountain of gold and blood. He had grown accustomed to indulgence. To taking what he wanted. To expecting—deserving—the very best the universe had to offer.

And then he saw her.

Posture so perfectly poised, voice soft and refined, steeped in the etiquette of royalty. The Emperor's youngest daughter, untouched by the ugliness of the world he knew. A Corrino jewel, kept gleaming and polished behind silk veils and steel walls. She was sweet, they said. Innocent. Naïve. A creature raised in golden cages, schooled in politics but protected from its venom. She had never known true hunger, the stench of war, or the taste of ambition burning on the tongue like poison and honey.

And Feyd—he wanted her.

Not the way he wanted others, the women who were thrown at his feet, their eyes lowered and mouths painted to please. He wanted her—untouched, unclaimed, unbroken.

And want was not something Feyd ever shied away from.

"Who owns this pussy, princess?" he growled against her shoulder, his voice rough and ragged, each word escaping between clenched teeth. His lips ghosted over her flushed skin, leaving a shiver of heat in their wake. "Say it louder," he demanded, the edge of a threat woven into the velvet snarl of his voice.

There was no gentleness in the way he spoke, nor was there softness in the way he gripped her hips, holding her in place as if she might try to run. His breath was hot against her skin, coming in shallow pants, the scent of spice and sweat thick in the air between them, mingling with the smell of sex.

Feyd didn't make demands unless he was ready to drag the truth from her lips, one brutal thrust at a time. And he was prepared to do just that.

If only the Emperor could see his darling daughter now, bent and broken over silken pillows, stripped of her titles and trappings, reduced to nothing but need and whimpering want beneath the heir to House Harkonnen—he would have ordered Feyd flayed alive.

A thousand knives for every bruising kiss, every growled command, every filthy sound torn from her lips.

But it was too late.

She was already his.

And it hadn't even taken much.

Just a few smiles, all teeth and hunger, the glint of something wicked in his eyes. The slow, deliberate drag of his tongue over one of his black canines, a silent promise of the kind of pain that made pleasure burn all the brighter. A step closer. A hand against the wall, boxing her in. Whispered threats dressed as promises, words like silk-wrapped daggers in her ears.

'I'll ruin you, princess. I'll break that pretty little crown right off your head.'

She'd trembled—and he'd known she was his.

He'd smelt her arousal. How it clung to her, a perfume of desperation. That scent had damn near driven him mad, made his blood thrum with the anticipation of what was to come. And now, finally, she was here—tied, exposed, undone.

The remnants of her once-impeccable dress hung in tatters around her waist, the fabric torn and twisted into makeshift bindings that kept her hands locked tight behind her back. Her face was buried in the pillows, muffling the desperate, high-pitched moans that spilled from her lips with every harsh snap of his hips. She was soaked, thighs gleaming with the wet sheen of her arousal, welcoming him with every thrust.

It was obscene how she responded to him—her royal upbringing, all that prim-and-proper training, dissolved beneath his touch. How the girl raised to rule, to be bowed to, to be protected like a sacred relic was nothing but a trembling, breathless, gasping slut for his cock.

She was supposed to be untouchable.

A precious jewel locked behind a dozen doors, veiled and cloistered, far too delicate for the hands of any man who hadn't been sanctioned by the Imperium. But Feyd had never believed in asking for permission.

And her body? It didn't want gentleness. It wanted this.

Rough. Unrelenting. Merciless.

Feyd gave her no room to escape, no room to come up for air. Just the rhythm of his hips, the tight press of his body caging her in, claiming her with every stroke. Her cries were muffled, but he could feel the truth in them—the desperation, the hunger, the way she pushed back against him, needy and aching and feral beneath all that silk and bloodline.

She had been raised to wear a crown.

But tonight?

Tonight, she wore nothing but bruises and his name.

His palm struck her backside with a brutal crack, the sound echoing, sharp and merciless. She cried out, the scream torn from her throat before she could swallow it. He struck her again, harder this time, savouring the way her royal cunt tightened around him—scorching and soaked with need.

With a fist tangled in her hair, he yanked her up, refusing to let her stay in the pillows, refusing to let her hide behind the silence, dragging every sound from her lips like it was owed to him.

"Answer me, princess." He growled the words, blackened teeth grazing the shell of her ear. He shifted pace, abandoning the punishing rhythm that had her dripping down her thighs and painting his skin with need. Instead, he sank into her with slow, deliberate grinds—deep enough to make her eyes flutter and her breath hitch.

Feyd held her upright and kept her on her knees. He wouldn't let her collapse, refused to let her fall into the mess of tangled sheets and sweat-soaked silk. Her legs shook, thighs quivering with exhaustion, but his hands kept her there.

His fingers slid down to where she was stretched around him, teasing her slick folds before landing a sharp slap against her swollen clit. The reaction was immediate—her cunt clenched hard around him, greedy, trembling, at his mercy.

When she was silent for too long, holding her tongue as though to test his patience, he did it again—calloused fingers landing against her aching clit, harder. The sharp sting sent a jolt of electricity through her, making her body jerk, hips twitching in protest or need—he couldn't tell, and didn't care. He kept going, a third slap, until she was writhing and breathless.

"Say it," he snarled.

"You," she managed, voice broken and trembling, the word torn from her throat like a confession.

He growled against her ear, the sound guttural, a dark velvet rumble threaded with savage satisfaction. His fingers found her clit again, pressing down cruelly—just enough to make her body seize and tremble.

"Good. Fucking. Girl." Each word was driven home by a brutal snap of his hips. His cock plunged into her, splitting her open, slick and greedy around him. Every thrust drove him deeper, like he meant to carve a place for himself inside her, to brand her from the inside out.

She choked on a moan, the sound caught and smothered as he shoved her down, one hand tangled in her hair, forcing her face into the pillows. Her cries were buried, but he heard them all the same—felt them in the way her body trembled, in the way she clenched around him with every thrust.

Her thighs were slick with arousal, glistening, the wetness trailing in delicate strands from her royal cunt and soaking into the sheets below—evidence of just how thoroughly he'd undone her. The wet sound of their bodies meeting was obscene, filling the room. Feyd leaned in, breath scorching against her ear, his chest pressed to her back as his grip tightened around her hip, the other hand yanking on her hair.

"You were made for this," he growled, voice rough and ruined by lust. "To be fucked like a slut. To be mine."

When she whimpered—small, broken, desperate—he fucked her harder, dragging her back onto his cock with a force that stole what little air she had left. She was unravelling, falling apart with every thrust, and Feyd revelled in it. Because this wasn't about power. It was about possession.

And he wouldn't stop until she wore the proof of it, until she collapsed beneath the weight of what he made her feel.

"Not a princess," he snarled, voice thick with heat, each word spat against her skin like a brand. "Just a whore."

He didn't falter, not for a second. The brutal rhythm of his thrusts continued, relentless and deep, each one driving her higher, pushing her further toward that edge.

"Fuck," he hissed, head falling between her shoulder blades, breath ragged against her skin. "I feel you—so fucking tight. So wet for me. You like this, don't you? Being my whore?

His hand slipped from her hair to wrap around her throat, pulling her up and against him, forcing her to feel every inch of him, every growl that rumbled in his chest as he claimed her.

"You're going to be a good whore and cum for me, aren't you?" he snarled, the question more a command than anything else. His fingers tightened around the sides of her throat, not enough to hurt—just enough to make her dizzy, to steal the edges of her breath, to send her pulse fluttering beneath his fingertips. Her body reacted instantly, heart racing, thighs trembling, need spiralling higher under his command.

Her answer came as a gasp, caught in her throat, swallowed by the heat building between them—but Feyd wasn't the kind of man to wait long for obedience. He'd drag it out of her, again and again, until there was nothing left of the princess. . . only his precious whore.

She came with a cry torn straight from her throat, an orgasm crashing through her like a wave that could not be denied—violent, all-consuming. Her cunt clenched around him as a gush of release spilled down her thighs, hot and slick, coating his skin and soaking the mattress beneath them. It was primal, beautiful—and he drank in the sight of it with a hunger that bordered on reverence.

"Fuck, look at you," he growled, slamming her back down, both hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises. He didn't slow. He couldn't. He fucked her through the high, relentless, until she was shaking and sobbing into the pillows, her body overwhelmed, her voice breaking with every cry.

His release was building, coiling violently at the base of his spine, molten heat roaring through his veins. Every thrust brought him closer, flames licking from his fingertips to his toes until it finally broke.

With a guttural growl, he came—hard—his cock buried to the hilt as thick ropes of his cum spilled deep inside her. He held her there, pressed against him, filling her until her quivering walls were painted with him, until her womb held the evidence of who she belonged to.

No other man would ever measure up. No one else would ever touch what he had claimed. He would mark her. Ruin her. And when she carried his child—when her belly swelled with the proof of what they'd done—the galaxy would know.

She was his.

His lovely, obedient little slut.

#feyd x reader #feyd x oc #feyd

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