#not able to know about her life. if she is okay. if her heart is recovering. if her mind is not killing her. is part of the punishment too

[zepskies]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, same HC 😅

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time After Time – Chapter 12

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

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

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

Word Count: 13.7k

Posted on Patreon May 16, 2025

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

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

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

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

1944

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

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

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

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

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

“Be a goddamn man for once.”

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

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

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

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

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

Desperation. Weakness. Cowardice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before he saw the guards.

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

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

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

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

“Shh, not now. He’s here.”

Ben’s spine straightened, jaw locking tight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Subject 13 – Benjamin Brooks.

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

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

Klara made a sound like she was suppressing a laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben understood maybe ten percent of it.

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

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

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

That threw him for a beat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Discomfort?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tested?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How much pain?” Ben asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe this would finally prove otherwise.

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

No more being second-best.

No more being a failure.

No more almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it killed him – especially then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Begin the procedure,” her husband ordered her.

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

The first thing Ben felt was fucking fire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the world faded to black then.

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

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

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

It snapped.

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

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

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

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

“Easy,” someone barked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heat and force without focus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

The pieces were clicking now.

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

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

“Good genes.”

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

“Who knows? Maybe I’m a witch.”

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

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

His head was pounding, memories firing off like bullets.

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

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

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

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

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

Because he was in love.

Because he was a goddamn idiot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ben, I can’t.”

“You don’t even know me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You, singing by the piano.

You, crying in the barn.

You, gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No survivors.

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

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

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

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

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

He missed you. God, he fucking missed you.

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

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

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

A violent force with no outlet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lucky me,” Ben scoffed under his breath.

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

“No.”

“Any double vision?”

“No.”

“You appear slightly flushed. Any nausea?”

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

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

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

“None,” Klara said before Frederick could answer.

Ben stiffened unnoticeably, spine straightening.

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

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

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

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

Ben cocked an eyebrow. “Phase Two?”

Klara nodded and smiled. “Children.”

“You wanna put this shit in little kids?”

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

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

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

Finding you.

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

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

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

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

Good.

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

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

1969

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben still snorted whenever he reminded himself of that one.

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

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

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

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

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

More movies, more fame, more everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking abominations.

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For a second, neither of you said anything.

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

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

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

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

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

Ben blinked. The name hit like a hammer.

Led Zeppelin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He remembered it like it was yesterday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The walls shook.

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

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

His mind was fucking somewhere else – always.

Until he saw you.

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

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

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

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

Were you fucking aging in reverse?

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

How the hell had you–

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

And then, Ben stopped fucking thinking and moved.

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

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

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

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

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

“Best fucking twenty-fifth birthday ever!”

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

Gone.

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

Ben stopped dead in his tracks.

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

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

You’d been fucking real.

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

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

1983

Fourteen years of this fucking bullshit.

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

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

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

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

So the team stuck.

And then Stan Edgar fucking showed up.

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

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

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

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

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

Swatto had the IQ of a fucking fruit fly.

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

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

Black Noir, though?

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

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

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

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

And then, there was still Crimson Countess.

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

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

Like now.

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

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

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

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

Fucking kill him now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing ever did.

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

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

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

Her shoulders flinched. Bingo.

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

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

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

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

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

But they never could, could they?

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

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

“–please welcome the incredible Cyndi Lauper!”

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

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

Everything fucking stopped.

His hips. His thoughts. His fucking breath.

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

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

No fucking way…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking liar.

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

But not you. It was a fucking paradox.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bullshit.”

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

“Months?!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I am me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The shirt. The shoes. The song.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben hadn’t slept in fucking weeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And an unpredictable asset was a dangerous one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coming Up:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, definitely you.

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

Still not a trace of recognition in your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

The fuck–

What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt. 1:

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

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei

@perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming @hunter-or-the-hunted

@k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways @muhahaha303

@ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith @nesnejwritings

@samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02 @impala67rollingthroughtown

@star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13 @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v @youroldfashioned

[sirfluffletin]

Reactions to you not wearing a bra in a match

I have no idea where this came from but yeah I made it, deal with it

Noob, They are stammering while they chase you. For the first time they've felt something other than fear in a match, sure they were still going to metaphorically shit their pants if they even catch an offhanded glimpse of the killer but, for once they felt urged to look out for anyone but themselves... How exactly the could help you... Oh... They didn't think that through...

007n7, oh... OH- ahem that's... Unfortunate. N7 realizes that you must have been summoned for the match at a... Inopportune time, he's not sure if he can assist you or if you even want his help without calling him a creep... Hes already known for being a ex-filthy criminal exploiter, he definitely doesn't want to be known as a pervert next. He'll just keep his distance... Good luck.

Elliot, Oh shit that's definitely not good, here take my button up. It's not much but he tries to make your situation better. Elliot's button

Builderman, Will also lend you his jacket it reeks of oil and the strong tinge of metal but its warm, weighing hefty and large on your frame it felt like a warm hug, a promise that you'd be able to return this gift.

Dusekkar, He's very... disturbed at this revelation. Are you not uncomfortable? chastened, maybe? He is like an disgruntled nun but he will get over it...

Taph, ...😱 🫵 🧰. Also very bewildered upon seeing you but their bashfullness strangled any attempts at verbally acknowledgeing you or your current situation, what help would that be telling you something you already know? There are more pressing matters to deal with...

Guest 1337, similarly to Elliot he will offer his O.D. Jacket. He has a strong, goal-oriented personality and he doesn’t shy away from things that are ‘embarrassing’. The main objective is survival, If your situation lessens those chances or distracts the team, it's his duty to deal with it, whether you like it or not.

Shedletsky, He is staring, you won't see him staring but he definitely is. He won't say a thing about it and he tries to keep and air of chivalry and respectfulness about him...

Chance, quite like Shedletsky is also staring, again you won't see him staring because of his dark shades. Unlike Shedletsky he will definitely comment on your chest, it'll be joking and light hearted comments, he assumes you already feel vulnerable so why make it worse for you in an already bad situation? "Getting comfy are we? Should I remove some layers too?"

Two Time, will stare- not at your chest, no but into the deepest depths of your soul. The only words they offer you are- a curt, polite question... "Why are you indecent?"

Jason, Doesn't even notice.

John Doe, Doesn't even notice; Consciousness is foggy, The defunct code moves his body nothing more. Slash, Tear, Kill, hunt another.

1x1x1x1, all her humanity is gone when she looks your way he doesn't even see you, you're just flesh what he craves to tear, til you too are a twisted disfigurement of yourself.

Azure, It's a bit cruel to allow you to be chased in your current situation... He will aid you in the form of a crude woven binder but that is the extent of his mercy. He will still be required to end your life.

iTrapped, "This isn't an brothel, have some class wench."

Okay so... I missed all of my deadlines

So here's the dealio I'm going to be spam posting all of those today (hopefully)...

[kittykittyneowmeow69]

Missing Pieces / part 1

Masterlist

Emails and something

Tw: none, future uncle/niece incest

Estranged Uncle!John Price X Niece reader

Your childhood wasn’t a lacking one, it never fit the tired cliche of being raised by a single mom, it was full, full of people who loved you, full of family vacations and holidays, full of cousins (maternal), aunties and uncles (maternal) ,godmothers and godfathers (maternal), food, gifts, inside jokes, laughter, community (maternal).

And—She had you young, 20, coincidentally the same age that you are now, dated many, many, men whom she kept far, far away from you until she found the one, the one she married, your step-father.

He is a good man, a reliable man, a safe man, a man that you admire and respect, yet there is something that you can’t quite shake, have never been able to shake—

A curiosity, a deep seated need, an instinct,a biological urge, to know the other half whose blood flows through you.

You don’t quite know when you stopped asking your mother about your biological father, when you gave up, perhaps after being to told to let it go and it doesn’t matter anymore enough times, after seeing the slight agitation and the underlying melancholy in her face, bewildered at why it mattered so much, after all you have a father figure now, a man who loves you like his own.

You stopped asking once you realised that this road would always lead to a dead-end, that fundamentally it was about not sharing you, to remain the nucleolus of your little world—

And because the universe has a strange sense of humour, you look like just like her—“oh sweetheart your mum used to look just like you when she was your age”— is something that you have been hearing all your life—

(But —there are traces of the other half, your features a little lighter, a little softer, a little blunt, a dimple right under your eye when you smile. )

It was your aunty, your mom’s baby sister, closer to you in age than to her, who slipped his name during one of your drunken girls nights in, in the most gut-wrenchingly causal tone, like in her tipsiness she forgot that she was supposed to keep it from you, like everyone was in on this secret except you—

“Oh his name was …..umm let me think, Oh yes! William Price, she had a little summer fling in uni, didn’t tell him about you because she didn’t want to be caught up in custody nonsense”

And when you rushed to the bathroom, gut wrenching sobs stuck beneath your ribs, she said—

“Oh sweetheart, I didn’t really think it mattered”

It was that simple.

——

William Price

No Facebook, No Instagram, No LinkedIn, No email, No website, an obituary dated 3 years ago.

William Price, fondly remembered as Billy died in a sudden Car accident his brother Cpt. John Price remembers his dry humour………

John Price

No Facebook, No Instagram, No LinkedIn, a website for a security solutions firm based in London, CEO - John Price ex-SAS , an email.

So—you write him an email, an odd and awkward email, one you drafted and re-drafted a ten’s of times, fingers shaking as you press Send, doing your best to tell a man that his dead brother might be your father, might.

And then you waited— at first you refreshed the mail app every few minutes, then every few hours, a day passed, each time your heart stopping a little—

It took 37 hours, on a saturday evening.

A gut churningly , heart stoppingly short email.

Subject: re:

Hello, would it be okay if I could see you in person to talk about this, Monday 1830, pick a place and let me know.

Best,

John.

[fingertipsmp3]

I swear to god everything from the weather to my equipment to my neighbours to my own fucking body is conspiring to make sure I don’t get a good run this week

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples ❦.ׂ

chapter one: a new beginning

masterlist , series masterlist , ao3 link

you are here | next part

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you've always hated her. you live your life free from her and caleb. a stranger helps save you from a date gone wrong.

word count: 5.1k words

warnings: extreme loathing, kinda funny, kinda sad, a good mix of everything! mentions of death. not proofread!

author's note: hi! this is my first lads fic! it's lowkey a mess and is all over the place, but that's okay! i hope you all enjoy! <33 please feel free to comment! i love any & all feedback! <33

You never thought yourself to be a hateful person, but whenever you saw Caleb with her, your heart boiled. His smile was always the brightest with her. He always handed her the first water bottle after a run around the neighborhood. His eyes were always on her and not you during study hall. They shared giggles with one another and you were the last to know the joke as you filled out blank homework pages. Whenever she walked into a room, he jumped to her side and aided her with whatever it is she needed.

And she always needed something.

Your friendship with Caleb and the girl you deemed a she-devil blossomed from a young age, having been next-door neighbors with Josephine. You are older than her yet still a few months younger than Caleb, which meant that the two of you had to look out for her.

She was naive in many ways. She always trusts people too easily and is quick to help, not knowing that the world is cruel and is out to hurt her. It’s something you and Caleb bonded over; taking care of her was something you had in common with him alongside planes, absolutely loving apple pie, and always wanting to be the last one tagged during recess.

However, those childhood days have long passed and you’ve settled into a draining routine where you played a background character in someone else’s life.

When you and Caleb reached freshman year of high school, you were sure that he was going to ask you to be his date to the homecoming dance. Instead, you were surprised with the revelation that he was going to stay home and have a movie night with her since she wasn’t in high school yet.

Despite his compliments about your dress, he snuck back inside his house when you asked him if he needed a ride to the dance. She was waving him back inside in the background and he couldn’t have been happier to watch My Little Pony or whatever bullshit she had lined up.

You basked in his frequent compliments when he met you outside your home, when she wasn’t around. Caleb always knew what to say when you had a saddened frown on your face.

“Did James turn you down? I thought he liked you! You’re a catch!” Caleb’s warm words reached your ears and made the butterflies in your stomach flutter. At least he knew then that you were worthwhile. If only he wasn’t so blind to what you had to offer to him.

At least you had a year of high school alone with him. You two even shared a few classes together and had planned study nights to prepare for final exams! Huddled at the desk in his room, you could smell the sweet apple scent of his shampoo and were able to hear through raspiness of his chuckle right next to your ear.

It was fun until she came inside his room, claiming that she wanted to help you two study. That plan lasted for about ten minutes before she whined and complained that she wanted to watch her and Caleb’s favorite show. That night ended up with her snuggled into his side while he stroked her hair. You held the chip bowl, not by choice, and watched as your crush on the boy next door began to deteriorate.

When she finally joined your and Caleb’s high school, you bit your tongue and held back the deplorable comments that shuffled through your mind about his so called beloved. You even held back comments to your new friends about his relationship with her. You knew that if you ever said anything bad about her, he’d come to her defense and shun you for what you’ve said.

It never mattered how you felt. It didn’t matter if you were having a bad day or had just embarrassed yourself in front of your entire gym class when Becky threw a ball right at your face. His attention will forever be owned by her. You’ll never get to know how it feels to always be under his cautious gaze nor will you ever be a recipient of his charming smile.

Truth is, you used to be friends with them. The perpetual third wheel to all of their escapades and adventures. You used to be close to them but as time moved on, they grew closer together and you, well, just didn’t fit into their equation anymore. The funny thing is that they have no clue of their wrongdoing towards you nor did they realize that you had left their group entirely after months of sitting in your room, filled with nothing but discontent as you scrolled through their posted selfies together.

You thought you set yourself free from them. It’s better to watch from afar instead of up close, no? It spares you more heartbreak and it, very selfishly, keeps you away from her.

You can stay away from her smiles. Her laughter. The way her dark hair falls into the perfect messy bun while yours just looks plain erratic. Not to mention the way her hands always lingered on him while you watched, helpless from the other side of the lunch table.

And you can finally break free from that stupid nickname he has for her.

“Hey!” You hear a friend’s voice from over your shoulder. You turn and smile at them, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Are you ready for the game against the Rams tonight? I heard you’re starting!”

Before you can reply, you hear a thud behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you notice that Caleb leans against the metal lockers. His arms are crossed over his chest and he wears that stupidly charming  grin on his face.

“You have a game tonight? Why didn’t you tell us?” He asks. Her smile falters.

Us. That damned word.

“It’s not a big deal,” you shrug, placing your leftover books inside the locker. “You two are usually busy anyways doing…whatever…so it wouldn’t have mattered if you knew or not.”

Okay, maybe there is some venom in your tone and malice in the way you throw your books into your locker. To be fair, you’re so fed up with them ghosting you and never showing up to your games that you can’t help but let some of your anger out.

“Woah!” Caleb pushes off the locker and holds his hands in the air. You roll your eyes and slam the locker shut, walking away. He quickly follows and matches your hellish pace. “What’s wrong? You’ve been so distant lately. Me and—”

“Don’t,” you bark. The two of you pause in the middle of the hallway, your eyes locked on his in a heated glare. “How long do you think it’s been since I’ve hung out with you two?”

A look of confusion flashes across his face. You have to stop yourself from looking at the way his face scrunches up, the way his tongue pokes about between his lips while he thinks.

“Hm…like a month?” Caleb’s words are genuine, you know that, but it shatters your heart to know that he doesn’t even realize it’s almost been a year since you two hung out, let alone were in a room together.

“A month?!” You scoff and look away. A laugh filled with disdain and shock escapes your lips. Your hands drop to your side, tightly balled into fists, as anger washes throughout your body. “Caleb, be real with me right now. Do you truly think it’s been a month?”

You want to give him a chance to redeem himself, for him to own up to the mistake he’s made. Everyone deserves a second chance, right?

“I do, yes…” he wearily says. Your nostrils flare, cheeks heating with irritation.

“Hey guys!” Her cheerful tone scratches the inside of your brain. You sharply inhale and close your eyes just to open them to the side of her attaching herself to his side. “Are you okay? You look angry,” she remarks and gently places her hand on your shoulder. You immediately slap it away. The tips of your fingers tingle from the smack.

“Hey! What was that for?” Caleb steps in front of her, pushing the teen girl behind him.

You cross your arms over your chest, eyes narrowing up at Caleb, who guards her from you.

“Just fuck off and leave me alone!” You snap, pushing past them, your shoulder bumping into Caleb’s bicep. 

“Wait!” Caleb’s voice rings in your ears. A flash of hope makes your heart flutter.

Is he going to chase after you? Will he finally ditch her and see how you’re feeling for a change? Will the old Caleb come back, the one that actually cared about you and your feelings?

Your feet hesitate, pace drastically slowly, still in earshot of the other two’s conversation. You can hear his footsteps coming after you, going from slow to quick, but they suddenly stop.

“She isn’t worth it, Caleb,” her voice shoots any semblance of hope you felt, ripping your heart into shreds. “She’s so mean…she doesn’t deserve your care.”

The hallway in front of you turns glossy. You use the back of your hand to wipe away the tears that brew in your eyes. Your once reluctant pace hastens and you disappear down the hallway, becoming just another face in the crowd.

The year passed and you graduated with a new group of friends; friends that welcomed and invited you with open arms. Your camera roll was no longer sad, filled with empty selfies with her and Caleb not paying attention in the background, shifting to group photos and friends completing the other side of your hand heart. It filled your heart with the joy and happiness that your previous friendships lacked.

And most importantly of all: you were completely over Caleb and didn’t have to spend any more time around her. It’s a relief for you, really, and you’re able to go to the college of your dreams and pursue the career you wanted. 

The saddened memories no longer pained you. They no longer dug into your skin. Instead, you planted them into the soil of your mind, using the special fertilizer (the special ingredient being resent), and grew from them.

So what if they wronged you? You were now free and didn’t owe either of them a damn thing! That is, until Caleb died.

The news nearly broke you. Your mother informed you of the news when you came home for a visit. You were on a much needed break from work and were looking for a chance to relax. Your time of relaxation was quickly turned inside out.

You became a shell of yourself, the last memory of Caleb haunting your mind as you holed up in bed, covers covering the entirety of your body with a small hole for clean and cool breathing air. Your cheeks became perpetually stained with tears, becoming sticky in your sleep before the cycle started all over again.

The day of his funeral was unnecessarily rough. Your mother had to drag you out of bed and help you into the shower, the hot water turning cold from the amount of time you stood there. Once you stepped out, body trembling from the cold air, you stared at the black dress that was laid out across your bed.

It was simple. It stopped mid-thigh and the sleeves ran long down your arms. You paired it nicely with tights from high school, a pair that Caleb complimented you on, and a pair of simple booties.

She was the center of attention, of course, there was no doubt about that. The ache in your chest left you feeling conflicted. She sat alone, head hung low, as people walked by, chuckling as if they weren’t at a funeral reception.

You almost felt bad for her and the way her mascara streaked down her cheeks. She clung to a piece of metal in her hand, occasionally bringing it up to her lips to kiss it.

The distance between the two of you felt like a game of cat and mouse. She took one step forward, you took one back. She entered the hallway you found recluse in, you made sure that there was room in the closet for you to hide in.

You thought that you were able to slip out unnoticed until she called out your name.

“Hi…” your voice falls off. Her fists are balled at her sides, knuckles white.

“What are you doing here?” Her words are sharp, effortlessly slicing into you. “I thought you hated him.”

“I could never hate him…” the words barely come out, just above a meek whisper. She doesn’t say anything else. All she does is stare at you with her heartbroken expression, eyes strained and red from the sobs she let out earlier.

A part of your heart broke for her. The other part remained emotionless, knowing how she tormented you in your younger years by dangling Caleb in front of your face. It tormented you to know that you could still hold a sliver of resentment in your heart for something that happened so long ago. You quietly left, leaving her alone in the hallway, disappearing behind a familiar turn.

A year passes. The hatred you held in your heart has dissipated. You’ve watered the flowers you planted in your mind and the petals read off messages of forgiveness and second chances, even though you made sure to never run into her ever again.

Some people can forgive and forget, but you’ll be sure to forgive and keep a distance.

Skyhaven isn’t too bad of a home. Sure, there’s barely any trace of organic life throughout the city, except for the token tree the mayor decided to add about two months ago, but it’s a nice place to live. You’ve made yourself comfortable. The nightlife is great and the rain is even better. You even made some friends at your job and have gone out on a date or two with a guy who is very attentive.

But none of them are Caleb.

You stare at yourself in the cafe mirror, shaking your head. You fix your disheveled hair, wondering how you managed to spend the last ten minutes digging up the past when you’re on a date with a very cute guy. You bite your lip and tweak the last details of your outfit, flattening out a wrinkle in your skirt.

Pushing the bathroom door open, you glide down the hallway, smiling at the other customers who pass by. You can finally go back to…what’s his name again?

Jared? Clyde? Marc, who always emphasizes that there’s a ‘C’ at the end of his name instead of a ‘K’?

You clap your hands together when the name comes back to you. He jumps in his seat, his eyes closing in on you when you sit down. His smile is a little too goofy, missing out on any kind of charm that he can capitalize on, and you can’t help but watch out of the lower half of your vision as he itches his crotch.

“Thanks for waiting for me, George,” a warm smile spreads across your lips. He matches it and leans forward, pushing a colorful mug in your direction. You watch it closely before drawing it closer to you. You don’t take a sip, though, instead letting the whipped cream on top of the coffee melt. You sigh.

You don’t even liked whipped cream on your coffee. You know who would have remembered that?

“It was no problem at all!” George proudly proclaims. His chair scraps across the wooden floor. He inches closer and closer towards you in an attempt to close the distance but you scoot away from him, keeping a pleased smile on your face.

“So, what were you saying you do for a job?” Your question goes straight to his head. Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you refrain from interrupting him about his long ramble about how he works as a “video game consultant” at a local game store.

The conversation is so painful to sit through. You glance between his beady gaze and the clock on the wall behind him. The ticking hands somehow move slower when he dives into his day to day routine. Maybe the whipped cream isn’t as bad as you previously thought.

An hour goes by and you have barely been able to get a word in. Mugs form into a half-circle in front of you. Your leg bounces up and down, hands jittery. Even your blinking is rapid as you solely stare at the clock.

“That’s enough about me. Tell me about yourself,” George grabs his glass. He ordered a cream soda at the beginning of the date but the cream separated from the colorful soda water, forming into chunky clouds.

“You know what,” you breathe out in a laugh, signaling over your shoulder to the door, “it’s getting late. I have an early start tomorrow so I should get going.” You stand from the chair and snatch your tiny purse from the seat beside you.

The cafe is practically empty now and the sun has set hours ago. You rush towards the exit, the route to the door feeling like it never ends as Greg — oh shit, George! — chases after you. 

The Skyhaven night is nice and crisp. The rain isn’t as hard tonight, just a mere sprinkle, and you rush out into the open, taking a deep breath. The chilled air fills your burning lungs and you’re able to breathe again, that is, until George grabs your hand. You gasp and snatch it back from him.

The raindrops lightly kiss your face but George’s sickening smile makes you want to hurl. He creeps towards you, the moon shining just bright enough for you to see the darkness form in his eyes.

“I have to get home, George!” You nervously chuckle, turning away. You rush towards the nearest bus stop, knowing that there will be other people there to take refuge with. George doesn’t let up though and his movements become more primal and animalistic as the seconds tick by.

“Come on, sweetheart,” George beckons from behind. You can hear his ragged breath from behind you grow close. You brace your body for impact…but nothing comes. Instead, you hear a struggle from behind. You swirl on your heels and stare at the scene behind you.

A tall man pushes George away from you. The moonlight reflects off of the shine of his coat, the top of his hat deflecting the light raindrops. You stagger backward, heart racing inside your chest, as George crumbles to the ground, a blur of red, grey, and blue pushing down on the man.

“She said she’s going home,” the voice growls. It itches the back of your mind, calling to you like a faint memory. “Leave. Or I’ll crush you right here and now.”

The voice beckons to you from the back of your mind, putting it at ease. The voice calls out your name followed by a throaty chuckle. It asks you how you’re doing, if you need help with that week’s math homework. You can also hear his voice apologize to you for forgetting about your plans to go to the movies with your group of friends, making some excuse that she got locked in the attic and needed rescuing.

The moonlight turns dark, the floating rock covered by a cloud, as the figure slowly approaches you. The once soft droplets of rain evolve into hardened projectiles, the wind picking up from all around you. With the weather matching your quickly escalating mood, you march through the rain, the phantom chasing after you.

“Hey! You’re getting soaked!” His voice calls from behind. You pay no attention to it.

The voice sounds exactly like a dead man! A person who is resting in peace six feet under and couldn’t possibly be here in Skyhaven.

You reach the bus stop and hide under the small covering, the rain pounding against the top, rolling off the sides. You hold your arms to yourself and your teeth clatter on the inside of your mouth. You have to tell yourself to not look at the man beside you.

Stranger danger, after all.

“Why are you ignoring me?” The man asks. It’s just the two of you at the bus stop. The stop’s light flickers, adding to the already ominous feeling that forms deep inside your chest. You hug your arms to your body, providing the only warmth in this cold night. “Oh, I get it. You’re mad at me.”

“I don’t even know who you are!” You retort rather quickly, finally looking up at the man.

You gasp and stumble backward. He quickly reaches for you, his large, warm hands gripping your waist, stabilizing you.

He looks down at you with an irresistible and charming smile. His purple eyes seem to glow under the dim lighting. He wears a black and orange rain jacket, black baseball cap sitting on his head. He cocks his head to the side, gaze drifting to memorize your face.

Nausea sweeps over your body. You tear your gaze off of the phantom before you. The cold air pricks the inside of your lungs, rapidly moving in and out of your system.

This can’t be real, right? He cannot possibly be standing in front of you, alive and well, with that damn smile on his face. A single tear rolls down your cheek, your lips parted. Your breath flows out of your mouth in gentle plumes of steam.

“Caleb?” Your voice falters. He chuckles, smoothing down your frizzy hair.

“The one and only! C’mon, you can say it: you missed me!”

You reach out, grabbing his arms, squeezing him. His brows furrow, eyes training themselves on your hands as you poke and prod various parts of his body. You grab his cheeks, pulling on them before squishing his face. He gently takes your hands into his, moving your hands away from his face.

“You done yet?”

“You’re alive!”

“I am well aware of that, yes.” His laugh fills your ears and your heart swells.

Even after all these years of forgetting Caleb, you still end up swooning for him the moment he saves you from Landon.

Or was it David? Eh. It doesn’t really matter.

“How…what…” you stammer, unable to form a cohesive and coherent sentence. Caleb sighs and takes your hand. He flattens your palm against his chest.

How heartbeat is slow and steady…it’s there. You gasp, bottom lip trembling, legs slowly becoming jelly.

Tears freely flow down your face as the realization of his existence sets in.

He’s alive.

He’s here.

He’s breathing.

His last memory of you isn’t you ending your friendship and avoiding him for the rest of your senior year of high school.

You collapse to your knees, hand digging into your chest. A sharp pain slices into your chest as your fingernails dig into your skin in an attempt to grab your heart and to scream at it to calm down. The pounds from your heart makes your ears ring, drowning out the endless pitter patter of rain. Even your lungs feel as if they are on fire, unable to suck in and inhale the oxygen that you need to survive.

Your eyes open and Caleb’s face is right in front of yours. You can hear him speak but cannot make out a single word that he says. He gently helps you back to your feet.

“Take it easy,” his words seep through the sound of your heartbeat, “breathe.”

His hand slides to the back of your neck, warming your body, and his thumb gently grazes the side of your neck. You inhale through your nose, holding it for a few seconds before slowly exhaling until all of the air is out of your lungs.

“Does she know?” the question pops out of your mouth before you can stop it.

How could you even ask that at a time like this? You should be seeing if he’s okay! If he’s in any sort of trouble that you can help get him out of.

Did he fake his death? Has he been alive this whole time? When was he going to come see you?

Caleb sharply inhales through gritted teeth, pulling away from your face. You watch him closely, bottom lip trembling.

You know. You know the answer.

Of course she knew before you! She is his beloved, the one person he will spend the rest of his life with. It’s laughable to even think that you stood a chance against her.

“Actually,” you interrupt him, covering his mouth, “don’t answer that. I really don’t want to know.” Even though every fiber of your being screamed blood murder at you to figure it out.

Is he dating her? Has he ditched her for good? HAs Caleb finally come to the realization that she isn’t some angel that came down from the heavens.

His purple eyes blink at you, perplexed by your actions. Caleb speaks into your hand but his voice is a mere muffle. You sigh and look out at the pouring rain.

You need to get home.

You need to get home and get away from him.

You need to relieve yourself of any memory, item, or scent that can remind you of him because, well, he clearly isn’t yours to have.

If you stay any longer, you’re going to end up crying in the rain, unloading all of your emotions onto him. And Caleb, who has risen from dead, doesn’t deserve to hear any of it. He’s innocent in all of this and no matter how angry and resentful you can feel towards him, you’ll never be able to hold it against him.

“Get home safe, Caleb,” you breathe the words out, slowly releasing your hand from his mouth.

You push away from him and bare the thundering rain on your own, hugging your jacket to your body. You sprint across the street, desperately needing to get away from him.

Caleb watches you with wide eyes, captivated by the woman you’ve become.

You’ve lost all the baby fat in your cheeks. Your hair is longer and is styled to perfection.

You’re bolder. Funnier, even, whether it’s intentional or not. Caleb laughed at your jokes in the cafe, particularly the ones that George didn’t find funny.

Whatever. He’s an idiot.

He heard your laugh from inside the cafe and got drunk off of it. He found himself smiling wider than he has before in the past year.

You took his mind off of his stressful job, which he just came back from, and relaxed his body. He didn’t think about how ling he stayed in that damned tunnel nor did he think about his connections with Ever.

Your laugh turned off the fight or flight switch that perpetually stayed on inside his head. It did pain him, though, to know that you were out with other guys. This George fellow is not your match. He’s a Sul-indulgent prick who only talks about himself.

And what the fuck is a video game consultant anyways?

His job is nothing compared to being a Colonel in the Farspace Fleet. You’ll surely be impressed with that.

You did always say you loved a man in a uniform.

His purple eyes flicker with excitement. He steps out into the rain and follows in your exact footsteps. Once he’s across the street, he turns around and stares at the cafe you two once sat in.

She walks out with her friends, umbrellas covering their heads. They smile and laugh with one another, teasing as thunder booms in the background. He chuckles at their umbrellas but his smile quickly fades when he realizes that you didn’t have one.

Silly girl. Now he has to check in on you and make for sure that you don’t catch a cold.

His gaze drifts to her but the spark he once felt isn’t there anymore. She’s…boring now. Caleb tilts his head back and laughs.

How could he have been so blind?

His focus has been on her all along but you…you are something else.

Captivating. Intoxicating. Enchanting. Hilarious. Fascinating.

Your fruity perfume formed a tent in his pants. Have you always smelled like apples and cinnamon? You encapsulate an autumn evening. Suddenly, he loves it when the leaves change colors and fall from the trees. He’ll never let you fall ever again.

Caleb doesn’t know how he let you slip through his fingers so many times. You live in Skyhaven, too, right under his nose. He should have found you sooner.

He should have gone with you to the homecoming dance. He regrets not watching you during the countless games you’ve invited him to. He should have closed the door in her face when she petered you two when you needed to study for the math exam. It was never your best subject. Lucky, he excelled in it.

And he should have fucking gone after you when you told him to fuck off all those years ago.

But now?

Now Caleb’s going to take back the time he missed out on. Surely, you’d feel the same way when he comes back? After all, he does know where you live now.

Six floors up. The fourth room from the left. You have a stained glass butterfly hanging in your window. He’ll see it up close soon enough.

He stands outside your apartment building with a bright smile on his face, staring up at your bedroom. He can see you move throughout the living room, your shadow painted against the far wall. His eyes follow as you slip into your bedroom. You look out the window.

What are you looking at? I’m here. Show me anything. Give me the signal I need to come and save you.

You turn on a lamp. The light points up to the butterfly, illuminating the blue and orange colors from the glass.

You’re so thoughtful.

How did you know those are his favorite colors?

Caleb chuckles to himself, shaking his head. His feet carry him to the entrance of your apartment building, just barely sneaking in as a couple leaves. He thanks them and sneaks to an elevator, stepping inside as he presses the button to your floor.

Thank you for the signal, he thinks to himself, I’ll be there soon.

if you're interested in being a part of a taglist, please let me know here!

[potchi-fics]

note: im alive yall

tw; amab basketball player caitlyn, overstimulation

      caitlyn’s one of the hottest students on campus, given that she is the basketball team captain, standing at a whopping six foot one, a beast academically, and literally, hot.

and she’s known to be a womanizer—breaking hearts left and right, leaving crying women in her trail. she doesn’t mean to, of course, it’s not her fault they keep flocking to her even though they know it won’t end well.

your friends have been trying to convince you that caitlyn kiramman is THE shit.

“i honestly don’t see what’s the hype around her,” you say without a care in the world, ignoring your friend who’s gushing about the captain, “she’s tall, smart, so?”

“she’s hot.”

“okay?”

      what the campus doesn’t know is that you’ve got the heartless, womanizer, nonchalant captain stuttering when you kneel between her legs.

you’ve got her throwing her head back when the back of your throat swallows around her dick, her fingers twitching in your hair, not being able to push you down deeper, or else she won’t be cumming any time soon.

they don’t have an ounce of clue that you’re milking her dry using your hands, mouth, and pussy. the other day, you gave caitlyn the best sex of her life when she made the game-winning shot against your rival school.

“ple-please, i can’t cum–fuck, cum anymore.” her hips thrust upwards despite her words, her dainty and long fingers digging into the side of your hips, faltering when she feels your cunt gripping her, “shit, shit. too much.”

      you ignore her. 

planting your hands on her knees, you bring yourself down on her lap roughly, forcing her to feel your pussy clamp down when the head of her dick prods your g-spot.

your eyes flutter close when you feel her warm cum, not even bothering to stop, or at least slow down—soaking in her desperate pleas and the twitches of her cock inside of you.

[lemonlover1110]

Sukuna

Summary: Sukuna is raising a brat, but it's not his fault. How can he say no when she's so adorable?

Warnings: Fluff

My apology for always lying to y'all😩

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Sukuna takes over for the day, as much as he doesn’t want to. You can barely stand, clearly too sick to function so he takes over. It’s a task that doesn’t require a lot of effort on his part. He has servants for everything. He doesn’t have to cook, clean– But there’s this one task that only he can do.

“Papa, flower!” His little girl shouts, pointing to the flowers that you made him plant. She’s guiding him over to them. Yes, she’s dragging him along. Sukuna, who is four times her size and with more than enough arms to carry her, can’t hold her in his arms without starting the biggest tantrum. 

One thing about her, she’s strong-willed. She’s just like her papa. Maybe it’s a good thing that Sukuna would never raise his voice at her, though he wonders if this is one of those times where he should discipline her. He’s leaning down just to be able to hold her hand.

“Slow down, brat.” Sukuna tells her, which falls on deaf ears. She runs as fast as her little legs can go, which is surprisingly fast for her size. She’s lucky she’s cute or else Sukuna would eat her alive.

She tries to let go of his hand, but Sukuna doesn’t let her. He won’t allow her to run off so easily. What if he loses her? Oh, the earful that he would get from you (not to mention that he’d be worried sick, but that’s a whole separate issue). She’s the size of an apple, it’d be hard to spot her if he lets her go.

“Papa!” She yells, clearly upset that Sukuna won’t fulfill her whim. But her yell isn’t enough to get him to stop holding her hand.

“What do you want to do, rascal?” He asks as she attempts to reach out to the flowers. The walk is longer than it seems… But that’s just life when your legs are short.

“For mama.” She looks up at him with the cutest eyes, and his cold wrinkly heart nearly melts. She’s such a sweet human… He has to change that. But in due time, right now he wants to enjoy the time he has with his sweet little girl.

“Fine.” He agrees. Only because you’re sick, otherwise he wouldn’t agree.

He gets caught up in the middle of it, watching as her grubby little hands pick apart the beautiful flowers of your garden. He knows that you’ll be upset about it, but that’s an issue that he’ll let you handle. He’s not going to deal with a tantrum today. It’s not like he’s complicit–

“Papa, hold.” He’s handed a handful of flowers, and he has no option but to take them. Okay, maybe now he’s complicit… But it’s not his fault.

She smiles at him, and he can’t help but sigh. She’s too adorable. She definitely has him wrapped around her tiny finger.

[verstappenverse]

Call Me When You Breakup

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max is in the wrong relationship, and you both know it. But knowing isn’t choosing, and you’re done waiting.

1.8k words / Inspo / Role Reversal / Masterlist

You don't want to be here.

Not in this overpriced, dimly lit restaurant. Not sitting across from your best friend who, for all intents and purposes, should be yours but isn't. Not watching him share a plate of something too delicate, too refined, with someone who doesn’t know him the way you do.

You shouldn't be here, but you are. Because Max asked, and you’ve never been able to say no to him.

His girlfriend, the word itself sticks in your throat like it doesn’t belong there, sits beside him her hand curled possessively around his arm like it’s an accessory.

She's beautiful in that effortless way that makes it impossible to hate her, but easy to envy and you do, not because she's done anything wrong, but because she has him and you don’t. She’s the kind of girl who wears white to brunch and never spills anything. Who smiles with her teeth but never with her eyes. She laughs at all the right moments, smiles like she’s being watched, and you suppose she probably always is.

She tells people he’s different with her, like it’s some accomplishment, like she’s smoothed out all the parts of him that used to be real. And maybe that’s what she wants, a version of Max that’s easier to manage. More polished. Less... passionate.

And maybe he needs that. Maybe it’s easier to be loved when no one sees the cracks.

But you do.

And you love him anyway.

"You're quiet tonight."

Max's voice breaks through the fog of your thoughts, dragging you back into the present. His blue eyes flick to yours, brow furrowed. You know that look. Concern. Like he always gets when you're not yourself. Like he doesn't realise he’s the reason why.

"I'm fine," you lie, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. "Just tired."

His girlfriend, her name, why does her name escape you? Leans in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, whispering something you can’t hear. Max laughs, low and affectionate, and it splinters something inside you.

You force your attention back to your plate, pushing the delicate food around with your fork, though you have no appetite for it. Each bite seems tasteless, it’s not the kind of meal you’re used to. You’d much rather be somewhere familiar, somewhere real, where the food is greasy and the air is thick with laughter, the kind of places where Max talks with his hands and lets himself forget who he has to be.

But tonight, he’s wearing someone else’s life. And you’re just the spectator.

Max's laughter, though, it’s still real. It’s just harder to swallow now, harder to accept, because it’s not for you. Not tonight.

Then he leans in closer than necessary, voice dropping again, warm and soothing, bringing you back to the present. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Your heart stutters for a beat. The question, the tone it’s always the same. Always concerned. Always directed at you. But never for you. You’ve learned to ignore the quiet ache that blossoms each time, because it’s pointless.

"I'm fine," you repeat, this time with more conviction. The smile feels less forced but still unnatural. "I promise."

His eyes linger on you like it’s a habit he can’t break, and you can tell he’s not buying it. His gaze flicks briefly to his girlfriend, who is now chatting animatedly with the waiter about some wine pairing, before he leans in, close enough that only you can hear.

"Are you sure? You know you can talk to me right?"

That damn sweetness in his voice. That quiet tenderness he saves just for you, like a secret between the two of you, a secret you’re not sure you can keep much longer. His girlfriend is only a few inches away, but the distance between you and Max has never felt more cavernous.

You swallow, unable to look at him, because if you do, you might say something you can’t take back. Something that would shatter the delicate balance you’ve managed to maintain.

You want to tell him that you're not fine. That you haven’t been for a long time. But you can’t. You just can't.

Instead, you nod, your throat tightening, unable to force the words past your lips. He doesn’t need to know. Not now. Not when it could ruin everything.

Later that night when you’re alone in your apartment, you do what you swore you wouldn’t.

You scroll through old photos, ones where it was just you and Max, before… before everything became complicated. Late-night drives through Monaco, your legs propped up on his dashboard. His arm around you after a race, champagne still clinging to his skin. The way he looked at you, like you were his whole world.

And maybe you were.

Maybe, for a time, he was yours too.

You miss him. Not the version of him you get now, careful and distant, but the Max who used to call you at 3 a.m. just to talk. The Max who used to sit on your bathroom counter while you took off your makeup, who would trace patterns into your wrist absentmindedly as you talked about the future.

That version of Max doesn’t exist anymore.

Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s just buried under the weight of a relationship that isn’t meant for him.

She’s the safe choice. The quiet, easy path. She’ll never demand the real version of him, but she’s there and for now that’s enough for him.

Your fingers hover over his name in your phone, heart hammering in your chest. You shouldn’t call.

But you want to.

Call me when you break up.

The words sit on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down.

Instead, you type a message you’ll never send.

We’re so meant for each other, when will you wake up?

You read the words, and the weight of them sinks deep in your chest. But you delete them immediately. They’re too raw. Too desperate. Too honest.

With a shaky breath, you shut off your phone, the screen fading to black.

The thing about being in love with Max Verstappen is that you never really stop waiting.

You wait for him to see you. Wait for him to realise what you've always known. Wait for the moment when he’ll turn to you and say, it was always you.

But waiting is exhausting.

And you're tired of feeling like an afterthought.

So you do what any rational, heartbroken person would. You try to forget.

You let strangers buy you drinks, let them whisper sweet nothings into your ear, let them kiss you in the dark corners of bars where no one knows your name. You chase distractions, hoping that one of them will make you feel something, anything, other than the ache of missing him.

But they never do.

Because none of them are Max.

And maybe that’s why when your phone rings one night, his name flashing across the screen, you still answer without hesitation. Because this isn’t the first time. It’s become a pattern. A quiet, painful ritual. A fight with her. A call to you.

"Hey."

He sounds off. Tired. Worn down in a way you’ve never heard before.

"Can I come over?"

Your pulse spikes. "Max—"

"I just… I don’t want to be alone right now."

The unspoken words hang between you.

I don’t want to be with her right now.

You exhale shakily. "Yeah. Of course."

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rings, cutting through the silence that had settled over your apartment like a heavy fog. You stand frozen for a moment, uncertainty crawling up your spine, before you force your legs to move.

He looks wrecked. Like he hasn't slept in days. He doesn't say anything at first, just steps inside, closing the distance between you in a way that makes your breath catch.

"Did something happen?" you ask softly.

Max shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "I just needed to see you."

The space between you closes with a speed that makes your pulse skip. It’s like he’s always known the exact way to find you, to make everything else fade away, to pull you back in like you’re a magnet and he’s the force that won’t let you escape.

His eyes search yours, and it’s in that moment you realise he knows.

He knows he's with the wrong person.

He knows that no matter how much he tries to pretend, it’s always been you.

But knowing something and choosing it are two entirely different things.

And you’re tired. Tired of waiting for him to make the right choice. Tired of standing here, always second. Always the backup when things aren’t perfect in his world.

So you step back, putting space between you that feels like a chasm.

"You can’t do this," you whisper. "You can't just run to me when things go wrong with her. It’s not fair."

His jaw tightens at your words, the muscle in his cheek twitching, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he looks down, taking a long breath, his chest rising and falling with the weight of something unspoken. You can see the frustration, the guilt in the way his shoulders tense, but it doesn’t change anything.

"I—"

"You love me Max." Your throat tightens, interrupting him before he can pull you in, and you hate the way your voice cracks on the last word, but you don’t care. "I know you do."

Silence.

Painful, suffocating silence.

But then—

"I do." His voice is raw, like the words are being torn from him. "I do love you."

Your breath stutters. "Then why are you still with her?"

Max opens his mouth to respond, but the words die on his lips. His eyes dart away from yours, like he’s trying to find the right thing to say but can’t. He clenches his fists at his sides, and the tension in his body is palpable. "I... I don’t know," he mutters, voice thick. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to do."

"You’re supposed to choose Max!" Your voice cracks, the frustration bubbling over.

He opens his mouth again, but the words won't come. You watch him struggle, like he’s stuck in a loop of his own making. "I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to hurt you," he says, regret creeping in.

"But you have," you say, your voice steady but filled with everything you’ve been holding in. "You have hurt me Max. And you don’t get to keep doing that and expect me to just be here when you feel like it."

Max takes a step toward you, but you shake your head, stepping back. "No," you whisper, shaking your head. "You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to have me when it’s convenient for you. You either choose me, or you don’t."

Max opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Because there’s no excuse. No reason good enough.

Just fear.

Of change. Of consequences. Of finally choosing what’s real over what’s easy.

And you? You’re done waiting for him to be brave.

So you smile, even though it hurts. Even though your heart is shattering.

"Call me when you break up."

Then you shut the door.

[gothamite-rambler]

Jason Todd later finding out that not only did his brother beat Joker to a pulp he did kill him... until Bruce stepped in.

Dick: Jason… How are you feeling, bud? I know it's a lot to learn.

Jason took a deep breath as he kept his head down, pinching the bridge of his nose, before reacting explosively.

Jason: Are you kidding?! That's unfair! He wasn't even the-

Jason paused closing his eyes and pulling a dagger out of his pocket, gripping it tightly. Dick's eyes widened in shock, but Jason was able to relax as he took a deep breath.

Jason: I need to calm down. Everything's fine... I'm an adult.

Cass sat next to Jason and patted him on the shoulder while sipping her smoothie.

Dick (nervous): That's a big dagger in your hand right now.

Jason (calm as he gripped the hilt of the knife): This? It's my support dagger. I’m not going to stab anyone. I'm just furious at the jackass who thinks everyone in this family should follow that rule!

Dick: Come on… I felt guilty afterward.

Jason: Oh God, you and your big heart. Let me handle him next time.

Cass: Jason, no.

Jason: You won't have to be there when I do it. I'd kill him for you or Dick, even Bruce.

Cass: I doubt taking his life would be what you truly wanted.

Jason: Okay, but what if it's an accident? I could accidentally push him down a flight of stairs where he'll fall onto a knife.

Bruce: No! No you won't!

Jason: Why the hell did you revive him?!

Bruce: Murder is wrong!

Jason: For you! For you! And Cass, but she's my favorite. At least she killed someone and felt regret.

Bruce: I… Okay, sure. What do I know? My parents just died—

Jason: We’ve all lost our parents! You're not special!

Damian: Mine haven't… Wait.

Bruce: Don't worry about it Damian. I’m… kind of sorry. I can make it up to you.

Jason (crossing his arms): No, you can’t!

Bruce rolled his eyes, then pulled out his phone and sent Jason some money. Jason checked his phone and huffed in annoyance.

Jason: Well, this kind of fixes it.

[missdynamighttt]

About the interview thing where Bakugou say "when I make love to my wife", here is a few more lines he could say! Imagine Bakugou softer when talking about that. He has a lost look and a strange smile on his face, all because of his girl.

"The bed it's our kingdom and she's my queen".

"That's where I belong. In her."

"Being a hero is just my job, something I'm good at for a while. But making love to her? There's nothing better. Knowing that I'm the only one who can make her feel like that, who can adore her like that... And she's the only one for me too. Nothing else matters. Not the fights, the danger, the villains, the paperwork, the pressure or the expectations. Just a husband and wife loving each other all night along."

And in this context, Bakugou would say that he finds pathetic and sad that a man only lasts a few minutes and only one round. Sometimes he hears his fellow heroes talk about sex and he can only feel sorry for their girlfriends, but also proud to know that his wife will never know how those girls feel, because for Katsuki Bakugou if a man is not willing to last at least all night, if each round does not last more than 10 minutes, if he does not have his woman crying with pleasure and love, If he doesn't make her not remember how many times she came, if he don't have sex with her every single day without miss, if she is not on the verge of fainting without being able to walk the next day, is the man really a man or just a poor attempt?

as your husband walks through the threshold of your home, the sound of the lock clicking behind him echoes in the quiet room. katsuki immediately notices the change in the air—there's an awkward tension that wasn't there when he left.

you’re avoiding his gaze, busily moving around the kitchen, trying to keep your mind occupied. you’re embarrassed, the thought of his words replaying in your mind again and again.

the fact that he shared such... intimate, genuine thoughts with the entire world... it wasn’t that you were ashamed, but the sudden attention on your private life caught you off-guard.

"so... you’re gonna act like you didn’t just see me on tv?" katsuki says with a hint of curiosity, and a touch of worry as he notices how your back was turned away from him.

without a word, you feel the heat of his body as he presses himself against your back, his strong hands settling on your waist. he presses his lips to the side of your neck, warm and soft against your skin. it starts off slow and gentle at first, but there’s an underlying urgency to it, a need for your attention.

"i'm sorry, baby," he murmurs between kisses. "i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, alright?"

"katsuki," you scold as he apologizes, your breath hitches when he places a particularly slow kiss on your collarbone, warmth from his affection still lingering in your chest.

"i’m sorry… but i don’t regret saying any of it. you’re my wife, and i’m fuckin' proud of it. i'm the one who gets to love you like this. i'm the one who gets to fuck you so hard you see stars."

katsuki doesn't stop kissing you, his kisses growing more insistent, but you don’t let him off the hook so easily. you finally turn around, gently pushing him back, even as your heart races.

"i just can't believe you said all that. on live tv," it’s clear you’re not mad, unsure of how to handle this side of him— this soft, unfiltered honesty as his lips trail down your neck to your shoulder.

his fiery gaze softens just a little, and then presses another kiss to your lips, this one slower, deeper, as if to reassure you. "i know, baby, i'm sorry. just… don’t ignore me, okay? it hurts."

"you’re unbelievable," your voice holds more affection than you’d like to admit. "you just gonna let millions of people know how much stamina you have, huh? bet they all think you're some kind of—"

sex god. but before you can say it, katsuki presses a firm kiss to your lips, cutting off your words, his hands slipping around your back to pull you in even closer. he doesn’t let you retreat this time, his lips working their magic on you, unable to ignore the way your body betrays you.

"don't fuckin' care. you're still my wife, sweets. you’re the only one who matters to me. maybe i just need to show you how much i love you. properly."

you scold him with a half-hearted shove, but there's no real heat behind it. "you really know how to make a woman want to kill you and kiss you at the same time, don’t you?"

as he pulls away just enough to look you in the eye, feeling the heat of his gaze. you can’t deny the way his words, his kisses, have melted the tension between you. "you know you're the only one for me, sweets. always."

"i know. but you’re still crazy for doing that."

he chuckles, pulling you close, burying his face in your hair. "yeah, well… crazy’s what you get when you’ve got an amazin' fuckin' wife like you."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ SHAMELESS KATSUKI ENJOYER NUMBER TWO OMGOMG

[caramelcoloredkiss]

hello! i saw ur post and im excited to read ur works so i decided to give u a request! hope u dont mind :3

m!reader who is really slim, not to the point he's unhealthy but just think of him having every girl's dream body, and then there's m!reader's bf who wants to see m!reader under all that baggy clothing but doesn't want to be too pushy so he waits until they finally decide to make love and the moment m!reader's bf sees such a heavenly sight, all he wants to mark him inside out!! kinks r up to u but i do would request creampie :3

First request from our lovely anon! Your wish is my command <3

"𝐻𝑜𝓁𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝓉 ٭"

[OC!Malcom x Sub!Male reader]

"You were always avoiding the topic of sex when it came to your boyfriend, but being so stressed over the course of your semester. You just needed something to relieve stress. Luckily your boyfriend is just so happy to give it to you.

Contains: 18+ , sweet -> smutty, body worship, size difference, creampie, praise, insecure+anxiety filled!reader

Let me know if you have any feed back or criticism! Or just how you feel about this~

───────────────────────────

If there were a man that knew how to make you feel loved, it was your boyfriend.

Malcom was infatuated by your very existance. The way you laughed, spoke, and moved— by God it was like you put a curse on him. The smell of your cologne and shampoo had filled his senses; he had always held you close like it was his last.

You knew his love was bigger than anything else, but it always caught you off guard whenever he said it so casually. How were you able to get your hands in a man that had the biggest heart in the world? You weren't so sure.

"It's so unfair!"

You had felt yourself flinch from the sudden declaration; it was your friend, who had been laying on the carpeted ground of the living room in your apartment. She had began to talk about her exe's while you both worked on a document for your college assignment, honestly if you didn't know any better— she probably only came here to vent about more of her failed relationships.

"You seriously wouldn't believe it! The fucking asshole had the audacity to comment about my sex life! Like— if you want pussy that badly go to a prostitute! Or all the other fucking girls who you keep switching between every week!"

She huffed, pressing her face on the pillow she had taken from the sofa to muffle her uncontrollable yelling. Sofie had always been a bit easily agitated, but today was her last straw apparently.

"Why'd you even date him?"

You asked, pausing your typing on your laptop to lean back on the sofa while she rolled around on the floor, kicking her legs in the air. Your friend let out a sigh and took the pillow off her face, she looked extremely tired, did the situation really bother her that much?

"Look man.. He had good dick! But the asshole had something worth bragging and decided it was his whole personality! He was pretty big too so—"

Too much details!

"Okay stop! I don't wanna hear the details of you sex with him."

You shudder at the very thought of it, this girl was shameless, but she was your bestfriend so you couldn't complain about your choices.

"Whateverrr—"

Sofie sat up from the floor and stood up, heading towards your kitchen— your semi-kitchen anyways. She grabbed the caramel pudding that was stashed underneath, it was still so weird how she could just find the snacks Malcom buys you.

" anyways I probably shouldn't complain to you, not when your boyfriend was sent by God apparently. Seriously! He keeps buying you shit, my boyfriends couldn't even buy me flowers!"

"It's because he's nice to me, besides I buy him just as much the amount as he does for me."

Sofie teasingly rolled her eyes and peeled the packaging seal of the pudding, grabbing a spoon to eat.

"Mhm sure. Oh yeah— he dicked you down yet?"

You coughed out loud, choking in your own saliva; caught off guard by her words. Did this girl just wear no filter whenever you were around? Usually she was more shy with people.

"𝘚𝘰𝘧𝘪𝘦! Why are you so sex craved!?—"

"I am not! I just haven't heard much from you about yours, is he that bad?—"

"—well I wouldn't know! "

You both paused, sitting in silence. You didn't mean to say that—it was true but it didn't have to be said!

Closing your laptop, you put it besides you, theirs no way you could work under these way too personal questions.

"Oh, really? I heard Malcolm was pretty good. Did he not want to? Kinda fucked up if so." Sofie said, scooping a spoonful of pudding in the cup to shove in her mouth. Walking back to you to sit on the couch.

You shook your head, it wasn't like he didn't want to have sex with you. It was the fact that you were too scared to even show your body to him, you were slim, yeah it was almost every girls ideal body type— but you didn't even know if it was 𝘩𝘪𝘴. You were already in disbelief by the fact that he even reciprocated feelings for you, sex was the last thing that came into your mind.

But it didn't mean you could avoid the image of his muscular arms caging you while you layed helpless at his mercy, not mentioning the fact that he constantly walked around shirtless in your apartment— You fought your urges every day at that point.

"Well if not, I say you should, we already finished our exams you might as well get some relaxation in your life before our semester is over— we only have to submit a few of our projects left anyways."

You felt your cheeks burn, it was ridiculous. The thought of finally making love to him made you feel completely weak, you weren't even sure if he wanted to have sex with you.

"—He's probably been waiting for you to give permission or something."

You could only hope she was right.

This is embarrassing.

You layed on your bed for what felt like hours, waiting for him.

"Why is he taking so long? Ugh, I might throw up."

Sitting up, you moved from your bed to open your bed side cabinet— you had bought some lube and condoms from the store just a bit earlier, having to go to the counter to purchase the said items made you want to curl up into a ball, for fucks sakes—

Of course the cashier wasn't the only one to witness you buy them!

You were an adult.

You weren't supposed to be ashamed for buying them, or even about sex in general! But you were a virgin, someone who had stayed far away from any form of sexual intimacy for the sake of your own dignity— and now you were offering it to 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

"Calm down, [Name]. If he doesn't want to that's fine, you can just cope with it and move on!"

You felt yourself shaking, dammit you felt pathetic. It wasn't your fault your mom wanted to keep you safe! Maybe this was a bad idea, if he didn't say anything then that probably meant he—

You felt a sudden pressure wrap around your waist, the figure burying it's nose at the crook of you neck.

"Hi baby.. I missed you.."

You made a quick reaction and closed your cabinet, praying he hadn't just seen what you prepared.

"M-Malcom! Hi— did your practice go well?"

Turning your body around to look at him, lifting his face off your neck—you gently caressed his face with incredible amounts of affection. While he had determinely locked his arms around your waist, seemingly needy for your touch.

"It was fine.. Took too long, it was a pain in the ass.. "

You nodded, as he leaned his face against your hand. Malcom had always been a bit clingy when he was exhausted— desperate to touch you and to feel his cold hands on your warm skin.

Malcom was beautiful, he had bronze skin that developed from all the times he bathed underneath the sun, and green eyes that just lit up every time he had something say. His hair was flawless, his sister had always taken care of it; dark brown and with a few strands of his hair framing his face— not to mention the mole underneath his lips. [Name] was desperate to see what else is underneath just his beauty, what would he look like when they were indulging in sinful acts, what would he whisper, what would he do.

—You wanted to know...

But, he looked so tired. Probably desperate to just lay in bed and cuddle, we're you really gonna be selfish enough to take that away from him? You didn't want that, so maybe it was alright to wait a bit longer.

"[Name], I heard from Sofie you wanted to talk to me about something.. "

Malcom whispered, pressing his lips against the palm of your hand while he looked down at you with half lidded eyes, not bothering to break eye contact.

Ah, so Sofie had been out to get you.

"Its— not important, you're probably exhausted right? Let's just go to bed—"

As you were about to pull away from his hold, he tightens his arms. Damn his muscular body!

Malcom was determined to get your words out of you, a tired Malcom wasn't easy to deal with.

"You know I don't like you lying to me, spit it out, hm?"

He kept his body firm and pressed you against his chest, he smelt good, he probably showered before coming here.

"I just— it's nothing."

Malcom sighed, giving you one last look of dissatisfaction. He let's go of your hug, which made you whine a bit, his body was warm! Before sitting down at the edge of your bed, pulling you by your arm to fall on his lap. Fuck, this wasn't the best position for someone who had just been craving to get fucked by the man in front of him. Your face was getting warmer and warmer each time he looked at you, this was gonna be hard.

"Please baby? I just wanna know what's botherin' you.. That's all."

He looked a bit sad, wrapping his arms around you waist once more to pull you closer to him, with your legs in between his hips. This man was seriously not helping you.

You let out a sigh, finally giving up on holding your ground. It wasn't like it was that strong anyways.

"I-Its just that, I noticed how we were both a bit stressed out during the semester.. And it made me think, we hadn't really done much to relieve ourselves... So I thought.. Maybe you wanted to.. "

"Make love?"

You blinked, his eyes were soft, but they looked crazed— like he had been waiting so long for this very moment. It honestly made you feel a bit nervous, you weren't prepared for the reaction he would give.

"Ah— yeah, I wanna make love to you, please.. I wanna feel you." You could die from over heating.

But that seemed to be the words he needed to hear, his lips pulling up to a soft smile.

"You could've just said so, I've been wanting for you.."

Before you could respond, he took your lips.

You held onto his bicep to avoid collapsing into his arms, reciprocating the heated kiss. Your abdomen felt like it was burning, just as you were desperately trying to taste every inch of his mouth. His tongue was dominating, sucking onto yours as your salivas was mixed with the messy kiss, occasional gasps and moans leaving your lips.

"Been waiting..so long— fuck."

"ah.. haa..Malcom—"

He pulled away, before returning for another serving, you could feel your head spin a bit. This much more intense your previous make out sessions.

You pull away this time, the string of saliva showing the previous connection of your lips. The illuminating lamp at the top of your cabinet was the only thing that lit up your otherwise pitch dark room. It has how you could see the look of hunger Malcom gave you, he didn't move his face any farther from just an inch, you could feel his hot breath hit your face. He pressed his lips on your right cheek, giving it a wet kiss before lowering his attention to you other half.

"You're so responsive.. [Name], strip for me, yeah? ."

"I-"

You couldn't believe this, when did Malcom become so blunt.

Despite your thoughts, you grabbed the hem of your sweatshirt, it was pretty big compared to you. If anything all of your clothes were to big for you, hiding your body unintentionally. So when you had pulled it off, Malcom stared. He looked so deeply enamored by how your body was made— how well it was made for him.

"You look so beautiful.. Such a pretty body, been hiding their away from for too long haven't you? [Name]."

He connected his lips to your neck, suckling at your skin as he licked and nipped the same spot, stopping and moving to the next. You let out small moans, which made you bite your lip to silence it, but Malcom didn't seem to appreciate it— pulling his lips away from your awfully sensitive skin.

"Don't do that, I wanna hear all you pretty sounds, I want everyone to know how good you feel.. "

You could only reluctantly nod, and let your whined moans strain— your throat from how intensely Malcom was sucking at your skin.

He lowered his attention each time he successful left a mark, using his calloused hands to rub the side of you waist, lowering his hand to squeeze your ass, which made you bite back a squeal.

"You're so cute [Name], wanna see all of you okay?"

You could only nod again, as he gently pulled you shorts down along with you briefs. Showing the obvious erection that had built up throughout the whole thing.

"Such a cute cock.. "

"H-Hey, stop saying embarrassing things.. "

Malcom let out a chuckle, as he kissed your jaw, letting your clothes fall on the floor. He lifts you up and lays your back on the bed as gently as he could, he supports himself on his knees while pulling his shirt off, throwing it carelessly on the floor along with the others.

"You are so fucking beautiful— [Name]"

He leans down to kiss your stomach, going back up to kiss you cheek. Why was he just so loving?

𝘖𝘩 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵.

"I-I bought lube, it's in the cabinet, s-so it'll be easier to..you know."

Malcom sat back up and reached his hand to slide open the cabinet.

"Came prepared huh, baby. Want we to stretch you out?"

"Y-Yeah.."

Malcom smiles, grabbing the tube of lube and squeezing a generous amount on his hand, spreading it throughout his fingers.

"Gonna slide it in okay?"

"O-okay"

He leans back down to hold you and just as he promised, he slid one of his finger in—fuck his finger was bigger than you thought.

"Hm.. You tried stretch yourself out.."

You nodded, burrying your face in his shoulder while he pumped his finger in and out of your hole.

"M' fingers weren't—ah!— e-enough.."

"You did good, I'll do the rest.."

You gasped and wrapped you hands around his torso, your nails piercing at his back, but he didn't seem to mind, only inserting a second finger in to thrust in your hole. The cold lube and his thick fingers were going to kill you, this was too much of a combination.

Malcom was a lot bigger than you thought, he was practically hiding your body from just how broad his shoulders were, not to mention the tent in his sweatpants weren't going unnoticed by just how— big it was..

"Aah—! f-fuck Mal— why are your fingers so big!?"

You screamed, feeling practically all three of his finger simultaneously out thrusting in and out of your hole. This was unfair, you were going to cum untouched at this point!

"You're just small, baby. S'not my fault you're so reactive.." He grinned, his canines displaying. This bastard!

"You—ahh!— wha—"

He hit your spot, and he didn't stop—curling his fingers to press your prostate, which just made you cry out a moan, your toes curling from the unexpected pleasure. This was too much.

He kept going, pumping his fingers and putting pressure on your prostate.

"M-Mal I'm gonna!—"

You came, squirts of white sticky cum came out the tip of your cock, you were holding on for so long. But Malcom looked satisfied, his smile never faltering as he kissed your tear filled eyes, licking away the salty water.

"You did so well baby, m' gonna fill you up now alright?—you look so pretty while cumming."

He pulled his fingers out of your hole, much to your disappointment. Malcom slid his sweatpants off along with his boxers, pumping his cock a few times before grabbing a pack of condom in your cabinet.

He was big, it was obvious, you knew it was going to be possible— but seeing it is leaving you speeches.

"Like what you see? It's all yours honey."

Malcom tears the condom with his teeth, it was hot. You weren't even going to lie about that, but seeing how he was rolling the condom on his cock made you feel dissapointed— you wanted to feel everything, his cock and his cum. You wanted to know how much he could shove inside you before it was too much.

"Ah... C-Can you not wear the condom?"

He looked back with a bit of confusion.

"Hm? Didn't you but this..?"

"Y-Yeah but, i— I want you to fill me."

Something seemed to have snapped inside of Malcom, he let out a small chuckle and dove back to your lips, giving it a rushed kiss.

"I'll fill you to the brim, don't worry baby.. "

He pulls the condom out his cock, throwing it the the side in favor of lining his leaking tip at your gaping hole. Malcom grabbed your thighs and pushed your knees to your chest, letting your cock lay pathetically on your stomach. You sucked in a deep breath as he slowly pushed his cock in.

You let out a shrilled moan, throwing your head back against the sheets of the bed while Malcom had leaned to connect your lips to his, trying to distract you from the hissing pain that was your asshole.

"Relax baby, it'll be in soon.. "

He kept kissing your lips, as you had wrapped your arms round his shoulders, clawing at his back. You would feel bad if it weren't for the incredible feeling of his cock filling your body, it was big—so big.

After a few minutes, you could Malcom's movements stop.

"It's in— m'gonna move now, alright baby?"

"haa—o-okay.."

Malcom's thrust were slow at first, which made you gasp and moan whenever he penetrated in. After a while his pace began quicker, making his cock go deeper and deeper in you.

"S-Shit, you're tight— fuck, you feel heavenly."

You could only cry out, as his cock moved deeper in, feeling every push that rush all the way to your throat. Both of you sweating, panting, and moaning about how good it felt.

His eyes glued onto yours, never breaking eye contact, his hair sticking slightly to his face as he caged you beneath his arms, this was like a fantasy. His cock was moving in and out as he whispered praises to you.

"You're so beautiful, fuck."

And—

"C-can't believe—shit— you were hiding such a sexy body away from me, hun. Not gonna stop until your filled and full, alright?—"

This bastard, acting like he could just say shit like that without making your heart drum. Malcom had kept thrusting his hips, chasing his climax just as much you craved to be stuffed full of his cum.

After a few more thrusting he came, strings of his thick warm cum filling you— to the point where it leaked out of you. But Malcom kept this thrusting, shoving his cum inside whilst latching his lips into yours.

Along with his cum, you came with him, your cum spraying pathetically on your stomach as it went limp.

And finally— he stops, using his cock to plug his cum inside, preventing it to spill out of you. You were full, the feeling of the warm liquid sitting inside your hole as his cock remained inside, you would die from this if you could.

You were both left panting, trying to catch your breath before he grins back down at you.

"How about another round, baby?"

You sipped the mug of coffee that your boyfriend had left you, even leaving a note as a good morning. He had only left a bit ago but he was planning to stay inside the dorm with you to have a date night. You couldn't wait.

A sudden ringing interrupted your thoughts, you checked to see your phone— it was Sofie.

"I should probably thank her.. "

You answered the call and pressed your phone to your ear.

"Yo, [Name]! Hopefully your fuck session went well, I heard it all the way next door! "

"Sofie I'm going to fucking kill you."

✩꙳I hope you enjoyed that! I had never wrote sex scenes before so I hope I did well~

-> Feel free to request more! Be as detailed as you'd like.

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or don't fuck it up rafe.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ i dislike the use of y/n and avoid it all costs BUT it was required here.

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

'overheard at friday's party: football team captain and fraternity president with the initials r.c was telling a certain pink-haired party girl that he's secretly into some chick he met online who he hasn't even met. he goes by MalachiConstant. no one seems to know who the mystery girl is.'

your eyes widened as you re-read the post, starting to put the pieces together... you turned to look to vivian with your jaw clenched in anger, unable to bite your tongue.

"rafe cameron is MalachiConstant? and you knew?"

"come on..." vivian sighed as you stood up from your seat, "it's not how you think it is." "it's not? then what is it, then?" you raised your brows, your hands on your hips, "how long have you known?"

"i swear, i only found out on friday." vivian reached out for your hand, to stop you, the girl looking up at you pleadingly, her brows scrunched up, "i would've told you, i swear, but rafe told me he wanted to do it himself. babes. just sit down and let's talk about this after class, okay?"

"no, no..." you sighed, your next words coming out in a mumble, your ears ringing too much for you to be able to form a coherent sentence. "i- i need some air. see you later."

no one aside from vivian and zainab even glanced your way as you rushed out of the classroom, gripping the strap of your satchel as your heart was beating against your chest, the edges of your vision blurred by tears. as you made your way through the corridors, no one paid any attention, like you weren't even there. like you were invisible.

you'd never skipped a single lecture before; that day, there wasn't even one lecture that you attended. as soon as you'd escaped the confines of the suffocating classroom, you'd made your way to the girls' dormitory, angel rubbing herself against your calf. you let out a sniffle, picking the white cat into your arms as you sat down at the edge of the bed, pressing a kiss on her soft head.

by six-thirty, rafe had been sitting at the fountain for the past fourty-five minutes. ever since he saw that post on KildareUBlindItems, rafe knew you wouldn't come to meet him, but a part of him had hoped that you would.

rafe threw a pebble into the water fountain, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips before he buried his head in his hands, the balls of his hands pressing against his eyes.

"you're waiting for her, aren't you?"

rafe pulled his hands away from his face and straightened his back as he noticed dodge standing in front of him. rafe cleared his throat, furrowing his brows, "what're you talking about?"

"MalachiConstant. that's you, isn't it?"

"yeah." rafe mumbled, "guess everyone knows it's me." "well, they weren't exactly vague in their description." dodge ran a hand through his hair, "you know, y/n mentioned you once." "what?" "i ran into her one time right here. she asked me if i was MalachiConstant. she's the girl, isn't she?" rafe nodded, without saying another word. "don't fuck it up. see you around, rafe." dodge shrugged, before walking away.

don't fuck it up, rafe.

you were laid in bed, the covers pulled up to your ears, your fingers slowly running through angel's fur as the cat slept, completely content. there was a soft knock on your door that you ignored, up until you heard a key being fitted into the lock.

your dorm room was swung open and you narrowed your eyes at the pink-haired girl who walked into your room, angel's head turning to face vivian; the white-furred cat jumped off the bed, making her way towards the girl who'd dubbed herself angel's 'cat aunt'. "traitor..." you mumbled under your breath.

"you can't bury yourself under your blanket, y'know?" vivian said, pressing kisses on angel's tiny head, "have you talked to him?" "to who?" "to rafe, dumbass." the girl seated herself at the edge of your bed, her hand going to stroke your hair as the other held your cat to her chest.

"why would i have?"

"because you just found out that he's the guy you like."

you groaned, sitting up in bed, "rafe is not the guy i like. i like MalachiConstant." "newsflash, babe, MalachiConstant is rafe. you like rafe."

you sighed, biting down on your lower lip, "but aren't you the one who's always told me that he's a... complete manwhore that doesn't care about anyone?" "yes, but..." vivian pressed her eyes closed and took in a deep breath before opening them and looking at you, taking your hand in hers, "maybe i was wrong."

"why do you think that?" you raised your brows, "because... the other night, when i found out that he was the guy you were talking to... rafe talked about you the way you talk about him. like you were the eighth wonder of the world. rafe... the way he looked when i even mentioned you... that's how you look when you talk about him. the way you feel towards rafe is the way he feels towards you." she tucked a strand of stray hair behind your ear, "i don't even think he's hooked up with anyone in ages. simply because there's only one girl that's on his mind. he couldn't care less about anyone else."

"do you... do you think i should go talk to him?"

"only you can decide that." vivian smiled at you, "but i already told him that if he hurts you, i'd cut his dick off."

it was nearly eleven pm, yet you were marching towards kappa sigma; the fraternity rafe cameron was the president of, in nothing but a pair of snoopy-themed pajama pants and a fleetwood mac themed t-shirt, a pair of bunny slippers on your feet.

rain poured down on you, ruining your hair and making your clothing stick to your skin, mud becoming your slippers' best friend; but you were on a mission.

a part of you thought that maybe you should've changed before you started walking towards the fraternity, but another part told you that in the twenty minutes it would've taken for you to find a nice enough outfit, you would've convinced yourself that you definitely shouldn't go meet up with him.

when you got to the fraternity, for once, there wasn't some privileged dickhead judging everyone who wanted to enter. slowly, quietly, you pushed the door open.

rafe was sitting in the living room of the fraternity, surrounded by his brothers, a blue bong being passed out amongst them. after rafe had taken a hit, he'd passed it off to the next person, and finally... someone had gained enough confidence to ask something he'd expected for the entire day.

"so, are you MalachiConstant?" the boy asked, following it with, "i mean, it is pretty clear that you're him. did you actually fall for someone you've never fucked, let alone kissed or met?"

rafe should've just told them the truth. rafe should've just said that it was none of their business who he was into. that they don't know what true connection is like.

but all he said was, "nah." rafe shook his head, laughing, "you think i'd fall for some chick without even knowing who she is? i'm not some fucking incel loser. i can get laid whenever i want. why would i wait for some random chick on the internet?"

"well." you chuckled, standing at the doorway leading into the fraternity's living room, rafe's head snapping to you, looking like a deer in headlights when he noticed your presence. you looked straight at him, "i guess i have nothing to say to you. MalachiConstant."

you turned around, rafe's ears filling with the sound of alarm bells, blocking out all the laughter and mockery that his fraternity brothers were letting out.

"don't fuck it up rafe. don't fuck it up rafe. don't fuck it up rafe."

the sentence echoed throughout rafe's brain, and he was unable to contain himself, the boy getting on his feet, rushing after you, all the words his friends had said to him turning into nonsense. for once, he listened to his heart.

"wait!" he called out, grabbing your arm, forcing you to turn around to face him, your eyes glistening with tears, "what do you want? i thought you didn't need a random chick you met on the internet in order to feel like a badass?" you scoffed.

"i'm an idiot." was the only thing rafe said before he closed the distance, pressing his lips on yours.

taglist: @yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey @scne-vampire @alwaysmaybank @mysticbby2009 @luna443 @drewstarkeyswife-7 @flowerluvr @kisselxoll - cont. in com

[cheriladycl01]

hey babe💗 could i please request a stedad!fernando x stepdaughter!reader? like her reader doesn't have a very good father figure and she's really into figure skating so when her mom starts dating fernando he's like learning how to be a good dad for her he could like learn about figure skating and happily show her skating to the other drivers on the grid just be like the father she deserves it's okay if you don't do platonic requests :))

I’ll be better for you - Fernando x Step-Daughter! Reader

Plot - Fernando has the biggest girl dad energy. And he’s never been able to use that until he met your mother and you came along.

Growing up, your father had been incredibly absent and he was never around. You knew off him and you saw him on rare occasions, but he always seemed too busy.

Your mother filed for a divorce with him when you were 14 and even though you'd been expecting it eventually you didn't take to it very well. You were angry at your dad and couldn't understand why he was never there for you.

The time it upset you the most was when you'd really got into ice-skating because it was your only memory with him, once a year in winter he'd take you skating. You thought it was a hobby of his and tried to get into it more assuming he'd be around more if you took on one of his hobbies.

However he never turned up for your competitions or tournaments and it broke both yours and your mothers hearts. When a competition went well, you just wanted to run up and hug him but he was never there, your mood immedleity slumped from false promises as your mum attempted to apologise on his behalf as you snatch your phone to see the shitty 'Sorry got caught up with work, ill be there next time' text.

When your mum moved on, you pretty much cut contact with your dad happy that it was just you and her because at the end of the day she was all your thought you needed.

But then she met him.

And you werent the nicest to him at first, being an angsty teen and seeing a new man with your mother after someone who claimed he loved her was so very absent.

He attempted to form a bond with you, considering he loved your mother more than anything and you could genuinely see how happy he made her.

But he too was absent at first. And you got it, he was this big name F1 driver who went from the sands of Bahrain one week to the Cherry Blossoms of Japan the next. But unlike with your dad, he never missed anything your mother asked him to come to.

A work christmas dinner? He was there. Parents Evening? He was there. Grocery Shopping? He was there! And you saw the change in your mother. She felt appreciated and loved. But it was still hard for you to warm up to him.

He understood this all too well.

He tried to come to any important thing your mum asked him too that was to do with you. He was at every ice skating competition you had and he would try his hardest to pick you up from school, despite your initial embarrsement of the boys in your year who fauned over your mums boyfriends car.

He was in the house more and more and you observed him.

The way he'd always offer you his food, or to help you clean your bedroom when you came down overwhelmed. If you wanted to go shopping but your friends had told you they werent up for it, he'd offer to go out with you.

And you started to fall in love with the idea of him being more than your mum's boyfriend, or a stable male figure in your life.

This idea was solidified when you'd been invited to come to a race with him while it was your half term. He didn't know when you were going to get there but you were adamant to see the whole weekend and surprise him. When you walked up seeing him sat outside the Aston Martin MotorHome with a few other drivers you were close enough to hear their conversations.

"Yeah look this is her at her last competition, she did so well im so proud of her but she was robbed of first place i think the judges were biased, like look, look at that spin!" he says as he moves the phone closer for Lewis, Lando and Carlos to see.

"Woah, she's really good! Have you suggested like ... her going further?" Lewis asks looking at you spin.

"Mmmm we've talked about it! And she was really excited when i said is support her the whole way, which is nice as sometimes i cant tell if im being a good enough role model for her" he sighs, swiping through some pictures he had of you or the two of you and your mother.

"Dude, by the looks of it... thats your family now!" Lando expressed.

"I know, but i don't want to force my way in. Im happy ... just being there for her yano?" Fernando smiles and you decide now is a good time to make yourself know despite trying to hold back your tears.

"Hey!" you call out jogging up and Fernando spins round face lighting up as he hears you.

"Y/N?" he exclaims looking over you before pulling you into a tight hug and kissing your forehead.

"W-What are you doing here?" he asks, looking over you.

"I asked mum if we could come early and she let me have the day off so we could get here earlier!" you grin at the older man and he pulls you back into a hug.

"Where is she?" he asks looking round with his eyes wide at the promise of your mum being close.

"Just putting the bags in the room, she thought id want to come see you!" you grin and he smiles.

"And did you? Want to come see me!" he asks, and you can tell theres a bit of insecurity behind their so you do something you haven't dared to do in the years he's been with your mother. Even once he married her.

"Of course i did! Now come on dad! I want a drink!" you smile taking his hands, you don't miss his friends faces light up at what you called him. And even he's a little stuck for a minute before he follows you.

The rest of the weekend was looking good, apart from the fact that it was seeming like a wet weekend where anything could happen. Fernando had been looking quick all weekend, due to the specific motivation of his family being there.

"You're looking quick this weekend!" you grin as you have lunch with your mum and Fernando.

"Yeah. I've got to impress both my girls don't i?" he grins and you nod enthusiastically.

"Erm, i have a competition coming up, its in three weeks. Do you think you can make it?" you ask in a slight mutter, knowing you had to bring it up at some point and the sooner the better.

"You know i will! What's its for?" he asks taking a bite into his wrap .

"To see if i can get into the Olympics" you say nervously.

"WHAT?" he exclaims his eyes lighting up.

"Y-eah" you offer, trying not to maintain eyecontact with him.

"Oh my god! Why - why didn't you tell me this is incredible Y/N!" he says happily taking your hand and pulling you closer to him to hug you.

You felt so loved around Fernando and you knew that this weekend was the weekend you had to ask him.

And that proved easier the minute he got a podium! You'd involved the whol Aston Martin Team in it. The plan was to stand behind the camera man while they take the group photo of the podium position and points position for Lance with a sign asking him to officialy be your dad.

You had the paper work, you had it for months actually but you hadnt had the courage to ask him in fear he wouldn't want to.

So here you were, sign hidden behind your back as you nervously watch the team get photos. Someone was filming Fernandos reaction and someone was filming you, it was all so exhilarating and nerve wracking at the same time.

You held the sign up and Fernando looks at you before reading it over taking in the words. He cocks his head to the side in confusion before you hold up the papers. His eyes widen and he shoots up nearly knocking over the trophy until a team member grabs it as he jumps over all the stuff in front of them.

"Are you serious?" he asks looking over the papers to see the legitimacy of them.

"Yes" you say in a whisper. He picks you up twirling your round kissing your forehead.

"Yes of course. But i dont need papers to show you ill be there for you when you need me!" he says, tears in his normally stoic eyes.

You hold him tightly, sobbing at the relief he had said yes. Your mum stays to the side filming the moment letting you two have your moment before you and Fernando reach out to have her join the hug. He kisses her on the lips before holding you both closely.

"My girls" he smiles.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Undeserving

Fandom: The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Reader

Summary: In a tragic car accident, Jack loses his wife, who was your best friend, and you lose your husband, the father of your child. Now both of you navigate life together and co-parenting your daughter, Evelyn, while also trying to figure out your feelings for each other.

Warning: death of side characters

The Pitt Masterlist

Yours and Jack's lives were intertwined for years. Your best friend was his wife. You were the Maid of Honor at their wedding. Then the accident and both of you lost the loves of your lives. You and Jack were close but after losing the most important people in your lives, you leaned on each other through grief and therapy. You vowed to each other that you couldn't lose each other now, you were stuck with one another.

Even moreso when you realized you were pregnant shortly after the accident. Jack was there for every appointment, when your morning sickness was really bad, and when you gave birth. Giving birth to Evelyn was a bittersweet thing. She was the most precious thing and she would never be able to meet her father.

"I'll take care the both of you. I promise." Jack said as he stood over you and Evie in the hospital bed.

It was just you and Evie living together for a short time until Jack proposed you move in with him. You fought him on it, tried to convince him that taking care of Evie will be a lot, but Jack has always been stubborn. He wanted to help you, not because you were his wife's best friend but also because he cared about you. It just made sense. So you relented fighting him.

The first year of Evie's life was...a lot. You had a lot of breakdowns because you were a single mother, you missed your husband, and you felt like you were a burden to Jack.

But Jack, despite his own issues, he'd been the stronger of the two of you. Despite his late hours at work, he still offered to watch Evie while you slept or ran errands.

He was your angel.

It wasn't until Evie got older that you started to question your feelings for Jack. Whenever the three of you went out, people thought you were a couple and Jack was Evie's father.

Hell, even Robby, Jack's fellow doctor at PMTC would joke about you being a cute little family.

But you did your best to ignore those comments. Because you couldn't have feelings for Jack. He was your best friend's husband, he was your friend. It just...can't happen.

_____________________________

"Uncle Jack Jack!" Evelyn calls out as you enter the Emergency Department.

Jack pops his head out from behind a curtain and his brows furrow. He excuses himself from his patient and fully steps out, "Everything okay?"

"Mommy got hurt!"

Jack looks looks you over and see's no visible visible injuries until you lift your wrapped up hand, "Evie dropped a glass. I was picking up some pieces and cut myself. It's...kinda deep."

He takes Evelyn into his arms, "Evie, honey, my friend Bridget," he points to one of the night shift nurses, "She's gonna watch you while I fix mommy's boo boo. Okay?"

"Okay," she says shyly as Jack hands her off.

"I'll be back, baby. Be good okay?" Evie nods as Bridget brings her to the break room to color.

Jack guides you to an empty room. You sit on the bed and hold up your hand to him. You watch him work in silence, but it's not awkward. You two are used to the occasional silence between you two. You take the time to enjoy the silence while he works on cleaning and stitching up your hand.

Eventually, he finishes and tosses his gloves in the trash, "Please be more careful next time."

You nod, "I know. I just...today has been chaotic."

He chuckles, "Tell me about it," he murmurs as he fills out your discharge papers.

"I-Thank you, Jack."

He nods, "Of course, sweetheart."

Your heart flutters at the nickname. He'd been calling you that a lot more recently, but you try not to think too much about it. You don't want to get your hopes up. You don't want to think that Jack has started seeing you differently like you with him.

He escorts you out of the room, his hand on your lower back. You hope he can't feel how hot your body has gotten under his touch.

You open the door and peek in. Evelyn and Bridget are coloring on some pages Dana had printed out, "Ready to go, baby?"

"Yeah," she scurries off the chair and to you. You lift her into your arms with a grunt and she holds out the paper she was working on, "Look Uncle Jack Jack!"

He glances at the unicorn coloring page with rainbow scribbles all over it. He smiles at your daughter, "It's beautiful, honey. You gonna put that on the fridge when you get home?"

"Uh huh!"

The three of you step out and bump into Samira, "Well if it isn't my favorite three year old!"

"Auntie Sami, mommy got hurt!"

Samira looks at you and you shake your head, "Cut my hand on glass. Very minor, Jack stitched me up just fine." You hold up your hand.

"That's good. Hope I never see you here under more serious circumstances."

You snort, "Join the club, babe," you bump hips with her, "I'll see you guys. See you at home, Jack."

"Bye Uncle Jack!"

"See you in the morning, baby," Jack waves at your daughter and watches as you exit the ED.

Once you're out, Samira looks at the attending night shift doctor, "Have you told her yet?"

Jack scoffs, "Fuck off, Mohan," and proceeds to walk away.

________________________

Dana sits with you on the picnic blanket, watching Jack and Evie play on the playground. You're laying on your back, sunglasses on, and enjoying the sun.

"You know he's basically Evie's dad, right?"

"Who?" you ask craning your neck to look at the older woman.

Dana chuckles, "Jack, obviously."

"I-I'm yeah. I guess he basically is." You sit up, but lean back, using your arms to prop you up. It always surprises you how much energy Jack still has for your daughter. It brings a smile to your face when Jack catches Evelyn and she squeals in delight.

"Oh brother, you're so fucked," Dana says with a cackle.

You groan falling onto your back again, "I know!"

"Why don't you tell him?"

"Absolutely not. That man has done so much for Evie and I. We've been such a burden and I don't want my baggage to bring him further down than he already is. He's got enough on his plate."

"Honey, you and he share the baggage. You're living out of the same fucking suitcase!" You shake your head and run your hands down your face. Dana tsks, "He cares about you, loves you and Evie. Does he love you romantically? Hell if I know! But what I do know is that man would go through Hell for you and your daughter. If he doesn't feel the same, sure, it sucks. But it's not like he's gonna kick you out if you tell him how you feel!"

You shake your head, "I'm not risking it, Dana. I can't. Besides...I don't deserve someone as caring as Jack. Besides, we're only bound together because of our shared trauma, which, according to my therapist, isn't necessarily good. So I gotta work through that."

"So what, you gonna quit him cold turkey or somethin'?"

You sit up again, watching Jack and Evelyn, "...I've been looking at apartments. Evie is still a hand full, but-but I think I can take care of her on my own now. I got that promotion I told you about, so I'm making more. I can move out of Jack's, become more independent." You look down and start picking at the grass, "I don't want to keep relying on Jack. He's done a lot for me and I feel like I've reciprocated very little to his life. He'll have more peace and quiet once Evie and I move out."

"Mommy!" Evelyn calls out for you, running ahead of Jack.

You smile at her, "You having fun, baby?" She crashes into you and you both fall back, giggling.

"Uncle Jack Jack gonna get me ice cream!"

Jack finally catches up, slightly planting, "Only if you're okay with it, sweetheart," he stands above you, hands on his hips.

You stand, "I'll get it for her. You go rest. I'm tagging you out."

Jack immediately pulls out his wallet, "Here-"

"Nope! Walking away! Don't see you!" You take Evie's hand and guide her to the ice cream truck in the parking lot.

Jack takes up your previous spot, "What were you two gossiping about?"

"You."

"Oh great," he says with an eyeroll, digging into your tote bag where you packed some snacks for the three of you. He opens a bag of trail mix and tosses some nuts and raisins in his mouth, "Should I be worried?"

The older woman shrugs, "That's for you to decide whenever she decides to talk to you."

Jack's face turns serious, "Dana-"

"It's not life threatening or anything. It's just....a potential lifestyle change."

Jack frowns even more and then turns to you and Evie at the ice cream truck. You're accepting a popsicle from the ice cream man and handing it to Evie. You hand the man cash and shake your head. Jack assumes you're telling the man to keep the change. You then turn and walk back towards Jack and Dana, Evelyn walking a little bit ahead of you.

"I got a rainbow pop!" the three year old exclaims in excitement. She plops herself onto Jack's lap.

You chuckle, "Careful, baby. Don't spill any on Uncle Jack Jack." You then catch Jack's gaze, "Everything okay?"

He softly smiles, "Yeah. We're good," he looks at Dana who nods.

______________________

When Jack comes home from work, you and Evie are already awake. The three year old tends to wake up much earlier than you'd like, but what can you do?

Evie is sitting in her high chair eating breakfast at the counter, "Uncle Jack Jack!"

Jack gives a tired smile to the little girl, "Mornin', baby," he kisses her head.

You're currently not the kitchen, but hearing the toilet flush in the distance lets him know you're in the bathroom.

On the kitchen counter is your laptop propped open. Jack doesn't mean to look at it, but something catches his eye. You're looking on an apartments website. His heart suddenly drops to his stomach.

He recalls the conversation he had with Dana weeks ago:

"Should I be worried?"

The older woman shrugs, "That's for you to decide whenever she decides to talk to you."

Jack's face turns serious, "Dana-"

"It's not life threatening or anything. It's just....a potential lifestyle change."

You plan on moving out.

Jack hears you approaching, "Your plate is in the microwa-" you stop when you see him staring at your laptop.

He turns the laptop to you and points at the screen, "You plan on moving out?"

You gulp, "I've been thinking about it."

He clenches his jaw, "Why? Why didn't you bring this up to me?"

You let out a deep breath and slowly approach him, "It's not a for sure thing yet, Jack." You close your laptop and slide it away from him. Avoiding his gaze, you say,"Just think I should be more independent and stop relying on you."

"I said I'd take care of you." In your peripherals, you see him cross his arms over his chest.

You continue to avoid looking at him, "I know and I really appreciate what you've done for me and Evie over the years, but-but I got a promotion. I'm making really good money now and Evie's getting older. I think it'd be best for us to be on our own. It's a good thing."

He scoffs, and leans one arm on the counter, "How'd it be a good thing? Evie should grow up in a house with two loving parents-"

"You're not her dad, Jack!" you burst out, frustrated that he just won't let you go. He grows still and you know you've hurt him, "I'm sorry, but you're not. And us moving out would be good for you! You get to have more freedom and peace-"

"Stop-"

"You can start dating and bring women over without having to worry-"

"Stop!"

"You're not going to be around forever-"

"Yes, I will because I love you!"

You're rendered speechless but his outburst confession. He runs his hands through his hair and sighs, "I love you. I love you and I love Evie like she's my own." He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, "Never, and I mean never, have I ever once regretted having you live with me. Never have I thought you and Evie were a burden. I can't imagine my life without you both. I love our little family and life that we have."

Your eyes are tearing up as you speak, "If you're saying this just so-"

"Sweetheart, I'm saying it because I mean it. It's not a trick. I'm not trying to manipulate you. I'm trying to fight to keep what we have."

You begin to pace, "I don't-I don't-"

"Mommy," Evie calls for you and she looks upset, "Mommy sad?"

You sniffle and give your daughter a little smile, "I'll be alright, baby."

Jack takes a step closer to you, "Y/N-"

You shake your head, "Go take a shower and go to sleep. You're exhausted, Jack. We'll continue this later," you mumble, helping Evie out of the high chair and bringing her to the sink to clean up.

You don't see it, but Jack's body sags a bit after your dismissal. He wants to continue the conversation, but you're right. He is tired and maybe some rest will allow him to gather his thoughts properly.

PART 2

[onlyquinns]

can i pls have a fic with jack hughes where he hurts his already injured shoulder while doing something around the house and is in pain; reader just taking such gentle care of him and jack realising she’s his future wife. that every failed relationship has led to her.

it happens so suddenly. one moment, he’s totally fine—moving grocery bags in from your car—then the brown bag is slipping from his fingers and he’s hunched over.

jack grabs at his arm, his fingers white-knuckled on his shirt sleeve. pain burns down from the scar in his skin, shooting sparks of fire and electricity into his bicep. he tries not to cry out in fear of worrying you, but you’re already racing through the apartment, alerted by the sound of groceries falling to the floor.

“i’m okay,” jack says immediately even though he’s still hunched over, teeth grit.

you’re by his side, helping him to the couch. “i told you i could’ve done it, j,” you mumble, eyes filled with worry.

“yeah, well, what kind of boyfriend would i be if i made my girl carry groceries?” jack jokes, attempting to lighten your mood. he flops onto the couch, falling onto his good side. he gives you a goofy smile but your frown doesn’t drop.

your brows are pinched and your hands lay heavily on your hips, mind running a million miles per hour as you wonder what you’re going to do with him.

jack’s smile falters slightly, “baby, i didn’t mean to worry you—“ but you don’t listen, turning away and grabbing various supplies from the kitchen.

jack watches as you prep a hot water bottle, turning on the electric kettle to get water boiling. as it boils, you set out his favorite mug—one that he insisted the two of you buy because they came in a matching set of two—and put in your tea infuser. within five minutes, you return to his side with his hot water bottle—your favorite one that you never let him use—and a warm mug of tea. once they’re in jack’s hands, you turn away again and grab a cold cup of water and a tiny bottle of advil.

jack watches in awe as you take the time to open the bottle for him and dump out two pills. after surgery, you’d taken it upon yourself to open every bottle and can—whether it were a drink of a jar of jam—so he wouldn’t have to.

his memory nags at him as he watches you, as he remembers the year before when he’d initially hurt his shoulder—how his girlfriend at the time hadn’t done any of that for him. he swallows thickly, pushing away the memory of pain and fatigue of having to care for himself while his ex had spent her time lounging around.

“here you go,” you say, pulling his mind back to you. you stand in front of him, palm outstretched. he easily takes the advil from you, popping them into his mouth. you stand nearby, making sure he takes them because you know he’s weird about having to take meds.

once you’re certain he swallows, you nod happily. jack smiles softly at the sight of you so proud of yourself, thinking of the little ring box he’s tucked away in luke’s room in fear that you’d find it in his.

“alright, scooch over, pretty boy,” you say, words light and teasing. jack chuckles and makes room for you on the couch, tucking you close to his uninjured side. you reach for the remote.

“what’re we watching?” jack asks as the tv comes to life.

you shrug, “whatever you want,” you tell him.

jack’s heart stutters and he’s sure that when summer rolls around and he’s able to move his arm again, he’s definitely proposing to you.

[menelausblues]

is there a place i can go?

꒰ you're so used to hiding when it's hard, and xavier loves you too much to let you go. ꒱

𖥔 ݁ 1.5k. semi-canon. established relationship. depressed/anxious/avoidant reader/mc who's having a hard time with her stress and grief x understanding n tender boyfriend xavier. hurt/comfort. angst. some fluff at the end. ❀ ݁ this is for all my fellow anxious-avoidants trying their best not to let the horrors stop them from being loved.

mdni.

two days ago.

xavier ⋮ 2:01 pm. my bunny is missing. have you seen her? 

yesterday.

xavier ⋮ 3:04 pm. pretty eyes. pretty smile. pretty laugh. light of my life. if seen, please give me a call. xavier ⋮ 3:38 pm. i’ve asked all the neighbors and they say they haven’t seen my bunny at all. can you help me find her? i think i’ll be sad if she doesn’t come home to me soon.

today.

xavier ⋮ 3:51 pm. it’s been days since i last saw or talked to you. xavier ⋮ 4:09 pm. i tried coming by your apartment but it seemed like you weren’t there. praying my bunny didn’t leave home for good. xavier ⋮ 4:11 pm. are you okay? i’m worried about you.

it feels like no one loves you, but you know it’s not true.

you don’t understand why you’re like this, why at the foundation of your heart is a hurt little girl shaking in fear and always in a hurry to hide from the world or disprove its intentions. nothing feels as safe as isolation but nothing feels as awful as loneliness. you’re safe from the potentiality of harm but there’s no one to turn to for joy. so you sit and sulk in the security of your separation. your world is filled with empty rooms and stretched sighs. the worst part is that it’s entirely your own fault.  it feels like no one loves you. and it’s because you won’t let them even if they do. it’s not xavier’s fault that you’re avoiding him, but it is.  this blooming fear and odd sensation of coming loss is all because lately he’s perceiving you all too closely. it’s getting to the point where he’s learning your habits so thoroughly, he’s able to anticipate your needs.

it terrifies you because unearned kindness from a lover or a friend has only ever been followed by some kind of violence. some kind of resounding loss that fills you with emptiness. the image of your grandma and caleb surrounds your mind from all sides; your heart fills itself with grief until it overflows. and now you don’t know if you can trust him. or rather, trust him to love you back and be allowed to stay. so you run. you slink into shadows to avoid the pain of being known ( and it is painful to feel elation you can’t control because one day it’ll reshape itself into a monster of sorrow that swallows you ). but the best and worst thing about xavier is that he doesn’t give up. he’s always been relentless in even his gentle and quiet pursuits. it starts with a soft knocking at your door. you haven’t left your apartment much in days aside to clear your trash and it’s the third time he’s come by.  you know it’s him because a creature of habit in his own right, xavier knocks in the same pattern each time he comes.  the only difference is the sense of urgency has disappeared. it’s become hesitant, fearful almost. you could probably choke on your guilt if you weren’t so pre-occupied with the tears lodged in your throat. because everything hurts even when it shouldn’t. “baby?” you hear him call from behind the door. you don’t answer but your heart screams inside itself.

i’m here i’m here i’m here! nothing feels good; nothing feels right! i think i need you! please please please!

you lie in bed covering your head with your pillows like a frightened child trying to drown out the sound of a raging storm, pathetic as can be in your desperate need to escape your own desires to be with him.  your thoughts are in calamity, trapped somewhere between 'it’s not safe for me like this’ and ‘he’s the only thing that feels safe for me when i’m like this.’ truthfully, all you want is to tell him plainly that you’re struggling with your perception of yourself and him, but you can’t face him right now. not when your heart is up in the air like this, not when your eyes are puffy and red from the nonstop bouts of tears. not when you feel like you don’t deserve it. not when you feel like you haven’t felt enough shame for surviving to experience elation. silence falls but only momentarily before your phone vibrates beside you and the soft knocking continues.

xavier ⋮ 4:49 pm. i know you’re home. either something is wrong and you’re pushing me away or you’re severely injured. xavier ⋮ 4:52 pm. i think it’s the first thing because i saw you sneaking out of the building to take your trash out and you seemed physically well. please. i’m here. xavier ⋮ 5:00 pm. i’ll give you until 5:05 to open up on your own, but if you don’t, i have to come in and check on you okay? i just need to know you’re truly okay. if you need space, i need you to come tell me that please.

it’s a shame you never looked at your messages. maybe it would have been enough to get through to you.  maybe his soft reassurance that he knows what’s happening and still wants the best for you would have been enough to drag you out of bed and send your feet padding across the floor in all fairness. but true to your avoidant nature, you keep yourself tucked away. “aha,” you hear his ever-velvet voice suddenly in the center of your room despite not feeling his presence at all. “i think i found my missing bunny.” your heart jolts in your chest, scrambling to clamber up your throat in the form of a relieved sob. your shoulders shake from the strength of it forcing its way out of you. with no hesitation, the addition of xavier’s weight causes your bed to dip as he crawls to be at your side. he doesn’t pull the quilts back or try to coax you out. he just holds you, pulls your blanketed form closer to his own. his arms tighten their hold. “if i had known it was this bad i would have come sooner. i’m sorry.” but you think maybe he shouldn’t be sorry. you should.  because you’re the one who sees the world as a threat despite dedicating yourself to saving it. the contradiction of it all leaves you rivaling with a cognitive dissonance that feels impossible to resolve. “it’s not…it’s not you.” your voice cracks even as you whisper. “it’s me. it’s just me. it just…i can’t…all of it…” “shh,” he soothes. “you don’t have to explain yourself. it’s okay. right now, let’s just rest. isn’t that what you need? don’t worry about anything else.” it is. you need rest. comfort. love. the capacity to let yourself experience those things as they’re offered. and xavier.  he’ll be there but you know he won’t force you to accept his love. it’ll be up to you to take what you need from him and have the strength to admit when you need even more. sniffling, you slowly poke your head out of your blankets, letting your pillows fall to the side and looking up to finally face him. that’s your act of courage today, to be met with his gentle, welcoming smile and not punish yourself for wanting to keep something close to you, for not wanting it stolen again. he kisses your forehead tenderly. “i knew my bunny would come home. i just had to be patient.” “i’m sorry.” “i’m not in need of apologies at the moment, but i’ll graciously accept approximately three days worth of missing kisses.” in the pale blue of his eyes, there’s not even a drop of malice, resentment, or contempt to be found. if anything, there’s relief and fondness there. the tears well up in your eyes all over again. tentatively, you lean forward and offer his supple lips a ginger kiss. “i really am sorry.” “don’t be. not today. let’s just rest. all the other things can come later. there’s no hurry. i’m here, okay?” and he is. sometimes his patience and grace is a mercy you can’t even offer to yourself. it’s hard to forgive yourself for causing so many problems for others. it’s hard to forgive yourself for even things you can’t control: losing everything you know, everything that was left from losing everything once already. warm tears fall and you don’t try to stop them or shield them from sight. “you are here. aren’t you?” it’s more of a soft reminder for you, for these thoughts that crowd your mind and make you feel like a ghost in your own life: invisible and haunting everything, the source of everyone’s mourning when you go missing inside yourself. xavier nods, leaning his forehead against your own. “and i plan to keep it that way. i want to; i have to. i love you. so…you don’t need to worry about being alone anymore.” it won’t be perfect, but you’ll try your hardest to remember.