#or amber from invincible?

[fancylala4]

People be like: we want more flawed characters in media!!!

The same people when they see a flawed character: omg this character is the worst! She’s just as bad as the villain, who wants to murder a whole group of people. They need to kill her off because she’s super annoying.

[milk-ducts]

late christmas drawing ,, was really torn between reposting this or not !! i feel like ive lost my edge n all but i liked how the faces turned out 🥲 its unrendered and unfinished in some places but my awesome moots convinced me 2 post it here !! so u have them to thank for … hehehej… i love them alot and have been writing sm drabbles of ambereve ..;

[sharpened-kris]

The way they did Amber and Mark's breakup was so much more heartbreaking than what happened in the comics and I love it.

The two of them talking to eachother about how they're feeling—instead of Mark doing all the talking and Amber agreeing without any extra input—was nice to see and gave Amber more depth as a character. I also loved that the emphasis is put on their failing relationship actively hurting them, instead of the problem being that they'd enjoy another relationship more. It makes the scene feel more emotional instead of just being an obstacle the story needed to overcome to get to Mark and Eve being together. (In the comics Eve shows up literally 2 issues after the breakup and goes "So we're dating now right?" It's very obvious that they just needed to get Amber out of the way.)

No matter how hard they try it'll never work, and that fact deeply upsets them, as well as the viewer. I feel so bad for them, but this is ultimately the best outcome for them.

[luciferthelesbian]

Finished Invincible in a week, and I still don’t understand the hate the fandom has toward Amber. Other than… y’know, blatant racism.

[kiwinatorwaffles]

the hate towards amber in the invincible tv show is wild honestly because other than that one line (the one where she reveals she knew mark was a superhero) that was a slight fumble on the part of the show runners, she’s actually really excellent and excels at her narrative role compared to her comic counterpart who is just kind of there to be a placeholder date before mark gets with eve.

i admit that line was kinda poorly set up and could’ve been written better (like maybe her instead saying “ugh i expected it but that doesn’t excuse the way you treat me”) but like. Really? did that negate every single thing her character stood for prior to this point? how amber is actually really good for putting up with his bullshit for so long even after he flaked out on dinner with her parents? how she put mark in his place for thinking he could get away with neglecting his relationships just because he’s a hero? how it showed that he’s acting just like how nolan treats debbie? did One single line, said during a moment of anger and frustration, change all of that?

her character is a great parallel between mark and his dad in s1 and is even better in s2 at showing how mark physically can’t live a normal life no matter how much he wants to. like we know amber isn’t endgame and that’s what hurts a lot. they want to be normal college kids going through their awkward teen years together but i guess that one slightly weak line of dialogue made her character “terrible” and “ruin mark.” also even setting aside the myriad of… Other biases, a lot of people just seem to forget the fact that she’s a teenage girl sooooooooooo

(also i’m thinking about this one comment i saw on youtube where someone was like “i didn’t watch that scene initially so i didn’t understand the hate but after i watched it i hate her as well” and. seriously. are you being so serious right now.)

anyway i’m an amber defender to my death she’s amazing in the show and deserves nice things. if you are a video analyst who actually sees her as a normal character instead of calling her “the other woman” you immediately gain my respect

[spicynectarines]

Amber from Invincible they could never make me hate you

[barbie0303]

I think that it’s interesting how while show!Amber and William are more integrated to the story, they are even less informed about what happened in the fight between Mark and his dad than their comics counterparts, all because of one little detail that the show hasn´t brought up to their canon

[willosword]

hooo. the breakup scene.

[mandareeboo]

Dang girl you HIKED here???

[neptune432]

I gotta get my thoughts straight on this later but the way the invincible show handles its female and nonwhite characters tends to be strange, if not uncomfortable. I think there have been some huge improvements with these characters compared to the comic (which was written in the early 2000s so you know). but there's still a lot they didn't fix. I think duplikate being an underaged asian girl being sexualized with little else going on character-wise for a long time was not something that needed to be kept.and the fact that she gets in a fling with her MUCH older white boss the moment she turns 18 is especially gross. the fact that the only person complaining about it is Rex (whose complaints could be disregarded since the audience might think he "deserves" this) is especially shitty. the only improvement on her character so far is that she's actually given a speaking role in the show but jesus christ.

That's one of the worst examples but I feel like, looking at the nonwhite characters, there seems to be weird issues with several of them. there's like two large, muscular dark-skinned black guys who have moments emphasizing how intimidating and strong they are. one of them is also initially written as a sympathetic criminal before becoming a full-on crime lord. even rex, being the guy who cheats on his white girlfriend, feels kinda weird now that he's been made brown. idk. I feel like the writing for some of the female characters has been improved a lot but there's still some weird shit in the show when it comes to racism.

[aaronymous999]

Even if I don’t personally like her? I will defend her with my life. She did nothing wrong. Stop beefing with her for being beautiful and mildly flawed.

free my girl she did the same things as the celebrated male protagonists but the fandom has labeled her irredeemable

[agathathetransmechapilot]

I wonder how much reddit hate I could get if I go there and say I like Flay from Gundam Seed.

[goddessxdivine]

the amount of examples that are in the replies and quotes of this tweet is crazy. richonne, westallen, shawngela, Zach and Lisa (saved by the bell), Nate and Raina (gossip girl), bamon, samcedes, ichabbie, sydcarmy, dickkory, etc. the list is both extensive and expansive. even in animation! people hate Amber in Invincible for no reason at all. I haven’t gotten into Arcane but i know people would rather ship Jayce with Viktor than see him with Mel

like why can’t Black women be loved beautifully and aloud?? the way snowbarry’s somehow stayed alive until the end of the flash was insane. and when it comes to TVD, Kat Graham had chemistry with literally everyone, AND everyone wanted to be Bonnie’s love interest. if it weren’t for fucking Julie Plec we could’ve seen such compelling love stories.

and another thing that gets me aside from the white ship not having chemistry, there will sometimes be one actor in the ship who’s not the most convincing. plainly stated they’re bad at their job, like Danielle Panabaker, for example. Candice Patton was dropping single tears, episode after episode, left and right, had me wanting to cry with her. Danielle, on the other hand, was trying to blink tears into her eyes LIKE COME ON! be so fucking for real

[asiantransformations]

Prologue - A Deal with the Devil

Mr. Chen sat at his grand mahogany desk, the faint glow of his jade desk lamp casting sharp shadows across his angular features. In one hand, he swirled a glass of aged whiskey, the amber liquid catching the light as he leaned back in his chair. Before him lay a file marked Confidential—a dossier on JunHao, the man who had once been an untouchable icon of success, strength, and masculinity.

“JunHao,” Mr. Chen murmured, savoring the name like a delicacy. “You had it all, didn’t you? A thriving business, a loving girl, and a body that could make even gods envious.”

He glanced at the photo pinned to the top of the file. There JunHao stood, shirtless on a magazine cover, his sculpted physique the picture of perfection. The biceps that could stretch the seams of any suit, the chiseled abs, the confident smile—it all reeked of success, of invincibility. But Mr. Chen saw something else. Ambition. Greed. A man who had soared so high he never bothered to look down.

And that was where Mr. Chen came in.

He had orchestrated the entire downfall with surgical precision. Junhao’s business, a chain of high-end fitness centers, had been booming. But like many businessmen who thought themselves untouchable, JunHao had been careless with his partnerships. He hadn’t noticed when a shell company, quietly owned by Mr. Chen, began acquiring shares in his supply chain. He hadn’t realized when critical shipments of equipment were delayed or canceled, choking his operations.

Then came the financial strain, and with it, the loans.

“Desperate men make desperate decisions,” Mr. Chen muttered to himself, taking a sip of whiskey. He remembered the day JunHao had walked into his office, his broad shoulders weighed down by stress, his usual aura of confidence cracked.

“I need a loan,” JunHao had said, his deep voice betraying a hint of desperation.

Mr. Chen had leaned back in his chair, feigning concern. “A loan, you say? From me? The terms would have to be… unconventional.”

JunHao had hesitated, but he was a man with his back against the wall. He had signed the contract without reading the fine print. It was a devil’s bargain, one that Mr. Chen had designed with a very specific clause: in the event of the business fails, all of JunHao’s assets—all of them—would transfer to Mr. Chen.

It wasn’t just the gyms. Not just the properties or the accounts. It was everything JunHao had. Without him realizing, it included his body and the ownership to it.

————————————————————————

The collapse had been swift. Within months, Junhao’s business was in shambles. The loans he had taken to save it became an anchor, dragging him further into the abyss. And when the inevitable happened—when Junhao defaulted—Mr. Chen made his move.

He had summoned Junhao to his private estate, the contract in hand. Junhao, now a shadow of his former self, stood in the opulent office, his powerful frame visibly worn by stress. "Guess your business failed and everything of yours is now mine!"

“You can’t do this,” Junhao had growled, his fists clenched.

“Oh, but I can,” Mr. Chen had replied, his tone calm and cold. “You signed the contract. You agreed to the terms.”

“I’ll fight this in court!”

Mr. Chen had chuckled darkly. “You won’t get the chance. The clause is binding, immediate, and irrevocable. I don’t just own your business, Junhao. I own you.”

Before Junhao could react, Mr. Chen had signaled to his guards. They restrained the struggling man as Mr. Chen retrieved a small vial from his desk—a blend of ancient Chinese alchemy and cutting-edge bioengineering.

“This,” Mr. Chen said, holding the vial up to the light, “is your key to freedom—or, rather, mine.”

Junhao’s eyes had widened as the liquid was injected into his neck. He had thrashed against the guards’ grip, but it was no use. The process was instantaneous. A searing pain had coursed through his veins as his consciousness was pulled away from his body, drawn into a swirling void.

When Junhao woke, he found himself in a frail, elderly body, his once-pristine physique now a distant memory. Across the room, Mr. Chen stood in front of a mirror, marveling at his new form.

“This… is perfection,” Mr. Chen had said, flexing his biceps and running his hands over his chiseled abs. He turned to face Junhao, a smirk playing on his lips. “You should be proud, Junhao. Your body will be put to far better use in my hands.”

Junhao had screamed, lunging at Mr. Chen, but his new, weakened body betrayed him. The guards dragged him away as Mr. Chen laughed, his deep, commanding voice echoing through the halls.

“You should have read the fine print, Junhao,” Mr. Chen had called after him. “You’ve given me everything. And I do mean everything.”

Mr. Chen stepped out of the private chambers in only his underwear, feeling the weight of JunHao's powerful form. His every movement felt fluid, controlled, and effortless. It was a far cry from the frail, aging shell he had once inhabited. As he walked down the hallway, he marveled at the strength that now surged through his limbs, the sensation of each muscle flexing with the slightest movement.

He flexed his biceps—massive, round, and hard as stone—and let out a deep, satisfied breath. It was like a drug, this power. His former body, though fit, had never compared to the raw might he now commanded. These arms—these biceps—could easily crush anyone who dared to oppose him. The veins that snaked across his skin pulsed with vitality, evidence of his newfound strength. Every push, every pull, every lift was easier now, as if the world itself bent to his will.

He grinned, eyes tracing the contours of his new physique in the mirror as he walked past. The chest—wide, firm, and densely packed with muscle—caught his attention. His pecs were like slabs of stone, firm and unyielding, pressing against the tight shirt he had chosen to wear. When he flexed, the movement was hypnotic, a showcase of sheer power. The depth of his ribcage felt more pronounced, the muscles more pronounced, each fiber finely sculpted to perfection. He could feel the strength of his lungs, the way they expanded and contracted with ease, fueling his movements.

His mind raced with the possibilities. In this body, he was capable of feats that would’ve been impossible in his former, weaker form. There was no limit to what he could do, no obstacle he couldn’t crush beneath his new strength. He felt like a god, a man whose very presence commanded the room. Every glance from a passerby, every flicker of acknowledgment from those around him—he could see the admiration, the envy, the lust in their eyes.

But it wasn’t just the physicality that set this body apart. It was the knowledge embedded in every fiber, every cell of this machine.

Now, Mr. Chen stood in front of the mirror in JunHao's—his— gym, his reflection a living testament to his triumph. He flexed his biceps, marveling at their sheer size and power, and smirked as he ran his fingers down the ridges of his abs. His servants were in awe of what he attained.

“This body,” he said to himself, his voice rich and resonant, “isn’t just a vessel. It’s a weapon. A masterpiece.”

Mr. Chen lifted the weight, a staggering amount, effortlessly. As the barbell rose and fell in perfect rhythm, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. Every inch of JunHao’s body was designed for optimal performance. His shoulders were broad and thick, built for lifting, carrying, and crushing. His legs were powerful pillars of strength, veins and tendons twisting beneath the skin as they absorbed the pressure with ease. His calves were muscular and solid, able to sprint for miles without tiring, propelling him forward with each step.

He was a walking weapon—a machine capable of destruction.

The gift of virility was perhaps the most intoxicating. Mr. Chen had always been a man who desired control over everything, and now, he had control over the most primal part of his new form. He could feel the sheer force of Junhao’s masculinity coursing through him, the power in his loins that seemed to radiate outward, a constant hum of energy that never faded. His once-feeble self had known nothing of this.

This was a different kind of strength.

It wasn’t just about physical satisfaction. It was about dominance—asserting control over the very essence of another person. The body’s virility wasn’t a mere function of attraction; it was a weapon, a means of asserting his superiority, of owning and controlling.

The mind that came with this body was just as powerful as its physical form. Junhao’s intelligence had been sharp—business savvy, ruthless in his own right. But now, those instincts and ideas had become Mr. Chen’s. He could feel it—the knowledge embedded deep within the muscle, the experience that came from years of competition, of pushing himself to the limits. Every decision Junhao had made, every business deal, every negotiation—it was all there, like an archive waiting to be unlocked.

Mr. Chen felt as though he were walking in the footsteps of a man who had already laid the path for success. Every strategy, every move he needed to make, was now at his fingertips. JunHao’s thoughts, his methodical and strategic way of thinking, now surged through Mr. Chen’s mind as though they had always been his own.

He could feel the instinctual knowledge of how to read people, how to control a room, how to exploit weaknesses. His ability to manipulate, to strategize, to make others bow to his will—it was second nature now.

Every touch felt electric, as if JunHao's body was awakening to its new owner, recalibrating itself to fit Mr. Chen like a finely tailored suit. Every nerve ending seemed to buzz, hyperaware of his movements, responding to his commands with an eagerness that was both exhilarating and addictive.

Running his hands over his chest, Mr. Chen marveled at the power beneath his fingertips. The solid ridges of muscle, the soft yet firm hairs brushing against his palms-it was all so alive. His previous body had been stiff, sluggish, and unresponsive, a constant reminder of his age. But this? This was perfection incarnate, and it responded to him like a finely tuned instrument.

He progressed to his bedroom and then on the full-length mirror that dominated the corner of his suite, captivated by the sight before him. Mr. Chen wanted to explore this new opportunity in private. As he flexed, his reflection seemed to shimmer with vitality, every muscle rippling beneath his skin in perfect harmony. The sheer control he had over this body was intoxicating.

But then, something unexpected happened.

A faint warmth began to build, spreading through him like a slow burn. It started in his chest, radiating downward with an intensity that took his breath away. By the time he noticed the faint wet spot forming on his underwear, it was too late to deny it-this body wasn't just alive; it was thriving, responding to his every whim with an energy that left him breathless.

"This... this is something else," he murmured, a grin spreading across his face as he pressed his palm against the damp patch, feeling the heat beneath. "You've really outdone yourself, JunHao."

Rather than being embarrassed, Mr. Chen reveled in the sensation. He let the feeling wash over him, leaning into the raw vitality that coursed through his veins. He flexed again, harder this time, watching in awe as his biceps bulged, veins snaking across his forearms like rivers of power. Mr. Chen moaned every so loudly as he groped his new cock. The wet patch grew slightly, and he couldn't help but laugh -a deep, resonant sound that echoed through the room.

"This is what it means to feel alive," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "This is what I've been missing."

He sat on the edge of the bed, letting his hands roam freely, exploring every inch of his new form. The hard planes of his chest, the taut curve of his thighs, the firmness of his calves-each touch sent a jolt of pleasure through him. It was as if the body itself was rejoicing, celebrating its new owner with a symphony of sensations.

After a few minutes of indulgence, Mr. Chen was covered in JunHao's precious juices which reeked of testosterone, a testament to the new virility. A taste of it sent shockwaves of energy and flavors to his tongue as he forced himself to stand, steadying his breathing as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. He wasn't going to let this body overwhelm him-not yet, anyway. There was so much to explore, so much to discover, and he wanted to savor every moment.

He changed into fresh clothes, opting for a tight-fitting shirt that showcased his physique and a pair of jeans that accentuated his powerful legs. As he left the room, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror one last time and couldn't help but to pose what he had.

"Let's see what else this body can do," he said to himself, stepping out into the night, ready to test the limits of his newfound strength and charm.

[fluffyspaceball]

OMG I LOVE HIMM😭😭

Clay hairstyles

[cheynovak]

A siren's call

Characters: Soldier boy x F/Reader Y/N     

Summary:   After decades apart, Ben hears a voice in a smoky bar—a voice that draws him like a siren’s call. It belongs to Y/N, the woman he lost long ago. Unable to resist, he confronts her after her performance.

Warnings: soft sexual tension, not much

English is not my first language 

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

The night was bitter, the wind slicing through the streets of New York like a razor. Ben adjusted his shirt and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The world had changed in the forty years since he was taken out of it, but some parts of the city still held a certain timelessness.

It was the smell of rain on the pavement, the occasional jazz note spilling from an open window, the flickering neon signs—things that reminded him of a time when he still thought he was invincible, when he thought he had it all. He paused in front of a bar, the sign above it old and cracked but still legible.

The Velvet Rose. A place he'd known once, back when jazz and blues were whispered rebellions in a world that forbade them. His boots crunched on the wet sidewalk as he debated moving on, but then he heard it—a voice so rich and sweet it stopped him cold. He turned toward the sound, his heart pounding like a war drum. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be her.

The voice he hadn’t heard since the '70s, the one that haunted his dreams. Y/N. No. She would be long gone by now, her laugh a ghost, her memory as faded as an old Polaroid. But his feet betrayed him, carrying him toward the sound. He pushed the door open, the dim amber light spilling out to greet him like an old friend. Inside, the air was thick with smoke and nostalgia.

The clink of glasses and murmurs of conversation faded into the background as he found the staircase to the basement. His boots hit each step with the weight of disbelief. And there she was. The room was a time capsule, untouched by decades of change. The polished wood, the velvet curtains, the smoky haze—all of it could have been lifted straight from 1957.

But it was her who held his attention. She stood on the stage, bathed in the warm glow of a spotlight. Her red silk dress hugged her in all the ways he remembered, her every movement a melody in itself. She swayed with the music, her voice wrapping around the room like a velvet ribbon.

His chest tightened. She hadn’t aged a day. Men filled the room, transfixed, but for her, they were background noise. As her song reached its crescendo, her eyes swept across the room and landed on him. Just for a moment. To anyone else, it would have been nothing—a glance, a flicker of acknowledgment. But he saw it. Recognition.

Her voice faltered, just slightly, so imperceptibly no one else would have noticed. But he did. He saw the way her breath hitched, the way her grip on the microphone tightened. When the song ended, the room erupted into applause. She smiled, graceful as ever, and thanked the audience before disappearing behind the velvet curtain.

He didn’t think. He moved. Down a narrow hallway, past murmuring patrons and waitstaff, he found the door. A security guard stepped forward, the tension palpable. The man was no pushover, towering over Ben with arms like tree trunks. But Ben didn’t flinch, his steely gaze unwavering.

Before it could escalate, her voice rang out, rich and commanding. “It’s OK, Marcel. As much as I would like the see you two alfa's fight, you can let him in.” Marcel hesitated for a fraction of a second, then stepped aside.

Ben pushed past him without a glance, his eyes locked on the door she had disappeared behind. Inside, the room was dimly lit, soft and intimate. She was there, seated at a vanity, her back to him. Her hands worked through her hair, undoing the intricate style. It cascaded down in waves, framing her shoulders and collarbone.

The sight was breathtaking, but it was the way she turned and smiled at him that sent a punch straight to his gut. “I thought I saw a familiar face in the crowd,” she said, her voice smooth as silk.

“How?” was all Ben could manage, his voice raw. She stood, her red dress replaced by a long, luxurious robe trimmed with fur on the sleeves. Her bare feet made no sound as she crossed the room toward him. “Would you have believed me,” she began, tilting her head slightly, “if I told you back then you weren’t the only one?”

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation. She huffed a soft, disbelieving laugh, her eyes dropping to the floor. “Oh, Ben,” she murmured. “You wouldn’t.”

Before she could step away, his hand was behind her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. He pulled her close, their bodies flush against each other, his breath warm against her face. Their eyes searched each other’s, a silent conversation passing between them. He began to lean in, his lips almost brushing hers, when she whispered, “Let me go, Ben.”

His body obeyed, his arms releasing her as though her words had taken away his will to resist. “So that’s it,” he said, his voice quiet but sharp. “You can manipulate people?”

Her eyes softened as she stepped back, wrapping the robe tighter around herself. “Men,” she admitted. “I’m a siren.” She moved to sit on the edge of the vanity, her elegance unshaken. Ben followed, standing behind her.

His eyes caught hers in the mirror, locking them in place. “Did you…” he began, his voice steady but his heart racing. “Did you use it on me?” She smiled, but it was a sad, wistful expression, her gaze dropping before she answered. “You wouldn’t have run to her if I did.”

The mention of her hit him like a slap. Crimson Countess. The woman he thought he loved. The woman who had betrayed him in every way that mattered. “Her,” Ben said, his voice thick with regret. “My biggest mistake.”

Y/N’s expression softened further, a mixture of understanding and sorrow. “You weren’t yourself, Ben. And maybe… if I had fought a little harder, gave you a little more of myself. But what’s done is done.” He wanted to argue, wanted to apologize, but the words caught in his throat.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” he finally asked, his reflection pleading with hers. “Because I wanted it to be your choice, and you chose her.” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “Even if it meant losing you. I needed to be sure you loved me for me.”

The silence between them was heavy, filled with years of unspoken truths and what-ifs. Ben reached out, his hand brushing her shoulder in a tentative gesture.

"How is she?" her voice cracked as the words left her mouth, heavy with a mix of anger and grief. He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. “Dead.” Her lips parted, and she began to murmur, “I’m sor—” “Don’t.” His tone was sharp, cutting her off.

He stepped back, his hands balling into fists. “I killed her.” The words hung in the air, heavier than anything else he’d said. Y/N’s eyes searched his face, trying to gauge what lay beneath his hardened exterior. “Why?”

“Because she betrayed me.” She turned around, her gaze locking onto his. “Is that what you’re here to do, Ben? To kill me?” The question struck like a thunderclap.

Ben’s knees gave out, and he sank to the floor before her, his hands reaching for hers. “Never,” he said, his voice breaking. “Never you. I—I came to beg. For forgiveness, for leaving you. For everything.” Her fingers slid over his, trembling slightly. Slowly, she stood up before him, her hand finding its way to his face.

Her touch was light, but it burned into him, grounding him in a way nothing else could. “Get up, Ben,” she said softly. “This doesn’t suit you.” He let her guide him to his feet, the weight of his guilt still clinging to him like a second skin. “Besides,” she added, her lips curving into a faint smile, “it wasn’t me. It was the song. That’s what brought you back to me.”

Ben shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “It’s not the song. It’s you. It’s always been you.” She hesitated, her hand still lingering against his chest. There was something in her eyes—doubt, maybe even fear, did he mean it? Could Ben be immune if he wanted to? But she couldn't find out, him leaving her again would break her heart.

She had heard tales of sirens losing the love of their life. Once their heart had been broken, their life song would end and slowly so would they. She had been scared to give Ben her heart, and it turned out she was right about it.

She turned toward the door, reaching for the handle to let him out. Before she could pull it open, Ben’s hand shot out, pushing it closed with a force that reverberated through the room. She gasped softly, caught between the door and his body, her back pressing into the wood.

His hands found her waist, holding her firmly but not harshly. His breath fanned against her skin as his face hovered just inches from hers. “Ben…”

He didn’t wait. He didn’t think. He kissed her, the kind of kiss that shattered walls and erased time. Hot and heavy, full of all the years they’d lost, the pain they’d endured, and the longing that had never died. At first, she froze, but then he felt it—the way her lips softened against his, the way her hands found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer.

And then he heard it, soft and sweet, the sound that had always undone him. “Ben…” she moaned, his name rolling off her tongue like honey. It was like a dam breaking.

Every memory of them came rushing back, flooding his senses. Nights spent tangled in silk sheets. Her laugh echoing in the quiet moments between battles. The way she’d once looked at him, as though he were the only thing in the world that mattered. His lips left hers, trailing down her jaw, her neck, before resting against her collarbone as he caught his breath.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. She lifted his chin, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that made him feel like he might drown. “Ben.” It wasn’t just a name. It was a promise. He kissed her again, slower this time, savoring her, grounding himself in the reality that she was here, alive, and real. And this time, he wouldn’t let her slip away.

Ben's lips moved with desperate precision, tracing the curve of her neck, her shoulder, and down to her collarbone. Each kiss was a plea, a claim, a reminder that she was his, even after all these years.

"Again," he ordered, his voice low and rough against her skin. Her breath hitched as she whispered, “Oh, Ben…” His hands slid to the bow of her robe, tugging at it with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

The fabric loosened, falling open to reveal her to him. His gaze swept over her, filled with reverence and need. His hands roamed, not gentle but not cruel, driven by years of longing and regret. But then her voice came again, soft but firm, anchoring him.

“Ben…wait” His hands stilled, his eyes snapping up to meet hers. “I need you,” she said, her voice trembling but steady enough to pierce through the haze of his desire. “I need you too, baby,” he said quickly, leaning in, his lips brushing against hers again.

“No, Ben,” she murmured, her hands coming up to frame his face, stopping him. Her eyes locked onto his, filled with vulnerability, longing, and something deeper. “I need you… like I used to have you.”

He froze, her words sinking in. The raw emotion in her gaze tore through him, replacing the fire in his chest with something softer, something warmer. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek.

“Anything,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Anything you want. I promise.” She nodded, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer. This time, when their lips met, it wasn’t rushed or rough. It was slow, deliberate, filled with all the love and pain that had never really gone away.

He guided her back toward the large sofa in the room, his movements gentle now, reverent, as though she might disappear if he wasn’t careful. “Y/N,” he whispered against her lips, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll make it right. I’ll give you everything. Just… tell me what you need.”

Her hands slid over his shoulders, pulling him closer, grounding him. “make love to me,” she said softly.

“I just need you.”

--

Taglist -> Click here to add

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373