#and like... I literally do not know why she hates me now

[c0sm1cp0tat0]

Yandere! Saja Boys x Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

Accept it. Accept it. Accept....it??

Accept their feelings for you?? But you didn't know how. Did they demand you to reciprocate or merely stop resisting their feelings? You didn't even know WHAT feelings they meant, either.

Did they really like you?? Five of them? Five men, no, demons? That was ridiculous. They must not know what temporary attraction is. Thats why they keep driving you crazy and telling you how they'd die and kill for you.

You stumbled now after your side jabbed into a piece of furniture. You were on the run. On the run as in, through their huge ass penthouse, that is.

"Come on, [Y/N]~ The fans want it, so you can't run from ittt~!!" Abby's voice was like the eery hiss of a very beautifully patterned, very poisonous snake in your ear. He was hot on you heels; he didn't even need to try. Infact, you sussed out that you were actually the only one running here. He was about to catch up to you with just his relaxed strides.

You're wondering what's happening right now? A week ago exactly, you'd signed to be their manager. You were allowed back home-- briefly. But then you were thrown into this quick sand-pit of gigs, fan meets, approving merch. Other things that you could have sworn they were able to do themselves.

You spent more time with them that you ever had when they held you captive. You had a feeling they had a part to play in that.

And somewhere along the way, the fans had sussed out a few things. The prime one being how all five of the members looked at you when you weren't looking. That person they all said they already liked?? I wonder who they guessed that out to be.

The members didn't even care. They'd throw their arms around you in public. Fix you with this 'you're making me feel some typa-way' kind of stare while ON CAMERA. Watch you much too intently as your sorted through paperwork during fan meets. Yes, fan meets, as in the one event in which they're supposed to focus full attention on their FANS.

But the worst thing is, you'd expected the fans to do something. To rage. To demand refunds for the lack of attention. And then the Saja Boys would have to fire you and you'd be free. Instead?? You saw comments under the upload of the meet on Youtube.

"Guys GUYS GUYS. The Saja men are hot n all... but hear me out....THEIR MANAGER."

"Omg yea"

"She's clueless man"

"They're S. M. I. T. T. E. N."

"She's adorableee I wanna carry her in my pockettt"

"TAKES CARE OF THEM SO WELL OMG"

Now, there were things online. Fanart. Fanfiction. Direct messages to you, to the members. Asking if you were together. Asking for something you learned as fanservice.

There were shipwars. Now, Jinu had explained this one to you but you still didn't quite get it. Fans... fighting over...who you looked best with?

There were comments that you had to read through in order to delete the hateful ones.

"OH. EM. GEE. [Y/N] and Abby. have y'all SEEN the size difference?? So cute!!!"

"Dumb bitch, [Y/N] X MYSTERY for LIFE have you seen them?? [Y/N] literally has him on an invisible leash!!"

"I don't know, I think I like Jinu and [Y/N]'s love-hate relationship better. Remember when he hugged her and she called him a melonhead?? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ XD,"

"HAHA uncultured swines, y'all ever heard of Baby x [Y/N] x Romance??"

"TRY ME, OT6 FOR THE RUN AHHHHH"

You'd shut down the laptop then. It was too late to delete those either way; the PR manager of their company had already seen.

And decided that they could make some bank off of this. And when a higher-up decides that there's money to be made?? You're delusional if you think you're getting away unscathed.

To top it all off, the Saja Boys were all too happy to encourage this shipping nonsense, too.

So here you were, dashing from the truth. Panting, eyes widened. You kept on looking back. You were going in circles around the huge penthouse complex. Through every single room. By now, you were in a full-on sprint. You looked back. Abby was still right behind you.

And you were so busy looking back, you didn't notice the solid chest that you were about to bash into.

"Don't you know we can teleport? Tsk, tsk, tsk." Jinu tutted with a smile, clawed finger coming under your chin and lifting it so that you looked up at him like an angry albeit guilty child.

Ten minutes later you were pushed into a fancy studio. Tried to slip away, was dragged right back.

The professional photographer hired looks you up and down, chewing his gum obnoxiously loud. He had you figured out in seconds.

"Hmmm, not a normal manager are you? Quite young. Not a bad face. Not bad at all." He paused, regarding your tense shoulders. "Relax yourself hun, you're gonna earn in millions for this."

The first reference pose he showed you already had you rushing for the exit.

"Oh no no no you don't." Jinu smiled, grabbing you by the collar and lifting you right off your feet.

"You're our manager now. Keeping the fans happy is one of your commitments. This is one of your commitments."

So now, you found yourself propped upon Abby's lap. Your feet weren't touching the ground. He'd been grinning like a madman as you struggled to climb into his lap and he'd lifted you up, helping you. Now he was all professional. Arm loosely draped around your waist, leaned back. Staring at the camera with sensuality.

Your arms were twitching around his neck, aching to tear away. under your own biceps, you could feel his own, thrice the size of yours and solid as a rock, flexing.

You only realized now how big he truly was.

While you'd lost weight out of stress, he'd become even more beefy in preparation for the photo shoot.

He could feel you slowly start to tremble. Smiling in pleasure, he leaned in, "Don't worry darling, I won't crush you." He knew you were wary of him in particular due to his physique. Such a caution was...how does he say it... fucking adorable.

"Yeessss...yes yes yess give me all that emotion. The anxiety." Photo dude's eyes swivelled to Abby, "The attraction. [Y/N], don't be shy and lean in a bit closer, will ya babe? It's not everyday you get to sit on the lap of a top idol."

But you didn't want to. The photographer was only doing the top half of your bodies, so it couldn't properly be seen that you were on his fucking lap. Your left leg was subconsciously stretching, trying to reach the ground. How would your boyfriend react to this if he were still alive? Your frown deepened.

While the members leaned into fully assess the photos captured, their eyes sparkling with facination, you hung back, wondering if you could make a break for it now.

The next round was just as if not even more appalling. You were hiccuping, feet tripping and sliding against the floor as you tried to book it to the door. Jinu was smiling happily at the concerned-looking photographer. His large hand held the back of your collar, effectively preventing your escape.

"Sorry, she's very shy."

The photographer tuts, almost pityingly, "Oh, darling darling, we can't have this shyness in the entertainment industry...not if you wanna make the big bucks."

The rest of the member's eyes swivelled and darkened as the man smeared lipstick carefully over your rosebud lips.

While you were still fighting the urge to sprint, he had the audacity to even cheer you on "Don't be shy, get that man!!"

So you walked hesitantly towards Romance, hands shaking in tiny fists. He was leaned back lazily on the red velvet sofa being used. One side of his pretty lips quirked up. Lips that were also painted in that same shade as yours.

He beckoned you with a finger. And when you got barely into arms reach, he reached out and snatched you towards him.

"The whole face, he said, baby." The pinkette man almost snarled into your ear, fine brows furrowed cockily as his small smirk grew into a full on wicked smile.

You winced. Romance didn't hold you still or anything. You had to do it yourself. The handsome pinkette leaned in, cedarwood and rose scent engulfing you. His smirk returns, entertained as he notices your knuckles whitening on the couch fabric, stopping yourself from pulling away.

"We don't got all day." The photographer snarked.

Romance had no qualms of speeding it up. His large hands framed your face. At each peck on your cheek, your nose, your chin and forehead, you winced. You were trying not to struggle. But your legs still squirmed in protest. It was so adorable.

Soon, your face was covered in lipstick prints. Romance's eyes began to glow. He shut it down immediately. His marks. All over your pretty little face Fuck.

Click, click, click.

You tried not to wince at every audible shutter of the camera.

"Oh lord, even I would pay for these. Look at the emotions in his eyes."

When it came your turn, Roman actually had to tighten his hold to stop you from shuffling away, "Keep tryna chicken out, huh? Too bad, you can't because you already signed the contract~" It was rasped in your ear.

You shook off his grip, eyebrows tight in frustration and determination. But it wavered way too easily as one of the boys whistled. Probably Abby. "Come on, sweets!! Just like you did to Jinu that night!!"

The photographer looked at the man with wide eyes then looked back to you. You smiled crookedly, trying to appear innocent. But that wasn't going to get you out of this. Nothing was.

So you shut your eyes, and got to work.

When you opened your eyes, Romance was slumped in your arms. Just like your own, every inch of his face was covered in hot pink lip prints almost matching his hair. Mouth in a blissed-out smile. Face heated. It was like he was on something.

The camera shutter went off, "Excellent," The photographer breathed, eyeing the shots with wonder.

Mystery's reference one had you stumbling. "Is this...really okay to publish to fans??"

"Oh, darling," Photography guy chuckled like he knew something you didn't. But you knew something too; that you didn't fucking want to know what he knew.

So you stood, as they put a fucking collar around Mystery's muscular neck. Put a leash on the collar and tied an intricate knot around your wrist with the end of it.

And while Malak looked thrilled at the idea of being tied to you, you shook your wrist, eyeing the ribbon unaffectionately.

"Woah!" Your finger dug into his back when he delves for your neck. You weren't used to such a sensitive place being touched. Your other hand went to his hair, tightening on his scalp.

"That's it, put those big arms 'round her, champ!! Nuzzle your face in a bit more. Nice and tight now!!"

And oh god, the blue-grey haired boy didn't have to be told twice.

You hadn't thought much about it before. But now they were all pressing into you one after the other and you couldn't help but notice how big they all were. Even Baby, the smallest of them all was much taller than you.

"How much longer?" You couldn't help but mumble now, as you sat leaned back against Baby's chest as per the photographer's instructions. His legs were on either side of you. He'd locked them around you at some point and laughed when you couldn't get free. But he did let go. You still couldn't flee though.

"Trés adorable!! Just like that!! Put your arms around her neck!!" The photographer couldn't even hear you. He was gushing over the sight of you two together. You just didn't understand the appeal.

You actually forced yourself to look at the photos this time. They were aesthetically pleasing to say in the least. Though you didn't like the concept, the photographer had made them into a masterpiece. In some shots Beni looked cocky, smiling at you satisfiedly from the back. In others, he looked at you with this...mix of feelings in his eye.

You looked back at him now and he stared back unwaveringly. His lips didn't turn up into that mean cocky smirk or anything as usual. It was his large eyes that spoke to you instead. Just... pure emotions. Vulnerability. Want. Deprivation. He was spilling himself out to you without even speaking. Without even hesitating.

"Last member, honey. Gee-wizz you must be having the time of your life." Photo guy said jokingly but also seriously you didn't know which it was. You hoped it was joke. You were not having fun.

Especially when Jinu grabbed your shoulders and steered you back to the couch.

You were in shorts. you could feel the taut fabric of his pants as photo dude directed you to put your leg over his. You were told to go closer and you hesitated.

"Come onnnn, you kissed me before without hesitation. You're thinking for this??" This guy had a slap with his name on it lined up if he didn't shut up.

It was the second time photography guy's eyes almost popped out of his skull. You scooted closer to Jinu and quickly said, "Jokes, ahaha. Jinu's really funny off camera." You couldn't help but wince. What a lie. Jinu made you do the opposite of laugh. The amount of times you'd held back tears at the idea of being unable to leave their house, god.

His hand was now on your ankle, caressing. Moving up further. Photo guy was drinking this up. "Juuust like that. Keep looking at her like that."

He wouldn't say much about your emotions. Probably because he could read out clearly how badly you wanted to leave from here. You were sick of being surrounded by these male demons. But no one would understand.

⌗☾︎ ‧₊˚ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶⋅₊˚☽︎⌗

It was almost as if they knew how badly they'd pushed you the last day. Today, you were allowed home while the editors did their work on the shots and the bodyguards alone escorted the boys to their gig.

And it was almost as if your body knew how fucking mentally drained you were. The next minute you got home, you were out cold in your own sweet, sweet bed.

Now, 2pm the next day and you were still dead to the world. Your small form submerged in the sheets. Not silken soft ones from the penthouse, but your own. Mediocre cotton with coffee stains. You were in heaven; a dreamless sleep like no other.

You weren't on alert. You were safe in your own home. Your own personal space.

You loved your personal space. But guess what? The Saja Boys love your personal space too.

While you were passed out still, your front door opened. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. She doesn't even have an extra lock on the door." The low voice of Jinu buzzed in the background.

Baby Saja was the first to find your curled up form, barely taking up half your bed. And yet so comfortably asleep.

"Damn, she's exhausted."

"We worked her to the bone so that she'd stay," Abby shrugged, huge form leaning upon the door frame with his arms crossed.

Romance narrowed his eyes. Was he jealous of your bed? Maybe. His hand closed around one of the bed posts. He shook it hard. The entire bed shook. Self satisfied he stood up straight. "This beds rickety. Unsafe for her."

They were talking so carelessly loud. Mystery wasn't talking but was creating his own racket as he crawled onto the bed beside you. Feeling the sheets, grimacing in dissaproval when he sees they're not soft and luxurious like theirs. But you weren't stirring.

You were on your stomach, small arms closed around your head pillow as you mushed it up close to your face. It wasn't difficult for the boys to admire you like this.

Leaning in, pecking your face, stroking your hair. Running their hands down the dips and curves of your body through the duvet. Enamoured, they were. Good for you, you didn't wake up and notice.

"Wakey wakey baby~ We got pizza. It's your favourite; BBQ chicken." Jinu smiled, running his hand through your hair. Never had they seen you in such a state of peace and calm and vulnerability. Even when you slept over at theirs, you forever looked high on alert. Eyebrows knitted together, mumbling as if you were attempting to repell these demons even in your sleep.

You stirred, and turned over, still dozing. They watched, calmly. Until Abby, the more thoughtless and callous of them all, scooped up your small form into his arms. He liked having you against his muscles like this. It was a fixation for him at the moment; how pliant and clueless and soft you were between his arms.

It was a small of a thing as an all-too-familiar ghost of breath against your neck that had you jolting awake. You opened your mouth for a curse but your throat was all closed up from sleep.

You scrambled away and sat up, rubbing your eyes. You chose to ignore the way you were woken up, "How do you know my favourite-??"

They exchanged looks. They may or may not have looked under your car seats for takeaway bills and learnt the contents off by heart.

They wanted to tell you, but they shrugged instead. "All humans like pizza. And these just seemed to be popular toppings."

You walked straight past them to the bathroom, yawning as you did so. They sighed in relief. Thank god you were too tired to give them second thoughts. At the same time they wanted your thoughts though. Seconds, thirds, all of them.

You were an angelic little thing. All flushed cheeks and droopy eyes. Voice husky. Unable to even comprehend what they were saying properly because you were too disoriented. It was the first time they got to see what you were really like after an actual deep sleep. You were fucking ethereal.

In a loose knit sweater and the smallest fucking sleep shorts, you were walking sin and had no idea about it.

Mystery smiled, ringed fingers stroking against the coarse fabric of your pillow. It was an immense joy that filled him as he watched you obliviously walk into the bathroom. He was about to make good on your promise to him.

⌗☾︎ ‧₊˚ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶⋅₊˚☽︎⌗

TAGLIST ༉‧₊˚✧↳ @yumekono @levifiance @amery-benson-cvii @wantstoliveinfantasy @osball @apelepikozume @st3f13ily @little-ponkan @strayharmony943 @lazy-panther @scara-simp69 @p1nkpaperstars @ryuucollapse @tatsuri-zomushiki @crescent-z @wpdarlingpan @natllo @daikiswife @kinichportablecharger @realifezompire @i-am-here3 @daiyanomochi @elevenbts @hornehlittleweeblet @reni502 @nonetheartist @sanaxo-o @mshope16 @calmmell @luna-looniesblog @doodle-with-rhy @starr-matterr @fidenciocryptidcreechur @chirikoheina @ceramic-raven @whatdoesthesenpai @megapintofmilkshake @lover-girl009 @yandereaficionado @moon0goddess @neuvilletteswife4ever @hurts-my-brain @consecratedvampire91 @moonchildjae00 @coolnekochan9961 @misdollface

[stzrgirl4norris]

No Judgement - GR63

George Russell x BestFriend!Reader

summary: You and George have been best friends since before his career in F1, always there for each other. He's the only one who accepts you just the way you are. Although fans think you're a bit weird for him, he doesn't care. And, after all, opposites do attract.

based on this request right here

liked by georgerussell63, fan1, yourbff and 1, 700,411 others

yourinstagram i'm about to crash tf out ngl

View all comments:

charles_leclerc Why?

> yourinstagram because i'm fighting battles you’ll never understand > charles_leclerc What battles? You vs your ugly shoes? 🧐 > yourinstagram yeah because YOU have such good fashion sense > user be serious charles

georgerussell63 Your caffeine consumption is worrying me, actually

> yourinstagram let me live george. > user yeah george let her live > user he's being HEALTHY and CARING and she's out here drinking 7 iced lattes a day > user idk why this is giving babysitter dynamic lol

lando disgusting shoe and sock combo 🤢

> yourinstagram ok mr. panda nikes > user i actually like the socks 🫣

> yourinstagram user it’s because you have ✨taste✨

user she's like what I don't want in my pinterest boards

mercedesamgf1 We are against crashes here

> yourinstagram ahem > user mercedes adm is the funniest one

user she’s the only influencer who makes me laugh

> user she’s not even trying to be funny though? > user that's the thing... she isn't funny

user she’s weird, like the kind of weird you can’t fake

> user lowkey feel like her intentions aren't the purest and george doesn’t even notice > user they've been friends before his f1 career, let's not do this shit now

user she and george are SO opposite I actually think it balances the universe

> user he’s giving oxford debate and she’s giving dropped out of school > user he’s too good for her but it’s working and I hate that

user She looks like she made George do tarot readings

user I love that George is like a gentleman and she’s... her

user she definitely manifested him. with like, crystals.

user not to be rude but she kind of gives “i thought he was gay at first” energy

yourbff crash out queen your earned it

liked by yourinstagram, mercedesamgf1, kimiantonelli and 2,333,605 others

georgerussell63 Standard pre-race vibes

View all comments:

yourinstagram you’re welcome for the entertainment

>user literally what does she even do? > user she does him that's what > yourinstagram well i don't but that was a good comeback i respect it 👏

user why is she wearing sweats in the paddock?

mercedesamgf1 Is she okay?

>yourinstagram define okay

user I LOVE that she’s just casually unhinged around him

> user unhinged is generous

user i'd pay to see what their texts look like

user how is he not distracted by that? how?

> user maybe he's into chaotic energy idk

user if they’re not dating yet I’m gonna sue

user he's too polished for her

user george’s mom definitely calls her “that girl”

user not to be dramatic but if she breaks his heart I will take legal action

> user break his heart??? they’re just friends

user she’s literally just doing bits in the background like it’s her show 💀

user why is she climbing that chair like that 😭

user no because i can HEAR her saying “george look!!” and him ignoring her

user she makes everything look unserious and i love that for her

user someone get her down from the chair before she breaks something 😭

user the fact that she doesn’t care what’s going on and he clearly likes it 😭

user what is she even doing back there LMAOOO

user i’m begging her to act normal just once

user help she’s gonna fall

user she’s gonna knock over something expensive i feel it

> georgerussell63 won’t you look at that?? yourinstagram

> yourinstagram ???? everyone knows that wasn’t even the most expensive champagne on the market

user why is she dressed like that 😭

user why is no one stopping her?

> charles_leclerc I ask myself that all the time…

yourinstagram y'all can't handle my swag

yourinstagram added to their story!

liked by georgerussell63, lando, maxverstappen1 and 1,804,302 others yourinstagram traveling with george is fun if you enjoy being judged by every stranger every 4 minutes

view all comments:

georgerussell63 it's because you brought a whole farmacy in your bag 😤

> yourinstagram don't act like you didn't take my benadryl to sleep > georgerussell63 you can't keep saying shit like this in public > yourinstagram mercedesamgf1 i'm joking

> user not her snitching on his sleep aids in front of millions

alex_albon No one invited me

> yourinstagram you didn’t pass the vibe check > georgerussell63 because you always forget your passport

user you cannot convince me they haven’t kissed

user it’s the way george looks like he's going to europe and she looks like she's going to mexico or smth

maxverstappen1 don't worry I think George was the one they were judging

> yourinstagram don’t start > georgerussell63 maxverstappen1 ? > user oh this just got good

> user max came here to start violence and left like it’s casual

lando did you lose a bet or something?

> yourinstagram are you losing the championship or something? > user HELP WHY ARE THEY ALL IN HER COMMENTS

> user lando got cooked and didn’t even fight back 😭

lilymhe did you bring medication or just incense again?

> yourinstagram mind your business lady

kikagomes I kind of admire the chaos

> yourinstagram do you want to switch places?

user they’re opposites in a way that concerns me

user nah bc they’re all in the comments like it’s a groupchat 💀

user george is one “babe please be serious” away from imploding

user her bag probably has crystals, six vitamins, a banana, and a taser

user this feels like i walked into a conversation i wasn’t meant to see but i’m not leaving

user she’s too powerful they’re all scared of her and they should be

user no bc what kind of relationship involves benadryl beef on main

user is this flirting or HR violation i genuinely can’t tell??

user she’s the only person who could talk to all 4 of them like that and survive

user the entire grid acting like siblings in her comments i’m obsessed

user girl this is not close friends why are u posting like that 😭

📍Tulum, Mexico

liked by alex_albon, oscarpiastri, lilymhe and 2,222,399 others georgerussell63 an unpredictable travel companion

view all comments:

yourinstagram ?? unpredictable??

yourinstagram you always post the pics where i'm ugly and you're hot 😔

> georgerussell63 you're never ugly > yourbff george like this if she made you say that > user why do i feel like she screenshotted that reply for future use

user the way he posts her like a proud husband…

oscarpiastri unpredictable is a very diplomatic word

> yourinstagram shush > user oscar sounds like he’s seen some things

user how is she unpredictable when she literally posts her entire life?

> user bc she’s the kind of person to fly to a race and forget shoes > user i bet her suitcase has like… soup in it or something > user she’s a walking side quest and george is the main plot

yourex she’s not unpredictable, you just don’t listen.

> yourinstagram yeah and YOU did > georgerussell63 thank you for your input, therapist ass

maxverstappen1 patrick the ⭐

> user what is max doing here????

charles_leclerc every time i see you two together i feel like i’m watching a social experiment

user max is getting too comfortable in these comments🙃

> user it’s always when she's in the posts too > user you just know George read that Max comment in silence

user do you think she realizes she's not quirky just extremely awkward?

user they hate when you serve weird girl bestfriend😇

user i don't understand their relationship and i don't want to, let me stay confused

[5 days later]

liked by lewishamilton, mercedesamgf1, georgerussell63 and 1,835,029 others

yourinstagram go george or go home! 💙🏁 (also lewis hamilton looked at me)

view all comments:

georgerussell63 are you trying to steal all my friends?

> yourinstagram i'm trying to steal your heart 🫦 > alex_albon don't threaten him with a good time

lando fine... i'll admit... cute jacket

> yourinstagram only the jacket??? 😏 > lando jesus what is up with you today??

lewishamilton can you please text me the pictures you took?

> yourinstagram sir, yes sir 🙂‍↕️

alexandrasaintmleux nice seeing you today! 🥰💞

> yourinstagram if you want we can make it everyday 👀 > user girl are you ovulating or something??

maxverstappen1 nice latte art 👍

> yourinstagram not as nice as the one from that day ❤️ liked by georgerussell63 > user WHAT DAY > user WTF IS THIS

user she’s a menace

user george liked yn’s comment 😭😭😭

> user no bc what did she mean by “that day” DID THEY GO ON A DATE?

user why does it feel like she's flirting with the entire grid??

user she held his umbrella before the race 😭

> user because she's actually his biggest fan > user i don't understand why people don't like her

user with all these boring basic wags it's so refreshing to see someone with a personality 😌

> user not if it’s the worst personality in the world

> lewishamilton yn’s the funniest girl in the world. We all love having her in the Paddock ❤️ liked by yourinstagram

> user help not lewis defending her and george staying completely silent

user it just feels icky to me that george sees all those hate comments and says absolutely nothing

> user yeah if they were dating he'd say something

user another day another what the fuck

user her post is normal but the comments are cracking me

liked by yourinstagram, lando, alex_albon and 2,850,111 others

georgerussell63 Don't ask me how she convinced the entire grid to go to the club

view all comments:

oscarpiastri Peer pressure is real

> yourinstagram peer pleasure is realer 😇 > oscarpiastri this doesn't make sense

yourinstagram evrywine luved it

> user jesus is she drunk??

fernandoalo_oficial Finally someone who knows how to party

> yourinstagram omg did you actually kiss taylor swift??? > fernandoalo_oficial I don't kiss and tell

alex_albon I still have glitter inside my clothes

charles_leclerc Can someone explain why there was a goat in the vip area??

> yourinstagram because he deserved to party too. don’t be speciest. > georgerussell63 that “goat” headbutted the DJ

user the way george just accepts that she’s everyone’s problem now 😭

user “don’t ask me how” LIKE HE’S EXHAUSTED

> user he says that but he was dancing on a table by 2am don’t let him lie > user i saw them holding hands at the taco truck at 3am i fear they’re in love

user does she have everyone at gun point??

> yourinstagram they came willingly 😇

user your friends should be your 2nd priority. Your 1st priority should always be clubbing

> lando agreed

user i love this era

user guys my friend was there and said they saw yn flirting with a random dude

> user not max??? > user nope. not george either. random blondie in a red jacket > user nvmd me griefing

user a man is nothing without his extremely loud girl bestie

liked by georgerussell63, lewishamilton, alexandrasaintmleux and 1,423,333 others

yourinstagram touching grass is not enough i need george to run me over with his car

view all comments:

user OH WE ARE SO BACK LOOK AT THEM

user wait this looks like a date 👀

user if you ever catch me smiling at my phone it's this post right here

user for the first time she's properly dressed

user i just love how george loves her for who she is and doesn't give a fuck

user they hate when you serve sexy bad bitch while being a lil odd and weird 💅

georgerussell63 thanks for paying the bill ❤️

> user and here we are thinking he was a gentleman 😞

user she’s deranged and he’s in love. god’s favorite couple fr

user no bc he’s smiling like she’s the best thing to ever happen to him lewishamilton George can arrange that wish for you!

> Charles_Leclerc And if George isn’t up to it, I can do it!!

> yourinstagram is that a promise charlie boy??

> georgerussell63 No one’s running yn over with their car!

> yourinstagram you always spoil the fun 😔

user no thoughts just george’s stupid little smile lando i know a thing or two about grasses and cars, just saying

> yourinstagram maybe george should run YOU over > georgerussell63 don't threaten me with a good time

user this man is clearly obsessed. and honestly? taste. alex_albon do you guys even like food or was this all foreplay?

> user ALEX > user alex knows something we don't

user girl how did you pull george “mr perfectly polite” russell i’m scared of you????

user she looks like she bites and he’s into it

> charles_leclerc I can confirm he is into it > georgerussell63 you can't confirm shit

user there's no way her rizz is that good

liked by lewishamilton, mercedesamgf1, kimiantonelli and 2,441,200 others

georgerussell63 just being ourselves (no judgement)

view all comments:

yourinstagram never let your bestfriend stop you from finding your future husband 💙

charles_leclerc I KNEW IT

> charles_leclerc albono, norris and hamilton you can all pay me > alex_albon i'm not paying you shit 🙂‍↕️👍 > lando bro you were the only one who participated on that bet

alex_albon finally omg

user ok niall horan fan we see you

user THEY’RE DATING THEY’RE DATING THEY’RE DATING

oscarpiastri what happened to “she’s like a sister to me” 💀

> georgerussel63 I lied

lewishamilton he’s been smiling like an idiot all week btw 🫣

user i don’t even know them but this feels big 😭

sebastianvettel as long as you recycle together ♻️

> user even seb is invested here

> user girl seb is invested on the amazon forest let’s be for real

mercedesamgf1 💙 user they’re so in love it’s disgusting i’m crying user george posting like a man who’s been kissed on the forehead multiple times

user if i had this kind of love i would simply never shut up

user they better be each other’s lockscreen that’s all i’m saying

oscarpiastri ngl i didn’t think she liked him back 😭

user this feels illegal to witness but i can’t look away yourbff is she still mean to you or did love change her 🧐

user i can't you guys he's deffff out of her league

> georgerussell63 She’s perfect. Say one bad thing and I’ll block you ❤️

liked by yourbff, georgerussell63, lando and 2,333,403 others

yourinstagram no rizz, just insanity and love for carlos sainz

slide 3 is me and george in the future

view all comments:

georgerussell63 why are you wearing an "i love carlos sainz" apron?

> yourinstagram because i love carlos sainz > carlossainz55 please let me nowhere near this

georgerussell63 the things you put up to in the same of love....

user max suddenly disappeared

charles_leclerc I am afraid of future instagram posts

alex_albon george did she make you cook in that apron?

> user don't give her any ideas > yourinstagram i might orgasm > alex_albon I am currently regretting my life

yourbff does george know you printed that apron yourself?

> yourinstagram who did you think recommended me the printer store?

user what’s important is that love is alive. confusing, but alive ❤️ georgerussell63 it’s fine. totally normal. totally healthy relationship 👍🙂

> yourinstagram you literally tied the apron for me babe calm down > user BABE

user the way she’s so unserious and he’s still in love is actually inspiring user carlos looks so scared in the comments i’m crying

lando i give this relationship 3 business days

> georgerussell63 why are you even here?? > lando it happens that i kinda care for you both..

user max saw this and booked a one-way flight to monaco

> maxverstappen1 I promise you I'm doing just fine 👍 > yourinstagram damn... and here i am thinking you were devastatingly in love with me > maxverstappen1 I took you for coffee and you talked about george not liking you back for 2 hours straight > yourinstagram TRAITOR > yourinstagram MAX VERSTAPPEN DRINKS ICED VANILLA LATTES WITH OAT MILKS > maxverstappen1 you BITCH🫵

iamrebeccad i just want to know where you got the apron

> yourinstagram etsy. handmade. carlos-core. i’ll even buy one for you

> iamrebeccad can you buy me a george one? 😂

> yourinstagram YES OMG

> carlossainz55 now what the hell is going on here?

kikagomes what else have you custom made??

> yourinstagram a tote that says “gasly girls don’t gatekeep” > pierre_gasly i— > user LMAOOO GASLY GIRLS UNITE

user imagine your type being yn 💀💀💀

user this woman is living my dream

[viennajoell]

All The Right Support

Jack Hughes x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Jack Hughes tags along as his girlfriend prepares for her first nursing job, helping her shop for scrubs and Hokas.

Word Count: 1,104

Warnings: none :)

Jack Hughes had a love-hate relationship with early mornings. He hated waking up early, but he loved waking up with you. Especially when you were already out of bed, padding around in fuzzy socks and humming some indie playlist while brushing your hair in the mirror.

Today, you were officially one week out from starting your new job at the hospital.

Your first nursing gig. Full-time. Real badge, real hours, real nerves.

“I don’t get why you’re this excited to go scrub shopping,” Jack muttered sleepily from the bed, rubbing his eyes as you rifled through your purse for your keys.

“Because it’s real now, Jack. My first real nursing job. And I want to look cute while getting screamed at in the ER,” you grinned, finally finding your wallet under a rogue granola bar.

Jack smirked. “You already look cute. I don’t think color-coded scrubs are gonna change that.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed him a hoodie. “Come with me.”

“I didn’t even say I was going yet—”

“You were going to.”

“…True.”

- -

Jack dragged his feet into the store, immediately hit by the sea of color-coded uniforms. He blinked at the wall of scrub tops, trying to figure out the difference between "Caribbean Blue" and "Teal Spark."

“Do I even get a say in this?” he asked, trailing behind you as you grabbed a basket.

“You can be the judge of which color doesn’t make me look like a highlighter.”

He grinned. “God, I love supportive roles.

You started picking out some essentials like navy blue for trauma days, ceil blue for rotation, a couple of soft grey ones for clinic days.

“You know what?” Jack said suddenly, holding up a lavender scrub top with a proud grin. “This one. You’d kill in this one.”

You squinted. “Jack, that’s the maternity cut.”

He dropped it instantly, cheeks going pink. “Okay—well—how would I know?! They don’t label them big enough.”

“They literally say MATERNITY in bold letters.”

Jack mumbled something about design flaws and started rummaging through the men’s compression socks section instead.

Eventually, you settled on four sets of scrubs, and Jack ever the perfectionist when it came to your comfort insisted you get a backup pair.

“For when you’re too tired to do laundry,” he said, giving you that gentle look he saved for serious talks. “Don’t burn out, babe. You’ve waited too long for this.”

You softened. “Okay. One more set.”

“And make it lavender,” he added with a wink. “Non maternity this time.”

Stop 2: Hoka Store

“This is the part I am excited for,” Jack admitted, stretching as you both walked into the sneaker store. “You know I’m a shoe guy.”

You laughed. “You’re a sneaker snob.”

“No. theres a difference.”

He took his role very seriously, inspecting the soles, the ankle support, the breathability. If he could have run a biomechanics test in the middle of the store, he would’ve.

You tried on a pair of all white Hokas and bounced slightly. “Ooh. These feel good.”

Jack frowned. “You’re gonna be on your feet twelve hours a shift. Try the Bondi 8s. More cushioning.”

“You know the model names?”

He smirked. “I’m literally a pro athlete, baby.”

You threw a sock at him.

After twenty minutes of testing insoles, heel drops, and debating between blush pink and cloud grey, you made your pick. Jack even got the cashier to throw in an extra pair of compression socks.

“Trust me, she’s gonna thank me at 3 a.m.,” he said.

Later That Night

You sat cross legged on the living room floor, tags still on your scrubs and your Hokas neatly lined up by the door. Jack was scrolling on his phone from the couch, half watching New Girl reruns.

“I’m nervous,” you admitted quietly.

He looked up instantly. “Why?”

“I don’t know… This is everything I wanted, and now I feel like I’m gonna mess it up.”

Jack got up, walked over, and sat down beside you. “Hey. You’ve been studying for this, working night shifts, surviving clinicals. You didn’t just get this job because you looked good in ceil blue.”

You laughed through your nose. “You think I look good in every color.”

“Not true,” he teased. “There was that one chartreuse pair—”

“Never happened,” you cut in.

Jack leaned in, kissing your temple. “You’re gonna be a damn good nurse. You care too much not to be.”

You leaned into his side, letting yourself believe him. Letting his quiet confidence in you replace the self-doubt.

“Thanks for coming with me today,” you said softly.

“I’m proud of you,” he replied, without hesitation. “Even if I had to witness a pastel purple scrub top meant for expectant mothers.”

“You picked it!”

“And I stand by my choice. For… like, five years down the line.”

Your head snapped up. “Five years?”

Jack smirked, standing up and offering you his hand. “Let’s just focus on getting you through your first week, Nurse Y/N.”

You took his hand, smiling so hard it hurt.

[clarkeyscherry]

BF HEADCANONS // GEORGE CLARKE!

boyfriend!george... who’s the biggest gentleman you’ll ever meet.

boyfriend!george… who keeps his mullet just for you x (knows you’d literally off him if he cut it off)

boyfriend!george… his fans are obsessed with you, kind of how they are with liv and sabina. constantly asking for you to make an appearance on stream.

“is y/n there? yes she is, say hi to them.”

“hello lovelies!”

“all the comments are ‘y/n my queen’, ‘is he bothering you girl.’

boyfriend!george… who’s love language is physical touch and gift giving. will be stuck to your side at any given moment &&& will bring random stuff home to you everyday.

boyfriend!george… loves how you bond with his sister, literally means the world to him.

“what’ve you been up to today darling?”

“went shopping with emily!”

boyfriend!george… who’s secretly will match his outfit to yours on purpose.

boyfriend!george… who loves to give you pet names.

“love, sweetheart, darling, gorgeous.”

boyfriend!george… who will drop anything for you.

“guys i’m gonna go, y/n said she’s not feeling well.”

boyfriend!george… who sometimes feels like he’s third wheeling with you and max.

“i’m literally her boyfriend why am i left out…”

boyfriend!george… makes it annual for you to go on date nights, hates that people think just because you’re together now you shouldn’t be taking your mrs out.

boyfriend!george… who hates the ‘george can’t fight us all’ comments.

“i can and will fight every single one of you.”

boyfriend!george… literally worships the ground you walk on.

NSFW!

boyfriend!george… who’s a huge munch and will quite literally beg you to sit on his face.

boyfriend!george… who’s not afraid to be vocal in bed.

“shit- don’t stop.” “doing so good.”

boyfriend!george… lovessss when you leave marks and scratches on him, literally is like 😛 if one of the boys see them and points them out.

“george and y/n going at it like rabid animals.”

boyfriend!george… who’s favourite positions are missionary and cowgirl. loves missionary because it’s so intimate and he’s obsessed with looking into you eyes, but also adores when you get on top.

boyfriend!george… who lowkey loves risky sex. like when he knows chris and arthur could walk in at any minute he’ll bend you over the kitchen counter but will act like nothing happened when they come home.

boyfriend!george… this man is obsessed with giving praise ESPECIALLY “good girl” cause he knows how much that edges you closer.

DURING AN ARGUMENT!

boyfriend!george… absolutely hates arguing so will avoid it at all costs.

boyfriend!george… never ever raises his voice, will try to resolve everything as calm as possible. also is majorly patient with you if you lose your shit slightly.

boyfriend!george… always listens to you no matter if he thinks you’re in the wrong he’ll hear you out. but also makes sure you know it’s important to hear out both sides.

“thank you for telling me but…”

boyfriend!george… knew you had a bit of avoidant in the beginning due to past relationships and always asks you if he’s being too much for you.

boyfriend!george… who’s always the first to apologise cause you’re too stubborn to.

boyfriend!george… who lowkey loves if you snap at him cause you’re jealous — but if you snap at him for some other reason he’ll get upset.

i love writing these — probably will post a bf!chris next (but maybe w2s) xxx

[xoxosierralane]

| ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴ |

✎ from sierra: hii sweets, i know this is a little late lol.. but home love island they stressing me tf out (if u watch ttm!!). But anyways this is really just an opening to this little series yum still working on, if you guys like this enough i will definitely keep continuing. Also if you wanna be on the tab list just lmk and i got you !

✎ synopsis: Azzi Fudd didn’t plan to see Paige Bueckers again. She didn’t plan to feel anything either—not the nostalgia, not the anger, and definitely not the ache in her chest. But when the past walks back into the same room—wearing a ring and someone else’s name—plans don’t really stand a chance. Some people move on. Some people move home. And some people… never stop wondering what if. This wasn’t the plan. But when has anything ever gone according to plan?

✎ taglist: @asapeveryday @thaatdigitaldiary

Azzi Fudd—that’s me.

Or at least, it’s the name they put on magazine covers, Instagram tags, and those weird commercials for skincare products where I smile like there’s no tomorrow.

Nothing real. Nothing close to the truth.

Because if you’d looked harder, you’d see the silence beneath the noise.

The way I disappeared.

The half-smile that never quite made it past my lips.

Leaving? That was the easy part.

Coming back? That’s the one that really hits.

—

Airports and I have an understanding: I hate them.

They smell like fake soap and stress you can’t avoid, and this one was no exception.

Hoodie pulled halfway up, suitcase dragging behind like it owed me money. Not really rushing. At least not anymore.

Today wasn’t another gig, another brand deal, another event I was supposed to pretend I cared about.

I was just… back. Washington.

For better. Or worse.

My phone buzzed nonstop the minute I landed. I didn’t even need to look.

I knew it was Aaliyah, she’s been texting me more and more ever since I told her I would be coming back home.

lili 💕 (12:11 PM): did you land???

lili 💕 (12:12 PM): how was the flight

lili 💕 (12:13 PM): DID YOU BRING ME ANYTHING

lili 💕 (12:14 PM): azzi jazlyn mf fudd.

lili 💕 (12:14 PM): why do you hate me??

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. Some things don’t change.

(12:15 PM): oh please

(12:15 PM): the government is crazy and foul lili

(12:15 PM): also pls stop texting 4 times in 2 minutes

lili 💕 (12:16 PM): sue me???

lili 💕 (12:16 PM): i’m hungry we’re getting lunch together!

(12:16 PM): bold of you to think i haven’t eaten since yesterday

lili 💕 (12:16 PM): what’s wrong w u

(12:16 PM): next question

(12:17 PM): calling a cab, try not to rush me i WILL stay home.

Acting calm was the plan. But inside, I was losing it.

I hadn’t had something to look forward to in months. Maybe years.

Cold hit my face stepping outside like it was punching a bag labeled Azzi Fudd.

Welcome back, Washington. (kill me.)

My career? Thriving in its own weird way.

Modeling worked out better than basketball ever did.

People still recognized me. “Oh, you’re the one who hates Gatorade.”

Yeah. I hate it. Passionately. Coconut water overrules easily.

But me? I was a mess.

Emotionally? A bigger mess.

Romantically? Don’t even ask.

The divorce was quiet.

Just a handful of people knew about the year I spent undoing the damage he did—his insecurities, his control, the noise that wasn’t love.

And now? He was gone, I thank the man above.

lili 💕 (12:19): i have news IMPORTANT news which you need to hurry your ass here for :)

(12:25 PM): on my way. what’s the tea?

aaliyah (12:25 PM): not telling. but it’s good. you might even scream.

(12:26 PM): better not be no new gatorade flavor you’re excited about

aaliyah (12:27 PM): you’re dramatic

(12:30 PM): literally poison, y’all sick

I dropped my phone on my lap and leaned back.

This place wasn’t home anymore.

But at least I didn’t have to pretend today.

Soon, overpriced brunch with the one person who made me feel okay when nothing else did.

I didn’t know it yet, but this was the beginning.

Not perfect. Not easy.

But real.

The cab was quiet—the kind of quiet I liked.

Tipped the driver like I was throwing cash at my anxiety.

Brain fueled by airplane snacks and two hours of sleep.

Pulling up to my mom’s place felt like rewinding a VHS.

Same cracked driveway with the basketball court. Same faded welcome mat yelling Come in and stay awhile.

Key under the mat (because yes, mom still did that), and there she was—Katie, scrubbing dishes like I hadn’t just flown cross-country, like none of the last few years even happened.

“Az!”

Her voice was warm, like a hug you never wanted to let go of.

She hugged me tight. I hugged back harder than I meant to. Missed this. Wouldn’t say it.

“I thought you landed at three,” Mom said, studying my face. “You look tired. Hungry?”

I was about to lie.

Then Dad’s voice came from down the hall.

“Who’s that? My superstar?”

Tim grinned like he always did, like he had no clue.

I laughed. “Hi, Dad.”

“How’s LA? How’s Jackson? He with you?”

Damn it dad really?

“Dad. We’re divorced. Remember?”

His smile slipped like he was caught in a sitcom dad moment.

“Oh—right. You told us. Or—after?”

I gave him a look.

He scratched his neck. “Aaliyah said something first. Figured I’d wait for you to say it official—”

Mom smacked his arm with a towel. “You weren’t supposed to say that.”

I shook my head, heading for the door. “Y’all are unbelievable.”

“Y’know we just love you!” Mom called after me.

“Uh huh sure.”

“Where you headed?” Dad asked, disappearing into the pantry.

“Lunch.”

“Oh, you and Paige catching up already?”

I froze.

Not dramatic. Just paused. Like my brain short-circuited and rebooted.

Paige. That name. I hadn’t heard it in months. Maybe years.

I looked back slow. “Paige?”

Mom nodded, sipping coffee. “Yeah. She moved back after you left. You didn’t know?”

“Mm mm.” I shook my head.

Suddenly I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Or my brain.

Paige was back.

She was here.

Why wouldn’t the universe wait for me to be freshly divorced, scrambled, unprepared?

Mom tilted her head. “I thought you two were still close after everything. Best friends don’t just stop talking.”

I was about to say something when—

Honk.

A loud, dramatic honk from outside.

I moved to the window, already knowing what I’d see.

Aaliyah, sunglasses on, head out the window like she was about to start a protest.

“AZZI. DO YOU NOT CHECK YOUR PHONE?! LET’S GO!”

I didn’t say anything to the crazy canadian. Just looked at my parents, waved like everything was normal, and booked it out the door.

Aaliyah stared like I owed her rent once I got in the car.

“Do you have government-level Do Not Disturb or something? I’ve been waiting ten minutes. This is disrespectful.”

I laughed. “Hi to you too.”

“You’re annoying.”

“I missed you.”

“Drive.”

She did.

I didn’t say anything about Paige. Not yet.

Some things you don’t unpack in the car.

But I felt it. The knot in my stomach.

The one that only shows up with that name.

Aaliyah drives like her life depends on it, even when it doesn’t. One hand on the wheel, one scrolling Spotify, acting like she didn’t just honk up a storm.

“You want music or no?”

“Your call. But no moody playlist.”

“It’s actually good.”

“Depression.”

“You literally just got divorced.”

“Woww really?”

“I missed you. What do you want me to say?”

“Something nice?”

“Your hair looks good.”

I ran my hand through my curls, smirking. “Thanks.”

“Better than when you were with what’s-his-face.”

“Jackson.”

“Right. The walking dry erase board.”

I laughed. “You’re mean.”

“Honest.”

“He looked like he called his mom before every decision.”

“You hated him from day one.”

“You fumbled your twenties.”

I laughed again. Felt good. Like exhaling after holding your breath too long. “Enough about my tragic past. What about you and Prince Charming?”

“Don’t call him that.”

“You called him ‘God’s apology for your exes’ last time.”

“Okay, true. But now he’s into Formula 1 and thinks he’s a pro driver.”

“Real love.”

“Shut up. Anyway, this is about you. Your ‘starting over’ era.”

“Enough.”

“Girl you modeled for Vogue.”

“Digital Vogue.”

“Still Vogue.”

I stared out the window. City the same but not. Or maybe I was. My timeline never matched everyone else’s. Basketball didn’t go like Paige’s or the others’. It stings.

“I feel behind.”

“Behind what?”

“Everyone. Everything. Like I’m still figuring it out.”

“The finish line’s fake. Nobody’s really ‘there.’ They’re just pretending better.” I smiled. Sounds like something mom or Paige might’ve said before everything changed. “This got deep.”

“Restart. Tell me something dumb.”

“I still hate Gatorade. Whole chest hate.”

“You’re the only basketball player ever who says that.”

“I’m not a player anymore.”

“Still hoop in your sleep.”

“Trauma.”

“Okay Dr. Phil, relax.”

We laughed. The silence between felt like understanding. Aaliyah pulled up to the cafe more aggressively than needed.

“I’ve been holding this in for days.”

“Don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“That face where you pretend not to care but don’t blink for three minutes.”

I threw the door open.

“No idea what you mean.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

I shrugged. “Spill.”

We sat barely ten minutes before I started bouncing my leg. “Spill. You’ve been dying to tell me since yesterday. She sipped water. “Let’s ease into it?”

“No. Sun’s out. You’re suspicious. Spill.” She groaned. “Why do you always bully me?”

“Because you have a big mouth until it matters.” She smiled nervously. “Okay. I’m engaged.”

I gasped loud. Old couple nearby flinched.

“Shut up. Lying.”

“Nope.”

“Shut up!”

“Stop yelling.”

“Will not! You’re engaged??”

“Yes.”

I grabbed her hand. “Where’s the ring? How? When? Who?” She blushed. “Boat ride. Cheesy. Sweet. I cried a lot.”

I sat back clutching my chest. “This is so cute. I’m so happy for you lili.”

Then she muttered something.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Aaliyah.”

“I’m doing a double engagement party…with Paige.”

I blinked. “With who?”

“Paige. She’s engaged too. And her fiancé is kind of cool.”

My brain blue-screened. Hands dropped.

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

“To Paige Bueckers.”

“Yes.”

Jaw open. “You knew she was here? Engaged? And you dropped this mid-convo like it was nothing?”

“I thought it’d be fine.”

“Aaliyah.”

“Okay, yes, I screwed up. Don’t kill me, but you guys can’t avoid each other forever Az.” She said with her fake sappy face. “I’m not avoiding anything okay?” I said knowing damn well.

I dropped my face in my hands. “Need a drink.”

“It’s noon.”

“Exactly.”

“You were actually exciting to see.”

“I am.”

She smiled nervous. “If it makes you feel better—”

“Don’t.”

“Okay.”

“I mean—ugh. Double engagement party?”

“Not planned that way!”

I looked up at the ceiling. “Did you ask how I’d feel being in the same room as Paige Bueckers and her fiancé?”

She winced. “No.”

“Oh great. Reassuring.”

Silent clinking. My mind racing.

“She’s not supposed to be here.”

“Where?”

“In Washington.”

“She grew up here too.”

“Okay, like six years.”

“You don’t own the city.”

“I’m just saying. She left, I left. I thought—”

“You thought you could pretend she didn’t exist?”

I said nothing. Jaw clenched.

“She’s not Voldemort.”

“Shut up.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t seen her, but I already feel hit by a bus.”

“It’s okay if you cancel. Don’t come.”

“Miss your party? I’m petty not heartless.”

She smiled. “That’s my girl.”

“But if she looks at me like I’m that same girl from college—”

“You’ll what?”

“Probably cry. on my fifth glass of champagne.”

She snorted. “So dramatic.”

“Says the girl who fake-passed out so a guy wouldn’t break up with her.”

“Bought me three more days.”

I laughed, tired but real. Looked out at the cloudy sky. People walking by. Couples holding hands. Dogs in sweaters. Phone-yelling men.

The world spins. Doesn’t care who’s married, heartbroken, or pretending not to be wrecked by a name no one says out loud.

“You think she’ll actually show with her?”

Aaliyah paused. “It’s her party too. But Paige is Paige.”

I nodded. True.

Silence thick. Not awkward. Just heavy. I pulled out my phone. She peeked.

“Who ya texting there?” Jeez ms nosy.

“No one.”

I lied.

Almost typed Paige’s name.

Almost sent a text.

But didn’t.

Not yet. Maybe never.

Smiled at Aaliyah. “Dessert?”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “You’re taking this better than I thought.” I shrugged. “Growth.”

But my mind spun fast—dangerously—whenever Paige Bueckers was involved. Because I’m good at hiding. Too good. Hiding cracks in my marriage. Bruises from love that wasn’t love. Late at night, I still dream in jump shots, gold medals, blonde ponytails, and what-if.

Years of practice folding feelings into sharp-edged smiles. Yeah, I looked fine. If Aaliyah could see inside, she’d cancel the party.

Instead, I speared a piece of cheesecake. Ate it like I wasn’t thinking about the last time Paige hugged me.

Smelled like spearmint and stress and something I can’t name. “Mmm. You’re paying.”

She side-eyed me. “Emotional blackmail. Toxic.”

I smiled. Dimples and all. “Learned from the best.” Outside, rain finally picked a side. Soft and quiet. The kind that makes you remember.

I didn’t look out the window again.

I didn’t have to.

The past was already here.

And oh boy was I not ready to go back.

——

Most people think heartbreak is loud.

That it kicks down the door and wrecks everything in its path. That it screams. Demands. Destroys.

But sometimes it’s quiet.

Sometimes it waits.

Lurks in the corners of your good days, and whispers on the bad ones. Like the song you swore you deleted. Like the sweatshirt you still sleep in. Like a name that still makes your chest pull in strange directions.

Paige Bueckers is in love.

That’s what she tells herself every morning, brushing her teeth in a bathroom she shares with the woman she’s going to marry.

That’s what she tells Taryn, when they hold hands across the table, planning wedding playlists and reception seating like none of it feels like choreography.

That’s what she tells Aaliyah. When she’s brave enough to ask.

And maybe she is.

Maybe this is love.

Not the kind that explodes.

But the kind that folds your laundry. Buys oat milk. Remembers your mom’s birthday.

Love with clean lines and good lighting.

But sometimes, when the world goes quiet—

She still thinks about her.

Azzi.

She’s not supposed to.

It’s been years. People move on. People grow. People change. But memory doesn’t care about growth.

Memory’s a cruel little thing.

It brings her back anyway.

And sometimes, that’s worse than forgetting.

———

The morning starts like most do.

Paige wakes up to the smell of eggs she always asks for the night before and a Spotify playlist that sounds like it’s personally attacking her sleep schedule.

Taryn’s singing. Loud. Enthusiastic. Completely off-key. It’s 8:52 a.m. and already the kitchen is full of syrup and sunshine.

And love.

Real love.

So Paige gets up. Smiles. Stretches like everything in her body and head isn’t heavy. She grabs the hoodie off the chair—Taryn’s favorite one to steal—and pads into the kitchen barefoot.

“You’re awake!” Taryn beams. She’s flipping pancakes with way too much joy for someone who worked a night shift. “You ruined the breakfast-in-bed surprise. Rude.”

Paige kisses her cheek. “M’bad. Smelled the cinnamon, had to come .”

Taryn laughs. “I gotta keep my fiancée on her toes.”

Paige smiles again. It almost reaches her eyes.

She should feel full. Loved. Settled.

But there’s a flicker.

A familiar static in the back of her head.

Azzi.

Still there.

Even now.

Even here.

Paige takes a bite of pancake. Nods like it tastes perfect. Doesn’t mention how it sticks to her throat. She pretends she doesn’t notice the ring on her finger feels tighter today.

———

Earlier today

The message comes at 9:42 a.m.

Right as Paige is rinsing out a protein shake she didn’t finish.

aaliyah (9:42 AM): btw. azzi’s in town. like. now.

also. don’t freak out

also. don’t throw up

also. don’t be weird at the party ! bye!

The phone doesn’t vibrate again. It doesn’t need to. Paige just stares. Until the screen fades to black. Then flips it face down like it burned her.

Azzi.

Back.

Here.

Now.

Washington was supposed to be safe. This city was supposed to be after. Not again.

Her hands are wet from the sink. But they’re shaking, so she blames the water. She continues her day folding laundry. Answering emails. Working out and overthinking. Halfway through, she realizes she’s folding that hoodie again.

The one Azzi used to steal.

The one Azzi wore the night they said too much and not enough. Taryn walks in, gym bag slung over her shoulder.

“You good?” she asks. Paige doesn’t flinch. Too well-practiced. “Yeah. Just… thinking.” Taryn raises an eyebrow. “Scary.”

“Shut up.”

Taryn kisses her forehead. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She means it. She does.

But her chest stays quiet.

The rest of the day is a blur.

Paige doesn’t cry. She doesn’t fall apart. She’s grown. She’s evolved. She makes slushies and answers calls. But her brain keeps looping back.

To Azzi’s laugh in the tunnel before games.

To the way she said Paige’s name when no one was listening.

To that fight. That ending. That almost.

She opens Instagram.

Azzi’s profile is now public after having her blocked every other month.

Paige scrolls.

Just once.

Just enough to see that smile. The effortless one that used to be hers to witness.

She closes the app. Opens it again five minutes later.

She types out a message.

Deletes it.

Types it again.

Closes her phone like it said something unforgivable.

She throws it onto the couch.

Watches it bounce.

Tells herself she’s fine.

Tells herself she’s over it.

Tells herself she’s happy.

Tells herself she’s in love.

Repeats it until it sounds like static.

———

There’s a pair of sneakers in the back of her closet.

White with gold trim.

Barely worn.

Azzi once said they were her favorite.

Paige almost donates them every year.

But they’re still there.

Still clean.

Still hers.

Like a maybe she never let go of.

Like a version of herself she keeps buried under meal prep and wedding plans. Somewhere across the city, Azzi is back. And Paige is pretending her whole body didn’t react to that message like it was a live wire.

She sits on the couch. Legs folded. Hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands.

She thinks about texting her again.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she whispers her name into an empty room like it might echo.

“Azzi.”

She says it soft. Like an apology. Like a prayer.

Like she’s still in love with a memory.

Like she doesn’t know what she’s doing anymore.

Because maybe love isn’t loud.

Maybe it’s quiet.

Maybe it’s the part of you that never really left.

Even when you swore you moved on.

Paige Bueckers is in love.

She just doesn’t know who with.

Not anymore.

[verityasian]

UNCLE ‘WAFE’ X JACKIE . . .

>>>Headcanons.

>>>Rafe who’s basically a sugar uncle.

>>> feat his very tired girlfriend Y/N who’s learned to go with the flow (not like he’ll listen anyway)

A/N: Uncle ‘Wafe’ but make him just emotionally constipated and not a psychopath

Sugar Daddy Energy, but make it Uncle:

Rafe buys Jackie a glitter-pink electric Jeep with real working headlights just because she asked what “cruise control” was.

When John B protests, Rafe shrugs and says, “What? It’s educational.”

Doesn’t Know How to Talk to Kids (At First):

He starts every conversation with Jackie like she’s a business associate.

“Jacqueline. How’s the… coloring portfolio coming along?”

Now Regularly Attends Tea Parties in Full Suit:

He sits cross-legged in a tiny chair, sipping from an empty plastic teacup. You catch him saying, “This Earl Grey is robust, Bug. Compliments to the chef.”

Gift-Giving Is His Love Language, Obviously:

Every visit = a new gift. Barbie dreamhouse? Sure. Glitter pony? Sure. Baby Prada sunglasses? Why not.

Tries to Outsmart a Toddler at Uno and Loses:

He plays like it’s high-stakes poker and Jackie hits him with a Draw Four and yells “UNO BABY!!”

He pouts for an hour.

You: “Rafe. She’s five.”

Gets Jealous of JJ’s ‘Godfather’ Title:

Rafe: “Technically I’m her blood uncle, right? That means more. Right?”

You: “You just dropped 400 dollars on slime. I think you’re fine.”

Emotionally Awkward But Tries:

When Jackie cries, he freezes like someone hit pause.

“What do I do? Do I call a fireman? Is this a bone break cry??”

Secretly Keeps All Her Drawings in His Office Drawer:

Especially the one labeled: “Me and Uncle Wafe fighting zombies.” He framed it.

Buys Her Stock in Something Ridiculous:

Rafe: “Congrats, Jackie. You now own 0.02% of Build-A-Bear.”

You: “Rafe. She’s literally chewing a crayon right now.”

Gets Her a “Matching” Outfit Every Time They Hang Out:

Like pastel Gucci tracksuits.

Jackie: “I wook like a wainbow!”

Rafe: “We look like royalty.”

Watches Over Her Like a Hawk at Pogue Gatherings:

Some other toddler bumps into Jackie and Rafe’s immediately like, “Do I need to call my lawyer?”

Tries to Teach Her Golf. Fails Miserably:

Jackie gets bored and uses the club to dig for worms. Rafe pretends not to be offended.

Pretends to Hate When She Calls Him ‘Wafe’—Secretly Loves It:

He once corrected her and she looked heartbroken, so now he acts like it annoys him but melts every time she yells, “UNCLE WAFE!!”

You Catch Him Googling “How to Braid Hair”:

He’s sweating bullets but determined. He wants to do a good job even if the braid ends up looking like a lopsided Twizzler.

You teach him how to do a perfect one afterwards.

Makes Up Ridiculous Excuses to See Her:

Rafe: “I was in the neighborhood.”

You: “We’re three towns over.”

Rafe: “Whatever. Let’s make pancakes.”

Lowkey Competes with You for “Favorite Adult” Title:

Jackie: “I wuv Auntie.”

Rafe, immediately: “You want a pony? Say the word.”

Buys Her a Microphone and Immediately Regrets It:

Jackie: “DO YOU WANNA BUILD A SNOWMAN—”

Rafe: “I’ve made a huge mistake.”

Falls Asleep at Sleepovers Before She Does:

Jackie’s bouncing on the couch and Rafe’s knocked out in a cocoon of unicorn blankets, one arm clutching a teddy bear with sunglasses.

You take pictures and sends it to the group chat.

Loses Every Argument to Her:

Rafe: “You can’t have cookies for dinner.”

Jackie: “Uncle Wafe, pwease?”

Rafe: “…Fine. But don’t tell your mom.”

He Pretends He’s Just “Spoiling Her a Bit”—But You Know the Truth:

You catch him watching her run across the yard, wearing the tiara he bought, screaming about invisible dragons. And he smiles.

Quiet. Soft.

Like this wild little niece has somehow managed to unstick all the cold pieces in his heart.

You: “You love her.”

Rafe: “Shut up.”

You: “You do.”

Rafe, grumbling: “…She’s kinda cool, okay?”

🍼 Uncle JJ headcanons 🍼

[whispersbetweenchapters]

Never in my life did I think I would be defending the Prim Reaper. But here we are. I cannot believe all the mischaracterisation of his I'm seeing, and some of the hate. Yes, he can be disliked, I don't really like this mf, but people calling him as bad as snow is WRONG. Ahem. Right. ONE. Let's take a moment to remember that Gale was also a child, who was also learning it live. I'm not disputing that some of his actions were wrong, but you gotta be realistic, he was a dumb teenage boy. Yes, he needed lessons on empathy and compassion, but he was learning, in possibly the worst environment (which, wow, surprised that it didn't do too well).

TWO. Um, why the hell are we calling him a toxic trad husband? He is not. Trad husbands want their partner to be inferior while they shine and boast. Gale was never insecure that Katniss was a better hunter than him or a better shot, her fell in love with her for it, for how capable she was.

THREE. The statement that 'Gale would kill Katniss in the Games', uh personally, no. I do not think that Gale would kill Katniss in the games, because just like Peeta, he was also in love with her. I think that they would team up together, until the 'endish' before splitting up, hoping they wouldn't have to kill one another. I don't think Katniss would want to kill him either. AND if it came down to the two of them, I think Gale would sacrifice himself. He would make Katniss promise to look after his family before killing himself, so Katniss wouldn't have to do it. And if it were the other way around, he would make sure Katniss's family was well looked after. I'm just so over people making him out to be such a 'bad guy' when he is just a traumatised child.

FOUR. Everyone respects Beetee for blowing up people, but Gale is the worst person alive for it? Yeah, sure, Beetee went through hell, yes, it was probably more than Gale. But that cannot be the REASONING ON WHY GALE WAS BAD FOR IT. Just because his trauma was 'less' does not mean Beetee is any better. It's double standards. If we're being real here, Beetee is a mature adult, and Gale is a deranged, not fully formed teenager boy who has just been through the most traumatic events in his life. Beetee has already been living with his for years. Gale just watched his home, friends, and life be destroyed. Why would he care about anyone on the 'enemy' side at this point? His rage was not just from that, by from losing his father, from being oppressed, from watching so many children die in those games (hmm sounds familiar? Just like Beetee). Realistically, MANY people would do the same thing, make the other side suffer just as they have made you suffer. Not everyone is compassionate and sweet like Peeta, and that isn't 'wrong' or 'bad but you can't hold expectations to a child like that. Gale had every right to react the way he did. AND BEETEE IS NO BETTER. He knew what he was doing, don't cover his ass for it but hate Gale at the same time. Gale provided the idea, and Beetee made it. At ANY moment, he could have gone, hmm, nah, this is too much. But he did not, because he was just like Gale and wanted that revenge.

FIVE. Gale was also groomed by Coin, just as Snow was by Dr Gaul. Coin used his anger, his pain, for her benefit. Because, as we tend to forget, Gale was still just. A. Child. He was never told the bombs would be used against his own people; he was told they would be used against the Capitol, the people whom he was targeting. He was literally on the front lines. Did he want to blow himself up? No. Now, let me propose a question. Did Beetee know? Because someone had to operate that bombs, someone who knew how they worked, someone who wasn't on the front lines. It's an interesting thought, and maybe that's why Beetee says no to the Capitol children's hunger games because he already killed half of them with the bombs.

Now, just to clarify to am not on 'team gale',  I hate Gale for the way he lacked an understanding for Katniss when she returned from the games. For how he saw everyone as a competition and in love with Katniss, but as I said before, not everyone is great and compassionate, and that's okay because everyone is DIFFERENT. I just believe it's become a 'fad' to hate on him now for stupid things. You don’t have to like Gale. I don’t, he's annoying and a teenage boy brat. But hating HARD on him without context is lazy — and y’all are smarter than that.

[roryradz]

message in a bottle ⋆˚࿔ lukas radzevičius ft. alanas brasas

“message in a bottle is all i can do. standing here hoping it gets to you” ⋆˚𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖

warnings : men (in the worst sense of the way), alcohol consumption, nicotine use, language, mention of an age gap but no acting on it, half assed confessions

pairing : alanas brasas x female reader (platonic), lukas radzevičius x female reader (pining i think??)

summary : when a stranger hands you something shocking at a cafe late at night, both lukas and alanas don’t know what to do with themselves exactly.

word count : around 1.8k

authors note : this is based on shit that literally just fucking happened to me today??? another authors note at the end because i don’t wanna give y’all spoilers but what the hell just happened <3

“i don’t know what i want.”

“i am having beer.”

“you already had beer.”

“okay, well, i am having more of it, protingas asilas.”

“guys, i really don’t know what i want,” you repeat, at last getting their attention. alanas and lukas have been bickering like an old married couple all night.

“do same as me. have beer,” alanas suggests, a grin on his face as he sticks the… you don’t even know how many cigarettes he’s already smoked tonight, in his mouth, the cig stuck to his lips.

“you fucking… sušiktas kvailys — she no like beer. when did you ever see her drink beer?” lukas grumbles low, shaking his head like a parent disappointed by a bad report card.

you know they love each other, but sometimes they make you doubt that fact for a moment.

“you no like beer?” alanas asks, his tone making it sound like you just told him you don’t like breathing air. “why?”

“i don’t like how it —” you begin, your sweaty hands holding the menu of the vilnius based café you’ve been sitting at for what must be at least an hour and a half now.

“she hate the taste and how it feels heavy when you drink it,” lukas quickly explains, proving once again he really does listen to your endless yapping about unimportant things.

“now come on, i am hot and i want alcohol,” he says, his feet intentionally kicking alanas’ under the table.

“ouch, that hurts — asilas,” alanas whines softly, folding in his tattooed legs a bit so lukas can’t reach anymore. “also, our girl still did not choose,” he points out, his hand moving under the table to rub his ankle

“i pick for her. i know what she likes,” lukas mumbles, standing up from the cluttered table full of empty glasses, cigarette packs, and other junk.

“alright, mažylis. we will be right back,” lukas says, suddenly sweeter.

you nod, your ringed hand already reaching for your phone, the lilac apple device hot to the touch from the sun when your clammy fingers wrap around it.

you hiss softly, placing it back on the table in a shadowy spot that are becoming less and less rare as the sun sets over the lithuanian capital.

instead you sit up straighter, the cotton of your blue and white blouse sticking to your back. you gather some of the playing cards you were using half an hour ago before you all agreed it was too hot to do anything other than smoke, talk, and drink.

you shuffle the cards, some weird, alternative deck with artsy illustrations alanas bought from an even stranger site a couple weeks back.

after putting them back in the box you gather all the empty glasses you’ve run through already tonight, feeling a bit guilty when you see how many there really are.

you glance at the entrance of the café, not seeing any sign of lukas or alanas yet. the strange man who’s been sitting at the table next to you since you sat down is just coming out, a mess of a receipts, some indistinguishable white sheets, and the black notebook he’s been scribbling in all night in his hands.

he’s been alone at the table the whole time. lukas nor alanas noticed, too busy arguing about something entirely uninteresting to you or balancing empty shot glasses on their noses. you did, though. you silently assumed he was a writer. he looked older and strange, but you can’t deny you were intrigued by his constant jotting down of words and sentences your bad eyes couldn’t read from your table further away.

you shrug the thought off, focusing on the very important task of collecting all the cigarette packs in one section of the table, piling the colorful mess of lighters that all seemed broken right next to it, and mentally dubbing it the katarsis cancer corner.

just before you come up with a fitting slogan, you hear a voice speak up.

“prašau.”

suddenly there’s a piece of paper in front of your face. more precisely, a postcard.

you look up, your brain freezing for a second as your eyes meet the sunglasses of the weird writer guy.

you panic inside. you never do well with social interactions, especially unexpected ones with strangers.

you know what he said — he speaks the language so apparently he’s from here, or at least lithuanian. you understand he’s offering you the card but your brain does not process it fully. you consider politely declining and saying “ne, ačiū,” like when some jesus people try to bless you and save your soul from the kind of doom lukas sometimes writes songs about when he’s drunk.

you don’t, though. you don’t even realize your answer. before you know it, you’re holding the card and the man’s gone.

you turn the thin cardboard around.

“i wish you a nice day. warm hugs, theo.”

and his phone number.

“ei meile, we get you white wine. that is good, yes?” alanas’s voice suddenly pulls you out of your thoughts.

you panic for a second, like your brain always does when you… well, exist. you consider hiding the card, unsure what these two lithuanian boys will think of it.

before you can decide, they pull their chairs out. lukas’s eye falls on the card.

“kas tai?” he asks, curious. he puts two bottles of beer down on the table, reaching for the card as soon as you put it down.

alanas’s eyes move from the cigarette in his empty hand to the postcard, his brown eyebrow shooting up as he hands you your drink, the glass catching the last rays of sun for tonight.

“what is this?” lukas asks, sounding almost offended, like the card personally insulted his whole bloodline.

“let me see,” alanas mumbles, cigarette halfway smoked up between his lips as he makes grabby hands for the paper.

lukas moves slightly away, eyes still on the card as he holds it.

“you find this?” he asks, already knowing the answer even before you shake your head. “someone give it to you?”

“ei, drauge, duok man,” alanas grumbles, insisting the card come to him.

lukas’s eyes shoot up, meeting yours and not looking away as he passes the card to alanas.

“what the helly,” the brunette mumbles, even moments like this an opportunity for his tiktok brainrot vocabulary.

“some guy gave it to me,” you shrug, looking into lukas’s eyes. “the dude who was sitting there whole time,” you add, motioning to the table on your left.

“where?” lukas asks, calm but with a quiet threat in his voice. his blue eyes shoot left and right.

“fucking poet, this man, i tell you,” alanas snorts sarcastically, finally reading the crazy lines scribbled on the card in blue ink.

“that him?” lukas asks, standing and nodding toward the parking lot a few feet away from the café terrace.

you turn quickly, not wanting to give the man the idea you want him to come talk. you look away fast, spotting the man unlocking his car. you can’t tell how old he is, maybe late thirties?

“yes. sit down,” you whisper sternly; scared the man will hear you over the noise of people talking and music from inside.

“oh, him,” alanas mumbles, standing now too, dropping his not-yet-finished cigarette into the ashtray like he’s not a raging nicotine addict.

“i could talk to him. polite, friendly. he is grown man. sure he understand,” alanas mumbles, arms crossed, the pose hinting at the serious meaning behind his words.

“or i could break his nose,” lukas says, less subtle.

“both of you sit down.”

“did he not see me?” lukas asks, eyes still on the man starting his car.

“what make him think he can talk to you? he is way too old,” alanas shakes his head in disbelief.

“he see me. he have eyes,” lukas answers his own question, the implication making your heart flutter. the meaning behind his words clear — reflecting the unspoken tension between you and him ever since those beautiful blue eyes first met yours.

alanas looks at lukas, both of you shamelessly staring at your friend staring at the weirdo.

“you are not really mad, no?” alanas grins, eyes sparkling as he sees the thundercloud that is lukas’s face.

“no.”

“you look mad.”

“i am not mad. just confused,” lukas says, turning to you. “you get this a lot?”

“what?”

“random men. giving you phone number.”

you blink. “no?”

alanas looks from you to lukas and back, grinning stupidly. “maybe he sense something,” he mumbles, sitting back down, reaching for his cigarettes.

“sense what?” lukas replies, sitting down in the most annoyed way you’ve ever saw him do.

“that she is available.”

lukas turns his head. you feel his eyes boring into your face, waiting for you to say something.

you don’t.

not yet.

“…anyway,” alanas begins after too long a silence, “so… what we play?”

“except this fun game of mutual denial, of course,” he adds quickly, making your cheeks flush red instantly.

“kingas,” lukas says plainly, not answering alanas’s comment.

while alanas divides the cards, lukas reaches for the postcard abandoned but not forgotten.

he folds it in half, shoves it into the ashtray. calmly reaches into his black and white adidas shorts pocket, and pulls out another lighter.

he flicks it on with thumb, tilts it till the flame hits the card, paper catching fire immediately.

lukas smiles soft, and puts the lighter away like he did not just create a small fire hazard. he turns his head, a content grin on his face as he wraps his arm around your shoulder.

“who did he even think he was, writing you postcards” he mumbles lowly, making sure only you can hear.

you grin softly, trying to stay calm while lukas’s fingers gently touch the top of your arm, his arm hanging around your shoulders like it’s been there for years.

“it was well written though.” you tease, keeping your voice soft as well. you can hear lukas scoff almost immediately, “it’s not really his words i want, though” you add softly.

lukas’s eyes soften, a knowing grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “good,” he says, voice thick with something you can’t quite name. “because i’m the only one who writes the ones that matter.”

authors note : okay so this actually happened to me today?? not the lukas and alanas part unfortunately, but this weirdo twice my age came up to me and handed me this postcard after he’d been staring at me for like an hour?? im flattered but like my dude i’ve got a bf and i write fanfiction for fun believe me it ain’t me ur looking for.

[royal-confessions]

“People all around Jordan (Palestinians, Iranians, Israelis) are dying, there's a literal genocide & famine going on, almost the entire middle east was bombed like 2 days ago, Jordanians are suffering under inflation… yet the tone-deaf Rania & ALL 7 (yes, SEVEN!) of her lazy family members showed up happily at a scumbag billionaire's wedding. This is not a good look! All of them looked kardashian-level trashy. If this doesn't start a revolution against them what will? Wake up people!” - Submitted by Anonymous

“The Jordanian royal family is shameless and absolutely trashy with their attendance in the Bezos wedding. Literally no other self-respecting reigning royals attended. The wedding is HATED by almost everyone including the locals. Their neighbours especially children in Gaza are being murdered and bombed and this half-Palestinian 'humanitarian' queen rolled up, decked in couture and jewels, with her equally trashy family members, in Venice to party. They all are freaking clowns. I have lost my last ounce of respect for this family.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“As a jordanian i’m so effing tired of the royal family and i can’t even express it without being jailed loool” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Jordan royal family has no self respect. The way they act like leech to any rich people” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Rania her and puppets Hussein and rajwa are too busy going to Jeff Bezos wedding in Italy..a Billionaire(zionist?) friend ofc it's so important. This is the confirmation they're the pale copies of the actual King and Queen, anyway who thought they were qualified to ever lead a country. I hope they're deposed soon, Jordanians deserve so much better. Ps :Rajwa is same as Rania in every way, this is why she was chosen: money attention and showing her wealthy life this is all she shows. She's just not smart at all!” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Queen Raina arriving to Venice for Jeff Bezos wedding is so dystopian to me.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Hussain and Rajwa going to Venice ahead of Jeff Bezos's wedding proves where these people's priority lies and don't give two fs about Jordan” - Submitted by queenempath007

“Say what you want but you would never find members of British royal family openly attending some's billionaire's wedding and getting photographed like the JRF , At latest BRF 'pretends' they aren't tone deaf though they are as far remove from reality as any other royal family in the world” - Submitted by queenempath007

“I pray and hope for the downfall of the JRF those people are going to Venice for a billion wedding its utterly disgusting knowing damn well what’s happening in their region and everytime Rania post something about Palestine it always feels not genuine it’s giving off formative activism.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“I’m not surprised rania is at the bezos wedding but rajwa and hussein?!?! You’d think they would at least try to be the “good” ones” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Rania, Hussein and Rajwa the last thing they should do at this time is go to Bezos’ wedding. The royals of one of the poorest Arab countries that has so much lost potential living it up with other corrupt rich people responsible for the genocide next door is really really bad. I respect the hashemites and their history but i seriously can’t defend or find any excuse for their so out of touch behaviour and the un-hide-able corruption. I really think if they didn’t get their stuff together they’ll be in exile in a couple of years.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Pages that normally would control criticism of the JRF have not deleted comments regarding their presence at the Bezos wedding, they messed up big time, the contradiction of their public discourse and actions became so evident and inexcusable. They looked like pathetic grifters on the hunt for whoever will cut them their next check.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Not only Hussein & Rajwa but their baby girl as well to the Venice wedding… now come on now how bad do they need that aid…” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Hussein rajwa and rania cozying up to zionists…not surprised 🙄” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Queen Rania and Prince Hussein of Jordan attending the wedding of Jeff Bezos alongside all the AIPAC lobby is morally corrupt in so many levels. If at least their shady relations would turn into jobs for Jordanians fine but It looks like they are just fishing for money for their own pockets.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“So Rania didn't attend Independence Day Event cause of "back pain" but now suddenly she's well enough to fly to Venice for Bezos' wedding? Rajwa also misses all important events, she's never seen in Jordan, maybe once a year when she looks depressed but now she's so happy to party in Venice! Hussein last week was also indirectly attacking Iranians on insta but now look he has escaped his own country in the middle of war. This is not a good look!” - Submitted by Anonymous

“If i were to be a shameless person and attend the wedding of a billionaire who’s funding the war in my region I’d at least pick a good look. Cough Cough - Rania!! Lmao” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Where do I even begin with Queen Rania and co attending Jeff Bezos’s wedding, the awful outfits, or how out of touch they are with the Jordanian people, many of whom can’t even secure food for the next day” - Submitted by Anonymous

“I can't believe the Royal family of Jordan went to Jeff Bezos wedding playing the annoyed by the press people while they exactly knew they were going to be pictured among the guests. I mean who can take them seriously now?” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Rajwa and Iman love the glamour but hate the work.. and, apparently, even their own country. Neither of them showed up on the most important day in Jordan, especially when the queen’s absence was felt. They could have stepped up to represent the female side of the royal family, but they preferred comfort and leisure. Honestly, they should take a step back, just like controversial figures such as Bezo.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“It is understandable why Queen Rania and Rajwa would attend Jeff Bezos wedding because it is a great PR opportunity for their country but AlHussein looks bad there when CP's from around the region are working (meeting w/ Putin kinda work) and while the King is out of Jordan too! Doesn't he have a country to attend to instead of mingling with the Kardashians? Worst part is bombs were flying over Jordan just a couple of days ago: He should be a finance bro instead, he ain't king material.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Disappointed to see queen Rania at the Bezos/Sanchez wedding” - Submitted by Anonymous

“So out of all the royals in the world, the only royal fam that showed up (or was even invited) was the Jordanian Royal Family. Like… seriously?? After all the chaos and protests in Venice saying "go home Jeff," the JRF still rolled up to the party! But here’s where it gets spicy: remember that whole drama a few years ago with MBS and those photos of Lauren Sanchez?? The ones allegedly linked to Saudi hacking?? And now the Jordanians are out here clinking champagne with Jeff like nothing happened. Rania was like, “Hey MBS, look who we’re chillin’ with 🥂.” Not that MBS gives a single gilded fig, but still—Wild.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“I have second hand embarrassment seeing Rania, Hussein, Rajwa and even their baby in Venice for the Bezos wedding!” - Submitted by Anonymous

“King Abdullah’s family is a big YIKES. They know their people are living in huge crisis - the country just keeps getting poorer and corruption is everywhere yet they don’t care. They really shouldn’t have gone to Bezos’ wedding especially with his questionable support for Israel during the war on Gaza. Now it makes sense why they’re keeping the only aware person in the family, Prince hamzah, prisoned.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“The Hashemites were in attendance for Bezo's wedding bash, no other royals were there. I don't buy they went to benefit their country in any capacity because they know every single billionaire and that has never had a positive repercussions for the jordanians in terms of jobs or economic growth. We know Rania is a merge between a Queen and an influencer and her bar is so low we can't expect any better but Hussein looked really bad there.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“Sorry to interrupt your fun time with billionaires Rania but the price of your outfit could save 5 Jordanian families from poverty! also so great to see Princess Iman at Jeff’s wedding but it’s so interesting how she only shows up for glamorous parties - A visit to a school or a hospital in Jordan would be as great.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“At this rate is not that Rania, Hussein & co were in attendance to the wedding of Jeff Bezos but the fact they didn't try to hide it, they got photographed, smiled like idiots, their official fan pages shared the content, they are not embarrassed. Rania has a lot of dirty laundry but now I see why some say Hussein doesn't care about publics' perception about him and that is so dangerous for a person who will be a defecto autocrat.” - Submitted by Anonymous

“The last thing rania should be doing is attending a Bezos wedding…read the room lady” - Submitted by Anonymous

[zepskies]

Diving right in! Interesting that we're continuing right from the end of the last chapter... (Though your warnings and AN are scaring me 🫣)

Daylight. TV off. Your spot next to him empty. Cold. And Ben? Fully clothed and painfully hard as a rock. Ah, shit. Rough mornin’. Wet dream turned fuckin’ nightmare.

ehehe never mind. 🤣 I had a feeling it was a dream when she didn't react to all that "mine again" talk. But I was still disappointed right along with Ben when he woke up...but ok, maybe not as disappointed as he was lmfao 😆

Yeah, Ben would put a fucking stop to this once you were his again. What happened to goddamn modesty?

Dude, not him thinking he's gonna get her to stop doing anything once they're actually together 🤣

Back then, your brilliance and genius was cute – not threatening. Now, though? With all you could do? All that power wrapped inside one tiny girl? A little scary. Dangerous.

Yes, and I love this for her, especially now that he's recognizing it 😌

“You know, all this tension could be solved if you just went and made us breakfast, doll. Maybe put on a skirt and apron, smile a little. That’s what you broads were built for, right?”

Oh, God. 😅 The way I, just to myself, said out loud, "Oh shit."

“Good.” Ben matched his smile while imagining ripping the guy’s throat out with his teeth.

He's so infuriating, but I love his protectiveness at the same time (what's wrong with me??) 🤣

“Like Shakespeare, you bardless brute,” you retorted your correction. “If you’re not careful, I’ll turn your head into an ass as well – a real one, not a donkey.” Ben’s lips twitched with a challenging smirk. “Well, if you pardon, we will mend.”

Omg YESSSS. You know I love a Shakespeare reference! lolll And Ben pulling out the Bard out of his ass? Honestly made me melt more than the reader in that moment 🤣

But Ben remembered the way you’d jumped like he’d burned you whenever he’d done it in the past. So, what the hell happened between then and now? Or, well, now and some arbitrary date in the future, he supposed.

Oh, oh no. I have a bad feeling, considering your warning at the top...

“Why they came for you. Your team.” You smiled, soft and slow and pitying. “You don’t want kindness? Too bad, you’re getting mine: you might be an ass, but I still think you deserved better.”

And this is why I love her. She sees right through him 💛

Even if it broke him more than Russia ever did.

God I hateeee him for this! I knew we were headed here, and I understand why he feels he has to do it, but it's still so wrong 😭😭

“No,” Stan said, meeting his gaze coolly. “You are. By dragging her into this. By trying to keep her close without telling her who you really are. You think she won’t leave? That she won’t hate you when she finds out? Not to mention, if you mishandle this, the loop never starts.”

Oooh how I hate him for this lol. You've done such a great job of going through this part of the S3 arc, and now we're getting closer and closer to the "start" of the loop, if we can call it that. The tension is both driving me crazy and has me biting my nails (especially with poor reader in a coma 😭)!

And when you looked at him, on the rare occasion you did, it was like you were finally seeing the monster. It broke his fucking heart.

It's breaking mine too honestly. The fact that he allowed himself to go even that far is fucking crazy, but it's also just how desperate he is for her to love him...still, I'm mad as hell at him right now 😤😤😤

And the sick truth of it was, he wasn’t even sure he deserved the fucking chance.

Oh, he really fucking doesn't. Now I'm back to fully saying "you go girl" when she came back and literally shoved him into his nightmare back with the Russians. 😤

However, I am very excited that we're back in the present for the next chapter! I'm so curious how you're going to bring these two back together, but I have a feeling Ben's going to need to be very tenacious in a whole different way if he's going to win her heart back ❤️‍🩹💛❤️‍🩹

Time After Time – Chapter 14

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, smut & attempted assault, 2022 & season 3, Herogasm, SB being his charming self and every (bad) thing that comes with it, drug use & drinking, PTSD, mentions of torture, physics, one-sided pining, injuries, jealousy, ANGST

Word Count: 18.7k

Posted on Patreon June 1, 2025

A/N: This chapter is one wild, chaotic ride and full of angst! Also apologies in advance for that beginning, the middle, and, uh, the end, probably 😂😘

✨ Chapter title inspired by a line in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 14: I’m Going to Have a Lot of Drinks

The motel’s Vacancy sign buzzed outside the window in red neon, casting lazy pulses of light across the cracked walls, the sun-faded window frames, and the worn carpet of the room.

Ben sat on the small bed, barely watching his old movie flicker across the ancient TV. The bed springs creaked beneath you both, your head still resting softly against his arm.

He could hear everything that went on in a motel at 3AM: someone snoring next door, water dripping in a pipe somewhere, the vending machine outside coughing out a can, and a cat yowling by the dumpsters.

But what he focused on most was your breathing. Slow. Steady. Trusting.

You were out like a light. Leaned against him like he wasn’t a monster but just the comfiest pillow in the world.

Your cheek was warm against his bicep, lips softly parted. His arm had gone phantom numb a while ago where your head rested. Your hoodie was bunched up a little around your waist, baring patches of soft and taut skin to his eyes. Your jean shorts hugged your hips like a sin, one bare thigh pressed against his leg, the heat of you bleeding through his sweats.

Ben didn’t know how the fuck this happened. You’d crashed next to him on the creaky motel bed, all attitude and sarcasm one minute – and then you’d gone still.

He hadn’t dared to move since then. Couldn’t if he wanted to. Not even to breathe right.

The movie flared with machine gun fire and patriotic nonsense. A sharp boom shook you awake. You stirred, eyes fluttering as you blinked blearily at the screen.

“There she is. Welcome back to the land of the living.” He looked down at you and met your groggy eyes with a wide smirk. “You were droolin’ on me, sweetheart.”

“Shit. Sorry…” You sat up next to him, shifted just slightly to bring enough space between the two of you again.

Ben almost sighed at the loss.

“Is that… you?” Your gaze drifted back to the TV.

“Yeah, one of the old ones. It’s a classic,” he said, still smiling.

“Aren’t they all?” you retorted, voice still laced with sleep. “Still watching old movies of yourself, huh?”

“It’s called nostalgia.”

“It’s called narcissism,” you quipped with that same sharp tongue. “Is that a railgun?”

“Sure is.” Ben grinned smugly.

“You know, that’s not how electromagnetism works. You’d need a whole substation strapped to your spine,” you noted. “Where the hell would you store that much capacitor power? In your ass?”

Ben gave you an amused look, chuckling. “It’s a movie, Doc. Not a science fair. You get off on ruining dreams? Pretty sure it’s illegal to look that good and talk that nerdy.”

You rolled your eyes. “Flattery? Must be the forty-year dry spell talking.”

Ben laughed lowly. “Yeah? Care to end it? Could volunteer for science, Doc.”

You snorted, but Ben caught how you shifted on the mattress, how your eyes flicked briefly to his mouth. Unconscious, maybe, but still there.

“Careful,” you warned playfully. “I’ve got a thing for self-destructive men with god complexes.”

“Lucky for you, I’ve got both,” Ben drawled, spread his legs a little wider, kept his eyes trained on your lips.

And he saw it – the way your thighs pressed together slightly. Subtle, but sure as hell not invisible. Your body gave you away before your brain had caught up.

He knew the fucking signs. Knew them like the back of his hand. Knew what he had to say to get you all hot and bothered.

He deserved nice things, right?

“Wanna find out what else I could do with these hands besides holding a weapon, sweetheart?”

Your breath caught.

Bingo.

“Think about it.” Ben’s smirk deepened, voice low and coaxing, smooth as bourbon. “Haven’t been touched in decades. Haven’t tasted anyone in just as long. Think about how starved I am. How much I’d fuckin’ devour you.”

You didn’t respond, but your fingers twitched against the bedsheet. And Ben saw it – saw it all. Saw the little twitch in your muscles that held back the squirm. Saw the war playing out behind your eyes.

Fight or surrender.

“What? You’re gonna tell me that didn’t do anything for you?” His head cocked, brow lifting. “Because I’m pickin’ up a few signs, sweetheart.” His voice dropped another notch. “Little tension in your legs. That shift in your hips just now. Not exactly subtle.”

You looked down, as if trying to reset. But he wasn’t about to absolve you. He let the words hang in the air for a moment. Waited. Patience was a fucking virtue predators knew how to enjoy.

And then, his fingers stretched a little. Skimmed the bare skin on your thigh. Slow. Deliberate. Barely brushing.

You didn’t move but bit down on your lip – like a fish on a hook.

But then, to his surprise, your head tilted, your eyes dragged over him – speculative, curious, challenging – and a smirk curled.

“Oh, yeah? Wanna back that up or are you all… talk?”

Ben laughed it off. He’d just been teasing. Talking shit. He knew you wouldn’t go through with it. He enjoyed the foreplay nonetheless.

Still, he humored you. Wanted to see how far you’d go before backing down.

His hand slid over his thigh, patted it, fingers spread wide. He grinned – lazy, bold, certain. “Wanna find out? Right here’s the impact zone, sweetheart. You can calculate my thrust velocity.”

You’d done it once before. It was impressive – you and him. Actually made him wonder if he could break his old record now with super-everything.

Surely, right?

Your eyebrow arched – fucking smug. “Think you can handle me?”

Ben gave a slow, wicked grin. “Oh, I know I can.”

And certainly, he thought you would back out now. He’d done this dance with you before. But in an unexpected turn of events, you rose on your knees, crawled over, and straddled his thighs.

No hesitation. No asking. Just a smooth and taunting swing of your hips, and you settled in his lap like you fucking belonged there, hot against the worn cotton of his sweats.

And Ben? His dick twitched up immediately, thick and straining beneath the fabric, aching from how long it had fucking been. His hands caught your hips on instinct, rough and grounding.

Muscle fuckin’ memory.

“Not sure you’re ready,” you teased, warm breath brushing his ear. Hands pressed against his chest, then slowly slid up to his shoulders, locking around his neck.

“Dangerous game you’re playin’, sweetheart,” he rasped, eyes darkening. His fingers were already itching to pull you all the way. “You’re sittin’ on a loaded gun.”

There was the little smirk on your lips again. “Forty years, huh? Hope you’ve been saving up, soldier.”

His breath punched out of him in a low groan. His resolve broke. Hands gripped you hard and greedy, dragging you closer.

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, grazing your throat. Fucking inhaled you.

“You sure, sweetheart?” he growled, hands roaming your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh. “‘Cause you got no fuckin’ clue what you’re gettin’ into here, but I’m gonna make sure you feel it goddamn everywhere.”

“Yeah? Show me.” A slow smile formed on your lips, nose brushing his. Teasing. And then you rocked.

Just once.

And he saw fuckin’ stars.

That was all it took. His hand flew to the back of your head, tangled in your hair, mouth crashing against yours. His tongue claimed you – filthy, desperate, fucking hungry.

But your lips met his with a slow drag and lazy tongue strokes – teasing, daring, coaxing. Not rushed. Not frantic. You kissed him like you were memorizing him – like he was something worth savoring.

Your teeth tugged on his bottom lip till he growled. You rocked your hips forward again, a slow grind, dragging the heat of your pussy right over the thick bulge in his sweats.

“Shit, baby,” he hissed. “You sit in my lap like that, and I’m gonna fuck you like I own you.”

You moaned into his mouth when he pulled you down harder, one hand gripping your hip and helping you move, the other sliding beneath your hoodie to find bare skin.

Palmed at your waist, your ribs, the fucking softness of your tits.

He couldn’t believe he had you again. That you were moving on him like this – raw, aching need in every grind, every gasp.

“Feels like you missed this,” you teased breathlessly.

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no fuckin’ idea.”

Your pace got filthier – less teasing, more need. His cock strained hard against the sweats, precum soaking through the fabric, catching where your shorts rubbed down on him again and again and again.

He gripped your ass, rutting up into you. Chasing it. “Feel that, huh? How hard I am for you? That thick fuckin’ cock’s beggin’ for you. Forty years of waiting to be buried in that tight little pussy. Imma fuckin’ ruin you. Make you fuckin’ mine again, baby.”

You whimpered, pressing your chest to his. He kissed your neck, licked it, bit down hard, left a fucking mark on your skin.

He bucked up into you, losing rhythm. You chased it anyway — moaning, rocking, dragging your cunt over his cock like you needed it to breathe.

“F–Fuck, baby. Just like that,” he grunted, already twitching under you. “Fuck yeah, rub that pussy all over me. Make a fuckin’ mess, sweetheart.”

You rolled your hips in sharp little circles, moaning salaciously into his neck. He was fucking addicted to the obscenity. To the fucking sounds he was drawing from you.

His fingers tugged impatiently at the hem of your hoodie. “Off,” he growled. “Or I’ll fuckin’ rip it. Need to see those tits, baby. Been too fuckin’ long.”

You pulled your hoodie off in one swift motion.

No fuckin’ bra. Just glorious tits how he remembered them.

“Fuck, baby, still so fuckin’ perfect,” he murmured against your ribs like he was worshipping at a fucking altar.

He latched onto your breast, mouth sucking your nipple between his teeth, groaning like he’d gone a lifetime without the taste. You gasped, arched into him, rubbing your clit against the ridged shape of him.

“Fuck–… Need you–” you panted.

“You have me, baby,” he rasped between bite marks on your skin, loving how they fucking stayed. “You always fuckin’ had me.”

He shoved a hand between your bodies, past your waistband, dragged his thick fingers through your slick, groaned when it trickled and drenched his fucking hand.

“Look at you, sweetheart. Already such a fuckin’ mess. Already so fuckin’ soaked for me from just a little grinding, huh?” he muttered, rough thumb working your clit. “Fuckin’ knew it. Fuck–… That’s my girl.”

“Fuck me, please,” you whimpered.

And then, fabric ripped. He didn’t care, just tore your shorts off and left you bare in front of him. He shoved down his sweats, just enough to free himself, cock springing against his stomach.

Hard. Thick. Flushed dark with need and fuckin’ twitching.

You gasped when the blunt head rubbed against your slit. He slid through your folds, coating himself – teasing, smug, and fucking wrecked.

“You want it?” he asked. Low. Raspy. Dangerous. “Fuckin’ say it.”

“Please.”

He grinned like the fucking devil. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

He thrust up hard – one stroke, all the way in. You cried out when his dickhead slammed against your cervix, nails digging into his shoulders. He’d split you open and sealed the wound in one go.

Tight. Wet. Hot.

Just like he fucking remembered. And you? You rode him like you’d done it before. Like you’d missed it. Like it was fucking yours.

“That’s it, baby. Fucking Christ, just like that,” he praised, head dropping back with a rough moan. His hands guided you, eyes watching as you squeezed him just right and got off on the upstroke. “Take it. Take every fuckin’ inch like I know you can. Fuck–… Be my fuckin’ hero, sweetheart. Ride it–… ride your cock.”

The rhythm was brutal, desperate, punishing. Years of deprivation behind every snap of his hips. The whole bed creaked like it might collapse. You were moaning – open, loud, messy. Like you didn’t care this whole dump could hear you getting ruined on his cock.

The sound of your voice fucking shattered him.

“Faster, baby,” you begged breathlessly.

He gave it to you. Gripped your ass – rough and bruising – and started fucking up into you like he meant to breed you.

“Feel that fuckin’ stretch, baby? Feel how fuckin’ deep I am inside this pussy. God, shit, still so fuckin’ tight,” he choked on a moan. “Been dreamin’ of this pussy… Fuck, been dyin’ to be inside you again–”

You gasped, writhing against him, clenching around him, thighs flexing, chasing that high. But then: “Fuck, Soldier Boy.”

Ben stopped. Stiffened. His hands went slack around you.

You were still moving, still kissing him, still breathless in his lap. But for him? The moment cracked open like ice underfoot.

A hand cupped your cheek, tried to force you to look at him, but you didn’t.

“Fuck, baby. Just look at me. It’s me. It’s Ben,” his voice tried to reach you, but you were too far gone. “It’s Ben, baby. Please, just–… just look at me. Just fuckin’ remember me.”

Thud–thud–THUD!

Three heavy pounds rattled not only the door but also him awake. Ben jolted up, chest heaving, weary green eyes blinking around the room

Daylight. TV off. Your spot next to him empty. Cold.

And Ben? Fully clothed and painfully hard as a rock.

Ah, shit. Rough mornin’. Wet dream turned fuckin’ nightmare.

He couldn’t have fucking nice things for once, could he?

And in a sick twist, you groaned “Coming!” from the bathroom and stormed toward the door, pulling a hoodie overhead as you went. Didn’t care that he was right there and seeing you half-naked – a fucking stranger.

Yeah, Ben would put a fucking stop to this once you were his again. What happened to goddamn modesty? But hey, at least it was long enough for him to peek: bra, dark navy blue, and a lot of delicate lace around those beautiful tits.

He’d love to tear that thing off of you.

The asshole then brought presents: a happy hero meal and some fuckin’ drugs – the hard, good shit. He tossed it like Ben was a shelter dog that had bitten too many people and was soon gonna be put down. And you, on the other hand, got some translated folder and a gigantic cup of frap-somethin’ with an obnoxious amount of whipped cream and caramel.

But you’d always had a sweet tooth, so it didn’t come as much as a surprise. What fucking killed him, though?

You pulling out the fuckin’ straw and going to town on it, tongue licking cream like it’d never done anything else.

Ben almost blew his load and a gasket in the fuckin’ Geiger counter, wanting to throw the damn thing out the window.

Rough fuckin’ morning… And it had only been the first goddamn day of many.

At least, he had some Bennies to get over the pain above (and the ache below) – well… until you fucking ruined that, too.

Because you watched him. Sitting on the bed, cross-legged, sipping coffee and still working that damn straw. Eyes on him.

His back was half-turned, but he still caught it in his periphery as he was halfway through crushing pills to dust with his knife.

Judging.

“Problem, sweetheart?” His voice was a little too gruff, a little too deep, a little too defensive. Too confrontational.

“No,” you replied, bored. Almost deadpan. Then you casually opened the folder in your lap, directed your gaze there, took a slurp of coffee through the straw, and added: “My parents always snorted their breakfast, too.”

Then, you gave a shrug of your shoulders and started reading – innocent. Like you hadn’t just launched him into complete chaos.

You liked teaching people lessons, alright. You also liked fucking with them. On purpose.

This was the goddamn problem with smart women – especially if they fucking knew it, too. They knew exactly where to hit and make it stick.

But Ben couldn’t help the little smirk twitching on his lips – almost proud.

Back then, your brilliance and genius was cute – not threatening. Now, though? With all you could do? All that power wrapped inside one tiny girl? A little scary.

Dangerous.

And well, he was a little dangerous, too. You and him had always made a good team in the past. Now, the two of you could be unstoppable.

He just had to ensure you stayed in your fucking lane – and he didn’t mean that in a bad way. Just… rein you in a little – like taming a fucking wild horse.

His gaze flicked briefly back to you. You were watching him again, subtly, your eyes not on the knife but the tremble in his hands. The way he ground his jaw a little too tight.

Fuck. He’d forgotten about your shitty parents.

Did you have a fucking problem with this? Probably, if your parents were fucking junkies, right? And here he sat, supposed hero turned nuclear weapon and addict. He felt a little ounce of shame curling in his gut.

And still, he felt his blood itching for it more. But he couldn’t do this with you here. Couldn’t do it with you watching.

“You know, all this tension could be solved if you just went and made us breakfast, doll. Maybe put on a skirt and apron, smile a little. That’s what you broads were built for, right?”

The room went silent.

Your jaw dropped slightly, eyebrows lifting. But then you ground your teeth and a fire flickered alive in your eyes.

“Jesus,” String Bean breathed, eyes wide.

Ben knew where to hit. Knew how to weaponize what he knew about you to get rid of you – or so he thought.

But you only scoffed in amusement and rolled your eyes before delivering your punch: “God, it’s like you’ve been alive for a hundred years only to make cavemen look evolved.”

Then you got up from the bed and strolled over to Butcher, ignoring Ben like he didn’t exist anymore.

“I’m taking a break,” you announced and puffed your chest out, shoulders straight. “And I want vacation days, Butcher. I know you’re technically blackmailing me, but I still think I have at least basic labor rights. MM and that CIA lady gave me forms to sign, so I know I’m employed somewhere.”

Ben straightened slightly at that. Blackmail? What the hell did that fucking mean? That asshole better not be threatening you, or Ben would punch that dick to goddamn Uranus.

Butcher sighed – loudly. “Jesus fuck, sunshine, how ‘bout we talk when the job’s done, alright?”

But you didn’t back off – not even a little. Ben listened in amusement. Didn’t dare to look fully and give anyone the impression that he actually cared about this little spat, but he still enjoyed it greatly – enjoyed the fucking destructive wildfire you were.

“After this job’s done, I’m not gonna stick around, so you better figure it out now,” you bit, all flames and heat. Then you held open your palm – waiting, demanding. “Give me your car keys. I wanna go see Kimiko and check on Frenchie.”

Butcher scoffed in response and met your challenging gaze. “The hell you are.”

Oof. Wrong move.

“What d’you think you’re doing? You know I can just freeze your ass and take them,” you said and raised your open palm a little higher. “Give.”

Butcher met you head-on. “Try. You don’t even know where I hid ‘em.”

“I don’t care if you shoved them up Hughie’s ass. Still gonna dive in and find them,” you retorted.

“Whoa, uh, just like to clarify – he did not… shove anything up my ass,” the kid muttered nervously, blinking at you with those pleading puppy dog eyes.

Ben almost snorted out loud into his soda.

Butcher groaned dramatically, rolling his eyes back like he’d been dealing with enough sassy employees for a week. He then hauled out a jingling set of his keys from his pocket and placed them in your palm.

You grinned, triumphant and satisfied. Ben wanted to kiss you stupid for it.

“Don’t fuckin’ take too long,” Butcher growled.

“I’ll take as long as I want,” you called back, already out the door as it fell shut behind you.

Ben’s eyes flicked to the messy white lines in front of him, then back to the door. He felt torn. Torn between relief and worry.

Because now you were out there – alone, unprotected, and out of his sight. What if you fucking disappeared again?

He didn’t like that thought at all. He had to keep an eye on you – keep you close.

“Where’s she off to?” he asked, drawing the asshole’s attention to him.

“Hospital,” Butcher replied curtly.

“She’s, uh, visiting a friend of ours,” the kid added helpfully, earning him a raised look from his boss.

“What’s this talk about blackmail?” Ben asked with a casualness only he could feign, snorting his first line.

“Insurance policy.” The asshole smirked. “Don’t worry about ‘er, mate. Guarantee she won’t be a problem.”

“Good.” Ben matched his smile while imagining ripping the guy’s throat out with his teeth.

No one got to fucking threaten you and live to tell the tale. For now, though, Butcher was useful in keeping you close, but he’d surely made it onto Ben’s hit list with that little stunt.

The asshole’s smirk widened then. “Let’s get to business, shall we?”

After striking his little deal, Butcher eventually went to hunt down the first names on his list and left Ben alone with the kid as his babysitter – like that would actually help if he blew.

Luckily, you came back about three agonizing hours later – made fun of his movie that was playing on TV while plopping down on the worn couch next to the kid.

Not next to him. Not like the two of you were closer. Not like you hadn’t already shared every part of you with him.

Drove him and the Geiger counter fuckin’ nuts.

On top of that, you and String Bean were annoying the shit out of him with questions, with your judgment, with your fucking righteousness – like you kids could actually understand what was on the fucking line here.

Ben was trying to protect you. He loved you. And you? You fucking forgot about him.

At least, Butcher then came back with good news – the location of the fucking twins.

Ben suited up in the bathroom, walked out, and found the two idiots shooting something up their veins while you tied your shoes casually on the bed next to them like it was just another fucking Tuesday.

He smelled the Compound V instantly – but different. Green. Didn’t look like Vought was even pretending to hide the poison under false advertising anymore.

Ben then glanced at you – same black sneakers, jean shorts, and a new black hoodie that read: “May the mass times acceleration be with you.”

Christ on a cross….

Star Wars? Fuckin’ seriously? God, you were a bigger nerd than he ever thought.

“That what you wearin’, sweetheart? Where’s your fucking suit?” Ben asked, eyeing you sideways.

You tilted your head, amused, gaze grazing him from head to toe. Then you snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I’m not gonna be caught dead in something like that,” you replied and then grinned, gesturing down your outfit. “‘Sides, this is my armor. I’m not a sparkly unicorn that shits rainbow glitter. Don’t need a lot. Got my onyx slippers.” You clicked your heels. “They used to be red. You know, like ruby slippers? But I switched to black after I lost part of my abilities. Figured it was more appropriate ‘cause, you know… I’m in mourning.”

Jesus fuck. You were not built for fucking battle. Now, Ben was even more reluctant to drag you into this – Herogasm of all things. Not exactly a place he ever imagined you in the middle of.

Ben’s eyes drifted to Butcher, chin nodding toward you. “Can she fuckin’ stay here?”

“No can do, guv. House full of supes? We’re gonna need ‘er,” Butcher replied. “Just try to get along, yeah?”

You smirked winningly and brushed purposely past Ben. He almost pushed you against the nearest wall.

“Don’t worry, gramps. I won’t bite as much,” you said, grinning. “All I need is for someone to be distracted for a second while they read what’s across my tits.”

Ben made the mistake and looked down at the white lettering again, and suddenly, in the next blink of his eyes, you were on the other side of him, smirking wide.

“See?”

God, this was gonna be fuckin’ annoying, wasn’t it?

Ben gave you an impatient and tight smile, unamused. “Cute lil party trick, sweetheart. Don’t fuckin’ do that again,” he warned but kept his voice calm – almost playful. Still, he didn’t want you to get any fucking ideas. “You at least got a fuckin’ supe name?”

You grinned then – cocky, bold, and mischievous. “Puck.”

Ben’s brow furrowed. “Like hockey?”

“Like Shakespeare, you bardless brute,” you retorted your correction. “If you’re not careful, I’ll turn your head into an ass as well – a real one, not a donkey.”

Ben’s lips twitched with a challenging smirk. “Well, if you pardon, we will mend.”

Ooooh... Your fuckin’ face was glorious. Your brows drew together, you stumped so much your shoulders actually flinched an inch backward, and your head tilted the other way.

You were fuckin’ impressed now, weren’t you?

“Huh. Who knew you actually know more than godawful action movies,” you muttered.

“Impressed? Who’s a fuckin’ bardless brute now, huh?” Ben retorted smugly.

He still fucking was. Only reason he knew that line was because his English teacher once made him participate in a play of Midsummer Night’s Dream to save himself from a failing grade. But hey, he loved acting and it had been easier than writing a fucking essay.

He’d gotten a standing fucking ovation, too. Of course he had.

But the look in your eyes? Fuckin’ worth dragging that out from the cobwebbed corners of his mind.

After more curious questions from you about his Shakespearean knowledge, came a four-hour car ride to Vermont (or hell), where he had to share a backseat with you.

And you, you fucking menace?

You leaned your back against the door, stretched your legs across the seat, and rested your bare feet on his thigh.

No asking. No hesitation. Just did. Didn’t even look up once.

And Ben? He was strung taut like a wire the whole ride. Tried not to twitch pathetically. Tried not to outright beg for you to touch his dick with your goddamn pinky toe.

He tried to keep his mind occupied instead. Solve this fucking problem, so you could actually touch him. And that was when he noticed it – you touched him.

Not just now, but back at the motel, too. Since the minute you and him first spoke at the trailer, actually. Sure, you kept your distance – but mostly because you didn’t like him. Not because you were scared of him.

This whole time, you hadn’t cared about close proximity at all. You didn’t seem terrified of him even a little – which was fucking frightening for different reasons entirely.

When they finally arrived at their location, Ben then decided to test that little theory in action as he stalked through the mansion with you.

He’d told you to stay in his fucking eye-line, pretended it was for the sole reason he didn’t want you to pull a stunt on him again and freeze him. But in reality, he was protecting you – and making sure those little perverts better kept their clammy hands by their sides.

His experiment, however, came to full fruition then. First test: gently putting his hand between your shoulder blades as he guided you through the house. Second test: letting it rest briefly on the small of your back. Neither of them yielded a fuckin’ reaction.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t scowl. Didn’t say anything. Didn’t give a single fuck.

But Ben remembered the way you’d jumped like he’d burned you whenever he’d done it in the past.

So, what the hell happened between then and now? Or, well, now and some arbitrary date in the future, he supposed.

“God, I can’t believe you founded this depravity,” you muttered, nose and brows scrunched as your eyes drifted around, barely being able to decide which abomination to judge first.

Fuckin’ adorable.

“Whoa, hey, just to fuckin’ clarify – I didn’t found–” his gaze flicked around, tongue poking out between his teeth as he searched for the right words, “–well, whatever the hell this freak show is. You know, back in the day, this used to be a classy gig. Yeah…” A smirk crawled across his face at the memory. You would’ve loved it – not that he would’ve fucking shared you with anyone. “Cigars, bourbon, even had a flag bikini contest to boost morale. Think, a gentlemen’s club for the Rat Pack.”

You would’ve fucking won that damn bikini contest.

“Lovely.” You gave him a deadpan look, arms folded tightly over those tits underneath that baggy hoodie like you were trying to keep the slime of this place away from you. Your gaze then swerved off to a threesome on the kitchen counter, brow wrinkling even more.

Ben followed it, smirk deepening. “You know, sweetheart, I bet you could bend that way, too.”

Your head snapped toward him, eyes dark at first, then twinkling with amusement.

“What, don’t believe me?” he teased. “I’ll kick these amateurs outta one of those bedrooms and happily show you.”

You raised a brow. “There’s about twenty naked women around you. Why are you hitting on the one girl in clothes?”

“I like a fuckin’ challenge.” He grinned, lazy and smug. “‘Sides, I have an acquired taste.”

You snorted a laugh. “Well, take me off the menu, please.”

Not a fuckin’ chance…

“C’mon,” you motioned toward the living room area, “Butcher said the twins are back there.”

Ben nodded, smirk fading, and stuck close by your side.

“You want me to freeze them?” you asked, shooting him a glance. You bumped into him slightly when you dodged a couple fucking against the wall of the hallway. “I could only freeze their bodies, you know? Keep the heads. That way they can’t run, but they can still talk. They also feel it when you kill them… ‘Sides, it’s kinda funny. People get really panicky and freak out when I do that.”

Ben stopped in his tracks, blinking at you for a moment. He watched a small smirk flash across your lips – puckish.

Made his goddamn heart swell and his dick hard.

He hummed and considered it, then gave barely a shrug of one shoulder. “That does sound kinda funny. Knock yourself out, sweetheart.”

Good team work. Unstoppable force.

As he moved half a step toward the living room, you stopped him, though – hand wrapping around his wrist, pulling him gently back, touching him.

“Wait–”

You dropped it and flinched back when he met your eyes, probably confusing his prayer for a warning. You just couldn’t see it.

“You’re not gonna–… you know, power up the nuclear reactor in here, right?”

Ben met your request with a tired stare and a deep exhale through his nose. You might have judged these perverts, but you were still worried about their safety, apparently.

Fucking Christ, your generation was nutty. Not exactly how men won wars.

“No,” he assured you nevertheless. “Don’t worry about it. I can dent their teeth in with my fuckin’ pinky.”

Your lips pursed for a second before forcing a tight smile. You gave him a nod and a thumbs up. “Great.”

Yeah, you didn’t belong onto a battlefield but into Lecture Hall B of some ivy-wrapped university. This was the fucking last mission he’d ever take you on (and if only it had been as easy and simple as wishful thinking).

And the rest of the day? Fuckin’ disaster.

The twins went according to plan till they didn’t. You froze them, they panicked (which really was satisfyingly hilarious), and the two idiots leaked more than the poop chute on the screen behind them. But then, he fucking heard it – that sound.

That song.

He didn’t remember much after. Just that melody, you backing away next to him, eyes wide, asking him what was wrong, and him telling you to run.

He woke up to wreckage and smoke. There was barely a house or people left – at least not ones that could still be recognized as such. When you weren’t anywhere in his close vicinity, he felt relief surge through him – before the panic kicked in.

Where the fuck were you?

But Ben didn’t get enough time to look for you before the next problem arrived – the caped cunt Butcher wanted dead.

Fuckin’ ridiculous, honestly. A clown, really. But that strength?

Yeah. Shit…

Took him, Butcher, and a butt-naked String Bean to hold the pussy down. Still didn’t get to kill him. The coward fled.

Ben then followed Butcher and Hughie – slowly, unhurried, calm. Not like he wanted to run around and scream your fucking name till you answered.

Outside, Ben then finally spotted you – sitting by the curb, blood running down your cheek from a small head wound. The glare and sharp mouth were apparently alive, too.

“You good?” Ben came to stand next to you, looking down, fingers twitching by his sides to reach out and wipe the blood from your cheek, legs itching to crouch down and check on you properly.

“Yeah.” You gave a nod and met his gaze, bringing a flat palm up to shield your eyes from the setting sun behind him. Your brow then wrinkled again. “Are you okay? You look like you’re in pain… or constipated.”

“‘M fine,” Ben replied with a huff. “Your powers? Still working?”

Your finger pointed behind his right, and he followed it, finding a half-burning supe frozen still – including the little flame on his arm.

Thank fucking God.

“Does that answer your question?” you asked as the man resumed screaming and running down the road in a panic.

Ben nodded, hesitated for a moment, but then held his hand out to you. You looked reluctantly at it for a second before you placed your palm in his, and he helped you back onto your feet.

He hated letting it go again.

“How d’you get out?”

“Well, I–… I couldn’t freeze shit,” you explained, slightly irritated, your eyes watching him closely again. “But I could at least put it in slo-mo long enough to get the fuck out.”

Good girl.

“Was that Homelander in there?” you asked, looking warily up at him.

Ben glanced at the burning mansion, then back at you. “Yeah,” he replied, deep voice raspy. “He know who you are?”

You blinked at him but shook your head slowly, shrugging. “No, I–… I don’t think so.”

“Good.” Ben gave a nod. “Keep it that way.”

You didn’t ask him what exactly happened or what he meant by that, although he could tell it was on the tip of your tongue the whole car ride back.

Legend’s mansion reeked of old whiskey, ghosts of cocaine, and broken promises – but still fucking better than that shitty motel off the highway.

Ben hadn’t left a lot of room for discussion with Butcher when he told the asshole about his idea to knock on his old friend’s door and hide out here from the public. After forty years, he deserved a little luxury and a king-sized bed without creaking springs.

The sun had dipped below the horizon hours ago, but the house still held its burn when Ben strolled through it. Everyone had retreated to their corners, licking their wounds, but he could hear your heartbeat from the hallway.

That little rhythm, steady but tight. Anxious. He’d memorized it. Could pick it out of a crowd by now.

The lights were dimmed, only a small lamp on a side table held an orange glow while the rest of the room was lit by the flickering blue hues of the TV. You sat alone on the couch, tucked into cushions, barefoot, remote in hand, and eyes tiredly fixed on the screen, watching the late-night news. You were curled into the corner with a blanket haphazardly tossed over your lap as Ben poured himself a glass of forty-year-old Glenfiddich at the bar before flopping down next to you with a grunt, ice clinking in the tumbler – most certainly uninvited.

You didn’t glance at him, just kept your eyes trained on the TV like it might give you answers the rest of the world couldn’t.

Ben didn’t say anything as he lit a joint and leaned back against the couch with a long, exhaustive breath. He stayed like this for a while – no words, no touches, just your presence. He needed that, especially after today.

He hated that he couldn’t claim all of it. That this – the two-feet distance at all times, your scent and warmth but nothing else – had to be enough.

“Clothes good?” you asked suddenly, voice low and soft as not to disturb the silence of the house too much.

When you’d returned from the hospital this morning, you’d also brought a bag of clothes for him that you’d gotten during a pit-stop on your way back to the motel. No one had asked you to – you’d gone out of your way to do it, anyway.

Nothing fancy. Nothing too modern. Just a few simple and plain tees, a comfier pair of sweats, and jeans. Didn’t ask, just did – with a smirk and the explanation that Butcher had left his credit card in the car.

Ben looked at you briefly from the corner of his eye before staring down at the black shirt and gray sweats he was wearing.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough, and added a mumbled “thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied with an almost inaudible sigh and turned your focus back to the TV.

News anchors, wide-eyed, grim, and breathless, recited the carnage like it was a weather report. Fires. Body bags. Death toll still rising. No comment from Vought yet.

“Hell of a show, huh?” he broke the silence with a low chuckle like it was just another night – like he hadn’t incinerated a house full of people. He took a sip of his drink and a drag from his reefer, lazily blowing out the thin stream of smoke. “Should charge admission next time.”

“Not funny,” you muttered.

Ben gave a grunt, rolled his eyes slightly. He knew you weren’t happy with him – neither was he, but it hit different when it came from you.

Green eyes flicked back to the screen with another sip of his drink. “Too bad Earving wasn’t there.”

Your head snapped toward him, brow raised in question. “Earving?”

“Black Noir.”

“Oh.” You sunk back down into the cushions. “Weird hearing real names. Makes you sound like people.”

That was a jab, right? Some fucking guilt trip? He wasn’t imagining that, but he let it slide. Couldn’t really blame you for it after today.

“We are people – you included, sweetheart,” Ben retorted nonetheless and took another hit of his joint – a fucking long one. He looked at you for a second, trying to figure out a way to bridge the gap between you two. “My name’s Ben, by the way.”

Your gaze met his, and for a moment, Ben thought you’d finally remember him. Braced himself for it. But whatever you were searching for in his eyes, couldn’t be found.

You turned back to the screen somberly. “Think I’ll stick to Soldier Boy. Suits you better.”

Ouch.

“C’mon, loosen up,” he scoffed. “Not like you actually liked any of these assholes.”

“That’s not the point,” you argued, sitting up straighter like you were getting ready for a fight. “Just because I might think they’re awful people, doesn’t mean I wanna see them burn alive. I mean, Jesus Christ… They didn’t deserve that.”

Ben leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Sure they did.”

And then you went quiet. Thoughtful. The creases in your brow ironed out. Your head tilted ever-so slightly. And Ben knew what that look meant – that fucking softness.

He hated it. Hated that you were soft. Even now.

“What happened today?” you asked with that gleam of quiet concern in your eyes like he was a wounded Grizzly with rabies that wandered into your yard and could be fixed with a bowl of water.

“Nothin’,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the TV, though he wasn’t watching. “Twins pissed me off and I put ‘em in the dirt. They were goddamn traitors. Handed me over to the Reds. All I did was return the fuckin’ favor.”

You leaned forward on your knees, your stare intensifying as you shook your head. “No, I don’t buy it. This wasn’t planned. I don’t believe you wanted to hurt all these people.”

“Believe it.”

“When I asked you today, you said you wouldn’t–”

“Yeah, well, I say a lotta things. Doesn’t make ‘em true,” he said with casual cruelty, but he had to stop you from fucking prodding – from finding the truth. “Just said what you wanted to hear, so you get off my fucking back, sweetheart.”

“You’re lying.”

That hit deep. Not because it was true – but because you saw right fucking through him. Saw right through the lies, the walls, the mask.

“I was right next to you when it happened,” you added. Same persistence, same fire in your eyes he knew so well. “You told Hughie and me you blacked out during Midtown. You said you didn’t wanna hurt those people.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then how did nineteen people end up dead? Not supes, people,” you prompted and waited long enough to let the silence stretch. “You can’t control it, can you?”

“I can,” he growled with a stern look. "Back off. Not gonna warn you twice."

“But you can’t every time, right?”

You were always like this – soft voice, soft hands, soft eyes – but never weak. Never stupid. It made you harder to lie to. Harder to brush off.

He didn’t respond. He knew where this conversation was headed, and he wasn’t fucking doing it.

He wasn’t gonna talk about Russia. Ever. Not with you.

That part of him – the dark, twitching, screaming core of what they did to him – it wasn’t something he knew how to name, let alone share. And you… you were the last person he wanted to share it with.

Because if you saw the truth – the shaking hands, the blackouts, the Russian lullabies that burrow into his skull and flip the fucking switch – you’d flinch. Or worse, you’d pity him.

And he couldn’t fucking take that.

If you knew about the restraints, the isolation, the endlessly cruel tests, you wouldn’t look at him the same. Not like someone who was strong, but someone who was broken.

One wrong melody away from burning down a neighborhood.

And you? You’d try to fix him. You always had. Even before the shield, before the name, back when he was still just a young, dumb kid, you looked at him like he could be more. But now he was something else – warped and weaponized by Vought, cracked open and rebuilt in a Russian lab, and every inch of him screamed 'Don’t touch this.'

But if you saw it – if you saw him – you’d reach for him. You’d say something soft. You’d try to make it better.

And he couldn’t fucking afford that right now. Not when he didn’t know what was even going on yet.

“Look, if you wanna talk about it–” you started, but he cut you off quickly.

“I don’t.”

“I–… I saw what happened to you, okay? Parts of it,” you said carefully. His eyes snapped to you. He heard your heartbeat accelerate. You then averted your gaze to your fumbling fingers in your lap. “Not in my head, by the way. I just wanted you to know I wouldn’t do that,” you clarified, swallowing. “But we-, uh, we found tapes when we got you outta there.”

Ben closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Don’t.”

“I’m not here to poke at your scars. I just wanna understand. That’s all,” you said.

“You want to understand,” he repeated and scoffed a mocking chuckle, rubbing his eyes. “Right. You want me to lay my head into your lap and cry about it? Light a candle, do a feelings circle, and sing ‘Kumbaya’?”

You shot him a look. Not amused. “You don’t have to joke your way out of everything.”

“Alright, you want the play-by-play, sweetheart?” he baited you, eyes narrowing. “You want me to walk you through how I turned a house full of assholes into bone confetti? Or do you just want a hug and a sob story about how I’m soooo broken inside?” Then he leaned in, arm resting on the back of the couch behind you, smirk dancing on his lips. Cold. Venomous. Cruel. “You ever stop to think maybe I wanted to kill ‘em? Maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe I fucking liked it. Hm?”

That made you stop short for a second, but the fire in your eyes never went anywhere. The flames only rose higher.

“Then why did you save me?”

Shit.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, sipping his whiskey.

“No, you did,” you insisted and were getting a little more heated. “Don’t you dare fucking gaslight me. You told me to run. You looked fucking terrified, and it wasn’t because of the twins.”

“Shut up,” he huffed dismissively.

“It was the song, wasn’t it? There was a Russian song that came on the radio. It triggered you, didn’t it?”

“Stop,” he warned, but you were a full wildfire now – all heat and no escape.

“Look, I know what it’s like when you’re not in control. I get why you’re so fucking angry. Trust me. But you’re gonna hurt more people if you don’t face your shit,” you argued fiercely. Brave. Foolish.

“You wanna help me? That it, sweetheart?” He scoffed coldly into his tumbler. “I don’t need your fucking pity, and I sure as hell don’t need you to fuckin’ fix me.”

“I never–”

“No, but you’re thinking it. I can see it,” he cut it, taunting. “Poor Soldier Boy, all alone. Must’ve been so hard, right? Frozen in a box, tortured, abandoned, boo-fucking-hoo.”

“That is hard,” you countered – still fearless, still soft, still all you. “And I know you’re clearly not asking for my opinion, but you should know I don’t think you’re broken or weak because of it. I think it made you stronger.”

And that was the worst of it – you meant it. You fucking cared. You looked at him like he was still something worth saving. Like he hadn’t just taken out half a goddamn mansion. Like his hands weren’t still stained with blood. Like you hadn’t seen the monster and decided not to run.

“Damn right it did,” he snapped and fixed you with a glare. “You think I want to be soft and bleeding and weak like you? You think because you’ve got some tragic backstory of your own, we’re the fucking same? You and me? Not the same species, sweetheart. You’re not special. You’re not different. You’re just a little girl playing hero in a world full of wolves. You’re soft. You still believe people can come back from the edge. But I jumped off that cliff a long fucking time ago. So don’t look at me like I’m something you can save.”

You inhaled sharply, but still didn’t back down. “I know you’re not the cold asshole you’re pretending to be.”

“You wanna know what Russia did to me? What they did? Little scientists like you, hm?” Ben goaded. “They tore me apart. Nerve by nerve. Memory by memory. I begged them to stop. I screamed. I cried. I pissed myself. That what you wanna hear?”

“No,” you said, getting up from the couch. “I’m just trying to help you.”

He hated the look on your face. Hated himself for putting it there.

Ben rose as well, towering over you. Cold. “I didn’t fuckin’ ask for it. Wanna know why? ‘Cause, most of all, those forty years in that shithole gave me fuckin’ clarity. Made me realize I don’t need people. I don’t need kindness. I don’t need you. I wanna burn every last thing that tried to take me down to the fucking ground. You think I regret what happened today? I relished it.”

“Liar,” you bit. “I know you didn’t.”

And God, he hated you for it. Hated you for giving him fucking hope.

“That’s because you’re still stupid enough to think there’s fuckin’ good in people,” Ben retorted. “You think you know me? You don’t know shit. Let me make it real fuckin’ clear – whatever you’re looking for? It’s not there.”

He wouldn’t let you get into his fucking head again.

“I’m not scared of you,” you said and took a fucking step closer.

Jesus fuck, why did you always have to do this?

“You think because I let you sit next to me, you’re safe? Maybe you’re even dumb enough to think I like you,” Ben growled, stepping into your space – and you still didn’t even bat a fucking eyelash. “But trust me, if I go off again, you’ll be the first to fry. And I won’t lose any fuckin’ sleep over it, sweetheart.”

There it was – silence. Finally. But in the end, you still didn’t move.

Instead, you scoffed a chuckle and looked him deeply into his eyes – cruel in your mercy. Puckish in your execution. “I think I know now.”

“Know what?” he huffed, impatient.

“Why they came for you. Your team.” You smiled, soft and slow and pitying. “You don’t want kindness? Too bad, you’re getting mine: you might be an ass, but I still think you deserved better.”

Fuck you for saying that.

Then you were done. Shoved past him and left for your room. The door slammed so hard it shook the glass in the windows.

And then it rattled him.

That look you gave him – like you weren’t sure he was a monster or not, like you didn’t know if you could trust him – he’d seen it before.

It all fell into fucking place then and there.

An hour later, Ben knocked on your door.

His heart pounded, he ran a hand over his face, and he thought twice about turning around and storming back down the hall to his room. But he needed fucking answers now.

After a moment, he heard your voice from the other side, guarded. “Yeah?”

“Can I come in?” Ben asked, trying to keep his tone light. He didn’t really have a plan beyond that – just needed to get in there and talk.

There was a long pause. Longer than he liked. But finally, you sighed, and he heard the soft sound of you getting up from the bed. The door clicked open a moment later.

No welcoming smile. No warmth. No trust.

“What d’you want?” you prompted with a blank expression and crossed your arms, head tilted. Watching. Waiting. Judging.

Ben hauled something from the pocket of his sweats and held it up for you – cross joint. “Truce?”

Your lips pursed, which meant that you at least weren’t unimpressed. “First one?”

“Yup.”

First successful one. Fourteenth try overall – harder than it fucking looked when you’d done it.

Your head bobbed thoughtfully for a moment before you stepped aside to let him in. He shut the door behind him with more care than he’d normally bother with.

Ben rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“Didn’t think you’d actually ask,” you shot back wryly.

He clicked his tongue. “Fair enough.”

“So, what? You’re here to apologize?”

Ben bit the inside of his cheek. “Look, I don’t do fuckin’ apologies, okay? I know I can be a little… direct sometimes, but that’s your problem. Not mine.”

You snorted a chuckle. “Wow. Okay…” You cleared your throat like you were coughing the amusement out of your system.

He knew you hated that, but he had to walk a fine line between getting the information he needed and not ruining it with you by being too… friendly.

With a deep groan, Ben dropped down on an armchair in the corner by the large, floor-to-ceiling window front. Legend had given you the guest bedroom on the ground floor with the terrace that led to the garden – aka one giant entry point for all his enemies.

He’d have to talk to the old guy tomorrow about changing that. Get you bumped up to the first floor, maybe a windowless room.

He was kidding. A little.

“Listen, I’m not great at the whole... people thing,” Ben started with a dry laugh.

“No shit.”

“I just wanna talk, alright? I try not to be a dick again. How’s that?”

You considered it, then gave a nod. “Fine. What do you wanna talk about?”

Ben licked his lips, searching for the right words that didn’t give away too much. “Out there, you said you get it – what it’s like not to be in control. What did you mean by that? Is that why half your abilities ain’t working?”

The question seemed to surprise you.

“Uhm, yeah,” you replied after some hesitation. “Three years ago, I started getting panic attacks – not that I’m saying that’s what happens to you.”

“You better not,” he muttered from his chair.

“Anyways,” you continued, trying to tame your fire a little – he could tell and tried not to smirk. “It happened after I got stuck.”

“That Middle Ages thing?” Ben questioned, cocking his head slightly. A laugh then rumbled through his chest. “What the hell happened, sweetheart? You almost got burned on the stake for bein’ a witch?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what happened,” you replied, almost too casual.

“Oh.” He stumped for a moment, then finally lit the joint. “Well, shit. Why d’you go there in the first place? I mean, no offense, doll, kinda common knowledge they’re known as the Dark Ages.”

“I didn’t go there on purpose,” you said, laughing a little as he passed you the reefer. “I just-… Took the wrong exit and… couldn’t go back in there.”

Ben exhaled a sigh through his nose. This was gonna take longer than he expected, wasn’t it?

“In where?”

He mostly couldn’t believe he was having this conversation and it wasn’t about where to put his cock.

“Wormholes.”

Not better.

Ben’s brow creased a little more. Another sigh left his lips. “What’s that?”

You arched an eyebrow. “You want me to explain wormholes to you?”

Ben stared at you for a moment, took a drag from his joint, and then shrugged. “Sure.”

Your lips pursed, but your head nodded. “Uh, okay. Yeah.”

Ben then watched you pace the room, kick your shoes off in various corners before disappearing into the en-suite bathroom, only to emerge a minute later with your makeup bag, where you fished out a red lipstick. Tossed the bag onto the bed. Uncapped the lipstick, cap flying somewhere behind you and landing next to a shoe.

Ah, shit. He’d have dreams about this tonight, wouldn’t he?

“Wormholes are also called Einstein-Rosen bridges,” you explained and drew a long, smudged line across a window pane in deep red. “They are theoretical solutions to Einstein’s equations of general relativity. They describe a tunnel-like structure connecting two separate points in spacetime.”

“Like a tunnel?”

“Yes, exactly!” you said, and Ben tried not to smile at your enthusiasm. He enjoyed it in silence and sangfroid. “I’m sparing you the folded paper analogy, but basically, it means time’s not a straight, rigid line. It’s flexible. Relative. You can bend it.”

Ben didn’t know what it was about the scene that got him – maybe it was how natural you looked doing it, talking through half-formed thoughts while your hand moved fast and confident. Or maybe it was because he’d seen this before, a lifetime ago. Chalkboard. Shed. That same furrow between your brows, the way you gestured mid-sentence like your mind was three steps ahead of your mouth.

“That’s what you do, right? Bend time?” Ben asked, barely keeping up, but he understood enough.

“Did, yes.”

“You tried jump-startin’ it again? Your abilities?” Ben watched your mouth open and then close, head shaking.

“I’m not a car, you know?” You snorted a small laugh and crossed your arms over your chest with a curious smile. “What would you suggest I do?”

“I don’t know.” Ben shrugged his broad shoulders. “You tried jumping off a building yet?”

Your smile twitched a little on your lips. “Uh, no, can’t say that I have. Why exactly would that help?”

Ben gave another shrug. “I don’t know. Facing your fears?”

“I’m not afraid of heights,” you replied, chuckling. “I’m afraid I get stuck somewhere I don’t wanna be.”

Like 1942, Ben thought dryly.

“So, it doesn’t work at all right now?”

“No, it works. I just can’t control it. It’s like a mental block, you know?” you explained. “But back at the lab when you detonated, you triggered it, and I accidentally jumped. Landed back in New York with a five-minute time difference.”

“Huh. That’s how you disappeared,” he muttered under his breath. “What triggers it?”

“I don’t know. Could be anything. Mostly stress, fear, panic,” you replied.

Ben then realized that was how you’d vanished that night as well, wasn’t it? You were scared and emotional, and a minute later, you were gone.

You hadn’t left him. Hadn’t wanted to. Not on purpose.

His chest tightened, but he didn’t let it show. He’d waited eight decades for that answer.

“So, how this whole thing work?” Ben asked with a clear of his throat. “What happens when you go back and change somethin’?”

You chewed on your lower lip for a moment. “Well, there are several major theoretical models. Fixed loops – like Novikov’s principle – say you can’t change the past because you already did. So time, in a sense, is self-correcting.”

“What does that mean?”

Ben watched, half amused, half fascinated, as you scrawled a massive loop across the glass. It wobbled a little, more oval than circle, but your point came across.

“This is a fixed loop,” you said and jabbed the top of the circle with your lipstick. “Everything repeats. You can’t change the outcome because your future self already did whatever you’re going to do. Paradoxes get swallowed up by consistency. There’s no free will.” You drew a squiggly line through the loop. “Now, if you diverge from the loop here, you create a branch. Alternate reality. That’s the multiverse model. Every choice spawns a new timeline.”

“So how many timelines are there?”

“Infinite,” you said slowly. “Every little choice you make on a daily basis creates an alternate timeline where you made a different choice.”

Ben tilted his head, watching your reflection in the glass. “So, what... you break off one path, and now there’s two versions of me out there?”

You giggled lightly. “I mean, yes, basically. It’s Everett’s theory. If you switched your toothpaste, there’s another version of you out there that didn’t,” you said.

“So, which one’s the correct theory?” Ben asked, leaning back in his chair, joint halfway burnt.

“I think both theories are true,” you replied. “You could be in a loop and create branches at the same time. It’s all quantum probability.”

Ben stared, lips pursing.

You stared back. “What part didn’t you follow?”

He scratched his jaw. “The part where I need a damn PhD just to keep up.”

You smiled a little, nodding. “Alright, let’s simplify. Movies.”

Two hours later, you’d explained every working model on time there existed, went through both plots of Terminator and Back to the Future in great detail, and told him about the butterfly effect.

“In a fixed loop, the butterfly effect still exists, but it’s already been accounted for,” you said and stretched your arms over your head with a yawn. It was already long past midnight. “So even if you think you’re making a new choice or messing something up, that choice has already been ‘written’ into the loop’s history. You’re just fulfilling it.”

“So it’s like a script?”

You nodded and shrugged. “Kinda yeah.”

“What if something changes? What happens then?” Ben asked, the feeling in his gut coiling tighter.

If he understood it correctly, you and him were apparently caught in one of those loops. You’d explained it like a chain reaction – dominos propped up in a circle. If one was removed, the circle wouldn’t work anymore.

All he had to do now, was find the missing domino and nudge the first one with his fingertip.

“I mean, theoretically, you can break the loop and create a new quantum branch. But it’s risky,” you said, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. “You don’t know what changes or how much. That’s why it’s better not to interfere.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Ben had to ensure everything stayed the same in order for you to go back to 1942 and fall in love with him. But his heart was already stinging – warning him.

He tried to think back, remember every little interaction he ever shared with you in the past. But what stuck was the beginning – how scared you were. Not just of the strange world around you but of him.

You weren’t spooked because someone had been after you. Not Vought, not the government, or some other asshole like Butcher.

He recalled how you’d crashed into him in the street, nearly knocking him over. How fast you recoiled when he’d reached out instinctively to steady you – like his touch burned. You looked like someone who’d been through hell and wasn’t going to let anyone drag you back – especially him.

The looks of fear, the no touching, the not trusting – it all had been for him, hadn’t it? You’d hated him when you landed in 1942. You’d probably seen what he’d done, knew what he’d still do. Some future version of him had done something. Had broken your trust. Hurt you. Betrayed you. Enough that you came back in time and looked at him like he was the worst kind of monster.

And he hated that he’d have to do it to you again. But he didn’t have a choice, did he?

Because if he let this go on – the bonding, your smiles, your looks like he could be more – he’d risk losing it all. What if you got stuck in 1942 already liking him? What would happen then?

“You okay?” you checked with a soft smile.

Ben nodded slowly. “Uh, yeah. Just thinking.”

But even when you despised him at first back then, even when you knew everything there was to know about him – every cruelty, every mistake, every life he took – you still fell in love with him.

And he could see it now, too – how you looked past everything that had happened in the last few days, every chaos and death he caused. And still, you were here, smiling and talking to him like he was just another human being and not a cold-hearted killer with tons of baggage.

The beginning of it was already there. He remembered it like it was carved into bone: the way your eyes softened. The way you let your guard down slowly, week by week. The way you started to look at him like he was worth something. Like he wasn’t just a weapon someone had pointed at the world and forgotten to leash.

You’d fallen in love with him despite everything. You were doing it again now, too.

And he hated that he couldn’t let it happen. He had to stop it, or it could ruin everything. It was too fucking soon.

Ben squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, jaw grinding tight as the plan formed – quiet and bitter.

He had to make you hate him. He had to be the version of himself you were willing to run from. Even if it killed him.

But he couldn’t let you like this version of him. Couldn’t let you trust him too easily. If he was too soft, too honest, too goddamn human, you might not look at him the same way when you’d eventually land in 1942. You might not flinch. You might not run. And then–

The loop would fracture. It would all fall apart.

“You wanna stay up and watch Back to the Future with me?” you asked with a little grin.

Ben hesitated for a moment, watched the smile dance on your lips like it was the rising sun. His heart ached.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a faint smile. “Why not?”

And sure, after everything he’d learned tonight, he should’ve said no. Should’ve said something mean and cruel and lay the brickwork for the downfall. But he couldn’t do it. Not yet.

He decided to let himself have one last night – one night of closeness, of enjoying your smiles, of hearing your laughs. He was allowed to have one nice thing, even if it didn’t last.

And tomorrow?

He’d go back to the cocky, smug bastard he used to be. He’d tease you. Grate on your nerves. Maybe even push too far, just enough for you to roll your eyes and walk away. He’d play the part, he’d set the trap, and he’d make sure the loop held.

Even if it broke him more than Russia ever did.

For the next three days, Ben had avoided you as best as possible while he formed his plan. But it was harder than expected because every time he turned around, you were there. Coffee mug in hand, nose in a book, leaning over Legend’s pool table with a stretch that gave him thoughts he shouldn’t be having.

And it was starting to piss him off. Because the more he tried to create distance, the more he wanted to be near you.

He doubled down over the following week.

At first, he started small – sexist comments here and there, belittling you, or telling you to fetch shit for him. He made you his personal assistant, which Butcher highly supported. It annoyed you, sure, but it didn’t exactly make you hate him. Of course you couldn’t make it easy on him.

So, he went a little further next. He started screwing Legend’s maids like clockwork, hoping that would do it and maybe even make you a little jealous. Needless to say, all that did was make you disgusted – your words, not his. You’d told him as much when he called for you to bring him a new bottle of lube.

But none of it made you hate him. And that terrified him more than anything.

On the morning of day eight, Butcher and Hughie were still neck-deep in trying to trace Mindstorm, and Ben was growing more impatient by the hour. As he padded toward the kitchen, he paused in the hallway when he heard your voice – sharp and pissed.

“You don’t get to act like you’re in charge. You have no plan. You’re just drugging him up and sending him like a rabid dragon toward your revenge fantasy,” you snapped. “He’s not a person to you. He’s a tool.”

Ben leaned his shoulder against the wall just out of sight, listening.

“But he’s not a person to you either, sunshine,” Butcher bit back. “He’s dangerous. You said so yourself. Called him a liability if I remember correctly. So help us find Mindstorm, and the sooner you can go back to your life and leave all this bloody shite behind you, Doc.”

“You want me to help you find Mindstorm?” The laugh you let out was dry and short, laced with disbelief. “After everything with Soldier Boy at Herogasm? Did your frontal lobe fall out in the car? I told you – I’m not gonna help with this little murder spree. You guys are on your own for this.”

“I think you forgot you’re not in a position to play hard to get, sunshine,” Butcher said lowly. “You wanna stay under the radar, I suggest you help the people that are currently keeping Vought off your back.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you shot back. “Don’t pretend you’ve been doing me a favor. If you wanna turn me in to Vought, be my guest. It’ll take them two weeks just to figure out what name I’m using this time. Not to mention, I’ll tell them you’ve been running around with a war criminal.”

Ben felt his lips twitch. God, you had guts. Butcher went quiet at that – he had no cards left to play and knew it.

“Jesus,” Butcher muttered. “Bloody useless, the both of you.”

Ben waited until footsteps retreated. Then he strolled into the kitchen like he’d just gotten out of bed and hadn’t heard every word.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he said, grabbed a beer from the fridge, popped the cap, letting it fall to the tile.

You didn’t react. Hughie grimaced.

“What, no geriatric gangbang scheduled for this morning?” you deadpanned.

Ben grinned, lazy and smug. “You jealous? ‘Cause I’m sure I can pencil you in for noon.”

“Great,” you replied with a wry smile. “I can draw you a diagram of what an STD looks like.”

Ben clicked his tongue, lips curling. “Feisty, but you know you love me.”

“I really don’t.”

Stupidly, that stung. But he let it roll off his shoulders.

Over the next few days, he tried and tried again, but nothing was working. Every time he expected you to snap – to scream, to cry, to tell him you fucking hated him – you didn’t. You just looked at him like he was something under your shoe. Sometimes you were too annoyed to care. Sometimes too tired to react. Sometimes you hit him with the most surgical, disinterested commentary that bruised his ego in ways nothing else could.

But you never hated him. You endured him – which was arguably worse.

Ben couldn’t tell you what he knew. Couldn’t give away that he was watching his every step like a man walking a minefield. But you’d said it yourself – no disruptions, no butterfly effect.

But every night, when he lay awake in that stiff bed, his mind kept drifting back to the soft shape of your smile when you were excited about something, to the way your lips brushed his jaw in the dark, murmuring things you hadn’t meant to say. And he wondered – if this version of you never went back, never finished the loop… Would you ever love him at all?

So he stayed cold. Distant. Loud. He banged maids and played dumb. He tried everything short of outright cruelty.

Till he realized there was no way around it. He needed to push harder.

Mindstorm had been a fucking disaster – fully yours and Hughie’s fault.

As soon as Butcher had been taken out by that psycho freak with a migraine, the kids had formed an alliance against him – undermined him every step of the way.

When he got meaner and crueler to you, Hughie would step in like your knight in shining polyester. It was fucking annoying. And no matter what he said or did, you still never backed down.

All in all, fucking frustrating – not as frustrating as the news he received, however.

That same night, Ben found you in a place he’d never wanted to find you – Legend’s music room, seated right at the piano as your fingers tickled the ivory keys.

It did unspeakably barbaric things to his heart.

He paused in the doorway for a second, just watching. Enjoying. Reeling.

Luckily, he was already nursing his third whiskey when he stepped inside. You didn’t glance up at him, not really, just arched a brow.

“Jesus fuck, what now?” you huffed, halfway onto another eye roll. Your patience with him had become thiner than ice over the last week.

“You got a minute?”

“Depends,” you said grimly. “Am I about to get roped into another errand that involves you traumatizing the staff?”

Ben’s mouth twitched. He should’ve expected that. The maid incidents hadn’t exactly landed the way he’d wanted it to. You’d just gotten more judgy – like you were slowly starting to catalog him the way a scientist would a failing experiment.

“No lube runs this time. I promise,” he said, strolling in. “This is serious. I need your help with something.”

And boy, was it fuckin’ somethin’. Not exactly the conversation he ever planned on having with you. Where would he even start?

Hey, sweetheart, you know how you already think I’m a mess of bad decisions and unchecked aggression? Well, guess what – Vought used my sperm to make the guy I’m supposed to kill. Neat, huh?

The worst part, though?

You were the only person he’d ever imagined that with. The only one who’d made the idea feel like more than some stupid pipe dream – a house, a dog, maybe a kid with your eyes.

Not this – not some fucking lab-bred monster raised in a cage to replace him.

Your face softened then, anger dissipating. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Uh, no, not really. That freak told me something today, and I need you to check if it’s true.” Ben swallowed, stepping closer.

He crouched down beside you, arms resting on the bench’s edge – close enough to feel your body heat, but not close enough to ask for anything more.

“Okay, what is it about?”

“In the fall of 1980, Vogelbaum called me into the lab.” He hesitated for a second, licking his lips. “Wanted a… sample.”

Your brow quirked. “Like–”

He held up a hand. “Yup, sperm.”

“Ew.” You grimaced. “Did they at least buy you dinner first?”

God, he fucking loved you and hated how he couldn’t tell you.

Ben gave a short, humorless laugh. “Nah, just handed me a cup and a dirty magazine. I made do.”

“You’re so brave.”

“Thanks.” He rubbed his face. “They told me it was just for genetics. Research, you know? I felt flattered. Didn’t think twice about it. Hell, they wired me twenty grand. I left fuckin’ whistling.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, trying not to laugh. “Sure, yeah. If Nazi geneticists ask for more of your DNA, you always say yes for money and pride.”

Ben took a deep breath for the next part. “Mindstorm said they used it. That they made something with it. Someone.”

Your face shifted then, sobering up fast. Quiet alarm. “You think he meant–”

“Homelander.”

You bit your lips hard.

“I wanna know if it’s true,” he added. “I wanna know what the hell they did.”

You stared at him a moment longer, then nodded. “Okay, uhm… I can look for you.”

You closed your eyes then and only a second later, you gasped – sharp and low. Ben heard your heart beating faster.

Your eyes flew open with a “Jesus fuck.”

“That bad?” Ben checked against his better judgment. He’d pay a trillion bucks not to know the answer.

You blinked hard, catching your breath. “It was like watching the Antichrist claw his way out of hell.”

Ben’s stomach twisted, head bobbing in defeat. “That bad. Got it.”

“But it’s true. I’m sorry,” you said finally. “They used your DNA. The embryo was carried by a homeless girl – barely twenty. Vought gave her two grand and a contract she didn’t understand. She died during birth. He-, uh, he killed her. Killed a few others too. Floated out of her with the cord still attached.”

Ben frowned. “Did you really have to share that part?”

You twitched your shoulders innocently. “Hey, if I had to suffer through that, so do you.”

Ben didn’t laugh, only let out a shaky breath and found your eyes. “What do–, uh… What do I do now?”

“Uhm…” Your lips parted for a moment, thinking. “Well, you know they didn’t just make him to replace you, right? They made him to never need anyone. Most of all, you.”

Ben didn’t respond to that. He just sat there for a moment longer in your presence. How stupid was it that a part of him still ached for something he’d never had? A different life. A different version of you. One that remembered what he remembered.

Now, in his real life, he was just a man with blood on his hands and a legacy made of ash. A father without knowing it. A failure even in that.

Ben looked up at you then. “You ever think about kids?”

You gave him a look like he’d asked if you wanted syphilis. “Fuck no,” you snorted.

He raised an eyebrow, licking his lips. “That firm a stance, huh?”

“Look, I like kids. They’re undeniably cute,” you said, and he’d almost smiled. But it didn’t last – his chest felt hollow. “But I’ve seen what Vought babies look like. And you practically created the lovechild of King Claudius and Palpatine with a Big Brother kink. This whole thing was like watching a PSA for not having babies. So, pretty sure that’s a solid no by now.”

“Right,” he said quietly and slowly rose back to his feet.

And then, he felt it – grief.

He’d lost a lot in his life. Fans. Friends. Family. A future. But this – losing you like that – this was a different kind. Slow poison that killed him from the inside out.

“You gonna tell Butcher?” Ben asked then. He knew you technically had to – unless he killed the asshole for blackmailing you.

You stayed quiet for a beat and studied him before answering. “No,” you said, surprising him. “I mean, eventually, yeah. But knowing Butcher, he won’t care. He’s still gonna want him dead, and he’s still gonna want you to do it. And I think you deserve a night to make your own decision, so…”

“Thanks,” he murmured.

“Well, uhm, I’m gonna go to bed. Kinda beat after today. You know, after the schizophrenic mind freak and, uhm, all the verbal abuse – courtesy of you, of course,” you joked dryly and stood, sauntering to the door, all too happy to get away from him again. But when you still turned around, there was sympathy in your eyes. “Don’t worry, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

Ben couldn’t bring himself to respond, only slumped down on the bench with a sigh and a whiskey in hand.

The part that hurt most was how badly he wanted to believe you. That maybe we was still something he could count on. That maybe, even after everything, you’d still help him find a way out of the wreckage of his life.

Ben had one job that week.

Not to kill Homelander. Not to show Butcher what a real soldier looked like. Not even to stay alive.

No, the job was simpler, crueler, harder: Make you hate him – or it would all go to shit.

You weren’t allowed to love him yet. Not until the loop could hold. Not until history clicked into place and the ugly cycle wore itself out the way it was meant to. So for a week, Ben did what he’d never done before.

He broke his own heart, over and over. With volition. With purpose.

He kept fucking Legend’s maids. Loud, messily, with the doors open and no apology in his eyes. Gave you the worst of himself till he even got bored of it. He threw your past back in your face, mocked the way you still believed in him – if you did at all. He called you a tagalong, a liability, a glorified errand girl.

Ben did what he was good at – what Soldier Boy was good at.

He shut down. Barked orders. Called you useless so many times, hell, even you were starting to believe you were broken. He used that. Leaned into it. Said you’d get someone killed. Maybe yourself. He didn’t flinch when you stared at him like you didn’t recognize the man in front of you. That was the point.

He went colder. Meaner. He let the old monster fully out, the one who constantly picked fights and kicked in doors and laughed while people begged.

But you weren’t useless. You were the only thing in this twisted fucking world that made him want to be more than a weapon again.

And you? And you fucking endured it all – like you were playing a longer game than him.

Maybe you were. Ben had overheard your plans when you chatted with your girlfriends recently – after Homelander, you were done. You were planning to apply for teaching jobs at colleges, striking a deal with Edgar, moving on.

But Ben couldn’t let you move on. Couldn’t let you out of his sight again. Couldn’t just let you walk away into freedom.

But you still never flinched. Never screamed. Even after Mindstorm, when he tried to drown the memory of who he used to be in booze and rage. Even when he insulted you just to escape the gravity of how much he still wanted to be the man you loved in 1942.

You always just watched him like you were memorizing every awful thing he said, every dismissive look, every command barked like you were furniture – filing it away.

You never broke.

But he did – and he hated you for it.

The worst part, though? You still didn’t fucking betray him, even when the chance was presented to you on a silver platter – a golden ticket to get rid of him for good – and you didn’t take it.

No, fucking worse – you warned him. Helped him. Saved his ass.

When Butcher and Maeve joined him at Vought Tower, Ben made sure you weren’t invited. Told Butcher you were useless. Told you that you owed him for it. Probably added some sexist remark that he hadn’t used sincerely since the Nixon era.

But of course, you fucking showed up anyways – with Hughie, Annie, MM, Frenchie, and Kimiko.

Chaos ensued in every direction. But before they got to him, you stopped it all.

“What the fuck are you doing here? I gave you a fuckin’ out,” he barked at you, concealing his concern as best as possible while the world was frozen around the two of you.

The silence was almost serene – the most peaceful he ever felt on a battlefield.

“I know you did,” you said, not even pretending you hadn’t seen right through him. “That’s why I’m here.”

You told him then about the other assholes' plan – that as soon as Homelander was in the ground, they’d come for him next. Ben almost exploded and killed them all right then and there – but you convinced him not to.

“Don’t kill them, please,” you begged him with that doe-eyed, reaching-into-a-man’s-soul look. “Just let them go.”

“You just told me they wanted to lock me back up in that fucking box!”

“And they can’t, okay? I sabotaged Frenchie’s little Novichok cocktail. It’s not gonna do anything. I promise,” you assured him. “Just act surprised or tell them you’ve built up an immunity against the stuff or some shit. And then walk away.”

Ben only scoffed at the mere suggestion. “You fuckin’ want me to just let it go?”

“You killed MM’s family, okay? Can’t blame the guy for taking his fucking shot,” you countered, looking intently into his eyes.

“What if they fuckin’ try it again, hm?” he asked, quieter now, but his chest was still heaving and firing up beneath his skin.

You exhaled a long breath before answering. “They won’t. I’ll make sure of it. But you gotta work a little with me here, okay? Just be less… belligerent. And controversial.”

Ben considered it for a moment. Considered you. “How can I fucking trust you, huh? You could just be sayin’ all that shit, so I fight less when it happens. I mean, outta all of them, you have probably the most reason to get rid of me, right?”

And that fucking hurt the most.

“Probably, yeah,” you admitted like it didn’t deepen the crater in his chest, but a smile tugged at your lips. “But I told you a few weeks ago, I thought you deserved better. Still holds true.”

Ben’s brow furrowed, his heart stinging. “Why?”

“Entropy,” you said simply and gave a shrug of your shoulders. “Did you really think it’d all end with Homelander? I’ve heard Butcher refer to himself as a ‘supe exterminator’ on multiple occasions now. Homelander’s just the biggest threat at the moment, but after he’s gone…”

“They’ll come for me,” Ben finished.

Fuck, you were smart. No wonder Stan Edgar had been scared enough of you to want you dead.

“And me, probably,” you added.

“I thought those guys are your friends,” Ben noted.

“They are until they aren’t,” you replied. “Payback was your team until it wasn’t.”

“Got it.” Ben clicked his tongue. “So, what? You wanna strike a deal now? You watch my back, I watch yours?”

Another shrug. “Maybe.”

And God, fuck, he wanted that. More than anything.

“No,” he managed to say. And you still didn’t react – like you’d expected that answer. “Sorry, but you’re on your own, sweetheart.”

You gave him a nod. “Figured. Men make stupid decisions all the time.”

A smile of amusement briefly flashed across his lips. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He meant it.

And then, in the next blink of an eye, you were gone. Vanished right in front of him. Took Ryan with you, even though Ben wanted to scorch every last bit of rotten Brooks DNA that had weaseled itself through time and sprouted like weeds.

The fight with Homelander was brutal. Biblical in that kill-your-own-children way. But no one was left untouched. Ben was losing, then winning, then losing again. Homelander’s strength was impossible. But you changed the game.

You fucking cheated. Came back just to rig it.

Homelander screamed, fought, bled. Maeve leapt into the fray. Butcher took a blast and kept going. Ben punched steel wrapped in daddy issues. You froze Homelander long enough for him to charge.

Together, you all changed the tide.

But the price was high. The detonation burned through every supe in range – Butcher, Maeve, Annie, Kimiko, and you. It took a drop of blood falling from your nose onto marbled tile that made Ben surge forward and tackle the caped supe. And with Homelander in his grip and Maeve beside him, he dove out the fucking window, drawing the blast away.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because when he came to, scorched and dazed on the street below and Homelander twitching in a crater, MM was carrying you out of the rubble – body limp, nose gushing red, head lolling, eyes shut.

You didn’t wake up.

Not on the way to the CIA facility. Not during Butcher’s rant about being robbed of revenge. Not when Frenchie and Kimiko paced the waiting room floor. Not when Annie cried, or Hughie sat in numb silence, or MM tried to keep everyone calm.

Ben followed them, and no one stopped him. Not even when he stood in the hallway outside your hospital room, hands shaking and heart thundering like it hadn’t in eighty years.

He tried to look apathetic. Bored and not like someone with a crushing pain in his ribcage. He sat on the bench outside your room, staring at the wall like it owed him a fucking explanation. Clenched his fists and dug his heels into the linoleum to keep him from going in and reaching out.

He’d spent a week trying to get you to fucking hate him. He’d said the worst shit he could come up with. Treated you like garbage. Fucked every distraction within arm’s reach.

And you still came back for him. Still saved him. Now you might never wake up to see how it would end.

Inside the room, you weren’t moving. Machines beeped steadily. A coma, they’d said. Not permanent – maybe. Not fatal – yet. But your body had taken the hit of freezing time across an entire floor full of supes while his own powers weakened you. And apparently, something in your brilliant brain had finally gone too far. Lit up and blown out.

He knew it was his fault – somewhere under the anger and the static and the sharp edge of grief curling behind his ribs. If you hadn’t stopped him – if you hadn’t warned him – he’d have killed them all. Annie, Butcher, hell, maybe even Ryan. He wouldn’t have stopped. He wouldn’t have thought.

You’d made sure he didn’t become exactly what they thought he already was.

Ben leaned forward and rested his clasped hands between his knees. He didn’t pray. He didn’t beg. But he came close.

And then, he could smell the fucking bastard before he heard his footsteps stroll down the hallway toward him.

Stan Edgar. Older. Just as smug. Still smelled like overpriced cologne and executive privilege. The last time Ben had seen that face, was in 1984, and Payback had just handed him over like a dog someone got tired of feeding.

Ben didn’t even look up when the expensive loafers halted in front of him.

“I was wonderin’ how long it’d take you to slither in,” he said coldly and met Edgar’s eyes. “You have some fuckin’ nerve showing up here. Can’t decide yet if it’s ballsy or stupid.”

Stan Edgar’s voice was the same as it had been in the ‘80s – cool, measured, and full of contempt he didn’t bother hiding. “I almost didn’t. But then, you’re not the one I came to see.”

Ben rose to his feet. Slow. Deliberate. Towering.

“You’re not fucking touching her,” Ben growled. “Give me one good fuckin’ reason I shouldn’t put your teeth through the back of your goddamn skull.”

Stan didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Was that a fucking thing smart people had in common?

“Because you need me,” he replied with a calm smile.

Ben scoffed a laugh – humorless and sharp. “That’s a new one.”

Stan’s gaze flickered to the closed door beside them. Your room. A hint of interest passed over his face – not warm, not cruel, just precise.

“You’ve done an admirable job pretending you don’t care about her,” Stan said. “Almost convincing.”

Ben’s fists clenched, his teeth gritting. “Walk away.”

“But you do care,” Stan continued, eyes narrowing. “You always did. Even back then when you first told me about her. We never did find out what exactly she changed. Only she will probably ever know the truth. But I do know she’s your axis, Soldier Boy. Your tether. She’s what you’re fighting to stay alive for, even if you’re too angry and broken to admit it.”

Ben’s jaw twitched.

Stan let the silence draw out. Let the words sink in. And then, in a tone that was too casual to be anything but deliberate, he mused, “She hasn’t gone back yet, has she?”

Ben looked up sharply.

Stan gave a small, knowing smile. “I thought so. This version of her – the one lying comatose on the other side of that door — she’s still in the present. Which means the loop hasn’t closed. Which means you still need her. Alive. Close. And willing to go.”

“Go to hell,” Ben hissed and stepped closer. “You set me up. You handed my team the knife and told ‘em where to cut. You’re the reason they sold me out, the reason I was buried under forty years of ice and piss and Commie tests. I don’t make deals with fucking snakes.”

Stan stepped back, adjusting his cuffs. “She doesn’t know, I assume. Not about you. Not about what you were to her. That’s important. You break that too early, it falls apart.”

Ben scowled – hard and quiet. His blood boiled underneath his skin. “That a threat?”

“It’s a truth,” Stan said, smiling. “One you’ve gone to great lengths to protect.”

“Careful, Edgar,” he muttered, jaw grinding. “Because if I start swinging, you won’t come back from that one.”

“You won’t kill me,” Stand replied calmly. “Because I know what she’s planning. I know she’s applied to universities in Boston, New York, Los Angeles, even Paris. She’s waiting until this ends to disappear. Teaching gigs, research grants. A clean, respectable life. Smart girl. Admirable, really.” He tilted his head slightly. “You can’t follow her there. And you know it.”

Ben’s fists clenched at his sides. “You’re here to blackmail me.”

“I’m here to make sure you don’t burn your only lifeline,” Stan replied. “The war with Homelander is almost over. The dust is going to settle, and some of us are smart enough to plan ahead. Someone needs to replace him. Smooth things over with the public.”

Ben scoffed a dark chuckle. “I’m not gonna be your fuckin’ Vought puppet again. You’re playing with fire, Stan.”

“No,” Stan said, meeting his gaze coolly. “You are. By dragging her into this. By trying to keep her close without telling her who you really are. You think she won’t leave? That she won’t hate you when she finds out? Not to mention, if you mishandle this, the loop never starts.”

Ben didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. They both knew what was at stake.

“You want her alive and in your vicinity. I want insurance. I think we can come up with something mutually beneficial,” Stan said. “I keep your secret and help keep her here. In exchange, you don’t kill me and save the company. And when the dust settles, we both walk away.”

The old rage in Ben’s chest itched like a half-healed scar. Everything in him wanted to flatten this bastard with his goddamn boot. Snap his jaw, twist his wrist, spill the truth of 1984 in blood and bone. But if Stan opened his smug little mouth at the wrong time, you’d run.

“Got any bright ideas?”

That same old smug smile curled on Stan’s lips. He knew he won. “I do,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”

And just like that, he was gone – leaving Ben alone again with the silence and the guilt and the weight of the impossible.

Ben thought it would get easier after you woke up. It didn’t.

Three days of silence in that hospital room, and the moment your eyes finally opened, he felt something in him uncoil so violently it almost hurt. He didn’t show it, of course. Kept the mask on. But deep down? He had nearly fucking broken. It was the damn relief that did it – the blinding, gut-punching realization that you were still here. Still breathing. Still his to destroy.

Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it?

Destruction.

After the showdown with Homelander, you’d lost your other ability, too. That stupid, terrifying power of yours – pausing time like it was nothing – was gone. Burned out, maybe. Broken. Either way, it was one less variable to worry about.

Because without it, you changed.

Ten months later, you were still here, still pretending you weren’t afraid of him, but your edges had dulled. No more cocky interruptions, no more smug little barbs when he barked orders. You still seethed – he could see it in the set of your jaw, in the stiff way you handed him his schedule or fetched his dry cleaning – but now, finally, you hated him. Not just with defiance. With disappointment. With bitterness.

Quiet, sharp, cold – just like he needed.

The deal you made with Edgar had made all of this possible. Vought had wanted you dead for years. Ever since you appeared on their doorstep with chronokinesis (and one clumsy meeting in ’83), they’d flagged you as a catastrophic liability. You’d been in hiding, hunted by the company until Edgar put a lid on it.

A truce, really.

You got your life back, and in return, Soldier Boy became the fucking leash – again.

Public relations rehab. America’s first supe rebranded as the woke patriot. Pride parades, women’s marches, climate rallies – Ben did it all. Sure, he had wanted to throw up half the time and punch someone the other half, but he showed up. Grinned like an idiot. Waved at the cameras. Did what he had to do to stay on the team – because that meant keeping you close.

That was the condition he gave Butcher. And you.

If you left, so did he. And if he left? Edgar would gut the deal. You’d be back on the hit list in seconds. He didn’t have to say it twice. You stayed. You endured.

You even tried to look forward to something, curb your disappointment. You got an offer to teach at NYU that made you smile brighter than the sun, not knowing he’d already crushed it behind the scenes.

But that wasn’t enough. He needed proximity. Pressure. Something deeper and more convenient.

So he made you his PA.

His old ones never lasted. Never could handle him and for sure as hell hated him. And you? You had no choice. No power. No way out. So you agreed.

For the past ten months, he turned your life into something small. Something gray. Verbal jabs turned into long, punishing days. Coffee, coke, and condom runs at 3AM. Paperwork dumped in your lap without warning. Public ridicule disguised as jokes. Every time you smiled at someone else, he punished it with ten more errands. Every time you looked like you might find a second of peace, he shattered it.

He never laid a hand on you, but he didn’t have to. He broke your spirit in slow, deliberate pieces.

And it fucking worked.

You hated him. Truly. Deeply. Visibly. That sparkle in your eyes he loved so much was gone, replaced by exhaustion and contempt.

But still not enough.

You hadn’t gone back yet. Hadn’t slipped. Hadn’t triggered the loop. And he was running out of time. Your birthday was in a week – the day he was banking on. The day you’d finally break. He’d rehearsed every possibility. Every variable. Every sharp word and final blow.

And then, right when things were at their most frayed and he didn’t know what else to do to push you over that cliff, Vought PR sent him to a fucking middle school – which turned out to be his saving grace.

Edgar thought it would be good for Soldier Boy’s image – the kids would love it, marketing said. He had to suit up. Shake hands. Sign notebooks. Let a bunch of snot-nosed brats ask him questions about courage and justice like he hadn’t spent the last year slowly mutilating the best person he ever knew.

Annie stood beside him as Starlight, all practiced smiles and warm answers. The kids screamed when she flipped the light switch in the gym and lit the damn rafters up with gold. Soldier Boy, meanwhile, flexed once and signed a forehead.

But then, he saw you.

You were off to the side, chatting with someone he hadn’t noticed before. Young guy, decent build, probably early thirties, wearing a NASA sweatshirt like he earned it. Tall. Clean-cut. Big smile. Middle school science teacher, from the look of him.

The two of you were huddled near the supply room door, leaning against lockers like the rest of the world didn’t exist. You were holding a paper cup of coffee as if it was the Holy Grail and gesturing mid-rant with your free hand. The guy was nodding along, wide-eyed and grinning like a fucking rescue mutt who just found a forever home.

The way you laughed, the way you leaned in without even noticing – something in Ben fucking snapped. And before he could stop himself, he perked his ears to catch the conversation.

“–taught at a tiny liberal arts college outside Montréal. Great students. Terrible funding. I built a cloud chamber out of a fish tank once just to prove we could,” you told the guy enthusiastically.

“No way.” The guy grinned brightly.

“Yup. Had to smuggle dry ice across the border in a cooler from Vermont. Worth it.”

“Wow, that’s dedication,” he chuckled.

“Please,” you grinned. “You haven’t seen dedication until you’ve tried to explain wave-particle duality using glow sticks and a laser pointer from Canadian Tire.”

Ben felt something unpleasant twist behind his ribs. You were glowing. Beaming.

“And you said you’re running something today?” you asked, curious now.

Ben stepped in closer, pretending to inspect the trophy case. His teeth ground together so hard he swore his molars would crack. If you dared so much as to touch the guy’s arm now, he’d blow up the whole goddamn school.

“Oh, yeah,” the guy said and lit up. “It’s the old NASA demo with vacuum and marshmallows. I’ve got a bell jar, vacuum pump, camera rig… We film the expansion in slo-mo and talk about gas laws. I also bring in Peeps for maximum horror.”

You laughed, full-bodied and joyful. “Stop! I love that experiment!”

“Come sit in,” he said, clearly encouraged. “You’d be great with them. Honestly, if you’re ever interested in guest lecturing, I know my eighth graders would lose their minds.”

Ben had heard enough.

“She’s got work,” he cut in behind you, voice casual and deadly. “She’s got a schedule. Doesn’t have time to blow up candy with middle schoolers.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t even turn. “And you’ve got an audience to pander to, remember?”

Ben moved into the space beside you, shoulders squared, gaze sharp. “There’s a meeting in twenty minutes. You’re coming.”

“You and Annie have a meeting. I’ll catch up.”

“You sure about that?”

You raised your brows and stepped closer, your eyes flickering around the gym full of kids. You lowered your voice as you spoke, “What’re you gonna do? Throw me over your shoulder in front of a class of children and ten reporters? You can’t pull your usual bullshit with the world watching.”

He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t threaten you here, not with dozens of kids around and Annie two feet away. Couldn’t risk the cameras catching even the edge of a snarl.

He clenched his jaw.

“Guess I’ll go help inspire the next generation. You and Annie have fun with the mayor.” You smiled sweetly – fake as hell. Then you turned back to the teacher, tone instantly brighter. “Lead the way, professor. I want front-row seats for the Peep implosion.”

The guy smiled and opened the door for you. You went willingly – laughing again, relaxed, glowing, as if you hadn’t spent ten months taking his orders and swallowing his poison.

And Ben stood there, fuming, watching the door swing closed behind you like a goddamn slap in the face. His stomach twisted into knots he hadn’t felt since ’42 – the kind of jealousy that bordered on nausea. That pussy got a smile out of you. Got real laughter. Got your attention.

He hadn’t seen you that fucking happy in months. And you hadn’t looked at Ben like that in eighty-one goddamn years.

Now, none of it was for him.

That night, Ben waited.

He stood across the street for hours. A half-lit cigarette dangled between his fingers, long since dead. He didn’t light another.

Your little dungeon-level walk-up apartment was tucked under one of those overpriced brownstones with wrought iron railings and chipped stairs leading down from the sidewalk. Half a planter wilted on the stoop. A bike was chained to the gate like it had given up.

It was close to midnight. You still weren’t fucking home.

His jaw worked till he got a migraine. You’d left the school with that fuck. That smug, soft-spoken, teacher-voice fuck who probably graded tests with smiley faces and called his mother every Sunday. Probably had a cat. Or worse – a golden retriever.

Then, there you were – laughing.

You were walking up with that pussy now, your bag slung over your shoulder, hair pulled into a loose knot, your shoulders bare in the warm June air. You had your keys in hand before you even reached the steps. Ben followed your movements, watched as you gestured animatedly, then laughed again at something the science teacher said.

He hated the way you looked at the guy. Open. Interested. The bastard’s hand was way too fucking close to your back as you unlocked the door, and you smiled — all bright and easy. That sharp little smile that meant your brain was working overtime.

You let the teacher inside, and that was it.

Ben was across the street before you’d barely closed the door. By the time you answered his knock, loud enough to wake the damn neighborhood, you were already pissed.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Coffee,” Ben said, his lips curling into a slow, lazy smirk. “I want fucking coffee. From that place on 12th.”

“Seriously?” you scoffed, stepping half into the doorway.

“Now.”

“I’m off the clock.”

“You’re never off the fuckin’ clock.” Ben tilted his head a fraction. “You gonna make me ask twice?”

That’s when the guy inside appeared behind you, standing awkwardly with one of your mugs in hand, already halfway into his little “I should give you two a minute” face.

Ben’s eyes were locked on you. Not moving. There was no yelling. No words. Just a look. A cold, sharp threat that made your stomach flip – not for yourself, but for the man behind you.

You knew it instantly.

If you don’t go right now, I’ll snap his fucking neck.

Your throat worked before you turned back to the teacher, forcing a laugh that was half a breath too tight. “Give me ten minutes?”

The guy smiled, easy and trusting. “Sure, I’ll wait here.”

“Don’t break anything while I’m gone,” you muttered to Ben as you brushed past him.

Ben didn’t bother answering.

When the door slammed shut, the teacher guy was still standing by your couch, probably confused. Probably nervous.

Good.

Ben didn’t waste time. He walked a slow, heavy loop around the room. Took in the bookshelves, the cluttered little desk, the framed photo on the wall of you with Annie and Kimiko. His lip curled at the sight.

The teacher offered him a tight, awkward smile. “Did you need something, or…?”

Ben turned to face him. He didn’t speak at first, just stared. But when he finally did, it was low – gravel scraped off pavement.

“If you don’t walk out that fucking door in the next three seconds, I’ll break your neck so fast your brain won’t have time to know you’re dead.”

The teacher’s face went white.

“Don’t ever think you can fucking come back, either,” Ben added. “Lose her number.”

That was it. The door clicked shut a few seconds later.

And ten minutes later, when you finally came back, it all unraveled then.

You looked around, confused, before realizing the teacher was gone.

“What the hell did you do?” you snapped, storming toward Ben without waiting for an answer. “He was a decent guy, for once. And you scared him off like some rabid fucking–”

“I gave him three seconds,” Ben cut in, voice low and bored like he’s just filed his taxes. “He got out in two. Smart guy. You think I’m gonna let you go fuck some science fair reject?”

You crossed your arms, the dim light throwing shadows up your bare collarbones. “I think you’re bored. Again. And I think you should leave.”

Ben stepped forward. Just one little step. Measured.

You didn’t move – not yet.

“That’s cute,” he said, sneering. “Real fuckin’ cute. You think you get a say?”

His eyes dragged over you like a lazy threat.

“God, you can’t stand that I might have a goddamn moment to myself, can you? You don’t get to decide who I talk to. You don’t get to decide anything about my life.”

“I do when your life is fuckin’ mine. I own you. Get this through your stubborn fucking head.”

He said it like it was truth. Like the sky was blue, gravity was real, and you belonged to him.

You stepped closer, trembling with fury. “You treat me like a slave, you stalk me, you ruin any fucking chances I have at being happy–”

Ben chuckled – the kind of sound that set nerves on edge. “Happy?” He took a slow, deliberate step toward you. “You think flirtin’ with some soft-handed twink who’s never been in a fight is happiness?”

You stepped back instinctively.

Ben’s smile twisted. He saw it. Smelled it – fear.

“Here’s the thing, sweetheart,” he murmured, closing the gap like a lion circling the kill. “You wanna get laid so bad, maybe you should’ve just asked. I’m right fucking here.”

You scoffed, but he still came closer.

“C’mon, doll, you’re already playing the part. Dressing like that. Batting your lashes. Might as well bend over and get what you’ve been fuckin’ begging for.”

You backed up another half step, but the wall was coming up fast behind you – that little strip of space between the bookshelf and the door.

And Ben fucking followed.

His hand grazed your hip. Not a grab. Just fingers brushing the fabric. Deliberate. Familiar – the same fucking move his father had used. Fourth of July, 1942.

You flinched, just slightly, but that was all he needed. His stomach turned, but he didn’t stop.

Because this was the goddamn plan. This would push you far enough, wouldn’t it? It would probably make you hate him so much you’d go back in time just for the sole purpose of finally killing him.

Ben had never hated himself more than in this moment.

“That it, hm?” He caged you in with one arm against the wall, the other trailing down the curve of your waist like a slow threat, fingers dragging over fabric, flesh, and bone. “You thought some middle school dweeb was gonna fill you up? You wanted fuckin’ affection that bad?”

His fingers dug into your waist, just enough to stake a claim – just enough to threaten. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t move beyond the line. But he hovered on the fucking edge of it. Close enough to burn.

Your pulse began to race, panic biting at the edges – he could hear it. But your voice was steady and your shoulders straight. You didn’t cower.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you bit.

“You should be.”

His fingers tightened just barely again – enough to warn, not enough to bruise. Yet.

But as you looked up at him, stared into his eyes as if you could stare into his soul, something shifted in your gaze. Cold. Empty.

“I see it now,” you whispered. You didn’t sound afraid anymore, but he knew you still were. “That’s what this was always about. You want to break me.”

Ben froze, throat closing, but he didn’t take his hand off you.

“This is what it takes, huh? You want my dignity next? You wanna feel like a man? Rape me?” You spit the word in his face. “Go ahead, Ben. It’s still not gonna fucking break me.”

First time you ever used his actual name.

Ben flinched. Breath hitched. Heart hammering like he’d been the one cornered. He looked at you, really looked, and saw the hate there.

Clean. Pure. Uncompromising.

He’d finally fucking done it – and it felt like swallowing glass.

Finally, he took a step back like your sheer heat was burning him. “Careful, sweetheart,” he muttered. “Next time I won’t be so goddamn nice.”

And then he left. Fled your apartment, practically.

Because it was all he could do to keep himself from dropping to his knees and fucking screaming. The pressure that had been building in his chest all year – all eleven fucking months of playing the villain, twisting the knife deeper every day – it all burned too hot and sudden.

Ben kept telling himself then that it was just one more week. Seven fucking days. He could stomach anything for that long.

But each time you passed him in the hallway, eyes fixed on the floor, shoulders drawn in like you were bracing for impact, something inside him cracked further. You flinched when he cleared his throat. Stiffened when his shadow crossed yours. And when you looked at him, on the rare occasion you did, it was like you were finally seeing the monster.

It broke his fucking heart.

He had told himself this was the only way. That when it was over, when you were back – really back – he could explain everything.

But now, watching you move around him like a ghost of the girl he’d once known, he wasn’t so sure anymore. He didn’t know how to fix this. How to fix you. How to fix himself.

And the sick truth of it was, he wasn’t even sure he deserved the fucking chance.

▶️ Chapter 15: I May Be a Thief, but I Am Not a Cheat – JULY 6

Going back to the present next week! Yay 🥳

What did you think of this one? Did you expect Ben to go this far? Did you enjoy their little moments of bonding before Ben turned up the volume? Hope those last few chapters filled in some gaps. Writing his pov is always a bit wild 😂💚🦅

Coming Up:

Before his brain could supply more brilliant ideas, he caught you staggering another step. One more step backward and your hand darted to the brick wall beside you. You blinked, your knees shook, breaths grew labored. Your nose twitched, and your hand flew up to your face.

The blood came fast – just a drip, then another, your fingertips painted red.

His stomach dropped, his smirk dropped faster. Your knees gave just enough to make him lunge forward, and Ben was at your side in a second, arms reaching for you.

“Whoa, shit–… Hey, easy… I got you–”

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Your voice hit like a whip. Not loud. Not harsh. Just final.

It stopped him cold. The words sank deep. Cut clean. Same tone you’d used back in 1942.

Same shit you said to him when he first offered you his hand and you looked at it like it was a trap. You didn’t want comfort then. You didn’t want it now either.

Ben slowly lowered his hands and backed off – and it hurt like fucking hell.

You leaned heavily against the wall of the corner store and slowly slid down to the cool concrete with a wince. Back slumped, one knee up, blood still streaking down the side of your face. Your eyes were sharp. Distant. Locked up like you couldn’t afford to let him close.

He watched you for a beat, jaw clenching. You were breaking. Physically. But you still wouldn’t let him in.

Of course not.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

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[undead-moth]

I guess 2 Old 2 Guard was about exactly what I expected the whole time. I can’t say it disappointed me because I never had my hopes very high. It wasn’t as good as the first because it fucked with the formula in ways it didn’t need to and didn’t say anything new about any of the characters. But I can’t say I hated it. It was good to see them in action again.

Anyway.

The bad (booo):

- The unnecessary retcon of how their healing works (shit definitely just grew back if it was lost in the first movie)

- The name Discord (“Sounds ominous.” No actually it sounds fucking stupid)

- learning more about the nature of their immortality (the whole first and last immortal birthmark thing in this movie was annoying for me. I liked it better when their immortality was a complete mystery. I liked it better when they had no control over it. Thematically I think it works better too.)

- The birthmark itself (it wasn’t needed for the whole first and last plot point thing and just draws attention to the fact that Nile didn’t have it in the first movie)

- There’s another immortal Andy didn’t tell anybody about (yet he supposedly saved her when Quynh was put in the Iron Maiden. Joe and Nicky never like…asked about that? Why was Tuah there? Why was he cool with Discord knowing about him but not Quynh, Joe and Nicky?)

- Contradicting the dream mechanic (In the first movie, they ALL dream of Nile’s first death and explain to her they dream about the immortals they haven’t met. Only Nile canonly dreamed about Quynh that we know of, but Joe, Nicky and Andy all met Quynh and I believe it was a generally accepted theory that Booker probably did too he just didn’t say so because it would crush Andy. Now for some reason the dream mechanic only applies when it’s convenient.)

- Andy’s not the first immortal and somehow how none of them knew this (This yet again contradicts the dream mechanic. It’s also just like, you know, it was already unrealistic when we thought it was Andy, but now we’re supposed to believe that an immortal even older than Andy was white and blue-eyed?)

- The extremely convenient immortality-transfer plot point that was very conspicuously introduced

- Characters using English when there’s no way they’d use it, and even when there’s no way they’d be understood (When Quynh shows up at the nuclear facility in Indonesia, she yells “Drop your weapons!” to a bunch of people who are heard speaking a different language and realistically don’t speak English)

- We barely get to see Booker reunite with the others before he dies. (This might be more personal preference than any other complaint, but we got to see how Booker interacted with Andy when he knew he’d lost his immortality and would die. I wanted to see him having a knowing moment with Joe and Nicky too, and get an idea about how he feels about this being the end of his time with them. Same with Nile really - instead he only interacts with her long enough to get cut. It makes it seem like Andy is the only person who mattered to him and that’s shitty.)

- Nile is conveniently out of commission for basically the entire climax of the movie. (They were literally like “What do we do with Nile? If Nile’s there to help then none of this other shit happens…uh…let’s just break all her bones, I guess.” It’s also just annoying how competent she already is, fighting toe-to-toe with people centuries older than her. Not doing any of the reckless ill-thought-out shit she did in the first.)

- Really cruel cliffhanger. (In the first movie, they specifically ended it on a satisfying enough note that if they didn’t get a sequel, it wouldn’t matter. They did this because they knew a sequel wasn’t guaranteed. For some reason, they were like, “Let’s not do that this time, even though it’s even less likely to get a sequel this time. And while we’re at it, let’s make it the worst possible scenario to not see resolved.” And then oh look at that. It’s not getting a sequel. Christ ffs.)

The good (yaaay):

- Seeing Nile be close to Andy and caring about her so much

- Andy being like “I haven’t seen art this bad in centuries”

- Joe being bad at lying to Nicky

- Nicky being more committed to the exile than Joe

- Tuah being like “How old are you?” and Copley being like “I’m 43” and Tuah being like “Impressive.” (I know it was played off as a joke but there was a part of me that was like actually I’m interpreting this as him being 100% serious because when Tuah was young, before he died for the first time, the average life expectancy was probably like 25 and he didn’t make it to 43 in his first life and he probably still thinks in those terms to a certain extent, and maybe liked having the opportunity to remind Copley what amazing times he lives in.)

- Booker showing up and being like “Come on, guys, are you still doing the silent treatment thing?” when “silent treatment thing” refers to an attempted hundred year exile lmaoooo

- how Quynh words how Andy’s abandonment makes her feel (I loved everything she said. It all felt so real and human and was worded so beautifully, especially in her note)

- Andy and Quynh fighting

- Joe and Nicky making up and having their tender moment. I also like that Joe canonly fears that they might die. Obviously that was present in the first movie too, but the different immortals’ points of view on death was thematically more relevant in this movie and I like that Joe wants them both to keep living. They’re not sick of life yet. They still want time to be together and love each other.

- I knew that Quynh was supposed to come back wanting revenge on humanity and I sort of dreaded that this movie might get really cartoonishly villainous about it and it wasn’t like that at all. It felt very grounded to me, and I was relieved that at no point did it seem like either the narrative or anybody else blamed Quynh

- The juxtaposition between Booker’s take on the meaning of time and Discord’s.

- Andy and Quynh being tender at the end.

(- Edit: And Nicky calls Joe Yusuf!!!)

So I guess, all in all, it was okay. The first movie was better but it always is. Hoped for better, feared worse. Still love the characters. 🤷‍♀️

[sototallynormaliswear]

The Magnus Archives has irreparably altered the way I interact with media so here's Teen Wolf Fear Alignments:

(minor spoilers for TMA and Teen Wolf)

Derek: do I really even need to say The Hunt? let's be so real right now, if you think its something else I'd love to have an indepth discussion about your reasonings and also why you are wrong (/hj).

Scott: The Slaughter is all about fear of senseless violence, which uh. Is kinda Scott's deal. A lot of the episodes of TMA that are about the Slaughter are very animal focused, slaughter houses, random pits of meat, a pig that eats people alive. Fitting for a vet in training

Stiles: that's the Spiral, babey look at him. he's that guy that walked out of the fear dimension completely fine because he got distracted thinking about walking his dog. but the spiral is about losing your sense of reality, your sense of self, literally just. being lost. seems like his deal

Allison: see I want to say The Hunt again but like. that doesn't feel accurate to me?? that scene in season 3 where her mother is screaming at her for being unable to thread a needle while Scott bleeds out on the floor is like a cornerstone of how I see her. she hates feeling out of control, out of the loop, unable to help. she specifically hates how she runs to others when dealing with monsters so I'm going with The Dark, which she would also hate because it sounds so childish

Lydia: Lydia needs to have so very much control over how people see her. I'm saying The Eye, but the spiral would still work. The Eye is about being watched, being known, even and especially without permission. a lot of Lydia's story is about people knowing things about her that she doesn't and keeping it from her, as well as her knowing things that she couldnt possibly know. Number one candidate for accidently becoming The Archivist right here

Jackson: The Stranger fr fr. the whole reason he's a lizard is that he's been having an identity crisis for YEARS. he covers it up by being a dick but he basically defines himself by his lacrosse skills and popular kid status, which is why he hates Scott so much. That scene where he's hallucinating his birth parents and they turn around and they have no face? Veryyyy Stranger

Erica: The Flesh. like man Im sorry if you think it's something else but girl literally chose to have a screw be driven through her skull and be hunted for the rest of her life just to get away from her seizures. and she was right to do it.

Isaac: Canonically struggles with claustrophobia. The Buried. In a more metaphorical sense, The Buried is feeling trapped in a state of being, and the other name that it gets in the series, the Too-Close-I-Cannot-Breathe, reminds me of him. also one of the avatars we see in TMA

Boyd: The Lonely. man would have DIED for friends (he did die for friends ha ha who said that). We dont know anything about his family besides the fact that he blames himself for his sister being missing and presumed dead.

Peter: The Desolation. YEAHHHHHH, not really a surprise there, the man that was trapped in a burning building that killed almost all his family was afraid of fire. give me a prize. but as a step back, the Desolation is about losing everything you love and never recovering and uh. :)))) that's Peter :')))))

tell me who I should pick next!

[coolwyous]

could we get some more aaa maphinz hcs por favor

not only do i GOT U but i also now have a mini playlist <333 AAA MAPHINZ NATION LETS GO! bball!studnon and journalist!sophia we RIDE for u!!!!

the courting process went CRAZZZYYYYY manon was 100% the grand gesture bball stereotype where she was sending 2 dozen roses to sophia's apartment every week, 100% doing the most would make sure the media coordinators had a seat reserved for soph front row (name tag on the chair and EVERYTHING) during post-games so manon could get a good look at her during all the press conferences 😵‍💫 would drive her crazy bc she'd be like "did you like my flowers 🤭" and sophia would leave her on read only for manon to stop by her apt and see the flowers all tucked to the side of the sidewalk 😭 sophia wouldn't even bother to bring them inside, deadass just let them wilt on the sidewalk LMAO (but manon doesn't know that sophia saves 1 single rose from each boquet she sends her <3333)

on that note, i feel like manon is def the type of person who wants to be spoiling sophia and sophia is the person who hates being spoiled!! (very act ii by 4batz coded) aaa sophia grew up without a ton so she got used to taking care of herself thus why she's so hyper-independent and haaaates feeling like she has to rely on anyone, but manon is so insistent! even if sophia never takes her up on it she keeps offering her over and over w consistency just to show her she's so dead serious abt her it's not just a performance or w/e like she is GOING to pay for sophia's nails one day even if it takes 6 months for sophia to agree! manon will WAIT!!! she is DETERMINED to make this girl fold!!!!

sophia does FINALLY fold but it starts off as a terribly confusing situationship 😔 manon is deadass IN LOVE atp she's been trying to bag sophia for this long and when they finally do hookup manz is kicking her feet the morning after "gm beautiful i made us breakfast how do u like ur coffeee 😁😁😁" and sophia is like "uhhh i have work, you can see yourself out" and leaves like nothing happened!! continues to ignore manon on the court!! continues to pretend she doesn't even notice her even though there is clearly something there between them. manon takes it the tiniest bit personally but is like "ok well the easy part is done, we fawkin, but now i gotta make her fall in love w me" and genuinely keeps trying to break sophia's walls down even if sophia pretends she's making zero progress

manon slowly but surely being consistently headass enough that sophia starts to trust her..... ugh i love downbad loser studnon how could sophia not fall for her......

gf era headcannons!!

sophia likes taking photos of their foods when manon takes her on dates to super fancy restaurants but will never take pics of manon. manz LOWKEY takes it personally bc she dresses super nice for these dates and all sophia does is take photos of the food and maybe a selfie and that's it LMAO but little does manon know it's bc sophia sneaks candids of manz when she's ordering or when she's not paying attention :( likes to see the athlete relaxed and not always posing for something

bonus: manon has a picture of sophia's dinner from their first REAL date as her wallpaper bc if anyone asks then she can just be like "oh this was a bomb ass osso bucco i had one time" but secretly she knows its basically a pic of her girl!!

on the topic of anonymity the only time sophia has ever sent "spicy" photos of herself they were all faceless (literally harmless bikini pics!! "purple one or red one?" she simply asked and manon replied w a photo of herself literally on the floor in middle of her apt like 30s later.) manz knows that sophia had them faceless bc she's obsessed w the concept of her anonymity and prob wanted to just tease her, but manz found a loophole bc she wants to flex her hot ass woman! gets the pic printed on a HOODIE and adds the playboy logo to be stupid and it becomes her go-to hoodie for leaving games 🤭🤭 sophia sees it on her instagram feed and ppl are commenting "NEEEEED THIS HOODIE DESIGN WHERE DID SHE GET IT" and sophia is LIVID (but not that mad bc she's possessive and likes that her gf flexes her in subtle ways yessir 🙂‍↕️)

lots of little things that only they know tbh! very "private but not secret" except for sophia it deadass is secret she lowkey ignores manon in public lmao ❤️ but manon is like "nope all good i'm still matching my shoelaces to the color of ur tie during press conferences bc im sprung like that i got us shorty dw 😌"

[the-girl-in-the-high-castle]

So now that I've seen the show, seen the film and read the first book, I have to be honest and say that of all three, the show definitely wins.

I'll say it again, I'm not impressed by it at all, I've seen far better shows, but it's fun and I loved watching it and I'm a fan of it, and it beats the original film by a long shot when you have the books as a reference. I never thought I'd say this for a shitflix adaptation, but it's way more true to the book than the og Danish film is. I definitely did not expect that.

Spoilers ahead. Nobody asked for this long post, but well...

Now, why do I prefer the show to the book? It's blasphemy to say it, I know, but we're being honest here.

The main reason is the backstory of the Merete/Merrit's kidnapping and the reason behind it. The original book/film story is very weak to me. I'm sorry, but it is. The reason for Lars' revenge on Merete is a bit dumb. Like, who blames a girl for a car accident where her father lost control over the car on a slippery road in winter while overtaking another car? Besides, Merete lost as much as Lars did in that accident, and blaming her for it is just plain stupid. She was playing with her little brother in the backseat. Yes, they were a bit reckless, but that's about it, they were kids. I like that they tried to make it more of her fault in the film by having her put her hands over her father's eyes and thus causing the loss of control, but it was still not enough.

What makes it even weaker is that the og book/film Merete is literally a saint. Okay, I may be exaggerating, but her only fault is literally that she's a politician. That's it. She's never done anything wrong in her life. This is where the show absolutely wins with logic.

Show Merritt IS a bitch, and we're shown multiple times the reasons why people hate her. She's been problematic since her teenage years. But in spite of being a bitch, she's a very strong character (the best written in the whole show) and everything we see from her in her captivity makes perfect sense. She's stubborn and strong-willed, and she stands by every decision she's ever made, even after years of torture. I will always love characters like that, unapologetic and consistent in everything they do. We need more characters like that. I can count them on the fingers of one hand.

Book Merete is, at times, close to show Merritt, like when she decides she's gonna be the one to decide when she's going to die, or when she bothers her captors and tries to provoke them, but there was little of that in the film.

Okay, Lars's backstory after the accident is brutal, and it makes sense for him to become a nutcase. The loss of family, the foster family that abused him, being sent to a correction facility, etc. But the original reason for revenge is not enough for me. The show backstory is way more interesting to witness, because we see Lyle being abused by his mother and having the only person who ever cared for him and protected him (his brother) being taken away from him because of Merritt (well, it's because of him, but the whole shitshow sure as hell looked like it was Merritt's fault). Also, both Lyle and his mother being nutcases made Merritt's torture more realistic. I always like the stories where a character is pushed to do terrible things because of trauma better than when someone is horrible for the sake of being horrible, but in this case it doesn't do it for me.

And Carl, well, show Carl is absolutely the image of book Carl. I didn't expect that either. Which is why I have no idea how they came up with film Carl, cause he's different (not necessarily in a bad way, but he's not that entertaining to watch).

Show Akram is also very true to book Assad, unlike film Assad.

I've only read the first book so far, but I prefer Rachel to Mona because, for now, she has a lot more personality in the show, and I love her. I do hope to see Carl being absolute trash for her in the show the way he is in the book (he's starting off very well). The show has also handled their relationship less awkwardly cause she's not really his therapist, just a temporary replacement.

Pretty much every character was handled better and is more interesting in the show than in the other two. You can sue me, I don't care. This comes from someone who loves Scandinavian thrillers, but it is what it is. I've seen people say the film is way better than the show, but where? They must have watched a different film.

All in all, the changes made in the show were done for a reason, and they made the story better and more interesting to me. But I was very surprised to see how true the show actually was to the book.

[wackywatchdotcom]

grips ragatha.....you................

[satoruxx]

someone remind me to stop going on twt because for the last 3 days i’ve opened the app and ended up being in a horrible mood for the rest of the day ..