#but everyone else? that's not the same people. look at ben

[strawberryflavoredvenum]

Creepypasta insecurities

Toby

🩷his tics(duh)

He isn't as bothered by it as he used to be but every once in a while, he'll get a particularly noticeable one and others will look at him. He hates when people he isn't close with brings them up.

🩷 Sometimes he worries that he is being annoying. Sometimes he actually is being annoying. He is a lot more talkative now that he's been a proxy for a while. He isn't used to socializing so he doesn't always understands social cues. He has the tendency to overshare or interrupt people.

🩷His muzzle leaves a red mark on the bridge of his nose and he hates it. Luckily other proxies don't see him without it for very long. Just to eat or around bed time.

Jeff

🩷He is not the most hygienic person and he hopes it's not noticeable. He wears axe but that makes it so much worse. One time someone left old spice at his door anonymously. It made him feel really bad but he did use it.

🩷Jeff doesn't feel much shame. Mostly because he chooses to block out any memory of his past. Liu is a constant reminder of what happened and though he does love his brother, it's hard to be around him sometimes.

🩷When Sally first met him she cried. He laughed at the time but he still thinks about it and feels bad. It made him feel bad, especially when Sally wasn't scared of most of the other killers.

🩷He has big hands and long fingers. Sometimes they feel out of place and he doesn't know where to put them. He did trex arms as a kid but it was corrected by his parents. Now he just puts them in his hoodie pockets.

Lj

🩷His arms are much too long for his body. It's useful when killing people but they get in the way sometimes.

🩷He is also much much bigger than the other proxies. That combined with his clown aesthetic makes him stand out a lot. He feels out of place.

Ej

🩷 Sometimes his eyes drip onto things or people. Other proxies do not take kindly to it and reactions have ranged from annoyance to aggression. He keeps his personal space.

🩷Jack isn't shy but he is a reserved guy. He doesn't get too personal with most of the proxies. It's not that he doesn't want to talk more, but he doesn't know what to say. By the time he comes up with a response to one topic, the conversation has moved on already.

Nina

🩷 The whole 'jeff obsession' is so embarrassing to her now. She moves on from one obsession to the next pretty quickly. Now that she thinks about it, Jeff isn't even that cool. She likes to pretend that it never happened.

🩷She has an unstable sense of identity. Switching from one aesthetic to the next, much like her obsessions. It seemed to come so easily to everyone else.

Ben

🩷Others do not take him seriously. It's not something that Ben just feels, it's the truth. Despite how much he contributes to the team, he isn't given the same respect. He doesn't want to just be comic relief. (he makes sure none of them end up on the internet/news. He helps wipe their images and records so they aren't found. He can also spy through screens and get valuable info.)

🩷He is much older than Sally, yet they are constantly made to hang out. He gets that Sally needs supervision but he doesn't get why he has to be the all-day babysitter. It's not that he doesn't like Sally, but he rather have peers his own age. (I hc him as an older kid. Like 12-13 or something. I'm not that into Ben drowned so maybe this isn't accurate.)

Helen

🩷 He has a small and lanky build. Not particularly tall either. He is one of the weaker creepypastas and it bothers him sometimes. It also makes him feel less safe being around everyone else.

[the--highlanders]

what do you think jamie does after he's sent back to scotland without his memories?

i think he's always been torn between loving his home, the house he grew up in and the river he played in as a child and the hills he knows like the back of his hand, and yet still deeply longing to leave his little world behind, because he never quite fit right. (and he did! he got out!) but then suddenly he's right back there. he goes back to his childhood home but it's not home anymore and he doesn't know why.

so would he stay and try to fit again, even though he's grown out of his place there? or would he leave, and go looking for whatever had changed him?

YESSS I am so 100% on board with everything you said here. jamie really feels to me like he's someone who's so deeply rooted in his place and his culture, and yet someone who's been battling off this sense of isolation his whole life, and it's all tangled up and complicated inside him. in part he knows his home like the back of his hand /because/ he was somewhat isolated and spent a bunch of time wandering around on his own, and connects to his culture so much because he was chasing a sense of belonging. and on the other hand he had friends and was probably well-liked! but the isolation is still there. maybe even worse for the fact that he wasn't entirely alone.

I do think the crucial point to what jamie does when he's back in scotland is. why exactly he stepped on board the tardis in the first place. which is something I still don't feel like I've fully been able to express even after literal years of trying, maybe because it works best as an impulse borne of him having a deeply traumatic turned deeply strange day. I hc that while jamie's father, brother, and best friend have now died, his mother is still alive and at home, along with other relatives and much of the rest of his community. he /has somewhere to go back to/. he chooses not to go to france and to try his luck with making it home instead, and then all of a sudden he's stepping onto the tardis. sure, he's somewhat confused, and certainly doesn't know what's happening or that he won't be able to get back - but he does still go with them. in that moment, some part of him wanted /out/. going with people he knew to france didn't tempt him, but running off with basically total strangers did. he wanted an entirely fresh start, a blank slate.

on the flip side, the jamie who gets sent back after the war games is /different/, even subconsciously. somewhere buried in there is a person who's more mature, has had three more years of experience, has dealt with so much more and stepped up in ways he probably couldn't have dreamt of when he first left scotland. he's dropped back on drumossie moor, apparently in daylight, presumably with something implanted in his head telling him that the doctor and ben and polly left, he waved them off and turned towards home. so I think that's what he'd do - he'd go home, and try to pick up the pieces as best he could.

at this point, and as he realises more and more that something's /not right/ and he's missing something, I think his sense of isolation is worse than ever. he's so, so close to snapping. but his whole world is holding on by a thread, now - his own family has been decimated, many others are in the same position, they're close enough to culloden and inverness to be subject to a few reprisals and raids from the government - and oddly enough I think that holds him together. he steps up, because somewhere deep inside he knows how to do that now. he's grown up. maybe everyone else just puts it down to the war. it's not like they know any better. and if we know anything about jamie, it's that he can hold himself together if someone else needs him. is it good for him? certainly not. but he's hanging in there.

in my timeline for things he does settle down somewhat once he starts to regain his memories and understand what's happened to him. it /is/ just another thing that sets him apart, and that always hurts, but he's also more confident and understands more about himself than he did growing up, so it rattles him less. he's probably easy to talk to and go to with problems, and friendly enough that you never really realise he doesn't open up about himself. he grows into a bit of a leadership position in his village, and it's good for him, in a way. he's also his own person, not his father's son, and I think that's a sick sort of relief for him. marrying kirsty also helps, because she's a fellow misfit and a great friend, and someone who he can share the truth with. their 'more children than there are days of the week' are lost and orphaned kids they collect, because he's not going to let anyone else grow up alone. it's a weird sort of limbo where he's waiting for the doctor but also has no certainty that he'll ever see him again, where he's made a life he's proud of with people he loves and yet there's always parts of him that are desperately unhappy - but he's getting by. he's good. he's got good things that get him through.

if he /didn't/ get his memories back, though, if he was just caught in that confusion forever... that's where I could really see him leaving. at some point he /does/ snap, and he just. heads off on his own, looking for something he can't remember. it feels good, to always be on the road, maybe to help people where he can as he passes through. he's not tied to anyone, doesn't have to be who anyone else wants him to be, and there's freedom in that. but he always feels like he /shouldn't/ be alone in this, that he should be wandering with someone.

[eerna]

I'm actually so insane over your chaos walking art oh my GOD!!! THANK YOU for the Fandom food I'm thriving right now omg. I'm so so curious what your mayor prentiss and mistress coyle designs would look like ,,,, AND DAVY,,,,, (begging on my knees)

HIIIII I'm so glad!! These books make my creative cogs spin so fast!!! I have some old fanart from 4 years ago for all three of them floating around this blog, but this time when I was rereading I imagined them completely differently so I actually gotta get to drawing those... Stay tuned!

[giantkillerjack]

Watching Horrible Histories for the first time and reminded about working conditions in the Victorian era and how British people in that time believe themselves to be the Pinnacle of society!

Which reminds me a lot of America today - the greatest country in the world (as long as you don't look too close)!

I'm sure it'd be alright if we did a little (or a shit load of) imperialism - after all, we have better ways of living we can share with these poor foreigners! (Ignore our medical mortality rate, we are doing AWESOME.)

[asirensrage]

Kioka and Inosuke love to spar! They’re definitely the bane of the Corps’ existence lmfaoooo but Giyuu loves Kioka despite how crazy she is. And Sanemi begrudgingly loves her too, even though he’s got many scars from her biting him. He couldn’t have wished for a better, more willing to learn student.

omg I can only imagine! Like this... lol

That's great! I love how much thought you've put into this and the relationships that she's developed!

[godmadeaterribleerror]

If You Only Knew

Main Masterlist

Read on A03! - Part 2

Tags: Soldier Boy/Female Reader, fluff, pining, emotions (oh no), swearing

Title from I Can See You by Taylor Swift.

Summary/Warnings: Request from an anon! Ben is experiencing feelings. Real feelings. For a woman. But his reputation his proceeds him, so trying to win her over is taking a while. Once he gets a chance, he simply fucking refuses to blow it.

Author's Note: Ben proving once again that he's my favorite character to write for. I get to type "fuck" so much in his pov.

Word Count: 6.3k

Ben was not listening to any of these stupid fucking speeches. They were all the same, every goddamn year, and usually he’d at least pretend to pay attention—nodding like he gave a fuck about who this random pussy wanted to thank, applauding when everyone else applauded because he could do it louder, and better—for the sake of the cameras.

But this year he had better fucking priorities. Ones that were far more important than saving the birds from cancer, or whatever the fuck this charity did.

He was looking for Her. 

She was here. She had to be here. She’d said she’d be here, so She was here. Ben couldn’t fucking find Her, but she was here. 

Christ, he needed Her to be here. He hadn’t fought to wear a real, well-tailored suit and made that big donation just for Her to not be here. For Ben to just be acting like a pussy fucking dumbass for everyone but Her to see.

He’d let Her see it, because she seemed to like stuff like that. Romantic shit that women always liked, but bigger. Showing that Ben cared.

And he didn’t care about the birds, or dogs, or cats, or whatever the hell they were all doing here. He did care about Her, and getting Her to stop acting like she didn’t care about him.

He knew She cared about him. If She didn’t care, She wouldn’t ask him about his day like she always did. Specifying small things from shit he’d said two weeks, asking follow-up questions and making soft, adorable jokes through the conversation. She wouldn’t tell him about Her own day, like she really wanted him to know. She wouldn’t say Ben like She did. Like it was a word she liked saying. That felt right on Her tongue.

But She cared about Ben, not Soldier Boy. She didn’t even seem to fucking like Solider Boy, because the only times she really looked at him was when he wore dumb fucking people clothing instead of his supe suit. When he did things that boring citizens did, and when he told Her real things about himself. He’d tried all the regular moves on Her, the ones that usually got women to melt right to his will, and she’d been unaffected. He’d used all his best hero stories, and She’d seemed to be listening but not invested. Not swooning. He’d shown off his powers, and She’d flushed but hadn’t fawned, hadn’t fallen to Her knees. He’d casually dropped into conversation that he was considered the most attractive man alive, and She’d fucking giggled.

What had gotten Her was when he’d told Her about his real life, where he lived alone in a too big house that all the whores in the world couldn’t fill. When he’d mentioned how much he fucking hated school, and She’d asked why, and he’d told Her honestly. Ben hadn’t been honest about jack fucking shit in almost sixty years.

But She’d listened to him, smiled, not made a big fucking deal about it, and he’d been a goner. Nobody ever listened and actually fucking cared. 

But She’d cared about Ben.

She cared about almost everything.

It was the first thing Ben had learned about her. That she really goddamn cared. He hadn’t seen that before. It was jarring, and infuriating, and better than goddamn heroine. Because it wasn’t a show, like all the stupid fucking pussy supes and Vought employees had mastered. Nobody in this room gave a shit about the dogs. They were here for the photo ops, and press, and good will of the public. They were here because it was their damn jobs, and saving the dogs looked good on a front page.

She was here because she fucking cared. She actually was saving the kittens. She fucking volunteered here, for no pay or glory or opportunities to get massive rounds of applause when She gave a teary speech about how much she’d always loved cats, like Crimson Countess was now.

Everyone in this room—from Ben to the red-clad bitch on stage—had shit to gain from being here. She only had shit to lose. She worked for a middle school, because she liked kids and teaching and making a real difference. She lived in a shitty little apartment that could barely fit Ben through the door. She always had bags under her eyes that Ben wanted to fix—to pin Her down in bed until she got some real goddamn sleep—messy hair Ben wanted to comb his finger through, and cheap clothing Ben wanted to rip off Her body.

And fucking Christ, he was a pussy. He wanted Her more than he’d ever wanted goddamn anything, and he’d repeated over and over in the first few months that it was the chase. That he wanted Her because he couldn’t have her, and once he caught Her he’d get over it. Stop trailing around after a fucking woman. A girl, as if he was a fucking teenager with a crush instead of a goddamn man who could have whatever, whoever, he wanted.

And he fucking knew She wanted him. She’d wanted him from the start, when he’d been touring Her school for a public education PSA, and She’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and when he’d stuck around and bought Her lunch and asked Her out she’d looked at him like she wanted to eat him.

But then She’d said no.

And Ben had chased. He’d kept buying Her lunch, started driving her home, and gone to all the stupid charity galas just to see Her and convince her to say yes. Then he’d realized he wasn’t chasing to chase anymore. He wasn’t even chasing to catch.

He was chasing to stop running. To have Her grin at him, and say She wanted him, and then keep wanting him for the rest of her life. And Ben would keep wanting Her. She was sweet and She cared, She was fucking hot and smarter than everyone he worked with, she had the patience and kindness of a goddamn Saint, and Ben didn’t ever want to see her flicker or waver or be anything but happy. He wanted to give Her whatever she asked for, and all he had to do was convince Her that it wasn’t a fucking show. That Ben really just fucking wanted Her, in a stupid, pathetic, domestic way.

But She didn’t believe him. Every time he said that she just laughed and wave him off like it was a joke, acting like She just wanted to be Ben’s friend.

He liked Her as a friend. She might be the only real friend he had.

He’d like Her more in his bed, coming apart under his touch and ruined on his mouth and screaming his name when he fucked Her until whole goddamn house shook.

He’d like Her best at his side when he woke up, and in his kitchen wearing his shirt, and on his arm at all these stupid fucking let’s all blow each other about how fucking rich and important we are parties. 

He’d fucking worship the ground She walked on if, after every day, Ben got to pick Her up from her stupid fucking job—he’d try to convince Her to quit, he made more than enough money for both of them, but he also knew she taught for the  damn love of it and he’d never want to deprive Her of something she loved—and carry Her into their house. If he got to keep telling her about his day like he was a real person and not a goddamn brand.

And She had to fucking want that too. She’d have avoided him and cursed him out if She didn’t want him at all. She’d have given into his advances sooner if She didn’t want the same that kind of life Ben craved, where he didn’t look anywhere else but Her, and he spoiled and treated Her like the queen she was.

He just had to convince Her that he wouldn’t look anywhere else. That his gaze had barely even strayed since they met. That he’d been celibate like some pussy fucking priest for a fucking year, and he was starting to lose his fucking mind—his hand was not enough, not when he kept fantasizing about Her body and how fucking warm and tight she’d feel wrapped around him—but he’d hold out until She was ready. Until She finally got that he was fucking serious about this. He was honorable, and a goddamn gentleman, and there wasn’t a single motherfucker on planet that could treat Her as well as he would.

But Ben still had to find Her to show her that. She wasn’t anywhere in between the ribbons and balloons covering the ballroom, and he couldn’t place Her silhouette backstage, so She wasn’t here. Ben would’ve found Her by now. He’d trained himself to find Her anywhere, even if it wasn’t somewhere he was supposed to be talking to anyone but the press and the suits. Just to keep an eye on Her, and make sure she was okay. 

Sometimes he’d see that there was a slump in Her beautiful shoulders, or a pout on her pretty lips, and he’d work out an excuse to slip all the Vought pussies to talk to Her. 

She’d smile when she saw him. 

So Ben fucking knew She wanted him. Because it was a soft smile he saw Her give her students and roommates. The real people She liked, who she kept around her on purpose. Not the smile he’d seen Her give that weird Stan Edgar douchebag, or Countess, or any other Vought officials she had to interact with for the charities. Not the sickly-sweet smile She gave all those rich pussies, where she was only smiling to try and get a little more money out them. The smile where She was disgusted with herself, but was doing it to save the squirrels. Or free the squirrels. Or find the squirrels.

Ben really didn’t fucking know what any of these charities did. 

But he had a damn good idea of where he’d find Her.

It wasn’t easy to slip through the crowd without anyone noticing, but he managed. The key was to head for the bathrooms, stay away from the cameras, and out of where Countess could see him and try to fucking start something in a closet. But Ben made it, and then he was fucking free, heading right to where he should’ve been the whole time.

With Her.

Ben heard Her first. Mumbling to Herself as soft clicks sounded, her voice hushed and flustered. She was having trouble with something.

Ben could help Her.

When he turned the corner, She was on Her knees in front of a door, frowning at the handle with an adorable little furrow in Her brow. She looked fucking amazing. Hair styled perfectly, makeup clean and highlighting Her every flawless feature, wearing a dress that Ben wanted to imprint the image of on his brain—every curve and dip right fucking there for him to touch, every shift of Her body giving Ben a new idea of how he’d like to see Her bounce on his cock—then rip off so he could have Her everything. Her warm skin against his, her careful fingers wrapped around his dick or scratching at his chest, Her hair ruined and her makeup stained on his pillow-

“Ben, stop creeping around.”

He frowned at Her. She’d never even glanced away from the door handle.

“How the fuck did you know it was me?”

“You’re not small,” She shrugged, still not looking at him. “And you’re wearing a lot of cologne. Special occasion?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” He moved to stand at Her side, grinning down at her as he tried to get back on his game. He was fucking good at this, he would not allow Her sweet, refreshing… everything to throw him off. “I’m rescuing you tonight.”

She hummed. “Rescuing me from what?”

“This door. He giving you some trouble?” 

She finally fucking looked at him. Her eyes were sparkling, her smile was full and illuminating her whole face, and Ben’s fucking knees were going to give out. 

“You put on cologne to rescue me from a door?”

Ben cleared his throat. His game. He would not fucking lose his game. “Yes.”

Fuck.

She was still smiling at him. It was making his head spin a little. “Why?”

Ben could fucking do this. He did this all the time. And just because She was prettier and smarter and more important than anyone else didn’t mean Ben couldn’t fucking do this. 

“Because you deserve the best being saved experience in the damn world, doll face.” He winked down at Her, and she flushed slightly. There it fucking was. “Nothing but the best for my girl.”

“Oh.” She mumbled, Her eyes wide on his. “I, um, I don’t really need saving right now-“

“Then why the fuck are you on the floor.”

She sighed, leaning the side of Her head against the door, still looking up at Ben. He hoped She never stood up. This was going to fuel his hand for another goddamn year. “I’m supposed to handle the raffle but, um,” She sunk fully down to the floor, rubbing her face between her hands. “I locked myself out of the office.”

Ben glanced at the door, then at Her openly pouting expression. “You need to be in there?”

“Yeah, and everyone else who has a key is- Ben!”

He’d barely waited to hear Her say yeah before he was winding up and punching the door clean off its hinges. Splinters of wood flew everywhere, but he’d been fucking ready for that, and moved to block Her from harm. She wouldn’t ever get so much as a fucking scratch as long as Ben was around, and she should know that. Trust that. Trust Ben to help Her with whatever the hell she needed, because then he’d be the one she trusted. 

Her hand was grabbing his shin. It felt like fucking lighting through his whole goddamn body.

“There.” He leaned down, helping Her up from the floor, scanning over her slack face for any gratitude or anger or—hopefully—pure joy and affection for Ben’s undying service. “Go do the raffle.”

“I- God, Ben.” She sighed, and he frowned. That was not how She was supposed to sigh his name. ”I have to fix that now.”

“No.” He grunted, frowning around the broken wood and clearing dust. “I’ll do that.” 

“It’s okay, I can do it-“

“I fucking broke it.” He snapped Her name, because he was a goddamn man, he could fix a door. For Her, he could fix fucking anything. “I’ll take care of it.”

She gave him a small smile, squeezing his arm as she stepped into the office. “Sure.”

He trailed after Her into the office, still frowning. “I will-“

“You’ll find someone else to fix it, Soldier Boy.” She gave him a gentle, teasing look over Her shoulder, and Ben hated when she called him that. He knew who he was. Everyone knew who he was. He wanted Her to know Ben.

He opened his mouth to protest, to snap that he could fucking fix it, that he wasn’t some fucking pussy who needed to call a bunch of fucking dumbasses to fix a goddamn door, but She’d already moved on, and Ben never really knew how to do anything but move with Her.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know.”

“I don’t have any other shit to do,” Ben grunted Her name, standing right against Her back as she leaned over the desk, grabbing paper and a pencil. “I’m yours for the night.”

She hummed, and Ben could fucking hear Her heart stumble. “Mine?”

“Yours, sweetheart. However you need me.” Ben winked, and that was definitely at least a hitched breath. “I could do… whatever the fuck you’re doing.”

“I’m pulling the numbers for the raffles prizes,” She explained, moving to bunch of buckets, all filled with paper. “What did you put in for? I can rig it, you know.”

Ben snorted. “You’d never fucking rig it-“

“I might.” She shot Ben a glare. It was adorable. “You don’t know me-“

“Yeah, I do.” Ben smirked at Her, leaning down until he was hardly a breath away. “You’re a fucking square, doll, but I’m into it. I think I could loosen you up, just up for me, but,” he winked, savoring the way Her mouth dropped slightly. “I think I like you tight too.”

She swallowed, Her eyes darting down to Ben’s lips, and when she spoke her voice was a little soft. “You, um, you didn’t answer my question?”

Ben shrugged, rising back up as She collected herself. He wouldn’t push Her all the way, not here. When he finally kissed Her, it should be somewhere movie-worthy. In the rain, or in a garden, or on a rooftop. Not a stupid fucking office. “That’s because I didn’t put in for anything.”

“Nothing?” She blinked at him. “There was nothing you wanted? Because I know a lot of the prizes are kind of dumb, but I got some good ones in there. At least, I thought they were good? Did none of them-“

“Relax.” Ben said Her name, giving Her an amused look, and she took a long, heavy breath. “They were fucking great prizes. I thought about going in on that car-“

“Really?” Her face split into a smile, and Ben forgot what they were talking about for a second. “I actually put that one in there for- um-“

She flushed, and Ben felt his own heart flare in his chest. He fucking had Her. 

“You put the car in the raffle for me, babygirl?” He only let himself call Her that when he knew he could get away with it. When She wouldn’t laugh and ask him if he called all the girls that, when he didn’t have any other fucking girls. He just had Her. 

And She was so fucking pretty, gaping and stuttering at him, Her whole face slack with want. For Ben. Ben fucking knew She wanted him. “I, um- I- Maybe, but you didn’t even bid on it-“

He chuckled, taking a slow step forward. Closer. She didn’t take a step back. “It was a great fucking prize, doll, don’t lose your damn mind.”

“I’m not- If it’s great, why didn’t you-“

“I’ve got almost everything I want already,” He drawled Her name. Another step. “And I didn’t come here to get a damn car.”

“Why, um,” She swallowed, her voice breathy and like a fucking drug in Ben’s ears. “Why did you come here?”

“To get that one thing I don’t have.” He dropped his voice, taking that last step forward, caging Her between his arms and the desk, smirking as Her hand landed on his stomach, slowly trailing up to his chest. Not pushing him away, not moving closer. Just watching Ben with blown out eyes and ragged breathes like She’d never taken in air before. “The one thing I really fucking want.”

“You, um,” Her hand curl in Ben’s shirt, and when he leaned into her touch, he heard a soft moan. “I saw that you still gave us money. Outside of the raffle. It was, um, ah- It was really-“

Ben raised his brows, watching Her stumble over herself. “Need some help there, darling?”

“No, I’m- The donation was big.” Her voice high and needy, and Ben did have fucking game. He was goddamn amazing at this. “Impressive.”

“Of course, babygirl.” Ben winked at Her, leaning down to whisper in Her ear. “I’m big and impressive. And I care a lot about curing the fucking cats-“

“Kids.” She said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “This charity is for kids. And we’re not curing them, we’re feeding them.”

“Oh.” Ben blinked, trying to remember if any of the speeches had actually mentioned what this charity did. If they had, he hadn’t damn heard it. Most of them had just been blowing themselves about how much they fucking loved changing the world. “I care about kids, too. And curing them of, uh, hunger.”

She giggled, and Ben’s smirk returned. He still had Her.

“You know,” he hummed, leaning a little closer and watching Her eyes flick to his lips. “I’m fucking amazing with kids-“

“I do know.” She whispered. “All my students loved you.”

“Of course they do. They’re smart, because they’re taught by a hot, smart fucking lady. A lady,” Ben pushed on, and if he moved just a little further forward, She’d feel the evidence of how much he fucking wanted Her—perfect body and pretty brain and gorgeous face—pressed against her thigh. “Who’d make some great kids, with me-“

She laughed, rolling Her eyes, but it wasn’t her usual dismissive laugh. It was softer. Ben was closer to having Her forever. “Okay, Ben. Go bother your date with that shit-“

“I don’t have a date to bother.” He held Her gaze, making his words plain. Simple. “So I guess I’m stuck bothering you.”

“I, um, I- You- You don’t-“ Her jaw was hanging open, Her fingers fidgeting with Ben’s shirt in Her hand, and he was so close. 

This wasn’t the romantic setting it needed to be. And She had to find him for this. She needed to tell Ben that She wanted him for him, to throw herself into him arms with a plea for him to hold Her. And when She did, he’d hold Her and never let go.

But She had to do it. Ben needed know that She understood he wouldn’t be looking a single other fucking place.

So he pushed off the desk, hanging onto the racing sound of Her heartbeat, and begging the fucking universe She’d chase after him. Her hand was still in his shirt. Her breathing was still desperate. She was still licking her own lips, and staring at Ben’s-

“I have to go deliver the winner list.” She whispered, taking a step away from the desk. Still touching Ben. “I’ll see you later?”

He didn’t get Her now. He’d keep going until he did. “You always fucking do.”

She gave him a smile, stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, and walked away. Just fucking walked away, like Ben wasn’t going out of his goddamn mind from Her touch. Like She hadn’t just found the one thing that might actually fucking kill him, like She wasn’t a living, walking fucking weakness, like Her presence made Ben not care about being weak. He couldn’t care about anything but Her, not while She was still lingering in the air around him.

But She walked away, and now he was alone in this stupid goddamn office.

And he was going to fix that fucking door.

———

It’s getting harder and harder to turn Ben down. Harder and harder to remind yourself of his reputation, and history, and overall inability to give you anything but sex.

It doesn’t help that it would be good sex. Amazing sex. Sex that you’d had fantasies about before you even met him, because you had eyes and lived on planet Earth, and everyone with those two things had experienced a least one wet dream about Soldier Boy in their life.

But it was crippling how much more intricate and prevalent those fantasies had gotten after he’d stopped being Soldier Boy to you and started being Ben. Still all the looks and charm and impossible strength of the untouchable hero, but also just a big, grumpy man who looked at you like you were the untouchable one, like you were the work of art, like he wanted to grab you and ruin you.

You had to remind yourself that ruining you was all he really wanted. That yes, you’d be more than happy to let him wreck and use you, but you couldn’t just have that. Your dumb, romantic heart wanted him to care for you after he destroyed you with his hands and mouth and cock, then stay through the night and a little while after too. Stay forever. Walk with you on the streets, his arm looped around your waist, smile at you and never anywhere else.

That was why you couldn’t give in. Ben was your friend, and he obviously wanted you, but he just wanted the chase. He just wanted to win you, then leave after, and you couldn’t even be angry at him for it. That was just who he was. You wouldn’t ask him to change his whole lifestyle of fame and drugs and countless bodies passing through his bed just because you had a crush. Just because you got a little jealous whenever you’d see him dancing with other women on the grainy TV, because you knew him and they didn’t. You knew him as more than just the hero, and you liked him as more than just the brand, and you wanted him all to yourself but you couldn’t have that.

And if you gave in, you’d fall in love with him, and he’d ruin you in a way he’d never intended to. You know yourself. You know that he’ll show you the time of your life, you’ll go over the edge you’ve been balancing on since you met him, and you’ll have destroyed your own life. He wouldn’t stay until the morning. He’d probably move on by that same evening.

You were pretty sure he’d move on. That he’d still be your friend, but he’d have gotten what he wanted, and you’d be lost as he grabbed your heart out of your chest then walked away with it, never looking back.

But you’d also been sure he was still sleeping around. That he was chasing you, but just for the game of it. That he’d use spare time and opportunity to try and coax you into him arms, into his bed, but then turn around and find what you refused to give him elsewhere.

That hadn’t been his spare time. He’d probably had pictures to take and people to charm, but he’d still looked for you. So it wasn’t opportunity either. It was purposefully seeking you out, just to seek you out. 

Worst—or best—of all, he said he didn’t have a date. No dazzling woman on his arm that was suited to be there, designed just to throw his light a little wider around the room and match his power with her own. No goddess that you could never live up to, that would laugh and sneer at the little human girl with a crush on Soldier Boy. The mortal who thought she was good enough to string him along, when you really wanted nothing more than to stop making him chase you. To stop running so Ben could grab you, pick you up, and spin you around before kissing you like you were in a romance novel.

But he wouldn’t do that, so youcouldn’tstop running. You couldn’t afford heartbreak, couldn’t capitalize off of it with tabloids like the other women did. You weren’t cutthroat and savvy enough, weren’t strong enough, weren’t entertaining enough. You’d just wallow and cry and drag yourself through routine, fading to the world until something cracked. 

And you had to take care of yourself. Nobody else would.

If Ben broke your heart, you’d lose more than you even had to begin with. You’d lose yourself—because you’re stupid and emotional and can’t do anything but fall fully in love—you’d lose your mind, and you lose your peace as you attended more charity galas like this one, now forced to watch Ben laugh and grin with a different woman on his arm.

He wasn’t doing it now though, and it made is so much worse. You were standing off the side of the stage as they read off the raffle numbers, your eyes locked on Ben’s empty seat, and there was no pouting, beautiful woman waiting for him to return. Just two old men that kept glaring at the chair Ben was supposed to be occupying.

He still hasn’t returned to the ballroom, even though it’s been nearly an hour since you left the office. You’re not sure what he’s doing.

You don’t really want to think about it. You don’t want to think about how he doesn’t have anyone next to him—how if you think about it, he hasn’t had anyone for a while—but that’s just where you can see it. And Countess has vanished from the ballroom too. 

So he might just be keeping her where you can’t see it.

It makes your lungs ache and forms a small lump in your throat, but you refuse to let it destroy you. Ben’s not yours to be possessive over. Not yours to be bitter about. You can’t hate him—you don’t even know how you’d do that—but you can’t wallow when you have nothing to be heartbroken over. No promises were made, and Ben’s a grown man. He can do whatever he wants, with whoever he wants, as long as it’s away from you.

You’re not sure how you’ll manage when he finally gives up his chase. When he realizes one random girl really isn’t worth all this work, and leaves you alone. He’ll still be your friend, but the teasing and flirting will end, and you’ll have to pretend like he didn’t shatter you when he never held you to begin with. Like it won’t make you sick when he starts to have dates again, because you’d made him wait too long.

You honestly thought he’d stop chasing months ago. You’re surprised he’s held out this long. It’s been almost eighteen months since you met him and—if you really think about it—about a year since you’ve seen him flirt anyone else.

But Countess is still missing.

So you can’t give in.

You throw yourself back into the gala. It’s a good distraction from everything, and it makes you feel useful. You’re doing something that will be good. You’re taking the money of these shining, arrogant modern kings and directing it somewhere important. You’ll go through the whole show, you’ll give away all these prizes and feed all their egos with praise and thanks, because then they’ll keep giving the charity money and you’ll keep using it for good.

It’s why there’s always a speech to thank the top donors. To ensure that they feel appreciated, and make all the other rich assholes try to give more next time. You’re always in charge of the list, putting it together and running it over with the announcer, and you’re about halfway through it when Countess reappears. 

She doesn’t look like she just had sex. She mostly looks annoyed. 

You try not to dwell on it, and put all your focus onto the list.

“Dr. Vogelbaum from Vought American gave $10,000, so he’s second, and our top donor gave, um,” you swallow, praying the heat of your face isn’t visible you land on the last name. “$69,000.”

He’s such a fucking child. 

You want to kiss him so bad.

The Announcer clears his throat, giving you a pointed look. “$69,000 from whom?”

You’re definitely flushing now. “Oh, sorry, from Soldier Boy-“

Countess groans, throwing her hands up dramatically. “God, of course he fucking did that!”

The Announcer nods, seeming happy to just move on, but you need more. You need to know why she’d say that.

“Of course?” You ask, trying to sound as neutral as possible. “Why-“

“Because he’s a dick.” She spits. “First he tells Edgar he’s not doing all our PR dates, even though they’re in our contract, and then he won’t sleep with me for a fucking year, and now he’s trying to go all in on this sudden good guy shit?!”

You gape at her, your brain spinning a little as you try to catch up. “What good guy shit?”

“I mean all these donations, and reading books, and refusing to go to the conservation galas with me but then going alone? He wouldn’t even let me give him a hand job in the bathroom!”

You’re a little dizzy. You remember that gala. Ben had donated a lot of money, asked you your favorite animal, then made an even bigger donation to be use for that animal. 

“I don’t know what his game is,” Countess sneers, glaring at the wall in front of her. “But I’ll figure it out. He can’t hide from me forever.”

“Hide from you?” You squeak, thankful Countess seems too caught up in herself to notice how invested you are in this. “He’s hiding from you?”

“He’s hiding from everyone.” She snaps. “He keeps vanishing in the middle of the day and won’t tell anyone where he’s going. He doesn’t go to any my parties anymore, and last week I caught him looking a fucking flowers.” Her face twists in disgust, and you realize the Announcer has taken the list from your hands and walked on stage, but you don’t really care. You’re rooted in place, trying desperately to piece this together. 

“Were, um, were the flowers for you-“

“No!” She shouts, throwing her hands up once more. “I think he has a fucking secret girlfriend or something, and he’s trying to hide it from Vought!” 

“Why would he, um, why would he hide it-“

“I don’t know.” Countess’ eyes narrow on you, and your mouth goes dry, your heartbeat loud in your ears. “But I’ll figure him out. He’s never bought me flowers.”

“Oh.” Your whole body is suddenly on edge. You need to go find Ben, now. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” She sighs, and you breathe a little easier when she asks, “Who are you?”

“I’m, um, a volunteer. With the charity.” You shrug, grateful she doesn’t remember that you’ve met before. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to give her your name. Not with the possibly stupid choice you’re about to make. “Excuse me, I have to go… take a shit.”

You turn on your heels before she can ask any other questions, and almost run down the halls. You don’t know what you’ll tell Ben when you find him, but you know you have to say something. If Countess is telling the truth—and you think she is, because she’s not really a good actress—then you need to find Ben and say something-

You freeze when you see him. Right where you left him in the hall, hair a little messier, jacket gone and tie undone, standing tall with a proud grin as he looks at the door to the office.

The door.

He’d fixed the door.

And when he turns to you, he’s smiling. For you. It’s not his plastered, over-exaggerated smile, the one that’s more blinding than the flashing cameras capturing it. It’s a real, strong smile. He says your name like he’d never want to say anything else, and you cut him off with a whisper.

“You never told me you that you sent those roses.”

“The roses?” Ben’s voice is low and cautious as he holds your gaze. “You mentioned you wanted flowers for your classroom, so I got you fucking flowers-“

“But why didn’t you say you got them?” You take a slow step towards him, and you could swear he stands a little straighter.

“Because I didn’t fucking think I needed to.” He grunts. “Who the hell else would be sending you flowers?”

“No one. But I didn’t- I thought it was a mistake. I didn’t think anyone would send me flowers.”

Ben frowns. “Did you throw them-“

“No. I kept them.” You give him a small smile, taking another step. “They were beautiful.”

“Good.” He mutters, his hands flexing at his side. “That was the goddamn point.”

You hum in agreement, glancing around him. “You fixed the door.”

“I fucking said I would-“

“And you turned down a hand job from Countess.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “And a blowjob, the bitch couldn’t understand that I-“ He cuts himself off, something hot flashing in his eyes as his voice drops. “How the fuck did you know that.”

“She told me.” Another step. You could touch him, if you tried. “And she said you haven’t slept with her for almost year. That you don’t tell anyone where you go when you vanish in the middle of the day.”

“It’s none of their goddamn business where I’m going. You don’t need the fucking press following you around.” He pauses, giving you a strange look. “And I haven’t slept with fucking anyone,” he mutters your name, and your breathing becomes shallow. 

“Why?”

Ben’s nostrils flare, and your knees might give out. You’re pretty sure he’d catch you, but you need to stay lucid long enough to hear him. To know that it’s safe to fall.

“I only want you, babygirl.” He takes his own step forward, and you can feel the heat of his body. “I’ve been fucking trying to tell you that for a goddamn year, but-“

You reach up to cover his hand with your mouth, scanning over his beautiful face. You think he’s telling the truth. And it doesn’t really matter if he’s not.

Because no matter what you’ve been telling yourself, your heart is already Ben’s to break.

You might as well give him a chance to try and keep it safe.

“Ben?”

He grunts against your hand, but doesn’t pry it away. He’s leaning into it. 

And you’re a goner.

“Ask me on a date.”

Your hand has barely moved when he catches it, presses a kiss to you knuckles, and speaks against your skin. 

“Let me take you on a date,” he mutters your name, and there it is. You give in. 

“Okay.” You smile at him, and he looks almost boyish with excitement. It’s a little intoxicating. “I’ll will.”

End Note: Once again saying I really think Ben just needs a cool wife to obsesses over and be violent for and he'd chill out.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

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@jackles010378 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @chi-raz

[0mg-bird]

Sunrise~ Tyler Owens x Fem! Reader

Summary: The curious case of the tornado wranglers, down to earth, girlfriend.

A/n: I just watched Twisters and am in love. Right now Sunrise by Ryan Bingham is my favorite song so here’s a little one shot inspired by it.

Warnings: Language, implied smut

Everyone’s called you crazy ever since you were born. The people in your small Texas town said you were the wild child, your parents had four boys and when their baby girl came around, she had a mean streak just like her brothers. Ten years old and standing in an empty corn field, looking at the thunder heads forming above you, hot and muggy air gusting against your skin, the crack of thunder didn’t scare you, you were utterly curious and amazed. You’ve known storms since you were a babe, you remember the shrill sound of the sirens going off and your mama screaming for you to come inside. Your family was in a panic, you remember your daddy letting the horses loose and the way the cattle ran. That funnel touched down and prayers were prayed, you watched from the bathroom window despite the way your mama dragged you away.

It was beautiful, so utterly terrifying in the distance, a force of straight power.

You were hooked.

Telling your parents you were going to the University of Arkansas to study meteorology was a good idea in theory until they told you becoming a weather girl was a sweet job.

You told them about storm chasing and your mama almost had a stroke.

But you’ve worried everyone your whole life, only you would choose something so crazy.

You met Tyler your sophomore year when you had the same class, your energetic personality hid the fact you were a nerdy kind of cowgirl. The two of you quickly became best friends, despite his cocky personality. You formed a dare devil connection, you were the call he made when he got a lead on something.

Graduation came and you said you were going back home, he hated that idea.

“Come with me.” He said.

“Where?”

“Anywhere, everywhere.”

It’s hard to say no to a man with puppy dog eyes.

Somewhere between gathering a crew up from all over the boons and adopting a one eyed dog you found stranded after a storm in Little Rock, the two of you fell so deep for each other, it hit harder than any storm you experienced.

Here you are now in Oklahoma, cutting through fields in Tyler’s red Ram truck. “Lilly, talk to me.” You call over the radio system on the dash, looking for what data the girl in the vehicle following has. In the backseat, Boone, the right hand man, is recording like always, talking to the followers.

“Welcome back guys, we’re currently back at it again in the Oklahoma plains. This beauty we’re going into is gaining speed, turning into something good. What are we thinking, Tex?”

You look to the camera and smile. “You know, I’d like to call this an easy F2 but the strong updraft we’re getting here could push this baby into the F3 category.”

Also from the back seat, Ben, the London journalist asks to explain what you just said.

The rain cap starts and muddies the earth, the truck drifts as Tyler maneuvers it greatly. You pull your sunglasses off and lean forward to get a better look at what you’re driving into.

“What are you thinking, darlin’?” Tyler asks, seeing the way you evaluate the area.

“Take a left, it ain’t gonna hit the tree line, see the way the wind shifted?” You instruct.

“Yes ma’am.” He nods, giving you one of his perfect grins before making a sharp left.

Ben makes a sort of strangled cry of fear as he gets tossed around in the back. You, completely nonchalant, chewing on a Red Vine, turn to look at the Brit.

“Ben, baby, how you feeling back there?” You ask, pointing something else out to Tyler.

“Oh I’m bloody great.” He lies before getting knocked into the door again. You laugh. “Man, I love this guy.” You declare, finding him so amusing. “Let’s keep him, Ty.”

He rolls his eyes at you, making you scoff. You look at the dog in your lap who’s wearing a tiny helmet with the words ‘Killa’ written across the front. “What you think, Rocky? You wanna keep Ben?”

The dog lays his head down and places his paw over his small snout.

“Rude. Ty, Rock used to agree to everything I say, now you’ve done gone and brain washed him. Poor fella.” You pout before yelping in surprise at the way Tyler drifts into a spot. He grips the radio, calling for the convoy to assume their positions.

“Sorry, I’m no expert but it looks like the twister is going to roll right over us.” Ben says as everyone buckles their harnesses.

“You’re exactly right Benny boy.” You say, opening the center console and placing Rocky inside his designated safety seat. “We need to be in its path so the data bugs we’ll launch have enough wind speed to reach the height needed. Put your harness on and you’ll be about as secure as a pistol in a PTA Mama’s purse.”

Ben looks to Boone in question. Boone just shrugs. “At some point you get used to all the odd shit she says.”

Tyler cranks the E brake, then looks at you with a smirk. “You wanna touch my joystick?” He ask, motioning to the control stick that has the button to activate the drills that will anchor the truck into the ground.

“I love it when you talk dirty to me.” You scrunch your nose, pushing the button.

The truck is secured, you’re all buckled in tight, now you have to focus on when it’s the perfect time to launch the processors. Things are blowing against the windows, Tyler’s laughing and Boone is howling into the camera, showing the viewers what they see.

“Tell me when.” Tyler says, and as thick water drops pummel the windshield, you stay silent, waiting…watching.

“Now!” You shout and he presses the button that activates the hydraulic opening lid to the tub in the truck bed, the small bug sensors fly out and are carried up into the funnel that is passing over you.

“Breaker breaker, what are we seeing?” You call into the radio, Dexter in the caravan off in the clearing responds. “We got eyes, Tex. Data is coming in clear.”

You shoot your arms up in victory, this was the first time you were launching the 2.0 sensors. “There we go!” You look directly into the camera Boone is pointing at you. “You see that kids? I still got it.”

You watch the storm pass you, the funnel goes into the distance and the winds calm a bit as you unbuckle your harness. You’re pulling the pup from its safety and throwing open the door, running to the spot it just was.

“Whoo!” You hear Tyler whoop, and you throw that snapback hat of his you were wearing, adrenaline pumping through you. He sweeps you into his large arms, twirling you around. “Did you see that, baby? God, that was beautiful.” He laughs and you pull on the brim of his cowboy hat. “I sure did, let’s go get those bugs before we lose their signals, cowboy.”

Later as you set up camp in some cheap motel, Ben is approaching Lilly and Boone with questions.

“I need a story about the girl, uh Tex? Does she have a name?” He settles into one of the fold out chairs and motions to you sitting on the roof of the truck, looking up at the stars and listening to the music playing on the radio.

Lilly chuckles and then makes an adjustment to her drone. “She does, but she’d kill you if she found out you was using her government name in your fancy paper.”

Ben finds that interesting, he writes a few notes about a very mysterious persona you have. “How long has she been in this business? I tried to ask her some questions but she shushed me and told me she was ‘meditating to a Childers song’ and it was very important that she did this.”

Boone shakes his head. “She says confusing stuff to make people go away when she wants her peace.” He explains. “Tex is the original, her and T were the ones to assemble the squad of us, they taught me everything I know. She might be crazier than he is if I’m bein’ honest, always pushing the limits but every move she makes is calculated.”

Lilly agrees. “She’s my best friend, but has always been a curious case. She comes from Texas, hence the nickname and the accent that gets too thick when she’s drunk. Mama wanted her to be this Southern belle but she turned out to be a real wrangler. She’s the smartest person I know, but has a very relaxed way about her.”

“Who?” Dexter asks as he passes by.

“Tex.” They answer.

He shakes his head. “That girl’s a tree hugging loon.”

Ben quickly comes to know the dynamic of you and Tyler. There is no home but each other, you make the best of every situation because you are together. Two pairs of cowboy boots and wide eyes, that’s what you two are.

“I’d compare her to like…a coyote.” Lilly determines. “She’s the perfect balance of wisdom and foolishness, always willing to make light of situations. One time, we were tracking a desert storm in New Mexico and we were camping in our trucks, it was hot, all our leads were gone and we’re ready to turn back. The sunrise comes and it’s prettiest thing I ever seen, we wake up to just a color spill of orange and pink. We open our doors up and Tex is out there dancing in a sports bra and boxers.”

Boone leans back in his chair, laughing at the memory. “Man, we thought she finally lost it, that being with Tyler for so long finally made her go off the rails. T is standing there, watching her, asking what the hell she was doing and she claims she was doing a rain dance.” He says, making Ben chuckle to himself.

Lilly lights a cigarette and rolls her eyes. “She was out there shaking her ass.”

“You fucking joined her!” Boone argues, taking the cigarette from her.

“Well yeah, you don’t let your best friend dance alone. And what happened that day? The rain came and the biggest thunderheads I had ever seen blew in. The lightning was beautiful, Ben, you shoulda been there.”

New Mexico rain was a memory you thought of often, it just felt a little fresher. Blame it on the heat you were dying of or the thirsty land you stood on, but you stood out in it, getting soaked to the bone and then fell into Tyler’s arms.

Now, far away in Oklahoma, Tyler stands looking up at you soaking in the moonlight. “Come down from there.” He calls. You lean over the edge of the roof and look at him. “Why don’t you come up here?” You challenge.

Tyler shakes his head. “I’m tired, darlin’. Let me take you inside.”

You look back up at the stars, then slide from the top of the truck, making him reach out and catch you. “Alright, take me to bed you old man.”

He shakes his head at your comment. It’s hard to resist anymore, you just looked so gorgeous underneath the moonlight. He leans to kiss you, nothing too deep but still of passion because he loves tasting the sugar of your lips, you were always so sweet that it made his head cloudy.

Arm around your shoulders, yours around his waist, the two of you say goodnight to your friends and head to your motel room, Rocky trotting after you. The lock on the door is hard to budge open, the room has a sort of stale smell.

As Tyler is distracted by setting up a bed for the dog, you grab your things from your duffel. “Dibs in the bathroom.” You shout before making a run for it. Tyler groans and tries to beat you, but you stand in the doorway, sticking your tongue out at him. “You just gotta be faster.” You tease before shutting the door in his face.

The low bulb light casts a hazy orange glow to everything, you start the shower and find it to have weak water pressure. Your clothes make a pile on the floor and soon the air steams up.

Your muscles relax as you wash off, you let out a small groan at your fingers scrubbing your scalp. The sound of the shower curtain being pulled back and Tyler stepping in behind you makes you turn. “I haven’t even been in here that long.”

He shrugs, then moves to hog the water. “I got impatient.”

After being with someone for so long and sharing everything, nothing really fazes you. The crew jokes that you and Tyler could probably morph into one body at this point.

By the time the two of you are mostly rinsed off, he’s getting handsy. His fingers trace over your handful of tattoos, wet skin sliding across you in a feverish way. You lean your head back against his shoulder, looking up at him. “Ty…”

He looks down you was an innocent smile. “Oh come on, we’ve been traveling with people for too long. We get one night without Boone gagging when I kiss you.” He says, then leans his head down, nuzzling into your neck.

You bite your lip at the feeling, your arm coming up to run your hand through his hair. “Who’s in the room next to us? These walls are thin.”

“I don’t give a shit about that.” He mumbles, hand slipping far past your navel, earning a loud gasp from you.

You lean your weight back against him, nodding feverishly as his fingers do wonders to an aching spot between your legs. “Okay, not having Boone around is really good.” You breathe.

He’s practically holding you up, his other arm is around you, holding you to his chest while he makes you fall apart.

It didn’t matter that the room hasn’t been updated since the 80’s or that the mattress groaned under the weight of the two of you or that Rocky runs and hides, the two of you were savoring this alone time because you didn’t know when the next time would be when you got it.

You’re laughing, making out and switching positions. The feel of his hand running past the valley of your breasts and giving your throat the lightest grip, it makes you feel on fire. The headboard’s getting knocked into the wall, you’re breathlessly whining and he’s loving every reaction you give him. By the time you’re gripping his shoulders so tight and his name is sounding broken as it cuts from your throat, he’s barely holding himself up.

The air conditioning makes an odd hum sound as you lay against him, skin on skin. You never understood how people could get bored of sex after being with someone for a while, having sex with Tyler Owens was hotter than west Texas in the Summer.

Well, the first time was a little awkward. Most people don’t establish they love each other before they sleep with each other, but you guys did. When you sat in his lap, lips slotted against his, you had to fight to push the idea out of your mind that you were grinding against your best friend. Everything was slow and every touch was unsure, after it ended you were scared that the relationship dynamic would never work if this was how sex was together.

You laugh now, thinking about it.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, fingers tracing the long horn skull that is tramp stamped on you.

“I’m just remembering the first time we had sex.” You shake with amusement. He groans. “You have to stop bringing that up.”

Pushing up from his chest, the blanket falls off of you. He watches in amazement as you swing your leg over his waist, your hands planted on his chest. “I think it’s cute, we were just babies.”

“Yeah, sometimes I miss the days where I didn’t know how insane you were.”

You glare, immediately going to move off of him before his grip yanks you back to your spot.

“I’m kidding, I always knew you were crazy.” He says.

“You love it.” You lean over him, and his hand comes to tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “You know I do, darlin’.”

Falling asleep was easy, you could fall asleep anywhere, but in a bed with Tyler holding you to his chest, it had you dreaming in seconds. You wake before he does, slowly sliding away to get dressed. You stand at the balcony outside, a cup of coffee in your hand as you watch the sunrise. After a few moments of peace, the door behind you opens and out comes your lover boy.

“No rain dance this morning?” He asks, kissing the top of your head.

“There’s plenty of rain in Oklahoma, they don’t need me to shake my ass in the parking lot for it to come.” You state, leaning down to pick up Rocky who trailed out after Tyler.

The two- well, three of you, look out at the horizon line, the air is already getting hot.

“You ready?” He asks you, and you turn to kiss his jaw. “I’m always ready.”

[starpunkssgalaxy]

another sbg headcanons post 🤝

- ash will randomly get the shakes after everything that happened in the phantom dimension, if you look through her phone camera roll a lot of the pictures are blurry because she cant stop her hands from shaking

- ^ aiden lends her his rubix cube (other fidget toys) to try and help her calm down and give her something else to focus on

- taylor lovesss rollercoasters and will always drag tyler along, tyler isn’t terrified but they’re definitely not his favorite

- logan has a pair of converse that he needs to retire so bad, these shoes are hanging on by a thread its so bad 😭

- aiden can fall asleep anywhere, like tf are you doing in the sink??? (if he didnt have insomnia. we all seen those eyebags he dont sleep lol)

- ben is really quiet when he walks so sometimes he’ll just appear behind you and scare the shit out of you

- when the group needs bait/a distraction everyone always turns to tyler and taylor. they use the “get help” strategy, its usually tyler leaning on taylor like hes hurt and taylor screaming for help (guys say yk what im talking about 😔, thor and loki?)

- aiden trying to lighten the mood after being in the phantom dimension: so.. smash or pass?

everyone else: 😐

- aiden the type to tell the exact same story 15 times to the group forgetting hes already told them the story but they listen every single time too

- logan knows how to breakdance??? he just busted it out randomly one day and everyone was floored 😭💀

- when ben is mad/annoyed he does that thing cats do where he’ll just slowly slide something off a shelf or table onto the floor

- group went roller skating once and obviously ash was amazing at it, and ben, taylor, and logan were pretty good as well but meanwhile aiden and tyler were just either tripping eachother, holding on to eachother for support or dying laughing when one of them fell and ate shit

- in class they were assigned those fake babies you have to take care of, logan? amazing at it but was so tired afterwards. ben? pretty good but is a heavy sleeper so slept through the baby crying. taylor and tyler made a good team but tyler almost lost his mind when the baby would just non stop cry. ash evil eyed this thing the whole time, would carry it around by the head 😭 also had her headphones on 24/7 because she couldn’t stand the noise. aiden left his in the freezer, and then couldnt find it for days.

- ben is INCREDIBLE at carnival games, even the rigged ones. the people that own the game booths have genuine beef with ben lmaoo

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 2: I'll Never Let You Go Again Like I Did

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!Reader, Soldier Boy POV

Summary: With a birthday printed on your wrist that happened over a hundred years ago, you always thought that you were cursed to never meet your soulmate. But when you finally meet the man that's supposed to be the other half of your soul, you wonder if the stars were wrong, and wonder how this man was meant for you. Reader is Hughie's sister, is not a supe, and is a Literature Professor that gets dragged into the middle of things. This fic takes place in an AU set loosely after Season 3 and does deviate from the plot of The Boys

Tropes: Soulmate AU, Little bit of Grumpy and Sunshine, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy, Jealous Ben/Soldier Boy

Warnings: Little bit sad, DENIAL, Homophobic Comments (Soldier Boy), Cursing, Mentions of drinking, Mentions of using drugs, Sexism, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of torture (Soldier Boy's Time in Russia) Loneliness, Longing (I mean… as close as Soldier Boy can get to it), Reader wears glasses?, Soldier Boy might be a little OOC.

Word Count: 6.4K

Song Inspiration For This Chapter: Until I Found You (chapter title is lyric from this song) and Coming Back For You

Note: Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue Is in First Person And Is In Italics

Playlist for Series (Spotify)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A/N: Oh my goodness I'm so excited about this series and thank you so much to everyone for all the wonderful love and support so far! It really means the world to me 🥰

One Year Ago: Ben POV

Ben squinted his eyes as he stepped out into the brilliant sunshine of the early morning, shouldering the strap of his worn backpack with a huff. The people on the crowded, gum covered sidewalks shot him odd looks and gave him a wide birth as he made his way down the path, but he didn't care, in fact he didn't notice them. His mind was somewhere else.

He wasn't sure where he was going, just that something in the pit of his stomach was pointing him in this direction. Ben had started walking in what he thought was the way to Legend's apartment, but the streets looked so different than the last time he was in New York and he was a little turned around, but he wasn't going to admit that to anyone.

And there was something in the pit of his stomach, some instinct or gut feeling, that was telling him he needed to go this way.

It was an odd feeling that prickled on the back of his neck, as if he'd forgotten something. Ben wondered what exactly it was that he'd forgotten. He hadn’t spoken aloud to anyone other than the scientists who kept him locked in a cage so he didn’t exactly have a social calendar to follow up on.

I've been locked in a lab for forty fucking years, what is there to forget?

But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed just out of reach.

Ben raised his eyes from the sidewalk with a sigh to look at the people passing by, taking in their new clothing and different hairstyles to distract himself. He frowned at the bizarre groups of people to him that flit by on their merry way, muttering little things under his breath about how things used to be.

Ben had a feeling that he was going to be doing that a lot.

New York City was different, the same, but different. Even though Ben had been gone for forty years, it still felt like the center of the universe. There were still hot dog vendors on every street corner, still magazine stands with freshly printed newspapers that smelled like ink and were warm to the touch, still coffee shops that lined the streets and caffeinated the masses, and there were still cab drivers who wove through traffic as if they were unstoppable shouting at pedestrians as they went.

The memories he had of old New York City merged together with what he was seeing around him and felt himself slipping into the past only to be jolted back into reality by the strangeness of the future.

He didn't like feeling disoriented, but it was there, brimming just under the surface. His body was tense as he walked prepared for anything, unable to relax as he continued on his way to wherever the hell it was he was going.

The morning sunlight reflected off the glass windows of the skyscrapers that worshiped the rising sun and the sounds of the city vibrated against the brick and mortar. There was a buzz of electricity in the air, the low hum of power that Ben could always hear beneath it all. Cars honked sharply, people shouted in colorful language to one another, and the wind rustled through the long strands of Ben's hair crinkling against his ears and scratching against his neck.

He hadn't had time to cut it or his beard and it didn't seem to be as important as finding Legend and getting his affairs in order.

The smell of hotdogs, earth, cologne, and heavy perfume wafted up with the breeze that tugged and pulled at his sweatsuit. The same stained sweatsuit he had found in a rust covered locker before hiding in the cargo hold of a plane headed back to the U.S that was probably almost as old as him. The plane ride had been long, but when he'd been in a lab for the past forty years it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. He spent the whole time stewing in his thoughts. He'd slept enough and like hell he was going to drift off and let those Russian fucks take him again.

Ben sighed when he felt his memories begin to unravel on the edge of his mind, unfurling and asking to be relived. It wasn't unusual or unwelcome. Ben was using those memories to justify what he was going to do to his old team. As long as the rage continued to burn against his skin, Ben would have no problem breaking each of them down piece by piece.

Ben didn't understand how his team could have done that to him or why they'd done it to him. He thought that he'd been a good leader, a good American, a good soldier, a good hero, and yet they'd all stabbed him in the back. Sure, maybe he'd been a little rough on them, but Ben saw it as the only way to toughen them up. They needed thicker skin if they were going to survive in a world like this.

All I've done is give my fucking life to this country and what did they do? They gave me to the fucking reds.

His hand tightens on the strap of his backpack as he weaves through the crowds, trying his best to keep to himself when all he can feel is his anger and frustration building and burning hot under his rib cage. His new power stirred beneath the surface, energy beginning to travel through his body, tracing his veins and pulsing in the center of his chest.

I should have seen it coming. I should have killed that entire fucking bunch of pussies the second I had the chance. Especially that bitch.

His frowned at the thought of Countess.

Truthfully, when the two of them started messing around it was only because Countess's soulmate had died a few years before and Ben knew he wasn't going to meet his soon if anytime. He'd messed around with plenty of other women for the same reason and well…

Ben's frown deepened as he stepped around a couple that was walking arm and arm, the dates on their wrists flashing gold in the sunlight. He ignores the feeling that comes when he sees them, pushes it down into the deep recesses of his mind as he has done his whole life.

Since he was a kid, Ben wasn't sure that he believed the "soulmate thing." Sure he'd seen hundreds of other people around him find "the one," but Ben wasn't sure that he was made to be a soulmate. Especially not with a birthdate on his wrist so far in the future. He assumed that it meant he wasn't going to get a soulmate and he'd spent the better part of his life pretending that he didn't care about that. He was a man after all, and Ben didn't want to need anyone. At least, that was what he told himself.

Ben had lived long enough to see other soulmates find one another, witnessed the goofy looks on their faces when they locked eyes for the first time, and had the super hearing to listen to what came next.

But instead of focusing on the impossibility to meeting his own, Ben focused on the lie he told himself, that it seemed ridiculous to be intertwined with someone as soon as he was born. Not to mention that Ben wasn't sure that he wanted to be with someone, not when he didn't age and not when he'd have to watch whoever it was, if anyone turn to dust.

Yes, he could see himself settling down with someone, having a few kids, but Ben wasn't sure that whoever was supposed to be his other half was within reach anyway so why care? Ben knew that he didn't age, but he didn't actually think he'd ever get to meet you or that you would actually ever exist. Not when you were born so far away from him and not when he'd been trapped in that lab.

But that didn't stop a part of him from thinking about the possibility of meeting you. When things were quiet in the lab and he was left alone for a few precious moments, he felt his mind begin to slip into the question of what if?

What if you existed and what if you came for him?

He knew that it was a long shot. The only people that knew he was there were the people who stabbed him in the back. And Ben didn't want to cling to some fantasy, it felt feminine to fanaticize about the person who was supposedly meant for him breaking down the thick metal door and pulling him from the lab.

Again, Ben was trying not to believe in the "soulmate bullshit."

Countess had been a way of passing the time as had the numerous other women, but with them were moments when he'd feel something odd settle in his chest, something that he never could put a name to. In those moments he would raise his right arm and look at the birthdate printed on his wrist, the same one that Ben had kept hidden for most of his life, the one that when he was a boy people mocked him for, and the one his father chastised him for having as if it was Ben's fault that some celestial body had decided to single him out.

All of his childhood friends had found their soulmates and Ben had spent the better part of his life covering it up to avoid the conversation that always happened when someone saw the date. No ones soulmate was born so far in the future and Ben’s father had spent a lot of money making sure that word didn’t get out his son was a freak.

His father already made Ben feel like a disappointment and a fuck-up, but Ben was already thinking it himself every time he looked at the date printed on his wrist that seemed impossible. When his mother was alive she would try her best to make Ben feel better telling him that it wasn't impossible, that one day it would all make sense, but after her death Ben stopped feeling comfort, joy, and anything warm. All he felt was the cold shoulder from his father and the words that Ben pretended didn't hurt when his father was halfway through his second bottle of scotch with a third prepped and waiting on the kitchen table.

It made Ben feel like a pussy every time he looked at the mark and thought about his future soulmate, but he did it in private, usually after he'd had a few glasses of something and a few puffs or snuffs of something else to numb his mind. And he'd allow himself a single moment to think of you, wonder if he'd ever meet you, and wondered if you'd ever actually exist. In those few fleeting moments he believed in soulmates, but then he'd snap out of it and wake up the woman in bed next to him to distract him for another hour or so.

Ben's eyes flick to his right wrist covered by the gray and maroon tracksuit, his brow furrowing together. He was trying not to think about you or rather the possibility of you today. He didn't have time for that, not when all he wanted was to make his old team pay for everything they did to him.

But there was a little whisper of something in his ear, a small wisp of hope that he had finally made it to you, the one thing he didn’t think would ever happen, that he lived long enough to be alive the same year you were, and that you were out there somewhere waiting for him.

No. Ben tenses. I'm not going to think about her, not when those butt fucks need to be dealt with. I'm going to go to Legend's and then I'm going to-

He didn't see you in front of him until it was too late to move out of the way. Your body hits his full on in the chest, sending the bagel between your lips tumbling into the street, but Ben barely feels the hit, what he does feel is the dam he built forever ago burst open and warmth soaks into his body. Electricity skitters along his skin, crackling in the air as his eyes lock with yours only for a second. He feels like he's caught fire, as if the pieces of himself deep down inside are overheating and vibrating until there's nothing left, but you and him.

Any thoughts he had of his team and revenge are lost in the flood of emotions that fill the hole inside he tried so hard to ignore with the lie he continued to tell himself: “I don't believe in soulmates.”

And yet, there you were.

He can hear his heart and yours beating together as one, his own pounding so hard under his ribcage as if it wishes to break free and cross the space between your bodies. Seeing you for the first time feels like taking a bullet to the chest, the sharp jolt backwards when it lands and the pinch of flesh against Kevlar. It was worth the bruise if looking at you was the same way each time.

Ben can feel the world slipping away, going silent, and in that silence Ben is lost in you.

Holy Fuck.

You were the perfect amalgamation of every single beautiful woman that Ben had ever seen and fantasized about in his entire life. And yet you weren't what he was expecting. Over the years Ben had bedded many women, the ones who captured his attention for a night, but none of them were anything like you.

In all the ways those women were bold and dramatic you were confident, but not boisterous, beautiful but not haughty, respectful but not prude, and there was a kindness reflected in the warmth of your eyes that Ben had never seen before, but there it was staring back at him unblinkingly.

You reminded him of the women that came arm in arm with men to his parents lavish parties when he was a boy, the ones who were classically beautiful and reserved with the golden dates on their wrists catching in the light. The exact kind of woman he hadn’t seen for the better part of eighty years and the opposite of the women who had thrown themselves at his feet forty years ago.

Your hair falls forward into your face from the force of your body hitting his and Ben itches to push it back, to touch you, to feel his skin against yours to quench the burning that he can feel in his soul.

All of his instincts are telling him to pull you against him, that you're too far away even though you're standing only inches apart.  That he needs to breathe the same air and feel the warmth of your skin against his rough fingertips.

The birthmark on his right wrist sears his skin and he knows what it means, that you're the woman he's been looking for his whole life, the woman that always seemed just out of his grasp, the woman that was made just for him, and the woman he thought would never exist.

He watches your eyes widen with the same realization about him behind your round glasses, eyes that are the perfect color and eyes that Ben can imagine staring in to every day for the rest of his life. He'd never wanted to spend more than one night with a woman, never wanted more, but all of that fades into you.

The idea of a soulmate no longer seems ridiculous, no longer seems like something he’d never have, not when he’s looking into your eyes and nothing else seems to matter.

Not when looking at you is like seeing the sun sink into the earth at the end of the day and feeling the hope that it'll rise the next morning.

The lie he told himself for so long is slipping away the longer he stares at you, because although he never wanted to want anyone he knows that he needs you. It's an odd feeling for him. He's never once cared about anyone, told himself that it was weak to, that having a soulmate was a stupid idea and not for him, but all of the things he ever thought about soulmates is evaporating in the heat that is consuming his body by being in your presence.

Why now?

The thought makes the world come back into sharper focus.

I've lived decades without her and now the moment I come back to the U.S I just run into her?

It was laughable .

The moment of clarity allows the fantasies of his revenge to come creeping in and Ben feels the anger and rage ebbing on the edge of the wonderful feeling building in his chest when he looks at you.

You weren't a supe. Ben could tell that just by looking at you. He didn't think he'd ever seen someone so soft and yet someone that he wanted to possess so badly that it almost hurt to stand inches away from you.

I don't want her to be apart of this.

The thought is immediate, stirring some primal urge within to protect what's his. Because you were his. You were the missing piece that he pretended not to need and the woman who always seemed to slip into his mind when he was alone and all was quiet,.

The thoughts of what he's about to do to his teammates come surging up and he didn't want you involved in any of that. Not when he knew that he needed to protect you, that he'd drag you along, and you'd see all the ugly parts of him and see the horror of what he was about to do.

He didn't want that for you, he didn’t want the first time that he met you to be like this, him looking like he'd crawled out from under a rock and full of so much anger, rage, and frustration it felt like he was going to explode, him having a new uncontrollable power that meant he might hurt you, and him being unable to give you his full attention when all he could think about was the team that stabbed him in the back.

What he was, was selfish, he knew that about himself.

But I won't be this selfish.

Ben had made many mistakes his life, he knew that, had done some things that he wasn't proud of, but you wouldn’t be one of them. He didn't want to put you in danger and realized that there was only one way to protect you, because after all, he was the only one who knew that you existed.

His eyes trace your face one more time, memorizing it before he does what he thinks is right. Ben turns away from you and forces himself to keep walking. Each cell in his body is screaming at him to turn around, to run back to you, but he can't. He doesn't want it to be like this and he knows that you deserve better.

I won't do this to her.

“Wait-“ He hears you shout over the sounds of the street.

The sound of your voice is a soothing melody, a warm soak in a hot bath, a steady hand against his back, and a salve over the gaping hole where a piece of him was missing for so long, the hole that he tried to ignore  his whole life. He grits his teeth and continues to walk away from you, each step feeling like he's walking through tar the further he gets.

And deep down Ben is hoping that he did the right thing and makes a promise that he'll come back for you.

Present Day Ben POV

Why the fuck am I coming to this thing again?

Ben thought to himself standing outside the closed apartment door holding an expensive bottle of scotch. The same bottle of scotch that he was going to break open as soon as he crossed the threshold to get through this. He didn’t think that Hughie would appreciate it the way he would anyway.

Probably drinks those fucking fruity drinks with the umbrellas.

Ben didn’t understand why Hughie had invited him to this party or why Annie would let him invite Ben to it. Ben knew how much she hated him and the feeling was mutual.

Ben sighs as he stares at the door thinking about walking back to the elevator. 

Invited was a strong word. Ben had overheard Hughie talking about it in the break room with MM and when Ben walked in, Hughie felt the need to fill the awkward silence by inviting Ben to the housewarming party. 

Ben didn't know why anyone needed a housewarming party, but he chocked it up to another thing about the 21st century that he didn't quite understand.

He thought about all the people inside that he saw at work everyday, the ones that he tried to avoid all shoved in the apartment in front of him and groaned to himself.

Fuck, I should just go home.

Ben frowned at the thought of going back to his extravagant penthouse apartment downtown. The one that was two stories with a private balcony, six bedrooms, five bathrooms, a study, a media room, an exercise room, and overlooked Central Park with a view that would make anyone else salivate. His real estate agent had been surprised when Ben hadn't batted an eye at the price, but Ben didn't think about money the same way everyone else did.

He didn't have to, not with the money he'd earned over the years and not with the money his father, grandfather, and great grandfather in his accounts.

When he'd first bought the apartment he had been happy to get out from under Butcher's eye, who had a tendency to watch Ben like a hawk whenever he thought that Ben wasn't paying attention. But the apartment was large and cold, furnished with furniture that Ben had hired some twenty year old interior designer to buy, who charged him an outrageous amount of money to do absolutely nothing. She'd called it "minimalism," Ben called it "a fucking rip off."

Not one piece of furniture was comfortable to him and being there never felt like home. Then again, Ben didn't have a "home" to compare it to. His family mansion back in Philadelphia after his mother died had been cold and most of the rooms were closed off and the apartment he had in New York before he went to Russia was almost as big as his new one, but it never seemed like home. It always seemed like a way station, a place for Ben to entertain women for a short while before he went to a commercial shoot, a party, or on location for a film.

Even his cleaning lady and housekeeper would comment on the little things about his apartment that Ben tried to ignore. Honestly, Ben thought that she was fucking nosy, but she did her job well so he kept her on.

That and because he couldn't seem to remember her name no matter how many checks he wrote.

Ben didn’t like being in his apartment at all, but he knew that it wouldn't change if he moved. It wasn't where he lived that was the problem, it was that you weren't there with him.

It had been an entire year since he'd seen you and every day Ben walked the same path he had the day he met you for the first time hoping to run in to you. He didn’t have your name or your address or anything that he could have someone at work plug into a computer to find you. He'd tried to "google" you, but there was only so much he could do with the little information he had and he didn't understand how to find you other than the old fashioned way.

So he was back to sitting home alone every night trying his best not to notice how empty the apartment was, the one he bought that was more than big enough for two people. Sometimes he tried to stay out as long as he could to avoid going back to it, but each time he went through the front door it only emphasized how empty it was.

Ben's life was empty. He hadn't realized that before, but nowadays he was hyperaware of it. In the past he would have filled his life with women eager to warm his bed, but ever since he saw you Ben hadn't been able to think about anyone else.

Ben couldn't remember the last time he felt this frustrated and it only made everything harder for him. And as much as he tried to relieve the tension it never seemed like it was enough. He needed you.

And after he spent twelve months trying his best and he was tired of feeling restless he tried to pick up a woman in a bar.

Every cell in his body screamed wrong at the top of its lungs when he spoke to her, using lines that he'd perfected since he was a teenager. Ben knew he was good at that, but he fumbled the ball each time he opened his mouth. He tried to shake off the ghost of you, but when he spoke to the woman leaning against the aged wooden bar with a martini in her hand and wearing a dress that left little to the imagination, he got a flash in the corner of his eye of someone coming in through the door and he'd thought it was you.

He hadn't been expected to feel so ashamed, guilty, and embarrassed at the thought of you catching him with someone else. He'd been sleeping with women longer than you'd been alive and he'd never felt that way, but now that he knew you existed and knew there was a possibility of you running in to him, it was all different.

Ben's outlook on soulmates being "ridiculous" had evaporated on the spot the moment he locked eyes with you. He couldn't pretend that he didn't care anymore and couldn't pretend that you didn't exist.

How could he when you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen? How could he when a piece of him was with you? How could he when you were always on his mind?

He'd never had a woman have a hold on him so completely in his entire life, but you did.

She fucking does and I only saw her once.

It only made him feel worse. He wondered if he'd made the right decision when he turned his back on you.

Sometimes he liked to think back to the moment of when he first saw you when everything was quiet and he was sitting up in his bed staring down at the mark on his wrist that shone a brilliant gold. His mind would slip into those few moments of bliss and he would wonder what would have happened f he just said "fuck it" and didn't go after Payback, if he'd stopped and asked for your name, and allowed you to let him forget everything that happened in the past forty years so he could start his life with you.

Unfortunately, those moments were usually followed by the same self-deprecating thoughts that Ben had, the chauvinistic ones that he'd carried with him over the years, and the ones that his father had impressed on him from the moment he could walk and Ben couldn't seem to shake.

He'd berate himself about how it was stupid and pussy-like to pine over a woman.

Because that's what he was doing, he was pining over you and he didn't like it.

He didn't want to think of you as much as he did, but he couldn't help it. Now that Ben knew you existed he didn't want to miss out on another moment of your life.

Of course, he couldn't find you and that was the problem. Sometimes he wondered if you were looking for him as hard as he was looking for you, if you walked the same way each hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

The dreams didn't make it any better. He'd never heard of someone living the memories of their soulmate when they slept, but every night he was subjected to watching your life and it only made him want to find you more.

He'd never knew that someone could feel so lonely surrounded by people, never knew that someone could feel so out of place, and never knew that someone could be as sad as you were, but each time he relieved a memory of yours at night Ben could feel his heart twinge.

Ben watched the lonely birthdays you spent with a cupcake and a beer for him, saw the jeers of the people in your hometown and the pitying looks from your parents, felt your shoulders shake when you cried alone in your room and stared at the birthdate on your wrist, and he felt you losing hope as each year passed.

Ben didn't usually allow himself to feel emotion like that, but watching you go through it all hurt him more than anything those Russian fucks did to him. He wasn't used to that and he wasn't used to thinking about other people as much as he thought about you.

But something about him felt different after meeting you.

Ben had asked Legend about soulmates, specifically the dreams, but Legend had muttered something unintelligible under his breath and took another snort of cocaine from the mirror on the coffee table instead of answering. Their relationship had been a little awkward after Ben slept with Legend's soulmate forty years ago, but Legend didn’t seem to be too upset about it… anymore. Mostly because Legend's soulmate tried to pull a Lorena Bobbitt one night and Legend caught her before any permanent damage was done.

She was in prison, and Ben didn't understand why Legend still went to see her for conjugal visits, but he figured that she was as much of a freak as his old handler.

Just rip the bandaid off you fucking pussy.

Ben thought staring at the clean white door in front of him.

Truthfully, Ben was tired. He'd been running himself harder for the last month, throwing himself into his work because he was starting to believe that he was never going to meet you again, and it seemed like work was the only thing that could distract him long enough. But he couldn't escape sleep.

When he'd come back from Russia, Ben had avoided sleeping the best way he could and he got through a few days before he collapsed. The first dream he'd had of you had come on suddenly, but clear as day.

You reading on your bed in your apartment smiling down at the pages as if it the book was telling you a secret.

Ben wasn't a reader, didn't see any merit in it if it wasn't a western or a war book. The most he could tolerate was Ernest Hemingway, but he could have sat there and watched you read forever. You looked so peaceful, content, and happy that Ben was afraid to interrupt you even though it was just a dream.

But whenever he thought about you dreaming his memories, something dark settled in the back of his mind, because what were you seeing? He'd done a few things he wasn't proud of and Ben didn't want you to think that he wasn't a hero or that he was a bad guy.

Ben sighs and raises his hand to knock hard against the door with his free hand, trying not to open the bottle preemptively before entering the apartment.

"Ben?" Hughie says it like a question when he opens the door, eyes wide with the same stupid look on his face that always grates on Ben.

Ben forces his signature tight lipped smile that he flashes around the office. "Hey there sport."

"Hey. Wow, you're here." Hughie clears his throat and looks over his shoulder as if he's nervous about something.

Ben raises an eyebrow. "I was invited."

"Well yes but-"

"But?"

"Um-"

"Spit it out dipstick."

Hughie clears his throat. "I didn't think you would come."

Fuck I should have stayed home. He doesn't want me here, neither does his fucking beard.

Ben frowns listening to where Annie groans under her breath further inside the apartment and talks low under her breath to someone that Ben can't see.

"Well surprise and congratulations or whatever." Ben rolls his eyes holding out the bottle of scotch. He was hesitant to lose sight of it, not when talking to Hughie for less than five minutes made him want to down the whole bottle.

"Oh wow this is really," Hughie's eyes widen as he takes in the label and realize how much money Ben spent on the bottle. "Expensive stuff, thanks Ben."

"It'll put some hair on your chest." Ben claps Hughie hard on the shoulder as he pushes past him into the foyer of the apartment.

The entire apartment could have fit in Ben's living room and kitchen. It was made in a similar fashion to his, sleek white walls, sterling silver appliances, large glass windows that let in the light-

Ben stops so suddenly inside the area that leads into the kitchen that Hughie plows into his back, but Ben doesn't feel it.

He can't move, can't breathe, because he's noticed the person talking to Annie is you. This was the last place that he'd expected you to be, but he doesn't care, because you're here and you're more beautiful than he remembers.

You're standing there pouring ice from a large bag into a pink acrylic bucket with an adorable amount of concentration for such a simple task wearing the same sweater you were the day he first saw you. You're also wearing a little more makeup and your hair is longer, and not pulled back into the messy bun as it was that day, but you’re still you and you’re here.

His fingers twitch with the urge to run his hands through the tangled tresses, to feel if they're as soft as he imagined for so long.

Ben's body swells with emotion, goosebumps flicker over his skin, and all other sounds in the room vanish, because seeing you was like watching the sun rise and feeling the world hold it's breath as it basks in the early morning rays.

And Ben wanted to bask in everything you were, every day for the rest of his life. Now that he found you again he wasn't going to let you out of his sight.

Your soul sings to him as he nears you, the cells in his body vibrating so fast that he can feel every single one begging him to touch you.

You turn into him by accident, sending the bag of ice tumbling to the floor, but feeling your body against his sends him into overdrive and he can't hold back anymore. He reaches out to grab your shoulder as gently as he can without hurting you.

Hurting you was the last thing he wanted to do. And because you weren’t a supe he knew how fragile you were.

You gasp under your breath at the contact from his hand, but to Ben it sounds thunderous in his ears. Ben trails his hand across your shoulder, up your neck, to cup your chin and raise your face to look at him. He feels like his whole body is igniting as he makes contact with your skin.

He can feel an odd vibration in his chest as he does so, energy crackling and pulsing around the two of you, but the rest of the room falls silent. He can’t look away from you, not when seeing you again is like staring too long at the sun and he's left with the imprint of your light and beauty on the inside of his eyelids.

Ben can't focus on anything else, doesn’t hear the awkward chatter, doesn't feel the discomfort he had upon his arrival, doesn't notice the way everyone has turned to stare at the two of you, and doesn't feel the air conditioning turn on and blow cool air against his warm freckled skin.

All he knows is you.

Your eyes are wide and he suspects his are as well, pupils blown but still beautiful and hypnotic as they were one year ago. Ben feels a smile pulling at his lips and he lets it go, because standing in front of you, feeling like this, it’s impossible to do much else.

Your skin is warm to the touch beneath the roughness of his fingertips and he touches you with a reverence that he has never graced anyone else with, because you were his. Every part of you was made for him just as every part of him was made for you.

The your soul was calling out to him, weaving a golden cord of energy in his mind that snagged in the center of his chest and made him feel whole for the first time in life.

You reach out to touch him, the soft palm of your hand falling just over his heart and it makes something inside him break open to flood the space between the two of you.

Hope stirs in his chest with your gentle touch and your unblinking gaze, warmth trailing from where your hand lays against his shirt. His eyes drop to the wrist to see his birthdate, a glowing ember against your skin where the sleeve of your sweater has fallen down an inch.

Your eyes lock with his once more, full lips slightly parted, and breathless.

"I've been looking everywhere for you sweetheart." Ben murmurs, trailing his thumb across your cheek with a gentleness that he's never possessed.

Ben was not a gentle man, but for you he would try. He would be anything you wished him to be, for as long as he lived, because now that he found you, he was never going to let you go.

And he welcomed the challenge of anyone who tried to stand in his way.

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are not required, but are always welcome and appreciated! I really love hearing what y'all think. ❤️ If you'd liked to be added to the taglist for this series please let me know :)

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[moonagedaydreamsofrhiannon]

IN DEFENSE OF TRAVIS MARTINEZ:

Because I’m sick and tired of seeing travis hate everywhere I go.

“Travis was sexist.”

Did he spout some sexist rhetoric in the beginning of the show? Sure. But it’s important to recognize that: A) he changed, and by season 2 he completely stopped, B) he was a teenage boy in the 1990s, and that kind of rhetoric was normal at the time, C) most of his sexist macho tough guy attitude was a complete act that he likely put on to compensate for his insecurity about his own masculinity, and internalized homophobia. (More on that later.)

(Also let’s be real, Travis is basically one of the girls anyway and I’m tired of pretending he’s not.)

2. “Travis didn’t care about Javi.”

Did we watch the same show??? Granted Travis may have had trouble expressing his feelings (also related to his insecurities about masculinity, likely learned from his father, as well as growing up in a patriarchal and homophobic society), but he cared deeply about Javi. In S1E4, Travis literally DUG UP HIS DAD’S GRAVE, through horror, tears, and vomit, in order to retrieve his ring to give to Javi. When Javi disappeared, Travis kept looking for him every day for months, and never gave up, even when logically it would have seemed impossible for him to still be alive. He comforted and reassured Javi when neither of them drew the card. He cradled Javi’s dead body and ate a bite of his raw heart (which was a metaphor for how much he loved him, and a parallel to Shauna eating Jackie’s raw ear.) Maybe Travis wasn’t always there for Javi in the way he needed, but he absolutely loved him, and it’s important to remember that Travis was also a traumatized, grieving, kid who just lost his dad.

3. “Travis slut-shamed Nat.”

As we are literally shown in the show, Travis was not trying to slut shame her, he asked how many times she had done it because he was embarrassed about the fact that he was a virgin, and worried that she would judge him, or that he wouldn’t measure up because he was more inexperienced than her. When she told him she hooked up with Bobby Farleigh, he did not get mad at her because she slept with another guy (he already knew about that, and was fine with it), he got mad because she hooked up with his bully, and then lied to him about it. I don’t blame Nat for this, she didn’t know about it at the time, and didn’t want him to get mad once she found out, but I also don’t blame Travis for being hurt and embarrassed and upset with her for lying about it.

4. “Travis was just kind of a dick.”

Sure, but so were all of them. He acted like kind of a jerk in the first season. So what? Shauna had an affair with her best friend’s boyfriend, lied to her about it for months, and refused to apologize. Misty tried to drug Coach Ben. Nat faked his brother’s death to him (yeah, she was trying to help him move on, but still not cool). All of them called him “Flex” (y’know, the nickname that was used to bully him for years). None of them are perfect or nice or likable all the time, and that’s ok; that’s the whole point. They’re realistic, complex, flawed, morally gray and sometimes unlikable people. They’ve all done bad things, but nothing Travis did is worse than what anyone else on that show has done. He was a traumatized teen whose dad literally just died. Also, me personally, if everyone around me was constantly calling me the mean nickname that was used to bully me since middle school, I would also probably act like a little bit of a dick.

5. “Travis is a straight man.”

Wrong. (Also not really a valid reason to hate someone… But most importantly, just wrong.)

Travis Martinez is clearly a bisexual.

So many of his issues: the insecurity, the bullying, the macho tough guy act, the whole weird complex about his masculinity, all of it stems (at least partly) from the fact that he’s bisexual and has internalized homophobia. The whole “Flex” thing is just thinly veiled homophobia. The main reason why he got bullied is because Bobby Farleigh spread a rumor about him getting back surgery to better suck his own dick. The unsaid implication there is that he’s a man who sucks dick, which is inherently queer, even if it is his own. If you look even slightly past the most surface level interpretation, it’s pretty obvious that Travis was bullied because of homophobia. His performance of stereotypical toxic masculinity was clearly over compensation for the fact that he doesn’t fit into the box of traditional straight masculinity, and was a reaction to the bullying from his peers, abuse from his dad, and internalized homophobia from growing up in a homophobic and patriarchal society. As the show progresses he starts to unlearn that toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia, and he allows himself to be more vulnerable, emotional, and feminine, and as a result, he becomes stronger, more confident, and more respectful of the people around him.

As for Travis being a man… Is he though???

In season 1, Travis is a man (narratively speaking); there is a clear distinction between Travis/Coach Ben and the girls. However, in season 2, we see a stark shift in how Travis is depicted. The separation between Travis and the girls pretty much ceases to exist. Narratively speaking, there is no distinction made between Travis and the other girls; they are one entity—one hive mind. Instead, the emphasis is now placed on the distinction between Coach Ben and the girls/Travis. When Coach Ben watches the Yellowjackets eat Jackie in horror and disbelief, Travis is right there with them, dressed in ancient greek robes along with the rest of them. In season 2, Coach Ben is the only real Man of the group (Travis has narratively become one of the girls, and Javi is just a boy, not a man) and he is shown staying separate from the rest of the group, and growing more and more uncomfortable with the cultish dynamics, while Travis, on the other hand, becomes more and more integrated with the group, as he falls deeper and deeper into cult beliefs, until he is a full-blown devout Lottie worshipper. Of the three males on the show, he is the only one who actually participates in cannibalism with the other Yellowjackets. Also he lost his virginity to a lesbian.

Whether or not you choose to believe that Travis is transfem (I do) you cannot deny that, at least narratively speaking, Travis is literally just a girl.

6. Travis is a victim.

I don’t know why nobody in this fandom seems to acknowledge this, but Travis is a sexual assault victim and I’m tired of people constantly overlooking and ignoring that fact. In Doomcoming, the girls (excluding Jackie, Nat, Tai, and Van) chased him down, sexually assaulted him, and then tried to kill him. That’s not something that’s up for debate or denial, that is literally canon. Stop pretending it didn’t happen. Stop pretending it wasn’t assault. Stop shaming him and making fun of him for struggling with sex, or not always being able to get it up. That’s a normal trauma response after being assaulted/raped. You guys are literally proving the point. This kind of treatment from society towards masculinity and male victims is just playing into the patriarchy and toxic masculinity, and is exactly what made him act the way he did in season 1 in the first place!

[chloryn]

anyway if no one else will i guess it has to be me!!

klaus hc’s : the situationship edition

part one

content warning;; klaus x reader, klaus with he/they pronouns, female reader, friends to friends who have sex ?, unexpected boners, sexualization without knowledge, guilty conscience (for a minute), oral sex, 90% not canon, mostly just self indulgent writing

a/n;; there’s simply going to have to be a part two, i tried to get all my thoughts out and i couldn’t. it’s three a.m. and i got out what i could.

- it’s his fault truly, i feel like he is such a romantic

- friends first, you’d meet in the evening, at a record store maybe right before closing, or maybe in a café

- when it comes down to people asking about how you met neither of you have the same answer, always the same line

- “we’ve known each other forever”

- late night phone calls to soothe each other

- klaus would be the first to ask you to come over past the usual “hang out” hours

- “i’ve really tried everything y/n, even the hour long meditation cd”

- “please just come over and sit with me?”

- “i’m bored to death” (he’s literally immortal)

- you agree, you’re only a few blocks away from the academy anyway and besides, you couldn’t sleep either

- klaus would meet you halfway and walk you back, he hates the idea of you outside, alone, in the dark.

- definitely the first time you’ve had a good look around their room, you’d only been in it a handful of times and only for a moment or two

- klaus is a messy kind of organized, but it feels so much like him

- his bed sheets are burnt orange, and their duvet is a dark blue, there’s tons of pillows and fuzzy throws littered on the bed. it feels cozy.

- his nightstand is the cleanest thing surrounding you, an incense burner, a pack of old cigarettes, a bottle of high dollar whiskey, and some jewelry strewn around.

- it smells like the night in his room, one window cracked to let in a breeze, a soft candle burning with the scent of pine, and the scent of him causing you to feel oh so comfortable

- for a moment you question why you hadn’t spent more time with them here, why you wouldn’t want to experience such a private part of your best friends life

- but that was it exactly, this was too private

- but klaus felt better, he felt so much safer with you around, with people around in general but when he had called you he knew he wanted you specifically

- he wasn’t completely honest with you about why he couldn’t sleep or what was bothering him, he didn’t want you to know his past or what kept him up at night

- he was lucky enough to have convinced ben to let him have alone time with you, as he wasn’t sure he could keep up that charade much longer without at least claiming to be delusional

- nothing happens the first time you stay over, or the second, or third even

- the weirdest thing to happen is the morning after, at least the first time he walked you out you wore your own clothes

- by the the third “sleepover” you had strolled into the kitchen, one of their sleep shirts and a pair of boxers you prayed passed as shorts thrown on

- you had only been caught by diego and five, both of which seemed to have been in shock and blubbering, obviously a little disappointed in your decisions by the looks they gave

- you knew it looked strange, you weren’t completely oblivious. the real problem was that you expected klaus to be more conscious of what they were thinking. he wasn’t.

- after your third night over in less than two weeks ben broke the news to klaus, everyone in the house, including him honestly, thought you two were hardcore banging. maybe even more since you were sleeping over and wearing his clothes out.

- klaus was APPALLED.

- they literally had no clue what to say, he was slightly embarrassed but also he didn’t completely mind, it was obvious you two were just close friends

- the next time though he was outside your front door when they called.

- “hey”

- he was too nervous someone would embarrass you, what if you were to find out about what everyone was thinking. his house was super off limits right now.

- he figured you’d be more than happy to sleep in your bed anyway.. and maybe they wanted to snoop a little

- you guys spent such little time at your house

- the reality of it was a horrified expression and profuse apologies, you didn’t have nearly as much space or even an excuse to why your house wasn’t as tidy as you wanted it

- you let him in, walking the both of you back towards your bedroom after noting a couch is no place for a sleepover

- deja vu

- klaus would examine all your trinkets, take note of how everything smelled of you, he truly felt so calm

- “y/n?”

- as if it couldn’t get worse, he pulls out your vibrator from beneath the blanket where he sat. snickering, his ears turning a light pink.

-face flushed you would take it from him, scrambling to put it in your bedside drawer

- it finally clicks, he gets it, he knows why everyone thinks you two are at least messing around. because for the first time, he has a painfully hard cock, and it’s just the idea of you touching yourself in the same spot he’s lounging about on

- he tries so hard to play it cool, covering himself with a blanket, using his hand to gently push it down before you notice

- “you wanna do a movie tonight?”

- “ooo of course!”

- you’d beg him to watch a slasher, and as per usual he’d give in, even though he hates them passionately

- comfy clothes, and popcorn with m&ms mixed in, and sugary sweet drinks to pair with

- “pleaseeee” he’d give into your crocodile tears, giving up his clothes to please you

- turning around so one another can change clothes, covering your eyes with your hands

- shirtless klaus

- after his first *ahem* problem, it would only get worse. you’d hide your face in his chest during the jump scares or when things would get eerie, tucking your arms around his torso

- only wearing a pair of thin pajama pants, opting out of the boxers he had so kindly given to you to wear as shorts yet again, even though your entire closet was mere feet away

- he can feel the curve of your breasts against his arm, and your legs slightly intertwined with his and it may actually give him a heart attack

- god it made him feel so guilty, to know you trusted him with so much of you, your life. just for him to be sitting here, in your bed, sexualizing you while you were just trying to hang out

- he tried everything to make it stop, even thinking of how ben would scold him if he were here

- you probably had a quarter of the movie left when your balance would betray you, accidentally slipping and grazing your forearm against his dick

- both of you bolting up. a mixture of shock and embarrassment across your faces

- your thighs clench ever so slightly at the thought of his arousal being over you, tension fogging your brain

- “y/n i’m so sorry”

-“fuck”

- “i don’t know what’s going on with me tonight”

- cue klaus clambering to get up, but you ushering them back down

- “what if.. we just tried it?”

- “maybe we’re just horny, it’s not a big deal”

- soft kisses, wide eyes

- pulling down his pants, his head slightly purple with pre cum leaking, smearing on his happy trail

- “are you okay with this?”

- “you’re allowed to say no”

- slowly kissing up their thighs, licking and kissing up the shaft, suckling hickies onto their lower belly

- SO so sensitive

- “ahh, st-stop”

- “i- i’m not joking, please- please i’ll cum-“

- smooth about the transition, slipping off their pants and straddling you ever so slightly to slide his hands under his your shirt, nudging your breasts further into their hands, whimpering when their fingers wrap around and twist your pebbled nipples

- “you sound so pretty”

- “fuck, are you sure?” “you’re okay with this?” “tell me if you wanna stop, okay?”

- with your consent he slowly tugs on the waistband of his boxers that rest on your hips, letting your shirt fall back down, he may be fully naked and bare but he doesn’t wanna push you to hard

- he waits for your little nod of approval before hooking his fingers, and sliding them down your soft legs

- klaus has seen bare skin before, he’s seen people who had their cocks leaking for him, or their pussy glistening and puffy waiting for him, but he’d never seen anything that compared to you

- the way you were dripping, pussy swollen and visibly aching, clit prominent and perked up, over him, if there was a heaven waiting for him he was sure he’d found it

- he’d start slow, flattening his tongue, lapping all the way up, moaning every time the taste of you hit his tongue, until he got greedy, swirling his tongue around your clit, sucking and teasing, reaching his free hand under your shirt again to palm your tits

- messy and a bit uncoordinated, bucking your hips ever so slightly as your climax approached

-pulling his hands back and wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold you still

- “‘m gonna cum, please, oh god”

- “i’m right there please honey, please”

- the endearment, that’s what would send him over the edge, he’d replay the sweetness of it in your voice over and over coming untouched, moaning and crumbling all while still pulling you closer to your orgasm

- following your orgasm till the very end, letting you guide him through, he’d speed up and slow down for as long as it took as long as he knew he was giving you a complete experience

- nuzzling and lapping up your sap

- “you’re so sweet” “so divine”

- he’d be so exhausted after, but he’d want you to have everything you needed

- “can i get you anything?” “i’ll grab you some water” “let’s clean up, i’ll help you”

- after he was sure you were well taken care of and comfortable, he’d ask you to lay with him. to soak up the afterglow of it all.

- he’d never had this kind of erotic experience before but he knew he may never have it again so he wanted to savor it. and potentially attempt to make it so good you wanted it to be a regular occurrence.

- he would give you the option of him leaving or staying, the sleepover boundary had officially been crossed creating a whole slew of new possibilities

- ��stay, please”

- cuddling while sleeping was like a whole new kind of intimacy for him. the way your hair tickled his nose, being able to hear your steady breaths.

- bonus content: ben appearing at an ungodly hour to make sure klaus is okay, and realizing not only would he have to live with his nosey decision, but also with the fact that he couldn’t tell anyone what he knew.

[ohmyitsfaith]

The sunshine and the grump / Part 2

Pairing: Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sudden visitors show up on a calm day and chaos ensues. Who are they and where did they come from? But most importantly why are they here? You, your husband and his family are ready to find some answers.

Warnings: fighting, Sparrow!Ben being sparrow!Ben

Word count: 3.3k

A/n: Hi everyone, I know, it's been a while. But here is something that should have been done sooner. The second part to The sunshine and the grump. Please forgive me for this, but in this part Viktor is refered to as "Vanya" and using she/her pronouns. This is solely for the reason that this story is from the reader's point of view and she doesn't know that he's Viktor. If there's an interest in a new part, then obviously I will incorporate him coming out as Viktor. Anyway, long a/n to the side, I hope you guys will enjoy it!

“Shit” broke out of the six people standing in front of you collectively.

Ben guided you behind him gently, sheltering you from the strangers.

“Ben?”

A soft sigh is all that could be heard from the guy wearing a cowboy hat. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears and you couldn’t even guess who he was and where he came from. You never saw him before and your husband wasn’t the type to make friends so easily. So why did this man know his name? Why did he look at him as if he saw a ghost?

“Is that really you?” the biggest guy walked forward, also looking distraught and his face twisted in confusion and grief.

“And who are those weirdos,” the walmart-batman guy yelled and you followed his line of sight, “on the balcony?”

Your eyebrows furrowed in slight anger, but before you could answer at all, Reginald spoke up.

“They are the Sparrows, my children.”

You felt, more than saw Ben standing up straighter and could only imagine the rest of the Hargreeves doing the same, up on the balcony.

“I’m sorry,” the small boy spoke up after the initial shock passed through his group. “What do you mean your children? That’s not possible, old man.”

“Of course it is!” Reginald exclaimed as your sibling-in-laws joined you downstairs. “I think I’d know, wouldn’t I?”

While most of the group looked at Reginald with untrusting gazes (which you could understand, he was your father-in-law and yet you didn’t trust the man fully), the cowboy hat guy was still looking at your husband with misty eyes.

“Everybody else can see Ben, right?” he asked, which made you even more confused. Why wouldn’t they be able to see your husband?

“Cute hat, Sundance” Ben said sarcastically, still keeping you behind him. You grabbed onto his arm lightly, to keep him grounded. But that’s exactly when the man noticed you and his eyes went even wider.

“Jennifer?” he asked louder, seemingly in shock and it prompted the rest of the group to look toward you, Ben’s arm curling around you protectively.

“Do not talk to my wife, asshole” he growled.

“Oh my gosh, it’s you! You- you guys are married!” cowboy hat guy gushed.

“Okay, that is it!” Ben moved to lash out against the guy, but Marcus stopped him.

“Enough” he said in his calming voice. “Who are you and why are you in our home?”

“They call themselves the Umbrella Academy,” Reginald answered instead. “A group of scheming, perfidious malcontents, who accosted me in the fall of 1963, when I was away on business in Dallas” he explained. “Be warned,“ he added, “they claim to be my spawn.”

That caught the attention of the woman with the very stylish cloak as she stepped forward.

“Claim?!” she then turned to her brother(?) in confusion. “Five, what the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know, but it’s concerning,” the little guy, Five, sighed.

“Is he telling the truth?” Marcus spoke up, looking at the so-called Umbrella Academy.

“Well, not the part about us being perfidious-” the other woman started, just to be immediately interrupted by the cowboy-hat guy.

“No, we’re amateur-fidious, at best” he said, which just confused you and, seemingly, the rest of the Sparrows as well.

“But we are his children. This is our house” the woman confirmed.

“Yeah, yeah, we, uh… We grew up here” the big guy jumped in.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, we grew up here” Alphonso mocked the guy, which made Fei and Jayme chuckle.

“I-” Sloane started. “Kinda think we would’ve noticed you.”

You could see the moment that the big guy realized who talked and just what kind of person she was. You saw his eyes light up and a dumb smile graced his features.

“Hi. I’m Luther” he stepped forward and offered his hand.

“Monkey-brain” you whispered and Ben scoffed.

“Okay” the stylish woman walked towards you. “None of you belong here.”

“What?” you asked at the same time Fei said sarcastically: “Oh, well then! I guess we’ll just pack our bags and move out.”

“Yeah and while we’re at it, how about we also give you our jobs. Clearly, you are so good at it” Christopher garbled. “Seriously, these idiots can’t even understand the fact that we are the ones living here, imagine what kind of heroes they are.”

This caused the Sparrows to laugh and even you let out a chuckle. He had a point.

“You slay me, Chris,” Ben shook his head.

The next moment Grace arrived with a plate filled with cookies. At her legs was your chonky cat C/n. He meowed lowly and hissed at the new people before darting across the space, toward Ben and you.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” Grace sighed as you leaned down to pick up C/n. “This is the best I could do on short-” she glitched and repeated the word again, “short… short notice.”

You winced as you stood up with C/n in your arms.

“It’s okay, darling boy” you whispered and started stroking his back. “They won’t hurt you. Daddy won’t let them.”

“Mom…” you heard wallmart-batman’s wistful voice, which immediately weirded you out.

And not just you, because Jayme spoke up as well.

“Mom? She’s a robot you perv” she scoffed.

“She’s not a robot!” wallmart-batman turned toward her defensively.

“Hey, don’t you call him that!” the big guy, Luther, snapped at Jayme.

“Or what?” Ben asked in defense of Jayme.

“Come closer and find out!” Luther stepped toward Ben as he started approaching the big guy as well.

“Luther! Guys, chill!” the smaller woman tried to stop Luther, while you reached out to stop Ben.

“Think I’m afraid?” Ben asked and you could feel his hostility roll off of him.

“Ben! Please” you asked him timidly, but your voice didn’t even reach him.

“Ben, stand down!” Marcus commanded, but Luther was speaking over him already and chaos started to form.

“Look at that, she’s got a voice!” he pointed at you.

“How about I hide that big Rubik’s Cube up your ass?” wallmart-batman asked, annoyed with Marcus.

“Enough!” Marcus finally shouted. “I don’t know what circus you escaped from,” Marcus started and you could see wallmart-batman touch his cheek, where something black just disappeared, “or how you got past our security, but we’re done here. You got 30 seconds to get out of our house” he said in a no-nonsense voice.

“And if we don’t?” the stylish woman asked just as you realized what was happening with wallmart-batman. You looked back at Jayme, who just shrugged.

“Then we’ll have to settle this the old-fashioned way” Marcus stepped forward, ever the leader.

You zeroed in on wallmart-batman, who looked totally out of it, sweat on his forehead and tears in his eyes.

“What did he hallucinate?” you whispered to Jayme.

“I’ll tell you later” she smirked.

“Look, we just fought a literal army. Okay?” the short woman tried to diffuse the situation. “This doesn’t need to get ugly. Let’s all just calm down and let’s talk.”

And honestly, you were on her side. You didn’t want to risk the house or your sibling-in-laws or C/n for that matter. This could definitely be…

“Psst. Ben-er-ino” cowboy hat guy sing-songed as he looked at your husband. You could see his shoulders tense even more and an exasperated sigh left him. “You look so much better alive than you do dead.”

Oh no…

“Am I right?” cowboy hat guy asked from the Umbrellas and the only thing you could do is wince. From this point onward you wished that he shut up because even you wouldn’t be able to stop your husband if he was angered by the guy. “Except the haircut” he waved his hands.

“Oh no” you winced as Alphonso reached out and pushed you even further from the Umbrellas to keep you safe. He knew just as well as any of the Sparrows: this is where it gets ugly.

“What the hell did you just say?” Ben stepped forward.

“Come on, come on!” cowboy hat guy walked toward Ben. “Stop with all the hostility, Mr. Grumpy Pants” he stopped in front of your husband and leaned forward. “Oh, nice scar! Muy macho.”

“Oof” you commented and you could hear Jayme scoff as well.

“Shut. Your. Mouth!” Ben snarled and you knew, only a string held his anger.

“You shut your mouth and hug your brother!” cowboy hat guy exclaimed and opened his arms for a hug. And that’s exactly when Ben struck.

It was truly a beautiful hook that Ben delivered, you had to admit. But you wished that cowboy hat would’ve just stopped before it got ugly. You watched as he fell across the coffee table and it caused Luther to snap at Ben.

“Hey! What the hell?” he snapped. “You didn’t have to do that!”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I did!” Ben snapped back.

“That’s right, he did!” Alphonso backed him up.

“Hey, get back! Back off!” Marcus shouted as Luther stepped closer.

“Luther!” you heard the short woman yell out as Jayme grabbed your arm and pulled you behind the counter, just as Marcus pushed Luther.

And all hell broke loose. Marcus and Luther started fighting and the Sparrows and Umbrellas paired up as well.

“Jayme, get Y/n out of here!” Ben yelled as the small Umbrella teleported toward him and started fighting with him.

You could hear yelling from both the Sparrows and the Umbrellas as they fought and you could only try to stay calm as Jayme pulled you toward the exit. But you didn’t get far as the stylish woman intercepted you and Jayme, along with the short woman. You ducked just in time as one of Fei’s ravens dived in to try and attack the stylish woman, who immediately took up the fight.

“Sloane!” Jayme yelled out and pushed you toward the woman. “Take care of her! I have a shorter problem.”

This, C/n didn’t like and he jumped out of your hands, scratching them in the process.

“Ouch!” you hissed, holding it.

“C’mon Y/n, let’s get you out of here!”

“Alright” you nodded, frantic now that the chaos started to get to you.

You could hear Jayme knock the short woman down as Sloane tried to lead you toward the stairs. But that’s exactly where Fei and the stylish lady were fighting.

“Uh… okay, plan B” Sloane stepped back and looked up at the balcony.

“Oh, please, no” you tried to plead with her. “You know I don’t…”

“Just get to your room, we’ll get you, when we’re done here” she promised and you felt her powers wrap you up and lift you toward the balcony.

You landed behind the railing and stood up. That’s when you heard the short woman say: “My turn.”

You could see her turning… white? And you knew you had to flee. Before much else could happen though, Sloane used her powers on her as well, though less gentler than she did on you.

“Shit!” you yelled out as the short woman slammed into the pictures behind you as you ducked, afraid.

But just as you stumbled through the short hallway to be able to turn right, a knife whizzed by you and you soon heard Chris’s garbled yelling.

“Y/n, be careful!”

You looked back and saw him getting chased by wallmart-batman. You quickly fell to the left, where you could turn down the corner. Just in time, because in the next moment, Chris also turned that way, knives shooting toward him. You held your head for a second, trying to gather all your courage to move. You’ve never been this close to a fight, Ben always made sure that you were in a safe distance.

“Okay, Y/n, you have to move” you told yourself, gripping your hair. You screwed your eyes shut and took a deep breath. Then you stood up and sneaked toward the walkway.

But just as you reached the main staircase that led down, you bumped into the boy. Quite literally.

“Oh, you…” he narrowed his eyes.

“Please don’t hurt me” you put your arms up, in front of your face.

“You’re harmless?” the boy arched an eyebrow, suspicious of your surrender.

“I swear! I’m just Ben’s wife, a normal human!” you pleaded.

The next moment he flashed away. You flinched, but the punch never came. Instead you heard the swooshing sound three more times and he was back at the portraits. You peered over the railing to see Jayme approach him and the stylish lady. Before you could be spotted by stylish lady, you ducked back down and continued sneaking away from the scene.

“Hey!” you were almost at the end of the hall, when you heard her yell. You tried moving forward, but she was faster. She grabbed the back of your shirt, lifting you up.

“Please, please, please, don’t hurt me” you whimpered. “I’m no one, I’m just a simple girl!”

“Yeah I don’t believe that, Jennifer!” she accused you.

“That’s the second time you called me that, but I don’t…” you breathed as you felt her grip tighten on you. “I swear I don’t know who she is! I’m just Y/n!”

“Well…”

But stylish lady couldn’t say much more as Fei appeared on the stairs.

“Y/n!” she yelled for you. “Leave her alone, you bitch!”

“That’s not a nice thing to say!” stylish lady let go of you. “I heard a rumor you couldn’t move” she whispered over you and instantly, you froze.

You couldn’t move, only watch as Fei approached her and her ravens started multiplying. Stylish lady saw this and her eyes widened.

“Actually, on second thought, screw this” she said, turning around and making a run for it.

You were left there by her, still unable to move.

“Y/n, I’ll deal with her and take care of you” Fei leaned down to you as she reached you. “I promise I’ll avenge this.”

You could only look forward as Fei left you once again. You could hear the commotion behind you as Fei’s ravens started destroying a door somewhere close to you. Not much later you actually heard the familiar swooshing sound of the boy teleporting and his frantic muttering.

Suddenly whatever spell was placed on you was broken and you fell forward.

“Oh God” you sighed out, grabbing at your elbow which you hit as you fell. You also saw the dried blood on the back of your hand where C/n scratched you. Poor kitten was probably scared out of his mind.

“Vanya, get out of there!” you suddenly heard the boy shout and you slowly stood up to peer over the railing, into the living room.

There lay the short woman on the broken table and the Sparrows slowly surrounded him. You saw her breathing hard and groaning, trying to get back up. Suddenly she started glowing white. You couldn’t make sense of it, but knew it couldn’t be any good.

“Ben, be careful!” you shouted just before she… exploded? Her energy exploded, which threw you back to the railing behind you.

It was over before you knew it and could hear the others groaning and getting up from the debris.

“Oh god…” you heard Chris garble. “What the hell was that?”

Marcus appeared in your vision and offered a hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“Never better” you groaned, accepting his hand. He pulled you up and led you to the balcony, where he looked down at the destruction.

“It’s over” he started. “Go. Don’t come back.”

You could only focus on Ben, who stood in front of the fireplace, clutching his side. Marcus sighed next to you as him and the rest of the Sparrows watched the woman, Vanya, exit.

“Y/n” Marcus turned to you. “C’mon, I’ll take you to Grace, she’ll fix you up.”

You nodded silently, sparing another look at your husband and his family standing in the debris.

You sighed as you exited the bathroom. It’s been about an hour since you got stitched by Grace (when you hit the railing it split the skin on your head open) and then you went to take a shower to freshen up. Meanwhile though, your husband was nowhere to be found around you.

You could only guess that they got a dressing down from Marcus, blaming them for the destruction. So you headed to the only place where you knew they could be: the training room.

“Y/n!” you heard Grace’s voice call out as you headed toward the room. “Do you need a smoothie too?”

“No thanks, Grace” you smiled at the robot. “I’m fine. Is that for the guys?”

“Of course, they need their greens for their training” she said as she caught up with you.

You nodded silently and opened the door in front of you.

“The skinny one is their weak link” you heard Fei say as you entered.

“Unless hiding behind couches shouting, ‘Where’s my daddy?’ is his superpower” Ben replied sarcastically.

Grace put the tray down on the table and you leaned against the wall to watch your husband stop the treadmill and slow to a walk before getting off of it.

“Enough post-gaming. They hurt Y/n and disrespected us!” he said as he walked toward you. “We need to be out there finding these freaks and taking ‘em out!”

He reached you and put an arm around you, kissing your forehead gently, which contrasted so much from his harsh words.

“Oh, you mean like this?” Marcus asked and switched whatever video was playing to the surveillance footage of the last moment of the fight. The others sighed and stopped their treadmills as well. Marcus walked in front of them and shook his head. “Can someone explain to me how you got your asses handed to you in 30 seconds?”

You sighed, massaging Ben’s back as he stiffened at Marcus’s admonishments.

“Do you have any idea what would happen to our reputation if anyone had seen that?!” he yelled at the end, pointing to the TV screen. “I mean we hadn’t faced any decent enemies for years. This could be good for us. Good for business. But only if we’re smart with our next moves.”

“Is that all you care about?” you spoke up suddenly, annoyed to see that the version of him that only cared about missions and being famous came out.

“I’m sorry?” he turned toward you.

“Did you even try to think about what these people could be here for? That what they were saying is true?”

“Y/n…” Ben shushed you. “Don’t make things worse, darling.”

“I’m not trying to. But did you even notice their faces? When they were talking, when they looked at you?” you looked at him. “The way they fought? I mean tell me if their style doesn’t seem familiar…”

“Y/n, this discussion is not for you. Our next move is not for you to decide” Marcus spoke up sternly. “You are not a Sparrow. You are not part of the team.”

“Fine” you gritted your teeth, then pulled out of Ben’s arms and turned around, just as Reginald came in.

“Nice one dipshit” Ben snarled at Marcus.

“You summoned, Number One?” Reginald asked Marcus.

Marcus regarded Ben and you for a second, before looking at Reginald.

“Sit” he said and you walked out.

You leaned against the wall as the door closed behind you and took a deep breath. You thought about all that the Umbrellas said before the fight ensued. And one thing stuck out.

It looked like they recognised you. But not all of them. And they called you… someone. Some other name… what was it?

Oh yeah, Jennifer. But who was this Jennifer?

[Previous] [Masterlist] [Next]

Taglist: @divergentnewt23, @evie2407, @snixx2088, @inkedeye2345

[ghysry]

You're asking for requests and what about a reader (who wasn't adopted by Reginald ofc) with the powers of clairvoyance who sees what's gonna happen in season 4 all of it the Lila x five arc and everything and is just like no 😃 and stops it and fixes it (somehow five is the same age physically and mentally as them) so it's a reader x five fic it can be an established relationship to make it more angsty or not up to you!!

angst....I can't!!! I can't do it! I'm sorry guys but this story will not be angsty😭

Tags:

Fluff, comfort, unestablished relationship, five Hargreeves, reader, tua x reader, five x reader, Five is a little bitch

---------------------------------------------------

"Emotion."

What are you doing?

You'd be shocked with how much you can do because you have the power of clairvoyance. You, yes you, had single handedly warned the others of the imminent danger their sibling, Viktor, would impose. You saw it when you closed your eyes, the world ending, a paradox. Had Five not gone here, had you not followed him, had he not created this, had he not created that.. That's not to say clairvoyance doesn't have its downsides, though. The memories keep on repeating, when Five jumps forward in time, when Five goes back in time, when Five...when Five..

Oh, don't you know?

It was driving you fucking insane. Every time you blinked that picture of Lila and Five kissing surrounded by strawberries in this safe haven of intricate wood painted white to look cutesy, her throwing strawberries at him, he, smiling. He smiled for god's sake - not in the sadistic homicidal way that you were so used to, but he smiled because he fell in love, in love with a woman he spent maybe seven years with, while he could barely muster a hello towards your way when you spent roughly forty years together in a shitty apocalypse?

Don't you know you'll be my ruin?

But, what could you do? They were already speaking, Lila was already a part of the family, you, not so much. You almost felt bad for Diego, no, you did feel bad for Diego, in all of the scenarios your power could have put you in, it decided to put you in this one. Choosing between telling your feelings (of which you can barely do) to a man who you're not even sure likes you back to fix this mess, or biting your tongue and letting it happen.

You got me crying,

For now though, while you're stuck in this shitty hotel you know will cause the reset of the universe, you have no choice but to keep your mouth shut until the right time approaches for you to strike. See, clairvoyance is a balance, it should always be a balance. It's why your mother always told you never to tell people what you can really do, because if you had, most if not everyone would have been surrounding you now asking you what happens next. It was the peace that kept you quiet about your power, even if it meant lying about it.

Crying again..

Thankfully though, now was the right time. Ben, the sparrow, had been alone for quite a while, sitting by himself while everyone else went about their way, Lila and Diego a reflection of Luther and Sloane, who had their wedding just a day ago, it was sweet to see honestly, even sweeter to see drunk Five messing around in the hallways physically, and not just through a mirror in your mind. Carefully, you found yourself sat next to the lonely sparrow, looking at him as he uncomfortably shifted in his seat.

When will you let..

"Ben." You started, your throat weirdly dry ever since you've been seeing into this specific future. Your heart beats rather faster than it usually should, but it always has when you have to mess with the timeline. The results would show in your mind's eye once the dirty work was done. "Yea that's me..Ben." His voice snaps you out of your daze once you realize you've been quiet for longer than a minute now. "Don't trust him." You push, your eyes squinting as if to magnify your point. "Trust who?" "Reginald." Ben gulps, audibly. You could practically hear his blood rush throughout his body once he realizes you know. "How did you..?" He leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't trust him." Is all you answer, before walking away.

You spend an extended time in your room with a headache you knew was coming. It was always like this after you alter time in your own way, like telling Ben not to trust Reginald, some change, some don't. Unfortunately for you, what doesn't change is Lila and Five kissing it out in that damn strawberry garden. You can't even bring yourself to eat strawberries anymore, it's honestly traumatizing. Thankfully though, because of you telling Ben all this, the outcome has changed once more. From Luther and Klaus dying, only Klaus dies. From Five thinking Allison made a deal to kill Luther, Five now only thinks Allison made a deal..of some sort.

Five..

Okay, this is dumb. Well, you walking to Five and grabbing him by the wrist, huffing out a "we have to talk" is certainly dumb on a whole lot of degrees, even worse when you both find yourselves in a quiet room, you seated on the bed, him pacing around in the room. "Is this about something important? Because the world is ending right outside," You can't help it anymore. "I don't want you around Lila." You blurt out like word vomit, it was vile enough that you actually covered your mouth for a second, and his little chuckle made it even worse. He thinks it's a joke.

"what? Are you jealous? Think she might steal me away-" He almost fully stops dead in his tracks when he realizes you're actually serious about him and Lila, and his eyes soften, finally realizing what you were meaning to say. He clears his throat, causing your soul to jump from your body and bring your attention back, the tips of his ears are awfully red, and he has this look on his face that he's criminally scared to fuck this up. "Well, if that's what you want then I'll always be by your side."

You pause.

"That was a really bad flirt."

"Well excuse me for trying!"

[giveafike]

kinda obsessed with the prompt of ben x fem tennis reader being together for a lil while and being the cutest couple , breaking up bc the distance hit them too hard after two straight months of different tournaments/locations, then seeing each other for the first time at a 1000 tournament, going out to dinner with the same group of people and end up going back to bens hotel room to clear the air and obvs end up in bed together realising they’re gonna have to get thru the distance cos they can’t be without each other now 😭

TLDR: tennisplayerfem!reader and ben break up bc you can't handle being away and then surprise, you can't handle being not together. Losers.

Word count + info: 10k. Am I mentally ill? This is supposed to be a blurb.. Dialogue (angst, texts, calls, conversation).

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW! Breakup and kinda mean stuff said (nothing physical description wise). Otherwise, it's all good! (i think)

Azzie Notes ✚: SHOOT ME IN THE HEAD. AM I OKAY??? 10K?? ON A BLURB?? idrk what angst is fr chat lmk if i did that one fr idk....im a LOVER girl ok IDK HOW TO DO THIS SAD SHIT - in saying that, was part of my dialogue in this lwky..loosely based off of my ex...........maybe...

I fear I loved this prompt so bad and like...I love to yap..so...

Socials + Updates: twitter ( @azziegivesafike) - feel free to follow and msg me about non requests there, I'll be posting life updates, story + req updates and spoilers/teasers alongside other things, so it'd be nice to have a community over there!

————————————————————————

Shattered - B.T.S.

In the beginning, being with Ben is the kind of whirlwind you've only seen in movies, a connection that feels so natural, yet thrillingly unexpected. Well, in hindsight, that might've been a lie. It wasn't exactly love at first sight, but instead, a slow, magnetic pull that drew you together, like the tension building in a long rally. You met on the circuit, both hungry, ambitious, and dedicated to your own success. But from the start, Ben had this way of getting past your disciplined, guarded exterior with that relentless charm of his.

He’s everywhere, it seems—posting highlights from your matches on his stories, sneaking your name into press conferences, tagging you in his silly “lazy Saturday” shots where your game is always playing in the background. He flirts shamelessly, flashing that grin across the court, his voice lifting over the crowd to make some cheeky comment that leaves you stifling laughter. Your friends see it before you do: Ben is crazy about you, and soon, so is everyone else.

He flirted shamelessly and relentlessly, everywhere and anywhere, often catching you off guard in ways that left you flustered despite your best efforts to stay cool and professional. With that, you started to look out for the way his eyes would find yours in a crowd while you sat in the stands during his matches or how he would nudge you at practice with that easy, casual touch like he’s done it a thousand times before; like you belong by his side.

Once, when he's asked in an interview if he’d dedicated his recent win to anyone, he grins and looks straight across the room, making everyone laugh. “There’s someone special right now, but no need to say names, she knows.”

It’s sweet, funny and more than a little bold. Later, when you called him out for it over one of your first late-night calls, he shrugged, entirely unapologetic, telling you with that stupid drawl of his, “What? Ain’t no point hidin’ it. The world knows who my lucky charm is.”

Soon, it was you reaching out for him, your hand slipping onto his arm, leaning against him during walkouts, letting your barriers fall. And every time he catches your eye, every time he manages to make you smile, he looks at you like he’s won the lottery. His heart stammers a little each time you shove him playfully or roll your eyes at his antics. Whether it was on the bench or during changeovers, Ben would rest his hand gently on your lower back, a touch that makes you feel, just for a moment, like you're the only two people in the world.

When the rare break in your schedules comes around, you steal hours together. You grab a coffee, turning a "quick run" into a day spent together and wander around a city you barely know, or stumble upon a hidden café with pastries too flowery for your tastes. He made everything feel easier, like no matter how intense life gets, you’ll always have that balance with him. Around Ben, you can be softer, and more vulnerable; he brings out a side of you that isn’t just about winning and competing but about laughing, sharing, and letting go.

People noticed the way you look at each other, the easy affection that passes between you, the more daring and intimate PDA, sharing kisses and lingering stares. Soon, fans were shipping you openly, posting photos of you courtside, or whispering to each other when you lean close and murmur something that makes him laugh. On tour, you’re one of those “it” couples, a little slice of joy in the relentless pace of your careers. And in those early days, you both believe that together, you can take on anything. In those early days, you believed you could take on anything together. You and Ben were partners, equals, and even in the midst of a gruelling season, there had always been time for him, always a reason to smile. It felt perfect, like a love story you had stumbled into but were both entirely committed to.

But that honeymoon phase comes crashing down real quick.

As seasons shift and tournaments stretch across continents, the cracks start to show. At first, it’s just a few hours difference, but then come the miles and oceans, and the texts dwindled, conversations cut short, replaced by more missed calls than made and vague apologies. You both had tried, in every way you knew how. But eventually, the memories weren’t enough to bridge the distance. You’d catch yourself staying up just to wait for his call after practice, only to fall asleep disappointed, staring at a dark screen. And every time you woke up to a hastily sent sorry, something came up text, it felt like another tiny fracture.

Ben wasn’t the only one caught up in the chaos of your schedules; you had your own demands, too. The strain went both ways. In an attempt to keep things alive, you’d push yourself to keep up with his time zone, adding another city to your Clock app, setting alarms accordingly to his lunch and dinner times, staying awake far too late, eyes heavy as you sat alone in your hotel room, scrolling through old photos just to feel closer to him. When the call finally did come, your voice was barely more than a whisper, tired and distant, and Ben couldn't bear the exhaustion in your tone, his heart aching as he hushed you to sleep, meaning neither of you would stay on long.

It all piled up slowly, almost imperceptibly, until the weight felt crushing. Conversations became one-sided, it’s like chasing the sun itself, moments of silence replacing the laughter that had once felt endless, and that spark, the one that made you feel unstoppable together, felt further away with every day that passed.

Then came the day of your match, a game that should have been easy, one you’d normally have breezed through. But you were dragging, exhaustion wrapping itself around your every heavy, drooping step, and somewhere in the depths of your mind, a bitter thought took root:

If only he cared.

You knew it wasn’t his fault, but still, the frustration boiled over. Would things have felt different if you weren’t so alone in this? If you didn’t have to wonder when, or if, he’d remember to call? If he scheduled calls to your time for once? If he could just postpone everything for 20, 20 measly minutes for you?

A ball zips right by you, snapping you back to reality.

Lying in your hotel room that night, you stared at the ceiling, replaying the best moments of your time together like an old movie reel. In those moments, it had felt perfect. You’d believed you could take on the world, side by side, partners in everything. But now, with miles and silence separating you, you wondered if those memories were all that was left of what you once had.

But even with that ache, even with the emptiness filling the room, one thing is clear as day: loving Ben, for all its messiness, for all the distance and loneliness, had never felt like a mistake but God, was it hard. You pondered on those same irritating thoughts that itched at you until your fingers found your phone and hit the FaceTime Call button. Part of you wanted him to not pick up, knowing that you had nothing kind or sweet to say, but a small part of you wanted to dish back what he deserved.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice tense, worn. His drawl feels distant like he’s talking to you from across an ocean.

“Hey.” You can feel the iciness in your voice, colder than you intended.

“Long day?” he asks, though his expression is already tense, wary.

“Yeah. Almost lost today,” you say flatly.

Ben’s gaze flicks down. “I saw the score,” he says, his voice cautious. “Guess it was a tough match, babe.”

“It shouldn’t have been,” you snap. “But maybe it’s hard to focus when I’m barely sleeping… or constantly waiting for a text that never comes.”

He blinks, his eyes narrowing. “So this is on me?” The familiar accent is a little rougher around the edges. “You’re losin’ matches ‘cause I’m not callin’ you enough? That’s what you’re sayin’?”

“Don’t play dumb, Ben. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about” You feel the bitterness twisting in your chest. ““You’re barely here, Ben. Half the time, I don’t even know if we’re still together or if we’re just two people sending pointless messages every few hours. Half the time, it feels like I’m talking to a ghost.”

He lets out a frustrated laugh, shaking his head. “You think it’s any easier for me? I’ve got my own stuff, my own schedule, darlin'. I’ve got my career to think about too, you know, this ain't just about you.”

Your jaw tightens. “Yeah, well, at least when I'm on the court, I don’t exactly have the luxury of tuning you out, Ben. I’m not the one who forgets to call after saying I would. I don’t have time for half-assed texts and waiting around for you to call when you feel like it.”

“Oh, don’t go there,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “You know what it’s like. The fans, the interviews, the time spent on court-”

“Yeah, I get it, Ben. But last week, you bailed on a call to go sign autographs. Priorities, right?”

He takes a deep breath, visibly holding back. “C’mon, babe, you don’t mean that.”

But you press on, unable to stop yourself. “You’re too busy with whatever ‘big thing’ you have going on, right? Maybe if you cared enough to focus on your game instead of your ‘commitments,’ you wouldn’t have dropped that finals match. Just maybe.”

He flinches, his expression turning dark. “Oh, that's low from you, Y/N. You really wanna go there?”

“Yeah, I do,” you say, your voice unwavering.

He pauses, his face hardening. “If you were out here on the ATP tour, you’d understand how rough it really is. You wouldn't even get past a challenger. It ain’t the same league as the WTA.”

You laughed, a cold, bitter sound. “Oh, don’t even start with that. Rougher than the WTA? Is that supposed to make me feel better? Maybe come and join WTA then, you wouldn't manage it out here either, Ben.”

He snaps, his voice cutting like a whip. “You know how much I’m fightin’ to make a name for myself out here. Just ‘cause you got a few more shiny titles doesn’t mean you get to talk down to me like this.”

The sting of his words hits like a slap. Your face flushes, a mix of anger and hurt bubbling up. “So, that’s it? Just because I’ve actually earned my success, I’m some kind of… what? Nag?”

“I didn’t say that,” he shot back, voice tight, his eyes narrowing as he looked away. “But maybe you’re doin’ too much. Bein’ all… dramatic, blamin’ me for stuff I got no control over.”

“Right, okay, so I’m being dramatic,” you scoff, your voice edged with sarcasm. “I’m the one asking for too much because I want something real, something you clearly can’t give.”

He laughs, bitter and raw. “Maybe you just want too damn much.”

You feel the tears prickling behind your eyes, but you clench your jaw, holding yourself together by sheer force of will. Your voice trembles as you speak, the words thick with a pain you can’t contain. “I just want you to care, Ben, or at least pretend to care and make it believable. I want you to care enough to be here when it matters. But you’re so wrapped up in yourself, you don’t even see it.”

His face hardens, his jaw set, but his eyes hold a flicker of something unspoken. “You think I don’t care? I’m out here pushin’ myself every day, for us, for this future we’re supposed to be building 'n shit. But it’s like no matter what I do, it ain’t enough for you.”

A sharp knock sounds from his end, followed by muffled voices. He glances away, then back at you, irritation flaring in his eyes. “Look, I gotta go. Dad’s waitin’ on me; he already gave me an extra ten minutes to talk.”

You feel your heart twist, an ache of disappointment settling in. “Oh, of course,” you mutter, your voice dripping with bitterness. “Go ahead. I’m sure your training’s way more important than anything I have to say.”

He turns back, his eyes blazing with frustration. “Maybe it is right now,” he spits. “Talkin’ to you like this, all it’s doin’ is makin’ things worse. We're not getting anywhere like this-”

The words cut deeper than you expect, and you can barely hold back the surge of anger and heartbreak choking you. “Fine. Go, then. At least one of us can prioritise something.”

He scoffs, shaking his head as he looks away. “You’re bein’ unfair, 'n you know it.”

“Am I?” you whisper, your voice tight and choked. “Or am I just done waiting for you to show up?”

You stare at each other, an endless silence stretching between you, sharp and seething, words too heavy to be unsaid. Then, with a frustrated shake of his head, he mutters, “I can’t do this right now. I’ll talk to you later. When you’re not actin’ like this.”

Before you could respond, he hung up, his face disappearing from your screen, leaving you alone with nothing but the cold light of your phone. Your hands shook as you stared at the blank screen, tears finally spilling over.

With trembling fingers, you took a breath, letting a cold, steely calm settle over you. You typed out a simple, blunt message, leaving no room for second-guessing, no room for soft words or explanations. Just the truth, as raw as you felt.

“We’re done. I can’t do this anymore, Ben. I’m sorry.”

Your thumb lingered for a second before hitting “send,” and as soon as the message went through, you blocked him on every platform, cutting off any way for him to respond, to apologise, to convince you otherwise.

But as you tossed your phone aside, a crack appeared in the calm you’d forced on yourself. The tears came suddenly, your breath hitching as a tidal wave of heartbreak surged through you. You buried your face in your hands, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could somehow contain the emotions clawing their way to the surface. You tried to stay quiet, muffling the sound in the dark, but the weight was too much, every sob raw, grieving and heavy, pouring out the frustration, the loneliness, and the love you’d tried so hard to salvage.

By the time your tears subsided, you felt utterly drained, hollowed out in a way that made everything around you feel distant and surreal. The city lights flickered outside your window, the glow indifferent to the storm that had torn through you. And in that quiet, broken moment, with only the shadows as company, you lay there, letting the exhaustion seep through your bones until sleep claimed you.

When sleep finally came, it was restless, fractured. You tossed and turned, flashes of memories from better days with Ben haunting you, the sound of his laugh, the way he’d smile, gummy and wide, his nose scrunching with that easy confidence. You woke up more exhausted than when you’d closed your eyes, feeling like you hadn’t rested at all. But you forced yourself out of bed, pushing yourself through your pre-game routine, your emotions locked away, frozen under layers of determination.

As you walked onto the court, the crowd buzzed with excitement, but you barely registered it. You were a storm, calm on the surface but seething underneath. Every shot you took was hard and brutal, the ball slicing through the air with an intensity that made your opponent flinch, the impact echoing through the stadium. You played as if your life depended on it, your body moving with sharp, lethal precision.

Your serves were relentless, your groundstrokes vicious, each one faster, sharper, as if each shot were a way to expel the anger and hurt still simmering in your chest. The crowd murmured, noticing the shift in your energy, the way you were pushing yourself, almost recklessly. A couple of times, your shots zipped past your opponent’s hand, barely missing, almost daring her to try and reach for it - "try me". You were untouchable, unstoppable, playing like you had something to prove.

But there was no smile, no hint of joy in your movements, solely mechanical. The usual lightness in your footwork was gone, replaced by a cold, ruthless efficiency. You’d already decided: this match was yours. You weren’t here to give an inch, weren’t here to let any lingering emotions cloud your focus. The crowd might have wanted excitement, but you were giving them precision, a display of control and fury that left no room for doubt.

You won, of course. Your opponent barely had a chance. But as you walked off the court, sweat trickling down your brow, fists clenched, you felt no thrill in the victory. Just the dull ache that lingered, a hollow space where your lightness, your smile, used to be. The heat of the court only made your head throb. The applause faded into background noise as you strode away, head high, shoulders tense. You’d won, but it felt like a hollow victory. You had no one to text after your game, anyone to call you baby - you had done it to yourself, were you really that desperate for a man to validate you? You were sick of feeling this way, sick of the exhaustion, the anger, the loneliness that clung to you even after everything you’d given today. At least, for now, you’d proven something, to yourself, to him, even if he’d never know, or care.

In the month that followed, you threw yourself harshly into your schedule, determined to erase any trace of him from your routine, your heart. Matches, training, travel, interviews, photoshoots, more matches, each day bled into the next, filled with an almost mechanical sense of purpose. If you weren’t on the court, you were working out, perfecting your strokes, spending hours on serves and footwork. Anything to exhaust yourself to stop the thoughts from lingering too long. Your routine was relentless, your focus razor-sharp.

But even in this frenzy, despite it all, reminders of him still slipped through. You’d scroll through social media, and every so often, an ATP post would pop up: Ben at a tournament, Ben celebrating a point, Ben grinning with that easy charm that used to make your heart ache. He looked different now. His curls were longer, spilling out from over his sweaty headband, and his frame had hardened, leaner, with muscle that seemed to outline his strength in sharper lines. His chubby cheeks had slimmed down into something harder, replaced by the quiet confidence of someone who’d grown, adapted, maybe even suffered a little.

And you could almost feel it, the quaking, gaping pain of missing him, but you’d swallow it back down, pull yourself together, and look away.

Your own press conferences became something else entirely. You were more composed, a bit sharper with your words, confident in a way you hadn’t been before. Where you used to smile shyly or laugh softly, now you leaned in with humour, a hint of flirtation, your charm more self-assured. You handled reporters’ questions deftly, especially the ones that tried to pry about Ben. The same questions came up over and over:

“So, do you still keep in touch with Ben?”

Each time, you’d respond with a practised, cool smile. “Right now, I’ve got all the support I need from my team and the people I have with me.” You’d turn the conversation to your work, your skill, and your grind on the court, dismissing the topic with subtle elegance, always steering it back to your goals, your game, and your people.

Yet, away from the cameras, the facade cracked, if only slightly. Sometimes, after a long match or a particularly brutal day of training, you’d find yourself scrolling through your old photos or feeling tears prickling your eyes, this messy situation taking a bigger toll than you would like to admit.

In his hotel room, Ben watched your interviews alone, a faint crease between his brows. There you were, in all your brilliance, flashing a confident smile at the camera, handling the press with a wit and boldness that felt both familiar and strange. He could see the way you’d grown, the way you’d steeled yourself, and it stirred something in him, a pang he couldn’t ignore. It was like watching someone he knew intimately and yet… not at all. The way you answered questions about him, and your subtle redirection to your career and team, it stung. Maybe it was petty, but he missed the way you used to talk about him with such pride, with that lovestruck glow. He loved seeing how shy you would get at the sheer mention of his name. Your hair was different, your skin glowing, you had more confidence, even if it came off a bit cocky but he still felt like you were his, just as much as he was yours. Ben didn’t know how to reach out, didn’t know what he’d even say. There was a distance now, both physical and emotional, that seemed impossible to bridge. He’d scroll through his own phone sometimes, finding old messages, ones before distance got the better of you both, photos of the two of you, half-written scripts in his Notes app he couldn’t bring himself to deliver. If he flew out tonight to you, what would he even do after? He’d think of calling you, of reaching out somehow, but the memory of your last fight, the bitterness in your voice, the way you’d shut him out… it held him back.

One evening, as you sat alone in the players' lounge, your forehead pressed against the back of the sofa, you felt that familiar ache pulse through you, the one that came every time you thought of him. It was then that Coco came by, her familiar, steady presence filling the room as she settled down across from you, cross-legged on the seat in front of you. Over the past year, it was Ben that introduced you but, you and Coco had grown even closer, bound not just by shared victories and losses but by the pressures only someone like her could truly understand.

Coco tilted her head, her gaze warm but unwavering. “Alright,” she said, cutting through the silence. “What’s really going on? Are you… over him?”

You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I wish I could say yes,” you murmured. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to move on, focus on the game, on everything else, but… he’s still everywhere. Even when I’m doing well, even when I’m focused, it’s like… something’s missing.” Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. “It’s like I can’t fully shake him.”

Coco nodded, her expression both sympathetic and knowing. “I get it. You two had something real, something intense. But maybe this time apart is what you both need. I mean, look at you. You’re stronger now, on and off the court. Maybe that’s part of this whole journey, you know?”

You managed a faint smile, though your heart still felt heavy. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. It just… doesn’t always feel like enough.”

She reached out, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me. If he’s the right guy, he’ll figure it out, too. Until then? Focus on your game. Focus on you.”

Her words stayed with you, offering a small but steady comfort in the days that followed. You have been throwing yourself into training, pouring everything into the sport, trying to find solace in each match and each moment of growth. Somewhere out there, he was doing the same, and maybe, just maybe, this was what was best.

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t completely smother the small spark of hope, that someday, somehow, your paths might cross again.

It was similar in the men’s locker room, Ben slumped forward on the bench, his elbows propped on his knees as he stared blankly at the floor, holding an uncapped bottle of water. Frances Tiafoe, who’d been eyeing him from across the room, exchanged a knowing glance with Taylor Fritz before making his way over.

“Alright, bro, spill it,” Frances said, tossing a towel over his shoulder as he leaned in. “You’ve been lookin’ like you’re living in some sad dog for weeks.”

Ben gave him a sidelong glance. “There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

Taylor rolled his eyes as he joined them, settling down on the other side of Ben. “Come on, man. We’re not blind. Ever since she blocked you, you’ve been… different.”

Ben scoffed, looking away, his voice low. “She didn’t just block me, man. She… she threw down, real hard. Said some things I thought she’d never say.”

Frances let out a low whistle. “Was that rough, huh?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, rubbing a hand over his face, his frustration mingling with regret. “It all just blew up. We were on a call, talkin’ like usual, and suddenly… it was like everything we hadn’t said just came out. She starts throwin’ things at me about how I’m not there, like… like I don’t care enough or not workin' hard enough. And it pissed me off, you know? I work just as hard, and it’s not like I’m sittin’ around, right?”

Taylor nodded, leaning back against the lockers. “So, what’d you do?”

Ben shrugged, his expression pained. “I pushed back, told her she couldn’t keep actin’ like she’s the only one workin’ for this. Told her ATP is just as tough, maybe even more competitive. Didn’t mean it that way, but she took it wrong. She thought I was tryin’ to downplay her game.”

Frances shook his head, giving Ben a sympathetic look. “Man, she must’ve felt hurt.”

“Yeah,” Ben muttered, a bitter laugh escaping him. “And next thing I know, I get this text. ‘This isn’t workin', we’re done.’ Blocked me on everything. Cold as ice, man. It’s like she flipped a switch, just… shut me out completely, as easy as shuttin' a door.”

Frances gave him a gentle nudge. “You still care about her?”

Ben’s gaze softened, a faint smile breaking through his frustration. “Yeah, man. She’s… she’s my girl. Even if she’s not my girl right now, you know?”

Taylor chuckled, nodding. “So, what’re you gonna do about it? Sit around here moping, or actually make a move?”

Ben sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “What am I supposed to do? She’s made it pretty clear she’s done with me.”

Frances grinned, crossing his arms. “Bro, just ‘cause she blocked you and sent a text after you called her game easy, doesn’t mean it’s over. She’s mad, yeah, but she’s probably missin’ you just as much. You just gotta show her you’re willin’ to do what it takes.”

Taylor nodded in agreement, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “And it doesn’t have to be some big romantic gesture, man. Sometimes, it’s the small things. Something to let her know you’re still thinkin’ of her, still care. You know where we're at next, right?”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “And do what? Just show up at her hotel room? She’s liable to call cops on my ass for that shit, bro.”

Frances laughed, shrugging. “So what? At least she’ll know you tried! Don't go doin' that though. Look, I’ve been with my girl for years now, and sometimes, you gotta be willing to look like a fool to show her you care.”

Ben leaned back, their words sinking in. He could still feel the sting of the things she’d said, the accusations she’d thrown at him like he didn’t care, didn’t work just as hard. But he couldn’t deny that he’d made mistakes, too. He’d let his pride get in the way, said things he regretted, and let the frustration of it all get the better of him.

Frances nudged him again, his grin widening. “Think about it, man. You got two choices: sit here, feeling sorry for yourself until she finds some other guy, or actually do something about it and get her back, even if that means standing in the rain with a fuckin' speaker.”

Ben finally cracked a smile, looking between his friends. “Y’all are ridiculous.”

“Hey, maybe,” Taylor said with a shrug. “But at least we got girlfriends. And you? You got a chance to get yours back. Just gotta decide if she’s worth it.”

Ben sat there, mulling over their words as a new determination started to burn within him. Maybe he didn’t have all the answers, and maybe there was a lot he’d have to figure out. But if there was even a chance to fix things, to bridge that gap that felt so wide, he wasn’t about to let his pride hold him back.

As he left the locker room that night, he felt a resolve solidify within him. He’d find a way to reach out, to let her know that no matter how far apart they were, she was still the one he wanted. Because when it came down to it, she was worth every bit of the fight.

A week went by before a 1000 game flew in, and both ATP and WTA were present if not, nearby for the games. You couldn't care less what was at stake, anything was a win if it kept you occupied. The courts were almost empty, shadows lengthening as the sun beamed high above. You bounced the ball steadily, the rhythm calm, your focus laser-sharp. The only sounds were the muted thud of your shoes on the court, and your breath falling into sync with the beat of your earbuds. Nothing but you, the court, and the quiet.

But then, that voice broke through.

"Aw, c'mon, man!" A laugh, deep and full of that unmistakable Southern drawl. Your grip faltered, the ball hovering mid-toss. That laugh, it was a sound you hadn’t let yourself think about for months, one that held too much of him.

Ben.

Your pulse jolted, the memories flooding back, warmth and bitterness tangled in the knots of your chest. You gritted your teeth, tossing the ball high before slamming it against the court, the crack of impact sharp in the quiet. It almost felt satisfying, like you could obliterate the tension he brought, shatter it with sheer force.

Almost.

You readied another serve, the ball bouncing harder than necessary as you forced yourself not to look. But you could feel his gaze, that familiar weight of his eyes lingering on you. The pull was magnetic, almost maddening, and despite every ounce of resolve you’d built up, your gaze betrayed you, slipping over to catch a glimpse of him.

Ben, laughing with Taylor, curls tousled longer than before, his hoodie slung carelessly over those familiar, ridiculous short shorts. The same hoodie you'd worn too many times to count, drowning in its warmth during late-night snack runs and lazy Sundays. The sight tugged painfully, a cruel reminder of the little things you’d pushed down, tried to forget.

He caught you looking, and his laughter faded, his gaze holding yours for just a second too long. You gripped the ball tighter, the ache settling heavy, and forced yourself to turn away, channelling the flurry of memories into another sharp serve, a fierce crack reverberating across the court. You didn’t look back again.

Hours later, your body was tired, your mind a bit clearer. You were scrolling through your phone in the lounge, zoning out, when Coco dropped down beside you with that familiar, mischievous grin.

"Hey, you!" She nudged you, hands on her hips.

You eyed her warily. "What’s up, Coco? Awfully perky for...5:30p.m."

“We’re having dinner tonight. Big group. Wanna come?” Her tone was casual, a little too casual.

Your guard went up immediately as you dropped your phone to your lap. “Who’s ‘we all’?”

Coco shrugged, twirling a loose curl around her finger. “Me, Frances, Arthur… maybe another WTA girl or two. Just a fun little dinner. Nothing formal.”

You narrowed your eyes, reading the glint of mischief in hers. "Coco, don’t mess with me. He's not gonna be there, right?"

She tilted her head, pretending to look innocent, but the sly smile gave her away. "Well… he might show up, but that's on his own accord. I didn't mention anything to Ben and it’s not like anyone’s setting anything up! It’s just dinner."

Your stomach twisted, a sigh slipping from your lips as you looked away. “I don’t think so. Not after… everything.” Your voice softened the weight of old arguments and unsaid things hanging between the words.

Coco’s face softened, her hand finding your shoulder. “Look, I’m not saying you have to sit next to him or anything. It’s a big table. You can stay on the opposite end and ignore him if that’s what you need. But everyone misses you, it’s been ages since we all got together. We all need to see your pretty face off the court too, ya know?”

You hesitated, rolling your eyes, the ache of missing them settling somewhere deep, the sense of family you hadn’t felt in months tugging at you. After a long pause, you finally nodded, rolling your shoulders back as if bracing for a match. “Fine. But I’m serious, Coco, no funny business. If he starts anything, I’m out.”

Coco grinned, throwing her arm around you. “Girl, trust me. If anything, you’ll be giving him the funny looks. Just friends, no drama. Now, let’s go get you out of those sweats.”

Meanwhile, in the locker room across the court, Ben was doing his best to act indifferent as Frances nudged him for the third time.

"C'mon, man!" Frances said, leaning against the lockers with a knowing grin. "So you are coming to this dinner tonight, right? Don't make me beg again, I'll start singing.”

Ben tried to play it cool, leaning back with his arms crossed. “I don’t know, man. You really think it’s a good idea?”

Frances rolled his eyes. “Look, you’ve been moping for months. She’s not gonna make a scene in public, and especially not with all of us, and who knows? Maybe she’ll talk to you, be all civil. It’s worth a shot.”

Ben let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck. “Civil? You remember the last time we spoke, right? She has me blocked on everything.”

Taylor, stretching nearby, smirked and chimed in. “Man, you got nothin’ to lose. At the very least, you’ll see her. I saw how you were after you caught a glimpse of her training earlier. Besides, Frances and Coco will keep her from killin’ you.”

“Kay, thanks,” Ben muttered, though a flicker of hope sparked under the sarcasm. He didn’t want to admit it, but he couldn’t shake the longing to see her again, to maybe fix even a sliver of what had been broken.

Taylor nudged him, grinning. “Hey, listen, if I wasn’t taking Morgan out tonight, I’d be there just for moral support. But hey, maybe next time it’ll be a double date. Me, you, Morgan and your soon-to-be girlfriend, just like old times.”

Ben shook his head, the thought both terrifying and oddly thrilling. “You’re jokin’, right? She’d probably throw her drink at me before she’d sit through a double date.”

“Only if you act like an idiot,” Frances pointed out, laughing. “Just be yourself, man. You can handle the heat on the court, you can handle this. And maybe tonight’ll be the thing that finally breaks the ice.”

Ben sighed, running a hand over his face before finally surrendering. “Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll go. But Frances, don’t expect me to be all… chatty.”

Frances clapped him on the back, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. “Yeah, you say that now. But I know how you get around her, man. Just don’t chicken out. Remember, we got your back.”

Ben couldn’t help but smile nervously, feeling a strange mix of dread and anticipation tighten in his chest. He wasn’t sure if this dinner would be a chance at redemption or just a painful reminder of how far they’d drifted, but one thing was clear, he was tired of hiding from whatever was left between them.

You walk into the restaurant and let Coco lead you to a long table, feeling an odd mix of nerves and determination fluttering in your stomach. Your outfit is cute but simple, just a sweater and leggings; just enough effort to feel put together without trying too hard. You take a seat between Coco and Arthur Fils, with Frances across from you. There’s an empty chair across from Arthur, and for some reason, that empty space makes your heart beat a little faster, feeling torn between wanting and avoiding Ben there.

As everyone settles in, you catch Coco’s eye and mutter, “Please tell me he’s not actually coming.” She just shrugs with an easy smile.

Moments later, as the group banters along, about to order drinks, Ben strolls in, catching you entirely off-guard. He’s slightly out of breath, apologising to the group with that familiar grin, explaining he’s late because he’d just finished showering after practice. You can’t help it, you nudge Coco under the table, whispering through gritted teeth, a frustrated, “Great.”

Coco just gives him a casual greeting, and you force yourself to turn back to the table, focusing your attention on ordering a glass of wine, pretending not to notice him as he takes that empty seat across from Arthur, just barely within your view, diagonally. But as he sits down, you feel his eyes on you, and for a brief moment, you glance up and catch him staring, his face almost dazed.

You’re caught off-guard by the look in his eyes. His breath seems to hitch, his big brown eyes wide and you can see a faint blush creeping up his neck as he stares at you, almost like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. There’s a softness in his expression that you weren’t prepared for, a kind of awe that makes your stomach twist with memories and longing. But just as quickly, you look away, turning your attention to your wine as Frances elbows Ben with a teasing hiss, “Be normal, man.”

Throughout the night, you manage to keep to yourself, mostly talking to the other WTA players or Arthur whenever he cracks a joke. You keep Ben at the edge of your vision, resolute in ignoring the way his gaze keeps drifting back to you.

Every once in a while, Ben attempts to draw you into the conversation, maybe a lighthearted comment or a direct question, but each time, you meet his gaze with a steely look, making it clear with just one glance that you’re not interested. When he tries again, you let your eyes meet his for a moment, long enough to show him you’re serious before turning away, cutting off his effort entirely, almost to say "not interested". Across the table, Frances raises his brows, murmuring with a barely hidden smirk, “Damn, she is good at this,” as Ben slouches slightly, clearly trying not to look embarrassed.

As dinner winds down, the plates are cleared away, and you excuse yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment alone. Inside, you take a deep breath, facing yourself in the mirror. You’d been bracing yourself for tonight, but nothing quite prepared you for how it would feel to see him sitting right there, looking at you with those big sweet brown eyes and a pout, filled with that same soft pleading that used to make you melt.

But tonight, all it did was remind you of those late nights waiting by your phone, checking it over and over for messages that came slower and slower until they just…stopped. It reminds you of the countless hours wondering if you mattered as much as you thought you did, replaying his empty promises and half-hearted reassurances that seemed to fade with each passing day. He couldn't expect you to take him back with a pout and some half-assed joke. But damn, was it a good attempt, he knew how to make you crumble, even if it wasn't his sole intention.

You force yourself to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you look in the bathroom mirror examining yourself with a sigh, applying a bit of lip balm with fingers that tremble just slightly. Anything to distract yourself, to remind yourself that you’re strong enough to face this without breaking, reminding yourself to keep that mask on. You straighten your posture, determined to push all those memories back down where they belong, buried.

But just as you step out of the bathroom, Ben is standing right there, leaning against the wall as if he’d been waiting for you. His eyes soften the moment they meet yours, and he opens his mouth, his voice just a whisper. “Can we…talk? Just the two of us?”

The look he gives you, hopeful, no, desperate, stirs something deep inside you, and you clench your jaw, wanting to say no, wanting to walk away without a second thought. But as much as you’d like to ignore it, part of you still aches for some kind of closure, maybe even just one honest conversation.

With a reluctant sigh, you nod. “Fine. Outside.”

As you head out the restaurant’s door, you quickly fire off a text to Coco:

me n Ben talking outside. brb.

You stuff your phone back into your bag, clutching it tightly to your shoulder as you step into the cool night air. Wrapping your arms under your chest, you try to keep yourself shielded from more than just the chilling breeze.

Ben falls into step beside you, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. There’s a moment of silence as you both find your footing, the quiet thick with everything that’s been left unsaid. You glance sideways, catching him opening his mouth like he’s about to say something, only to close it, his shoulders shifting awkwardly.

“So… how’s the tournament going for you?” he starts, his tone casual, a little too casual.

You blink, trying not to roll your eyes, feeling the irritation growing. Really? But you bite back and just sternly say, “Ben.”

He rubs the back of his neck, glancing up at the streetlights overhead. “Sorry, yeah, that was- uh, okay.” He lets out a breath and shuffles closer, his voice almost a murmur. “I just… I wanna make this right. Another chance- Just thought maybe… you know, talkin’ would be easier if…”

“Ben, stop.” You sigh, tightening your grip on your bag strap. “Stop being weird. Just… just say what you have to say, and let’s get this over with. Let's not make this longer than it needs to be, I've got shit to do tomorrow.”

He glances at you, brows knitting together. For a second, he looks almost frustrated, like he’s holding back something sharper, something rougher. But he lets it pass, letting out a long, resigned breath. “Fine. I’ll just ask one thing.”

You arch an eyebrow, scepticism thick in your voice. “One question. Shoot.”

His voice comes out softer, edged with a hesitant curiosity as if he knows it’s a stupid question but can’t help but ask. “What hotel you stayin’ at?”

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. “The Merrion.”

His eyes widen slightly, a small, stupid smile breaking on his face. “No way… me too.”

You sigh, looking up at the night sky, feeling the inevitability of whatever this night is becoming. Of course, he’s at the same hotel. Only Ben could make the universe align like this. And only Ben would think of a stupid question like that. He shifts his weight, stepping closer, his gaze steady.

“Look,” he starts, “it’s just a short walk back, twenty minutes or so. Just… give me that time. Just enough to walk back. Let me talk. And then you can go to your room and go to bed. How 'bout it?”

There’s a hopeful edge in his voice that you can’t ignore, and for a moment, your resolve falters. It’s ridiculous, this is exactly the sort of thing he would come up with, some half-baked plan to get you to keep listening, to keep him around just a little longer. You want to roll your eyes, to brush him off, but something about the way he’s looking at you, those earnest, brown eyes so damn full of longing, makes you sigh.

“Fine,” you mutter. “But if you get weird again, I’m out. No small talk, you know how much I hate it.”

A small grin creeps onto his face, and he falls into step beside you, a little closer than necessary, his arm brushing against yours as you start down the quiet street. For a minute, he doesn’t say anything, just walks alongside you, letting the silence settle around you both. But then, in that familiar southern drawl, his voice comes softer.

“Y’know, I've been thinkin’ ‘bout us a lot… probably more than I should.”

You keep your eyes on the sidewalk ahead, willing yourself to stay unmoved. “And?”

He swallows, his gaze tracing your profile, softening with each word. “I messed up,” he admits. “I know I did. I shoulda… been there more, answered more, I dunno. Shoulda been better at handlin’ it.”

You nod slightly, keeping your face blank. “Mhm, you should've.”

There’s a flicker of frustration in his expression, but he doesn’t let it throw him off. “You think I didn’t feel it too? That whole time, it felt like- hell, like I was losin’ you, like somethin’ was slippin’ right outta my hands, and I couldn’t do nothin’ to stop it.”

You feel the tension in your shoulders loosen just a fraction, though you keep your arms folded as a kind of armour. His words settle into the silence, raw and rough, and you can feel him glancing over, waiting for some kind of response. But you keep your gaze forward, biting back the little stirrings of emotion that are beginning to creep in.

He keeps talking, voice low and steady, drawing you in without giving you a chance to look away. “I’m not tryin’ to make excuses, alright? I know I coulda tried harder. But it’s like… the more I tried, the harder it got. The distance, the time zones, the schedules… it all just made me feel like I couldn’t keep up. And I just didn't know how to juggle it and that's my fault.”

You shake your head slightly, finally glancing over at him, the faintest of smirks tugging at the corner of your mouth. “So this is your way of apologising?”

He laughs, a little sheepish. “Guess I’m not real good at it, huh?” He nudges you with his shoulder, a familiar, easy gesture that makes your arms slowly loosen. His hand brushes your arm, just for a second, and a warmth blooms where his fingers graze your skin as if your body’s memory of him can’t help but respond.

“Look,” he says, his voice dipping softer, “I just… I miss you so much. Like hell.”

The honesty in his tone hits you hard, unravelling the cold exterior you’ve worked so hard to keep up. He keeps his eyes on you, watching your face carefully as if gauging your reaction. You feel your resolve slipping even more, your arms slowly falling to your sides, your heart aching as you fight against the wave of warmth that’s threatening to break through.

“Ben…” you start, barely a whisper, but you don’t know what to say, feeling torn.

He moves a little closer, his eyes wide, pleading, like he’s trying to hold onto every inch of you he can. “I know I messed up, okay? But I don’t wanna lose you. Not for good. Please, Y/N. Give me one more chance, you won't regret it 'n if I fuck up bad, you can do whatever, however; I deserve it but please. Just one more chance.”

You press your lips tight together, feeling your heart tighten as his words sink in, as he stands there looking at you with that same vulnerability you’d once fallen in love with. For a second, you forget the hurt, the sleepless nights, and you’re left with just him, the version of him that’s open, sincere, the Ben you’d once held so close.

The walk to the hotel stretches out as he keeps talking, spilling out and laying his heart bare with that easy, boyish charm that only he can pull off, and little by little, you feel your icy exterior start to melt. He talks about his time away from you, how he admired you from videos, watched highlight reels, his endless hours at night going through photos and texts; the whole lot. He cracks a joke, and despite yourself, you smile, trying to hide it but failing. He nudges you again, grinning as he sees the hint of laughter breaking through your guard.

He apologises over and over, more earnestly each time, his voice steady and low, and you can hear the regret, the guilt, the need to make things right. By the time you reach the hotel entrance, you’re feeling something dangerously close to hope, your heart betraying you, making it harder and harder to keep up the facade.

You glance over at him, catching the way his eyes soften as he looks at you as if you’re the only thing he can see. He’s staring, the blush from earlier creeping back up his neck, and when his hand brushes yours one last time, you don’t pull away.

You stand just outside the hotel, a faint chill brushing past as the streetlights cast a warm glow around you. You shift on your feet, glancing up at him, your eyes soft but determined.

“Can I talk?” you ask, breaking the quiet, your voice barely above a whisper. The first thing you had actually said this entire time.

Ben raises an eyebrow, leaning in with a playful smirk. “Talk? What else have we been doin’ for the last twenty minutes, girl?”

You roll your eyes and reach out to smack his arm, earning a chuckle from him. “Fine then. Can we go up to your room?” you add, a small, daring smile tugging at your lips.

Ben’s eyebrow quirks higher. “My room, huh?” His gaze narrows, teasing you with that familiar glint. “What exactly ya got planned, sweetheart?”

You swat him again, harder this time, and he laughs, raising his hands in mock defence. But then you drop the smile, your voice softer. “I wanna talk about what I did, Ben. I messed up too.”

The teasing fades from his expression as he studies your face, searching. After a pause, he nods and gestures toward the lobby. “Alright, then. Let’s go talk.”

In the elevator, silence hangs thick in the air, tension as familiar as it is unspoken. You don't even notice, spending your time stilling your breath and running through everything you want to apologise for. When you reach his room, you head over to the small couch by the window and settle in, tucking your legs under you and giving him a steady look.

“Ya gettin’ comfortable already?” he jokes, leaning against the wall, his eyes dancing with that old spark that makes you ache.

You try not to smile, steeling yourself for your confessional. “Can you be serious for a minute?”

His smile fades as he walks over, sitting across from you, his gaze intense and focused. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything you’ve held back.

“I shouldn’t have put so many expectations on you,” you begin, your voice wavering. “You’ve got your own life, your own competitions, your own dreams. All this constant travelling, the different time zones… it’s not fair to expect you to be there every time I needed you at the drop of a hat. You get burnt out too- God. I never even asked how you were before I'd launch into my own day.”

You bite your lip, blinking back tears as they start to blur your vision. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been more understanding, given you more grace.” Your voice catches, barely a whisper now. “And what I said… on that call… it was cruel, Ben. I was mean and unfair, and you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of it. At all. I wouldn't want myself back after all I had said and done.”

As a tear slips down your cheek, Ben’s face softens, and he reaches out without hesitation, his hands cupping your face as he brushes the tear away. His thumb lingers on your skin, his gaze is unwavering, and then he leans forward, pressing the gentlest kiss to your temple, another to your forehead, and a final one at the crown of your head, his hand resting tenderly against your hair.

You let out a shuddered breath, your hands covering his as you finally let everything pour out. “I miss you so much,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “I miss everything about you… the way you laugh, your ridiculous voice…” Another tear rolls down, and you don’t try to hold back. “I miss the way you’d talk about cars or food for ages, and you’d make everything feel so normal, even when my life was a mess. Without you, it’s like this haze I can’t shake. I just… I miss you. I barely recognise myself these days.”

Your body shakes with the sobs you’ve tried so hard to bury, and Ben doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he could shield you from all the pain, all the regret. He holds you there, one hand smoothing over your hair, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses to your forehead and cheeks, murmuring gentle words against your skin.

“S’all right, darlin’,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here. I’m right here with you.”

You cling to him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, as his hands trace soothing circles along your back. Your sobs gradually quiet, but your breaths are still shaky, each exhale unsteady.

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” you manage, voice barely audible.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “Hey now,” he murmurs, his tone warm and grounding. “We both made mistakes. Ain’t just on you, alright? Takes two to mess up, but it takes two to fix it too. We can fix, can't we?”

You nod, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, feeling a little of the weight lift, softened by his words.

Ben tilts your head to hold your gaze, his own eyes glassy. “Can’t tell ya how many times I thought about callin’ ya or flying to ya,” he admits, his voice low. “How many times I’d pull up your name, wonderin’ what you’d say if I told ya all the things I wished I’d said. But I was… hell, I was scared, darlin’. Thought maybe I’d screwed up too bad, and you’d moved on.”

You shake your head, a small, breathy laugh escaping. “I couldn’t...I could never.”

He strokes your hair gently, his lips brushing your forehead once more. “Guess we’re both a couple of fools then, huh?”

You laugh softly, the sound wet and trembling as he pulls you back into his arms. You lean into him, letting yourself feel the warmth of his embrace, the steady beat of his heart, grounding you. Wrapped in the quiet, tangled together, you both hold on a little tighter, feeling the rawness of your honesty and the comfort of finally, finally being close again. In the safety of his arms, you feel, for the first time in so long, a sense of peace, letting the unspoken words settle around you like a quiet promise.

Ben’s hand rests on your cheek, his thumb tracing small circles as he learns your face all over again, making your heart flutter. His fingers move slowly, grazing down to your jaw, then up again, threading into your hair. You let your eyes close for a moment, his gentle touch working its way through the tension of the night, and a small, contented sigh escapes you. For the first time in weeks, you feel relaxed and content.

“Gettin’ comfortable, huh?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, though there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He leans in, giving one final push to a stray strand of your hair before tilting his head toward the bed across the room. “C’mon, darlin’. This couch is barely holdin’ us together.”

You hesitate, but Ben’s already moving, holding out his hand as he stands up. His grip is strong, guiding you as you follow him to the bed, and he lets out a soft chuckle as you settle beside him. His arm drapes around you, pulling you close as you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against you. The warmth is so consuming, cocooning you immediately.

Ben smiles down at you, a playful glint in his eye, and as his fingers find your hair again, he starts twirling a strand between his fingers. “So,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on the top of your head, “ya still gonna keep me blocked, huh?”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Fine,” you reply, unlocking your phone with a playful huff. You find his name, well, technically his new contact name since you’d deleted him in a fit of anger, and type a single white heart emoji, pressing send.

The vibration of his phone buzzes beside him, and he pulls it out with a grin, holding up the glowing screen. “There it is. Knew ya couldn’t resist me,” he says, laughing as he pulls you in close as he kisses your temple.

But just as you relax against him, you notice a missed notification. It’s a text from Coco, her reply to your earlier message asking where she’d disappeared to after dinner. You hesitate, then, instead of texting back, you tap the Facetime icon, feeling a strange urge to share this quiet moment, finding words couldn't suffice, nor were you in the mood to type out a lengthy paragraph.

The call connects, and Coco’s face appears, a gasp escaping her as she spots you two tangled up in Ben’s bed, nestled together with his arm around you.

“Oh my god! Yes!” she cheers, loud enough to make Ben chuckle. You hear laughter and cheers in the background too, and Coco turns the camera, revealing the whole dinner table watching with knowing smiles.

"Coco, this was a set-up plan, huh?" you giggle as you see the entire friend group on the other end.

"Somewhat, but blame Morgan and Taylor, not me. They did all that," she throws the blame as she points the camera over to them. Frances, Morgan and Taylor wave and Frances yells “Look at Ben! Already got her in bed, huh?”

Ben rolls his eyes, but a faint blush colours his cheeks. He pulls you closer, his hand resting protectively around your shoulders as he grins.

“Hey now,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “This one’s special. Ain’t like any other. My lucky charm.”

You feel your heart skip a beat at his words, and you’re so focused on him that you barely notice Coco and the others making gagging noises before Ben reaches out, ending the call on your phone with a smirk. Then he turns back to you, his eyes soft, filled with something that feels dangerously like forever.

He leans in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s slow and tender, each second lingering with quiet promises. And in the warmth of his arms, your heart finally feels at home, exactly where it belongs.

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: Las Vegas & Cleveland (2/?)

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Word Count: 4k Summary: Three months has raced by since you agreed to join the campaign team of Rogers for America as Steve runs for President of the United States of America. You've settled in and are starting to hit your stride campaigning, but what the state of affairs for your marriage?

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

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[SEPTEMBER 2 - Las Vegas, Nevada]

“Mrs. Rogers!” “Mrs. Rogers!”

You exchange a brief look with your assistant Sophia. She nods to wordlessly confirm that you have a few moments and should engage with the press. Taking a deep breath, you turn and approach the bank of reporters waiting and eager to regale you with questions.

There are a few familiar faces who’ve been consistently covering the Rogers for America campaign, some of them even assigned specifically to report on you - mostly friends, but some that could be categorized in the foe column.

“Mrs. Rogers, you and your husband are in the same city for the first time in eighteen days.” This is one of the faces you aren’t familiar with in the gaggle of press. “Are you looking forward to being reunited as you support him in the first presidential debate tonight?”

Eighteen days… You hadn’t realized it had been that long, but you’ve become a trained professional when appearing in public now, and you don’t let your face betray any shock or unease.

“Yes, we’re eager to spend time together.” Consummate professional that you’ve become, you do play into showing a little bit of surprise. “Has it been eighteen days? Who’s been tracking this? Clearly we need you on our campaign team!”

It garners some good-natured laughs from the group.

“Mrs. Rogers, you and Steve had to cancel the traditional honeymoon, has it put a strain on your marriage, and will you be taking a honeymoon any time soon?”

“Oh, Ben, are you saying this isn’t a honeymoon? I thought all newlyweds took a five-month long zig-zagging trek all across America to kick off their marriage!”

A few more laughs.

“Steve is serious about this campaign, and we both knew the sacrifices we would be making along the way. Our time together is very limited, but I can tell you, without question, that Steve will be as dedicated to his roles and responsibilities as President as you have seen him be to this campaign. One thing we speak about frequently when we do have time together are the incredible people we’re meeting as we travel from state to state and get to talk with you, see what your life looks like in each new place.” This is true. It’s become one of the unspoken safe topics you can bring up at the drop of a hat with each other. “We’re getting the opportunity to experience first-hand that although we’re all so different, there’s so much that unites us as Americans, shoulder to shoulder, regardless of the part of the country we live in.”

“Thank you, everyone,” Sophia steps up and cuts in. “I’m sure we’ll see you all tonight at the debate. A reminder that the Rogers for America campaign will hold a brief press conference ten minutes after the debate concludes. For now, you have to let me get Mrs. Rogers in the car and on the way to the university or we’re not going to beat traffic - and neither will any of you.”

Then Sophia ushers you away, and you slip into the vehicle waiting for you both.

“Good answers,” she says, as the driver pulls away. “You’re really becoming comfortable fielding their questions and directing their energy where we want to see it go.”

You smile at Sophia's praise. She’s genuine but very no-nonsense, so she doesn’t throw out compliments to placate you or anyone else. It’s one of the reasons you promoted her to your assistant. "Thanks. I do feel like I'm starting to get the hang of it. Though I have to admit, I was a bit thrown by that '18 days' comment."

Sophia nods sympathetically. "I know. It's been a whirlwind, but you're doing great. The public loves you, and your approval ratings are holding steady."

You lean back in your seat, letting out a small sigh. "Approval ratings. Sometimes I still can't believe this is my life now."

As the car weaves through traffic, your mind drifts back to the past few months. The whirlwind wedding, the campaign launch, the endless string of rallies, interviews, and public appearances. You've barely had a moment to catch your breath, let alone get to know your husband.

Steve. Your husband.

In name and public persona only, it seems. The campaign trails that are being charted and continually adjusted for you, Steve, the VP nominee, and his wife, have all four of you covering as much ground as possible, and there’s rarely any overlap, but it does seem like you’re rarely with the Mr. to your Mrs. It makes things simultaneously more and less complicated. More complicated because the lack of time together means it’s more awkward that you’re still basically acquaintances but have to look the part of happy newlyweds. Less complicated because at least you’re not messing with any deep or complex feelings.

"Mrs. Rogers?" Sophia's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "We're almost there. Are you ready?"

You straighten up, smoothing down the front of your outfit. "As ready as I'm going to be. What's on the agenda before the debate?"

Sophia consults her tablet. "You have a meet and greet with the VP and a group of the local campaign volunteers. Steve should be arriving about forty-five minutes before the debate starts. Twenty minutes before the debate, you all have a brief prep session with the communications team - updates on the developments over the day and reviewing the message for tonight."

You nod, trying to ignore the small flutter in your stomach at the mention of Steve's name. It's ridiculous, you tell yourself. You're married to the man, for goodness sake. And you both know it’s a marriage for the stability of this campaign and the future presidency.

The car pulls up to the Thomas & Mack Center at the University of Nevada, and you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the chaos that awaits. As you step out, you're immediately greeted by flashing cameras and shouts from the crowd. You smile and wave, but don't stop to answer any questions as you make your way inside, following someone from the debate logistics team to get to the staging and holding area.

Backstage is a flurry of activity. Campaign staffers rush back and forth, last-minute preparations are being made, and there's an electric tension in the air. Your eyes scan the room, looking for one person in particular.

And then you see him. Steve is standing off to the side, deep in conversation with one of the communications strategists. Even after all these months, the sight of him still takes your breath away. He's tall, broad-shouldered, and undeniably handsome in his perfectly tailored navy suit. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he listens intently to the woman in front of him.

As if sensing your presence, Steve looks up, his eyes meeting yours across the room. His face softens slightly, and he excuses himself from the conversation, making his way over to you.

"Hey," he says softly as he approaches, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. It's for show, you know, it’s important that even your own campaign staff thinks this marriage is more than surface level, and you stifle the small thrill that runs through you at the gesture. It’s only a gesture.

"Hi," you reply, managing to offer up an encouraging smile. "How are you feeling? Ready for tonight?"

Steve nods, his expression determined. "As ready as I'll ever be. We still have a long weeks ahead, but I think we're in a good position - and that’s what they keep saying across the team at this point."

You nod, studying his face. Despite his confident words, you can see the tension in his jaw, the slight crease between his brows. You've learned to read these subtle signs over the past few months, even with your limited time together.

"You've got this, Steve," you say softly, placing a hand on his arm. The gesture feels both natural and strange - you're still navigating the boundaries of your unique relationship. "Just remember why you're doing this. Speak from the heart, like you always do."

Steve's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see a flash of vulnerability there. "Thank you," he says, his voice low. "I -”

But before he can say the rest of what he was going to, Sophia approaches, tablet in hand. "Mrs. Rogers, we need to go to the reception with the volunteers from the local campaign team."

[SEPTEMBER 7 - Cleveland, Ohio]

The campaign strategy meeting is in full swing, the air thick with tension and the buzz of caffeine-fueled ideas. You're seated at a long table in a nondescript hotel conference room, surrounded by a sea of laptops, notepads, and half-empty coffee cups. The walls are covered with maps, poll numbers, and hastily scribbled strategies.

Steve sits at the head of the table, his brow furrowed in concentration as he listens to the latest polling data. You're positioned a few seats away, close enough to appear united, but not his most trusted. Sam, Bucky, the VP nominee Young and his assistant, the campaign press secretary, the communications director, all sit closer to or directly across from Steve, at the heart of the table. But you are closer than the finance director, legal advisor, speech writers, and the policy directors.

You're seated next Sam on your left with Sophia on your right, taking notes and pulling up memos on her laptop.

Steve is leaning forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as he listens to the campaign manager, Jake Thompson, deliver his latest assessment.

Jake, a seasoned political operative with salt-and-pepper hair and a no-nonsense attitude, stands at the head of the table, remote control in hand as he flips through a report on polling and focus groups that have been conducted over the past two weeks with Gen Z in urban, suburban, and rural pockets of the country.

"As you can see," Jake says, his voice carrying a mix of concern and determination, "this is where we’re making progress. Enough of them are tired of the rhetoric that’s been recycled all their lives, problems that never seem to be resolved because they’re too useful as campaign issues. That’s why an independent candidate is beginning to look a lot more appealing.”

Jake clicks to the next slide, which shows a breakdown of key issues that resonated most with young voters. "Climate change, affordable education, and social justice are their top priorities. They appreciate your strong stance on these issues, Steve, but they're still skeptical about whether you can actually deliver real change."

Steve nods, his expression thoughtful. "So how do we bridge that gap? How do we convince them that we're not just another set of empty promises?"

You lean forward slightly, your mind racing with ideas. This is an area where you feel you can contribute significantly, given your background in non-profit work and your ability to connect with younger generations.

"If I may," you begin, and all eyes turn to you. You feel a flutter of nervousness but push through it. "I think we need to focus on concrete, actionable plans. Not just broad strokes, but specific steps we'll take in the first 100 days. I think it would speak to Millennials as well.”

Jake nods appreciatively at your suggestion. "Mrs. Rogers, did you hack into my laptop sometime in the last 24 hours?” He’s not smiling - he never outright smiles - but he has a proud glint in his eyes as he looks at you. “What you’re suggesting is exactly in line with what I wanted to bring to the table today. We need to show them we're not just talking the talk, we’re ready to his the ground running when they put us in the White House."

Steve nods, his eyes meeting yours with interest. "Go on," he encourages.

You take a deep breath, feeling more confident. "We should consider hosting a series of town halls specifically targeting young voters. Not just to talk at them, but to listen. Let them voice their concerns directly and then demonstrate how our policies address those issues. We could even live-stream these events, make them interactive."

Jake looks intrigued. "That should work. It plays into our strengths - Steve's authenticity and your ability to connect with younger demographics."

"We could also leverage social media more effectively," you continue, warming to your topic. "Not just posting sound bites, but creating engaging content that breaks down complex issues in accessible ways. Maybe even collaborate with some respected influencers who align with our values."

Steve leans back in his chair, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I like it. What else?”

Elsa, communications director jumps in, "These are excellent strategies we can absolutely put into play, but we're still facing challenges with this demographic. Many of them feel disconnected from the political process entirely. They see you, Steve, as part of an older generation that doesn't understand their issues."

You watch Steve's reaction carefully. His jaw tightens slightly, but he nods, absorbing the information.

"What do you suggest?" Steve asks, his voice calm but tinged with frustration.

Elsa hesitates for a moment before responding. "We need to make you more relatable to younger voters. Show them that despite your... unique background, you understand and care about the issues that matter to them."

"And how do we do that?" Steve presses.

Jake glances your way before answering. "We think Mrs. Rogers could play a key role here."

You straighten in your seat, suddenly very alert. "Me?" you ask, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice.

“Yes,” he confirms. “We have a problem and an opportunity that’s developing. That 18 days comment last week heated things up again with the public perception and scrutiny of your marriage. You handled it exactly as you should have, Mrs. Rogers,” he assures you, “that’s not our concern. But now that someone has brought up numbers for days apart, it’s becoming part of the narrative, and we already had to tame concerns over your sudden nuptials, we don’t want the state of your marriage to be the focus again.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that Steve isn’t thrilled about this either.

“But the opportunity here,” Elsa jumps back in, “is that we can put that to rest and capitalize on what we’re beginning to see as the Mrs. Rogers effect on the campaign trail. Her approval ratings were never bad, but they keep climbing. The public still wonders if Steve is a politician, if he’s ready to be the next President, but they already see a politician’s wife in you, Mrs. Rogers.”

You feel a mix of pride and unease at Elsa's words. On one hand, it's gratifying to know your efforts are making a positive impact. On the other, you can't help but feel like you're being used as a prop.

Even though that is what you are at the most elementary level.

"What exactly are you proposing?" Steve asks, his tone careful but with an edge to it.

Jake leans forward, his expression earnest. "We want to increase the number of joint appearances you two make. Show the public that you're a united front, a team. Town halls, rallies, even some more casual, candid moments. Show the public that you're a team, that you support each other. It'll help soften Steve's image and make him more relatable to younger voters."

You glance at Steve, trying to gauge his reaction. His face is impassive, but there is a slight tension in his jaw.

You can see Steve is uncomfortable with the idea, but he's considering it carefully. You decide to speak up.

"I appreciate the strategy, but I have some concerns," you say. "We don't want to come across as inauthentic or like we're using our relationship as a political tool. That could backfire, especially with younger voters who are already skeptical of politicians and doing things for clout."

Jake nods, "You're right to be cautious. We're not suggesting anything overly staged or fake. Just more opportunities for the public to see you two together, interacting naturally."

Steve finally speaks up. "I agree with my wife," he says, and you feel a small, unexpected thrill at hearing him refer to you that way, even though you know it's just part of this gig. "We need to be careful about how we approach this. I don't want to exploit our relationship. But let’s make it work."

Jake wraps up the meeting quickly at that point, instructing his staff to update each candidate’s logistics team over the updated schedule that will play to the ‘Rogers & Rogers Strategy,’ and putting the policy advisors and communications team to work on implementing your suggestions into the direction they were going to propose. As every minute of the campaign season is instrumental, nearly everyone clears out of the room at that point.

You’re at the elevator in the lobby when you realize you left your jacket in the hotel conference room. Sophia says they can have an aide bring it up to your room, but you insist you’d like to stretch your legs a little more before heading up to sleep. As you head back down the hall, you’re relieved to see the door is still open, and you pick up your step. But then you come to an abrupt halt when you hear voices and your name drifts out into the hallway in a conversation between Steve, Sam, and Bucky.

“I don’t like it.”

“What a surprise! The anit-social, bionic man with a staring problem doesn’t like the idea of pal-ing around with the new Mrs. Rogers! Man, I know you only recently started to like me, but can you get on board with her.”

“Who says I like you?” he counters.

“Ha ha,” Sam retorts dryly. “You should be so lucky that next time we put you up for president so we could canvas the country for a girl who could put up with you and all your bullshit.”

Steve chuckles - something you realize you’ve rarely heard him do.

“But it’s you I’m surprised by, Steve,” Sam continues. “Why are you still holding this girl at arms’ length?”

Steve heaves a heavy sigh, and you can just imagine him putting his hands on his hips.

“You don’t even know, do you?” Sam presses him, his tone incredulous.

You hold your breath, straining to hear Steve's response. There's a long pause before he speaks.

"It's not that simple, Sam," Steve says, his voice low and weary. "This whole situation... it's complicated."

"Complicated how?" Sam presses. "She's smart, she's kind, she's dedicated to the cause. And let's be real, she's not hard on the eyes either. What's holding you back?"

You feel your cheeks flush at Sam's words, a mix of embarrassment and curiosity coursing through you.

"It's not about her," Steve says firmly. "She's... she's great. Better than I could have hoped for, honestly. But this whole arrangement, it just feels..."

"Fake?" Bucky offers, his voice gruff.

"No," Steve says quickly. "Not fake. Just... I don't know. Forced. This whole situation - it's not the same as the tour for war bonds back in ‘43, but it’s still a production. I never imagined being in a situation like this again."

"None of us imagined this, Steve," Bucky chimes in, his tone softer than before.

Steve sighs again. “And I know it’s another thing I’ve chosen that neither of you signed up for, and I appreciate you being here by my side.”

"And she's here now, too,” Sam circles back to you, “and she's trying. You can't keep pushing her away."

"I'm not pushing her away," Steve protests, but it sounds weak even to your ears.

"Really?" Sam challenges. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're doing enough to conveniently keep your distance. She's your wife, Steve. On paper, sure, but she's also becoming a real partner in this campaign. You've seen how she handles herself out there."

You lean against the wall, your heart racing as you listen to the conversation. You know you shouldn't be eavesdropping, but you can't bring yourself to walk away, not when - even if you’re not involved - someone is finally talking about the state of your marriage.

"I know," Steve says, his voice tinged with frustration. "I see it. She's incredible out there. The way she connects with people, the way she articulates our message, she’s all in and she's a natural."

"So what's the problem?" Sam presses.

"If I let her in and this doesn't work out..."

"You mean the campaign?" Sam asks.

"No," Steve says.

And then - because of course it’s that exact moment - a door just a bit further down the opens, and you have to pretend you were not just standing in the hallway eavesdropping on anyone, and you abandon jacket retrieval and pretend you were on your way to the hotel bar to catch a quick nightcap with some of the staffers.

[SEPTEMBER 8 - Airspace over Ohio]

The next morning, it’s wheels up at 7am for the presidential candidate campaign plane, and you’re on it. You’re being sent with Steve to Wisconsin.

As the plane climbs to cruising altitude, you stifle a yawn and make your way to the "war room" - a section of the campaign plane that serves as a mobile strategy center and occasional dining area. The smell of coffee and pastries wafts through the air, a tempting lure after the early morning rush.

Sophia’s intern had already supplied you with your go-to morning drink, but you grab a plate and fill it with some fruit, cheese, bacon, and a surprisingly and delightfully warm croissant. The plane's engines hum steadily as you settle into one of the seats at the table. The early morning sunlight streams through the small windows, casting a warm glow over the polished wood table. You've barely slept, your mind still reeling from the conversation you overheard last night.

You pull out your tablet, intending to review the day's revised schedule, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Steve's words. The weight of them sits heavy in your chest, a mix of disappointment and something else you can't quite name.

You're so lost in your thoughts that you don't notice someone approaching until they clear their throat. You look up, expecting to see Sophia or maybe one of the campaign staffers. Instead, you find yourself faced with Bucky Barnes.

"Morning," he says, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. "Mind if I join you?"

You blink, momentarily thrown off balance. In all the months of campaigning, you've barely exchanged more than a few pleasantries.

"Of course," you say, gesturing to the seat across from you.

Bucky nods and takes a seat, setting down his own plate of food. There's an awkward silence as he settles in, and you can't help but study him. His hair is short again - the style he’d adopted when he was pardoned not long after the Snap. He's dressed casually in jeans and a dark henley. Despite his relaxed appearance, there's an undeniable intensity about him, a coiled energy that seems barely contained.

"So," Bucky says, breaking the silence. "Wisconsin."

You nod, grateful for the opening. "Yes, big day ahead. Are you joining us for the rally?"

Bucky shakes his head. "I’ll be backstage, but no."

Another silence falls between you, but it feels almost companionable, and the two of you enjoy your breakfast. Usually people try to fill any potentially silent moment around you these days, and so the reprieve itself is nice, but it doesn’t last long. Soon you’re joined by some of the staff - some seeking breakfast, some looking for you or for Bucky. And so the next wave of action for the day begins.

next part: HOUSTON

I KNOW! WE JUMPED FROM THE DAY BEFORE THE WEDDING TO THE BEGINNING OF SEPTEMBER! But that's by design.

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[danandfuckingjonlmao]

something that has bothered me about tua seasons 2-4 is the inconsistency of the relationships between the siblings.

starting with klaus, in season 1 ben and diego were his people. ben and klaus were always shown together in the flashbacks to them as kids and obviously every second of the show because klaus was the only one who could see him. but like… they were CLOSE. SO FUCKING CLOSE. they were the most SIBLINGS of all the siblings.

that continued into season 2. ben was randomly a bit colder towards klaus but they were still so fucking close.

and then ben left, and klaus for the first time was alone without his person. everyone else lost a brother when they were 17, except klaus. so he had to grieve ben for the first time. that didn’t happen, though. there were many nods to them being close, and then of course steve blackman pulled a steve blackman which means weird unnecessary incest implications, but it wasn’t clear just how close klaus and brellie ben were even though it had to be hard to be around someone who looked like ben and was kind of ben but also wasn’t ben.

and with diego, it also seemed like he and klaus were incredibly close. diego older-brothered klaus constantly s1 and they gave off the impression that they ran into each other a lot in the city during the years since leaving the academy.

then they completely disregarded it for the rest of the seasons. in s2 and s3 there a few interactions that could lend credence to this but for the most part it seemed like they threw it out the window.

allison and klaus had no clear relationship in season 1. they had some incredibly minor sibling interactions but nothing that indicated they were anywhere near as close as they imply in season 4. season 2 they were close and then season 3 not a lot of interaction. but s4 makes it seem like they have always been incredibly close which doesn’t make sense!!

five and viktor have a relatively consistent friendship, although s4 doesn’t really give viktor any relationship development with his siblings. same with five, if anything he just gets his relationships destroyed but that’s a different post!!

allison and viktor also are pretty consistently close. the implication is that they weren’t as kids but that they really try to be as adults, and i do like their relationship overall.

luther and allison nasty ew kill it with fire. like i thought we established in s2 that incest is weird actually and that we weren’t doing that and then season 3 came along and whatever whatever shut up.

diego and luther’s relationship is fun. they go from adversaries to himbo besties and it’s relatively consistent.

luther and viktor have similar growth. luther goes from piece of shit basically causing the apocalypse s1 because of how shitty he was to viktor towards really wanting to make things right and being the big brother he always should have been. they didn’t really have a relationship s4 but WHATEVER.

i feel like five and luther were together a lot the first two seasons and that very much changed. i’m not even that upset as i think five having character arcs with each sibling is good since he missed so many years with them (other than him and viktor they were always close and should have remained that way).

i think allison and diego and viktor and diego having relationship development would have been cool. in the comics viktor and diego have a band so we know they’re friends. and in the show allison and diego don’t have too many interactions but the ones they do have are SOOOO SIBLING and i adore that.

ben and viktor have some closeness s3-4 (and the end of s2) but it’s not really something we see, more so we’re just told. and then random flashback to them hanging out as kids before the mission which was confusing.

i think five and klaus were done the dirtiest with the relationship inconsistency. i understand wanting different characters to have arcs with different people, but when you sacrifice the established relationships and basically put your characters on shuffle then you also sacrifice character consistency, development, growth, etc.

i think a big problem is how many characters they brought on last season. there wasn’t time for consistent relationships among the brellies when they had to use a shit ton of time building new characters and relationships (and immediately killing them all off which was A Choice).

anyway just wanted to write out thoughts about this. would love to know other people’s thoughts (or headcanons about the siblings).