#indiana jones fluff

[ddejavvu]

That last Indy blurb you reblogged, and oh boy.. oh boy… all I could think of is Indy making you ride the end of his whip. making you rub your wet little pussy all over the handle of it for him. 

salivating... foaming at the mouth... creaming my pants

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Indiana is nothing if not a massive tease. He knows you're desperate for him, knows he couldn't lose you out in the jungle if he tried, so when you rest your chin over his shoulder, he doesn't give in.

"Not now, sweetheart," He drawls, thumbing through the pages of his notebook like it's more important than your aching pussy, "I'm busy."

"Indy," You whimper, sounding all too bratty as you scoff at his work, "Come on, all we've seen today is dirt. Aren't I a little more important?"

His brows raise, and he fixes you with a look that's part amusement, part incredulity.

"More important? These are historic archaeological discoveries, princess, you don't think that takes precedence over a quick fuck?"

"If it's gonna be quick you won't mind putting the journal away for a bit," You decide, throwing a leg over his thigh. You're purposefully naked beneath your nightgown, the safety of your tent the perfect place to prepare for your night. Despite the lustful call of your hot cunt against his leg, he pushes further, trying to see just how far he can go before you'll beg for it.

"Hey- hey," He gripes, one hand on your hip to hold you from getting any further, "I said I was busy, you little minx. You can wait."

"I don't want to wait," You huff, "Just- fuck me, Indy!"

You've done it. You've said the magic words, you've laid all of your cards on the table, you've guessed the password correctly.

"Well," He pretends to consider, "I could use my fingers. But I really need to work on this."

You know damn well he'll abandon his scholarly facade the second your legs spread. You're playing each other like tense snakes, not sure who'll sink their fangs into the other first.

"I need more than your fingers," You brace your hands on his upper thigh, squeezing more than you need to, "I want your cock, Indy."

"No can do, sweetheart," He grins lazily, all too proud of himself for his restraint. Truthfully, he's already hardening in his pants, the fabric stretching tight over a bulge you're both pretending like you can't see. It's better that way, if you pretend he's not chubbing up and you're not already hot against his thigh. It's better to pretend you don't care, to build the frustration inside until you snap and it floods you both.

"I'm busy. If you want something thicker than my fingers, you'll have to use my whip."

It's a throwaway suggestion, an absurd way of telling you you're in for a long night of teasing. That you're going to have to work for what you want. But you're more than intrigued by it, eyeing the thick leather handle that's mounted on his belt.

"Okay." You catch him off guard with your sense of adventure, and something flickers in his eyes. He muscles it down from his face, though, keeping his smirk tight over his cheeks.

"Okay? That's it? You're gonna fuck it?"

"I'm not waiting around all day," You scoff, taking the leather handle from his belt and sticking it in his non-dominant hand as you settle between his thighs. You've got your back against his chest, and you drag his hand between your legs.

"I'll hold the journal," You brace your hand against its pages, keeping is steady, "You can still write, Indy."

He's a little slow to process the situation, so you groan, "Well come on, fuck me! I thought you were busy, now you're just wasting- time!"

Without warning, Indiana drives the thick, leather girth of his whip into your cunt. It's abrupt, and if you hadn't been steadily producing slick at the condescending tone of his voice the entire time, it would hurt. But it's nothing more than an initial sting, and he laughs in that same cocky tone.

"You brat," He spits, like it's a curse word, "You pitch a big fit about getting fucked like I'm not taking care of you. You're greedy, y'know that? Can't handle a day without a dick in you, y'gotta fuck yourself all over whatever you can get. Is this what you wanted?" He drags the whip in and out of your cunt, marveling at the slick smeared over it, "You wanted to fuck my whip? You're a nasty little thing."

"Oh, shut up," You huff, face turned against his tanned neck. You nip at a spot beneath the hinge of his jaw and you feel his chest swell as he draws a heaving breath in, "You can talk as much shit as you want, Indy, I- ah!" You writhe back against him as he steadily fucks the handle of his whip into your soaked cunt, "I feel you getting hard. I know you like it."

"You're pathetic," He manages to spit through clenched teeth as you suck bruises into his neck. He's right, you're desperate for whatever you can get inside of you and he loves it, he loves watching your cunt suck his whip in like it's his cock.

"And you're not working anymore," You point out that his pen has been long-since discarded, his fist now clenched atop the pages of his journal, "So why don't you cut the bullshit and just fuck me, Indiana."

"Well," He pants, a wry grin taking his features by storm as he wrestles to both lay you down and maneuver himself on top of you. Once he's hovering above you, hairline already gathering glistening sweat as he tries controlling his lust-fueled movements, he smirks down at you, cherishing the feeling of your hands prying at his belt to release his achingly-hard cock, "Since you asked so nicely, sweetheart."

[r3leee]

wild heart

HEY CHAT!!! guess who’s backkk 😎 so uh there’s absolutely ZERO towa content on this app and i know my girlies are hungry so this is what we’re doing now!!! take it or leave it

pairing: towa bird x fem!bsf!reader

summary: you’re falling messily, horribly, sappily, all around in love with your best friend, towa. thinking she doesn’t feel the same, you stay quiet. little do you know, you should have higher expectations…

warnings: RPF!! don’t like, don’t read, friends to lovers, kind of slow burn?, cursing, established towa and reader crushes (KISS ALREADY, MY GOD), reader likes/liked men at some point, really just fluff

word count: 2900, should take about 22 minutes to read (whoops)

listen to: wild heart by towa bird

“you say i got a reckless streak in my snakeskin boots and levi’s jeans”

YOU’D ONLY MET her a few months ago, but if you knew anything about towa bird, it was that she was an absolute ladykiller.

“how do you do it?” you remember asking her over coffee. towa finished her sip, looking at you with a puzzled expression.

“do what? sip my coffee?” you snickered.

“no. have so many girls fawn over you.” a look of realization came on her face. in response, she just shrugged.

“i don’t know.”

“what do you mean?! there’s gotta be something,” you said, shocked. all she did was laugh and shake her head.

“charm? don’t know what you want me to say.”

the moment you met, she had actually just gotten broken up with by her most recent ex. you remember that day so clearly; how you both ran into each other on the sidewalk, the coffee stain on your shirt, how she apologized so fast you thought she’d explode out of fear.

she insisted she give you her number, take you out for lunch sometime soon as an apology. you thought she was cute.

turns out, the real towa was just hiding under her misery. she was funny, jarring, bold.

and you didn’t know why, but every time she showed up at your apartment after a night out, or you two were out in the city and she told you about the amazing girl she’d met the night before, you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. not even just that; hurt. jealous.

there was no reason to even be as upset as you were; really, they never lasted.

towa would show up at a party, get drunk, find some girl, they’d fuck, then a few different things could happen: towa would forget to ask the girl’s number, the girl would have a boyfriend (ouch), the girl would barely remember the night before, etc.

the most charming part of it all, though? she’d regain her composure so quick, it was almost like nothing happened. you admired it, even celebrated a little when it happened. even if it was bad, you wanted her, and that’s something you couldn’t deny.

“i think you got a wicked smile, and those angel eyes with timeless style”

even if you didn’t know it, those feelings were mutual. heavily.

honestly, towa didn’t even know why she still did this. this constant cycle of fuck, forget, repeat. well she did know why she was doing it, but she hated the reason.

she wanted you. all of you. she had a good sense of detecting crushes, and the second she felt her heart pang looking at you, she knew she was a goner.

the day she knew she liked you, you were at the beach. the both of you went together with some friends. while towa was swimming in the ocean, you had just wanted to tan. you looked gorgeous, laying on your back, reading a book you specifically curated for that day.

but your beauty wasn’t stopping her from getting you in the water.

towa had told one of her friends in the water with her she'd be back in a second as she stepped out and onto the shoreline. she pulled her hair out of her eyes as she glanced at you, eyes fixed on your book. she smiled unconsciously at it.

once she walked over to the umbrella the group was at, the group greeted her. she said hi back before leaning down to your level. "you should get in the ocean," she mumbled.

"mm," you scrunched your face. "it's cold."

"and it's hot out here. come ooooooon," she whined, almost similar to a kid being refused dessert. it made you giggle.

"towa, i love you, but i'm just not feeling it." she sighed, shaking her head and standing back up.

"alright, fine." she glanced at you one more time, pretending to walk away, before she quickly snatched the book out of your hands, dropped it on the sand, and picked you up.

your friends laughed as you shrieked, laughing a bit too. she slung you over her shoulder, walking as fast as she could to the sea as you pleaded her to stop, both of you laughing so hard your stomachs hurt.

once she was in deep enough, she threw you into the cold sea. you screamed as you fell, but quickly regained your composure to splash towa in the face with salt water.

the way you laughed, how your wet hair looked, and how your gorgeous eyes reflected in the sunlight told her enough to know she was gaining a silly, high-school crush on you.

“i could smoke you out for fun in my leather vest. i love you 'til the death, you’re a bullet in my chest”

surprisingly, you had no idea towa even did music until a while after you met. you were at her apartment for dinner, when you asked, “what do you do for work?”

she’d mentioned needing to do stuff for her job a few times, but never exactly what she did.

when she told you, you were shocked. “why didn’t you tell me?! that’s so fucking cool!” you exclaimed.

“cause i don’t think it’s that good!”

that night, you looked her up on spotify and listened to her full discography, even if it wasn’t the biggest. you had no idea how she could think it wasn’t good. it was amazing.

against her wishes, you were there, front row at her next show. she was playing a festival and you stood at the front of the stage for three hours before she came on.

you caught her eyes almost immediately. a small smile spread on her face and she softly shook her head, quickly continuing the song.

when you looked at her outfit, you were taken aback. she was wearing a new leather vest you’d never seen with a long-sleeve black shirt, her usual levi’s jeans, and her usual jewelry. but it was her shoes. these snakeskin boots. you gave them to her for her birthday and she’d never worn them until today. you thought she didn’t like them.

after the show, she led you backstage. she was laying back on a couch, sweaty, gulping from a water bottle you brought her. you nervously tapped your hands on your thigh. “you did great.”

she finished gulping, wiping her mouth. “thank you. it wasn’t my best show, though. kind of embarrassed you saw that.”

“i thought it was great.”

“i messed up a bit, though.”

“i didn’t even notice,” you reassured. she sighed.

“you sure?”

“100%.” she let the topic go, nodding her head. you sat in awkward silence for a second. the tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. “you’re wearing the boots.” she glanced down at them.

“oh, ya.”

“thought you didn’t like them.”

“no, i do, it’s just…didn’t have a good time to wear them. until today. thought they’d look good with the outfit.”

you nodded in understanding. “i mean, they do look good. but boots? on stage?

“mm, wasn’t thinking. just thought it looked nice,” she lied. truth was, she wanted a reminder of you to be on her, no matter the pain. you just shook your head.

“fuckin’ dumbass. you look nice, though.”

“awwww, thanks, darling,” she teased, suddenly leaning over to kiss your cheek.

this was a banter you two had; acting like a couple jokingly. anyone with eyes could see it wasn’t casual for either of you, but you two were just oblivious and doubtful.

you smiled and blushed. “of course, honey,” you said through a giggle. she patted your thigh, kicking off her shoes.

“come on, let’s get you home.”

the next morning, videos of the performance scattered the internet. there was one particular video you saw: it was when she noticed you in the crowd. the text read “OMFG DOES SHE HAVE A GF??? WHO IS SHE LOOKING AT LIKE THAT WHATTTT”

the whole rest of the day, you were smiling and giggly, happy someone thought you two were more than just friends.

little did you know, towa had seen the same video and felt the same exact way.

“oh you, i can’t believe that you could tame my wild, wild heart”

even if crushes weren't that unusual for towa, this was to a new extreme. you were always somehow there, in the back of her mind.

when she was trying to go to bed, when she was watching a movie you mentioned you liked once, when she had any time to herself, her thoughts always drifted to you. it was eating her alive.

suddenly, to your surprise, the nights she spent out decreased. she started to take care of herself more, becoming less hungover and more energetic.

you two hung out more, making it almost a weekly ritual to meet up for dinner at one of your apartments. you would either cook or order dinner, catch up on the latest gossip, and laugh as the warm glow of the kitchen lights illuminated your faces.

you both always wanted to reach out, feel the other's skin on their palm. but you never did. you both opted for scooting a bit closer when the other wasn't looking and hoped that was enough. it made towa’s heart pound and she didn't know why.

you were making her crazy.

"i'm pretty quick, shoot from the hip with words that whip, but i'm in your grip"

it didn't take long for her to tell you how she felt. that's kind of just how towa was; quick. just like a stereotypical lesbian.

you always teased her about it, saying you'd never agree to go as fast as she did. and you always believed that. until it happened to you.

the two of you were having breakfast at a restaurant (towa paying for part of losing a bet.) you were just chatting and cracking jokes, like usual.

you took a bite of your food, but after you swallowed, you noticed your best friend staring at your face. "what? did my makeup smear?" she just laughed and shook her head.

all of a sudden, she was leaning over the table. "got a bit of food right...here." she wiped the bit of crumbs away with her thumb. she could feel your skin heat up under her fingertip, and honestly, she couldn't blame you; she would've been doing the same.

in fact, she was doing the same as she finished off with a soft "there" and sat back down.

what followed was an awkward silence as you both looked everywhere except the other's face. you looked back down and tried to start eating again, but there was an undeniable lump in your throat.

you heard a soft laugh from the end of the table. "you're cute when you do that." you almost choked.

"i'm sorry?"

"you heard me," she stated, taking a sip of her juice before continuing. "you're cute."

you didn't know how to respond, just sitting with your mouth hung wide open. "uh- thank yo-"

"do you wanna go out?" she cut you off. again, a few seconds passed. "like, uh, you know, to just, like, a museum or something...later...like, in a few days."

"as friends?"

"as whatever you want it to be."

that was all the clarity you needed. you immediately said yes.

"throw your lasso, come and catch me, babe. i'm indiana jones, you're my last crusade"

you weren’t sure if the museum counted as a date. you absolutely wanted it to, but the whole event was a little friendly.

you just walked around like you two normally would with anything, albeit a little awkwardness. she offered you to stay the night at her place, and of course, you couldn’t turn that down.

the both of you ended up on her couch, you in her clothes, watching indiana jones. “it’s for nostalgia,” towa had told you.

after being out in the chilly winter air, you and towa were wrapped in one of her blankets. she only had one, since the others were in the wash, so you had to share.

the contact was killing you; you could barely pay attention to the movie. every time towa moved to make herself more comfortable you felt shock waves through your body. it was almost kind of pathetic.

she noticed this but didn't say anything, simply continuing the tease the shit out of you.

at a certain point, she spoke, causing you to jump. “you know, if they were hot enough, i’d let somebody betray me and send me down into that firey pit of hell any time they wanted." you were confused.

"what?"

"i mean, if they were hot enough." you snorted.

"seriously? that's like, a death wish!"

"okay, imagine the hottest person in the world. if you let them do anything to you for a chance of them liking you back, would you?" you thought for a second.

"no."

"bullshit! fucking bullshit," she exclaimed.

you just rolled your eyes, defending yourself. but, when you thought about it that night, you realized you maybe would've let towa do that. maybe.

"gravel in my throat and sweetness on my tongue. this ain't my first rodeo, my bad, i should have known."

when the two of you were going out, before you were officially "girlfriends," towa was trying to gauge you. when you two were together, walking down the street or looking at clothes, she'd ask you "do you like this shiny material, or like, soft?" "okay, i know you think her hair makes her hot, but is there anything else there? at all?" "do you think he's funny?" to a comedian on tv.

you barely even noticed the sudden questioning since it was so spaced out. i mean, she did things like this constantly. she always wanted to get to know you better.

but, since you started going out, her questions turned from funny and lighthearted to trying to figure out if a certain pair of pants would make you like her more. she just wanted to be perfect for you, even if she already was in your head.

as time went on, the questions started to get more and more obvious she wanted to set a precedent of what you liked. which was what led to surprising news to her.

you two were sitting on a park bench after a walk. taking a sip of water from your water bottle, you looked around. towa examined your face, smiling at its natural beauty. your eyes darting around were angelic to her. "you said you had a relationship in college?"

you turned to face her. "ya?"

"what was she like?"

"oh...uh, it was a guy..."

"oh." she sat for a second. "really?"

"really."

"have you ever been with another girl, then?" you shook your head. "woah." she had to process that for a second. in her head, you were kissing girls left and right in your younger years, but you weren't. "so like...when did you find out you liked girls?"

you recalled the memory in your head. "a few years back. i don't know, i just saw two girls kissing on the subway and i was like, 'i kinda want that,' y'know?" she nodded.

"have you ever been kissed by a girl?" okay, this conversation was taking a huge turn. you quickly shook your head.

"i mean, no, but i always thought it'd be nice...kinda nice..." you trailed off.

all of a sudden, she was scooting closer to you. "come here," she mumbled, before quickly adding, "if you want to, of course."

"yes," you replied too quick. she smiled and cupped your cheek in her hand. then her lips were on yours and it was beautiful.

it was only for a quick second, but when she pulled away, she had a bit of your lip gloss on her lips and they were so soft, you were spiraling. "you want anoth-"

you didn't even let her finish before you went back in. she giggled into the kiss, keeping her hand on your cheek.

“the open road is the loneliest, come ride by my side into the sunset”

it took months to get to this point, but here you were; on a picnic on a date in the city, staring off into the sunset. your head was on towa’s shoulder as you stared off at the sky, full of vibrant oranges and pinks.

her hand was unconsciously stroking your hair, admiring with you. “hey,” she mumbled. you looked up at her.

“hm?”

“so, uh…i know we’ve kind of like, been going out for a while now…” oh my god. was this it?

“i was just…meaning to ask you if you’d maybe want to like…be my girlfriend?” you were so happy you thought you could explode. when you didn’t respond within a couple seconds, she quickly added “and totally not to like, rush you or anything, i was just won-”

you quickly shut her up by pressing your lips to hers. when you pulled away, you said “towa, oh my god, yes.”

her cheeks were softly tinted red as she fell back on the blanket. “okay! good, i thought you’d say yes, i just wasn’t sure-”

you quickly leaned down to kiss her again. “you ramble when you’re nervous,” you teased with a smile.

“shut up.”

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[lemonsprite]

Hiii :))

I don’t know if your request are open but I’d like to ask for an Indiana jones x male reader, angst then fluff with some kissing at the end.

Totally okay if you don’t, don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ

Have a good day/night ^_−☆

𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 || 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐱 𝐌!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: he can’t seem to say “I love you.” :[ Word count: 1.7K A/N: OMG YES PLEASE!!!! This fic is just my Cup of tea!! And thank you for requesting! >< Warnings: internalized homophobia (common for the time)

Indiana stared at his reflection in the mirror, his single blade razor gliding across his jaw, cutting at his stubble that’d be steadily growing over the past month. He angled his face from left to right, inspecting his shave job as his hand ran across his chin, feeling for any stray hairs.

“Indy.” You called from the bath tub, the water splashing slightly as you laid your head on the cold marble, looking up at him. “Join me in the bath will you? The waters nice and warm.”

The man in front of you swallowed thickly, cleaning his razor with a spare rag as he stared at you from the reflection in the mirror.

“I have to go to class.” He muttered, putting his shaving kit away.

“It’s 6 am…” you said aloud, staring at him concernedly, knowing where this conversation would probably go.

“You know… early bird lectures… and all that…” he excused, buttoning his shirt back up and checking his hair before turning for the door.

“You know what to do.” He said sharply before leaving the bathroom, the wooden door clicking shut signaling his departure. Leaving you alone in Indiana's bathroom.

You sighed, it’s not like this was the first time this’d happened. Looking at your knees poking out of the soapy water before laying your head on them, running your hands through the sudsy mixture forlornly.

Indiana had been like this for awhile and no one could blame him, he was a well known member of society, strong, smart, and with infinite connections in the world of archeology. If anyone were to find out he was dating you, a boy- he’d be ruined.

That knowledge still didn’t comfort the ache in your heart however in fact it only really made it worse.

You glanced at the edge of the tub, looking over Indiana's body wash, shampoo, and conditioner before grabbing the tubs plug and pulling, watching the water drain.

Slowly you rose, grabbing a near by towel and drying off your skin pruny from all the water.

The towel smelled like Indiana, a deep musky sent like the cologne he wears everyday and the old books he surrounds himself in.

Burying your face into it you sigh sadly once more. It hurt… a lot.

Just the other day you had cooked Indiana an elaborate home meal, you’d slaved in the kitchen for hours and when Indy had finally gotten back from work and sat down at the table he didn’t say a word.

A pit had formed in your stomach, getting the sense that he felt ashamed to be your lover.

That night you’d told him you loved him yet got nothing in return. Indiana had nodded curtly, stood back up, pecked you on the cheek and took the paper to go read in his bedroom.

You’d felt your heart shatter and at this point you don’t know why you still keep coming back to him. He’d broken your heart time and time again yet whenever he called you late at night you couldn’t help but knock once more on his door.

You looked yourself up and down in the bathroom mirror, shaking slightly from the cold. Your towel wrapped loosely around your waist.

Why do you keep doing this to yourself?

You couldn’t give yourself a proper answer, instead you walked out of Indiana's master bathroom and into his bedroom, noticing he had washed, folded, and ironed your clothes, leaving them in a neat pile on the edge of his mattress.

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you grabbed your garments and began to dress, taking your time as you watched the sun slowly rise through the blinds in the house's windows.

“What’s going on with you Dr. Jones?” Asked Indiana's colleague and friend Marcus Brody, nonchalantly flipping to the next page in the morning paper. “You’ve seemed more and more antsy these past few days.”

Indy sighed, taking off his glasses and wipping them with the hemline of his shirt. “Can’t talk about it.”

“Oh ho.” Smiled the man, not even looking up from his paper as he continued. “I know that look with you Indiana. Trouble with love?”

Indiana grunted in annoyance, fixing his glasses once more on his nose bridge.

“Have you tried talking to her? Women pride themselves on their communication you know.”

Indiana was silent, looking out the window of his classroom as he drummed his fingers against the table anxiously.

It was uncommon for Indiana to act like this, you always somehow managed to ruffle his feathers, making him act in ways he didn’t know were possible. Just thinking about it caused his face to go red from embarrassment.

The last few weeks for Indiana had been nothing but trouble. Every time he vows to quite you he can’t stop his hand from instinctively grabbing the phone and dialing your house number. It was bad- and Indy knew it.

People these days didn’t react to kindly to two men in love. That is if you can call it love. Indiana would do anything to wake up every morning to your face sleeping peacefully next to his, to have your bare chest pressed against his, the thumping of your heart beneath your skin reminding him that you are alive.

He knew realistically that it was a pipe dream, that a happily ever after with you both was impossible but he’d take what he could get and if that ment sneaking you through his window late at night like school kids then that’s what he’d do.

Indiana felt selfish for treating you in such a way. He knew it hurt you for him to act so distant instead of loving but he couldn’t give you up and he wouldn’t- he liked you to damn much, you made his heart flutter in a way Marion never did.

The other day when you’d told him you loved him it took everything within Indiana to swallow his bite of food and walk away, knowing that it would do more damage than good for the both of you if he were to respond.

Marcus hummed thoughtfully as he crossed his ankles, leaning back in one of Indiana's office chairs. “On the other hand if it’s that one boy your having troubles with you could always tell him how you truly feel.”

Indiana choked on his coffee, his eyes going wide in shock as he stared at Marcus coughing from the hot drink that’d gone down the wrong way.

“W-what?” He coughed.

“(Y/n) that one boy you are ever so keen about.” Marcus replied dismissively, waving a hand in the air. “I saw how you both looked at each other at the office Christmas party. He was your plus one if I remember correctly.”

Indiana stared at him in disbelieving silence, the coffee spill from earlier staining his white button up.

“Relax Dr. Jones.” Marcus said with a smile, finally glancing up from his paper. “It’s a progressive time, I’m happy for you both though I did not realize you swung that way.”

Indiana sputtered, lifting up a hand to protest but nothing came out of his open mouth, his brain short circuiting.

“I-“ he started, forcing his mouth to say anything. “I don’t know what to do…” he finally admitted, hanging his head in defeat.”

“In my professional opinion Dr. Jones.” Lectured Marcus, kicking his feet up on Indiana's office desk. “Tell him how you feel- poor blokes been through enough of this ‘will they, won’t they,’ nonsense.”

Indiana didn’t reply, instead he took another shaky sip of his coffee, and stared at the window, whacking Marcus’s legs with a rolled up newspaper to get them off his desk.

It was raining. Hard. Water pelted at the windows of your house and according to the radio it was supposed to start hailing ice the size of apples. You swallowed in discomfort, taking another sip of your tea as you watched out the window.

There was a knock at the door and you got up from your seat, placing the mug in your hands on a nearby coaster and straightening your tie as you made your way to the door.

‘Who in their right mind would be knocking at your door in weather like this?’

You threw the door open to reveal a very wet and very sad looking Indiana Jones, his hand raised in the middle of knocking once more. That would explain it.

“Indy?” You asked concernedly, almost as if you couldn’t believe he was standing in front of you. “What are you doing in the rain, why didn’t you drive?”

Before you could ask anymore questions, Indiana pulled his hat from his head and clutched it to his chest, looking you deep in the eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, his hair sticking to his forehead and his white button up clinging to his chest from the rain. “I love you, I really should’ve said it sooner.” And before you could utter a response back to him, Indy had scooped you into his arms, smashing his face against yours in a not so gentle kiss, his hand still clutching his hat cradled your neck while his other kept a sturdy grip on your waist making sure you wouldn’t fall from your knees going week.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized once more, the whisper of his words getting lost in your kiss and tickling your lips.

“I love you.” He admitted again, gently leaning forward to place a kiss on the corner of your lips.

“I love you.” He chanted over and over, covering you face in kisses, the stubble he’d so painstaking gotten rid of this morning returning to tickle your skin.

“You stared at him wide eyed, the rain starting to soak your clothes as your face went pink.

“C-come in why don’t you?” You asked, moving out of the way for Indiana to enter your small apartment.

“Please (y/n).” Indiana begged, grabbing your hands once he was standing on your welcome mat, his soaking wet clothes dirtying the floor around him. “I’m so so sorry.”

“Indiana.” You sighed, your eyes going soft as you pushed his wet bangs from his forehead. “It’s okay.”

“No it isn’t.” Indiana responded quickly, bringing your knuckles to his lips to press a kiss against the skin. “I shouldn’t have been so cold I- I was an idiot.”

You shook your head with a sad smile, looking at him in this state made your heart thump painfully against your rib cage.

“I’ll let you make it up for me tonight.” You smiled teasingly, grabbing Indiana by the hands. “First let’s warm you up, I’ll draw you a bath.”

Indiana smiled and squeezed your hand in reassurance, his thumb running lovingly over your knuckles.

Would you believe me if I said I rushed another fics ending TT.

Sorry if I haven’t finished many requests yet! My computers been glitching and I’m trying to recover my old writings (drafts of reqs) but it’s been so so hard :/

anyways I’m in France rn and on a horribly long bus ride so I decided to crank this one out on my phone! Sorry for any spelling mistakes!

[ohdudedhesflirting]

I want cuddles

Pairing : Kim Tae Rae x gender neutral reader

Synopsis : Park date with pouty Tae Rae

Genre : Fluff

Warnings : Y/N is acting cute. Cringy, YN doesn’t like Indiana Jones movies

Notes : Nina I didn’t know if you wanted to be tagged since it’s not a matthew fic. English is not my first language

— - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - —

“ Come ooon”

“ I don’t want to”

“Taerae seriously”

Looking at your boyfriend in front you, you wondered why was he being such a pouty baby.

You thought that it was a good day, sunny and not too hot but still warm enough to want to go to a park and take a stroll.

So that's what you did, you told him you had a surprise date for him and went to pick him up at work.

Sunglasses and sunscreen ready, you drove to a scenery park and not far from where you were living together. It was a great place. Many alleys, many plants, so many colors and smells.

You would be able to take a stroll nicely with your boyfriend and just enjoy the moment or at least that what you thought.

Understanding you weren't going home Taerae grew definitely pouty. And as you were both taking a walk together it truly seemed like he was bored and just wanted to go home.

Looking up from your shoulder you saw the brown haired boy walking slowly and without energy.

Without lasting one more second you went to him and put your hands on his back putting him close to you. This way you were able to fully take a close look at his face and see all of the details that was making you crazy for him.

“Tae tell me what is it ? Ever since we came out here you have been nothing but pouty... tell me what's wrong”

Just grumbling Tae Rae replied “it’s nothing really”

Pulling him even closer to you, leaving your faces just a few centimeters away from each other, you kept questioning him

“Tell me ! What is it a bad day at work ? Did the boys make you crazy ? Was it Gyuvin ? Did he break something again ?”

Just being even more pouty Tae Rae just denied it with his head

“Cooomee on tell me babe !”

Just mumbling he replied “I thought we were going home to cuddle”

Thinking you heard him wrong you replied slowly, looking at him completely confused “What”

“You said you a date planned that was really cozy and that would make me really happy us.. I thought we were going to go home and cuddle and just watch that Indiana Jones movie .. “

You couldn't even believe what you just heard and looked at your boyfriend with the biggest heart eyes that was possible. Quickly you put yourself on your toes and quickly joined your lips together.

God .. Kim Tae rae was such a cute man how could you resist him ?

“I’m sorry babe I didn't know you wanted some cuddles.. I want some cuddles too..”

This time it was Taerae turn to look at you with heart eyes. He loved it when you acted cute. He just wanted to have you cuddled up against him and slowly kissing your temple while watching a movie with you and that situation of taking a walk made him go crazy

“Listen.. we are going to leave but we'll play a game. The one that get the most different species of leaves can pick the movie”

Slowly pulling away from each other, you thought that the man of your life would just kiss you and accept but before you could understand you saw him run and starting to pick the leaves

“Hey !”

“I wanna watch the Indiana Jones movie and cuddle !”

Running after him, and picking leaves you yelled at him to wait for you.

You would have to watch Indiana Jones but being curdled up against your boyfriend would make up for it

[fanficsforfun]

Hard work

Pairing: Indiana Jones x gender neutral reader

Era: 1960s (the Dial of Destiny)

Word count: 240

Warnings: none (well, except the age gap)

Summary: You’re working as a research assistant and the job got you exhausted, but luckily Indy knows how to help

---

You sat in the break room with your eyes closed. You had a headache, you were tired, and wished you could just go home. Working as a research assistant was otherwise fun, but you didn't exactly love having to dig up things in the stuffy storage room where the dust made even breathing difficult. Thank God breaks existed. 

Footsteps and the opening of the door interrupted your much-needed rest, but you didn't bother to open your eyes. At that moment you weren’t feeling too social.

“You tired, kid?” A familiar voice asked. It was Indy.

“Yeah, a bit”, you admitted. 

If it had been someone else who came to talk to you, you would probably have snapped or mumbled something vague in order to avoid any further conversation, but this particular old professor didn't get on your nerves.

“Hmm, I see.” He replied softly.

Indy sat down next to you on the worn couch, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body. He put his hand on the back of the couch, and you opened your eyes only to meet the mischievous look in his hazel eyes. A smile spread across your lips and you moved closer to him, leaning into his body. Indy moved his arm from the back of the couch to your shoulders. You breathed out and closed your eyes again, relaxing in his embrace. So what if your work was sometimes tough, if your reward was this.

[sacrficialspork]

A short xiaoven scene… 🦋🍃🥰

“Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.”

“Where doesn’t it hurt?”

(7-4-2023)

- - -

Venti opened the door, spilling a sliver of moonlight into the room with a soft creak, and padded over to the bed. Gingerly, he set down a bowl of hot water and a washcloth, glancing at the state of his lover’s bandages. He sighed in relief — he had changed them three times already, and finally the blood seemed to have stopped seeping through. There were just a few more small cuts and bruises that looked like they could use some extra care.

Xiao cracked an eye open at the rustle of silk and the sensation of a warm cloth being pressed to his cheek. His aching fingers twitched, grasping for his spear, searching desperately through thin air. But instead of his weapon, fingers, warm and light, found his palm, and a hand slid into his own, a thumb caressing his bruised knuckles. He opened his eyes fully to see the face of his lover, and he felt the sigh of a gentle breeze run through the room.

“Venti…”

“Hello dearest,” Venti cooed, placing his cloth at the bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“…hurts,” Xiao rasped.

“Hmm.. Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.”

A pause lingered between the two. Venti’s eyes shone a little brighter, moonlight reflecting off the tears forming.

With a feather-light stroke to his lover’s cheek, he grounded himself, “Where doesn’t it hurt?”

Xiao’s eyes softened, carefully raising his arm and pointing to his elbow, “Here.”

A bit of tension lifted from Venti’s shoulders, his pained expression melting into the tiniest of smiles. Leaning forward, he placed a small, loving peck on Xiao’s elbow.

“Where else?”

“Here,” Xiao pointed to the tip of his shoulder.

“Hm,” Venti leaned further forward, dropping a light kiss to his shoulder. A single shimmering drop fell onto his dearest’s bandaged chest.

Lifting his head and smoothing the skin of Xiao’s cheek once more, he whispered, “Where else?”

Xiao didn’t answer. But his eyes shone with renewed vitality, with affection, and with tears pricking at the corners.

Please.

Cupping his cheek with the utmost care, Venti leaned down and pressed a soft peck to his dearest’s lips. And then another. And then a few more for good measure.

“Stay with me tonight?”

“Of course, love. Always.”

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 22 - I Stayed In The Darkness With You

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: May I introduce everyone to my secret extra villain, bureaucratic incompetence! Chapter Title from Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine.

Word Count: 24k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Sunglasses and text messages break the camels back. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst, pining

Read on A03!

Chapter 21 - Chapter 23

“Do you,” Ryan swallowed the food in his mouth, staring at the floor as he spoke. “Do you guys get nightmares?”

Ben didn’t know how to handle that question. He didn’t know how to handle most of Ryan’s questions that weren’t about Her or the more glamorous parts of Ben’s past. He could talk about Her for the rest of fucking time and never get tired, and it was pretty damn easy to mutter I did see Star Wars in theaters, was even at the premier of two of those shit-ass movies. Pussy characters, none of them can just get their fucking jobs done. Hero's journey bullshit, and shut your damn mouth Sunshine, you’re the one who told me about the hero's journey. Indiana Jones was a fuck ton better anyway. 

He didn’t talk to anyone but Her about things like nightmares. Even She didn’t know the full extent of them, of the memories of gas and knives and sterilized needles that had plagued Ben’s sleep. Or how they’d turned to terrors of Homelander taking Her, of Ben roaring Her name into the dark and only hearing wordless screams in response, and of blood. Nightmares full of blood and fog that he’d woken up from choking on air while she was gone. Ben certainly didn’t tell Her about the nightmares where he touched her and she started clawing at his skin and sobbing, falling to the floor and not allowing Ben to pick her back up. Where she didn’t recognize him and just kept screaming. 

He’d been waking up with Her screams still ringing in his ears, and hadn’t told her. He wouldn’t tell Her, because this was Ben’s fucking issue, and he’d deal with it his goddamn self. She had enough shit to deal with. She’d spent the past week working her damn ass off—combing through more and more of A-Train’s stupid fucking leads, listening to the media spout more and more bullshit lies about Her life, and training with Ben and Ryan—and her own nightmares had returned. After Ben had found Her in the shower, screaming and crying and fucking breaking apart in front of him, there hadn’t been a night were she hadn’t burst into flames and Ben hadn’t had to listen to the strangled, painful sounds that left her body. But she hadn’t stopped touching him. Linking her arm through Ben’s when they walked, pressing her thigh into his at the table and pulling his arm around her body. Running a hand through his hair before tugging his brow to hers when she crawled onto him in the dark. Holding Ben against her as the fire died out, letting him pull her back down until he was flat on his back and rubbing circles on her hips. Relaxing into his kisses on the top of her head and pressing her face into his neck as she fell back asleep.

Even now, sitting on the mat of the gym as they ate lunch with Ryan, she was touching Ben. She was leaning into his side as she sighed, watching Ryan carefully as she answered his question. Of course She’d know how to answer that question. She was fucking perfect.

“I do,” Her hand had wandered to Ben’s knee, tapping against him as she spoke. “Most of us do. I’d imagine it would be more worrying if we didn’t.”

Ryan blinked at her. “Worrying?“

“Well,” She frowned. “We’re exposed to a lot of fucked up situations. We make a lot of impossible, horrible decisions. Nightmares mean that we still care, that we’re still capable of remorse over our worse actions and haven’t given up on ourselves enough to just remain unaffected. We’re still able to feel something, even if that thing is fear.”

“But I don’t want to feel fear,” Ryan mumbled, still watching the ground. “I don’t want to be afraid of stuff anymore. My dad said that I shouldn’t be afraid of anything, that fear was a weakness.” 

“Ryan,” She leaned a little further forward. “Can you look at me?”

When he listened, slowly looking up with a nervous expression, a small, sad smile crossed Her face.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Um, I don’t know.” Ryan glanced at Ben, and even though he didn’t know what the fuck She was getting at—he rarely did—he gave Ryan a sharp nod. It seemed to say what the kid had been looking for, because Ryan swallowed and continued. “My dad?”

“Fear really fucking sucks,” she whispered, and Ben’s fists tightened on his cheesesteak. “But it’s not bad. It doesn’t make you weak. We all get afraid, it’s your brain trying to tell you that you and the people you care about are in danger. And Homelander is dangerous. It’s smart to be afraid of him, Ryan, because then you’re not like him.”

“But I’ve hurt people, what if I am-“ 

“Homelander,” Her nails were burning on Ben’s skin. “Isn’t afraid of anything. Because he thinks he’s above fear, because he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. Just the fact that you’re afraid of Homelander tells me you’re nothing like him.”

“Are, are you afraid of anything?”

She nodded, heart picking up in her chest, and Ben moved his hand silently to her waist. Pulling Her closer without looking away from Ryan, keeping his face perfectly fucking neutral when she squeezed his knee and her breathing slowed.

“Homelander.” She took a heavy breath. “And heights.”

Ben hadn’t known that. He made a mental note to look up if you could take a boat to Rome. 

Ryan nodded, looking at Ben with wide, nervous eyes. “Ben?” 

He grunted, taking another bite of his cheesesteak as he waited for Ryan to continue. 

“You don’t get afraid, right?” 

Ben froze mid-chew. He wasn’t afraid of anything, and—if he was—it wasn’t any of Ryan’s goddamn business. It wasn’t like fear ever fucking affected him, or made him whine like a pussy, made him fucking cry like Ryan was about to-

He looked at Her. Completely fucking involuntarily, Ben looked at her and knew he was afraid of that. Afraid he’d fail her again. And maybe also gas. And small, closed spaces. Not Homelander himself—that pussy could eat Ben’s shit—but Homelander hurting Her. Hurting her in a way that made Ben lose her, taking her away where Ben couldn’t get her back. But that was a fear for Her. It was a service to Her, to share some of the weight she kept trying to carry alone. And of course Ben would be afraid of failing Her, he’d done it once and it had put her in fucking danger, so that didn’t count. Gas didn’t count either, gas had taken Ben’s who goddamn life away from him, anyone would be afraid of gas if they had half a goddamn brain. Closed spaces were a little fucking pathetic, but Ben would like to see any other pussy be kept in a box for forty years and not start to fucking hate it. But none of that was shit for Ryan to be all fucking sad about-

Ben felt Her whack his arm, and looked down to find her glaring at him. Stop being a giant fucking manchild and tell Ryan you’re afraid of something.

Ben scowled, but swallowed his food and looked back to Ryan. “Everyone’s afraid of shit, kid. As long as you’re not a fucking pathetic dickless pussy about it, you won’t be any less of a fucking man.” 

Ryan nodded, something in his eyes a little lighter and a confusing fucking warm feeling inflating in Ben’s chest. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t fucking-“ 

Her hand flew up to cover Ben’s mouth, and when he shot her a glare she just wrinkled her nose. If you ruin this nice moment, Pretty Boy, I’ll stab you. 

Ben rolled his eyes, Shut the fuck up, and pulled Her hand away, kissing her knuckles before looking back to Ryan. “You done with that sandwich?”

“I’m, um, not really that hungry.“

“I’ll hold on to it for you, and you can put it in the fridge when you get home.” She pulled out from Ben’s side, reaching across the mat with her perfect fucking ass in the air to grab the rest of Ryan’s food. Ben couldn’t let himself stare at Her ass, or think about kicking Ryan out to fuck her into the floor, or sit with his legs crossed anymore. He had maybe a minute before he’d have to stand up, and he needed to get his shit together so he didn’t do it with a raging hard-on.

“You don’t have to-“

“If I don’t,” She leaned back into Ben, grinning at Ryan. “Grandpa will eat it when neither of us are looking. He’s like a dog, you can’t leave food out.” 

“I am not a fucking dog-“

She sat up on her knees, giving Ben the prettiest fucking fake-pout and kissing his cheek before pulling back with a smile. A wide, bright smile where there wasn’t any pain hidden in her perfect, sharp eyes, and all Ben could bring himself to do was glare at her.

Brat. 

Cunt. Go show Ryan how to punch stuff.

He kissed her once, soft and quick and so fucking simple—his hands in her hair and her body half on his lap—before pulling back to stand. Ryan scrambled up, following Ben silently to the far side of the mat, and She scooted back to the wall.

Over the week, they’d developed a habit of this shit. Ben trained Ryan for a few hours, while She sat off to the side and switched between watching them and working on the V leads. Then they’d eat lunch together, Ben and Ryan would go for another hour or so, and they’d walk Ryan back to Butcher before returning to their own apartment. It was a damn good routine, because Ryan was already a fuck ton better then when they’d started—he hit the target every time now, and had only crushed two metal plates on accident today—and She had used the time to build a fucking airtight case for the president to just give them some goddamn V.

She’d explained the whole thing to Ben twice. Once in their apartment and once during a meeting with the team. Ben didn’t remember any of the first time, because she’d looked so fucking hot—chewing her lip while she thought and glaring at the papers in front of her with sharp eyes—and he’d wanted to slam Her on top of those stupid papers and see if she could recite all that fucking smart shit with Ben buried deep inside her. He’d managed to remember the second one only because she’d said it was really important they all have a basic understanding of our argument, in case Singer decides to cold call. 

“The first half,” She’d frowned at the papers as she sorted through them at the dining hall table. “Is mostly evidence of Homelander as a genuine threat to American stability, security, democracy, and like, fucking everything else. I think-”

“If Singer ain’t total fuckin brainless cunt, we shouldn’t need to show our bloody work-“

“It’s precautionary, Butcher.” She’d snapped. “And if you’d let me fucking finish, I was going to say that we could all just use personal experience for it. The second half is the important stuff. Copies of the document that says this would work, a vague outline of a plan to get the V in Homelander, a list of all the other avenues we’ve exhausted to get some V-“

“He’s not going to know I gave you guys those leads, right?” A-Train had cut Her off with frantic words. “If these get leaked or some shit, it can’t be traced back to me-“

“No,” She’d shaken her head. “We’re not saying how we got them, because that’s not important. He just needs to know that we’ve looked elsewhere, and there isn’t time to waste on continuing on wild goose chases. I’ve added hypotheticals about what could happen if we don’t act soon-“

Ben loved Her so goddamn much. He’d stopped paying attention, because he was losing his fucking mind about how much he loved her. She was so beautiful, and smart, and if everyone would just shut the fuck up and stop asking Her stupid questions Ben could get fucking lost in how perfect she was.

He’d gotten a boner. He’d been watching her talk all fucking focused and intense and pretty, and she’d grinned and bumped his shoulder with hers about something Ben couldn’t even fucking remember anymore, and he had completely given up on paying attention so he could get lost in a fantasy of bending Her over the table and fucking her until she whined and her eyes rolled back in her head.

It was becoming a fucking problem, how everywhere Ben looked was just another place he wanted to fuck her on or against, and how every word she said made him want to tell Her he loved her. He’d thought about it before, while she was gone, it was somehow worse when she was home. When she kept doing things that made him love Her more. Ben kept thinking he’d finally hit fucking capacity on how much he loved her—that loving her so much he’d move mountains and crack open the sky was the greatest type of love anyone was fucking capable of—and then She’d prove him wrong. She couldn’t just let Ben exist in goddamn peace, she had to make him and Ryan lunch everyday. She had to keep encouraging Ryan, and teasing Ben about wanting encouragement right before she’d tell him she thought he was an excellent teacher, even if he wouldn’t stop swearing at the child. She had to keep singing to herself while she moved around the apartment, and making everything around her so much fucking better than it had been before. She had to finally stop fucking apologizing, and kept curling into Ben’s body like it was the most natural thing in the fucking world. And it all made Ben feel like a fucking dumbass, because he kept being wrong. There was no limit to how much he loved Her, and every single thing she did would always make him want to just fuck her until she was happy and felt good.

But Ben wasn’t allowing himself to fuck Her. Not when he’d touched Her once and she’d shattered. They’d reached a silent agreement to not talk about the gun range and to keep kissing but never do more. Ben’s hands would wander down to her hips and her heart would pick up, so he wouldn’t go further. She’d kiss him and run fingers over his abdomen, but the moment Ben tensed in anticipation she’d freeze and drag them back to his chest. They hadn’t talked about it, but Ben knew she’d say I’m fine, and he’d insist that she wasn’t—people who are fine don’t fucking wake up in the middle of the night on fire—and she’d insist she was. They’d fight, and Ben didn’t want to fight with her. Not about something that fucking mattered like this, not when she kept kissing and smiling at him before—barely an hour later—something would suddenly shift and Her eyes would grow more and more hollow. He loved Her, and if they had a fight he’d probably yell that he fucking loved her to make her understand why it was killing him to watch Her be in pain that he wasn’t allowed to fix, and he’d lose Her. She wasn’t ready, and if Ben made this about how he loved her he’d lose her. He wouldn’t say it right, or well. He didn’t know how to talk about his goddamn feelings without sounding like a pathetic fucking pussy. He’d fuck it up and She wouldn’t understand that he loved Her so fucking much it could carve into the earth, and he’d lose Her.

She still looked at him with adoration. She still touched Ben like she wanted him, and sighed his name like it was important. But that was all she could give him right now, and Ben had to force himself to find a way to be okay with it. To let Her break and break in front of him, to keep her safe and pick up her pieces off the tile floors, then just kiss her until she gave a soft, happy sigh. To not grab her face and tell her that he loved Her. That he was so fucking worried about her because he loved her, and that he’d keep waiting. He’d wait and wait forever until she wanted him again. He’d take whatever she’d give him. He fucking loved Her, loved her in a way that would kill any other goddamn asshole to feel because it was fucking primal. It was real, raw, painful and indestructible love. Love where Ben would never be able to show it enough, never be able really make Her fucking understand how powerfully and zealously he loved her.

He could imagine it. Ben could indulge himself in these stupid fucking fantasies and drive himself mad as a punishment for being too fucking weak to know how to fix this. For being so much of a fucking pussy that the woman he loved kept breaking down and he could barely make it better, Ben started torturing himself with all the ways he’d could get this fucking right.

He’d roll Her over in their bed and kiss her breathless, before telling her that he loved Her and she was beautiful. Then he’d fuck her, gentle and long and goddamn romantic as shit, and she’d moan his name.

She’d give him one of her perfect, secret smiles over dinner and he’d tell Her in silence. Her pretty mouth would fall open, and she’d make a lame excuse to pull Ben back home. The door would barely close before she’d tackle him to the floor and ride him until she fell against his chest.

They’d be at a meeting, and Ben would just fucking yell it over the table. He’d roar I fucking love you, Sunshine, and the whole team would leave because Ben would already have her half-naked and in his lap.

Fuck, even now as She walked a pace ahead of him—smiling down at Ryan as he rambled about fucking homework and listening like She actually gave a shit, because she probably did—Ben wanted to grab Her and fuck her. He didn’t even need a wall or a bed, he’d just pick her up, rip off her pants, and slam himself into her until she felt good. But she’d fucking fall apart again after, and the pain of watching that was unspeakably worse than the ache of never touching her again. 

But he would tell Her. Ben would keep fucking trying to make this better for Her, and when the shadows started to creep out of her eyes and Homelander could never fucking touch her again, Ben was going to fucking tell Her. He’d say Her name, and she’d look at him all pretty and concerned about if everything was okay, and he’d tell her. I love you. I love you so goddamn much, and it’s made me a pathetic fucking pussy, and I don’t give a fuck because I love you. You’re perfect and I love you. You’re my whole fucking world and I love you. I’ll wait for you to be ready for the rest of goddamn time, because I love you. 

And she’d smile at him and say- 

“Benjamin, if you don’t start walking I swear to god I’m going without you.” 

They’d dropped off Ryan. Ben had given him another awkward hug before Ryan had turned to Her and they’d hugged as well. Then she’d smiled at Ben over Ryan’s head, making all of his thoughts devolve into perfect. Beautiful, perfect woman. He loved Her so fucking much, and when he told her that he was going to blow her perfect fucking mind with how fucking romantic it was, and he’d stopped paying attention.

She was walking back in the direction of the gym, and Ben frowned. “Where the fuck-“

“Mallory called a meeting, and we’re already late-“ She stopped tugging at Ben’s arm, giving him a flat look. “You forgot.” 

He had forgotten. She’d told him when they’d sat down for lunch that they’d have to go straight to the dining hall after, because there were updates that apparently couldn’t just fucking wait for the daily briefing tomorrow morning. He’d nodded, taken his cheesesteak, and she’d kissed his cheek. That alone had melted his brain a little, but then she’d moved some hair out of his face and leaned against his side and Ben had started wondering if this would be it. If he lowered Her onto the gym mat and told her he loved her, it would work. If She’d pull him down to her mouth and let him kiss her until there was a dent on the floor, then mumble into his mouth that she loved him as well. That she understood, and if Ben wanted to fuck her when they got home she wouldn’t stop him. 

In reality She was still glaring at him outside of Butcher’s apartment—perfect arms crossed and pretty eyes narrowed—and Ben had to act indignant. If he didn’t, she’d ask a lot of fucking questions and he’d shut her up by walking her backwards into the wall, telling her he loved her, and kissing her fucking stupid. 

“Mallory calls a whole lot of fucking bullshit meeting, we don’t need to go to every single one-“

She snorted. “Yeah, we do. You just don’t want me to call you old.”

“I’m not fucking old. And I didn’t forget-“

“Ben.” She linked her arms through his, and Ben scowled at her goddamn beautiful face and bored, amused, perfect fucking voice. “You are very old. And we have to go to the meeting you forgot about, you fucking dinosaur.” 

“Most of these stupid meetings are completely goddamn pointless,” Ben grumbled, even as he let her pull him down the hall. “Mallory thinks every single thing needs a whole hour to go over, and it’s never any actual fucking progress-“

“It might be, though.” She shrugged, grinning over her shoulder. “And if there is news, Kimiko will bring out the ice cream to celebrate. Don’t want to miss that.”

“We have our own ice cream, Sunshine.” He tugged Her arm just enough for her to fall back a pace, walking at his side so Ben could rest his arm over her shoulder. Keep her right against him, where she was fucking safe and smiling and there weren’t shadows across her perfect features. “We can just go the fuck home if you want ice cream.”

“We don’t have sprinkles. I want sprinkles.”

“Those things taste like fucking wax-“

“They are wax, Pretty Boy. They’re sugar wax.” Her hands had risen to hold Ben’s over her body, and he had to fucking pay attention and not spin her around, dance with her in the hall and dip her down all fucking romantic before whispering that he loved her. “I just want some colorful fucking sugar wax to go with my boring, old man vanilla ice cream.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “You fucking love my old man vanilla ice cream. You eat it just as much as me.”

He caught his own error, but she didn’t jump in with a smug voice and tell him as I. And when Ben frowned down at Her, she was watching him with that expression he didn’t understand. All adoration and want, with something burning behind her eyes, and her voice soft when she spoke. 

“I do love your old man vanilla ice cream.” Her smile spread, and her eyes looked a little brighter. “But I’d love it more with sprinkles.”

Ben snorted, and kissed the top of her head. “Brat.”

“Dramatic fucking cunt,” she mumbled, and Ben would have to figure out where to buy sprinkles now. There wasn’t a fucking chance in hell he was asking Mallory for that shit, but he’d figure it out and maybe it would help keep her expression light and joyful.

Everyone seemed to have finally fucking accepted that She and Ben would never be on time, because the most shit they got for being ten minutes late—again—was Mallory shooting Ben a glower and a collection of sighs when they entered the dining hall.

“Now that we’re all here,” Mallory’s words were cold, and Ben pulled Her a little further into his side on the bench. “Let’s get started. William?”

Butcher grinned around the table, a smug smirk on his face. “You cunts ready to hear the first good news you’ve gotten in a year?” 

“Good news?” Hughie frowned. “Did we find some V?”

“Guess again, lad.“

The French Prick leaned across the table. “Madame Sage has made an error?”

“Sage doesn’t make errors,” A-Train muttered. “It’s probably more about Vought, a lead or some shit.“

“Still ain’t it, mate. Anyone want to take a shot-“

“Butcher,” MM grunted, running a hand over his face. “Just fucking tell them, you asshole.”

“You really take all the bloody joy out of life, MM.” Butcher hands slid in his pockets, pretending not to see MM flip him off as he continued. “The one and only cunt in charge agreed to meet with us. Said he wants us in DC by tomorrow afternoon, gave us a fuckin travel fund and everything.” 

“In DC?” She narrowed her eyes at Butcher, and Ben felt her tense under his arm. “That’s a four hour drive away, and we can’t all go-“

“Most of you won’t be going,” Mallory snapped. “You and A-Train are at a security risk if you leave the compound, William has to stay with Ryan, and Campbell has some work to do.”

Hughie blinked. “I do?”

“Ah, that may be my fault petite Hughie.” Frenchie shrugged. “I requested that the A-Train provide access to Vought’s supe files. I will need your aid in retrieving them through the computers.” 

Hughie nodded slowly, looking back to Mallory. “Does that mean it’s just Annie and MM?”

“Blood good deduction, Lad, but you forgot about Soldier Boy.”

Everyone looked at Ben, and he froze as Her heartbeat picked up. “The fuck you mean he forgot.” 

“You’re goin’ on a field trip, Gov.” Butcher winked. “I’ll pack you some applesauce for the road, and make sure you take a piss before you get in the car.” 

She swallowed, glancing between Ben and Butcher, and her words were far too fucking soft. “How long will they be gone?” 

“About a day,” Annie sighed. “We’re leaving around 7am tomorrow, and after the meeting with Singer we’re going to have to wait for a transportation clearance, which probably won’t come until morning.”

“Transportation clearance?” Hughie gave Annie a confused look. “Can’t you just take Butcher’s car?”

“Nope.” MM shook his head. “Sage has got records of Butcher’s car. We’re taking an FBSA escort there, and a CIA escort back.”

“But,” She was still so fucking quiet. “Why will you have to wait for morning?”

“Route approval,” MM muttered. “Bunch of fucking security shit, and the motherfuckers at the CIA move slow. Annie’s right, it’ll probably take us a day to get there, do the meeting, and get back.”

“Why the fuck do I have to go,” Ben hissed. This was a fucking stupid idea, he didn’t need to be there. He didn’t need to be anywhere without Her, and he sure as hell wasn’t fucking leaving her. “I’m not going to be doing the actual damn pitch, and Singer can eat my fucking balls if he thinks I’m going to brownnose him to get the V-“ 

“He specifically requested your presence, Gov.” Butcher shrugged. “Didn’t say why, but I’m sure it’s your sparkling fuckin personality.” 

“Shut the fuck up you pussy, I’m not going anywhere-“ 

“Was it a condition?” She was looking between Butcher and MM, fingers tapping on the table. “Did Singer request Ben, or demand him?”

MM sighed. “Demand. We don’t bring Soldier Boy, they won’t let us in the door.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “You’ve got all the information for the pitch?”

Annie and MM started rattling off all the details She’d given them about the V, and her face was so fucking tired. She wasn’t looking at Ben, but her body was all but falling into his, her eyes were far away, and her breathing was fucking mechanical again.

He squeezed her shoulder, glaring down at Her until she glanced at him. I am not fucking going to DC. 

Yes. You are. She gave him a small, empty smile. You have to, Ben. Please. 

He shook his head. No. I am not fucking leaving you for a day just because Singer’s a fucking pussy who thinks he can make demands.

I’ll be okay, She pressed her knee to Ben’s, and he didn’t fucking believe her. It’s only a day, Pretty Boy. I’ll survive. 

She would survive. She was strong as fucking hell, and she’d survive one goddamn day without Ben. It was him that wouldn’t make it one hour away without going fucking sick with worry that she was in danger, or alone, or breaking and he wasn’t there to help. I don’t give a fuck. I’m not fucking leaving. 

If you don’t, we won’t get the V. She sighed. We have phones, Pretty Boy. You can text me, and I’m not going anywhere.

Ben scowled. Swear that if you need me home you’ll tell me.

She was giving him that look again. There was something fucking confused behind her gaze, like she hadn’t understood his words. But She nodded, Promise, and turned back to the table.

Ben was going to have to go. He had not fucking interest in going, but She was asking him to, so he would. This could get them a step closer to killing Homelander—to making Her fucking safe and Ben being able to say he loved her—so he would. He spent the rest of the meeting glowering at everyone and holding Her tighter, making sure she knew he was in no way a fucking fan of this bullshit, but didn’t keep arguing.

It would be fine. He’d survive one fucking day without Her. She’d be home and safe, and he wasn’t so fucking pathetic that he’d whine and moan like a pussy without her there. Then he’d come home and kiss Her, and beat Homelander’s fucking brains in, and find them the next boat to Rome.

After the meeting, they ate dinner with the team. It was tense, with everyone a little quieter than usual and focused mostly on their food, so Ben watched Her. He’d already memorized every single fucking thing about Her, but he never got tired of just watching her. She was so fucking beautiful, smiling at Ryan when he arrived, resting her head on Ben’s shoulder when she finished eating, signing with Kimiko about something that made her giggle—light and joyful, the best fucking sound in the world—and looking up at Ben when Kimiko turned back to Hughie.

Are you ready to go?

Ben had been ready to go for a damn hour, and he didn’t waste another fucking second before nodding, pulling Her up with him, and turning to the door.

She made a small sound of surprise, and Ben waited for her to be all fucking kind and polite—bidding the team goodnight and hugging Ryan—before tugging her back to his side and out into the hall. 

“Are you okay?”

He frowned down at Her as they walked back to their apartment. “What.” 

“I know you don’t want to go to DC, but-“ 

“I’ll fucking manage,” he grunted. He wouldn’t, this was going to be fucking horrible, but She didn’t need more shit to worry about. “And you’ll text me.” 

“I will,” she mumbled, pressing Her face into Ben’s side and letting him guide their steps. “Thank you for doing this.” 

Ben sighed. “Don’t.” It’s for you, Sunshine. I’d fucking do anything for you.

“But I am,” he could feel Her smile into his side. “Thank you.” 

He didn’t push it. She was smiling, and he fucking loved Her, so Ben just opened the door to their apartment and sighed. “TV?”

She nodded, playing with the fabric of his shirt as they sat on the couch. “Your night to pick, Pretty Boy. Can I guess?”

“You’re fucking going to anyway-“

“It’s either the documentary about the Cuban Missile Crisis we didn’t finish, or the baseball game that’s on tonight.” 

Ben frowned. “How the hell do you know about the game?”

“I pay attention,” she smiled up at him, and he was going to fucking explode. “I like to know if I’ll be spending the night listening to you lose your fucking mind over some balls.”

“They’re not just some balls, Sunshine, it’s a staple of fucking America-“

“With balls.” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”

“No,” she reached for the remote, passing it to him with a grin. “And, for the record, my personal vote is for the game. It’s Red Sox versus Phillies, and I want to see you cry when Boston beats your ass.”

Ben snorted, and flipped through channels until he landed on the game. “Brat.”

“Cunt,” She wrapped her arms around his torso, resting her head on his chest. “I,” she sighed. “I adore you, Benjamin.” 

“I adore you too,” he muttered Her name, and she gave a small, content sound, relaxing further into his body. “You’re okay.” 

She hummed, looking backwards with that strange fucking warmth in her eyes. “I’m okay.”

Ben kissed Her, soft and easy, and didn’t believe a goddamn word she was saying. They did this every fucking night, and he knew how it would end. He’d spend the whole time swallowing shouts of I love you, and she’d almost fall asleep against him. So fucking beautiful, so fucking tired, and Ben would keep trying to figure out how to just fix this shit. To find something he could say to Her that would make her tell him how to make this better. He couldn’t touch Her, she’d break. He couldn’t tell Her he loved her, this wasn’t about him. But She had to be happy, and Ben wasn’t going to fucking rest until he figured out how to make her totally and completely happy.

Here, in the glow of the TV, was a place she was happy. With Ben holding Her tight and tracing patterns on her skin, her face was peaceful and her heart was steady. He was pretty fucking sure she’d been happy, in the gun range. But then She’d broken, and Ben was never going to allow it to get any worse. She was still happy, most of the time, but she wasn’t touching him. Wasn’t trying to take more.

So he’d keep waiting until he got his fucking act together and figured out a way to tell her properly, or until She told him to touch her again. Until Ben knew how to make the happiness stay, and stop it from fleeing in the dark.

Ben felt a tug on his hand, and looked down to see her turning his fingers between her own, not meeting his eyes as she spoke. “Can you-“

He didn’t wait for Her to finish. She was quiet and nervous, and she looked so fucking exhausted, and the stupid game didn’t matter even a fraction as much as she did. Ben knew what she was asking, so he picked her up and carried her upstairs to the bathroom.

She was still crying in the shower. Steam would choke the room as she turned the water up to boil—She’d refused to let Ben fix the ceiling fan, so now the whole apartment grew humid every night—and Ben had been forced to hear Her heart race, hear the quiet, choking sobs shake her body, before he’d break into the bathroom and could hold Her until she was breathing again. After three nights in a row, he’d just started showering with her. Every night Ben set her down on the bathroom floor, stripped his clothes, and pulled her carefully with him into the water. She didn’t cry when they did it like this. When Ben stood a step back while she used all her fucking hair shit, and held Her against his bare chest when she looked at him with a silent plea to do so. When she was done, he helped dry her off, then carried her to bed. Set Her down carefully, go back to the bathroom to brush his teeth—keeping an ear on her heart as she shuffled around the room—and climb into bed himself. Nothing more. Not until She was ready, and Ben couldn’t break her by touching her.

He’d developed a daydream. Ben loved Her so fucking much he’d started to fantasize, late in the night when she was content and peaceful against him—before the fire and screaming began—about if she did love him. About a perfect world where She blinked her eyes open, sat up on Ben’s chest, and smiled down at him as she held his face and played with the hair of his beard. Where she leaned down and kissed him gently, murmured that she loved him, that she was Ben’s the same way he was Her’s, and he believed Her. He looked at the joy on her face, believed that she was okay, and did everything. He’d do everything for her, to her, with her. Everything she asked or needed or wanted, Ben would do.

In the daydream, it was what Ben wanted as well. In his head he’d grin at Her, flip her on her back, and take control. Make her feel so fucking good, make her moan and writhe under him, give Her one place in her life where she didn’t have to do any work. Then they’d kill Homelander together—maybe he’d just fucking drop dead the next morning—and leave this stupid fucking life forever. He’d carry Her to Rome, and buy her a house with the money they earned from her excellent fucking escort business, and fuck her on every surface available to him. He’d tell Her he loved her every other sentence, and she’d smile at him, and Ben would ask Her to marry him. He’d just walk into the room, grab her and say I love you, Sunshine, and you should marry me. I’ll fucking treat you like a Queen, because you’re perfect and I love you. She’d giggle, and tell him that he already did treat her like a queen—because he would, no matter what Ben’s whole life after this was going to be about fucking her like she deserved and making her happy—but still agree to marry him. They wouldn’t bother with the fucking dramatics of a wedding, it would be quick fucking work with the most goddamn romanic vows in history and then a kiss that quickly turned into Ben fucking his wife stupid. He’d make sure she smiled all the goddamn time, and then—at least in the fantasy—he’d fuck her full of babies. Homelander would be dead—fucking burned or dumped in the ocean or buried a thousand feet under—and She’d tell Ben she trusted him and loved him and wanted a family with him, so he’d give her that.

It would have to wait until after Homelander was dead. Ben knew Her, he knew she’d need a little more time to be ready for that, but—in this perfect world—she one day would be. In this perfect world She’d never be afraid again, and she’d cry about whatever normal people cried about, and Ben would make her feel safe enough to have a family. Ryan would visit them, that was obvious. Annie, Hughie, Kimiko, and MM would as well, because that would make Her feel even more loved. Even Butcher had somehow worked himself into this, and was at occasional dinners when they went back to New York to visit Violet. The only people that wouldn’t be allowed near them were Mallory and her mother.

It would be fucking perfect. She’d wake up next to him, and he’d surround Her with evidence of his love for her. He’d kiss her at every chance, and tell her he loved her wherever he could work it into the conversation. He’d let her boss him around all fucking day, and the moment the door closed behind them at night Ben would lock it and drag her into their bed. He’d fuck Her stupid, and she’d give him a blissful, happy smile, and that would be their whole fucking lives. Happy. Just fucking happy.

The most Ben indulged in these thoughts was when She was truly, fully passed out. When Her breathing was slow and her heartbeat was even, Ben would tell her in the dark. When he was certain she couldn’t hear, Ben would mutter to her all the ways he’d make her happy. How much he loved her, how she was so fucking beautiful and perfect and he’d never stop waiting for Her, because if there was even a goddamn chance his stupid fucking fantasy could be real he’d take it. She was worth waiting for. Ben loved Her, and one day he’d figure out how to make himself worthy of being loved by Her. 

It’s how he spent every night now. Waiting for when she woke up in flames again, holding Her until she fell back under, and tracing his hands over her face until it was peaceful and all the tears were wiped away. Usually he’d fall asleep himself, savoring in the feel of Her body against his and the sound of her heartbeat, but tonight he couldn’t. Tonight all he managed to do was fucking watch Her in his arms, and try not to think about how he wouldn’t be at her side tomorrow night.

Then, as light began to leak through the windows, Ben’s phone rang.

It was an unknown number. She’d told him not to answer those, because if it’s not spam they’ll leave a voicemail, and if it is spam you’ll be telling them you’re an active number and you’ll get more calls. He didn’t fucking understand what that meant—She’d definitely tried to explain, and Ben had definitely gotten distracted by how her tits squished together when she crossed her arms—but She was always right about this shit, so Ben ignored it.

Barely thirty seconds passed before it rang again. Ben flipped the screen over, because there wasn’t a fucking chance in hell he was letting this wake Her up.

It rang a third time. And fourth. By the fifth, Ben was going to fucking smash his phone.

He couldn’t smash his phone. He was leaving in the morning, and if he smashed his phone he wouldn’t be able to text her.

On the sixth, Ben scooted carefully to sit against the headboard, made sure she was still comfortably asleep with Her head in his lap, and picked up the goddamn call.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” he hissed, keeping a careful ear on her heartbeat against him. “But if you call me one more time I’ll fine you, cut off your fingers, and shove them up your fucking asshole.” 

“Charming as always, Soldier Boy.” Stan Edgar's voice was clipped and bored, barely muffled by the static of the receiver. “But I don’t believe that’s a way to talk to an old friend.”

Ben froze, and the glass of the screen cracked in his grip. “How the fuck did you get my number.”

“I have my methods, but you shouldn’t concern yourself with them. I’d imagine you have bigger things to worry about.”

Ben glanced down at Her, daylight starting to dance across her face. He didn’t have time to entertain Edgar’s weird, underhanded fucking bullshit. “If you know I have other shit to worry about, why the fuck are you calling me.”

“I’d like to catch up. Surely, even within the chaos, you have enough time to pay me a visit.”

“I’m good. Too long a drive just to talk to an old fucking asshole.”

“As far as I recall,” Edgar hummed. “I am forty years your junior. And it is not only you I wish to see, so it is not your call alone to make.”

“If you don’t stop speaking in cryptic fucking bullshit-“

Edgar said Her name, and Ben's heart stopped. For a split second there was a ringing sound in his ears, and he couldn’t fucking breathe. He missed the rest of Edgars sentence.

There was a second of silence on the phone, and Edgar cleared his throat. 

“Do you care to respond-“

“You’re not getting anywhere fucking near her,” Ben’s had, unconsciously, pulled Her closer. “I don’t care about our deal, she’s staying the fuck out of it.”

“Luckily, this is not within the confines of our deal. It is simply a request for some company, along with an invitation for a plus one.”

“I know how you fucking work shit, Edgar,” Ben watched Her shift slightly, and lowered his voice. “You can shove your request right up your tiny fucking dickhole, and swallow your own fucking cum when you beat your meat to get it back.”

Edgar chuckled. “I always forget how… poetic you are, Benjamin. In a better life, you were a mediocre reality television writer.”

“Call me Benjamin again, and I’ll drive upstate just to cut out your fucking tongue.” Nobody but Her was allowed to call him Benjamin. She always said it with some sort of unyielding care, no matter how angry her tone was. She said it right, in a way Ben hadn’t known was the correct way to say it until she’d grinned at him and said Benjamin, I give a shit about you. I adore you. I want you. Edgar said it like he was scolding a fucking child. Ben wasn’t a fucking child.

Edgar might have some sort of fucking chip in Ben’s brain, because his next words were amused, confident, and exactly what Ben had been thinking about. “Ah, I’d imagine that strikes a certain nerve, given the nature of your relationship with the only other person who addresses you as such.”

“You watch your fucking mouth-“

“It amuses me how oblivious you have grown to be. It may be the old age, but you have become downright unobservant.”

Ben scowled, and She rolled over against him, burying her face in his stomach. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re implying, Edgar, but if you called just to make pussy fucking request, then my answer is no and we’re done.”

“Is she with you?”

She hummed against Ben’s body, and he ran his free hand through her hair. “No.”

“I am afraid that I don’t believe you.” 

“Then that’s real fucking shitty for you-“

“Ben.”

He froze, and looked down to find Her rubbing her eyes open, a fucking adorable frown on her face as she watched him. He didn’t know how to mute the call, so Ben held the phone high above his head and lowered his voice to hardly fucking audible. “Go back to sleep, Sunshine.”

She shook her head, slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Early. Lie the hell down-“

“Who are you talking to?”

“We’re fucking talking-“

She gave him a flat look. “On the phone.”

He could lie. He could say it was Annie or Hughie or Ryan or Butcher, but she wouldn’t believe him—none of them called Ben, and only Ryan really texted him—and Ben had hit a very fucking annoying point where he was physically incapable of lying to Her. “Edgar. Go to bed.”

All the lingering sleep vanished from her eyes in a second, growing sharp in a way that would turn Ben on if this wasn’t so serious. “Why the fuck is Edgar calling you.”

“I’ll tell you in the morning-“

“Tell me now.”

He glared at Her. “You need rest-“

“Benjamin,” She hissed. “I am not going to get any rest while I know Stan Edgar is on the phone. Not when you still fucking owe him. Tell me what he wants, or I’ll grab the phone and ask him myself.”

“You can listen, and I’ll tell you-“ She started half climbing up Ben’s chest to try and grab the phone, and he snorted. “Fucking Christ woman, you know I could just sit on you and you’d have to wait.”

“You won’t though,” She muttered, trying to drag Ben’s arm down to where she could reach his hand. “Pussy.”

This was serious. This was really fucking serious, because Edgar was a genuine threat and now wanted Ben to walk Her right into his fucking lair. This was goddamn serious, because Ben wasn’t going to allow his shitty fucking decisions and deals that he’d made to protect Her in the first place put her in harms way.

It was incredibly fucking serious, and Ben need to get his head out of the gutter about how her hips were wiggling on his chest and her angry Benjamin, I’m going to kick your ass face was still beautiful. He needed to stop thinking about how she was the most amazing person he’d ever met, and about how much he loved Her, because it was making him fucking pathetic.

“If I give you the damn phone,” Ben grunted, and she paused to look down at him. “You have to put it on that speaker shit and calm the hell down.”

She nodded quickly, reaching her hand down to his eye level. “Deal.”

He was supposed to shake Her hand. She wanted Ben to shake her hand. But he was using one hand to hold the phone, and his other hand had developed a mind that was governed by Ben’s impulse of love Her, touch Her, take care of Her, and had wandered up to hold her steady on her waist. She hadn’t tried to move it—she was fucking leaning back into it—so there wasn’t a chance in fucking hell Ben was taking it away himself.

Ben handed her the phone, and tried not to act too fucking in love with Her as she slid down his body, holding his gaze the whole time. She hit a button on the screen, gave him a look that said you’re learning how to do this yourself later, Pretty Boy, and took a deep breath before she spoke.

“Edgar, why the fuck are you calling us at,” She glanced down at the phone. “6am?”

“So you are here,” Edgar’s voice was delighted. Ben wanted to smash the phone. “How delightful to speak to you again, it truly has been far too long.”

“And here I was, going to ask you to never fucking speak to me again.” She drawled. “I don’t think our relationship is as serious as you thought it was.”

“I’m wounded,” Edgar said Her name, and it sounded fucking wrong. “I thought we had a connection.”

“If by connection you mean you made me fight a bunch of man-eating sheep and I didn’t manage to kill you and make it look like an accident, then yeah. Sure.”

“Ouch,” Edgar chuckled. “I’d think you have much to thank me for. Would you have ever woken up our dear Benjamin without my advice?” 

Ben could see the flash of anger in Her eyes. Whatever careful game she’d been playing with Edgar ended, even as her tone remained bored. “I like to think I’d gotten there myself eventually. Tell me why you’re calling.”

“As I was telling your companion, I’m inviting you both to lunch.”

She looked up at Ben with a frown. Lunch? 

Pussy didn’t mention lunch. Said he wanted us to visit, and I wasn’t promised any fucking food.

Her nose wrinkled, you are shockingly literal sometimes, Pretty Boy, and her attention turned back to the phone. “Is this an invitation to lunch, or a you owe me lunch.”

There was a brief second of silence before Edgar answered. “Interesting. I didn’t expect you to be aware of our little arrangement.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

Edgar sighed through the speaker. “It is an invitation. There will be talk of the favor, but I’ve grown lonely. I think I’d enjoy the company.”

Ben scowled. “You can shove your company up your fucking ass-“

“Edgar,” She cut him off with a glare, and her voice was softer than Ben’s as she spoke, words slow and her brow drawn. “If you already have a favor picked out, why should we entertain you? Wouldn’t it be simpler to just tell us?”

She kept saying us. She kept talking about Ben as one with her, and if she didn’t stop soon he’d tell her he loved her right fucking now, with Edgar still on the phone.

“You are a truly phenomenal woman,” Edgar said Her name again, and Ben’s skin started to crawl. “There is not much that escapes you. I understand how Soldier Boy became so taken with you.”

“Yeah, I’m a real marvel of humanity.” Ben didn’t fucking love the way she said that, dry and monotone, like she fucking wasn’t. “Tell us what you want, Edgar.”

“Well, it helps if you think of this as a karmic act. If you are truly set on not making the short drive to speak in person, then I’ll cash in my IOU and that will be all. If you can find it in your heart and schedule to visit a lonely old man, then I might find myself in a better mood.” 

She frowned. “A better mood? You want to be a little less of a cryptic bridge troll and a little more of a normal person?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to see me in person to see the extent of my generosity.” 

“You can keep your fucking riddles in the dark, pathetic fucking hole you crawled out of-“

“Can we have a few days?”

Ben stared at Her. What the fuck are you doing.

We need to run this past the team.

We don’t need to run fucking shit past them, because we’re not going.

She sighed. I think we should. He can’t hurt us, and he knows a lot. Whatever generosity he’s talking about might help us.

“I can wait a day or two, if it would aid you in coming to the correct conclusion-“

“Great,” She cut Edgar off. “Mallory will call you. Don’t call us again.” She paused, glaring at the phone. “Bitch.” And hung up.

“There’s not a chance in fucking hell-“

“Please think about it.” She dropped his phone, holding his face between her hands. “We can wait to talk to everyone about it until after you get back home. Just really think about it.”

His answer was no. There was not a single universe where Ben was going to agree to put Her in danger like that. For something so fucking pointless, when she couldn’t fucking sleep through the night without losing her goddamn mind. The more he thought about it the more Ben was certain that this was simple fucking no. He would deal with this himself, and she’d stay far, far the fuck away from its line of fire.

But She was so pretty. She was watching him with a sharp gaze, and there was hair across her eyes that Ben wanted to move away, and her hands on his cheeks and jaw were warm. They fit fucking perfectly on his face, because She fit fucking perfectly against every part of him. Ben loved Her, and it was really making him a goddamn pushover. But it was worth it. It was really fucking worth it, because when he grunted and gave her a small nod, Her whole face lit up and she leaned in to give him one, soft, gentle kiss.

Ben was tired. Later, when he knew he was going to have to justify this to himself, he was going to remind himself over and over that he was tired. He’d been up all night worrying about Her, and so nobody could say a fucking word about it because all his resolve had been poured into care for Her, and his decsion making had been bound to take a hit. Ben was fucking exhausted, and that’s why when She squirmed slightly on his lap and teased her tongue along his lips, Ben let his control snap and flipped her over.

They’d made out since the gun range. They never stopped making out, and Ben was pretty sure that—if work and food and breathing and all that other pointless shit weren’t obstacles—he’d been happy spending the rest of goddamn time making out with Her. Pulling her up to his side on the couch, leaning over her in the hall, tugging her between his legs at the table.

This wasn’t making out. This was fucking eating each other. Ben was bruising Her mouth, biting her lips and running his tongue along her teeth, letting how her hands clawed at his back and pulled at his hair spur him on. Letting himself push her deeper into the mattress, using a free hand to grab and squeeze her ass as she wrapped her legs around his torso. She made a high, whining sound that sent something electric through Ben’s blood, so he did it again and let himself groan when she started to grind up into him. His knee ended up shoved between her legs, and when her head threw back Ben trailed his mouth across her cheek and down her neck, leaving wet open kisses and dropping his hips onto hers in an attempt to not rut against Her. It was all mindless and hungry and so fucking natural. This was where Ben was supposed to be. Above Her, against her, touching her and caring for her and taking every moan in his ear as fucking testament to how this was love. He fucking loved Her, and there was even the tiniest goddamn chance she’d love him back he’d stay right fucking here.

He stopped because he had to. Because if he kept going and She kept making perfect, musical sounds, he’d tell Her. Ben had already risen back up to her face, letting her pull his tongue between her teeth and growling into her mouth, only a second away from just telling her. From muttering I fucking love you down her throat and letting her swallow the words with another whimper. So Ben had to pull away, let her heavy breath trade with his, and just fucking pull himself together. Ignore his less than helpful dick and heart trying to control his body and only hold her gently. Trace soft, light hands over the parts of her body he was allowed to touch, and tell her he loved her like that. 

“Ben,” Her voice was a whisper, and when he opened his eyes hers were still closed. Her mouth was parted and swollen—he’d fucking done that, it was evidence of how much he fucking adored her—and her hands had stilled in his hair. She was so fucking beautiful, with the morning light on her face and her whole body relaxed, it might drive Ben insane. “I,” She took a long, unsteady breath. “I really, really adore you.”

He kissed Her again, and a long sound of content hummed from her chest. Ben moved up, kissing along the bridge of her nose, between her eyes, and on her brow. “I know,” he grunted against her skin. “MM and Annie will be able to handle Singer their fucking selves, it’s not like anyone’s going to like what I have to say-“

“Please don’t tell Singer to eat his balls or suck your dick.” Her voice was bored, but when she looked up at Ben there was a light behind her eyes that made his whole body relax. “It’s not very diplomatic.” 

“I don’t give a fuck about diplomacy,” he muttered. “If Singer wasn’t such a fucking uptight pussy he’d just take our fucking word and give us the V.” 

“And you can tell him that after we get the V. Until then you’re going to have to pretend to not want to kill him.” She paused, voice growing soft. “Please, Ben. Just try.” 

He sighed, searching Her face for any excuse. Anything that he could point to and say here’s why I should fucking stay. Here’s a goddamn solid reason that I don’t have to fucking leave you. Something you won’t be able to argue with me about, something you won’t even try to argue with me about.

There was only one. And Ben wasn’t allowed to say it. He had to swallow his only plea of let me fucking stay and care for and love you because I’m going to go fucking mad with worry, because you’re not okay and I can’t help but fuck me if I’m not going to try and nod. He had to sit in the silence, still touching her, always touching her, and keep himself from giving more. Then he had to fucking stand up, and get ready. She made him shower—Ben made her keep the door open—and when he exited the bathroom she pushed past him with a large plastic bag in her hands.

“What the fuck are you-“ 

“You need toiletries,” She didn’t look over to Ben, still in the door, as she gathered his toothbrush and shampoo into the bag. “And I’m not letting you anywhere near hotel hair products.” 

Ben turned to look back at the bed with a frown, and there was an open suitcase on the mattress full of half-folded clothing and his supe suit, a shirt and pair of pants set out for Ben to change into. When she came up to Ben's side, her voice was nervous. “I, um, you’re not good at packing. So-“

He grinned down at Her, reaching up to grab her chin and kiss her once, sweet and easy and fuck she felt perfect against him. One of Her hands reached up to grab Ben’s wrist and keep him there, and her feet shuffled to bring her further against him, tucking into his side. When Ben pulled back her eyes were wide, and there was a little of Ben’s saliva still on her lip. When his thumb moved to swipe it away, her heartbeat stuttered slightly, and Ben loved her.

“Where the fuck did you get a suitcase from?” 

“My ass.”

 He snorted, and a smile started to cross Her mouth. “Brat.” 

“Cunt.” 

Ben leaned down, careful not to drop his towel from around his waist as his hand moved to hold the back of her head. “Thank you, beautiful.”

“I couldn’t get your shield in there,” she whispered. “Why the fuck is it so heavy.” 

He chuckled. “That’s kind of the damn point. And I can just fucking carry it, I think I’ll fucking live.” 

She nodded slowly, gaze dropping down to Ben’s bare chest, and he felt his hand tense against her. She was fucking gaping at him, and her heart was getting faster, and fuck if she kept looking Ben with all that thirst and want he wouldn’t make it out the door- 

“You should, uh, get dressed.” Her voice was breathless, and her grip on Ben’s wrist was growing tight. “You need to go soon.” 

Ben kissed her nose, and stood up. He changed as she finished packing and put on the coffee—Ben ended up with a travel mug shoved into his hand—and they walked to the elevator with Her leaning into his side and Ben’s free arm over her shoulders.

They weren’t getting a send off. MM was waiting against the wall, flipping through a binder of Her plan with a backpack at his side, and Annie was nowhere in sight.

MM looked up when they stopped in the hall, giving Ben a short nod before turning to Her. “We’ll text you after the meeting. Shoot me a message if you need to add anything to this.” He tapped the binder, and she nodded.

“Where’s Annie-“

“Downstairs with transport. I was just waiting for Soldier Boy’s slow ass so we can get moving.”

Ben scowled. “It’s 7:55, we’re not even fucking late-“

“Doesn’t change that you’re the last motherfucker here.” MM shrugged, glancing back Her and saying her name a lot fucking nicer than he ever said Soldier Boy. “I can give you a minute, if you want-“

“Yes, please.” She moved in front of Ben, watching him carefully as she spoke. “Ready?” 

“No.”

“Ben, please-“

“I’ll do this, but I’m not going to pretend I fucking want to-“ Ben cut himself off as she wrapped her arms around his torso, squeezing him with her face pressed against his body. Ben’s arms flew up without a thought, holding Her as close as he could, and he sat in the sound of her heartbeat.

“I’ll miss you,” She mumbled into his chest. “Be safe.”

“I haven’t left yet, I can still fucking stay-“ 

“No,” she sighed. “You can’t. But you’ll be home soon, and I’ll be here.”

“You’ll be here.” Ben was repeating it to remind himself. To make his body fucking listen to him, and use his goddamn sense to know that she’d be right fucking here when he got home. Still safe. Ben being gone for one fucking day wouldn’t put her in danger, she was a whole lot stronger than that. “Text me.” 

She smiled against him. “You know how to text, grandpa?”

“If I don’t, you have no one to blame but your damn self, Sunshine.” Ben pulled back to look at Her, and his breath hitched a little when she smiled up at him. “I think I’ll fucking figure it out.”

“If not, you can always use text to speech-“

“He is not allowed to use text to speech,” MM snapped, having suddenly fucking appeared beside Ben. “I do not want to hear whatever horny shit this motherfucker is going to text you.”

Ben scowled. “I don’t even know what text to speech fucking is-“ 

“And you’re not going to learn.” MM glanced at Her. “We’ve got to go.” 

She swallowed, and looked back to Ben. “Don’t kill Singer. Maybe yell at him a little, but don’t kill him. Try not to kill anyone, but if you have to don’t make a mess. I put a playlist on your phone for the drive, but if you get bored you can text me because I’m probably not going to do anything all day. Stick to my pitch, and stay safe, and be careful about what you say because I don’t really trust anyone but us. And come home, Ben, please come home as soon as you can-“

He kissed Her, long and gentle and careful, because he was starting to worry she might make herself pass out or get the bright fucking idea to come with them. “Your faith in me,” he muttered Her name, running a thumb over her cheekbone. “Is fucking astounding.”

“I do have faith in you, I’m just nervous, we need this-“ 

“I know,” he sighed. “I’m going to get the V, because we need it, and then I’ll fucking walk back to Jersey if I have to. I’d be faster than the damn car anyway.” 

“Don’t do that,” She mumbled. “I don’t want to have to clean highway shit off your clothes.” 

Ben snorted, and she smiled up at him. So fucking perfect.

I love you. Ben put it all over his face. He allowed all his adoration and affection and care for Her into his eyes, let his jaw relax and his mouth smile just enough to tell her. I fucking love you, Sunshine, and I’ll always come back. Nothing anyone does to me will ever make you lose me, because I’ll crawl out of any fucking hole or cave or lab or prison to get home to you. I love you. 

She didn’t understand, because she was blinking wordlessly at him, but this was better than just fucking leaving. Ben kissed the top of her head, and—because he was fucking pathetic and wasn’t masochistic enough to resist it—brushed his lips against hers. He smiled down at Her in one last, desperate fucking bid to make her understand, and used all the fucking strength he had to pull away and follow MM into the elevator.

They weren’t taking the Pussy Mobile, because it had finally fucking kicked it after the Believe Expo and was rotting away in a government junkyard like it fucking deserved. Instead, Mallory had stuffed Annie, Ben, and MM into a goddamn minivan. Agent No-Gun was standing next to Annie when Ben and MM arrived in the garage, and was saying bunch of shit about routes and safety that Ben didn’t fucking hear, because he was throwing his shield suitcase in the back and climbing into the van. There wasn’t a goddamn chance he was going to be stuck in a middle seat, listening to Annie sigh or MM fucking fidget for the four hour ride. 

To his surprise, nobody tried to stop Ben as he spread out across the back row. MM just glared at him and sat in the middle with a frown, and Annie gave him a small smile, leaning over her seat as Agent No-Gun turned on the engine. 

Annie started to say a bunch of shit Ben didn’t hear—he was focused on his phone, trying to remember what the fuck a playlist was and how to access it—before mentioning Her name and making him look up with a frown.

“What the fuck are you saying?” 

“Is she okay?” Annie sighed, watching Ben carefully. “She’s been a little, um, weird the past week. I’m not sure if the media is still getting to her, or something else that she doesn’t want to tell us about-“ 

“She’ll be okay,” Ben snapped. She wasn’t okay, but she would be. It might take a whole fucking lifetime, but Ben would stand with her the whole way. And he might not actively think of Annie as an annoying, whiny fucking bitch anymore, but she still didn’t get to know about the gun range, or the showers, or the nightmares. If She hadn’t told Annie about that shit, then Ben wouldn’t. His loyalty was with Her, and not a single goddamn place else. “I’m taking care of her.”

Annie’s voice was shockingly gentle. “I don’t think you’re not, Soldier Boy. I just wanted to know if I could help.” 

Ben paused, narrowing his eyes at her. MM was still silent in his seat, and they had begun to pull out of the garage, but Annie’s eyes weren’t moving from Ben’s. Her heart was only a little above where it might usually be, and her face was genuine, so Ben grunted, “how the fuck would you help.”

Annie shrugged. “I’m asking you for a reason. You know her better than I do, I mean, you’re in love with her-“

MM slapped Annie on the shoulder, and her mouth snapped closed.

“How the fuck did you know that.” Ben hissed, body growing rigid. “I haven’t fucking told anyone-“ 

“Oh, you’re,” Annie blinked at him. “Sorry, I just thought you’d deny it.” 

“How the fucking hell did you know-“ 

“It’s kind of obvious-“

“Annie,” MM grunted, glancing back at Ben. “We all fucking agreed-“

“The fuck are you talking about, you all agreed.” Ben paused, looking between Annie and MM’s tight expressions. “Who else fucking knows.”

“Hughie, Butcher-“

“Annie-“

“Come on.” Annie rolled her eyes. “Do you really want to be stuck in the car with him for four hours without answering his questions?”

MM scowled, but fell silent as Annie continued.

“Frenchie, Kimiko, and A-Train-“

“Fucking A-train-“

“He asked us what the hell was going on between you two.” MM muttered, shooting Annie a harsh look that made her sigh and nod. “And we told him.” 

“Mallory doesn’t know,” Annie added. “But I think she’s guessed.” 

Ben glared between them. “How.”

“You aren’t exactly subtle, asshole.” MM gave Ben another look he didn’t fucking understand. “We’d have to be fucking deaf and blind to miss it.” 

“We kind of all put it together separately,” Annie’s face was weary, watching Ben like he might start ripping their heads off their bodies. It wasn’t a totally unfounded fear, not if they kept their observant shit up. “For me it was the meeting with Edgar. Hughie said he got it after Neuman.”

Ben’s head whipped to MM. “What the fuck told you.”

MM ran a hand over his face, still glaring at Ben. “When you made her call her sister.”

All that shit was fucking months ago. A goddamn lifetime had passed since all of it, and Ben had only figured it out himself after the Believe Expo. They said it was obvious, but She hadn’t seemed to get whatever memo that every other fucker on their team had. She’d have brought it up, She’d had talked to him about, because subtlety wasn’t exactly her greatest strength. She’d have told Ben if she knew. 

“You pussies haven’t fucking-“ 

“Nobody’s told her,” MM was watching Ben carefully, and exchanged another fucking look with Annie. “That shit’s not our place.” 

Ben had a lot of other fucking questions. Why nobody had decided to maybe fucking say something to Ben about this. How often they talked about it behind his goddamn back. How it wasn’t their fucking place, not by a mile, but while they were having this dumb as fuck conversation, what were their opinions on Her loving Ben-

 Someone’s phone started ringing, cutting Ben from his thoughts. 

“It’s Mallory,” MM muttered, giving Ben one last look. “Don’t be a fucking ass about this. We’ve observed something, against our will I might add, and she doesn’t know. That’s it.”

MM picked up—Malloy was an impatient bitch who had to ask about an ETA she could pass on to Singer—and Annie looked like she was going to say something. Her mouth opened and closed like a damn fish twice, before just shaking her head and turning back to her seat.  

Ben’s phone buzzed in his hand before he could force Annie to contiune, and if his smile made him look like a fucking idiot when he saw Her face on his lockscreen, he looked downright moronic when he read the banner on the display.

When he’d gotten his phone, She’d entered her name into it. Just her name. No extra bullshit or annotations like the others, just her damn name. Ben hadn’t fucking stood for it. He’d tried to model his excellent revision after the other contacts, but the way to type a semi-colon was apparently a fucking secret that Ben wasn’t allowed to know, so he’d had to improvise. He’d deleted her name—you could wipe his memory and replace his brain, but some part of Ben would always fucking know her name, so he didn’t a fucking phone to tell him—and done the nickname and instructions.

2 messages from Sunshine, take care of.

Ben grinned, looking around the minivan to ensure nobody saw how fucking stupid he looked—although it might not matter anymore, since they were all apparently fucking invasive dickwads—and opened the messages.

You forgot your coffee.

There was a photo, a half-blurry picture of the mug She’d given Ben on their table. He wasn’t sure when it had left his hand between their apartment and the elevator, but it clearly wasn’t there now.

wut the fuckk am i sopossed to do abut it now 

Ben turned his phone over, and it was a few seconds before it buzzed again.

Are you going to make any effort to spell?

He swallowed a chuckle. no

Please?

no

I can just not text you. That option is very much on the table.

u textd me firs

Ben paused, then added, i havnt beeen gon a fuckinh hour

Her response was immediate and Ben wasn’t sure how she typed so fucking fast. Shut up, or I’ll dye all your clothing pink and tape over all your baseball games while you’re gone.

do nut do that i havnet fuckingg watched thwm

If you make a modicum of an attempt to type in a way I can decipher, I won’t.

Ben rolled his eyes, and typed a little slower. whats a modicum. is it jizz

No, you horny ass. It means a small amount.

like modicome

That’s the exact same word, you just can’t fucking spell. 

brat 

You love it, cunt. And I don’t know why you even record the games, we can just stream them.

i dont trust the stream to be fucking right

Right??? About what?

game. its the principl Sunshine.

It’s a stupid principle. An old man principle. There was a pause, three tiny bubbles popping in and out of Ben’s screen, and then How’s the ride going? Has anyone killed anyone else?

Ben looked up at MM and Annie, still facing forward. no

Who’s driving?

lady suit

Ben didn’t get a response for almost a minute, and he’d just started to glare at the display when her message came through.

Do you mean Agent Cortez? The one you stole the gun from?

yes

That’s it?

u dont need two peopl to drive

I meant is that it for security.

apperently 

Apparently.

shit the fuck up

Gross.

Ben snorted, and decided that this could be enough. He was happy to spend four hours in this horrible fucking minivan, because She’d still be talking to him. Her voice had stopped following him around a few days after she’d gotten home—he hadn’t heard it in over a week—but he’d had the real Her at his side. The Her he could touch and tease and grin at, and who would match everything he threw at her in stride. The Her he was allowed to look at and think I fucking love you. He might not be able to touch Her like this—through the phone and over text—but he could still imagine her bright smile with every message and pretend she was at his side, telling him about her day. About how since Ben wasn’t home to train Ryan, they were going to eat lunch together in the apartment. About how she was cleaning out the fridge—asking if he wanted another two tubs of strawberry cream cheese, because they were down to one and he tore through them in a day—and whatever TV show she was watching without him. She rarely took more than a minute to respond, and Ben never fucking looked away from his phone, so the hours passed easily.

He hadn’t even noticed they’d parked until the doors of the car opened, and it grew suspiciously quiet as MM and Annie left their seats.

“Soldier Boy?” Annie poked her head back inside, and Ben nearly threw a headrest at her on instinct. “We’re here.”

Ben looked outside the door with a frown. He’d been to the White House, and this wasn’t fucking it. This was a loading dock. “Where the hell is here.”

“Hotel,” MM called from somewhere behind Annie. “We’ve got an hour until the actual meeting, and I am not fucking leaving my clothing in the car. You better start hauling ass, or we’ll leave you in the car.”

Ben rolled his eyes, but grabbed his phone, climbed over the middle row and out past Annie, and grabbed his suitcase before following Agent Cortez through a gray door and up too goddamn many flights of stairs for there not to be a fucking elevator.

He got his own room. It had a nice rug, and a bunch of fucking shit paintings, and a large bed that Ben would not fucking be sleeping in. The sheets were too cool, and there wasn’t an imprint of Her body on one side or the smell of her shampoo on the pillows, so Ben would maybe sit on it, but that would be the extent of its function. He didn’t bother to take his shit fully out the suitcase—tossing his current clothing on the bed in exchange for his supe suit—but did plug his phone in with the stupid little white wire, reading the last text She’d sent. 

Ryan wants to know your opinion on Frankenstein, if you’ve read it.

i had to read it in shcool. was ok. He paused, looking around the hotel room. we got to the hotel. fucking pussy singer is making us wait a hour.

Are you settled? Did you get to eat on the way? If not you should ask MM, he’ll probably have a plan for food.

As if he’d been fucking summoned, MM walked through the previously fucking locked door of Ben’s room.

“How the fuck did you get in-“

MM raised his hand, displaying a key card. “You settled? We want to go now, Singer might be able to see us early.”

Ben scowled. “Why do you get to just fucking walk in to my goddamn room.”

“Because I’m your fucking CO, and a hell of a lot more trustworthy. You’re only here because Singer’s nostalgic or some shit.”

“I’d go back right fucking now if you pussies don’t want me-“ 

“Nope.” MM looked around the room, frowning at the open suitcase before turning back to Ben. “You look fucking settled. Let’s go.”

Ben glanced back at his phone, sent her a quick text that they were going to the meeting, grabbed his shield, and followed MM back to the shitty fucking minivan.

Singer did not get them in early. They’d arrived at the White House—it looked the exact fucking same since Ben had been here last, expect with a fuck ton more computers—been sat in a random ass room with a table and paper cups of dogshit coffee, and waited for five goddamn hours. Right as Ben started to seriously consider standing up and just fucking finding Singer—they’d shoot him, he’d live, and everyone could go the fuck home—a lady in a gray skirt walked through the door and gestured for them to follow her. The did, into a room that looked the exact fucking same as the one they’d just fucking been in. The only difference was the five men and women in black suits and sunglasses, lining the walls around President Singer.

“Mr. President, Marvin Milk, Annie January, and,” the woman glanced at Ben with nervous eyes. “Soldier Boy are here.” 

“I can see that Millie.” Singer sighed, gesturing to the chairs across the table. “You three sit the hell down, you’re makin me feel like a jackass.”

MM nodded, and dropped across from Singer with Annie to one side and Ben—after receiving a sharp glare—to the other. 

“It’s good to see you again, Sir.” MM clasped his hands on the table, leaning forwards. “Thank you for meeting with us-“ 

“Don’t thank me yet.” Singer looked between them, eyes landing on Ben. “Soldier Boy, you look about how I expected.” 

Ben scowled. “Why the fuck were we waiting for five hours.” 

MM and Annie glared at him, MM’s mouth opening to probably tell Ben to shut the fuck up, but Singer chuckled.

“You should be lucky I’m entertaining this shit at all. Grace told me what you want, and I’ve got a few questions first.” 

Annie nodded. “What do you need to know?” 

Singer said Her full name, and Ben’s fists curled on the table. “She’s been making some risky fuckin gamble. Riskier than waking him,” Singer nodded to Ben. “Up. You willing to place all your bets on her willingness to play with fire?” 

Ben shouldn’t talk. She’d told him to be diplomatic, and if he opened his mouth he’d tell Singer to shove his dick in his mouth and eat Ben’s fucking asshole. So MM got to answer.

“It’s all paid off before,” MM’s words were short. Neutral. “She’s the one who got Neuman out of your hair, and kept your constituents from going full fucking team Homelander.” 

Singer hummed. “And what about the FBSA incident? I heard about how she got away from the tower, I’ve seen the footage of all those agents dropping down screamin. You think she’s stable enough to get back in the game?” 

“She’s gotten a,” Annie paused, frowning. “Handle on her powers. She’s not a danger to anyone, and she’s doing a lot of work.”

“That wasn’t my question.” Singer leaned back in his chair, flipping his phone in his hands. “She’s managed to make a real mess of the public. We need to get some sort of direction with where to take this. Get her back in front of a camera, on the record about those Homelander accusations.” Singer shot Annie a look. “And next time, I’d like to be kept in the loop before you pull a stunt like that.”

“It was the fucking truth.” Ben’s words were hissed through teeth, and he channeled all his vulgar threats at Singer into a violent glare. “And until you actually fucking pay us, we don’t need to tell you shit.”

Singer narrowed his eyes at Ben. “She needs to fix what she broke-“

“She doesn’t need to do a goddamn thing. You put a camera in her face, I’ll break it.”

The suits around Singer were tensing, hands dropping to their guns, but Singer just shook his head. “You know, I’ve heard the rumors about you two. Didn’t think they were entirely true, sorta wanted to see for myself, but I also didn’t think I’d spend my career cleaning up media messes.”

“With all due respect, sir, Soldier Boy’s not wrong.” MM let out a long breath. “She’s not a threat, but I wouldn’t put her back into the public eye yet. There’s no telling what Sage and Homelander have ready for that, and she just underwent some real fucked up shit. She’s the reason we’ve got Homelander in a stall, it’s not fucking worth the risk of sending her right back into that motherfuckers arm for some good press.”

Ben wasn’t going to let Homelander anywhere fucking near Her, but didn’t get chance to shout that before Singer was sighing, rubbing his chin as he spoke.

“I’m willin to keep her on the bench for now, but I ain’t sure we’re going to be able to hold Homelander off much longer. I got guys in congress saying they want him as my VP replacement, and I can’t keep kickin that can down the road.”

“That’s what we’re here to talk about.” Annie glanced at MM, waiting for his small nod to continue. “I understand Mallory told you what we’re here to request, and we wouldn’t be asking if we didn’t think it would work.”

“Mr. President, you know as well as we do that Homelander’s a threat to democracy.” MM’s words were careful, slow. “All we need is one shot. Just one vial of V, and we can finish this shit for good.”

Singer scoffed. “You people keep sayin this will be our shot. That French Asshole’s weapon against Neuman was supposed to be our shot. Edgar’s farm up in Maine was supposed to be out shot. Soldier Boy was supposed to be our shot. But Homelander’s still fuckin running around. What makes this shot any different.” 

“We’ve got the receipts to prove the V will put him under-“ 

“I’ve seen all your documents, Starlight.” Singer dismissed Annie with a hand, gaze falling to Ben. “Why ain’t you able to finish this, huh? Just fire at the laser eyed asshole, get it over with?”

“I’d like to see you do this fucking better-“

“Sir,” MM interrupted Ben with a glare, and Ben rolled his eyes. “This is a delicate situation. The V is the easiest way to get it done without any unnecessary death or destruction. It’s all we’re asking for.”

“You think I can just snap my fingers and make it appear?” Singer snorted. “It ain’t that simple. That V is fuckin miles underground, and you’re lucky I’m even saying we have it. On the record, it was destroyed three damn years ago. There’s not a chance we’re just givin you some-“ 

“How fucking stupid are you,” Ben drawled, deciding to fully ignore the glowers and sneers of everyone in the room, or the clicks of guns. “That you think we’d give fuck about your records or obstacles. You want Homelander out of the picture to keep your cushy fucking pussy job, this is the damn way to do it. Either that, or you can try and hold that star-spangled dickfuck down yourself while I take the shot.”

The room was silent, and Ben could fucking feel Annie and MM’s glares. Singer himself didn’t look too pleased, and Ben didn’t even bother to try and give a fuck. Not when Singer took a long breath, glancing down at his phone, and relented.

“I’ll need approval from my defense secretary,” Singer muttered, still glaring at Ben. “And some sort of collateral if you idjits can’t do your fucking jobs again.”

“Your whole fucking country is collateral, you pussy headed motherfucker.” Ben stood up, grabbing his shield from beside his seat. “We’ll do our job, you do yours and get us that fucking V.” 

Ben marched out of the room, and waited just long enough for Annie and MM to scramble after him before following their previous path back to the minivan.

Nobody yelled at him about Singer. But it seemed less about Ben’s anger paying off, and more about a general distaste for the whole fucking situation. For how much of a bureaucratic ass Singer was being, not just doing what it took to kill Homelander. How all those pussies had to do was give them the V, far away from the actual fucking fight.

The ride back to the hotel was tense—Ben didn’t see why they couldn’t just fucking go home, but when he said as much all he got was a grunt about security from MM—and it was dark outside by the time they returned. When they got upstairs, Ben slammed his door with a mutter of night to Annie and MM, and dropped his shield on the floor with thoughtless clang as he stripped down.

He’d left his phone on the bed. It had made for a boring fucking five hours—he’d never fucking tell Her, but he’d read a book Annie had pulled from fucking nowhere in an attempt to entertain himself—and Ben turned on the screen the moment he crossed over to the mattress, reading 4 messages from Sunshine, take care of and swiping them open.

Good luck with Singer.

Try not to kill him.

Please tell me how it goes.

Make sure you get dinner.

Ben hadn’t eaten dinner. He’d get on MM’s ass about that later, after he texted her back.

singer is alive and talkig to cabnet for v

Her response was almost immediate. Oh, thank fuck. I’m proud of you, I really didn’t want to go on the lam. 

why would u be a lamb

ON the lam, Pretty Boy. It means running from the law.

the fuck would make u run from the law

Because people aren’t just going to let you kill the president. There would be consequences. 

Ben grinned at his phone. youd run from the governemnt for me

Don’t get too fucking smug. I’d beat your ass for MAKING me run from the government first. 

but u wouldd

I would. Did you eat?

did u fucking eat

I did. I had dinner with everyone. It was hotdog night.

u saved me a dog

Nope. We have hotdogs in the fridge, you can microwave one when you get home.

youre so fuckigg mean to me sunshine 

Fuck you. Just for that, I’m eating all the brownies Kimiko gave us.

whyd she give us brownies 

Technically, she gave ME brownies. I was going to share, but you’re being an asshole.

brat

Cunt. Did YOU eat?

Ben paused, and sighed to nobody. i will

That’s a no.

i didnt fucking say no i said i will

But you didn’t.

shut the fuck up

Go eat.

you cant fukcig make me

Please eat, Ben. You need to just as much as I.

why 

Because you’re a human person. Even with the V, human people need food.

ill eat the brownies when i get home

If you don’t promise me you’re going to go eat right now, there won’t be any brownies when you get home. I’ll give them to Butcher.

u woulndt

Wanna bet?

Ben scowled. i dont want to eat i want to talk

I’m going to bed, Pretty Boy. It’s late.

its ten

And I’m exhausted, we were up early and it’s been a long day.

what happpend

Worried about Edgar and Singer. Media is full of bitches.

ur oaky. Ben paused, starting to type out becaus ill come home right-

Her message came through. I’m fine. Promise me you’ll eat.

Ben glared at the phone, because he didn’t fucking believe her, but still deleted his offer and typed whatever

Ben.

swear it

Thank you. There was a beat, and then a second message. I miss you. Thank you for doing this.

i miss u ass well 

Another beat. I miss your ass as well.

Ben snorted. He fucking loved Her. go sleep sunshine

I’ll see you tomorrow?

u will or ill fucking run to jersey

Just steal a car. I know you can.

i thought I wasnt supposed too 

I’ll make an exception. Whatever gets you home.

ill be home toomorow. godnight beuaitufl

Ben put his phone down, fully dressing before walking down the hall to bang on MM’s door.

MM was glaring with bleary eyes when it swung open. “The hell you want?”

“Where the fuck do I get food.”

“Call hotel services, dumbass.” MM paused before closing the door, watching Ben with a tired, cautious expression. “You weren’t total fucking shit with Singer. And Mallory says they’ll have us on the road by 7am tomorrow. Be ready.”

The door closed, and Ben returned to his room to figure out how the fuck to call hotel services. It took him a whole damn hour, but Ben got shrimp, ice cream, and a real nice fucking robe that the CIA would be paying for. He picked up his phone, frowned at the banner of Message from Sunshine, take care of, and opened it up. 

He thought he hadn’t read it right at first. He blinked a few times—he’d gotten wine as well because nobody appreciated him asking for coke—and crushed his phone in his hand when the words clicked. When they hit him with the force of a train.

Goodnight, Benjamin. I love you.

————————

You can’t sleep. You’d texted Ben goodnight two hours ago—you think, your brain is a little slow from exhaustion—but it’s too quiet, too cold, too dark to do anything but stare at the ceiling and drown in your own thoughts. Too lonely to do anything but worry and worry and worry about everything, and try not to cry.

You’re so tired. You’re home, you should just feel safe and easy and happy, but you’re just fucking exhausted. Your joy is still real when you smile at Ryan, and talk to Annie, and laugh with Kimiko. All your love is still so strong and eternal, circling your head and bringing your every thought back to Ben. It’s painful, how much you love him. How you can’t stop breaking, or wanting him, or missing him. He’s been gone for barely twelve hours, and you miss him. Your eyes are drooping, and your brain is foggy, and all you can do is miss him.

The exhaustion is all in your head. It’s all stemmed from the stress of what if Singer says no to the V. Ben said he was running it past his “cabnet”, but what if they say no. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep fighting Homelander forever, it’s going to kill you. This needs to be over, it needs to be over now, you can’t fucking do this anymore. You’re not strong enough to do this anymore.

Weak.

You’re home. What matters is that you’re home. You can’t feel anyone—it’s been a week of the pills, one in the morning and one in the night, hidden from Ben because you’re still not ready to tell him—or sleep a night without blood haunting your dream, or spend an hour without glancing at your phone and seeing another story about your life.

People are still putting together your “relationship” with Ben. You’d told Annie everything—at least, everything that wasn’t how Ben made you moan and how you loved him so much it made you a little bit of an idiot—and she’d relayed it all as instructed. You woke Ben up to kill Homelander. You became friends with him, and you made each other promises about never going back. You lived together, and had a complicated relationship. You’d chosen the words carefully, ignoring Butcher’s eye roll and Annie’s sigh, and reminded everyone that this was technically Annie’s point of view. This was what she could’ve observed without your input, and what she’d say. And now, all across the internet, more and more timelines and breakdowns of the Anomaly and Soldier Boy’s relationship are popping up. A lot of them are paired with timelines of you and Homelander.

All of them make you feel sick. Even if they buy Annie’s words and denounce Homelander, they still say things you don’t want to hear. You’re obsessive. In love with Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy’s in love with you. It’s a toxic relationship. You killed people for him. He was killing people for you. It was unrequited on your side. Unrequited on his side. It’s a great American love story. It’s star crossed. He’s probably going insane without you. You didn’t love him enough to go back to him. You’re not worthy of him. Even with Starlight’s claims about your powers being far greater than Vought let on, you’re still weak. Weaker than Soldier Boy. Weaker than Homelander. Your greatest advantage is your feminine allure, because you’re a whore, and you’re weak.

You’re so fucking tired.

Homelander had avoided a direct response to the stories about you and Ben. Sage had entirely denounced Annie’s claim within two days, calling them all blanket lies and propaganda meant to manipulate the public, but Homelander had just agreed. Said they were looking for you, trying to recover you, that he loved you and missed you and would kill whoever had taken you from him.

You keep having nightmares about that as well. Where the blood is splattered across your skin, and Homelander is holding Ben’s heart in gloved hands—red, maybe covered in blood, you can’t tell—and you lose him forever. You burn and burn and burn, and sometimes Homelander dies, but Ben always dies. You always lose him, and have to live for the rest of time with a hole in your head and a heart that doesn’t really beat right anymore.

When you wake up, Ben is always there. Holding you and rubbing soothing patterns onto your skin, muttering words of comfort into your skin and surrounding you with his warmth and the smell of pine. It always calms you down, seals up another crack in your body as you believe him just a little more every time. You’re home, and that’s what matters. You’re here, in Ben’s arms, and everything is going to be okay. You’re still broken, but he’s staying, and you’re all that matters.

Ben won’t touch you, but you’re going to be okay. He keeps tensing and pulling away whenever you try to give him more, but he’s still here. Still holding you in the shower, still kissing you and staying at your side, but not touching you.

You wish you could feel him. You wish you could understand why he won’t touch you. Being afraid that the hunger in him had simply had a quiet, wilting death when he saw how broken you were, and now he gives a shit about you—adores you—but doesn’t want you. He doesn’t love you, he hasn’t loved you, but now he doesn’t want you either. You don’t want to make him do anything, not if he doesn’t want to, not while he’s staying, but you wish he would just touch you.

He won’t. You’re weak and broken, and even as you’re healing you’re just so tired. You can’t control yourself, can’t finish this, and you’re fucking tired. You’re not strong, unconquerable, and zealous with anger like Ben, or Butcher, or Kimiko. But you’re not forgiving and determined like Hughie and Annie and MM. You can’t give them anything like Frenchie or A-Train, and you’re not innocent like Ryan. You’re guilty of blood sticking across your body, but you’re too tired to do anything about it, and you don’t have it in you to kill Homelander with your bare hands, but you don’t have the patience or resilience to wait longer.

You need this to be over. Homelander dying won’t set that thing still flailing in your gut back into place, or stop the nightmares forever, but you’ll stop looking for him in shadows and being a little afraid of the open sky. You’ll be able to make yourself strong enough to tell Ben you love him, and force yourself to be okay when he says no. 

You’ve spent the whole day missing him. Everything keeps rounding back to how you miss him. How the bed is too big without Ben snoring on top of you, and how the sheets and pillows smell like him, and how there’s still an indent of his body on his side of the mattress. You’d led a normal day while he was gone, doing laundry and texting him and trying not to be too pathetic about how much you love him. Spending the day with Ryan and talking about Ben like a normal person, trying to clean a little and not letting your hands linger on his coffee mug or shirt, watching TV and not looking at the empty space next to you.

Trying to focus on dinner, and not worry about Singer, or why the meeting was taking so long.

“Why did they have to go to DC?” Ryan had asked you over the table, speaking through a mouthful of relish and ketchup and mustard and every other condiment in the dining hall. “Couldn’t Singer have, maybe, uh, called-“

“Ryan,” Butcher had grunted. “Chew and swallow. She ain’t goin nowhere.” 

Ryan’s eyes had widened, and he’d given Butcher an apologetic look as he closed his mouth. 

“I don’t know,” you’d answered, poking at your hotdog with a finger. “Singer probably wanted some evidence that we cared about this enough to make the trip. It’s not too far, and we need the V, so it’s not worth arguing about.” 

“I thought, um,” Ryan had coughed slightly—he’d swallowed a little too fast—and given you a nervous frown. “I thought you got V. Hughie mentioned you were still at the tower for V. To, um, kill my dad.”

“Hughie, lad, the fuckin hell did we say about keepin it on the low-“ 

“I’m sorry!” Hughie had shrunken from Butcher’s glare, face growing red. “I just mentioned it, and Soldier Boy said it first-“ 

You’d frowned. “Ben said what?” 

“He said you wouldn’t want to lie to Ryan, and he’s the one mentioned that the V would help us kill Homelander-“ 

“I’m not upset about it!” Ryan had jumped in as Butcher’s glare at Hughie became lethal. “I was just curious, don’t be mad at Hughie or Ben-“

“It’s okay, Ryan.” You’d sighed. It was only 7pm, too early to have a bloodbath in the dining hall. “I’m not mad. Butcher might be mad, but he’s a little bitch baby.” 

“Fuckin watch it, Love-“ 

You’d ignored Butcher, and watched Ryan carefully as you spoke. “I was at the tower for V. But I couldn’t find the right kind, so now we need to look somewhere else.”

“The right kind?” Ryan had frowned. “What, um, what kind was there?”

“The V Ben and I have,” you’d explained with a sigh. “I don’t know what it would do to a normal supe, but it’s essentially useless in any format on Homelander.”

“You did not happen to keep it when you returned, non?” Frenchie had leaned around the table, looking at you hopefully, and you’d shaken your head.

“It got destroyed on my way back. It’s gone.”

You’d been lying. The V was still in your underwear drawer, hidden next to the suppressants and taunting you in the silence. Ben’s phantom was gone, his Thing in your chest gone with your empathy, and it was just you and thoughts of weak. You miss Ben, and you’re weak, and you need this to be over. ‘

Homelander has to die. He hasn’t earned taking up your life like this. Your life is supposed to be you and Ben, warm and safe. You keep trying to get lost in a fantasy on Ben’s hand in yours, living in a house in Rome where there’s grass outside and sunlight all around you. Laughing with him and kissing him and never thinking about Homelander again. Giving him everything you have—even if he never loves you—and just being happy. No more gods. No more wars. No more blood or dirt on your hands or under your nails. No more impossible, difficult fucking choices. Just you and Ben, together, with him grinning down at you and peace everywhere in the world.

You’re exhausted. You can’t sleep. You need this to be over. And after another few hours, it makes you sit up and cross the room, makes you open the drawer and take out the V. The small vial turns over in your hands, the text of Project Anomaly, Trial 6 slightly faded, and the green liquid within it completely useless to finish this.

Your feet carry you downstairs, and down the silent halls with the vial still in your hands. They take you to the dining hall—a few generators and appliances casting it in a low ligh— and over to the table. There are almost twenty in the whole room, but everyone had come to a silent agreement that this was the table. Where you eat with everyone, where Ben presses his thigh to yours, and where plans are made. 

You have a plan. It’s not a good plan—Ben would hate it, but he’s in DC and can’t stop you—and yet it’s all you can think about in the dark. Ending this. Really, properly ending this. 

It takes a little while. Thirty or forty minutes of humming into the empty room and letting pine and strawberries and vanilla fill the room with an invisible warmth, waiting to see if your guess was correct.

Then the door swings open, and Butcher freezes in the hall as your eyes meet. 

“The bloody fuck are you doin’ here-” 

“We need to talk.” 

Butcher scowled, stepping into the dining hall but not moving across to the table. “We ain’t got shit to talk about-“ 

“Yes,” you sigh. “We do. Please just sit down, Butcher. It won’t take long.”

He looks you up and down, huffs, and stalks over to the bench, dropping across from you with a glare. “How’d the fuckin hell you know to find me here.”

“Ben said you don’t really sleep,” you shrug. “He said you always have terrible bags under your eyes, and your heart goes a little too fast, so his bet was, and I quote, ‘the fucking pussy is either on a bunch of drugs he’s not sharing with me, or he’s sleeping less then I do’. And I guessed you wouldn’t want to wake up Ryan, so I took a gamble. And I was right.”

“I ain’t able to believe I backed you up on wakin him when you gave your fuckin pitch.” Butcher mutters. “Shoulda killed it in the first month when you got all fuckin chummy with the cunt.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure our friendship is really hard for you-“ 

“I don’t give a flyin fuck about your friendship,” Butcher snaps. “I’m pissed with myself for lettin it get this far, losin my teammate to being in fuckin love with Soldier Boy.” 

Your mouth falls open, and you can hear the blood in your ears. “I, um, I don’t know what you’re talking about-“ 

“Save it.” Butcher rolls his eyes, giving you a bored look. “We all fuckin know, you make disgustin heart eyes at him every damn day. I’m just sayin, you twats start makin mini-supes, I am not takin responsibility for them killin their nannies.” 

“What do you mean we all know?”

“All the Boys,” Butcher shrugs. “A-Train confirmed it-“

“He wasn’t supposed to say anything-“ 

“We already fuckin knew. And nobody’s told Soldier Boy, so keep your bloody head on your shoulders.” 

You sigh, shaking your head. “He, he still doesn’t-“

“Nah, he’s a fuckin idiot. You both are fuckin idiots.”

“Hey-“

Butcher drawls your name, giving you a flat look. “I put it together at Tek Knight. We all been gettin it for far too fuckin long, and you’re real bloody stupid for someone who can fuckin feel people’s emotions.” 

“I’m taking the suppressants,” you snap. “Specifically so I don’t make Ben feel what I do.” You take a long breath. “I can’t force him to love me. It’s not my call you make.”

“I don’t give a fuckin dick or tit about what you’re doin it for,” Butcher gives you a long, strange look. A frown without cruelty or bitterness, like he’s trying to figure something out. “Just don’t get all fuckin piney over him when it’s your own fault he don’t know.”

You scowl, and swallow a sneer of he doesn’t know because I can’t lose him. I love Ben more than should be physically possible, and he’s too important for me to be selfish and manipulative to make him love me. You came here for a reason, and you’re too tired to fight—really, properly yell and shout and swear at—Butcher. So you shake your head, glancing down at the V in your lap, and look back up at Butcher. “Can we please just talk about why I’m here?” 

Butcher shrugs. “Floor’s all fuckin yours.”

“I,” you take a deep, heavy breath to slow your heart, and force yourself to meet Butcher’s eyes. “I want you to do it.” 

“Do fuckin what-“

“I want you to kill Homelander.”

Butcher stares at you for a second, for once at a loss for words. “The bloody hell would make you want that.”

“It has to be you,” you mutter, fingers tapping faster and faster on the table. “This has to be over, and it has to be you. Ben is going to blast him, and you’re going to shoot him. Right in the head, with a normal, boring gun. He doesn’t get to have me burn him alive, have Ben or Kimiko bash his head in, or have Annie send him flying and break his spine. He doesn’t get a good death. He doesn’t get to be a martyr, or a legend. He’s going to die like a fucking person.”

“I ain’t-“ 

“Butcher,” you whisper, and don’t bother to hide the exhaustion and pain from your voice. You need him to do this. Butcher is a piece of shit, and has given you hell since you’ve met him, and he needs to be the one to kill Homelander. He’s the only one who might understand this. Understand why Homelander shouldn’t be killed in a way that matters. That Homelander doesn’t fucking deserve that. “I want you to do this. I want Homelander to realize he’s lost, that we beat him, and then I want you to kill him, and for this horrible fucking shit to be over.” You choke slightly. “I just want this to be over.”

You think he’s going to try and resist you. You think Butcher is going to choose to be generous at the worst possible moment, and tell you that the killing blow is yours. That you’ve suffered the most at Homelander’s hands, and should get to watch the light leave his eyes. But you don’t want to. You’re past revenge and fury and blood. You’re just tired. All you really want now is to burn in Ben’s arms, to bury your head in his chest and burn and burn and burn until you’re not afraid anymore. Until the heat has fused all your cracks back together, and Homelander’s never able to hurt you again.

But he doesn’t. Butcher just nods once, eyes never leaving yours, and grunts, “you got a deal. That it?” 

“One more thing.” You hold up the V, glowing slightly in the soft light of the breaching morning. If Butcher is surprised you have it, you don’t see it on his face. “This is the V in me. The V in Ben.” You place it on the table in front of Butcher, watching him carefully. “You can use it on yourself, and become the thing you’ve loathed for years. You can use it on me, and I think it might kill me. If it does, Ben will kill you. You can use it on Ben, and make him stronger. You can do whatever the fuck you want with it, as long as you do it. As long as you, Butcher, just you, make the choice and live with the fucking consequences.”

You stand up, and leave Butcher silently in the dining hall. You’ve said what you need, and Ben will be home soon. You’ll be able to fall into his arms and sleep. Until then, you’ll just have to make yourself busy.

There’s the laundry you forgot to fold last night. Ben’s underwear and socks that you’d left in the dryer, because he’d texted you about the meeting and the relief of it going well had slammed a wall of exhaustion into your brain. You dump everything in a basket, and carry it upstairs. It’s boring, but it’s better than just waiting. 

Your phone is face up on your bed when you enter the bedroom, and it lights up with a text as you close the door.

Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion

We’re headed back, ETA around 10.

Soldier Boy broke his phone somehow btw.

And the meeting went well, just in case he didn’t get a chance to tell you.

You text back a thumbs up—you’re honestly shocked it took this long for Ben to break his phone—and leave the phone face up on the bed as you fold laundry. You manage to kill fifteen minutes with this, because while Ben has a truly abysmal amount of clothing, your brain is moving tragically slow from a lack of sleep.

Coffee. You need coffee. It will kill another five minutes, and you might actually manage to stay awake until Ben comes home. You can put on the coffee, and make a sandwich, and hum to yourself as you drink, just to practice making lights and shadows bend around you. Ten minutes.

Ben doesn’t fold his clothing. When you return upstairs and open his drawers, that much is obvious. Pants and shirts have been tossed mindlessly into drawers, and underwear and socks are mixed together without thought.

That’s another thing to do. Fold Ben’s clothing. Simple and tedious, keeping you awake and your mind on your hands instead of clinging to the silence. The feeling of you, just you, the only one to blame for how cold and tired you are, not strong enough to get through this alone, but you are alone, and you’re so tired- 

Clothes. Fold all of Ben’s clothes. Take them out of the drawers—pants and shirts first, they take up the most space and the least time—fold them, and return them. Then you can pair the socks and organize his underwear, and-

You pause, frowning at the almost empty drawer. There’s three stray socks, a pair of boxers, and sunglasses. They’re not your sunglasses, they’re green and don’t have the little Soldier Boy symbols on the ear pieces, but they’re the same style. Your sunglasses had broken anyway, and these might just be Ben’s, but they’d been hidden. Ben didn’t hide his things. His razor was on the bathroom counter, his shoes were scattered around downstairs, and his mug was at the front of the cabinet. Sometimes he just left it out, because he’d fucking be using it tomorrow anyway.

And, even if Ben did hide things, an underwear drawer was an incredibly odd place for sunglasses. You’d just dismiss it as the glasses falling in the drawer, but they look carefully placed, wrapped in the boxers like they shouldn’t be seen. 

They’re just sunglasses. Sunglasses that look just like the ones that had been broken when Homelander took you-

Far in the back of your head, something starts to ring in your brain. Nobody had told you that your sunglasses had broken. You hadn’t seen them since you’d gotten home, but that could’ve just been a coincidence. Sage could’ve gotten rid of them in the tower, or Ben could’ve lost them somewhere in the months where you’d been gone, but they’d been broken. Ben’s phantom had told you they’d been broken in the fight with Homelander, and you’d told him that you’d liked those sunglasses because they reminded you of him. 

These ones looked the exact same as the broken once, save for the colors. Simplistic black frames—no patterns or symbols—and a dark shade of green that matched the Soldier Boy suit. Almost exactly the same hue, a slightly darker shade.

You have a theory. A weak, flimsy theory that makes you carefully place the sunglasses back in the drawer and run downstairs to your computer. It’s not really based on anything, all your evidence is speculative—Ben’s allowed to be a weirdo who hides sunglasses in his underwear drawer—but you have to check. Just so you don’t go insane, you have to check. 

Between you and Ben, there’s only the one Jane Smith email account. Which means there’s one amazon account, and you can check the purchase date of the sunglasses. It takes a second—your hands have changed from going too slow to going too fast and losing efficiency in your frantic movements—but you find the receipt, and the date. Late May, nine days after the Believe Expo, which means four days before your escape. When you’d started testing your empathy on the Deep.

The same day you’d talked to Ben’s phantom about the sunglasses.

It could be a coincidence. It’s technically possible that it’s a complete, total coincidence that doesn’t mean anything, let alone what you think it might mean. What your brain is starting to draw together. That, towards the end at least, whenever you spoke to Ben’s phantom, his Thing would grow stronger. That you’d been able to feel him there, feel that extra sense in your body that told you Ben. Ben is near you. He’s across the bridge or in the bathroom or down the hall start to go haywire when you were alone in Homelander’s apartment. Where Ben couldn’t have possibly been.

You’d just missed him. You’d just driven yourself insane the torture of being trapped at Vought and the sickness of missing Ben, and the longer you were gone the more you’d needed that small escape of Ben’s voice in your head. Telling you that you would come home. That there wasn’t another option, because you were coming home because you were strong and you’d fucking get through this. 

But you’d missed Ben yesterday. Geographically he’d been even further than when you’d been at Vought, and you hadn’t heard his phantom. It had grown silent, gone with his imprint in your chest. The imprint that was bombed with empathy, that grew back with it as well. The imprint that had appeared after the Believe Expo, after you’d seen Ben, held him and had your every thought reduced back to its natural pattern when he touched you. Had everything be Ben. Ben, I love you. 

The phantom had grown stronger after that. Louder, more persistent, full of stranger conversations and rattling Ben’s Thing inside you when it spoke. But it had just been from missing him. You’d see him and it had made you miss him all the more. Ben’s Thing in your chest might be the empathy, but the phantom was just an echo of your love. A result of how he’d become a vital part of you, how you loved and loved him, loved talking to him and laughing with him and hearing his voice say Brat and Sunshine and fucking breathe and shut the fuck up and I love you-

The phantom had told you he loved you. The phantom had been incredibly persistent about how Ben loved you. Which was evidence that it isn’t what it might be. Ben doesn’t love you. Ben doesn’t love you. Ben doesn’t love you. Ben doesn’t love you.

It doesn’t feel like a real sentence anymore. It’s running around in your head—Ben doesn’t love you, he doesn’t, he just doesn’t, Ben doesn’t love you—and it doesn’t feel right. It’s a fact—it doesn’t need to feel right, it just is—but now it’s become only noises that make your heart contract and your own love wail. You love him. You love Ben so, so much, and all it’s done is drive you mad. You just want him to love you, and the phantom is made of your want and love, so it indulged you and told you Ben loved you. 

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t.

Unless this is what you think it might be, Ben doesn’t love you. If it is what you think it is, then- 

You have to know. You have to know now, whoever is driving him home needs to drive faster because you might be wrong, but you might be right. And no matter which one it is, you need to know right fucking now.

There’s about two and a half hours until Ben opens the door. You spend most of that time making a list. Writing down every conversation you’ve had with the phantom, just to be sure. To go in prepared, and know what you’re looking for. You fold the socks and underwear when you’re done—twenty minutes—and decide to leave the sunglasses in the drawer. No leading questions, no steering Ben towards the possible truth. Thy hypothetical truth, that’s going to make you sound insane if you say it aloud, but that’s feeling less and less implausible as you’re forced to wait. 

You don’t feel Ben when he comes home. You’re going over the list, rehearsing in your head, and you hear him. Even through the compound’s soundproof walls, you hear Ben stomping down the hall, stopping outside your door, and banging on it.

He’s shouting your name. Not yelling, shouting. Over and over again, until you stand up and let him in.

Ben almost falls on top of you, and there’s something wild in his eyes. His hair is messy, there’s slight bags under his eyes, and his jaw is clenched so tight you’re worried his teeth are going to break. He’s scanning you up and down, one hand gripping your arm like you might vanish, feet planted apart and body towering over yours like he’s ready to defend you from something.

“Hi,” you whisper, and Ben’s voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“We need to fucking talk.”

You swallow. “Yeah, we do. But I’m first.” 

“The fucking hell you are, I need to-“

“Ben.” Your voice is firmer than even you’ve heard it, and Ben freezes. You’d feel bad, but this is important. Ben’s home, and—as much as you want to figure out why he looks like a feral animal—you need to know if you’re right. “I’m first. Sit down.” 

He scowls, but follows you to the table and drops in his usual chair, glaring up at you. “You get seven minutes, then it’s my fucking turn.”

You nod, grab the list—crinkling it between your hands with a slow, grounding breath—and start at the top. “What food do you want on your birthday?”

“Is that what’s so goddamn important-“ 

“Answer the question, please.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, my birthday was last month-“

You have to push past that. Later, after you figure this out, you’ll have time to yell at Ben about his birthday and why you weren’t made aware of it. Right now, you’re on a time limit. “Benjamin, if you don’t answer the fucking question-“

“I don’t know, fucking burgers! Burgers and cake! Are you done, can I fucking talk-“

That wasn’t as helpful as you’d hoped. Burgers and cake is an incredibly predictable answer for Ben to have, so you push on. “No. How many states can you name?”

“I don’t fucking know, I don’t keep track of that shit. I’m not like you and Ryan, it’s not all fucking fifty, but I can name a damn few-“ 

You’ve never told him you can name all fifty. Not to his face. “What does manifest destiny mean?”

Ben scoffs. “Are you giving me a fucking pop quiz-“

“Benjamin-“

“It’s the fucking nationalistic belief that Americans had the right to go west, and should exert the means to do it. Is that it? Can I say my goddamn thing-”

You have to glance at the paper to be sure, but that’s practically word for word what you’d written. What you’d told Ben’s phantom. “What type of porn does the Deep watch?” 

“Tentacle, you’re the one who fucking told me-“ Ben pauses, his eyes narrowing. “Why the fuck are you asking me all these damn questions.”

It takes a long, heavy breath to get the last question out. “Have you been having nightmares again?” 

“Some. Why the fuck does it matter, we both have nightmares-“ 

“What have they been about?”

Ben doesn’t answer immediately. His jaw ticks, and his eyes on yours start to peel you apart. “Blood. Fuck ton of blood and smoke.”

There’s more. There’s something Ben’s leaving out, but right now you don’t care. You’re past being subtle, or thinking about anything but you’re right. You’re almost definitely right, and there’s only one last question to ask. 

“Why are there sunglasses in your underwear drawer?” 

His scowl deepens. “Why the goddamn hell were you in my underwear drawer-“

“I was folding laundry. Why.” 

“Gift.” He grunts. “For you. Replacing the old ones.”

You feel a little lightheaded. “What, what happened to the old ones?”

“Broke when Homelander took you.” Ben pauses, and you think his gaze might be burning into your skin. “If you don’t start making some fucking sense about what you want-“

“While I was gone,” the words start to vomit out of you, frantic and uncertain. “Did you ever, I don’t know, hear me? Hear my voice, talking to you? Or, I don’t know, feel me, when I wasn’t there? Like there’s no way I could’ve been there, logistically, but you were still hearing me-“

Ben snaps your name. “Maybe I did, but I fucking missed you. It’s not some big goddamn news story, and since you’ve been back I haven’t heard shit-“

“Why did you get kicked out of the dining hall?”

“What the fuck are you-“

“Benjamin.” You take a long, deep breath. “Last week, why did MM kick you out of the dining hall?”

“I told you already, I got hard and he’s a fucking uptight pussy-“

“What made you hard?”

Ben goes completely rigid in his seat. “Don’t fucking worry about-“

“Were you thinking about me? About how you’d want to fuck me?”

“How in goddamn hell-“

“Because I was thinking about it,” you whisper, forcing yourself to hold Ben’s gaze. “That morning, before you got home, I thinking about how you’d fuck me. You said you’d prep me, then missionary, then from behind, then I’d ride you, and you told me condoms don’t work on supe jizz. You told me-“

“What the fuck do you mean I told you.”

“Your voice told me. In my head, I was talking to you. I’ve been talking to you. In the tower,” you swallow. “I’d talked to you all the time. In my head. And I-“

Ben grunts your name. “Whatever you’re trying to say, say it.”

“I think I can read your mind!” The words sound stupid when you say them. You sound fucking crazy, but you’re right. “Or like, speak to you through your brain? I was doing it for a while, then it got really weird after the Believe Expo, and I think it’s because you put something in me-“

“Put something in you-“

“I don’t fucking know, Ben! I’m not a scientist, I just know that there’s been this thing in my chest, right here,” you jab a finger at the area near your heart, and Ben’s eyes widen. “And it feels like you, and it’s gone right now because the empathy is gone, but-“

“What the fuck do you mean the empathy is gone.” Ben’s words are low, and his glare is searing right through you. “It’s part of you, it can’t just up and fuck off-“

“I, um,” your nails start to dig into your arm as you hug your body, the list balled up in your hand. “I’ve been taking a suppressant. A pill. It, um, kills the empathy, so I can’t use it.”

“A suppressant.” Ben stands, eyes never leaving yours, voice rising to a shout. “Are you fucking insane?” 

“I’m fine, it’s-“

“You’re not fucking fine! Nothing about this is fucking fine, that’s a part of your goddamn body! You might as well be chopping your fucking arm off-“

“My arm would grow back, just like this-“

“It would still fucking hurt you! Why the fucking hell would you do something so fucking stupid, why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me-“

“I’m fine!” You scream, and smoke begins to rise from your fingers. “I fucking fine, Ben! This is helping me! I just, I can’t fucking control it, I don’t know how-“

“I would’ve fucking helped you!” He takes a step forwards, glare rooting you in place. “I’d do what the fuck you needed to help you control it, but you didn’t fucking trust me-“

“Of course I trust you!” Ben. Ben, I love you. “I fucking trust you with my life, but this isn’t about you-“

“Then why wouldn’t you fucking tell me, I’d have told you it was fucking stupid and insane, because this is fucking stupid and insane-“

“Because I’m fine-“

“You’re not fucking fine!” Ben roars your name, and you swallow. “You’re keep waking up fucking screaming, and you can’t fucking shower alone, you’re not fucking fine, stop saying you’re fine-“ 

“I am!” You shake your head frantically, gaze dropping to his chest. You can’t look him in the eyes right now, you’ll break. “I’m really fine, I’m just tired-“

“Because you haven’t slept a goddamn night peacefully in a fucking week!” Ben’s voice is strained, like he’s in physical pain. “Did it occur to you, even fucking once, that maybe cutting off your arm over and fucking over would hurt you?”

“I don’t care!” Your voice is losing its anger. You’re just so fucking tired, you don’t want to fight, you want to start crying, collapse, just fucking rest. “I don’t care if it’s hurting me! I deserve it! I’m hurting everyone else-“ 

“Are you fucking stupid-“

“No!” You can’t really hear anything over the blood pounding in your ears, over the cold starting to climb into your lungs. It’s hard to breathe. “I’m hurting people, Ben! I’m broken and afraid and weak, I can’t control myself because I’m weak and I can’t make you weak as well-“

“You are not weak-“

“I am! I’m weak! I can’t just get fucking control over my own body, and I’m so tired, and I can’t fucking do this anymore! I can’t keep fighting Homelander and being useless. I’m not like you, I’m not strong enough to do this-“

Ben’s still a few feet away, but when he says your name it rolls through your body. Pushes past the cold and grabs your insides, forces your eyes to his. He looks like something is hurting him, the wild glint in his eyes now tangled in with something bright and furious and hot. “You are not fucking weak. You’re the furthest goddamn thing from weak. You’re fucking alive. You fucking survived. You did something idiotic and so fucking selfless and goddamn impossible, and you lived. You are fucked up and perfect and the strongest fucking person in the world.”

The snapped off thing in your gut starts to wrap around your heart. “Then why won’t you touch me?”

He pauses, mouth open and closing once before he grunts through teeth, “what the fuck are you talking about.”

“You won’t touch me, Ben.” You’re done screaming. You’re choking on something, and every word is strangled and soft. “You stopped touching me after the shower. If you don’t want me, you can just tell me-“ 

“Of course I fucking want you, stop being insane-“

“Then why-“

“I touched you and you fucking broke,” he snaps. He’s done yelling as well, but somehow this hurts more. Ben’s voice is low and heavy, and it’s dropping something into your lungs. “I touched you once, and you goddamn fell apart. You keep saying you’re fucking fine, that Homelander didn’t do anything, but I touched you and it hurt you-“

“You didn’t hurt me,” you breathe out, and the world is blurry. “You couldn’t hurt me, Ben. You could never hurt me. I just, I can’t feel you and I hate it. It’s horrible, but I want you to touch me. Please,” everything is far away. Your tongue, your head, your thoughts and throat and mouth are all second to Ben, across the room. So close, not close enough, never close enough. He could never be close enough, and he still doesn’t understand. “I, please, I want you to touch me, Ben. I’ve never wanted anything more that I want you, I’ve never loved anyone more than I love you-“

You don’t hear your own words until after. You don’t register what you’ve said until Ben’s closed the space between you in one step, until he’s grabbed your face with firm hands, until his mouth is crashing onto yours and it’s all Ben. Ben, I love you. 

He’s everywhere. He tastes like coffee and salt, and his touch is desperate. He’s falling onto you, groaning into your mouth when your lips part, invading your mouth with his tongue and teeth and spit, angling your head back to give you more. Your hands fly to his wrists, trying to make sure he’s real. You can’t feel him, but his pulse is heavy under your grip, and he’s so warm, and even as he bites your lower lip his hands are careful and gentle on your face. You’d said it, you said it for Ben to hear, and his touch is still reverent. He’s still holding you like you’re holy, confusing every part of your body as he deepens to kiss into something almost brutal—unrelenting and fervorish, devouring and starved with swallows of every sound that leaves you and his tongue in your throat—but his hands on your face remains adoring and gentle. Fingers tangling in your hair, a thumb tracing over your cheek while the other drops to carefully tilt your head back further.

When he pulls back, Ben’s forehead falls to yours, and you’re both silent. Trading ragged breaths and he traces over your swollen mouth with a light touch and his eyes, and you watch him. When Ben’s eyes finally meet yours they’re blown out and almost feral.

“Don’t take the fucking meds again,” he mutters, gaze stripping you apart before he adds, “please.” 

You’d missed this morning’s pill. Thirteen hours would be up soon. And Ben is real and sounds like he’s pleading, so it’s easy to give in. “I won’t.”

Ben nods, and pulls back. “You need to sleep,” he holds your gaze, even as he draws back up to his full height. “You’re tired.”

This is the worst possible time for your body to listen to Ben more than it listens to you, but the world starts to fuzz with exhaustion, even as you protest. “Ben, we need to talk-“

“We will. After you get some goddamn sleep.”

“It’s only eleven-“

“Did you sleep last night?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Did you fucking sleep, Benjamin?”

“No. So I want some rest, and I’m not doing it without you next to me.”

“But-“

“Trust me,” he grunts. “Just fucking trust me. We will talk about it, I fucking swear, but you need to rest first.”

You take a long breath, and nod. Ben doesn’t wait for you to open your mouth before he’s picking you up, marching up the stairs and into the bedroom, laying you carefully on the mattress before climbing over you and tugging you into his chest. Sleep is crawling into your head—the warmth of Ben and the steady rise and fall of his chest making your head quiet and everything easy—but it’s still too bright to close your eyes, so you roll over and bury your head in Ben’s body.

“What was your thing?” You mumble into his skin, still just a little too wired from the fight to fall under. “We didn’t get to it before I, um…”

Ben’s chuckle makes your whole body grow loose. “You texted me.”

You frown. “I texted you all day, Pretty Boy-“

“You texted me that you love me.” He mutters, and a hand starts to run through your hair, soothing your brain and keeping you against him as your face flushes.

“Oh.” You try to pull yourself closer to his body, hoping you can fully hide the soft nerves in your voice. “I, um, I was tired. I must’ve typed it and, uh, sent it without thinking.” 

“Did,” he pauses, voice low and tense. “Did you mean it.” 

“Both times?”

He snorts, and you smile against him. “Yeah, both fucking times.”

“Yes,” your voice is a breath, words muffled against him, but you know Ben hears because his hands on your skin freeze. “When, in our heads, when you said it-“ 

“I meant it.” He mutters. “I’ll always fucking mean it.”

You nod, hands curling into his shirt. “Okay. Good.” 

“How long until that stupid fucking pill-“

“Soon,” you whisper. “I don’t know why we can’t just-“

Ben grunts your name, his hand on your back starting to rub small circles that drag you further down. “Trust me. Get some sleep.”

He’s lucky you love him. If you didn’t, you’d get a little closer to murdering him every time your body elects to override your brain for Ben’s words. But he says sleep, everything fades into pine and warmth, the sound of Ben’s heartbeat near your head lulling you easily into sleep. 

Blood. So much blood. All there is in the world is blood, filling up your lungs and overwhelming your heart. You don’t know where it’s coming from—don’t know how to stop it—and it’s sweeping over you like a hurricane. Blood on your hands, in your throat, metal on your tongue and red in your vision. You can’t breathe, and you’re screaming for Ben but there’s a smoke far, far above you that’s keeping him away. You can hear him roaring your name, see his figure somewhere around you in the liminal world you’ve been trapped in, but when he reaches for you the blood drags you further down. No matter how much you struggle and flail and scream, it’s just blood. 

Blood, parting away as something cold and blue starts to walk towards you. Grabs you by the neck and yanks you up to watch it. Evil and cruel and no. No. No no no-

You’re screaming when you wake up. There’s something around you—not the blood, this is warm and safe and right—but you can’t really hear what the deep sounds echoing through your head are trying to tell you. It hurts, it all hurts. Your head is cracking open, your heart is aching, your mouth feels like sandpaper, your muscles are sore and your skin is itching and your blood is trying to leave your body because this hurts, this is all so painfully cold save for the pounding of something warm in your chest. Something grounding you and keeping all the fear and screams of unfair, so fucking unfair in your body. It’s full of ardor and it’s bloody, but not the blood that chokes you. Blood that feels like yours. That feels devoted and sharp and furious, that’s made of adoration and hunger and love. 

It’s everything. This thing is powerful and focused and wrathful, aimed and attuned to every single part of you. It’s making the world sharper, and everything feels like it has a purpose. There’s nothing that doesn’t exist to aid what the thing serves, and everything glows when the thing is fed. It’s starving, it will never not be starving, it will only grow more and more hungry, but the hunger isn’t fed by taking. It’s fed by giving, by working and worshiping and caring for something perfect. All that matters is the perfect thing—it fits so well with the beat of the powerful thing—because it infects everything with light. Nothing is ever dark when the perfect thing is tended to, and it’s not easy to tend to, but it’s fucking worth it. The powertful thing lives in your chest, and it’s not yours, but it belongs there. It’s content and happy there, and it riots when you make a small sound. A set of words that you don’t really understand right now, but you need to say. Everything is still coming back to you as your blood returns into your body, but you need to keep saying the words.

The ringing in your ears finally fades, and you can make them out.

Ben. Ben, I love you. 

“I love you too, Sunshine.” A deep voice—it might be the only one in the world that matters—rolls from the warmth around you into your chest. “Sleep.” 

It’s Ben. Ben’s around you, holding you like you’re sacred, and you’re still so tired, but you can feel him. His Thing is alive in your chest, and you know what it is. Ben’s love. Raw and obvious and everything. Burning in you, with you, for you. Ben loves you. 

“Ben,“ you mumbled, and his Thing hums. “I’m-“

If you say sorry, I’m not fucking you in the morning.

Rude. 

You love it.

I do. You sigh against his skin. I love you.

I love you as well. Ben’s voice, inside your body and everywhere around you, is right. This is right. Ben loves you, and you love him, and nothing has ever made more sense.

And, right before you tuck yourself further into his chest, right before you fall back into peaceful, restful, safe sleep, you can breathe.

End Note: We have officially completed the slow burn. I welcome you to the rest of the story: a goddamn wildfire. They’re about to fuck so nasty, you guys don’t even know. Call them Tinashe the way they’re about to freak.

Thank you for reading!! If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[mr-cha-n]

The Pen Pal Project

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x reader

Genres: Fluff, fluff, and more fluff

Warnings: Profanities, sappiness, cheating (third party), a tinsy hint of angst

Word Count: 10.2k

Summary: Over a decade of handwritten letters later, you can happily say that the Pen Pal Project was your greatest success.

Reaching up into the top shelf of the wardrobe, toppling onto your tiptoes in order to do so, your fingertips brush against a satin, bowed box. Pulling the box down to your chest, you perch at the edge of your large, periwinkle-sheeted bed, gingerly untangling the pretty blue ribbon and lifting the lid off of the top. Leafing your fingers through the stacks of paper inside, you feel a wave of nostalgia enrapturing your body. Your head rolls back, eyes falling shut as your mind is overtaken by memory.

"Honey, the guests will be here soon!" Your husband yells out from down the stairs.

"I'll just be a few minutes! Can you take the cake out, my love?" You call back, praying you have the time to reminisce before everyone arrives.

You gently pull out the first letter from the top of the stack.

April 5th 2007

Dear pen pal,

I am writing to you because my class has signed up for the Pen Pal Project this year. Because I don't know who you are or anything about you, I am going to answer some of the questions my teacher has given us, and hopefully you can answer them too in your reply!

1. What is your name?

My mom said that I shouldn't give out any personal information, so I can't actually answer this question. My friends all call me Dusty, so you can call me that too.

2. What hobbies do you enjoy?

I am really into skating, starcraft, hockey and rocks. Yesterday, me and my friends went out to the outskirts of the city to see if we could climb the big oak trees, and I found a piece of dolomite next to the river! I really want to find a meteorite but they're very rare so I think it'll take a lot of searching. I also play in my school's field hockey team - my mom wants me to stop playing because last week I cracked one of my teeth, but I think she's going to come around when she sees our tournament next weekend.

3. What do you want to do when you grow up?

My dad is a teacher and my mom is a nurse, so my parents want me to go to university and become a doctor or a professor, but I'd quite like to be an astronaut or Indiana Jones, whichever pays better.

4. What's one thing you want to know about your pen pal?

I want to know everything about you (more than one, sorry)! What's your school like? What year were you born in (mine is 1995)? What do you do for fun? Do you like dogs? Do you have a phone?

I'm not sure if I'll get a response to this letter, but if you do want to, I hope we can keep in touch for a long time :)

Yours truly, 

Dusty

May 21st 2007

Dear Dusty,

I'm really glad I got your letter. Some of my friends got letters that didn't even have a return address, but thankfully I get to write back to you and answer some of your questions. I was also born in 1995 so we are same-age friends. I'm finding this year in school a bit harder because of all the tests we are doing, but we just started doing football again in Physical Education so it's not too bad. Sports are my biggest hobby - I do football and basketball and I want to start wrestling this year. I mostly like to go and play with my friends at the park. I'm on some of the school teams, but my friends tell me I'm too competitive to play professionally.

I also really like gaming and reading. I finished the Protoss campaign over the winter break, but I've had to stop now that school has started again. My friends are all really excited about the announcement of Starcraft II, are you too? Will you keep going with the original or switch to the new one?

When I grow up, I either want to do sports or I'll study to work a good job in business or finance. Being an astronaut would be so cool! You'd definitely be able to find a meteorite then.

About your other questions, I don't have a phone yet but I do love dogs. When I'm older I want at least one dog, if not more. Do you have any pets?

I hope that we can keep writing to each other too - it's fun to have a secret friend.

From,

Cherry

January 4th 2011

Dear Cherry,

Sorry it's been a while - I've been really busy over the winter break, but I just had my tonsils removed so I have a bit of free time in recovery to write this letter. Before you ask, no - I didn't wake up during the surgery which I was a bit disappointed about, but I did manage to swallow enough blood to make me throw up after waking up so that was kinda crazy.

I can't believe that your friend did that! One time my friend Jiwoo got suspended for unscrewing all of the lightbulbs in the science classrooms, but that was because of a dare, not her own free will! I've never been suspended before, but I came close for tardiness last year. Have you ever been suspended?

I also appreciated your inquiry into the Heiran - Hyunki situation. I can't believe I forgot to update you in my last letter, and you'll be glad to receive it! Unbelievably, they got back together. I know it's what we feared would happen, but apparently Heiran has made some of her own mistakes in the relationship, so she's willing to overlook the whole thing. Absolutely crazy - I think that she's just scared to break up with him, which I suppose is a fair concern - just not for a 16-year-old. The whole situation really made me think about the purpose of relationships and love. All of my friends keep rushing into relationships this year, and I feel like I'm being left behind. I just don't care as much as they do, but they act like I'm some alien creature for not wanting to make out with someone in the school locker rooms. Perhaps this isn't something you can relate to, but it would be nice to know if you think I'm justified in my opinion or if there really is something wrong with me.

The thought of starting school again after the break is actually making me want to run away to the mountains. My sister is leaving for university and I don't want to go to school without her. Of course, I can't tell her that, but it's going to be really lonely walking in on my own. Plus, my parents' attention is firmly on me now, so I can't mess up in exams this year. The amount of pressure is going to make my head explode. How are you feeling about the year? I guess because you have the football season to look forward to your mind is probably focused on that?

I'm thinking about rejoining hockey this year. Even though it was too much last year, I did really miss it and I think I can better manage my time now that I don't have to be in the choir anymore. I think my mom might have a fit when I tell her, but the way you talked about sports really made me miss playing. Plus, apparently, I need an outlet for all these teenage hormonal emotions seeing as I'm not getting it on in the McDonald's parking lot.

Anyways, I need to get going now so I have time to blend some fruit up before lunchtime.

Yours truly,

Dusty

A chuckle leaves your lips as you read back over your letter. You'd been so worried about who was dating who and, more importantly, who you weren't dating. You were always so grateful for someone to discuss your fears with - your friends at the time certainly didn't understand. You'd had your first kiss a few weeks after you'd sent the letter. A party at a friend of a friend's house had devolved into typical teenage party games and you'd been pressured into kissing a boy whose name you couldn't remember. In fairness, you remembered that he was cute - curly dark hair and sharp cheekbones - but you'd made a joke about not being able to engage in tonsil tennis and he hadn't laughed so you'd known he wasn't the one.

June 27th 2011

Dear Dusty,

I finally asked out Myunghee and she said yes -

Nuh uh, skip that one.

October 23rd 2013

Dear Dusty,

All the kids in the year have planned a big Halloween party to celebrate our last your of high school. It's pretty exciting - apparently, they've bought some major decorations and they're going to set out the host's house to have scary surprises in all the rooms. I wouldn't be surprised if someone dresses up and decides to chase drunk kids around all night. It's a bittersweet feeling - our last Halloween party, but perhaps our best? Do you have any plans for Halloween and the holidays? I'm thinking of doing a Superman costume, but I'm wondering if that's a bit too obvious?

I put off writing about it first because I didn't want to open the letter with bad news, but I wanted to let you know that me and Myunghee broke up. Even though it's pretty sad, I've known it was coming for a while. If you remember my last letter, I told you about the fight that we had about next year, and I think that was really the beginning of the end. I was hoping that we could make it work a bit longer, but she said that we'd just be dragging out the inevitable and I guess she's right. I think I'm still a bit annoyed about the rollercoaster of the last month seeing if she's known the whole time that we should break up but I'll get over it. It's mostly just weird not having her around all the time. Everywhere feels a lot emptier now. I'm glad I can write to you about this - it's a bit awkward talking about it with my friends because they are also friends with her, but I can actually be honest with you. 

Anyway, I hope you are doing a bit better than me. Your date sounded pretty cool - I've always wanted to go on an ice-skating date but I'd be a bit scared of falling over and making a fool of myself so I admire your confidence. If you are still seeing him, I hope he's treating you well. Chocolates and flowers at least once a month - and you can tell him I said so if he asks. If you're not seeing him, I (pre-emptively) can't believe he did that to you! What a jerk...

Are you watching the AFC Champions League final? A few friends and I are going to go down to the bar to watch it together and pray for a good result - either way, it should be fun. I suppose your dad will have it on in the house, but I'll be shocked if you tell me you're going to watch it with him after last time. Best to avoid the flying wrath of a TV remote. There's something about dads and sports, isn't there? I wonder if I'll be like that when I'm an adult. I hope not, but I already get too into it so maybe it's inevitable.

Yours,

Cherry

That date had been a good one as far as you remember, but the memory has become blurry after all the times your husband has taken you ice-skating since. You'd dated that guy for a few more weeks after this, but he made a weird comment to one of his friends when he didn't think you could hear it so you knew he wasn't the one.

Finishing high school and moving on to university had been a formative time for you. You gained a sense of identity that you'd lost as a teenager, and reconnected with your younger self. A smile crinkles your lips as you think about that time. The stupid escapades of adults let loose on their own for the first time, the lifelong friends you'd made, and the wealth of knowledge you'd gained about yourself and about the world. Your husband never attended university so he never experienced any of that, but you suppose he did have his own life-changing revelations during this time.

February 8th 2015

Dear Cherry,

I'm in crisis and I need your advice! I haven't spoken to anyone else about this yet, but I have a feeling building in me that needs to be released and you always give me the best advice. I'm thinking about dropping out of my program. 

I know this sounds super rash and stupid, but I really hate it. I find it so dull and confusing, and everyone else is much better at it than I am. And, if I'm really being honest, I only chose medicine because my mother wanted me to. I would feel so stupid revealing that to anyone else, but I think you already knew that was the case. I'm struggling to keep going with it without the passion that other students seem to have, and when I hear about my friends' courses they sound so much more interesting.

If I actually go through with it, this may be the last letter I write to you. But, given that I survived my mother's wrath, a life studying literature or archaeology sounds so much more fulfilling to my brain even if not my pockets. What do you think about all of this? Is it worth following a passion that may lead to nothing or sticking it out with a stable, reliable path to future success without enjoyment?

As you know, I make very impulsive decisions, so I need your help in deciding whether or not this would be one of those.

Yours truly,

Dusty

P.S. I got asked to the dance by this really attractive guy who works at the coffee shop on campus so not everything is going wrong.

P.S.S. I found a rock which I thought was a meteorite but it was actually a magnetite - better luck next time!

You'd dropped out of your medicine major the moment you'd received the reply. Of course, your pen pal was a lot more supportive of your decision than your parents were but they got over it in time. Your fate had been decided the moment you'd stepped out of your first archaeology class - heart beaming and mind brimming with all of your plans for the future. Despite your parents' apprehensions, it had been the right decision. It didn't take long for your burning enthusiasm and insatiable appetite for learning to be picked up by your professors, and by your second year in the major you'd been invited on an exclusive trip one of your professors was going on with a handful of other students. 

It was around this time that you'd started wondering more about your pen pal. The flutters of your heart each time the small envelope appeared in your dorm pigeonhole had been drowned out by the rush of university life. Reflecting back, your obliviousness to your own emotions makes you shake your head in disbelief. But then, you'd met Daejung. He'd taken you out dancing, brought you flowers and laughed at your jokes, and you began to wonder if he was the one.

May 16th 2017

Dear Dusty,

Officially, you may know me better than anyone else. I know I already sent you a letter this month that you probably haven't even received, but I realised that it is the tenth anniversary since I received your first letter. Not to be soppy, but it truly means the world to me that we've been able to keep up this correspondence this whole time. 

As far as I'm aware, we won the Pen Pal Project. No one else I know stayed in touch with their childhood pen pal for nearly as long as we have, and I think that we deserve some kind of reward for it.

But, beyond any records we must have broken, I'm most grateful for the friendship we have developed. In any other circumstances, I would have said that it was impossible for people who have never met to be each other's closest confidants, but I can confidently say that there is nothing I wouldn't tell you. If it turns out you've been some 60-year-old man this whole time, consider me logged off from this life. 

My wish is that we can keep doing this for as long as we are able to hold pens in our hands, and even then I'd consider getting a scribe to write the letters for me.

As a gift, I feel that it's about time that I tell you my name - my real name. If you (and your mom) still don't feel comfortable sharing yours then Dusty is still perfectly fine for me, but the fundamental disconnect between telling a person your deepest secrets and not telling them your name has gotten too overwhelming for me, so it's time to rectify that.

Yours, 

Seungcheol

P.S. If you still want to call me Cherry that's also a-okay!

The first time Seungcheol revealed his name to you, you remember you'd dropped the letter in shock. As if knowing his name changed things, as if he didn't live a completely separate life from you already. It wasn't like knowing who he was would change anything about your life - you had no connection to him other than your letters - but the intimacy of his name had you staggering a few steps backwards, eye bulging from your head at the fallen letter. It seems rather overdramatic now, but in hindsight it always does.

This letter had been a bit of a turning point in your relationship, beyond the end of the nicknames you'd used for ten years. You'd always felt close enough to Seungcheol to pour your heart out to him in writing, but the closeness you felt was compounded in this letter. You wipe a few rogue tears from your eyes as you read back over it, moved by the raw declarations Seungcheol had been brave enough to express. If you really think about it, this letter was the first time you'd truly tried to picture what your pen pal looked like. Up until this point, you'd been enflamed by his words and unloaded all of your deepest thoughts to him in return, but this was the first time that you'd realised that your pen pal was a real man your age that you were already deeply connected to. The thought had been scandalous in your mind, and the shame that overwhelmed you when you'd met up with Daejung later that day made it hard to look him in the eye. Fantasising about a man you had never seen before had felt as bad as cheating, and the various forms of him that had appeared in your dreams for the rest of the week only compounded your guilt.

August 4th 2018

Dear Seungcheol,

Happy 24th Birthday! It's actually shocking to me to think that we're this old already, but I think mid-20s is a label that suits you well these days. Jokes aside, I hope you have a really lovely day doing whatever it is you have planned. I'll assume you're off bungee jumping with Jeonghan or on an all-inclusive golfing retreat until you tell me otherwise. In all cases, I hope that you are surrounded by friends and family to remind you how special you are.

Also, congratulations on your new job! I can't believe you didn't tell me that you were interviewing for it, but I suppose you didn't want to jinx anything by putting it into writing. I always thought that coaching would suit you - you could scare me into coming to practice any day! You should be really proud of yourself; I know that I am.

You'll never guess who got in contact with me this week! All out of nowhere, I got a message from Heiran of all people inviting me to her and Hyunki's wedding! I guess I was really wrong about that one... For their sake, I hope that their relationship is a bit better than it was in school. I was very surprised to be invited seeing as we haven't spoken in years, but I suppose it'll be nice to see everyone from school again. Perhaps I should tell Daejung that he can't come and you can be my plus one instead - I think you know the couple better than he does!

Another one of my friends just gave birth to a baby boy. All of this marrying and birth-giving is really screwing with my head. As far as I was aware, that's a thing that proper adults do and we're nowhere close to that yet. Even if I know that 24 is a very common age to be doing that stuff, it's still more than my brain can process. Once again, I am left behind as everyone else moves on to the next stage of life. I'm grateful, at least, that Daejung is pretty relaxed about all of that stuff. Hoping we can have a few more years before we start thinking about any of it - I still have so much travelling to do, things to see, and meals to eat before I flush all of my money down the toilet.

Jiwoo got really excited this week because she thought she saw Lee Byunghun walking past her work, so that made me feel a bit better about my life priorities.

Yours truly,

(Y/n)

P.S. I'm spending extra money to make sure this gets to you on time, so if it doesn't you cannot blame me.

P.P.S. My new address is - XXX

That year you and Daejung had finally moved in together. The apartment was small and in a less-than-nice area, but you'd been ecstatic at the chance to live with the man you loved. It had been a rough year before that - Daejung had missed out on a job offer for his dream role and you weren't able to go abroad on an excavation because he didn't want you to leave for months just as you were moving in together - but you'd seen the new apartment as symbolic of the new beginning you two would get together.

You'd also thought a lot about meeting up with Seungcheol that year. Looking back, it was crazy that you never did. Both of you expressed a will to do so, but something had always prevented you from actually doing it. You were completing your postgraduate degree part-time and working a service job that was supporting both you and Daejung at the start of the year, moving in together in the middle of the year, and Seungcheol had gotten busy with his new job in the latter half of the year. Even though you had never met up before, that you weren't able to that year was the first time it felt like a loss.

December 12th 2019

Dear (Y/n),

I've been thinking about you a lot recently. Writing to you has been the highlight of my month for a while now, and I'm so proud of you for everything you've achieved. It's amazing that you're already being asked to go on your first excursion as a proper expert, and I hope that Daejung comes around to the idea of you being away for so long. I'm sure that I'll miss your letters so I can imagine he's feeling much worse about it - but that shouldn't stop you from going. You might find an ancient vase and accidently release a curse upon the world, or discover a new dinosaur! Even if you go and are just digging up dirt with no results, I'll still be impressed.

One of the kids I mentor asked me if I knew what Starcraft was yesterday, and at that moment I really felt my age. I think it's led to some level of introspection I usually avoid, but one thing that has become clear to me is that I'm very grateful for this friendship. I hope that one day soon you can perhaps travel to Daegu and visit, or I can come see you in Seoul. Or perhaps it will take away the great fun of having a pen pal if we meet - you may be expecting someone completely opposite from me and seeing me may ruin the magic?

But the main reason I've been thinking about you is because I finally finished Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982. You were very correct in your recommendation - I can't believe it took me so long to read it! Summary of thoughts: I'm raging and also apologising to my mother and grandmother every time I see them. You have to send me another recommendation now that I'm finished - maybe some sort of mystery or thriller if you know any?

Yours,

Seungcheol

P.S. I suppose I should send you a whip and brown fedora and then you can officially say you're Indiana Jones. 

January 7th 2021

Dear Seungcheol,

I'm glad you had fun on your trip! The picture you sent of the mountains was absolutely gorgeous and was a hilarious reminder that I have no idea what you look like. I keep saying I want to go to Japan but can hardly find the time, but after seeing the picture I really must go now.

I have some big news.

Daejung proposed and we're getting married!! 

I know it's a bit out of the blue - I was surprised too. He's been putting off any mention of marriage for the last few months so I assumed he just wasn't interested but I guess that was all a cover to stop me from suspecting the proposal. It happened a few days after I got back from Vienna. It was really sweet - he threw this big party with all of our close friends and family to celebrate the end of my project and proposed at the end of the night. I was pretty shocked which I suppose was the point, but I'm really just excited that we're taking that step together.

My main purpose for writing is that I wanted to invite you to the wedding. It's a big step, but it wouldn't feel right to get married without one of my oldest friends there. If you decide you don't want to and you want to keep our friendship strictly on paper then I'd totally understand. But if you do want to come, we'd love to have you with us. I'll cover any travel and hotel fees if it means I can have you here.

Your continued support via letter means the world to me. 

Yours truly, 

(Y/n)

The wedding. Oh, the wedding.

A few nights before your wedding Daejung had come to the hotel you'd been staying in that week to finalise all of the preparations and observe some old-fashioned pre-wedding rituals your mother insisted on as if you and Daejung hadn't lived together for years before that. He'd given you a marriage gift a bit early because you were supposed to go straight to your honeymoon in Japan on the day of the wedding. Your heart fluttered in excitement as you opened the box, electrified at the surprise of what your future-husband could have gotten you to symbolise your union together. The reality had been, you could now admit, disappointing. The necklace had been pretty, and certainly not cheap. A silver heart set with a gleaming diamond to match the ring that Daejung had picked out for you. You'd smiled, thanking him for the gift and tried to ignore the discontent brewing in your own heart.

The first time you saw Seungcheol was at your wedding reception. Because of his job and the distance, he hadn't been able to make your morning ceremony, but the fact that he even chose to come all that way meant a lot to you.

"Who's the hunk with the green scarf?" One of your bridesmaids, Jiwoo had asked, pointing out a man standing alone by one of the drinks tables. 

For a moment you didn't want to believe that it was him, but who else would be at your wedding that you didn't recognise? Tall and broad with fluffy hair and a handsome-beyond-belief face, Seungcheol had been a picture to witness. All dressed up in a suit, you thought he looked rather like a super spy or a CEO from one of those corny romance books. In any case, you were shocked to your core that that was the man you'd spilt your darkest secrets to for over a decade now.

"Oh, I think that might be Seungcheol," You breathed, voice wavering with uncertainty even though you were now certain it was him.

"Seungcheol - hmm, why does that name sound so familiar?" Your other bridesmaid, Mirae, pondered, her brow crinkled as she tried to identify the name in her memory.

"Oh my god, you invited your pen pal to your wedding?!" Jiwoo exclaimed, spinning on her heel to give you an incredulous look. 

"Of course I did, I've known him for almost as long as I've known you!" You stuttered, your head still trying to play catch-up after the dizzying appearance of said topic of conversation.

"Why didn't you tell me that your pen pal was so hot?" Mirae scoffed, mock fanning her face in a way that made you feel shamefully irritated.

"Surprisingly, he didn't mention it in his letters." You responded, offering her a deadpan look and an eyebrow raise. She shrugged, but you'd known that wouldn't be the end of that conversation.

About 15 minutes later, you'd finally managed to make your way over to Seungcheol's perch. It was hard to decipher if your delay was because of all of the people trying to talk to you at the same time (perks of it being your wedding) or because of the unexplained fear and anxiety that was bubbling inside you at the prospect of finally meeting him face-to-face. As you finally made eye-contact, and he'd flashed his teeth at you in an infectious grin, you'd felt all of that melt away from you.

"Hi," You greeted, not able to wipe your own smile from your face.

"Hi," He responded, a peace settling between the two of you. "You look really beautiful."

Your face was all ablush and you felt a sense of dread at what would happen if you started like this. Starting down at your dress, you were unable to look back up at him.

"Thank you, I had it specially made," You smiled, your eyes gleaming as he chuckled at your joke. "I really appreciate you coming all this way, it means so much to me that you're here. Please let me know if there's anything you need - have you eaten yet? I can get you some-"

"It's okay, I'm feeling great." His hand reached out to still your own, which you hadn't realised was nervously picking at at skin around your nails.

"I can't believe that this is how we're first meeting," You breathed, a sense of shyness overwhelming you at the feeling of his skin against yours.

"If you ask me, we've definitely met before. Just not physically." His words had your head spinning so much that you were struggling to remember that you were both at your wedding.

"Poetic," You agreed, trying to present at least outwardly calmer than you felt inside. 

"Oh! Before I forget, I got you this." Seungcheol extended a hand out with a small, wrapped box in his palm. "It wasn't on the registry, and really it's only for you so I thought I should give it to you personally instead of putting it on the gifts table."

"That's really generous of you, you didn't have to." You offered him a shy smile, taking the gift from him. The neatly wrapped box had been laced shut with a pretty blue ribbon, and you remember the thumping of your heart in your chest as you undid it. A small gasp involuntarily left your mouth, your hand moving to cover it in shock. 

"Important backstory - I found it a few years after you told me you were looking for it. I wanted to just send it to you then, but I thought that I should keep it for when we met. I never thought that it would take so long to do so, but I hung on to it just in case."

A small chunk of dark meteorite sat in the box in your hand. Looking up and down between Seungcheol and the rock, you felt your eyes well up with tears that you had to force back down to not ruin your wedding makeup.

"Oh wow," Your voice cracked, "Seungcheol, this is seriously so sweet. I'm shocked that you kept this for me."

You felt unable to tell him all of your emotions, hoping that the gratitude in your eyes was enough to express them all to him. The sweet, adoring expression on his face told you that he understood without you needing to say any more.

That, unfortunately, had been the highlight of your wedding.

Not an hour later, it had all gone to shit, starting with a well-intentioned comment from your best friend.

"The wedding is so gorgeous (Y/n), I'll have to take notes for my own." Jiwoo gushed, pointing at all the flowers that had now been revealed as people moved into the outside area of the venue.

"I know, Daejung did a really good job picking out this place." 

"I'm so happy for you two, especially after the whole Vienna situation."

A bolt of alarm rang through your bones as you a struck still by the comment. You didn't miss the panicked look Mirae sent Jiwoo, who looked equally as confused as you felt.

"What-" You tried to compose yourself amongst the rushes of fear that were threatening to render you completely useful. "What do you mean the Vienna situation?"

Jiwoo was now floundering, looking between you and Mirae with a gaping mouth.

"I just meant - I mean, nevermind - I thought... I thought you knew?" The last whispered part had your heart sinking to the bottom of your chest. Mirae was refusing to meet your gaze, and that was telling you all you needed to know.

"Did something happen when I was away?" You demanded, your voice slick with emotion.

"(Y/n)..." Mirae started, but the withering look you gave her immediately stopped her placating.

Four words later and your entire life had exploded. He cheated on you. Whilst you were away, no less. And then, as if it would magically make everything better, proposed instead of telling you.

The look on your then-husband's face when you stormed up to him demanding to know the truth was enough to convince you of the reality of your friend's words. You could now admit, amidst all of the hurt, anger and disgust you felt towards Daejung at that moment, your overriding emotion was utter panic at the thought of having to tell all of your guests that the wedding was to be stopped and annulled. A trivial emotion amongst the personal grief you were experiencing, but undoubtedly the cause of your greatest distress at the moment.

You didn't see Seungcheol as or after it all happened. Any pretence of calm instantly slipped the moment you began speaking to your family and friends - a speech which ended with you in floods of tears being escorted away from the hosts of shocked guests. It was only hours later that you realised that you hadn't said goodbye and, worse, that you'd invited him all of this way just to witness the shitshow that was your failed marriage. Too ashamed to burden him further, you chose not to write to him for months afterwards He gave you space too, and you weren't sure if you felt grateful for it or utterly alarmed that he may just never want to speak to you again.

May 6th 2021

Dear Seungcheol,

I'm deeply sorry for my complete silence, although I suppose I do not need to explain to you the reason for it. My hand has been itching to pick up my pen and write to you every month that goes by, but only now have I overcome my own shame and disgrace to do so. First of all, I have to sincerely apologise for making you waste your time coming to such an awful event. I can only hope that you managed to get a slice of cake before it all fell apart so that I could at least offer you the condolence of a delicious snack. I also must apologise for completely abandoning you during your trip to the city. I was really looking forward to showing you my favourite spots, and I let my own misery get in the way of being a good host.

I hope you are well. As I haven't heard from you in a little while, I don't know what's going on with you so I have little to comment on. But, at the very least, I wish for your good health and general happiness. If you are worried about me, you don't need to be. I have taken the last few months to put my life back together, and I feel like I'm making better progress these days - hence the letter writing. I'm thinking of getting a dog for companionship since I have vehemently sworn off men for the foreseeable future.

I also wanted you to know that I treasure your gift. As it turns out, meeting you and getting a meteorite was the best part of that night, if you'll believe it. I have it kept in a special box on my desk just to make sure that it's safe and that I'll never lose it. I wish I could have given you something in return. If we end up meeting again I'll have to start planning now to make sure my gift is just as good as yours was. Speaking of, you are welcome to come and stay with me any time you want, and we can rain-check that city tour. Alternatively, if you want to ignore this letter and never speak to me again, I'd also understand.

Yours truly,

(Y/n) 2021

May 19th 2021

Dear (Y/n),

I'm so glad to have heard from you, and that you are doing okay. As much as I appreciate all of your apologies, none of them are necessary. If anything, I feel that I should be apologising to you for leaving you in the dark for just as long as you left me - you had a much better excuse too. Although I didn't want to overwhelm you with letters after such awful news, I realise now that leaving it so long was not the right course of action.

I think getting a dog is a fantastic idea. Company is something you'll never lack with a dog around, and I can agree that dogs are much better companions than men.

As for me, I am doing well too. It's mostly just been a cycle of work and sleep, so I haven't got much to report, but I'm hoping for a more eventful summer. Visiting the city would be a wonderful way to achieve this, so perhaps closer to the time I'll write again to arrange coming to stay with you. I would love to see you again soon. My only other news that I know you'd be interested in is that Jeonghan has seemingly met someone. He's keeping all of the details close to the chest, so I'll have to update you in the next letter when I know more, but it's an exciting revelation. He seems very happy, which is all I can hope for.

When I told you that I wouldn't stop writing to you until I could no longer hold a pen in my hand, I meant it. I hope that you will never again think that I wouldn't want to speak to you -it's the highlight of my day.

Yours,

Seungcheol

P.S. I'm sure you don't want to talk about the wedding, but just so you know - he was a fucking fool to let you go.

You remember the relief you'd felt at getting that letter. The uncertainty of whether or not Seungcheol still wanted to talk to you was enough to keep you on edge for the entire 13 days that it took for you to get his response. But, as always, your friend was reliably there for you.

The time you'd taken over those last new months, and the few months afterwards had been tumultuous, but cleansing. In your post-marriage clarity, you'd realised all of the opportunities you'd missed because of Daejung. Deciding that you wouldn't let him take anything else from you, you'd arranged to go on a long excursion you'd waved off for wedding planning when you'd first heard about it. Learning about the project from one of your old professors who'd transferred to Cairo University, you were offered a position on the ongoing expedition in Saqqara. Although Egyptology was not your speciality, your master's dissertation on the mummified scarab beetles found at Saqqara in 2018 and your tutor's reference got you onto a low-level position on the expedition.

Six months in Egypt had been exactly what you needed to move on from Daejung. At that time, your relationship with your closest friends was also on the rocks, and it was really only Seungcheol and your family that you missed during your time abroad.

December 23rd 2021

Dear Seungcheol,

I've finally got some time off over the holiday break, and I'm ready to give you the download of everything that's happening here in Saqqara! But, first, I'm going to have to beg you for the details of your double date with Jeonghan and Jooyeon. How was it!? Was Jooyeon's friend nice? Were there sparks? How many times did Jeonghan bring up embarrassing stories about you as a kid?

I hope it went well - you deserve all of the happiness in the world.

Now, onto the important stuff!

I'm not sure if you saw on the news, but we've made some pretty huge finds since I got here, Obviously, I can't give myself all the credit, but just being part of the team that made it happen is pretty incredible. We've found multiple tombs of dignitaries from the reign of Ramses II. I'm doing a bit of research on one of the tombs, belonging to a military leader called Hor Mohib, but I have to keep taking breaks every 20 minutes to pinch my arm and remind myself that this is reality.

My Arabic has gotten significantly better now - I was rather rusty when I first got here. I'm able to have reasonably complex conversations with the Egyptian members of the team and the locals helping out, and it's pretty cool for my nerd brain to be surrounded by a group of people equally as excited to be digging up ornamental graves as I am.

I'm really glad I came. It's hard to admit, even to you, but my life really fell apart after the wedding. Honestly, I didn't even know if I wanted to keep working in archaeology or if I wanted to jet off to Iceland and buy a farm. And the worst bit is that it's been so lonely since. Losing Daejung was one thing, but I haven't spoken to Jiwoo or Mirae since. I can't bear to look at them knowing that they hid that secret from me for so long. Maybe one day I'll be able to forgive them, but it certainly won't be now. Your letters have been my only sanctuary of human connection in these past few months, and that's something I'll have to add to my list of neverending gratitude I hold for you.

I realize now that I haven’t been very good at expressing how much your friendship means to me, how it's been my lifeline in this mess. Your letters are the only constant, the only thing that feels like home even when I am surrounded by ancient wonders and new colleagues.

And so, I have a confession. I want to see you again. I want to tell you all of this in person. I can't say what will come of it, but I know that after all of these years, after all the letters and confessions and secrets shared, we owe it to ourselves to meet in a way that isn't rushed or overshadowed by anything else.

Maybe we could meet halfway between Seoul and Daegu, or I could take the train down to visit you? I need to see you again, not as a guest at my ruined wedding, but as Seungcheol, the one person who’s known me at my best and worst, and still chooses to write back.

Let me know what you think.

Yours truly, 

(Y/n)

P.S. I've included a small rock I found on the dig - nothing special but it reminded me of our old conversations. I hope it makes you smile.

P.P.S. Please don't feel pressured to say yes, but know that I would really like to see you again.

You can't quite recall what possessed you to write such a bold letter. Perhaps it had been the desert sun, the thrill of discovering something new in something old at Saqqara, or simply your immense loneliness.

Days had turned into weeks as you anxiously waited for a response, checking your makeshift mailbox daily. Then one morning, there it was—a simple white envelope with Seungcheol’s familiar sloping handwriting.

January 17th 2022

My Dear (Y/n),

I've thought about meeting you countless times since our first encounter. After reading your words, I realise that I've been waiting for this just as much as you have. How's this - I'll take the first train up to Seoul when you're back and we can spend the day together. No distractions, no interruptions - just you and me, finally getting to know each other beyond the pages of our letters.

I'm looking forward to me, more than I can express. Until I see you again, take care, and know that I'm counting down the days.

All yours,

Seungcheol

P.S. the best bit about the date was spending time with Jeonghan. No more needs to be said.

You stare down at the letter, your heart pacing as fast as it had the first time you'd received it. Beautiful words from a beautiful man with a beautiful soul.

You'd gotten back to Seoul by the end of March 2022, and, as promised, Seungcheol came to visit you that first weekend in April. When he'd stepped off the train in the bustling station at the heart of the city, you were there to greet him. You'd spotted him standing there, taller even than you'd remembered, with that same easy smile that had always leapt off of the page.

The world around you had seemed to blur as you walked toward each other, nerves fluttering in your stomach but quickly dissolving as he pulled you into a gentle, lingering hug. The connection between you, once confined to words on paper, felt more real than ever.

You spent the day wandering through the city, visiting old bookstores, sipping coffee in quiet cafes, and talking as if no time had passed since that fateful wedding reception. Every shared laugh, every story swapped, deepened the bond you'd forged in ink.

June 14th 2022

Seungcheol,

It feels like only yesterday that we were wandering through Seoul together, but at the same time, it feels like a lifetime ago. I keep finding myself replaying that day in my mind - how easy it was to talk to you in person, as if we'd done it a hundred times before. It's strange, isn't it? How someone can feel so familiar, even when they're a whole new experience at the same time.

I've been thinking about our conversation in the bookstore. You said something about how some stories are better left unfinished, that sometimes the best part of a tale is imagining what could be. I can't stop thinking about that - about how some stories do need an ending, and how others are meant to keep going, even if we don’t know where they’ll lead.

There's something I've been meaning to tell you, but I haven't found the right words yet. I guess I'm still figuring it out myself. It's just that being around you feels different to how I expected. There's a comfort, yes, but also something more, something I can't quite define. It's like we're on the edge of something new, and it's exciting and a little terrifying at the same time. I'm not sure if you feel it too, but I hop you do.

Anyway, I don't want to get too ahead of myself as usual. I'm just really glad we've reconnected, and that we've managed to keep in touch after all these years. 

It means more to me than I can say. Let’s make sure our next meeting isn’t too far off—I’m already looking forward to it.

Until then, take care of yourself, and don’t work too hard. I’ll be watching the clock until I see you again.

Yours, 

(Y/n)

That day in April 2022 hadn't been the last time you saw Seungcheol. You'd made that mistake once in the past, and neither of you was willing to do so again. He continued to come to Seoul to see you, and you travelled down to Daegu to meet him and his friends. Your letters ceased for a while over this time due to the frequency you were seeing each other, but for the first time that didn't bother you.

You remember, with teary eyes, the day that you finally confessed your feelings.

It was 25th September 2022, after a whole summer spent together, and the air was tinged with the first hint of autumn's chill. THe leaves were just beginning to turn, painting the streets in warm hues of amber and crimson as you walked side by side in a quiet part in Seoul. The easy laughter and conversation that had marked your friendship over the years felt heavier that day, as it something unspoken was lingering in the crisp air between you.

You had spent countless days together that summer - visiting museums, trying new restaurants, even embarking on a spontaneous week trip to the coast. Each moment with Seunngchaeol had felt like a dream, a slow realisation that your heart was no longer just content with friendship. But with that realization came a fear you hadn't expected. What if this was enough for him? What if risking everything by confessing how you truly felt would unravel the beautiful bond you had spent so many years cultivating?

That evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the park, you found yourselves sitting on a bench overlooking a small pond. The water was still, reflecting the fiery colours of the sky, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. Seungcheol had been quieter than usual that day, his expression pensive as if he, too, was wrestling with unspoken thoughts.

You felt your heart pound in your chest, each beat louder than the last as you tried to summon the courage to speak. The words were caught in your throat, but the fear of losing him if you didn’t say them was stronger. Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, you turned to him, your voice trembling as you broke the silence.

"Seungcheol," you began, your hands nervously fidgeting in your lap. He turned to look at you, his eyes soft and attentive, encouraging you to continue. "There’s something I need to tell you… something I’ve been feeling for a while now."

His gaze didn’t waver, but you noticed the slight hitch in his breath, the way his fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the bench. The world seemed to shrink to just the two of you, everything else fading away as you gathered your thoughts.

"I—" You paused, trying to find the right words, but there were none that seemed adequate to express the depth of your feelings. "I think I’ve fallen in love with you."

The admission hung in the air between you, a fragile confession that you could no longer take back. For a moment, time seemed to stop, the world holding its breath as you waited for his response. You searched his face for any sign of what he might be thinking, every second feeling like an eternity.

Then, without a word, Seungcheol reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had escaped down your cheek. There was a tenderness in his touch, a warmth that radiated through you, calming your racing heart.

"I’ve been waiting to hear those words," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Because I’ve been feeling the same way for a long time too."

His words washed over you, a wave of relief and joy so overwhelming that you felt your breath hitch. You had been so afraid, so uncertain, and now, with his quiet confession, all those fears melted away. He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull back if you needed to, but you didn’t. You closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a gentle, tender kiss that felt like a promise—one of many yet to come.

Hearing the doorbell ring down below you, and the sound of your husband's voice calling out to say he'll get it, you rush forward to reach your favourite letter - just one more before you return to reality.

November 3rd 2023

My dearest (Y/n),

I'm so glad you're having such a good time in Rome - I'm rather jealous of all of your sightseeing and pasta-eating. Kkuma and I are holding the fort down at home, although I had to be scolded yesterday for breaking the toaster when I tried to make Kkuma some breakfast. I sent some more suncream over in the mail because I know you've already run out and forgotten to get some more - I'm not sure if this letter will reach you first, but if it does look out for the parcel.

Now, I'll admit, the main purpose of my letter is something a little different than simply catching up, as much as I love those letters too. I thought about doing this once you returned home, but you've already had one man declare his everlasting intentions to you after you returned from an excursion, so I thought it better to avoid rehashing those memories (we'll do this again when you're home, but I thought it might be fun to do it this way).

If you have the suncream box already, then you may have a sneaking suspicion of what I'm about to say.

I've loved you for as long as I've known you. As a twelve-year-old kid, I didn't know that was what it was, but the level of obsession I had with writing to you and receiving your replies was beyond any normal friendship. You were always so fascinatingly cool, out of reach, and genuinely yourself. Being in love with your pen pal isn't always an easy thing - the cold sweats I would wake up to after dreaming about meeting for the first time, the constant updates about a life that I wasn't a part of, the announcement of your engagement to another person. I tried to pretend it wasn't real for a long time, see other people, because of how silly I felt about being in love with someone I'd never met.

And then I saw you standing there, in that beautiful white gown with your hair up and that gorgeous smile on your face. Did you know that my hands were sweating when I gave you that gift? I don't think I've ever told you that before. I became certain then that I was completely screwed. Entirely head over heels.

I'll never be happy that that marriage didn't work out for you - all I've ever wanted is your happiness, be that with me or someone else. But I won't lie and say that nothing has made me happier than the consequences of it.

This past year has been the happiest time I've ever known. Every moment with you is filled with such joy, and every moment without I'm left with a record of memories to remind me of the time we've had together. When I look at you, I don't just see my past, but also my future. I see a lifetime of shared experiences, of laughter, or quiet moments that mean more than words ever could. I see us growing old together, supporting each other, and playing trash hockey on the wooden floor of our kitchen.

You are my best friend, my partner, the love of my life. And I want to spent every day making sure you know just how much you mean to me.

So, that being said, will you (Y/n) (Y/l/n), do me the honour of marrying me?

All yours,

Seungcheol

P.S. Please don't feel pressured to say yes, but know that I would really like it if you did.

You fiddle with the precious ring on your left hand, your fingers lingering over the smooth chunk of dark stone in the centre.

A gentle brush of a hand on your shoulders brings you back to the real world, tears now flaking on your cheeks as you sniffle at the words on the page.

"Are you okay, darling?" Seungcheol asks gently.

"Yes, sorry, I know the guests are here now - I just wanted to look at these," You reply, holding up the letters for your husband to see.

You watch his expression soften, a suggestion of moisture in the corner of his eyes as he looks over the written words.

Swooping down, he places a long, loving kiss on your forehead, letting your bodies rest together in harmony for a moment.

"I can't believe they still make me cry," You huff, letting out a soft laugh. "And I don't even think I can brush it off as hormones."

"Seeing that just looking at them has me tearing up, I don't think I can either." Seungcheol smiles, stroking the back of your hair affectionately.

"They're probably getting antsy downstairs, right?" You say, beginning to pile the letters back up into the box.

Standing up, you lean forward to press all of your passion and adoration onto your husband's lips. You can feel his intensity matching yours, his hands finding the side of your hips to keep you stable.

"They can wait," Seungcheol replies, his forehead leaning softly against your own. "They're not the ones who are pregnant after all."

You laugh, a sound filled with both joy and contentment, feeling the warmth of his love surrounding you. "I suppose you're right," you say, a smile spreading across your face. You take one last glance at the box of letters, a testament to the incredible journey you've both shared—one that began with innocent childhood exchanges and blossomed into a love story more profound than you could have ever imagined.

Hand in hand, you and Seungcheol make your way downstairs to greet your guests, the letters safely tucked away in their satin box. As you step into the room, you know that no matter what the future holds, you'll always have those words, those memories, and most importantly, each other.

[ddejavvu]

INDIANA JONES isn’t too comfortable being outwardly emotional. Even during sex he can be a little distant. Sure, he’ll get you off, do everything right, give you your prep, give you his cock, but it’ll all be very clinical. Cut and dry. Standard procedure. He doesn’t mean to do it; it’s not that he doesn’t enjoy sex with you, it’s not that he’s not passionate. He’s just guarded. It takes a while to come out of his shell, you have to coax it out of him. Spontaneity does wonders for unlocking his more fun-loving side during sex, and it just so happens that you’d accessed that while inside his classroom to drop off his lunch. It’s not like you planned to wear his favorite dress, his favorite perfume, or your good pair of showy heels. Nor that you insisted on sitting on his lap when he was taking a look at some papers at his desk.

this post is 18+, minors dni.

oh indy this was so so sexy... there's not a huge emotional component you're right, it's more about lust and sex because he's not used to his heart being involved. sex is so mechanical for him, and it doesn't mean that it isn't genuine, but it's what he's used to and it's hard for him to branch out. he doesn't look you in the eye all that often, he prefers to bury his face in your neck to lick and suck and leave marks there, or latch onto one of your tits to bite your nipples all puffy and swollen and sore. but when you're not in a bedroom, when you're bent right over the top of his desk he's talking more, calling you perfect and desperate and eager and you are so so surprised because he is talking up a storm!! it starts flowing naturally for him, and when he flips you over to lay your back on his desk instead of your stomach, he leans right in to kiss you like he's trying to devour you. it's not just messy tongue and teeth, it's something far more intimate and emotional. it's so not what you're used to with him but it does the job so well. he does have to get back to work though :( you're not expecting him to offer at all, but you're more than happy to sit in his lap with his fat cock nestled deep inside of you while he finishes grading the exams he was trying to get through before you distracted him <33

[writerslittlelibrary]

All assassins need a cat

masterlist

summary: since your rescue from the Red Room you had been living in the tower, and it didn’t take you long to realise that ex-assassins simply need a cat 

pairing: Winterwidow x widow teen reader, Natasha x widow teen reader, Bucky x widow teen reader

warnings: cats

genre: fluff

words: 1602

a/n: I really want a cat, so I figured I'd write something short about it :) 

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

Living in the Avengers tower had been nothing short of amazing. The people were kind, the food was even better. After living in the Red Room for so long you were overwhelmed with the freedom you were given, and the choices you could make.

You had been in the tower for two months now, and although you liked almost everyone that lived in the tower, you preferred Natasha and Bucky the most. 

They were kind, and because of your shared life experience it was easy to get along with them. They understood you, and there was no pressure in talking to them. You knew that whatever you told them, they would understand. It was comforting. 

However, it didn't take very long before you realised that both Natasha and Bucky owned a cat. 

It happened during a movie night. Natasha and Bucky had sworn to catch you up on all the great movies you missed. While watching the entirety of the Indiana Jones movies, a small, black cat jumped up on the bed, snuggling against Natasha. 

After you asked who the cat was, Natasha explained that she got her after living in the tower for a while. She said it helped her feel better about herself, and her past. 

‘Liho,’ as Natasha told you she was called, took a liking to you rather quickly. It didn't take many movie nights before Liho wasn’t only snuggling on Natasha's lap, but also climbing on yours. 

During breakfast with Natasha and Bucky later that week, you spotted a white cat joining you in the kitchen. It walked up to Bucky and started yelling at him for food. Bucky picked the cat up, snuggling with it for a few seconds before grabbing some food, feeding it. 

“That's Alpine,” Bucky had explained, telling you how he had gotten a cat not long after Natasha did. 

Bucky and Natasha didn't share a floor when they had gotten their cats, but when they moved in together it didn't take long before the cats became friendly with each other. Natasha had told you how you could often find them snuggled up together. 

After meeting both cats, you could often be found cuddling with them. 

When you were sitting in your room, you would leave your door open, allowing the cats to enter whenever they pleased. Often, they would wander into your room, either jumping on your bed or jumping on your lap while you entertained yourself. 

They started following you around the house soon after, always begging for cuddles and kisses. You cheerfully obliged, and it didn't go unmissed by either Bucky or Natasha. 

Natasha had brought up the idea one night, after you had fallen asleep in their room. 

She shared her thoughts with Bucky, discussing how it might be good for you to get a cat of your own. You loved the cats that were already living in the house, and both Natasha and Bucky thought it would be great for you to raise a cat of your own. 

At breakfast a week later Natasha brought it up again.

“How would you feel about getting another cat…?” Natasha asked carefully, bringing up the question casually so as to not make you suspicious. 

“You want another cat?” You asked cheerfully, petting Liho behind her ears as she settled on your lap. 

Natasha nodded. “It might be fun for Liho and Alpine to get another play buddy.”

Bucky nodded along, settling in the seat next to you. 

“Besides, we were thinking, you might like one of your own…” Bucky explained carefully, but your gasp of excitement washed all their worries away. 

“I could get a cat?!” You asked excitedly, watching as Natasha chuckled before nodding. 

“If that’s something that you want,” she explained, sitting into the seat across from you. “I still have the contact information from the same people I bought Liho from. They have another nest and are looking for homes for the kittens,” Natasha told you, biting into her toast.

“We could go have a look if you want,” she finished. 

Another gasp of excitement left your lips. “I could get a kitten? We can go look at kittens?!” you exclaimed happily. 

Natasha and Bucky both nodded, chuckling a bit.

“We can visit today,” Bucky explained. 

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

After finishing your breakfast quickly, you had gotten into the car, heading over to the address that had the kittens. On the way, Natasha told you that the kittens were already old enough to leave the nest, so if there were a kitten that you had a connection with, you would be able to take it home the same day. 

You happily stared out the window, humming along to the song on the radio as your excitement grew. 

Once inside the house, you were practically jumping from excitement, sighing a little when Natasha, Bucky, you, and the other two people sat down at the table to greet each other and catch up. 

Natasha noticed your impatience, grabbing your hand under the table and rubbing soothing circles on it, assuring you that you would get to meet the kittens soon.

After a tedious half hour, the woman finally got up, leading you towards a different room where all the kittens were. 

Once you were finally inside, you gasped in excitement when all the kittens ran towards your legs, playing with your shoelaces.

You went to sit on the ground, smiling as all the kittens started exploring around you, inspecting you. Natasha moved to sit next to you, lifting a kitten into her lap and cuddling with it. 

After playing with the kittens for a little while, you found out that the mother cat was actually one of Liho's siblings, so you would be adopting a cat of Liho’s family. 

You were in the kitten room for about two hours, and you had grown especially close to one little kitten. It was the smallest one, and she was sleepy and shy when you first came in. After about half an hour, she did come over to you, sniffing you for a bit before deciding that you were the perfect place to take a nap. She climbed on your leg and started sleeping. 

“Can we have this one?” you asked Natasha as you carefully petted the young cat's body, allowing her to rest.

“She does really like you,” the woman said, cuddling with the mother cat.

Bucky stood in the corner, observing you and his girlfriend as you had a bonding moment. He loved Natasha more than anything, and you were slowly becoming just as important to him. He loved both of you, and he wanted to give you this moment together. He knew how much it meant to Natasha to be a mother, and he was certain it meant a lot to you as well. 

Natasha nodded excitedly, giving the kitten on your lap a little snuggle.

“I wish we were able to take them all. They are all so cute,” Natasha said as she lifted another kitten from the ground, holding it close to her and giving it some kisses. 

The woman stood up, walking over to Bucky. 

“If you could come with me, I will get you all the medical papers and get everything sorted out.”

Bucky nodded and followed the woman out of the room, leaving you and Natasha to snuggle with the kittens a little longer. 

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

After getting everything sorted you had taken the sleeping kitten into your lap, snuggling with it while you sat on the backseat. 

You were more than happy with your new best friend, and both Natasha and Bucky were more than happy because of the fact you were so happy. You cuddled with the cat a little more before you as well fell asleep.

When you woke up again you were back in the Avengers tower, sleeping on Natasha’s and Bucky's bed while Natasha read a book. 

“Good afternoon my little Malyshka,” she said when she noticed you were awake. She closed her book, setting it aside and brushing some of your hair out of your face. You groaned and blinked a few times before sitting up, noticing the weight that pressed on your legs. Your little kitten was still fast asleep. 

You smiled and reached down to pet her, enjoying the purring she made as she snuggled closer into your hand. 

“Thank you, Natasha,” you said as you looked at her, smiling when she gave you a kiss on your forehead. 

“Anything for you, my little Malyshka,” Natasha said as she cupped your cheeks, giving you another kiss on your nose.

“Leave some snuggles for me,” you heard Bucky say from the door opening, watching as he walked inside and crawled into the bed, on the other side of you. 

You smiled and leaned forward, giving him a little kiss on your cheek. 

Bucky smiled as well. “Thank you little miss,” he said jokingly as he leaned forwards as well, giving you a little kiss on your forehead. 

Your kitten started making some noises, waking up and taking in its surroundings. Once her eyes landed on you, she crawled higher up your legs, settling onto your chest as you leaned against Natasha. It didn't take long before the kitten fell asleep again, enjoying your gentle pets and kisses. 

“Another movie?” Natasha questioned as she observed your state, realising she would not be getting out of the bed for a while.

You nodded happily, snuggling close into her side as she started the movie, stroking your hair. 

“Thank you,” you sighed contently before falling asleep as well, safe in the arms of your found family. 

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @n0txn3vee @lorsstar1st

[justsomerandomfanfic]

In My Imagination - Indiana Jones X Female Reader

Title: In My Imagination

Indiana Jones X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Dr. Beckard (OC)

WC: 1,817

Warnings: Nervousness, anxiety, embarrassment, alcohol mentioned, unwanted attention/flirting, teasing, taunting, banter, almost fighting, physical assault (not to Reader), mention of blood, slight angst, and fluff

"Are you sure I look alright?" You asked, brushing down your outfit of any creases as you looked in the mirror. It was a nice outfit. It was a bit fancy, but not too fancy, but just enough for this party Indiana was invited to. The outfit was nice, as said before, and you really liked it, you were comfortable in it and felt confident, so… Why were you fidgeting with it so much?

You could chalk it up to nerves, you were really nervous about this party, and had been for the past month that you knew about it. You were anxious about being in a room with so many strangers, having to socialize with doctors and professors, you weren’t really one for parties; depending on the day or type of party. But this was a work party, a party full of Indiana’s friends and coworkers; you didn’t want to end up embarrassing yourself in front of them.

Indiana walked over to you, snapping you out of your thoughts as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind; resting his chin on top of your head as he stared at you through the mirror. "I think you look wonderful, stunning really," He said, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head before continuing, "And everyone at the party will love you."

You turned slightly to look up at Indy, raising an eyebrow, "Didn't you say that some of your coworkers think you made me up and that I don't exist?" 

Indiana pursed his lips as he bobbed his head side to side, "Yeah, but once they meet you and know that you are real... They'll love you. Just like me." He finished, giving you a grin as he gently squeezed your waist.

You sputtered a laugh, your hands coming to lay on top of his. "Yeah, no... I hope it’s not ‘just like you’."

He chuckled, pulling away from you before kissing your cheek, his light scruff ticking you slightly, "Well... Let's get going then."

~~~

The party at the college Indiana worked at was in full swing, everyone was crowded in the large dining hall, professors of all types of subjects were all hanging around, some talking in small groups and others at the bar having a drink. You tightened your hold on Indiana's arm, feeling anxiety rise inside of you.

He glanced back at you, smiling gently, "We've got this, okay?" You nodded and took a deep breath, trying to push the butterflies in your stomach away. "Let's get a drink." He spoke before leading you to the bar.

"Two Shirley Temples, please," Indiana asked, giving him a friendly smile.

“No alcohol?” You asked, and Indiana shrugged, leaned against the bar next to you.

Indiana glanced around the room, before his brilliant brown eyes landed back on you, “Someone has to drive us home.” He replied, as you nodded in understanding.

“Ah, yeah.” You spoke as the bartender placed two glasses of the reddish-pink drink on the bar in front of you. “Very smart of you.”

You reached for your drink before looking back up at Indiana who seemed to be staring intently at you, "What?" You asked quietly, glancing around nervously before looking back up at him, "Indy..." You sighed as he just slowly smirked.

"What?" He mimicked you, and leaned back against the bar, "I just think you look gorgeous tonight."

You flushed, looking down at your glass, "Thanks, Indy."

He shook his head, reaching across the bar and lightly grabbing your hand in his, "Y/N, I-"

"Dr. Jones, good to see you." A voice spoke up, interrupting Indiana and gaining both his and your attention. 

Indiana tried to hide his disappointment, giving the man in front of him a polite smile, "Dr. Beckard. Good to see you as well." He spoke as Dr. Beckard turned his gaze to you.

"Uh-huh, yeah. Who... Is this?" He asked, his voice becoming slow and more sultry. Awkwardly, you took Dr. Beckard's hand, going to shake it but only to be surprised when the man raised your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles. "Your sister, Dr. Jones?"

Indiana gently, though possessively, wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his side, your hand falling from Dr. Beckard’s. "My girlfriend, Y/N... Dr. Beckard." He then turned to you, “Y/N, Dr. Beckard is the Physics professor.”

That didn't seem to deter the man as he continued to stare at you, making you feel very uncomfortable. "Well," He began, giving you a once-over, "You are absolutely the most beautiful woman here." He continued to flirt, as you felt your face flush in embarrassment just as Indiana's face flushed for an entirely different reason.

"Dr. Beckard," Indiana spoke up, his voice low and threatening, "Are you trying to flirt with my girlfriend?" You felt a chill go down your spine at the sound of Indiana's tone and knew there would be trouble, and you couldn’t lie… Indiana’s whole demeanor at the moment was very attractive.

The man in front of you gave Indiana a wide-eyed innocent look and let out a chuckle. "Now, now, Dr. Jones, why would you think that?" Before Indy could respond, Dr. Beckard spoke again, "I was just complimenting such a... Wonderful specimen." He breathed out, looking back at you, making you unconsciously slide closer into Indiana's side, as you felt Indiana's grip tighten around you. 

"I would suggest you back off, Doctor," Indiana gritted his teeth, "If you so much as lay a hand on her, I swear I will not hesitate to make you regret ever coming to this party."

The doctor simply smiled again, ignoring Indy's threat, "Threatening people now, huh, Dr. Jones? You know, if the board heard that you threatened me... You might lose your job." He taunted darkly, causing you to tense.

Your eyes darted between the two men in front of you, unsure of what to do. Your first instinct was to try and calm Indiana down or just drag him away, but as his jaw clenched and his jawline hardened, you decided to stay silent. If he wanted to take care of things himself, that was fine by you. You weren't going to complain. Just as long as a fight didn’t break out or anything. Seeing this side of him was sort of thrilling, way better than being out in the jungle getting chased by evil treasure hunters, but nonetheless. 

You didn't want to get in between them, but when Indiana let go of you and moved you behind him, you got a bit more worried; especially when Dr. Beckard raised his fists up. Feeling your heart hammer against your chest and your eyes widen, you pushed in between the two men before either of them could do anything, "Alright, stop this!" You exclaimed, glaring daggers at both Indiana and Dr. Beckard. "This is stupid. You are both acting like children."

Dr. Beckard just looked at you briefly with a smirk, looking at Indiana with his grin, "Well, you got yourself a feisty little thing, Jones." He then placed his hand on your upper arm, and you looked at his hand and up at him, if looks could kill, he'd be dead; sadly that didn't seem to bother him at all as he continued, "Why don't I get you a drink, huh, honey?"

Indian glared at the man, opening his mouth to say something only for you to speak up first, "No one talks to me like that." You growled, rearing your arm back and punching Dr. Beckard right in the face. He stumbled backward, crying out. His hand flew to his bleeding nose while his friends and co-workers stood gaping at you. You ignored their shocked expressions and glared up at Dr. Beckard, still holding onto his nose, blood dripping down onto his white shirt, "You have no right touching me without asking me, and don't call me 'honey'." You spat at him, watching as the doctor took a step back from you, "Do I make myself clear?"

Dr. Beckard looked at you for a moment, clearly taken aback but quickly regained his composure, without another word, he turned and left. Letting out a huff, you dropped your shoulders and turned to Indiana, who stared at you as if you had found and given him a rare thousand-year-old artifact.

His eyes were bright, a smile on his lips as he let out a breathy sigh. "Marry me." It wasn't a question, the way he said it, but that didn't stop you from smiling like an idiot, laughing out a bit.

"Are you serious? I just punched that jerk in the face." You tilted your head to the side slightly as Indiana took the hand that you punched Dr. Beckman with into his, running his thumbs against your soft skin.

"Very serious. I think I'm falling in love with you all over again." He muttered, bringing your hand up to his lips where he kissed small butterfly kisses to your bruised knuckles. "Does your hand hurt?" He asked, making eye contact and not failing to make you flush as you suddenly felt nervous. 

"It's- It’s fine. I’m fine, thank you, Indy." You whispered before Indiana smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead, causing you to melt even more. He chuckled before leaning forward and placing a quick kiss on your lips, making you giggle before you wrapped your arms around him and rested your forehead against his.

"There's one thing Dr. Beckard was right about. You are pretty feisty," He teased, making you roll your eyes playfully.

"I agree, but as a doctor, I thought he'd be smarter than to hit on a soon-to-be-married woman." You hinted as Indiana's smile widened at your nonchalant answer to his proposal. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments before you pulled away, "So, how about we go dance? We don't want to waste dressing up to only go home an hour in."

"Sounds good to me, sweetheart." He took your hand, leading you to the small area that was made into a dance floor. Waltzing softly to the live music of sweet violins and piano, the two of you swayed together for several moments before Indiana spoke up again, "So," He trailed off, spinning you out and back in, "'Soon-to-be-married'? Is that a 'yes' then?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow at you.

You smirked, leaning closer to him, "I mean, it could be. Do you want it to be?" You asked with a smile, causing him to lean his head down toward you.

"Yes." He replied simply, "More than anything."

Feeling your heart skip a beat, you let your eyes drift over Indiana's features before looking into his honey-brown eyes, "Well, then, I better have a nice ring." Indiana couldn't help but laugh, spinning you around the dance floor.

[cera-writes]

Hello! You’re friendly neighbourhood request stalker here, just having another little moment of self inserted love.

Gambit strikes me as someone who would be an absolute nerd. I see him as a secret Star Wars fan or Trekkie. Reader is a mutant who lives in the mansion - maybe a teacher rather than an X-Man? Halloween rolls around, big mansion party and of course reader is big into costumes and cosplay.

Everyone has to dress up and no-one tells anyone about their costume until the big reveal at the party.

She does the Leia. /That/ Princess Leia. And he just spends the whole night with an uncomfortable nerd boner, torn between talking excitedly about the movies and just being his usual flirty lusty self? Maybe even a flustered fanboy? NSFW or SFW, I’ll leave that to you.

I’m gonna go sit in the corner and squee to myself.

A/N: yes yes yes!! I was listening to this song while writing this and I wanna imagine it playing it in the background of the party... 🤣 Pairing: Remy "Gambit" LeBeau x F!Reader Tags: fluff, sweet sexy fluff, making out, sexual innuendos, teasing, flirting, reader gives Remy a constant boner

"Then show me, Scoundrel."

The X-Mansion buzzed with an energy that rivalled Danger Room training. Tonight wasn't about honing mutant abilities, it was about unleashing inner demons – the good kind, fueled by fruity cocktails and booming music. Professor Xavier had thrown a rare costume party, and the place was a kaleidoscope of capes, masks, and questionable fashion choices.

You, however, were channelling a very specific kind of fantasy. Standing by the punch bowl, you were the epitome of Rebel Princess badassery. You'd raided Storm's wardrobe for a flowing white drape, leaving enough strategically placed gaps to make even the stoic Ororo blush. The pièce de résistance, though, was a leather belt Professor X had unearthed from a forgotten box of "mutant memorabilia." It did wonders for accentuating your curves. You'd even fashioned your hair into a pair of space buns, completing the look.

You were scanning the room, feeling a thrill at the envious stares from Rogue and the appreciative nods from Beast, when a familiar drawl sliced through the music.

"Well, well, well. Looks like someone wandered straight outta Jabba's Palace."

Remy Lebeau, ever the charmer, stood before you, his trademark grin plastered across his face. He was a dead ringer for Indiana Jones, complete with a Traveller hat and a leather jacket that wouldn't look out of place on one of the members of his former Thief Guild.

"Just call me Princess," you countered, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Up close, his eyes sparkled with an amusement that sent a shiver down your spine. Remy was, in fact, all hot and bothered at the mere sight of you. He was fangirling so hard, flustered by the sight of you wearing that costume.

"Princess, huh? Think you can handle a scoundrel like me?" His voice was a low rumble, sending another delicious jolt through you.

You leaned in, close enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath on his ear. "Try me, Gambit."

The way his name rolled off your tongue, laced with a deliberate challenge, had a visible effect on him. A flicker of heat replaced the amusement in his eyes.

"Careful, cher," he murmured, his voice husky. "You might jus' get more than you bargained for."

The music shifted to a slow, seductive melody. Remy held out a hand, the invitation clear. A mischievous grin spread across your face as you bit your bottom lip. "Take the lead, scoundrel."

He took your hand, the touch sending a spark igniting between you. As you glided onto the makeshift dance floor, you couldn't help but brush your hand against his chest, the worn leather cool against your skin. He inhaled sharply, the movement pulling the fabric of his jacket taut across his impressive physique.

You danced with him, slow and close, the playful banter escalating with each stolen glance, each lingering touch. He twirled you, the white drape billowing around you like a cloud, and for a moment, you could almost believe you were dancing with Han Solo under a Tatooine sunset.

When the song ended, Remy leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. "Let's get outta here, Princess. I know a place with a much better view of the stars."

A shiver snaked down your spine at his suggestion, a delicious mix of excitement and apprehension. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the heat building between you. Remy's hand slipped around your waist, his touch sending a jolt through you that had nothing to do with his mutant power.

He led you away from the mansion, the party lights fading behind you like dying stars. The silence was thick with unspoken desire, broken only by the soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet. He stopped suddenly, pulling you against a large oak tree, the moonlight filtering through the leaves casting an ethereal glow on his face.

His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were now smoldering with a different kind of intensity. A single gloved finger grazed your cheek, sending shivers down your exposed skin. "You know, cher," he murmured, his voice a low caress, "this princess needs a little less…" he trailed off, his hand gliding down your arm, lingering on the exposed sliver of skin above your elbow. His eyes followed the traces of his fingers dancing along your skin, causing goosebumps to form as you bit back a whimper.

Your breath hitched as he slowly unfastened the clasp on the leather belt Professor X had unearthed. It felt symbolic, a shedding of inhibitions, a slow reveal that mirrored the growing tension between you. The white fabric parted further, revealing a hint of smooth skin and the enticing curve of your hip.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear. "And a scoundrel," he whispered, his voice husky with desire, "needs a little more…" his breath tickled your earlobe as he trailed a finger down the exposed skin of your back, sending a jolt straight to your core. He had you practically squirming.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Then show me, scoundrel," you breathed, your voice laced with lust and a newfound confidence. The playful banter had morphed into something far more primal, a delicious urgency hanging in the air.

Remy chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated through you. He captured your lips in a kiss, a slow burn that quickly escalated into a heated exploration. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine as he explored the exposed skin of your arms and back. You responded in kind, your fingers tracing the contours of his chest, relishing the feeling of his worn leather jacket beneath your fingertips. He hitched one of your legs up, pinning you against the tree and him.

The kiss became a desperate battle for dominance, a delicious push and pull that left you breathless. He finally pulled away, his eyes half lidded, a red glow in the moonlight.

The crimson glow in his eyes sent a tremor straight down to your core, a primal counterpoint to the heat that had already taken root in your belly. His touch, a slow, deliberate graze against your exposed skin, was pure, unadulterated fire. The playful princess facade had melted away, replaced by a woman yearning for something raw, something untamed.

"Patience, cher," he murmured against your lips, his voice a husky rasp as he thumbed your bottom lip. The restraint in his tone was a delicious torture, a dam holding back a flood of desire. He trailed a finger down the exposed skin of your neck, sending goosebumps erupting in their wake.

"This night isn't over yet. We can take it slow under the disco ball, or..." He paused, his eyes flickering with a devilish glint, "we can rewrite this lil' fairytale of ours under the moonlight, with a little less fabric and a lot more…" He didn't need to finish the sentence.

The suggestive leer in his eyes spoke volumes.

A/N: Lemme know if ya'll want a part two to this! I really enjoyed writing this one! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[pedge-page]

I can imagine preggo wife literally talking and talking and talking in the middle of a movie and gets offended and leaves when Joel tells her to quiet down

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife : Yapper

notes: Oh I had fun writing this! no warnings (maybe some Fugitive and Raiders spoilers), Enjoy!

- - - -

Joel’s pretty excited for movie night. It’s one of the few films the two of you don’t argue over and can pretty much watch the entire way through without disruption.

Or at least, it used to be.

Joel settles against the couch armrest with his feet propped up, knees bent slightly so you have room to sit in front. He’s got any snack you could think of within an arm reach away, and he’s got the title on pause so you can scooch your fat booty and big belly comfortably. Usually takes about 15 minutes of squirming, smacking his chest to “fluff” it up, adding a pillow at his crotch, then taking it away because you like his hard cock there instead, elbow in his groin and then his knee, then you gotta get up to pee before starting the whole process over.

“OK Im ready!” You say after 15 minutes on the dot, snuggling close to him with the back of your head rested against the crook of his neck.

He finally hits play, and the Lucasfilm logo flashes across the screen. The tropical forest and ominous music plays as the familiar font of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark fade on to the screen.

“Joel. Joel. Hey Joel.” 

“Y-yes?”

“Did you know Indiana was named after George Lucas dog? Who also was the physical inspiration for chewy?” You ask  rhetorically. 

It takes him a second to understand you’re asking him a question. “What?”

“Chewbacca! From Star Wars!”

“Oh ok neat,” he says with some enthusiasm, but quick to end it and get back to watching the movie—

“Yeah also Sean Connery is also apparently—well guess how much older he is to Harrison Ford.”

“Um—I don’t—I don’t know.” Joel says slowly, watching as Indy carefully removes the sand from the pouch and weighs it to the gold idol.

“C’mon, guess!”

“I really don’t know, can we—“

“12 years older than Harrison in Last Crusade! My mom was like ‘WHAT no way’ and I was like ‘Yes way’ and she was like ‘He's his father and he's got all that white in his hair and receding hairline’ and I was like ‘Joel's only in his late 30s and he's got white in his beard.’”

Joel can’t hear a damn thing happening on screen except the shouts about hating a pet snake named Reggie. “Wha—“

“Not that you look anything like Sean Connery in Last Crusade. Maybe in like Bond —oof he was the hottest Bond. Plus you got like a receding beard-line with all the patches, I don’t know, but my mom was like ‘Ya know Joel's got more white hair lately since you've been pregnant’ and I was like ‘Nah uh’ and she was like ‘Ya huh’ and I was like ‘Huh I wonder why that is…?’ Anyway but nope only 12 years between him and Ford—“

Joel turns to look at you with a frown, a bit confused and amazed at how you have so much to say, right now, oblivious as ever. 

It doesn’t phase your rambling one bit: “—Like damn, but you know Harrison Ford has always been handsome. But like in the bad boy kind of way, not like handsome upstanding like Christopher Reeves? When I saw The Fugitive, I was like ‘oooohhhh I'll be his wife now’ hahaha! no no I’m sorry, he’s famous and I’m not so that’s why I married you, but that's such a fall film don't you think? Minus the murder and betrayal and fucking Dr Charles Nickles like was he British or not? He was in and out of an accent the whole time? Didn't make sense to me but yeah, it's just such a fall Cozy film.”

Joel looks back at the screen and realizes Marion is already being cornered by the Nazi creep: “Ah huh—honey—“

“OH! I Love her song! It’s kind of like Leia and Han’s from Empire except the last notes are different, like it goes do doooooo instead of da dat dada daaaaaaa, That’s just John William’s for ya, but you’d never notice they were so similar!”

Joel opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out as you continue:

“—Also I know you said my mom made good apple pie but I really wanna try to make it because I want you to like mine more, so I need you to get some apples and pie crust and butter and stuff from the store, I’ll make a list so you can get it. They said we need ground cinnamon but I think ours expired like 5 years ago so don’t forget that. And then I'm gonna tell you how to slice the apples since I can't handle sharp objects and then oh I need you to get the mixer from the top shelf and then you have to mix it all together and slice the top with like little heart patterns and then put it in the oven n stuff ‘cause it's hot and I don't wanna burn OH and that reminds me—!” 

“BABE!”

“Hmm? yes?” You ask with a innocent smile. 

“Let's try to be quiet and watch the movie ok?”

He offers a gentle smile and nods, pointing towards the TV again and settling to watch it with his beautiful wife.

His very very very unhappy wife. Your eyes haven’t left his, face now downturned in such a scowl, he should be shitting his pants.

You roll your jaw at him once, teeth grinding against one another with slitted, murderous eyes. Joel gulps, too afraid to glance back at you again. His eyes are wide staring at the commotion on the television but, now in your deadly silence, he can’t seen to focus on it at all. 

Instead of saying anything, you roll polly up to your feet, arms crossed over your chest defensively as you utter a loud “Hmph!” before storming away from the living room.

He’ll have to deal with groveling tomorrow morning when you might be a little more welcoming. But on the bright side, he’s got way more room to spread out on the couch and he can hear the movie much better now! 

......... 

He switches it off and runs upstairs to get on his knees by your side of the bed, begging for your forgiveness and promises of a Clyde's milkshake to go. 

- - - -

Permanent Taglist

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[fanficsforfun]

Not alone

Pairing: Indiana Jones x gender neutral reader

Era: 1960s (the Dial of Destiny)

Word count: 780

Warnings: none (well, except the age gap)

Summary: You’re feeling lonely and decide to see if Indy would want to talk with you

---

You were all alone at home which at the moment didn't feel exactly great, and for some mysterious reason you got the idea to go and ring the doorbell of the old professor who lived on the same floor as you. You two had chatted pretty much every time you happened to be somewhere simultaneously, and you enjoyed his company. He was nice to talk with, witty and wise, and always willing to give you a moment of his time. Yet you had never sought his company like this before.

You didn't realize it was a bit weird thing to do until you rang his doorbell, but at that point you didn't dare back out. It would have been even weirder to run away (especially if you had been caught). So you stood where you were, trying to come up with something even relatively smart to say while waiting for him to come to the door. 

What you didn't expect was for him to show up in nothing but his underwear and a t-shirt.

“What?” Indy grumbled, sounding like the doorbell had woken him up. 

You couldn't get a word out of your mouth, but before you had even tried, he spoke again.

“Oh. Hi, kid. Sorry ‘bout my outfit”, his tone changed quite a bit after he realized who you were. “What is it?”

“Well… I-”, you started but then sighed and decided to be straight with him. “I’m gonna be honest here, I feel lonely and I was hoping we could… talk?”

“Sure, come in, take a seat”, Indy moved away from the door to let you in and gestured towards his living room. “Sorry ‘bout the mess.”

“No problem”, you replied, though his place was in a desperate need of cleaning. There were boxes of who knows what stuff laying all around, a few dirty dishes sitting on the living room table, and some laundry on the floor. You decided it was best not try to sit anywhere, and so you awkwardly stayed standing in the doorway.

Indy realized the problem, walked past you and quickly cleaned up the worst of the mess to make room for you on the couch, giving you an apologetic grin.

“No, seriously, I apologize for this. I wasn’t expecting anyone to come over. I’m usually not this messy.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it”, you smiled.

When the living room looked more or less tidy, Indy stopped in the middle of the room and stated: “I suppose I'd better find something decent to wear.” With that, he disappeared into his bedroom. While he was gone, you sat on the couch, and only a few moments later he came back with socks, pants and a blouse shirt on.

“Do you want coffee or tea or something?” He then asked.

“Tea would be nice, thank you”, you replied with a quick smile.

“Tea, right”, Indy said more to himself than to you and walked over to the small kitchen. You shifted on the couch so that you saw him going through the cabinets looking for tea bags and a clean mug. You leaned your head in your hands and watched him silently. You felt a little strange being in his home, but on the other hand, you felt much better already. 

A smile had risen on your lips without you even realizing it, and when Indy glanced at you, he couldn't help but smile too. It had been a long time since there had been younger people in the house, or anyone at all for that matter. He was happy to have you over.

After the tea was ready, Indy walked up to you with two mugs in his hands and handed one of them to you. You took it with a smile. Then he sat down in his armchair, his gaze meeting yours.

“So, it hasn't been the greatest day of your life, right?" Indy opened the conversation. 

“I’ve seen worse, but yeah”, you nodded, staring into your mug. “I guess I still am not used to living on my own, you know. It gets lonely from time to time.”

“Trust me, I know”, he replied softly.

Maybe it was something in his voice, or his essence, or who knows what, but you got carried in pouring out everything that was on your mind, even though you weren't usually so fond of talking about highly personal matters. Although the situation wasn't common for him either, Indy listened to you, and despite his comments being often short, they had a surprisingly positive effect on you. Rarely had you felt so heard and seen as you did now. And it was exactly what you had needed.

[permanentmess]

may i request a cherik x mutant! reader? idk abt plot but i really need some fluff

a/n: i wasn’t sure whether to make this platonic or romantic, so i made it ambiguous! I also based this on the premise of brooklyn nine nine season 1, episode 3. reader has powers involving electricity and the year is after 1981

also sorry this took so long, i finished up my last week of work, went to disneyland, and then moved in for my senior year of college! and i apologize for this being short, i wasn't sure what to write :)

title: slump

word count: 424

summary: you're struggling with your powers, so charles and erik provide the comfort you need

warnings: none! just fluff. mild angst for plot reasons but is resolved

GIF NOT MINE

~~~

“Darling, I think you’re in a slump,” Charles says as he watches you fail to produce even a spark.

Erik nods in agreement, watching you sit down against the wall, taking a drink of water. “Take the week off and relax.” 

You vigorously shake your head. “I’m not in a slump, I swear. I just didn’t sleep well last night.” You’re lying through your teeth, causing both of them to give you a look. 

You decide to stand up again, focusing on producing sparks from your fingers and aiming them at the wall. A few shoot out, but stop just as soon. “Ugh, what is happening?” 

“Darling, I want you to take the week off, please,” Charles insists, and you begin to profusely refuse when the light above you breaks. 

“Alright fine, I’m in a slump.” 

~~ 

You’re resting on the couch in the lounge, a cup of peppermint tea in your hand. The TV is playing some old movie that you’re half paying attention to, so when Charles and Erik come in, you immediately turn your head to the sound. 

They come to sit on either side of you, and you decide to take the comfort they provide. You rest your head on Erik’s shoulder, reaching for Charles’ hand. ‘Thank you,’ you tell Charles in your head and he responds back with a gentle ‘Of course.’ 

“What are we watching?” Erik asks, finally resting his head on top of yours. 

“I don’t know, it was on. I was just relaxing.” Him and Charles hum in unison at the answer. “You can switch it to whatever you want.” 

Charles switches the stations with his powers until he lands on a channel playing Indiana Jones. You squeeze his hand as a gesture of thanks. 

It’s silent for a while, casually enjoying the movie. Occasionally other teachers will come on through the lounge, but for the most part it is peaceful. 

“I think you should try to use your powers again,” Charles says, and you’re confused. It has only been 5 days since you started your break. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive, darling,” he insists, letting go of your hand. You sit up and see Erik nodding in agreement. “Just do something small.” 

You’re nervous but you decide to try and turn off the TV. You focus on the energy inside the TV and see it click off immediately. Your mouth slightly opens in shock before a wide grin spreads across your face. “Holy shit, I did it!” 

You pull each of the men into a hug and turn the TV back off, messing with the lights in the room. 

In amongst your joy and trials, the men share a look, smiling just as wide at your enthusiasm.