#so maybe ben's one was projection Tumblr posts

[fablexdreams]

Rip Ben Finn, you would have loved eating cereal at 3am.

Rip Page, you would have loved debate club.

Rip Walter Beck, you would have loved the found family trope.

Rip Jasper, you would have loved the Scrub Daddy.

Rip Reaver, you would have loved red carpets and glambots.

Rip Sparrow, you would have loved a fucking break.

Rip Theresa, you would have loved The Sims.

Rip Logan, you would have loved Lexapro.

Rip HoBW, you would have loved pop music.

[velolceraptor]

Me thinking about Ben: teehee he looks like such a silly goofy guy °v° He's kinda dumb but that's okay :) and hee hoo hee hoo silly silly little redheaded fellow tee hee!

Also me: Ben looks like he gets verbally beaten by his family for his low intellect and probably has a lot of pent up rage while dealing with it in unhealthy ways. He also seems like the type to fear falling behind and whenever he's showed up (embarrassed; put to shame) he takes it in the worst way possible since he's dealt with it so many times, quickly growing tired of it. But he's also probably insecure about himself and was probably shamed for it so for most of the time like school, family, and after school clubs, he probably puts on a face and lies about everything, trying to suppress his emotions and not make a scene. He probably and maybe constantly tries to prove his worth but ends up mucking things up and making things even worse than before. And another thing is-

*GETS SNIPED*

Me, now a ghost: hee hoo silly sad ginger boy

(sorry I listened to 'I bet on losing dogs by mistake while thinking about him')

[fieldsofbone]

one of my advisors emotionally eviscerated me in my dissertation meeting this morning and made me cry in front of him and my school dad (my other advisor). i know that some people have the “you doubted me and i’m going to prove you wrong so you can eat your words” instinct when they receive criticism but instead i was cursed with the the “internalize it until i feel worthless and the last five years of my life in which i’ve been studying toward this goal i deserve but have had many undeserved obstacles to feel pointless” reflex

[godhasforsnakenme]

BOOK REVIEW 📖

Last year I kept track of the series & films I watched; this year I've decided to keep track of whatever books I read! So this one is for the month of January – I'll share these sometime after the month is over, or if I read more than one book during the month, I will do their reviews as soon as I finish the book :)

[luke-shywalker]

let me know if you need anything

“Hey, Solo!”

Ben looked up. The sudden motion triggered a dull ache in his right eye—he winced.

“Uh—sorry.” Amalia came to a halt in front of him in the grass. The tall, bulky Togruta girl always looked like she was going to barrel right into you, but always managed to stop a few inches short. Back when they’d hated each other, Ben had thought this was some kind of intimidation tactic. But now that they were something like friends, he realized that she was just…well…awkward as heck.

Amalia peered at him and at his covered eye, then tapped her own cheek. “You look like one of the deep space pirates.”

“Wow,” said Ben, deadpan. “I’ve only heard that about five hundred times since I came back to Jedi school.”

“What’d they do to you, huh?”

Ben juggled the air with his hands, trying to figure out how much detail to go into. “Uh…they cut my eyeball open, and sewed a synthetic band into it to hold it together and make it stop falling apart. Basically.”

“Whoa. Sounds gnarly, dude.” Amalia paused. “…Can I see?”

Ben laughed. “Bro. Do you want to see?”

“I mean? Kinda? Will you like, die if it’s exposed to air?”

“Listen, I’ll show you, if you want to freaking see so bad.” He lifted the patch. He had to manually pry his eyelids apart—they were still swollen. He closed his left eye, just to see how well he could see her—everything was sort of a bright, slanted blur.

Amalia made a face. “Ew. It’s all red. Is that blood? Nasty. I see a coagulated mass of—something. There is straight-up slime in your eye, dude.”

Ben put the patch back on. “Yeah—I’ve been trying to, like—cry it out, but I can’t think of anything sad enough to make me cry. I dunno. I’ve had a hard time feeling emotion lately, in general.”

He said it, and then realized he hadn’t wanted to say it. He backtracked as quickly as he could.

“But now that you’re here, Mal, all I gotta do is look at your ugly mug,” he quipped.

Amalia rolled her eyes so hard she pretty much just rolled her whole head. “Hardee har har. Have you looked in a mirror? Geez, Solo, you can’t say shit like that to girls.”

“Oh—you’re a girl? Oh my Force, I didn’t realize. Sorry, miss.”

She wound up and punched him in the arm. Hard.

“Ow! Bruh. I’m already injured.”

“Well, you weren’t injured enough,” Amalia huffed. “Fixed it for you.”

“I’m telling Uncle Luke.”

“Yeah, go run and tell your Uncle Luke. Pissbaby.”

Ben tried to think of something clever to retort, but then his eye started hurting again, and he felt kind of sick. He hissed and lowered himself down into the grass, which seemed to initiate a truce.

Amalia leaned down. “You okay, bro?”

“Yeah—fine.”

“Are you still allowed to train and stuff?”

“I’m not supposed to do any ‘strenuous activity’ for four weeks.”

“Well, you were never getting any, anyway,” Amalia snickered. “Now you just have an excuse.”

Ben wrinkled his nose. “Ew. No, I mean…”

“Does lifting rocks with the Force count as strenuous activity? You’re not technically lifting them physically.”

“Eh. I always give myself headaches when I do that normally, anyway, so…maybe just littler rocks.”

“When are you gonna be able to see again?”

“Out of this eye?”

“Yeah, well, which eye do you think I’m kriffin’ talking about, dumbass—“

“I don’t know.”

“…Damn.” Amalia sat down next to him. “Sucks.”

“Yeah, I mean…I know it’s gonna be months. Maybe a year. And I don’t even know if it’ll ever be the same. Probably not.”

Amalia twitched her lips to one side. “Does it bother you?”

“Like, what, the pain? Or…”

“No, like…losing your vision. Like, coping with the loss.”

Ben shrugged. “…I dunno. Sure ain’t the biggest thing I’ve lost. It’s hard, I guess, knowing you’ll never be the same, but…I was already never gonna be the same, so…” He trailed off.

Amalia nodded at the horizon, picking a blade of grass apart with her fingers. “Yeah…I get how that is.”

They sat there in silence for a few moments. A low breeze came and rustled the grass.

“…Maybe I’ll gain some kind of extra Force sensitivity,” Ben said hopefully. “To compensate. Or something.”

“Yeah,” said Amalia. “Or…maybe you won’t, and you’ll just be half-blind.”

Ben threw her a tired glance. “Thanks, Mal. You’re a real pal.”

“What can I say? I try to offer a realistic outlook on life.”

“Hm.”

“But, for real though…let me know if you need anything. Okay, Solo?”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Like what? Another punch in the arm?”

“Well, yeah, if you need that, I’m your girl. But, uh, seriously. Like if you need to talk, or…” She gestured vaguely at nothing.

“No offense, Mal? But you are not great at talking.”

“Hey. Never said I was. Just said that I would. Or if you wanna, like, just go throw rocks in the pond together, or something. Go look for weird bugs. Climb that cliffside Luke said not to climb. You know?”

Ben smirked. “Ha. Okay. Yeah. Gotcha. And then I’ll bang my head real hard, and knock out my other eye.”

“Exactly. You get me.” Amalia stood up and dusted the grass off her tunic. “Well…I’m on kitchen prep with Fannie and Meliko tonight, so…guess I gotta go. Do an extra meditation for me, will ya? Fannie drives me nuts.”

“Really? She’s so nice.”

“Yeah,” Amalia scoffed. “That’s what drives me nuts.”

Ben snorted. “Well, okay, Mal. See ya at dinner, then, I guess.”

“Will you see me though?”

“Dude, shut up!”

[em-ontv]

What you wanted.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!fem!reader

Summary: you were the newest member of Payback, and despite everything, you stayed, wanting to prove yourself to them, to Soldier Boy. And in the end, you did get what you wanted.

Warnings: angst, violence/death, cursing/language (x2), emotional distress, toxic dynamics with a change of heart, not proofread, english is not my first language

Word count: 1.5k

…

Payback was like a hierarchy, everyone tearing each apart constantly, and you were at the bottom.

As the newest member of the team, you were hopeful, bright-eyed, and eager to prove yourself. Help people, it's what you always wanted, and when given a chance to Payback, of course you took it.

Yet, it didn't take long for reality to strike you.

In the beginning, it was small things. A jab at your ability, mocking your power set. While others on the team could incinerate enemies, bend steel, or slice a man in half with the flick of a wrist, your gift seemed... underwhelming.

You had the ability to project shields, barriers that could defend, you were meant to protect. No one cared about defense in Payback. You weren't flashy, weren't vicious, and most of all, you didn't fit into their mold of what the "perfect supe" in this world should be.

At first, you tried to laugh along with their teasing, play it off like it didn't bother you. But it did. Desperately. You wanted to fit in. You thought joining Payback meant you'd finally have a family, that maybe your powers would be seen as useful. Heroic, even. But they viewed you as weak. Pathetic. Worthless. A "nothing" supe, as Swatto called you during one of their endless group training sessions.

But it wasn't just words.

They'd shove you around, put you in dangerous situations during missions just to watch you squirm. When you tried to prove yourself—tried to show them what you could do—they'd turn their backs or laugh harder. They didn't care how hard you worked, how many times you had thrown yourself into the line of fire, hoping for even a shred of respect.

And Ben?

Ben was different. He barely looked at you in those early days, unless it was to sneer at your constant smiles, your relentless optimism. It grated him. You were too... happy. Too soft for this world. Trying too hard. He couldn't stomach it.

The first time it happened, you didn't even see it coming. A punch, swift and hard, sent you sprawling to the ground. You remembered the words he said to you. How could you forget? "You don't belong here."

You tasted blood in your mouth, your brain disassociated with the world after that. You couldn't hear what he said afterwards.

You felt your vision starting to blur, your eyes starting to sting, but you refused to let him see you cry.

The tears came later, in the dark corners of the compound, when you were alone. You wiped them away, but more took their place. You told yourself tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow, you'd do it. You'd earn his respect.

That tomorrow never came.

Day after day, you were waiting for that tomorrow—when that look on his face would be replaced with something else. But it never happened. And in the worst moments, when his anger flared and he got violent, you didn't scream, didn't fight back—and didn't know how to. You just looked at him. He didn't understand it, but it just seemed to enrage him more. How could someone be so stubborn? So stupid?

But after a while, something changed. Ben started getting used to you. You were like an annoying fly buzzing around—always there, always smiling, even when he put you down, when the team put you down. Those injuries you soothed yourself. He couldn't understand it. Couldn't understand why you stayed.

But you stayed, no matter how many times he tried to break you.

And that did something to him. Slowly. Painfully.

He started to notice things about you. How you could take a punch, but never once raised your fist in return. How you didn't flinch anymore when he shouted orders, your eyes not wide with fear but some kind of... trust. When he lashed out, you didn't look at him like he was a monster. You just looked like you saw something more. Maybe you found something, maybe you found nothing. But you tried. And for the first time in a long time, Ben felt something crack in that cold heart of his.

Maybe he wasn't as invincible as he thought.

But as much as his feelings shifted, his behavior didn't. Not at first. He still pushed you away, still spat insults. And yet, you remained. The team still treated you like a joke. But Ben? He started seeing you differently. There were moments, brief as they were, where he'd find himself watching you, wondering why you still showed up every day. How you hadn't given up yet. It would be so easy to just walk out the door. But no, you didn’t.

What was it about you?

One night, after a mission, you were sitting in the dark, nursing bruises and scratches, trying to stitch up a nasty cut. Ben had found you, watched from the shadows as you silently worked the needle, slow inhales and exhales of your breath in the air.

"Why are you still here?" He muttered, and for the first time, he didn't seem angry.

You looked up, slightly startled by his presence, but you smiled—of course you did. "Same reason as everyone else, I guess. To prove I belong somewhere in the world."

He scoffed softly, shaking his head. "You don't belong here. Not with us."

Those words again. You should've been hurt by that, should've let the words cut deep like they always did, but instead, you just chuckled under your breath, sounding a bit tired. "Maybe not. But I'm not leaving."

Ben didn't say anything for a few seconds, and it seemed like he might just turn and walk away. But instead, he sat down nearby, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. You didn't ask why he stayed, didn't bother to question it. You just continued stitching yourself up.

The turning point happened during a mission. It was supposed to be a simple operation, nothing Payback hadn't dealt with before. But as with most things, nothing went according to plan. Not this time.

The enemies had been waiting. They were ready—prepared with weapons designed to hurt supes, and they were gunning for Soldier Boy. The leader, the face of the operation.

The moment you saw the explosives, something inside you snapped. This was your moment. Your chance to finally show Ben—and the whole team—that you could be more than the punchline they saw you as.

The explosion was coming, fast and unforgiving, and Ben was in the line of fire. He was distracted, too busy ripping apart enemies to see it. But you saw it.

You acted without thinking. Your powers flared to life in an instant, the energy surrounding him like a shield just as the explosives detonated.

The impact was unlike anything you'd ever felt. The force of it knocked the wind from your lungs, and you could feel the burn tearing through your skin, shredding your body. But you held on. You had to.

Your shield absorbed the brunt of the blast, protecting Ben, keeping him safe while it tore you apart. The pain was blinding, sharp, every nerve in your body screamed, but you didn't let go. Not until the danger had passed. Not until he was safe.

And then... the world went quiet.

When he turned around, it was too late. You were on the ground, body broken, barely even recognizable anymore. But even then, your hand was still outstretched, fingers curled as if still trying to shield him. His eyes widened, a strange panic rising in his chest. He dropped to his knees beside you, hands hovering over your form, unsure of what to do.

You weren't breathing.

His chest tightened, his throat dry. He could barely speak.

"Hey... come on, get up," he growled, but his voice faltered. "Get the fuck up right now."

You didn't move. You didn't answer.

Ben's heart pounded in his chest, he felt something close to fear. His voice wavered. "Don't you fucking do this to me… I didn't ask for this.”

He grabbed the front of your suit, shaking you, but it was no use. Your head lolled back, your face bloodied, eyes that were once bright now dull and lifeless.

He stared at you, the weight of it crashing down on him, crushing him, and he felt like he was suffocating.

You had saved him. You—a supe with the power of protection, a supe who Payback thought was nothing. You, who had stood by him even when he'd treated you like nothing. You, who had looked at him with those stupid, trusting eyes. You had proven yourself today, hadn't you?

But you were gone.

The world around him faded into the background. The shouts of his team, the chaos of the mission—everything disappeared. There was only you, lying there, your light extinguished. And as Ben stared at you, he couldn't shake the thought that maybe death wasn't the one that took your light.

Maybe it was him.

And he would have to carry that weight with him for the rest of his life.

In the end, you got what you wanted. You had proven yourself. You had shown Ben—shown everyone—what you were capable of. You saved him, protected him like you always did. But the cost had been your life... and you weren't here to finally see the acceptance that you were a part of the team, a part of Payback. And a part of Ben's heart.

[syoddeye]

consequence / hyacinth

price x f!reader | 1.9k words series directory tags: exes, angst, references to depression. a/n: an ex boyfriend. a story. a kiss. ☕

a surprise trap door. an errant self-driving car. a jet engine falling from the sky. anything to get you out of this.

hyperbolic? maybe. necessary? absolutely. forty-five minutes, and you haven’t gotten a word in edgewise. ben drones on about his studio and his upcoming exhibition. you brought this on yourself by doing the polite thing and asking him how are you?—lesson learned. 

it hurts. it blisters to hear how happy and successful he is and how he’s moved on from the breakup. as if he didn’t leave you hanging with a dinner you couldn’t afford after admitting that he cheated. he hasn’t asked about your wrist, your old flat, or your art career.

eventually, he stands. sets you free.

“i should go, long trip home,” he says, eyes glued to an incoming text. “it was lovely to catch up. thanks for holding onto this junk for me.” he hoists the box off the seat beside him and tucks it under an arm.

you let him kiss your cheek. “yeah. of course.”

he doesn’t look back. you wish you could do the same. 

you order another cider and resolve to not remain looking like the miserable slump you are.

~~~~

>> are you in town?

>> if you are, i could use a drinking buddy

john’s hair is still damp when he spots her at a two-top in the garden, nursing a cider. he waves, then ducks inside for his own drink. his head buzzes with whatever this invite means.

he checked with the florist twice to ensure the flowers arrived intact at her place. made the woman on the phone read back his apologetic note and bit his tongue when she reminded him it wasn’t her ‘place to say whether it sounded good enough or not’. he never heard if she liked them.

there’s a stiffness to her smile but relief in her voice. “you came.”

“‘course.”

“how’re you?”

in six words or less, he knows something’s off. he eases onto the seat, trying to exude a sense of humor and not telegraph his one hundred questions. “undercaffeinated, but i’m more interested in how you’re doing.”

“i noticed you hadn’t stopped in.”

“didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“about that. it was rude of me to kick you out without warning.”

guilt isn’t what he wants. he adjusts course to shoulder the blame. “i crossed a line.”

she isn’t having it. “please, it was rude. i know you weren’t trying to…”

“cross a line? overstep?”

her mouth wavers undecided between a frown and a smile. “you didn’t know. i could’ve explained. spare you £45.”

you. little.

“so you did get them. the note, too?” she nods. “then why the radio silence? hyacinths a bad choice?”

“no, they’re perfect. i just. i sort of froze. i had a rough couple of days.”

the hangdog expression she hides with the glass makes his chest hurt. “i’ve been told i’m a decent listener.”

“it’s a long story.”

“i got time.” he offers quietly. “just got back. caught me in the shower, actually.”

her eyes narrow, curious. “did you dress and come straight here?”

“well, it’s generally frowned upon to walk around naked.”

he beams at her laugh, her shaking shoulders. for a moment, her whole face lights up. it relaxes her posture as it peters off, leaving her looking less like a cornered mouse than when he initially sat down. 

“so.” john pushes carefully. “the paintings.”

her smile lapses into something unreadable, a pause to find the right place to begin. her fingers trace the table’s grate.

when she finally speaks, she refocuses. meets his eye. good. he doesn’t want to twist her arm to get the story. the tale starts innocently enough.

the woman is hannah, her best friend and a ceramicist. they met on the first day of her mfa and were paired for the terms project shortly thereafter. they quickly became inseparable, until his girl met ben.

~~

“i can’t talk about hannah without talking about ben. to talk about ben, you need context.”

john leans in. his thick eyebrows lift in a silent go on. 

“they say it happens when you’re not looking, right?” you nervously laugh, smiling at the table sheepishly, unable to meet his eye. “well, i met ben at a networking event. last place i thought i’d find a date, rubbing elbows with alumni. but he introduced himself, said he liked my portfolio book. told me about his work and all these shows he’d done. he took me to lunch the next day.” 

you wince at the memory, crystal clear and acutely embarrassing. how starry-eyed you’d been. your throat dries, sandpaper scraping down your esophagus at the thought of ben scribbling his number on your wrist. you clear your throat.

“then he asked me to dinner. during lunch.”

if john’s disgusted or disappointed, he doesn’t show it. his self-control is infuriating yet reliable. steady where you’re shaky.

why can’t i be like that?

you push on.

“without diving into minutiae, i eventually had to introduce hannah and ben. they hounded me, because if i wasn’t with one, i was with the other.” 

“jealous of each other.”

“i think so. i agonized. they’re big personalities, i thought they’d clash.” you replay their first meeting in your head. you have a thousand times. “and they did.”

~~

‘differing artistic opinions’ and ‘absurd expectations’ are the root causes of the squabbling she describes. her words, not his.

(he thinks of less charitable ways to characterize interpersonal conflict.)

barrages of text messages competing for her attention. underhanded attempts to get her to cancel plans with the other. emergencies that turned out to be trivial. guilt trips. one particularly ugly screaming match at a mutual friend’s birthday.

(if it were him, he thinks, they’d’ve lost privileges long ago.)

“it took weeks for them to come around to the idea of each other.”

“what was the catalyst?

“me again.”

john hums. he watches her rest against the back of her seat, her arms crossing and tightening over her chest. compressing herself as much as she can. embarrassment rolls off her in waves. he doesn’t say a word, afraid he’ll cut what courage she’s mustered off at the knees.

she has her own idea.

“can we—are you finished?” 

his glass is two-thirds empty, and he polishes off the rest. a fist squeezes his heart when her lip twitches at his abruptness. she makes it difficult to be collected with his interest.

“where to?”

“where else.”

it’s a challenge, defending oneself from an insistent, bullying cat. cece shows no mercy.

“she likes beards.”

“does she see many beards?”

“just a theory.” she leans against the cushions, watching him and the cat, a glass of water held in both hands. “yours is the only one she’s tried.”

in the end, after negotiations, cece loafs between them. her purr a white noise.

“where were we?” her tone suggests she knows precisely where.

“the truce and you.”

her eyes find a spot past his head to rest. he’s tempted to tilt his head into her line of sight, assuming that nudging her on home turf’s a safer bet than in public. but the hesitant, almost imperceptible exhale that leaves her keeps him still.

“alright. so. me.” her chest expands with another sigh. “i was already struggling two terms into school. really struggling. when i applied, i had this clear vision, but then classes started, i met my peers, and suddenly it felt like everything i thought i knew just disappeared. nothing looked right, nothing felt right. i pulled constant all-nighters. sat through brutal critiques. i’m lucky i had thick skin from my job, otherwise, i might have dropped out to join a convent or the circus.”

immediately, his mind conjures the image of a tattooed nun, swiftly followed by a tattooed strongwoman. his lip quirks. he hastily buries what those do for him. later. 

their gazes meet briefly to share a smile.

she licks her lips after a drink and sets the glass aside.

“they realized their bickering wasn’t helping, so they put their heads together. kind of forced us to become the three musketeers. they helped me where they could, and things smoothed out between them in the process. he found her ceramics shows to exhibit. let her move her wheel into our joint space. we were in close quarters, and i needed it. i needed them.”

a couch width is suddenly too far a distance with how she crumples. something difficult passes over her face, and she excuses it with a shrug.

“despite their joint efforts, i barely scraped by that first year. i was burnt out, miserable, and i spent two weeks holed up alone, trying to not go off the rails.”

oh, sweetheart.

“where were they?”

“hannah was visiting family stateside, and ben was traveling for work.”

not that his schedule allows flexibility, not that he’s behaved the perfect partner in the past—but john knows instantly that he would not have left her. he’d’ve been there. the more he hears about ben, the more he wants to meet him. come to a violent understanding. impart a lesson or two on loyalty.

“when ben returned, he told me he decided to move here to ‘reconnect with the country’. something about ‘capturing and celebrating the bucolic’. he wanted long-distance, but i, uh, i said i’d rather quit and move with him. we fought and he called in reinforcements. at hannah and ben’s…encouragement, i finished out the term. and it nearly killed me. as you know, i withdrew.”

john often reads between the lines. a vital skill, interpreting indirect and unintended communication. what’s unsaid. shame pulls her inward again, a moment where she seems smaller. swallowed by the enormity of whatever she doesn’t say. can’t say.

“i know they were disappointed. they didn’t need to say anything. hannah felt abandoned, and ben burdened by my tagging along. i got this awful feeling the morning we left and i ignored it. i was convinced leaving school behind and taking a break from art would fix me.” 

cece stretches, stands, and allows herself to be scooped up. 

she holds the cat under its front legs, bringing their faces closer together. “but it’s like that saying or whatever. ‘wherever you go, there you are’. i got here. settled in. and i was still a loser.”

it’s instinct.

“you’re not–”

she bulldozes.

“i started working at the café. ben booked murals. he painted the big one a few streets over.”

he’s familiar. “the one with–?”

“yep.” she releases cece. “he tried to get me to paint. he begged me. but i couldn’t do it. things took a turn last summer when ben won a huge job in the city, which snowballed into an invitation to exhibit. hannah got busy with the final stretch of the program, and couldn’t visit much.”

“so you were alone again.”

“yeah.” her voice thins, then breaks. “alone again.” she digs the heels of her palms into her eyes before a single tear drops off her lashes. 

john’s beside her before doubt seeds itself in his mind. one arm gathers her to his side, his chin lifting then settling atop her head when she tucks closer. his other arm winds around her, and the slight tremors of her distress ripple through him. she’s quiet, not quite sobbing, but sucking in deep breaths. he rubs her back in a slow circle, murmuring nothings.

“what do you need?” he asks as she gradually stills.

she sniffs. 

“sleep.”

without thinking, he kisses the crown of her head. “okay.”

john only catches a glimpse as she hands him a quilt. but he sees them. blue hyacinths, pinned and drying above her bed.

“sorry. this is all i got. you set?”

he smiles at her sweet, tear swollen eyes. 

“yeah. i’ve got all i need.”

[jaicey]

Hidden Desires

Oneshot

Summary: You come home late after hanging out with Lonnie and she's jealous.

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: angst? Idk, not proofread and unresolved feelings. Doesn't follow the descendants plot, let's all pretend they all still share dorms okay pookies?

A/N: made this in 3am when I randomly got a brain fart, 10 yr old me would be so proud of embracing my gayness for Evie, also so glad the fandom is alive again.

The cool night air nipped at your skin as you tiptoed towards yours, Evie's and Mal's dorm—though, considering Mal mostly slept at her boyfriend Ben's dorm, it might as well have been yours and Evie's. But Tonight, you prayed for her presence, a silent plea to the universe to spare you Evie's wrath for your tardiness. Holding your breath, you gently turned the door handle, feeling a cold shiver run down your spine. You nearly sighed in relief when you found it unlocked, but your efforts to sneak in quietly went to waste as the door suddenly swung open, blowing stray hairs out of your face. Your heart pounded as it revealed, Evie. Her striking blue hair seemed to amplify the icy coldness of her expression

"Where have you been?" The dark blue-haired woman spoke in a flat voice, her expression stony. You knew what this meant.

Or did you?

Your body went slack under her intense gaze like a deer caught in headlights.

There was a strange contrast between her imposing figure and the ethereal glow cast upon her by the moonlight filtering through the window. She looked... Hot breathtakingly beautiful- You're doing it again! A wave of heat flushed your face as you shook your head to clear your thoughts and quickly averted your gaze to look over her shoulder, spotting one lit lamp and no sign of the purple-haired girl. You cursed under your breath and looked back at Evie. Your breath hitched as she tilted her head, eyes half-lidded, expecting an answer.

You sighed and finally gave in. "Me and Lonnie were hanging out at her dorm... and I didn't realize how late it got."

"Of course, you were at her place again." Evie rolled her eyes and scoffed.

"You were supposed to help me tonight. You promised." she reminded you, and you missed the slight quiver in her voice.

"I'm so, so sorry, Vie! I got really caught up in—" your mind raced, trying to find a plausible excuse. 'You got really caught up in ranting your growing feelings for Evie to Lonnie,' your inner voice taunted.

Crossing your arms against the chill of the hallway, you wondered if it was the cold seeping into your bones or Evie's icy glare that made you shiver, or maybe both.

As if sensing your discomfort, she grabbed your arm and dragged you into the room, slamming the door behind you. Your body gradually warmed, but Evie's cold stare remained fixed on you.

She turned away with a sigh, heading towards her bed. There, she grabbed a stylish blue jacket accented with black before returning to hand it to you. Hesitantly, you slipped it on, finding solace in its warmth and the lingering scent of her.

"I can still help," you offered, your gaze wandering over her surprisingly tidy desk. It was odd. Usually, it was a chaotic mess of patterned papers, colorful threads, and half-finished projects. She always cleaned up the next day.

Weird.

"It's fine. You should rest. You look exhausted from whatever you and Lonnie were up to," she said, her voice dripping with barely concealed disdain. You didn't notice it though, of course you didn't.

Had their fencing match really been that intense? You attempted to fix your hair, though you doubted it made a difference. A vivid memory surfaced of your earlier debacle with Lonnie, where you’d spent the entire session hitting her with the blade while rambling about Evie, all on the misguided advice that it would help.

Clearly, it hadn't.

"Vie, are you okay?" You ventured deeper into the room, her eyes holding an unreadable emotion.

"Yes,"

"Are you sure? You don't look it. If it's about not being able to help you like I promised, I'm really sorry, Vie. I'll make it up to you, I swear! I'll even make Lonnie—"

"Yes! I'm sure!" she interrupted, plopping down on her bed. "Sleep."

"Alright...if you say so," you muttered, letting the matter drop. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you flopped onto the bed beside hers. You rolled onto your back, facing Evie's turned form.

Five minutes later, sleep remained elusive. You tossed and turned, counting imaginary sheep to no avail. Frustration gnawed at you. Opening your eyes again, you found Evie still restless, her body shifting as she searched for a comfortable position. With a creak of the bed, you gave up and stood up.

You hesitated, biting your lip as you leaned towards her seemingly sleeping form. A gentle tap on her shoulder was your next move. This couldn't be weird, right? You two had done this countless times as kids. You're doing this platonically, Right?

"Can I-" Your words were cut short as a strong hand yanked you onto the bed beside her. She rolled over, facing away from you, a muffled "yes you may" escaping her lips. Relief washed over you as you slid under the covers. Her warmth was comforting, a familiar sensation that brought back memories of countless childhood nights spent huddled together against the cold. This was how it was supposed to be, you realized. You'd do anything to preserve this moment, even if it meant burying your growing feelings deep down. For now, this was enough.

Evie turned to face you, a soft smile playing on her lips as she watched you sleep. Your mouth was slightly open, and you were snoring lightly. A fleeting thought crossed her mind, a dangerous impulse to kiss you. But it was quickly dismissed as she reached out to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. a gentle gesture that belied the turmoil within her.

Her mind raced back to earlier. Why were you so insistent on spending time with Lonnie? What could she possibly have that Evie didn't? She was prettier, smarter—well, at least in her own mind. And yet, you'd broken your promise to help her with her shop, a lie she'd made just to keep you close. It was a desperate plea, a transparent attempt to cling to your presence. Was she jealous? The thought was absurd. She didn't like you...or did she? No, it was just protectiveness, pure and simple. If only you knew how she truly felt.

Her gaze drifted to your lips, and she found herself tracing their outline with her thumb. A wave of fear washed over her. What if you left her once you discovered her feelings? The thought of losing your friendship was unbearable. She would do anything to maintain this fragile balance, even if it meant burying her emotions deep within.

I might or might not make a part two idk

[iifoundjoy]

BEAR WITH ME.

warning: spoilers for ep 75

i was just scrolling through tiktok and then the thought occurred to me that everyone grew up together (minus ben and aiden) and basically never interacted until the group project. yeah, duh, that's the whole premise of their strange group at first, but it just strikes a cord to think that these kids who have become so inseparable were so close to each other this whole time without even knowing it, without even knowing that they needed each other.

because why now, after all these years, would they? after all, they were just strangers who occasionally saw each other in the hall or during class, strangers that they could never understand, right? they were just too different.

i mean, just think about how taylor says she's always noticed ashlyn since they were kids and how she was always on her own. she didnt understand how ash could be content with that, isn't it lonely?

tyler is most likely, lets face it, pretty popular. when we're introduced to him and taylor they're in this huge group of typical jocks due to tyler being on the baseball team. ashlyn and logan must've known him before due to that, seen them parading through the halls. and seeing as how neither logan nor ash like loud noises or crowds very much they probably wrote him off as a loud jock and went about their day. maybe saw how cold and angry he was with everyone but his sister and thought he must be unpleasant to be around.

as for logan, he, like ash, is pretty obviously very much a background character in everyone else's lives. most likely a loner just like ashlyn, very shy. if the rest of the gang ever noticed him it was probably nothing more than a glance. because logan at the time was nothing more than barrons stereotypical nerd that does his homework because he's scared of what will happen if he doesn't.

it just makes me ILL that these people who would grow to care so much about each other were all so close without knowing it, hell, they probably passed each other in their towns grocery store multiple times before. maybe seen tyler play in one of his games with taylor yelling above everyone else because that's her brother, saw ashlyn perform and dance, saw logan reading in the astronomy section in the library.

and yet they didn't know they'd ever learn to trust these strangers with their lives every night. that they would learn that tyler is more than just a loud, angry jock. he loves and cares about his sister, took up being basically a parent from a very young age, and doesn't truly have any friends because they are just a distraction.

that taylor is every bit as friendly as she let's others believe, but if you mess with her brother or her friends that sun can cloud over so quick.

that ashlyn likes to be alone but given the time and patience, she would love to be alone with you. that she doesn't want to, but if she's needed, she will step up and be the leader you need. sure, she isn't good at "friends" and she'll make mistakes, but she owns up to them because she tries and she cares.

and finally, logan, who at first is so shy and unsure, yet is quick-witted and brave enough to make hard choices and learn where he fits in with a group. to stand up against someone who bullied him and threatened him daily and help someone else from going down the same path he did.

AND PLEASE don't even get me started on ben and aiden.

those two have been practically alone their whole lives until they met each other. all aiden had was the dark room that reeked of molding food and people he hung around just to pass the time because he knew they weren't permanent, nothing ever was with his parents.

and ben's only friend before aiden being the music he could create before it was taken away from him, and all he had left was the broken melodies that he tried to find in every punch he threw.

they were both so, so alone and seeking something that would stay, something that would last because everything else that made them happy seemed to fall just out of reach now.

but just one move away, one final move to a small town in georgia held everything that could hurt and heal them all in one. they were all what everyone needed, even if they didn't know it and it drives me insane that if these kids hadn't been put through hell, they never would have found each other.

and they're more than willing to claw their way out together, not because they have to to survive, but because they want to so that they can live.

red what have you dooone 😭/pos

[fanofseabassanddorito]

Dear Chris Evans,

I’ve waited and watched. I’ve gone back and forth with Real vs PR. I’m just a fan, of your work, but I also because of what you seemed to stand for and acted like a real person. I think I’m done now.

There has been questionable ‘sightings’ even though you claim to want to be private. Your friends and hers have posted the two of you. You have posted her twice yourself. But then you seem to hide her. That isn’t a good look. If you are in love with someone, you don’t hide them because you want to be private yet leak photos and hints to keep your fans spiraling when you know how some can be.

We all know celebrities use social media for what they WANT fans to see. Why? Because they want privacy, as they should, to separate their work world from real life. I completely agree with doing so, BUT I don’t agree with going back and forth. You owe fans nothing except maybe the respect that goes both ways. After all, your fans have been the reason you have your paychecks. I think we deserve a little bit of respect not to be played by what you say in interviews vs. what you show yourself to be through your actions.

There are so many examples of couples being private but NOT hiding significant others like they are embarrassed to be seen. A real private couple does things together but do not post montages on their socials, like scare videos and couples pictures. People do not call paparazzi unless they want to be seen. A real private couple does still go to things together, they don’t hide but they don’t bring attention to themselves. Real private couples do not let things drop during a special date for something else. One example, the NYC pap walk on the day that Warrior Nun season 2 dropped right after SMA.

Tabloids run on things they are given. There have been more articles about you and this girl than Harry and Meghan, Jennifer and Ben, etc., etc., etc. your reps have never confirmed anything. IMDb does not list her as your wife. Your mother liked a tweet about the girl being racist.

I had no issues at first, thinking you wanted privacy, which I thought was a great idea, given your fandom. I gave you the benefit of the doubt for a good while. But then it seemed like her friends and yours, her mom, along with the likes on IG, proved this isn’t private. Certain social media sites have been the only ones to randomly get these pictures that are nowhere to be found. It’s only a few, and they usually come at specific times when there is doubt. Friends posted from Lisbon, Avengers in MA, and the wedding rumors began. I’m sorry, but when there is an NDA, then the wedding news should not have leaked because the NDA would cover that. And if you have to ask people to turn in their phones to attend, that’s rude and you’ve invited people you don’t trust.

Showing up to a convention, with a ring on but you can’t say her name. Just ‘Go Portugal!’ And then go on about Dodger.

Let’s not even get into photoshopped or not photoshopped because I don’t even know anymore.

I could go on and on but it saddens me. I cannot be a fan of someone just because of their projects, and that’s just me. I have kept quiet, because it’s none of my business what you do with your life. What is my business though, is who I give my hard earned money to. Barely getting by on what I make, medications and food for my kids continue to rise in cost, but they also enjoy Captain America because he seemed like a good guy in real life too. Now they come to me with things they’ve seen online like Captain America’s new wife nude in the shower. They have seen people posting about her friends and their previous tweets, and things they’ve said. Why? Because you have played games with your fandom and they got pissed and exposed things. Let’s be honest, kids get online and see things even if they aren’t supposed to. Luckily they didn’t see your ‘slip’ up, because your fans cleaned that for you quickly, but the shower pictures continue to be passed around. They also said in some of the pictures they saw you post that they thought you had a daughter but found out it was your girlfriend.

I would make sure you don’t have any more slip ups because I feel like your fans are limited at this point. The ones that see your work the day it comes out. That’s one reason why Ghosted flopped. Before this, your fans would have said you did wonderful even if you didn’t.

After the new picture of the two of you at the Globes after party, I CHOOSE to not be a fan and hand you my money. I know it isn’t much, but I will choose to spend it on a different movie or person at a convention. Maybe I just won’t have a favorite anymore because it seems like a lot just tell fans what they want to hear.

I don’t know if it’s Real or PR and don’t care but it’s the game you seem to be playing that I don’t like. I don’t care what people think of my opinion and have not posted anything about a side. I just know you look like such a hypocrite and lose fans by the hour now. So many blogs and pages that are team PR or Team Real and they argue over who is right and wrong, because you and everyone around you are playing with them. You are using them for free publicity and that is sickening. I didn’t believe it was happening and you were just trying to protect your love life. But, eventually, it was just so obvious with the tiniest bit of things creeping in on the same sites and coincidences on dates. Mostly, I just don’t want to watch all the drama that has become part of being your fan. I like to escape the real world by looking at my favorite celebrities and what they are up to or their movies etc. I don’t want to see the gross mess you have become. She looks like your daughter, so I choose to leave. You don’t know me or care because I’m just one fan, but I do know who you want people to see you as now and I don’t like this version. Be private or just don’t hide. Look happy, not miserable. Treat her like your love and wife, because I would never allow my boyfriend/husband treat me the way it appears you are treating her. To the public, she looks like a mail order bride that jumps as soon as you tell her too. It’s gross.

So, it’s been a long, fun ride being your fan until now. Enjoy traveling back and forth and wear sunscreen to the beach, because boy are you white. Research the word ‘privacy’ and maybe get those NDA’s to the people leaking things if you want privacy or take their phones from them when they are in your proximity. Invest in energy drinks next, she’s a lot younger and likes to travel and have sex (maybe check out her soft porn). Let Buddah know she did a film with a demon having sex with her. Maybe purchase a plane and get a pilots license, because older dogs don’t travel as well as they age and that’s a long ride to Portugal. Remind your wife to keep her clothes on and keep your 🍆 in your pants because I think Team Real is even over this mess and don’t want to see it. Thanks for the laughs and smiles over the years. I wish you luck and hope you’re happier than you actually look.

Sincerely,

An Ex-Fan of Christopher Robert Evans

[lowkeyrobin]

Hello! I was wondering if you could please do newt (platonic/familial) with a younger sibling who makes/mends close and personality wise is similar to Luz from TOH? Thank you! :D

yesyesyesyesyesywsyes omg please keep the maze runner requests coming I'm very very fixated atm kdk how to function, PLEASE SPAM ME W TMR REQS RJNENE ; anyways thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy!! ; post writing robin here, I tried with the personality like Luz but I struggled for some reason so I'm so sorry about that LMAO

NEWT ; clothing maker/mender

summary ; you make and mend clothing around the Glade, and Newt is somehow always there to help

warnings ; language, Newt is still a runner so pre-injury era

genre ; platonic fluff

word count ; 1.1k

masterlist

The day you came up in the box, you were frightened and felt like you didn't fit in with the other kids of the Glade. You were socially awkward and didn't know how to talk to people, although being a people pleaser.

Talking was just hard for you, but luckily, Newt understood. He tucked you under his wing and tried to help you fit in with the others, but to no avail. Nothing was sticking out to you, it wasn't like jobs were supposed to be enjoyable but you truly couldn't fit in anywhere. The fifteen year old boy with dirty blonde hair was there for you, though, reassuring you that actually becoming a Glader, even after remembering your name, took time.

Becoming a Runner was off the table at day one, you had zero stamina and could barely run for shit, let alone your life, you and Newt, and Alby, Minho, and the other Runners quickly agreed upon that. Being a Builder was quickly eliminated as well, because you didn't want to deal with obnoxious assholes like Gally, Hank, and Alec all day long. Plus, you knew nothing about "structural integrity" or whatever the hell they were talking about anyways, wood to hammer to nail was all you saw.

You quickly gained a friendship with Winston after a month or two in the Glade, but no way in Hell were you joining the Slicers either. You'd gain an emotional attachment to the animals much too quickly to then watch them die, the emotional despair would be a bit much at the moment. Bagger was also off the charts, leaving Med-Jack and Track-Hoe on the table for you.

Newt wasn't going to let you become a Slopper, considering you weren't bad at helping people nor farming, you just had to find your thing that you'd be comfortable doing. So, you settled on Track-Hoe as they needed more help in the gardens and you wouldn't mind getting your hands dirty, with dirt, that is. No blood.

You found, or maybe relearned, your nick for sewing one morning as you needed to repair your shirt, and ran straight to Newt with your new talent. After seeing it himself, Newt quickly bounced to Alby's side to ask if you could make mending and making clothes your job. You hadn't had any luck finding a job out of the many in the Glade, clearly, so this might've been your luck turning.

The next coming days were slow. Thankfully, Alby approved your idea of a new job, considering you and Newt wouldn't stop pestering him about it, and it'd be a great convenience to have you around for something as necessary as clothing. The builders graciously built you a little hut next to the Homestead to give you your own little place to go and work, instead of working around the Glade and potentially dirty-ing the clothes you fixed and made.

The hut consisted of a table, a loom, a hanging rack for finished projects, and a little chest system organized by all the threads, needles, etcetera. Alas, Newt was the one to help you with your new job on days when he wasn't running out in the maze. Minho switched him out with Ben or George on those days as per his request, as to help you learn how to talk to and understand the Gladers, whom you didn't understand too well yet.

But, by the time the next Greenie, Henry, arrived, you were right on track. You modeled and measured and patched and sewed your days away, finding peace in the seemingly boring activity. And by this time, Newt had become your brother figure and your best friend, considering how much he understood and supported you and helped you get some great opportunities around the Glade. And now, you were the Keeper of the Seamers, the only worker, but still the Keeper.

After a long day of running in the maze with Minho, Newt jogs to your expansion of the Homestead, desiring your help.

"Hey, Shank" He warmly smiles, closing the door made of sticks behind him. "How's your day been?"

You shrug in response. "Slow. Need me to fix anything for you?"

He awkwardly smiles and nods, looking down at his knees. His cargo pants are ripped, and the skin beneath painted a light red in comparison to his pale complexion, rug burns covering his kneecaps.

"Tripped and fell out in the maze" He explains, "Just don't want them falling apart because it kinda trailed 'round to the back" He says, tracing the little rips around his knees.

You nod. "I mean, the best solution would be keeping them like that or turning them into shorts for hot days. But I know the maze is cold and stuff, so, your call. I don't wanna ruin your running pants but I can always scrounge up new ones, and the next Greenie will be up in two days so it wouldn't be that long of a wait-"

"I'll just keep them ripped" He lightly smiles, cutting your rant off.

He knew damn well to not let you spiral over something so little, so he developed the radar to sniff out when you were about to rant about small things for an hour out of panic. He pats your shoulder before sitting down next to you, looking over at the rack of finished clothing you'd patched up and finished making.

"Oh, were you able to finish that shirt you were making for yourself?" He asks, running a hand through his hair.

Lord, he needed a haircut, although the best method of that was knives, which made it all choppy and blunt. Hopefully, WCKD would send up some cutting shears or something soon. All of your hair needed a cut desperately.

You nod, setting your needle and thread down to go grab it. You pull it off the rack and hold it to your chest. A simple, thin, off white, long sleeved shirt rests against your torso as you cheesily smile at him.

"Looks good"

"Thanks" You put the shirt back on the rack, deciding to put it back in the Homestead near your hammock later.

Newt was usually very supportive and went out of his way to show appreciation and reassurance for you, though making it casual to actually feel real for you. Once he found out that he needed to speak with you like that after reassuring that you'd live without rain, he learned the lesson.

Before you can speak again, Ben runs in, looking for your help.

"Y/n, I ripped up the sleeve of my shirt, can you fix it?" He asks, holding the grey-blue shirt up for you to see

"Yeah, sure, leave it on that table" You reply, pointing at the table in front of you.

"Thanks, you're the best!" He says, setting the shirt on the table before leaving.

Newt looks up at you and smiles, "You're getting used to talking to people, I see"

You nod, catching his infectious smile.

"Welcome to the Glade, Y/n/n"

[rockrosethistle]

A list of Nightmare Time episode ideas that I thought of and I think would be cool:

1.) Mr. Chasity has been trying to sell the old Waylon Place for far too long. After trying and failing over and over, he decides to take matters into his own hands by going in himself to see what all the fuss is about. But nothing could have prepared him to meet the real ghosts of Waylon Hall. And boy oh boy do they have shenanigans in store. (The episode would be called 'Unholy Ghost') .

2.) It's been a few months since Hatchetfield was destroyed in that awful 'accident'. Emma and Paul have been living under the aliases Kelly and Ben Bridges. (there can be a joke where Emma doesn't even pretend to care about her alias and Paul cares too much.) They live in Colorado now. Emma's finally started her pot farm, and Paul is working in marketing. For the most part, they have a good life. Only Paul's acting a bit different lately. Emma caught him humming company jingles, tapping his foot to a beat she can't hear. Maybe those spores he inhaled had some effect on him. It's probably nothing, but he's never sung in the shower before...(I don't have a name for this one yet.) .

3.) Max Jägerman is failing remedial algebra. In fact, he's doing so poorly that his dad shells out and hires him a tutor, PJ. (Bryce's nerd from 'Literal Monster.) He reluctantly lets her help him. At first it seems to work and his grades are rising steadily, but as PJ lets her guard down, Max starts to notice some things. Strange symbols scribbled in the margins of her notebook, almost like...jagged smiles? Weird stains on her hands, when she gets too close she smells like roadkill. And there's this white spider that keeps showing up in his room. Sometimes he feels like it's trying to tell him something. Or warn him. Without knowing what he's gotten himself into, Max has to evade getting his soul swallowed by a hungry god of darkness. (The episode is called 'Dirty Dude Soup') .

4.) Charlotte Sweetly is jealous. Her church friend, Carol Davidson, has exactly the kind of life she wants. Charlotte's seen the way her boss talks about his wife, and would give anything for Sam to feel that way about her. One day, Charlotte finally gathers her courage and asks her how she does it. Carol takes pity on her, and decides to reveal an important secret: it's all the product of a ritual, an ancient spell she stumbled upon on a trip to an amusement park. She claims that ever since she did it, her husband can't get enough of her. "I am all he sees. He calls me the apple of his eye." Charlotte doesn't believe her at first, but Carol gave her the instructions, and why the hell not? She tries it. Unfortunately, Charlotte messes up the wording. The spell still works, but not quite as intended. And an all-seeing police officer could be a good thing, but Sam is not a good police officer. (maybe let's call this one 'Omnipocop'. But that's awful to spell so suggestions are welcome) .

5.) While trying to be an assistant, Steph accidentally botches one of Pete's science projects. He forgives her, but she still feels bad even as he assures her it's no big deal, throwing the mix of chemicals out his window just to prove it. What he doesn't know is that the last family that lived in the Spankoffski house buried their dog in the backyard, and Pete's chemical slurry just brought it back to life. On a probably unrelated note, Paul has been trying to ignore the damage he's finding in his apartment. He's been chalking most of the tipped over garbage cans and torn apart cushion up to rats--giant rats?--or maybe a squirrel. But when a decades-old "missing dog" poster shows up on his doorstep, he can't ignore the truth for any longer. (the episode would be called "Patches' Revenge" and I thing it would work because it's just the right amount of weird. It would end with Paul teaming up with the nerds to defeat undead Patches with science.) .

6.) To his utter delight, Miss Holloway finally agreed to go out with Duke on a proper date. Nothing huge, just some ice cream and a walk on the beach. They're both enjoying themselves when Miss Holloway hears something. Duke can't hear it, but he still follows her down the shore to some kind of cave grotto, where she claims the noise is coming from. She tosses a pebble into the water, testing how it might react. A few moments later, the pebble come flying out again. Duke is stunned, but Miss Holloway tosses her ice cream cone. Sure enough, a few moments later is comes flying back, perfectly dry. They've clearly discovered something, and over the next few days, Duke and Miss Holloway experiment and try to learn about the grotto and the water in it. It's too deep to see the bottom, so their tests mostly involve tossing different things to see how they'll react. Little do they know, there was a reason Miss Holloway could hear a noise coming from the cave. There's a reason it drew her in, too. There's something singing to her, something that lives at the bottom of the grotto. And with each thing they feed it, it becomes a little bit stronger...(and then it's called something unassuming like "Wavecrest Cave")

So that's Nightmare Time season four all lined up. Please tell me if you have a good name idea for episodes 2 and 4. Also if anyone wants to use these as writing prompts, be my guest (just tag me so I can read them)

[anundyingfidelity]

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy (Part II)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.5k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: Ben being a misogynist, talks about masturbation and porn, killing threats, Ben's POV in general is a red flag, death.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII

tags: @k-slla

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part II: Silence is Peace

The next day arrived fast, and again, you found yourself walking ready to have a conversation with the supe locked in the facility. A part of you was surprised he didn't try to escape yet, but Ben, on the other hand, was just letting things flow at the moment.

The heavy, metal door opened to let you in. The supe caught by surprise seeing you coming inside full of confidence at this time in the morning. A couple of armed men in black uniforms followed behind as they settled down some furniture in the empty area of the room: two small sofas and a coffee table.

His arrogant self knew those guns wouldn't tear a single hair off of him, but hey, he understood you needed to feel safe. So meanwhile, he decided to play along. He remained still by the bathroom door as you came closer.

"I didn't request that," he said once you stood face to face.

"Oh, I know. I did, it's for your therapy," you smiled, tugging the bag on your shoulder. The armed men finished decorating the cell, and they left with a loud thud of the door being closed behind their backs. "There's been a small change of plans. I will come by every day for one hour. Anything you want you will ask me first and if I approve, then I will bring it to you."

He smirked. Like if he needed to be bossed around by a fucking woman, he thought. "You sure have the balls to stand up on me like that."

"Like I said, I want to help you," you replied, making your way and sitting down on a sofa. "Please," you requested him with a hand to do the same and he followed with curiosity. You put the bag on the coffee table, taking out a notebook, pens, a folder, and a small zip bag containing the only thing he asked from you the day before. You left his reefer on the coffee table, putting the folder in your lap as you waited for him with a smile on your face he found unsettling.

Ben still didn't buy you or your intentions, but he sat down on the opposite sofa nonetheless. You had brought him something he asked from you, something he wanted and would calm him down for a little. Hopefully it wasn't going to be that bad. He only had to put up with the game of doctor-patient. In the back of his mind, he was also grateful you dropped the stupid white coat at the same time he found your attempt to fix him ridiculous. He didn't need to get fixed.

"Your guards ain't hurting me with those guns, you know that," Ben started.

"We have to try," you shrugged. "And you're still here, that has to mean something."

He rolled his eyes. Of fucking course he had to stay. There were a lot of questions in his head. He had to settle down for a moment. Things were different in the world, he needed to learn about today's tech and get a fucking good plan to get away with his shit. Who would he get to kill first? Still thinking about it. How would he escape? Probably could use some help to keep a low profile. Could you be that help, being the only human contact he figured would have from now on? Maybe.

"So how are you feeling? Did you have some sleep?" you asked.

"I slept enough, spent the whole fucking night jerking off," he spat. "That TV of yours now does have good porn some hours in the day."

With wide eyes, you wrote down after his answer.

"Alright. But tell me, how are you feeling?" you pushed, your smile long gone and replaced with a serious face locking your gaze to his own.

"Great, never been fucking better" he smirked and you shifted on your seat.

His green eyes started checking you all over for a second. The pencil skirt hugged your legs perfectly and the blouse was tight enough to show off the size of your breasts. The clothes yelling that you were expensive and valuable for the CIA, and most important, to Mallory. Soon he sensed the discomfort emanating from you as his gaze returned to your face. God, he loved doing that, but you sure were daring to get locked inside a room with him alone.

"You can tell me the truth, you know," you said.

"I can easily break your neck and explode this shithole if I want to," he spat back.

"You won't do that. You had the chance yesterday, today even, and yet here you are."

He thought you sounded so sure about that. Ben held your gaze. Neither of you dare to break eye contact. It was like you were challenging him to something he wasn't aware of just yet. He didn't like that, but he remained there, breathing deeply with a strong look on his face. You were right though, and he realised could find you a good usage besides the obvious fucking use for pretty girls like you. He might have missed a good fuck for 40 years but the little common sense on the back of his mind told him the porn channel was enough for now.

"Listen, I know you're not a bad guy," the words fell softly from your lips. "I know you didn't mean to harm those people in Midtown... And in order to help you I could use some information on how you feel every time the blast comes-"

He stood up abruptly, strong enough to move the sofa he was sitting some feet away behind his back and yelled aggressively.

"Fuck off, bitch. What the fuck do you know about me? I don't trust your kind and you're making my threat sound like a great plan now.

You held his gaze as he made his way towards you. You were a prey in his cage, but even if you were scared, he didn't sense any sign of it. Ben's big frame towered you, standing just inches away from the couch you sat on. The space was enough for him to kill you with only one hand but you never moved or flinched a second.

"If you touch me, just a single hair on my scalp, you're fucked."

"C'mon sweetheart, you're no match for me," he mocked with a smirk on his face.

"Novichok definitely is."

He tightened his fists with his lips on a straight line, and his heartbeat increased at the mention of that fucking poison. Meanwhile, you just sat down looking at him with a blank face and innocent eyes. For a moment, he was tempted to just kill you but he forced himself to calm the fuck down. He didn't want to black out again, he certainly did not want to become a fugitive. If he was going to do something, it had to be done well.

"Soldier Boy, it's okay," you got on your feet. His eyes followed your moves. "It's fine if you don't want to talk to me. I can't force you to."

He saw a strange sparkle in your eyes. Were you pitying him? He didn't need that. And when he said nothing, then you continued.

"You accepted the deal, and that includes therapy to help you get out of your trauma. And sooner or later, you have to talk to me," you explained, he felt like a fucking child being scolded.

"You want to fucking help me and spray me with Novichok at the same time," he groaned.

"We have to take our precautions. But trust me. I’d rather not use that on you, I prefer other ways."

"This is fucking crap," he mumbled through his teeth.

He watched you making your way towards the book shelf, leaning down to grab a couple of books. He took in the curve of your ass as you knelt, and he wondered if you were doing all that little show on purpose to test him. His jaw clenched once again at the thought of being played with false promises and a cure to his memories.

"I can leave, but I will come tomorrow," you tossed two books on the coffee table: one about PTSD, the other one about new technology for him to start educating himself on that. "Start reading those and write down in the notebook anything you have to say. It can be about the books, your thoughts, your feelings... Anything you want. I don't have to know unless you want me to."

If looks could kill, you were already dead. He still didn't trust you. He didn't understand completely why a stupid psychiatrist of the CIA wanted him to go through rehab. You were a woman, for fucks sake. Psychiatrists were old, wise, rich men back in his days, not expensive sluts.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I'm trying hard not to crush your bones right now, pretty thing."

"At least you're trying, that's improvement," you smiled cockily, pointing at his chest with a finger and you took your bag and belongings together, as if he didn't threaten to kill you like three times in the same conversation. "I will leave you now. Have a good lunch, Soldier Boy."

"Time of death 9:41 a.m."

The sound of the monitor disturbed your senses as the voice announced all over the place the death of yet another supe. You watched through the windows as two lab assistants ran inside the chamber to take out the lifeless body of the woman who had given her life to volunteer and assist the program. Anything for the cure, you remember her voice saying, even after she was warned about the possible effects. The worst of them being death. The contract stipulated it clearly and you told her to think twice before agreeing to take the third version of the Anti-V, although she hesitated a lot before joining.

You breathed out. The formula needed improvement, quickly. How many corpses had they taken out of there? You lost count already. You ordered Bianca, your young assistant, to note down all the details one day after the second death of a supe you witnessed, and for her to count them as necessary and at all cost. Arms folded on your chest, your jaw clenched, losing hope and feeling despair running through your spine. The discomfort of what had to be done to find a cure sometimes was too much of a burden. But sacrifices had to be done.

And speaking about sacrifices, you knew you had to get into Soldier Boy's head as soon as possible. The few other sessions you tried to talk to him were useless. The sixth one being today before lunch. A part of you was growing tired of faking it and pretending to be a psychiatrist, it really wasn't your field but you knew how to be one after many sessions, research, and medication on your own. Grace had taken care of your training years ago and this was just another mission with a huge impact and objective in mind: destroy Vought and Homelander, and then provide the cure to supes who didn't want their powers and give them the chance to live a normal life. People like you needed the cure, but first things first.

"Doc, the analysis of Blaze is updated," Bianca said, giving you the tablet to check the information on the supe that was collected.

"Thanks."

Blaze, or Electra Richards was her real name, was a low-profile supe for some time, and you had a secret track of those like her with some help. These kinds of supes didn't really represent a threat to Vought, so it was kind of easy to contact them and give them a possible solution with a warning written all over the place. When Electra was contacted, she had to think about it but eventually said yes. She was young and brave, but she never wanted powers. She had superhuman strength and healed in minutes, seconds even, her bones were indestructible, and when your people ran the proper tests on her she was healthy as hell. Pity that her body wasn't enough to take in the injection of the new Anti-V prototype.

You read the last notes your assistant typed on the supe's profile.

Cause of death: sudden cardiac arrest caused by ventricular fibrillation; failure in electrical signaling within the heart.

You couldn't continue like this, not anymore. Nine months and nothing seemed to work out. Some supes died, some of them quit the program, and you didn't really blame them for it. The failures were growing bigger than the small steps close to creating the final antidote. The process was becoming an endless trial and error. With a tired face and a sigh, you left the tablet on a desk and walked out making your way to your office.

You took out your cell phone and dialed Grace, walking around the room worriedly. You needed to vent or talk. Anything. And gladly, she picked up by the third ring.

"Is everything okay?" she asked on the other line. She knew you too well.

"I- No, it isn't. But you already know that," you breathed. "Another supe died on trial today. I don't know how many we have-" your voice cut off abruptly and you sighed, composing yourself after a moment. "We keep losing a lot of people..."

Grace exhaled. "It's part of the job. It's your project, you know it was coming when I approved to do this."

"That makes it even worse, you're not helping me," you replied with a playful tone. "I've been thinking- I would like to try the cure."

"No. We need you to focus on this."

"And when I get him, when I get Soldier Boy's blood? He already takes powers of supes with the blast. Should be easier."

"He's your safest option for now. You'll find a way to get it, I trust you. But don't make stupid and hurried decisions, just wait for the right moment," the lady scolded. You smiled a little, like if she was watching you. "About that, how's he doing? Is he cooperating?"

"Not at all, that's my other problem," you fell back on your chair ungracefully, your back hurting at the thought of seeing him again that day. "I am trying to get him to talk, even using my cards of dressing up like I'm a fucking slut with tight skirts and all, but he's really backing up. Besides he's a fucking dick," your words made Grace chuckle for a bit.

"All supes we have dealt with are dicks, especially Vought. But Y/N, you got this," her words attempted to make you feel better. "This is one of our best options to take them down for once. I know you've been working on this way long before you talked to me, and that's the reason I know it's gonna work, doing whatever it takes."

"Thank you, Grace," you mumbled from your heart. Disappointing her was not on your list, and you hoped it won't happen anytime soon. So you switched the topic of the conversation. "And how have you been?"

[the-lonelybarricade]

Breaking & Entering - (1/2)

Summary: Before the room was swallowed into darkness, she found her eyes drifting towards the entryway, listening to the heartbeat that drifted to her through the wooden door. It followed her all the way to the House of Wind. And in her sleep that night, the beating stopped.

Or; A slightly angsty telling of how Elain discovered that Lucien sleeps naked

Read on AO3・ Part II

-

Being a seer was not without its complications.

In fact, Elain would argue that being a seer consisted only of complications. Of muddled thoughts, and twisted, tangled truths that she could spend a lifetime unweaving and still not fully comprehend.

But worst of all was the blurry line she walked between reality and prophecy. One moment, she was sipping her tea at the breakfast table, and the next she was standing in a busy marketplace, uncertain which was the illusion until she was vaulted back into her physical body, blinking as her heart settled and her vision returned.

“Elain?”

Feyre leaned over the table, palms pressed into the dark wood, hovering as close to Elain as the barrier would allow. From the thin line forming between Feyre’s brows, Elain had the impression this was not the first time Feyre had called for her.

“Yes?” Elain said, straightening her back and lifting her teacup as if nothing had happened.

Feyre’s shoulders slackened, and she drew back into her seat with a small sigh of relief. But Elain knew that after the concerned sister, came the curious High Lady. She watched, face still ducked into her teacup, as Feyre pressed her lips together, thinking so loudly she might as well have used her magic to project her thoughts. Not that it mattered, not when her questions were obvious, and already evident in the way those blue-grey eyes searched her face.

Tea sloshed against Elain’s lips, uncontrolled, inelegant. Her hand was shaking. Though the vision had been mild, even pleasant, compared to others, that flash of red hair had unnerved her. The way it always did.

She set the teacup down, ignoring how it rattled against the saucer. How Feyre flinched.

“Lucien’s on his way,” Elain said, fighting to keep her voice neutral.

A knock sounded at the door, cutting off Feyre’s response. Elain patted her lip with the napkin, skin tingling from the too-hot liquid, and stood up from her chair. “Before you answer, would you mind taking me to the House of Wind?”

“You’re not even going to say hi?”

There was an accusation in that question. Subtle, even a little gentle, but an accusation nonetheless. Elain crossed her arms, as if doing so could deflect from her sister’s judgment. She knew what Feyre wanted—for Elain to stay, to make nice with Lucien and ask him about his latest trip to the mortal lands. She wanted Elain to get to know the male she was eternally bonded to so that they might one day find the happiness that Feyre and Rhysand found in each other. Even Nesta seemed to be encouraging it these days.

“He doesn’t need to know I was here,” Elain said. “Besides, he’s come to see you.”

Feyre raised a brow. If there was sharpness in those words, Elain hadn’t meant them. Or maybe she had. She was frustrated that her sisters had already made up their minds about what was best for her, and that despite the agency she craved, she couldn’t even flee to the House of Wind without Feyre’s help.

They stared at each other for a long moment, a clash of stubbornness that was sometimes the only thing that connected them.

“Fine,” Feyre said, coming around the table and reaching out her hand. “But you should try talking to him one of these days, Elain. He’s a good male.”

He was a good male. Elain knew that perfectly well. And before the room was swallowed into darkness, she found her eyes drifting towards the entryway, listening to the heartbeat that drifted to her through the wooden door.

It followed her all the way to the House of Wind.

And in her sleep that night, the beating stopped.

Elain sat up in bed, clutching her chest. Beneath her clammy skin, she could feel her own heart thundering beneath her fingers. But its golden echo, the one she felt like a string around her rib, plucked day and night by a tireless musician… It had fallen silent.

A dream, she thought. A vision. Any moment now, she’d blink and find herself sitting in the library, wondering at the Cauldron’s strange meaning. But as she laid on her back and watched a dark cloud slowly creep across the starry sky, she felt the seconds prying for her attention with growing urgency. And suddenly she couldn’t breath as a terrible, gnawing panic seized her throat. The next thing she knew, she was rushing through the corridors of the House of Wind, hair and nightgown flowing behind her.

He answered the door on the first knock. She knew he wouldn’t be sleeping, even at this hour.

“Elain?” Azriel asked, hazel eyes sweeping over her, assessing if her panic was the result of any injury on her person. “What’s wrong?”

Ordinarily, she might have taken the time to be embarrassed by her state of undress. But all she could hear was the silence in her mind. The vast, roaring emptiness that was usually occupied by life and light.

Elain took a moment to compose herself, trying to swallow past the sickening feeling in her gut, but the words all escaped in a rush regardless of her efforts. “Can you take me down?”

“What?”

“Downstairs,” she clarified. “To the Rainbow.”

His gaze darted to the ground. To her bare feet. “Dressed like that?”

“Please,” was all she said.

Azriel didn’t press any further. He simply led her to the nearest balcony and did precisely as she asked, hesitating only once they landed in the empty marketplace, and she shivered when he set her down on the cobblestone. He removed his jacket, and the evening was cold enough that Elain didn’t object when he placed it over her shoulders.

But she did shake her head as he said, “Whatever you’re doing, let me come with you. To make sure you’re safe.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, pulling the jacket closer when she noticed the way his eyes wandered to her neckline. Maybe he was concerned by the attention her attire would attract, a fear she might have shared if Lucien’s apartment wasn’t just across the street. And she had a feeling that regardless of what she said to Azriel, he’d be lingering to ensure nothing happened to her.

“I’ll stay here, then” Azriel said. “So that I can bring you back up when you’re ready.”

Sensing that was the most she could convince Azriel to stay out of it, and not wanting to waste any more time arguing, Elain nodded and dashed off toward Lucien’s apartment. A place she’d never visited before, though she’d seen it in enough visions to recognize the stepping stones of the front garden as if she’d been the one to arrange them.

Of all the times she’d thought about coming here, of bracing her hand around the iron knocker and letting fall to the front door, she’d never imagined it would be the middle of the night. And that the knocker would bounce once, twice, until it vibrated into stillness. No shuffle on the other side, no footsteps. No answer at all.

In all her imaginings, she’d certainly never thought that she would need to sneak into his back garden and mount the trellis to his balcony, battling against the climbing roses that snagged at her dressing gown. She hissed as more than a few scraped against her legs, as if the garden were fighting back against its intruder.

“Lucien?” She called as she came level with his balcony. Leaning over, she could see no light in his room, and it occurred to her that she could be reading too much into the quiet. He could just be sleeping, and maybe his heartbeat quieted when he slept and she’d simply never noticed. This was her last chance to turn away without looking like a lunatic.

Lucien? She tried, searching internally for the kernel of light that lived inside her, warm and lovely and achingly absent. There was no response. No stirrings at all on the other side of their muted bond. She grasped, helplessly, for something to pull, for the golden thread he’d once tugged all those years ago. When she found nothing, she pulled herself onto his balcony and yanked on the handle to his bedroom.

Locked.

Through the glass, she could see his red hair against the pillows. His face was turned toward her, eyes shut, expression so soft and unguarded she barely recognized him. Elain stilled for a minute, the ache in her chest growing tenfold as she admired the sight of Lucien polished in moonlight.

She rapped her knuckles against the glass. First, with all of the bashfulness of someone who expected his eyes to snap open, where she would need to explain what she was doing on his balcony, undressed and bloodied. Then, with increasing urgency as his eyes remained shut, oblivious to her panicked fists slamming against the glass door not a meter away.

If she’d let Azriel come with, he would have known what to do. And perhaps he would have come up with a far less destructive solution than Elain, who turned to examine the items Lucien kept on his balcony and found a small potted plant that she immediately hurled towards the door. Any faerie would have woken to the sound of the shattering glass. Even one having a particularly nice dream.

His neighbors might even be awake now, coming to their windows to watch Elain push her arm through the jagged hole and unlock the door from the inside. Maybe tomorrow there’d be news articles about Velaris’s new, sloppy midnight burglar. As long as tomorrow’s news was about her, and not the deceased son of Autumn, she didn’t care.

She didn’t care even as the glass cut into her feet, not as Lucien remained unresponsive to it all. Unaware of his intruder. Unaware that his mate was bleeding and panicked and desperate. It was all wrong. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

“Lucien?” She called, his name strangled in her throat.

In her mortal life, she might have cared about dripping blood onto his sheets, or how she was climbing into a male’s bed in only her night gown. But now she was High Fae and this was her mate—her mate. And all that mattered was getting to him.

Elain cupped his face, nearly sobbing when she felt that it was warm to the touch. Warm. Not claimed by death—not yet. And his lips were parted, expelling air with every rise and fall of his chest. Alive, alive, alive.

Despite the evidence, when Elain pressed her fingers to the pulsepoint on his neck, she was surprised to find a heartbeat as familiar as her own. Steady, healthy, yet still absent from where it once resided in her mind. And he still wasn't awake.

Was it magic? Some kind of spell, or poison? Without thinking, she ripped the bedcovers from his body to see if there was some ailment she was missing. A bite wound, or an arrow puncture, or…. Lucien’s uninjured, perfectly healthy, and obscenely muscular naked body.

Elain yelped, immediately covering him back up. “I’m so sorry,” she said, though he couldn’t hear and was unaware of the violation she’d just committed.

It was then that her eyes wandered toward his bedside table, bearing all the things she would expect from Lucien: a pile of books with loose papers atop them, a leatherbound journal, a dagger with a jeweled hilt, and… a small, empty vial labeled sleeping tonic.

She recalled the vision she’d had that morning, of Lucien navigating his way through the busy marketplace. How he’d paused before a tonic shop, intrigued by their wares. She hadn’t thought anything of it, besides that it meant Lucien had returned to the city. And now she examined the glass shards littering his bedroom floor, the soil spilling out of the broken plant pot, the blood on the floor, the sheets—oh god, it was on his face, too.

“Elain?”

She turned her head, finding Azriel standing on the balcony, looking far more concerned for the state she was in than the unconscious male beneath her.

“Is everything okay?” he prompted.

What did she even say, to answer for all of the reckless, impulsive things she’d done this evening?

All she could do was point to the vial and croak, “The tonic he bought at the shop… will it wear off?”

Azriel squinted through the glass to read the label, then huffed a laugh under his breath, as if he was familiar. “Those tonics will leave you all but dead to the world. The last time I took one, I woke up with a mustache painted on my face.”

That certainly sounded like something his friends would do. Elain couldn’t bring herself to laugh. “So he’ll be okay?”

“He’ll be fine. I can’t say the same for his balcony door, though.”

Elain’s cheeks burned. “Will you take me back? And forget this ever happened?”

The shadowsinger watched her carefully. “Of course. It can be our secret.”

Azriel kept a lot of those. She trusted he would keep this one, at least from Lucien, but even so she couldn’t find it in herself to meet his eyes as he stepped into Lucien’s apartment and lifted Elain from her mate’s bed. They flew back to the house in silence, the stinging in her feet becoming more and more intrusive as her adrenaline wore off.

“Let me take you to the infirmary,” he said once they landed on one of the many verandas.

“No.”

“Elain—”

“No.” She didn’t mean to snap. In truth, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d use that tone with anyone. She took a deep breath, reminding herself that Azriel was only trying to help. That he’d been indulging her foolish impulses all evening, expecting nothing in return. “Just take me back to my room, please. I can deal with it.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened. He said nothing, but he did as she asked.

Only once he left, and she heard his door shut down the hall, did she release her hold on the tears that she’d been repressing from the moment she realized Lucien was okay. Picking the leftover pieces of glass from her feet was preferable to anguishing over the fool she made of herself tonight, though she managed to do both.

What had gotten into her? She’d always felt a measure of the instincts that came with the bond. The pull, the wanting, the need to claim and protect. But they had always been passive, easily brushed aside. What she’d felt tonight had gripped her with such violence that she’d been blinded to everything else, any sense of reason or reservation. What would Lucien think when he woke in the morning and saw that someone had broken into his home? And how would she be able to look him in the eyes, now that his naked form was imprinted in her mind, lingering no matter how she tried to banish it. It was wrong. It was stolen. It was… making the ache feel raw again.

Worst of all, despite Azriel’s assurance that Lucien was unharmed by the tonic, she found she couldn’t go to sleep while his side of the bond remained a torment of nothingness. She turned over restlessly throughout the night, replaying it all in her head, torturing herself with the anxious thought that maybe Azriel was wrong. Maybe the tonic wouldn’t wear off, and her mate was in danger. She should have stayed, at least until she knew he was okay.

Lucien would have stayed.

That thought, more than anything, kept her awake. Kept her debating all night whether she should face the ten thousand steps just to break into his house again. It was only the cuts on her feet, and her own shame at explaining to Lucien how much she overreacted, that kept her in bed, turning restlessly.

It wasn't until the sun came up that the familiar metronome of his heartbeat returned.

And by the relief of its steady, soothing rhythm, Elain was finally able to fall asleep.

[remotepixel]

headcanons for platonic peter parker who wants to be your brother sooo bad

AAAA ok i want to say thank you so much for requesting !!!!!! i was literally so excited when i saw it lol.

I set this around Homecoming but didn't specify too much.

TW: yandere themes!

I imagine Peter always wanted a sibling.

-As a bullied, ‘weird’ kid, he grew up wishing he could have someone to hang out with when no one else wanted to.

-Of course, his parents always said no (since it obviously isn’t as simple as young him thought) and he never pestered May and Ben about it, too busy grieving and learning the struggles of money, but the idea lingered well into his teens.

-And, when he met you, he couldn’t help but think maybe God was granting him his wish.

He would be very clingy (to put it simply).

-If you’re in the same school, he’ll make you sit with him and his friends at lunch, walk you to and from lessons, anything to keep himself glued to your side.

-If not, he’ll be constantly checking his phone, texting you 24/7 (or calling you if he can), to the point I wouldn’t be surprised if he got a couple detentions for it.

-He acts like being away from you is the worst thing to ever happen to him.

-Like if doesn’t get a constant reminder that you’re not ignoring him and you’re just busy he’s gonna drop dead.

Outside of school, he would normally invite you around his house to build lego Star Wars or binge old movies no one else your age knows.

-I think he’d really like having things only between you two - like an inside joke or a project you work on together - both because he has an excuse to talk to you, and because it makes it seem like you’ve know each other your whole lives (something he wishes desperately was true).

I imagine Aunt May seeing you two hanging out one day, squabbling about how to properly ensemble the last piece (he’d probably go with your judgement no matter what though), and tells him something along the lines of ‘stop fighting with your sibling’ as a joke.

-The way Peter’s face would just be 😯 before breaking into a massive smile that permanently stays on his face for the next month.

-Like, even Aunt May agrees that he’s your brother, that's basically the same as her adopting you, yeah? no-

Peter is a bit delusional if you couldn't tell.

-Like, the way he constantly called Happy because he convinced himself that it was gonna go through eventually? Yeah, you’re getting the same treatment.

-He assumes you feel the same even if you so much as look at him (I bet he’ll think it’s some ‘sibling secret code’ and look at you in the same way so it looks like he understood).

That isn’t to say he’s ignorant to your emotions though.

-He copies your feelings in a way - like, if you’re sad, he’ll be as well, if you’re angry at something, he’ll be angry, etc.

-He isn’t one for violence but I don’t think he would care if Spiderman webbed/roughed up a few people who were annoying you (I don’t think he’d do much more unless you were in serious danger or he got too caught up into his feelings like in no way home).

I can’t believe I didn’t mention this before but he would be so jealous if you actually had (a) sibling(s).

-Like, he’s supposed to be your brother, but now he has to compete with people who know you so much better than he does? People who get to live with you and say you’re related without getting funny looks?

-(He lied to MJ once and it immediately backfired- he just wanted someone to actually think you and him were siblings, ok? Is that really a crime?)

-I don’t think he would have it in him to be outright mean to them, but he wouldn’t be overly nice either, just neutral enough to hide any jealously and not get banned from seeing you.

He tries not to come across as pathetic (don’t tell him he lowkey is-) but he’s never had much of a family before. Sure, he has Aunt May but everyone else? Dead, just like that.

Siblings is a whole new world for him and he just wants to be there for you, be your role model like Stark is for him, and prove that he can be the best brother ever.

I have re-read this but my tenses might be messed up </3

[waynes-multiverse]

Rehab – Chapter 7

Series Summary: Thanks to Soldier Boy, the CIA was able to develop Project Bloom under the fierce leadership of Grace Mallory: a final cure to Compound V and a hopeful end to the supe epidemic three years after the explosive incident at Vought. A secret rehab facility in Upstate New York is supposed to help former heroes find their way back to humanity. The catch, though? Soldier Boy has never fucking agreed to any of this shit and is surely not happy about being powerless for the first time in his goddamn long life.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18, language, light smut, fluff, angst

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Thank you guys so much for all the warm responses (and loud screams) last week. Feels good to be back and cause some chaos here. Enjoy this one! It's all downhill from here 💚

Feedback is my fuel 🖤

<< Chapter 6 || Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist

Chapter 7: make up sex

Ben carefully traces the marks on her skin with his fingertips, her naked back illuminated by the soft spring morning glow that streams in through the window. Tenderly, he kisses a path down her shoulder and hears her giggle at the tickling of his beard.

He loves her. Yet, she’s too good for him. Maybe he could change, though. He feels the endless possibilities pumping through his veins.

“Morning, my love.”

Ben smiles when she stretches her limbs with a blissful yawn and turns to face him. He leans down and claims her lips in a bruising kiss as if they were his newest addiction. Who knows? They might just be.

“Morning, stud.” Y/N’s smile is brighter than the sun and lights the way to his dark heart. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, doll.” Ben kisses her deeply and swallows the cute little giggles that escape through her mouth, his heart full of happiness.

Ben wakes cruelly as a bucket of ice water is dumped over him and hits him full frontal. He shivers as he wipes the remaining water out of his face, hair, and eyes with the hem of his dirty white t-shirt before blinking and glaring at the guard with the sadistic smile in front of him.

“Morning, shithead.” The guard snickers and slides a tray of runny eggs over to him. “Breakfast.”

It’s been six months since the former supe has last seen Y/N. After his outburst, they put him down like a wild dog with rabies, but Ben wasn’t one for giving up. He tried five more times to escape the rehab facility and killed three nurses before they threw him into solitary. He’s proud of that number. He’d never forgive himself if he went down without a fight.

A part of him hoped they’d kill him for it, but his luck has apparently run out.

Ben’s been imprisoned in this bleak cell ever since. He didn’t even know this place existed. It’s located deep underground in the clinic’s basement. There’s no sun and no warmth. There’s only him, gray and cold concrete, fluorescent lights, and a whole bunch of nothing. The scratch marks on the wall tell him he’s been here nineteen weeks.

His beard is unkempt and wild, as is his hair. He hasn’t seen a mirror in an eternity, but he probably looks like a caveman by now. Reeks and feels like one, too. The only showers he gets are the ice baths that wake him every morning. Unfortunately, that’s not the only torture they’ve thought of. There are other punishments, too, but nothing as bad as what the Commies did to him.

American pussies…

“There’s someone here to see you, champ,” the guard says as he comes to collect the empty tray.

Ben tried to starve himself once before, but that only got him a tube stuffed down his throat. Whoever’s in charge clearly wants to keep him alive and suffering.

There’s a jolt in his gut that bounces to his forlorn and desolate heart, a shimmer of hope burning brightly inside of him that direly wants to convince him that the love of his life has found him. A drop of precious water in the concrete desert. And if she’s not getting him out, at least she’s visiting.

By now, he knows that’s not the case, though. In fact, he’s pretty damn sure Y/N doesn’t even know he’s here, living her life topside, outside, and carefree. Free of him.

A vicious circle that keeps repeating itself.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Ben mutters disinterestedly. Whoever has come to see him surely isn’t worthy of it. After all, he suspects it is just plain ol’ Mallory. She’s come by a few times to lecture him about consequences with that self-satisfied smirk of hers.

“You don’t look well, old friend,” a man’s voice chimes through the cold cell.

Curiously, Ben’s head raises with his brow as he squints his green eyes at the black man in front of him. The voice sounds familiar, as do the man’s features.

“Stan Edgar. I’ll be damned.” A laugh almost escapes him at the realization. “Didn’t think you were still the fuck alive. You got fucking old.”

“I could say the same thing, Soldier Boy,” Edgar retorts as he takes off his glasses and cleans them with a pristine white handkerchief. “Or is it Ben now? I can see the gray in your beard even from here.”

At Edgar’s amused smile, Ben balls his fists, wishing he could wipe off that smug grin. He gets it. Everyone greatly enjoys his downfall, being reminded once again what a shitty asshole he used to be. Y/N really was right when she said that people don’t forgive and forget. So far, it’s been Ben’s experience as well.

“What the fuck do you want, huh? Just came here to fucking laugh and gloat?” Ben prompts, his patience wearing thin. He’s not a zoo animal. He doesn’t need to be gawked at.

“I have a proposal for you if you’re interested,” Edgar says cryptically and dangles a metaphorical carrot in front of his nose. “I heard you’d like to see your girlfriend, right?”

Ben sighs deeply. He knows the game they’re playing. He’s played it a million times before, especially with Vought, and wonders if he ever actually won at it. He used to believe he did, but not anymore.

“And what do you want in return, huh? What’s the catch?”

In response, Edgar’s lips curve into a triumphant smirk.

Nervously, Ben clears his throat several times and fidgets with his fingers, close to biting off his nails. His hand runs through and scratches his trimmed beard. It feels weird to have it short again after so many months.

Once he set foot outside the clinic, his green eyes even had to adjust to the brightness of the sun. It’s been so long since his pupils have actually seen natural daylight. His lungs practically inhaled the oxygen provided by air that’s fresh and wasn’t filtered and smelled fabricated. Those few molecules of realness were life-supplying in the literal sense.

Ben unfolds the crumbled piece of paper in his left hand with an address written on it and checks once more if he’s got the right apartment, even though he’s already done that a couple of times. 5B it reads on his piece of paper and the apartment door with golden letters.

One more swallow, and his knuckles hesitantly tap the wood. Then, his boot taps the floor in a manic beat until he hears the door unlock.

“Ben…” Y/N’s brow furrows. She seems both bewildered and pleasantly surprised. But then worry spreads across her delicate features, looking suspiciously left and right down the hallway. “What are you doing here? How did you get out?”

Ben can’t form a functioning sentence for the life of him. He keeps trying, but his mind is too preoccupied with taking her in – every little bit of her. The color spectrum of her brilliant eyes, the shape of her godforsaken lips, the shine and flow of her hair, and the freckles that grace her perfect skin. She’s still the girl he met a year ago. The girl from his memories. The girl from his dreams.

He also takes note of the changes, though, because she’s surely changed a lot, too. And it’s not just the new clothes she’s wearing that aren’t hoodies and sweats or the different length and slight change of color of her hair. It’s first and foremost the glowing aura of happiness that cloaks her entire being.

She’s a masterpiece, and he can’t help but keep staring at her like she’s an exhibition at the Louvre.

“Ben, say something. Wha–,” she starts anew when he still hasn’t said a word.

“I’m sorry,” he cuts in. The words come out so fast, it’s just one word altogether, really. But he’s been wanting to say them to her for so long, practiced them every day in his cell that they just escaped him in a blurb.

“I. Am. Sorry,” Ben repeats more slowly and coherently. “Look, uhm, I’m not good at this shit. There’s about a million different speeches that I’ve prepared over the last few months, and I figured once I saw you, I’d know which one to pick…”

“Ben–”

“Just let me say this, alright?” Ben interjects and gulps nervously. Being locked up and lonely for months, he’s had plenty of time to think about his mistakes and find ways to fix them. “I’m so sorry for what I did, Y/N. I was, uhm… hurt, and I lashed out, and this should’ve never happened. I know people don’t forgive and forget. Trust me, I know… But still, I’m hoping you can. Just this once? You think you can do that?”

Ben’s a shadow of his former self. A broken shell of a man. And while one would think that’s a bad thing, it’s truly not. His hardened armor, shield and suit, peeled from his skin and revealed a soft core of heart, hope and humanity underneath it.

“Wow, uhm…” Y/N gasps, speechless as her head bobs in both acknowledgment and thought. “That’s–, uhm, that’s a lotta words. Especially coming from you.” A soft and tender smile forms on her mouth as she chews on her lower lip. “Always thought your generation was more the silent type.”

“I’m full of surprises, doll.” Ben shrugs endearingly and adds a wink, parts of his charm returning. He matches her smile as his heart fills with hope. Not all is lost. At least she hasn’t slammed the door in his face. Yet. “So? Do you forgive me?”

Ben doesn’t care if the world forgives him for his sins. He doesn’t care if God or what- and whoever forgives him. He doesn’t care about the people he hurt in the past. He doesn’t care about the lives and families he’s destroyed. He knows he’s done wrong – a lot of wrong – and he also knows he can never ever fix any of it.

Yes, Ben doesn’t care about a lot of things, but he cares about Y/N. And he cares if she forgives him.

Y/N’s eyes brim with tears as she fights to keep the smile on her face alive. “Only if you can forgive me,” she says quietly as her throat closes, making it harder to breathe. “I’m sorry, too. I never meant all those things I said to you that night. I was just scared.”

“Of me?” Ben cocks an eyebrow, simultaneously puzzled and afraid of the answer.

Luckily, Y/N shakes her head. “Yes… and no, it was never about you, you know? I knew if I let you in fully, I’d never leave the clinic. I would’ve stayed for you. Forever,” she explains. “And I also know I played a role in what you did. I mean, I didn’t technically push you into another woman,” she mutters sourly and continues with a deep exhale through her nose, “But I know I pushed you too far… You’re not the only one who’s broken, you know?”

“So, what does that mean? What do we do now?” Ben asks. This is truly as far as he’s thought ahead. A part of him even believed she wouldn’t open the door for him in the first place. To say he feels lost right now would be an understatement. After all, it’s the first time in his long life he’s doing a big Soldier Boy Apology Tour.

“Two broken halves make a whole, right?” Y/N sends him a weak smile that he mirrors.

“I mean, yeah.” Ben chuckles with keen nods, scratching the back of his neck. “I never graduated high school, but that sounds like fucking perfect math to me.”

“Good.” Y/N laughs, her smile rising. She takes a deep breath and swallows the goddamn lump in her throat that’s sat there for half a year. “I love you.”

Ben’s heart crashes. For a second, he even doubts he made it out of that dark cell in the first place because this surely feels like a dream. He might have even died and against all odds went to Heaven.

He can’t hold himself back any longer, every muscle in his body trembling at the sound of those glorious three words. He never thought language could have such a massive impact on him.

The dam then breaks, but he’ll be damned if he lets her witness a single tear. Instead, he pulls her close to his massive body and presses his lips on hers. He kisses her so hard that they both see not only stars but different galaxies altogether.

For a moment, he worries if she’s going to reject him once more. But she doesn’t. On the contrary, her arms drape around his neck and pull him so close they might as well merge into one single entity. She deepens the kiss with a newfound need until they’re both breathless and blue in the face.

Ben, however, would’ve gladly died from the lack of oxygen. What a way to go out after a hundred years…

Resting her forehead on his, Y/N pants heavily as her hands slide down to his broad chest and hold onto his shirt as if he might disappear into thin air if she doesn’t.

“I love you, Y/N. You’re the only friend I ever had. You’re everything to me,” he mumbles into her hair and kisses the top of her head. He closes his eyes and breathes in her scent, trying to memorize it all. It almost killed him when he couldn’t recall it during his captivity.

She smiles broadly and looks up at him. “Wanna come inside?”

Ben nods softly, reining in some of his eagerness. “I’d love to.”

“I see the vinyl collection has grown,” Ben notes with a happy chuckle as he takes in her apartment, his eyes glued on the oakwood shelf that consumes an entire wall and reaches up to the ceiling, filled from top to bottom with records. “You’re gonna need a bigger place soon.”

“Yeah, I spend a lot of time in record stores these days. Not to mention half my paychecks…” Y/N laughs as she prepares a pot of coffee in the small kitchen, her cheeks flushing as her adorable dimples make an appearance.

Ben’s missed them, too. He thinks they’re always more prominent when he makes her laugh.

“You work?” His brow shoots up at that information, a curious smile curving his mouth.

While he was locked up for months, he has wondered every single night what she was up to, what her life must look like now, before his eyes grew too tired and closed, ending another grueling day without her. He always hoped, though, that she was happy wherever she was.

“Yeah, I’m interning right now at an orphanage and taking night classes at a community college, so I can become a social worker,” she replies with a sheepish smile.

His face lights up, his smile spreading from ear to ear. “College, huh? That’s great. I’m fucking proud of you.”

It’s a phrase Ben always wanted to hear – from his father, from the world. It’s something he imagined he’d say to his sons someday, but he never got the chance. Frankly, neither him nor any offspring of his deserved to hear it. Y/N, on the other hand, does.

She deserves the world and so much more. Could Ben ever give it all to her?

“Thanks.” Y/N blushes even more and hands him a mug with coffee.

These past months have been hard for her, too. She’s tried to build a life for herself, a future worth living, and not fall into a dark hole like so many former supes before her. She’s had no one on the outside. Nights and days got rather lonely until she made some friends at work and college. It took a long while until she didn’t feel lost anymore and found her purpose.

And yet, she never felt complete. Her mind always raced back to him, wondering what he might think of her if he could see her now. Ben haunted her hopes and dreams every single day since she’s left the clinic, wishing he’d be right here by her side.

“I work at a former supe orphanage. Mallory arranged it. They actually managed to cure every single kid without losses. Now, we’re just trying to find them good homes,” Y/N tells him excitedly, beaming with pride. “For the first time in my life, I finally feel like I’m making a difference. I’m doing something good.”

“That’s awesome,” Ben says, smiling. “But for the record, you’ve made a difference even before that. You’ve changed my life.”

“Right back at you,” Y/N replies and then her smile shines brighter than the sun itself. It’s blinding. “There’s a boy at the home that actually reminds me a lot of you. And not just because you two share a name.”

Ben curiously arches an eyebrow, smirking. “Yeah?”

“Yes, cocky son of a bitch,” she says with a laugh. Ben chuckles at that. Y/N then saunters closer to him as if she can’t stand to be apart from him a minute longer. It makes his heart race faster than a rocket to the moon. “I thought a lot about you. Actually, there’s not a day that went by where I didn’t think about you, you know?”

“Yeah, same, my love,” Ben replies and chokes down the damn lump in his throat. When did he become such a fucking sap?

“I wanted to visit you at the clinic a couple of times, but they wouldn’t let me,” Y/N tells him then, sadness shimmering in her eyes. “They said you moved on and didn’t want to see me, but I had a feeling that wasn’t true.”

Ben tries not to get goddamn angry at her words. It was one thing to torture him. Throw ice water on him every morning, electrocute and burn him, but fucking lie to her? Making her believe he didn’t want to see her when that’s all he wanted this goddamn time? Those bastards are lucky he doesn’t have his nuclear powers anymore, or they’d all be turned to ash.

But the past doesn’t matter anymore. It took him almost a century to learn that lesson. What matters, though, is that he’s here right now. With her.

Even when you’ve lived forever, time is precious. It’s a gift you don’t waste, no matter if you have an abundance of it.

With one stride, Ben’s in front of her and cups her cheeks, looking deeply into her tear-filled eyes. “It’s not true. I never moved on, okay? Every single day, I would’ve died and killed someone to see you, alright? Believe me.”

Y/N nods in his palms and hugs his hands with her own. “Are you alright? What did they do to you? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Ben assures her but knows Y/N won’t buy his lie. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine now, okay?”

“Did you escape? Because if you did, we can’t stay here. They’ll find you here,” Y/N worries, and he can see the panic rising in her features.

“I didn’t escape. They let me go, alright?” Ben says but can already see her mouth opening again with more questions, so he resorts to kissing them shut. “As I said, don’t worry, my love. We’ll talk about this later, and I promise I’ll tell you everything, okay?”

Even though she’s reluctant, she agrees with a weak nod. “Okay.”

“Now, there’s something I’ve been wanting to do for months,” Ben announces and smirks slyly.

Y/N matches his smile and meets him halfway as he fiercely claims her lips in a searing kiss. On tiptoes, she then hoists herself up and tightly wraps her legs around his waist as he carries her promptly to the bedroom.

With a giggle, she’s dropped onto the mattress as Ben hungrily trails kisses from her cheek to her jawline and down her neck. Eagerly, he unzips her jeans and shimmies them down her smooth legs, leaving her only in a pair of onyx lace panties.

“Were you expecting someone?” Suspiciously, Ben lifts an eyebrow. He wouldn’t hold it against her if she found someone during the time they were apart, but he sure as hell wouldn’t be happy about it.

Well, okay, that’s a lie. In fact, he’d like the guy’s address so he can commit a murder.

Y/N giggles in response. “No, I’m just really bad at doing laundry. Those were the only clean ones left,” she explains. Internally, he sighs in relief. “I haven’t been with anyone since you.”

The look she gives him is one powerful guilt trip since they both know he can’t say the same. Christ on a fucking stick, he feels shitty. During all the times he’s cheated on Crimson Countess (and there were many), he’s never felt like this before and can’t say that he particularly enjoys this feeling.

Softly, he rests his forehead on hers and pecks her lips, his fingers gingerly stroking her cheek. “I’ll never fucking do that to you again. I promise.”

Y/N nods. “I know. I believe you.”

“It’s just you and me from now on, alright? Us against the world,” Ben assures her.

“Like Sid and Nancy?” Y/N grins teasingly up at him. “Or Ross and Rachel? Beyoncé and Jay-Z? But without Becky…”

“I have no fucking clue who those people are.” He chuckles, placing another kiss on her cheek. “But yeah, like Sid and Nancy. Bonnie and Clyde. Whatever you want, doll.”

More kisses follow, wet and hot as he works his way down her body. He has missed touching someone’s warm skin. He has missed hearing someone’s laugh that wasn’t full of cruelty. He has missed feeling loved and adored. He has missed feeling freedom and peace. And most of all, Ben has missed her.

Y/N’s breathing grows more labored with every inch he climbs down her body. His fingers hook into the elastic of her panties, feeling his hot breath on her mound before he flings the fabric across the room. His length brushes between her thighs, hard and thick, and elicits little jolts of electricity on her skin that travel through her nerve endings and cause goosebumps of anticipation to form.

“Fuck, Ben,” she moans and arches her back as he pulls the little sensitive nub between his teeth and sucks.

The former hero chuckles in delight at her reaction. “Oh, my love, I’m just getting started…”

Gentle and soft, Ben kisses her naked shoulder blade, trailing a flock of kisses down her spine till he reaches the beginnings of her asscheeks and hears her adorable giggle.

“That tickles,” Y/N says, grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah? You know, I actually had a dream about this,” Ben says with a peck on her crown.

Y/N cocks a curious eyebrow at that and rolls in his embrace, facing him. “Really? Tell me.”

“Well, it was a lot like this,” Ben starts. “And then…”

“And then what?” Y/N prompts when he abruptly trails off.

“And then… you told me you loved me,” Ben confesses and clears his throat. He’s not used to open and emotional pillow talk, but Y/N makes it easy, practically forces his emotions to the surface like a mountain spring.

Y/N grins broadly up at him. “I do love you.”

“Yeah? You sure?” A hint of insecurity haunts his juniper eyes. How many times has he been placated and lied to? At this point, it’s too damn many to count. “You’re not just fucking saying that, right?”

“And what exactly would I get out of it?” Y/N reframes his question, licking her amble lips. Sometimes asking the right question is more telling than an answer. “Money? Fame? You have neither.”

Ben clicks his tongue and purses his lips. “That was somehow both relieving and fucking insulting. How the hell did you do that?”

Y/N laughs and innocently twitches her shoulders. “It’s a talent.”

“Well, I’m gonna take notes. Jesus fucking Christ…” Ben cards a hand through his messy hair and shakes his head at her, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose.

Y/N then cups his cheeks, fingers softly caressing his beard. Her eyes wander down his body, finding scars and bruises that haven’t been there the last time she has seen him. “Ben, are you alright? What happened to you?”

The fallen supe then glances down his own chest and knows exactly what she means by her question. Yet, he brushes her off with a smile and grabs her hand, kissing her knuckles. “Nothing, my love. I told you I’m fine.”

Knowing it’s impossible to get answers out of him, Y/N nods. “I think now is ‘later,’” she states, thinking back to last night’s unfinished conversation. “How did you get out? What did you do?”

Ben presses his plush lips into a thin line, tongue poking his bearded cheeks. “Don’t worry about it.”

Y/N heaves a sigh and gently kisses his lips. “Ben, if you want us to be a team and ‘us against the world,’ you can’t keep things from me,” she tells him. “I’m your partner. Your ride or die. I’m here for you, no matter what. But you gotta tell me what’s up. You can’t always protect me.”

“I can try,” he mumbles sweetly and places another precious kiss on her hairline.

“And if there are more bad guys to kill and maim, you’re free to do so.” Y/N smiles softly, causing him to chuckle. “Please just tell me what’s going on.”

Ben’s head bobs in thought before replying, “I made a deal.”

Her brow furrows, an eerie feeling spreading in her stomach. “What kinda deal?”

“If I do this, then I’m a free man afterward. We can be together. For real, Y/N,” he says with a hopeful undertone that resembles a fairytale. Only Y/N knows those don’t really exist.

“Do what? What deal did you make, Ben? And with who?”

The bad feeling in her stomach only grows. Y/N knows only too well how the CIA works. They wait for their target to become weak, vulnerable, and hopeless. God knows Ben was exactly all those things when he first set foot inside the rehab clinic.

“An old friend visited me in lock-up. Proposed something,” Ben replies mysteriously.

Y/N’s brow wrinkles some more. “Ben, I don’t mean to sound offensive, but you don’t have old friends.”

The former supe snorts, amused. “I’m aware. And trust me, I don’t like this fucker either, but the deal was too good to be true.”

“That’s probably because it is,” Y/N throws in.

“Probably. But I still have to take it,” Ben maintains, his green eyes desperate and pleading.

“Who was it? Who came to see you?”

“Ever heard of Stan Edgar?”

Shocked, Y/N’s brow raises to her hairline. “The former CEO of Vought International?!”

But then Ben’s the one who’s surprised. “That motherfucker made it to CEO? Who would’ve thought…”

“Ben, focus,” Y/N snaps. “This isn’t a history lesson.”

“Well, he used to manage Payback back in the 80s. Now he’s apparently in it with Mallory and the CIA,” Ben explains. “They need my help. In exchange, I get my freedom.”

Y/N, however, scowls in annoyance. “Ben, I swear to God, if you don’t stop beating around the bush soon, I’ll fucking strangle you myself.”

Ben laughs and pecks her lips. “I love it when you’re feisty. It’s sexy…”

“Ben!”

“Alright, don’t get hyster–” At her glare, he abruptly stops mid-sentence and swallows thickly. “Calm down, okay? I can handle it.”

“Handle what?!”

Ben licks his lips and clicks his tongue. He supposes there’s no way around it anymore. He has to spit it out. He gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Apparently, they’ve got Homelander.”

Confused, Y/N’s head tilts, more creases forming on her brow. At this point, she’s worried they’ll stay permanently – all because of this asshole in her bed. “What do you mean ‘they’ve got Homelander’? Got him how?”

“According to Edgar, the CIA has him locked up somewhere,” Ben replies.

“Would explain why the news has been so peaceful and quiet recently,” Y/N muses cynically as her head begins to spin. “But wait a minute… if they’ve already got him, what do they want you to do? Why are you telling me all of this?”

Ben lets out a deep sigh. He knew from the start she’d never approve. “They wanna cure him. You know, like us.”

“Okay, so?” Y/N shrugs, not putting the puzzle pieces together. “They want you to kill him after?” But then, her eyes widen as she realizes the sinister plan. “No… No! Ben, no! You can’t do this! You’re gonna die! Have you learned nothing from your last glorious deal with Billy Butcher?”

Ben sighs anew. “Y/N, I know, my love. I know, alright? But I’m the only one who can get close enough to him.”

“How do you know that, huh?” Y/N questions, throwing her arms up. “The last time the two of you were in a room together, it didn’t go so well. Who says he ain’t gonna kill you as soon as he sees you?”

“‘Cause he’s a pathetic fucking cunt with daddy issues. I can work that angle,” Ben insists, acting like he’s got it all perfectly figured out.

His ego surely thinks so. It’s as old and as big as the goddamn Titanic. Y/N prays it won’t sink just as fast.

“Oh, so you wanna trick your petri dish son long enough to ram a needle into his goddamn throat? That’s your fucking plan?” Y/N lifts a sarcastic eyebrow. “Are you fucking insane?!”

“Look, I know it’s risky–”

“Risky?” Y/N interrupts him faster than a gunshot and scoffs. “Ben, fucking without a condom – that’s risky. It’s like asking for an STD! This mission is just plain stupid and, frankly, suicidal!”

Ben remains quiet until her chest stops heaving and calms. He nods in understanding before finding her eyes and locking gazes. “I know all of that. But there’s no other choice. I have to do this. This is my chance to make it right.”

Y/N shakes her head vehemently, her mind in denial. “No, no… I don’t believe that.” She jumps out of bed and hauls a duffel bag from her closet, throwing everything her hands can grab inside of it. “We can go. We can leave right now and go to Mexico… or Alaska. Nova Scotia!”

Ben chuckles lightly, scooting across the mattress to her, and grabs her frantic hands, kissing them gently. “Y/N, stop. We can’t leave. You and I both know there’s at least three SUVs full of agents parked outside and surrounding that building,” he says and watches her realize their dire situation in horror and despair. “This is the only way.”

“We can shoot our way outta here. I’m pretty sure my neighbor is an arms dealer,” Y/N suggests weakly, sniffling. She didn’t necessarily pick the best neighborhood.

“I don’t think we’d make it, Bonnie.”

Old Ben, Soldier Boy, would’ve shot himself out of that apartment building, even blast himself out of it, no questions asked. He also wouldn’t have cared if Y/N got hurt or even died in the midst of it. After all, narcissistic assholes don’t care much about anything but themselves. But New Ben surely does. He cares more than he sometimes likes to admit. And most of all, he’s certainly not a big risk-taker when it comes to her safety.

“But what if you die? What then?” she whispers as tears roll down her rosy cheeks.

Ben catches them with his thumb and wipes them away, smiling warmly. “At least then, there’s finally someone who’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

Y/N catches his lips in a deep and desperate kiss, only interrupted by her sniffles. “Of course I’d miss your stupid ass.”

Ben laughs and places his palms on her hips, pulling her between his thighs as her arms lock around his neck. “Good,” he says with another kiss on her lips. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

But no matter how much distraction he provides, her worries refuse to dissipate. “When is this gloriously insane plan happening?”

Licking his lips, Ben inhales deeply. “Tonight.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Chapter 8: sid & nancy

And the plot thickens! Last chapter plus an epilogue coming next week! 💚

Is this a good time to remind you that this series doesn't necessarily have a super happy ending? 👀

TAGS:

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27

Rehab Series: @nancymcl @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @sparkydonugh