In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.
series masterlist
CHAPTER 6
A/N: hey so did you guys know I find writing dialogue infuriating?? English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.
Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.
Warnings: swearing, weed, smoking, slight mention of manipulation, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.
Present
The flight to America was long. After leaving the van, Butcher had led the group, including you, towards a private plane. How he had gotten that in his possession, you didn’t dare ask.
"Russia."He had told you when he was asked where the hell you were. All this time, you had thought you were in your own country—the one you were raised in, trained in.
Manipulated in. Shaped in. Lied in.
You hadn’t dared to sleep on the plane. Your eyes were too focused on the people around you, and they, in return, didn’t take their eyes off of you either. It was an endless cycle of silent distrust, like a coiled snake ready to strike at the faintest flicker of weakness.
Butcher, with that permanent sneer etched onto his face, seemed oddly at ease, lounging in one of the leather seats as though this were all routine. The others, however, shifted uneasily, side-glancing at you and occasionally muttering in voices too low to catch. They knew things about you, things you hadn’t been allowed to know about yourself. Secrets planted in you, roots twisting through your memory, leaving a tangled mess you were just beginning to understand.
When the wheels had touched down, the silence between you and the others was heavier than ever. One by one, they had risen, adjusted their coats, hid weapons or stashed them, preparing for…something. You weren’t sure what. Butcher glanced back at you as the group headed for the exit.
"Stick close," he growled, his tone hinting at the consequences if you didn’t. You rose to follow, but a thought tugged at you—the same one that had haunted you for weeks now. Why am I here? You had been trained to follow orders, to be useful. To be a fucking soldier. But now, without a team of your own, without a clear purpose, with complete strangers and a man who didn’t remember you, you felt like a weapon without a target.
As you stepped into the next van, a white one this time, the biting chill of Russia was replaced by the dry, metallic heat of the American air. And the drive was, once again, long, through silent stretches of deserted roads, a landscape that grew more barren and industrial as the minutes ticked by. A landscape way too modern for your liking.
Eventually, you pulled into a shadowy parking lot, a motel shining in its glory on the other side of it. The motel loomed in the dark like a fortress of faded neon, its sign shining so brightly, that it cast a sickly glow on the empty lot in the burning daylight. Butcher muttered something to the driver, then turned to you and the rest of the group with a thin, humourless smile.
"Home sweet home," he sneered. "Get comfortable."
He climbed out, his boots crunching on the gravel as he motioned for everyone to follow. You felt a strange disorientation, a sense that you were stumbling into a world half-hidden, a world that you weren’t quite part of yet.
Butcher led you all through a side door into a bright hallway, the air thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and bleach. The walls were a sickly yellow, way too bright for your eyes. You heard voices somewhere down the hall, muttered and low, a constant hum that seemed to blend into the buzz of blinding lights overhead.
One of Butcher's associates—the scrawny man who you had learnt to be named Hughie—looked back at you, sizing you up, as if he was trying to decide if it would be a good idea to make conversation with you. He didn’t say anything, but his mouth opened regularly, just to be closed again immediately after.
Who names a kid Hughie, anyway?
Finally, Butcher stopped outside a door, fishing a key from his pocket. "This is where we’re holed up for the night." he grunted, throwing the door open. It was a room with multiple doors, making it almost feel like a five-bedroom apartment. You glanced towards the back of the room, where a cabinet held a single device- which almost looked like.. a TV?
The carpet looked soft, patterned with designs you couldn't quite place, and the smell was almost too good to believe. This whole damn situation was too good to believe. Nobody just gets you out of a facility with that much trouble.
Soldier Boy immediately left the main area, opening the furthest door before slamming it shut with such force that you almost flinched.
You were left with the rest of the group, the man whose accent you couldn't quite place dropping onto the couch before lighting what seemed to be a blunt. You frowned upon seeing his actions.
“Is that-“ you started, but the man cut you off almost immediately.
“Want one?”
That shit was illegal, last time you checked. How did he just light up one so casually?
“But, isn’t weed-“Once again, you were cut off before you could finish your sentence.
“Hasn't been illegal for a long time, love,” It was Butcher who had cut you off this time, a teasing smile edged onto his lips. “At least I hope it isn't. Frenchie can’t keep his hands off of the damn shit.”
Frenchie. Ah. Because he was fucking French?
A girl sat down next to him, and it was then you realised she hadn't uttered a single word all this time. But quite honestly, you didn't care. You didn't want to speak to anyone here anyway.
“Give me that.” You muttered as you reached towards the joint hanging from Frenchie’s lips, snatching it from his loose grip and inhaling the sweet drug yourself while taking place on the chair in the corner of the room.
Damn, did that feel fucking good.
“Great. Another junkie. You know how to pick them, Butcher.” The broad, dark-skinned man looked you over, a look of distrust in his eyes, with something you’d say looked like hatred.
Full-on hatred.
He left soon after the words had left his mouth, aiming for the room the furthest away from where Ben had just entered.
“Forgive MM. He’s a li’l tense.” The words left Butcher's mouth like they were rehearsed, almost like he’d had to say them many, many fucking times before.
You looked a Hughie, who had a glint of wonder shining in his eyes. And you decided you could no longer take his silent admiration.
“Just speak up, you're going to get your brain cooked if you think about it any fucking longer.”
Hughie’s face flushed, and he gave a nervous half-laugh. "Right, yeah, sorry. I was just—uh, thinking you might, you know… need anything?"
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Do I look like I need help?"
He shrank back slightly, rubbing his neck. "Well… no. But you do look, uh, tense."
The edge of his voice grated on you, but you found yourself holding back the sharp reply that sprang to mind. Hughie’s wide-eyed sincerity was almost… disarming. Not quite annoying, but close enough to be irritating. You took another drag from the joint, exhaling the smoke in a slow, curling stream that made him squirm under your gaze.
"Maybe I am," you replied finally, as the burn of the weed started to settle in, softening the sharp edges of the moment.
Butcher, sensing the tension as easily as a shark senses blood, chuckled as he slumped onto the couch on the other side of Frenchie, his arm sprawled across the back. "Best to relax, eh? Ain't no reason to trust us just yet, but might as well get comfy." He shot you a pointed look. "Wouldn't want you lashing out at us, soldier."
You stiffened slightly at that. Soldier. The word felt heavy, loaded with every fragment of an identity you’d been handed, and then dragged through hell with. But right now, you felt as if the word was used against you.
A form of manipulation you recognised all too well.
You glanced around the room, sizing each of them up—their guarded expressions, eyes flickering between caution and something sharper. Like you, they weren’t here by choice; they were pulled into the world of someone else’s agenda, their every move shadowed by doubt.
Butcher turned away, seeming to lose interest as he gestured toward Frenchie. "Frenchie, Kimiko, see if you can find us some real food. Nothing from the motel vending machine."
Frenchie and the girl gave a lazy salute, him mumbling something in French as he rose, giving you a quick nod as he passed, a spark of mischief glinting in his eyes. You got the feeling he could read you better than most, maybe even better than Butcher, but he wasn’t about to pry. They sauntered out of the room, leaving you and the others in a strangely awkward silence.
Hughie broke it, clearing his throat. "So, um…what’s your story, anyway?"
You shot him a cold look. "What’s it to you?"
He raised his hands in defence. "Nothing, just…you don’t exactly look like the type who follows Butcher around willingly."
"Right," MM added, stepping back into the room. His stare was unyielding as he glanced from you to Butcher, his shoulders tense with barely contained frustration. "Another question I’ve got too. Why’d we pick up this one, Butcher? First Soldier Boy, now Fury?"
Butcher’s smirk widened, almost enjoying the tension. "Easy, MM. Trust me, she’s gonna be useful. This one’s got a… particular knowledge."
You scoffed, crossing your arms. "So, what is it you expect me to do, exactly?"
Butcher leaned forward, that dangerous glint in his eye intensifying. "We asked your li’l friend from the past to help us with a problem. He, however, has proven unuseful at the first opportunity to fix it. Along with us, we’d like you to take down a supe named Homelander, together with Vought. Some big fish need taking care of, and you’ve got a rep that says you’re more than capable. Or, am I wrong?"
It was a baited question, but you didn’t flinch. "You tell me. You seem to know a lot about what I can do."
"Only what I’ve heard." Butcher’s tone was amused, but his gaze was sharp, unwavering. "But I figure you’ve been in the dark about most of it. They’ve kept you chained up in that facility for so long, all locked up with nothing to lose but your mind. Well, here’s your chance to earn back a bit of that freedom."
You tensed at the thought. Freedom was something you’d nearly forgotten the taste of, something that had felt like a distant memory until you were thrust into this strange company of misfits. Now it was dangled in front of you like a carrot on a stick, but you knew Butcher well enough to know it wouldn’t come without a cost.
You had fucking expected this anyway.
Fucking manipulation all over.
"So what, you want me to play attack dog for you lot?"
Butcher snorted, glancing around the room. "Attack dog, cannon fodder, hell, maybe even an ally. You’re here because you’re dangerous. I figure you’ll either find a use for that, or you’ll find yourself out on your ass. Your call."
The threat was as clear as the invitation. It hung in the air, thick and potent, as you studied each of their faces again. They were all different in their ways—MM with his sceptical eyes, Frenchie with his enigmatic grin, Hughie with his fidgeting nervousness, and Butcher with that smirk that told you he never played fair.
A sliver of something—maybe adrenaline, maybe the weed—flickered in you as you took in the group around you. For the first time in a long time, you felt the urge to fight, not for anyone else’s agenda, but for your own survival, your own questions. Maybe Butcher was right. You’d play his game. For now.
"Fine," you muttered, leaning back into the couch, your posture finally relaxing a bit as you held Butcher’s gaze, unblinking. "Who’s this Homelander, anyway?"
Butcher looked at Hughie before the younger boy walked over to you with a device you couldn’t quite place. He held it up, almost like a picture frame, but the unexpected light coming from the device burnt into your eyes.
“What the fuck is that?” You muttered in disbelief.
“A real son of a bitch, isn't he?” Butcher let out a low chuckle from afar.
“No, the fucking picture frame.”
“My phone?” Hughie spoke up carefully, as if afraid of letting off a bomb when he responded.
“That is no fucking phone.”
“21st century, uh, we got them like this nowadays.”
You would grow to hate his irritating stutter of responses. You already knew that.
Hughie held up his phone once more, and instead of trying to comment on it even further, you took the device from him with foreign precision, as if scared to hold something so far from your mental pictures of life.
As you looked at the image that was shown on the screen, you frowned once more upon looking at the man named Homelander. It was a strange feeling that went through you, almost familiar. You glanced at his facial features, slightly recognising the way his nose hung over his lips and the way his eyebrows framed his eyes almost the same as-
“Who’s he?” you asked before you could dwell on it further, and handed the phone back to Hughie.
“He’s the new Soldier boy.” Butcher answered.
“Great. Another fucking asshole leading a shit team of supes, then.” You muttered, taking another drag from the joint still smoking between your fingers.
Butcher’s grin widened as he watched you process the information. “You catch on quick, love. Homelander’s a bit more than an asshole, though. This one’s got the power of a god and the mind of a tantrum-throwing child. You think Soldier Boy was bad?” He chuckled darkly. “This one’s got a streak of crazy you wouldn’t believe.”
“Doubt that.”
Hughie, still looking slightly wary of you, chipped in. “He’s, uh… not just strong. Homelander’s got all of Vought backing him. They protect him, market him, and turn him into the perfect hero for the public. All the while, he’s probably the most dangerous person alive.”
You rolled your eyes, feeling the familiar irritation bubble up. You’d been a weapon for someone else’s whims before, a pawn in a game you hadn’t even known how to win in the end. And now, here they were, trying to sell you on another mission with vague promises of freedom. Still, something about the threat of this “Homelander” stuck with you. Maybe it was the hollow rage Butcher seemed to carry in his words, or the way MM’s shoulders tensed just at the mention of the supe’s name.
But you couldn't shake the feeling about Homelander building in your chest, the confusion making its way to your mind.
Butcher leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low growl. “This ain’t about heroics, love. We’re not out to save the world. We’re out to make sure this bastard doesn’t burn it down just because he feels like it.”
You scoffed, taking another drag of the joint before you exhaled, watching the smoke drift toward the sickly yellow ceiling. “And you think I’m going to be your secret weapon?”
Butcher shrugged, unbothered by your doubt. “We know what you can do. And frankly, I don’t think Vought or Homelander would expect it. They don’t know you’re in the game now, and that’s a hell of an advantage.”
For the first time, you let the thought settle. A weapon Vought didn’t know they’d lost. You hadn’t had a chance to choose your side before, but if you were honest, the thought of putting someone like Homelander down had a certain appeal. A weapon they’d shaped, was now in the hands of the one group that seemed hell-bent on destroying them. There was something poetic about that.
You looked over at the people still present in the room, the strange, broken people you’d been thrown in with. Hughie, nervous but oddly steadfast. MM, controlled anger simmering beneath a calm exterior. And Butcher, the man who looked like he’d die laughing at the end of the world.
You exhaled slowly, letting the thought take root while glancing back at the ceiling.
“All right, then.” You grinned, feeling the old fire flicker to life. “When do we start?”
A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.
In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.
series masterlist
CHAPTER 5
A/N: I feel like I birthed a baby with this one. One of my proudest works, hope you enjoy it as much as I do! English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.
Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.
Warnings: swearing, kinda descriptive mentions of death, soldier boy (yes, this man should be considered a warning), lying, manipulation kinda, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.
1980s
The 1980s were a lawless playground for Soldier Boy, a man shaped by chaos. Drugs. Sex. Violence. Few words could capture his essence, but those three came close. In the haze of neon lights and the pounding beat of rock and roll, he thrived, living by his own code—a code that left a trail of broken hearts, empty bottles, and bruised knuckles.
Weed fuelled him, as much a part of his bloodstream as oxygen. The high brought clarity to his mission, an almost supernatural focus. He sped through several joints a day, eyes always sharp and searching, a wild energy coursing through him. The thrill, the unpredictability—that was where he felt most alive.
Sex was a game he’d perfected to an art. He was a magnet, dangerous and alluring, a man wrapped in mystery and trouble. The women who gravitated toward him idolised him, and fell for his masculine charm in an instant. Together, they’d burn bright and fast, brief encounters flaring up like sparks against the dark backdrop of his nights.
And violence—violence was his answer to everything. It was both the shield and sword he wielded against a world he felt at odds with. He relished the crunch of knuckles against bone, the quick dance of fists and steel. For Soldier Boy, each fight was a test, a chance to feel something real in a world that often felt hollow. Even if the violence wasn’t always in place.
In a decade defined by rebellion and raw energy, Soldier Boy fit right in, a man who embodied the darker side of the times.
But in the rare, quiet moments between the mayhem, a shadow crossed Soldier Boy's hardened gaze—a glimpse of the boy he once was, twisted and reshaped by a father whose love was sharp-edged, if it could be called love at all. His father’s expectations had been relentless, more about moulding a weapon than raising a son. Every misstep, every moment of weakness was met with disdain or brutal correction. Soldier Boy learned early that softness was a liability, that love was something you conquered, not something you felt.
His father had drilled it into him that life was a battlefield, that only the ruthless survived. In his father’s eyes, “good enough” was an insult. Perfection was mandatory, and anything less was shameful. The standards were impossible, yet Soldier Boy chased them with a desperate fervour. He fought, drank, smoked, and womanized not just because he wanted to—but because he felt he had to.
Proving himself was a lifelong war.
And yet, he kept going. Because maybe, just maybe, if he lived loud enough, fought hard enough, and burned bright enough, he could drown out the voice that whispered that it was all for nothing.
So, Vought decided to strip away that part of him and make Ben into some hero. Someone who fought the actual wars, was a soldier for the country, and learned the values of hard work, tenacity, and bravery while growing up on the streets.
And suddenly, Ben wasn’t the boy born into a wealthy home under his distant, judgemental and overbearing father, a prominent industrial magnate who owned half the steel mills in the state.
He wasn’t the man who grew up after his father sent him to boarding school, just to get rid of him.
America believed he grew up to a poor family. To a happy family, caring for each other on the streets.
So that is what he chose to put on as a mask.
Therefore, as he stood there in the dark of the night, next to the Benz with a group of kids, he convinced himself he was the hero. Violent, but a hero. And he convinced himself to the point of believing it.
“Fuckin’ kids.” Ben muttered in slight disbelief, picking up the Benz with ease and hurling it forward, though missing his objective and sending it through a nearby house.
He could barely make out the form of an older, black man getting hit, surely dying in the process, but he couldn’t pay it much mind.
He was a hero, after all.
He fought the war.
In the corner of his eye, he vaguely saw a small child with terror edged in his gaze.
But Ben knew he didn’t do anything terrible.
It wasn’t his fault the Benz went through the windows of a nearby house. It wasn’t his fault it ended in the home of a black family.
The kids tried to run him over with the car, forcing him to deflect the oncoming vehicle and cause it to crash into the home.
That’s what happened.
That’s what he would tell them.
That’s what everyone would come to know.
He tore his eyes away from the carnage, nearly bumping into the smaller figure behind him.
“Soldier Boy?” Your voice rang through his ears, through the crackling of the fire behind him, concern edged along your face.
“They fuckin’ tried to run me over, Fury,” his words were firm. Stern. And not a single sign of care. “You can’t possibly think I threw a damn car into an innocent’s home?”
Your eyes were sharp, cutting through the smoke and the flickering light. You hadn’t personally known Soldier Boy for a long time. But it felt long enough to recognize the look in his eyes—the one that flared up when reality slipped out of his grip, morphing into whatever narrative best suited him. You wanted to believe him, needed to believe him, but even you couldn’t ignore the doubt clawing at your mind.
“Those kids—they barely had time to get the engine started. They didn’t try to run you over.” Your voice was quiet but steady, like your were trying to coax him out of a trance. “You picked up that car and threw it. You know what you did.”
His jaw tightened, eyes flashing with something between anger and desperation. “They fucking came at me first, Fury,” he barked, each word sharp as a knife. “They didn’t leave me a damn choice. This was self-defence. Part of the fucking job.” His words trailed off, and for a split second, he looked away, eyes drifting toward the broken home, the lifeless hand lying on the ground, still and unmoving.
You stepped closer, lowering your voice to a whisper that only he could hear. “You’re not a hero if you can’t see the difference between protecting and destroying, Ben.”
“What the fuck did you just call me?” He came at you with quick steps, grabbing you by the tight collar of your suit, the words leaving him in a growl.
“I told you I’d fucking figure it out.” You spoke with equal distaste, getting close enough to his face that your noses almost touched.
“Do not fucking call me that again.”
And he meant it. You knew he meant it.
“And don’t act like you’re some kind of saint,” he snapped, anger bristling beneath the surface. “I’ve done what needed to be done. I’ve kept this country safe. I’m still here because people need someone like me to do what they can’t stomach themselves. I’m the fucking leader of a team of supes.”
“Maybe they need someone strong, but they don’t need… this,” You said, gesturing to the wreckage. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “Look, I know you’re angry. I know you’ve had to fight your whole life, that you don’t know how to turn it off. But maybe this is a sign that something’s broken in you, something that Vought and all the violence have only made worse.”
He scoffed, letting go of your collar before crossing his arms defensively. “Broken? I’m the one who’s been keeping things fucking together. It’s everyone else who’s been lying to themselves, pretending that the world doesn’t need men like me. Heroes aren’t born, Fury. They’re made. I was made for this.”
You paused, searching his face, seeing flashes of the man behind the bravado, the man he’d hidden away for so long that even he had forgotten he existed. “You were made, Ben, but maybe too much. Vought twisted you, fed you lies about who you are, made you think you’re some unbreakable weapon. But that’s not who you have to be.”
His expression faltered, just for a moment, the mask slipping as the weight of your words settled over him. In the quiet, he could hear the sirens approaching, the blue and red lights reflecting off the shattered glass around them.
Ben stepped back, lifting his chin, defiance hardening his gaze once again. “You don’t fucking get it, Fury. Clearly.” He glanced at the arriving police cars, the ambulance and firefighters close behind. “This is who I fucking am. A hero. A soldier. A leader.”
As he turned to walk away, you watched him go, a sense of helplessness washing over her. She knew that the only person who could save Soldier Boy from himself was the man he’d buried long ago, the one who still lingered somewhere in the darkness.
But for now, Ben had made his choice, walking away from the broken family, the innocent lives left in the wake of his own battles, and found his way to the ambulance after they’d called him over.
Several police officers walked up to you as you stared towards the back of the man you tried so hard to figure out.
“Fury,” a deep voice spoke up from next to you, so your gaze reluctantly shifted towards the officer next to you. “Mind telling us what happened?”
You did mind.
You didn’t want this.
The man looked at you sternly, leaving no space for lies. He would’ve been onto you straight away, and his stare made it seem like he’d already seen through you.
But it rolled off your tongue before you could stop it, and you shifted your gaze to Soldier Boy once more.
“Kids tried to run Soldier Boy over, hit the house instead,” you felt numb. No feelings were edged into your words. “They fled before we could get to them.”
The officer nodded, but his eyes narrowed, clearly not buying your story. “And you just saw it happen?” “Yeah,” you replied, your voice oddly steady. “I was—”
“Fury!” A new voice cut through, sharp and commanding. A tall woman in a crisp uniform approached, her badge glinting in the chaotic light. “What the hell is going on?” “Ma’am, just trying to piece together—” the officer began. She waved him off, eyes locked on you.
“I don’t care about your excuses. I need the truth. This isn’t just another PR disaster for Vought. A house is wrecked, and people are hurt. A man is dead. We need to know what really happened.” The urgency in her tone electrified the air.
You felt the weight of the world pressing down. What if Soldier Boy’s lies unraveled? What if the truth exposed the monster behind the hero facade?
Before you could answer, a commotion erupted at the ambulance. Ben was arguing with medics, insisting he was fine, refusing treatment. “Fury!” the woman snapped again, pulling you from your thoughts. “We need to act fast. Are you with us or not?”
The woman’s expression hardened. “And what about the man inside? The casualties? You think the press will swallow that story? They’ll tear him apart, and the fallout will land on all of us.”
“It’s what I said,” you hated lying. But then again, isn’t this life all about lies? “Some kids tried to run him over. They fled as quick as the car rammed into the house.”
“It’s how it fucking happened,” You snapped, putting your all in selling a lie that wasn’t yours. A lie to protect someone who shouldn’t be protected. “Set up the statement for the press. I’ll do it. Just let me speak to him first.”
You walked away before anyone could protest.
As you approached the ambulance, Ben’s voice rose above the chaos. “I don’t fucking need your help!” You stepped closer, the weight of the moment pressing on your chest.
“Soldier Boy,” you called softly, hoping to pierce through his armour. He turned, eyes blazing. “Please, just let them check you out.”
“I don’t fucking need checking. I’m a fucking supe.”
“Alright then,” you couldn’t give him any more than that. He wasn’t going to listen to you anyway. And you felt the weight of the dead man in the house press down on your shoulders. “They’re setting up a statement. Would be nice if you could read the fucking words to the camera and be done with it.”
You weren’t sure who you hated more.
Him, for murdering an innocent man in front of a child.
Yourself, for deciding to let him get away with it.
Or Vought, for creating monsters out of innocents who just happened to be pumped full of Compound V.
“Fine.” He spoke sternly as he stared you down, before leaving the medics and you to walk towards your commander.
You gave the men in front of you a sympathetic nod, but you were stopped in your tracks when you noticed the child sitting on the edge of the ambulance. Your heart fell to your feet, a chill running down your spine upon the sight of the broken body in front of you.
He’d cried. Of course, he’d cried.
But you couldn’t get yourself to talk to him.
So, before your feet could get you to the child, you turned on your heels and walked towards the camera crew whom had just arrived.
But you didn’t know the child had seen you look at him.
You didn’t know he thought you were just as guilty as Ben.
Soldier Boy was already stood ready for the camera, and as you joined him, the camera lights clicked on, the harsh beams illuminating the devastation. And you felt yourself splintering inside, the weight of Soldier Boy’s lie settling like a stone in your chest. You glanced toward Ben, an indignant fire smoldering in his eyes. He looked every bit the righteous soldier, ready to declare himself the hero America needed.
The image of the boy’s face, twisted in fear and grief, tugged at you. But here you were, about to spin the truth into another manufactured story. You took a deep breath, forcing down the nausea that coiled in your gut.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” you began reading of the paper boards the assistent held next to the camera, voice steady, betraying none of the chaos within. “Tonight, a tragic accident occurred during an attempted assault on Soldier Boy.”
You felt the lie burn on your tongue as you kept your eyes fixed on the camera, refusing to let yourself glance at Ben or at the wreckage. “Some local teens attempted to run him down, resulting in the accidental damage to the home behind me. Soldier Boy acted only in self-defense, as any of us would in such a situation.”
You knew the words sounded hollow, even as they left your mouth. A part of you wanted to stop, to let the truth pour out, but your career, your life, everything was intertwined with Vought’s lie.
Ben took his chance to speak up as well, forcefully shaping his words around the story he had made up. “I am lucky to be alive today,” he started, adverting the attention to himself. “This shows what work still needs to be done in the life of heroes- to get your people behind you. Because you are all my fuckin’ people, and I will do whatever it takes to fight for this country.”
You swallowed harshly as you looked at him into his mask, the façade of a broken man who truly believed he wasn’t at fault.
You glanced back to the camera, forcing a sympathetic expression. “Our hearts go out to the family affected by this unfortunate event. Vought will, of course, be providing assistance to help rebuild and support those affected by this incident.”
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Ben his mouth, a look that sent a jolt of anger through you. This was a game to him, a story he’d tell at bars, while the real suffering lingered in the shadows. The cameras clicked off, and the reporters dispersed, murmuring about the press release.
As the crew packed up, you turned towards Ben, a tight smile masking the turmoil beneath. “You’re in the clear,” you murmured, feeling the weight of each word. “Don’t ever say I never fucking do anything for you.”
Ben looked down at you, his usual cocky expression in place. “See, Fury? I told you, people want a hero.” He threw a casual glance over his shoulder, at the small boy now being led away by a medic. “Shit happens. People need to understand that.”
“You can’t really believe that,” you said, unable to hide the frustration in your voice. “That kid…he’ll remember tonight for the rest of his life. The view of his home burned into his mind.”
Ben shrugged, unfazed. “That’s what builds strength. He’ll get over it.”
You wanted to scream, to shake him, to force him to see the agony he’d caused, but you knew it was useless. He was wrapped in layers of arrogance, denial, and decades of conditioning. Any compassion or empathy had been twisted out of him long ago, and in his mind, he was untouchable.
Turning away, you felt the hot sting of shame rise, pressing at the edges of your vision. You’d made a choice, sacrificed the truth for the illusion of stability, and now a piece of you felt as hollow as the lies you’d just told.
A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.
In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.
SERIES MASTERLIST
Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.
Warnings: swearing, violence, descriptions of gore, mentions of blood, mentions of death, soldier boy (yes, this man should be considered a warning), lab experiments, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.
In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.
series masterlist
CHAPTER 4
A/N: This one took me a while, but I'm back! I've been to two comic cons in a row, and I've just been so busy with work as well, so my writing motivation was little to none. But here's part 4! English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.
Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.
Warnings: swearing, descriptions of gore, mentions of blood, mentions of death, soldier boy (yes, this man should be considered a warning), and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.
Present
It was only a couple of minutes later when Butcher finally broke the dreading silence, but your mind had raced through a timespan of hours. “We need to get out. Get up, love.”
A tight grip fastened around your right upper arm, lifting you urgently but with slight care. Your eyes barely left the horror scene of several guts splashed against the walls in the hallway, body parts scattered around the floor, and in the back of your mind, you remembered the two decapitated bodies Ben had been the cause of.
The air felt electric, the smell of smoke burning through your nostrils and finding the dreaded way towards your throat. You could barely believe it was your doing, but there was no denying the destruction that lay in your wake.
Ben stood rooted to the spot near the door, his shield lowered but still gripped tightly. His eyes flicked toward you, and for the first time, the cold indifference you had become accustomed now labelled as fear. And it frightened you because, for a second, you got the feeling he would lash out like he did all those years ago.
But you didn’t have time to dwell on it.
“No,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. “I need you to tell me what happened.”
You could barely recall the moment you lost control, the power that had surged through you. But the aftermath was all too real. You stared at your trembling hands, electricity still sparking between your fingers, the residual energy crackling like a distant storm.
Ben didn’t respond. The tension between the men hung in the air like a ticking time bomb.
“Like I said, we need to move,” Butcher said, his voice gruff as he pushed away from the terminal. “We’re locked down for now, but Vought’ll be on our arses soon enough. Let’s get the fuck outta ‘ere.”
You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. The adrenaline from the fight was fading fast, replaced by a gnawing fear—of yourself, of the power you’d just unleashed. You could feel it, the wild storm inside of you. You had no idea what had triggered it or if you could control it again. And judging by the way Ben was looking at you, he wasn’t too sure either.
As the three of you moved out of the control room and into the hallway, the facility felt strangely empty, the echoes of your destruction trailing behind you like a shadow. But you knew better. Vought wouldn’t give up that easily.
Ben walked ahead, his broad frame cutting a path through the blood-splattered hallway, but his movements were more cautious now. The confidence and rage that usually simmered beneath his surface were subdued as if he was watching you closely, waiting for you to lose control again.
You didn’t blame him.
Everything was silent. Too silent.
You just wanted either of the men to scream at you- put you back in that cell as a result of their fears.
But none of it came.
Butcher, ever the pragmatist, kept his focus on the exit, but even he glanced at you from time to time, something unspoken in his gaze. He had seen supes use their powers before—hell, he’d fought against them—and while he wasn’t afraid, he certainly wasn’t going to let his guard down around you. Not anymore.
“Oi,” Butcher muttered as you approached the final set of doors that led to the outside. “You good? That little light show back there—gonna happen again?”
You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the trembling in your hands. “I don’t know.” you admitted, hating how uncertain your voice sounded. You didn’t want to make yourself weak.
But with the way you lashed out, you didn’t think either of the two would think you were weak.
Except maybe Ben.
Because he thought you were a lab rat.
Butcher raised an eyebrow. “Well, now’s not the time to go rogue on us, love. We still gotta make it outta ‘ere in one piece.”
You bit back a retort, knowing he was right. But his words only fuelled the fear already building inside you. You weren’t sure what this would mean for you.
Ben stopped at the door, glancing back at the two of you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes lingered on you for just a second longer than necessary. “You sure you aren’t going to fucking kill us?” he asked, his voice gruff and unkind.
And you knew then. He didn’t think you were weak.
He thought you were a monster.
You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words. “Fuck if I know.”
For a moment, the three of you stood in silence, the distant wail of sirens and alarms a constant reminder that your time was running out. Then Ben nodded, accepting your answer without further comment. He shoved the door open, leading the way into the cold night air outside the facility.
The wind hit your face like a slap, fresh air filling your lungs like the first glass of burning whiskey on a night out. You felt exhausted, nearly falling to your knees at the spot. You glanced up at the night sky, stars barely visible through the haze of city lights, and took a deep breath. For the first time in decades, you were free.
But freedom came with a cost.
And you weren’t sure you could pay it.
Ben and Butcher kept a steady pace as they made their way through the fallen snow, the white burning into your eyes like you’d just stared at the sun, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at you.
The facility was behind you, but Vought’s reach extended far beyond those walls. And as much as you wanted to believe the worst was over, you knew better.
This was only the beginning.
As the three of you approached the extraction point, the sound of distant helicopters filled the air, and you could already see the headlights of Vought’s vehicles in the distance, closing in fast. There would be no rest, no time to process what had happened. Not yet.
A black van stood in the dim light of the moon, right behind the final passage of your imprisonment. The two men ran towards it, making you realise this was their transport. You tried to bite through your exhaustion, your pain, but it was to no avail.
Right as you saw a figure leave the vehicle, you fell to your knees on the ice-cold ground- the joined snowflakes burning your knees through your pants.
But you could barely pay it any mind.
The figure from the van moved quickly, their boots crunching through the snow as they approached you. It soon took the shape of a scrawny-looking man, but he couldn’t have been much older than thirty. A slight stubble caressed the lower half of his face, and a few fluffed pieces of hair came from under his beanie.
You struggled to keep your eyes open, feeling the last of your adrenaline slipping away, the cold seeping into your bones. You could barely make out Butcher’s voice, barking orders at the newcomer, but it all sounded distant, muffled by the ringing in your ears, the sounds of the helicopters. Even the weather couldn’t give you strength this time.
But amongst the sounds you could vaguely hear, Soldier Boy’s voice was not one of them.
“Stay with us,” the newest person said, their voice unsurprisingly gentle as they knelt beside you. A hand gripped your arm, steadying you. You tried to focus on them, but the edges of your vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the corners.
About two more people left the van, but you didn’t have any energy to analyse them.
A face appeared above yours, concern etched into their face. “You’re not dying on us,” they growled, and their care confused you. You didn’t even know them. “We need you to hold it together.”
And you tried. God, did you try.
You weren’t weak.
You weren’t pathetic.
And most of all, you weren’t going to make a fool of yourselves.
So, instead of succumbing to the darkness that had crept into your mind, you looked up at the broad figure and focused on his kind, but demanding eyes. Three men held you up, and you could vaguely make out the figure of your former companion getting into the back of the van without a word.
You were helped up into the vehicle, and for a moment you felt like the fool you were afraid to become. You were a supe. A soldier. There shouldn’t have been any need to get lifted into a van by three men.
Taking your place near the backdoor, you lifted up your legs and wrapped your arms around them to keep yourself warm. You tried to summon the power of the sun, the warmth of fire. But all you got was electricity. Cold, prickling electricity.
Looking out the back window, you tried everything not to make any eye contact with the people around you, as the last person stepped inside and closed the side door.
The air was thick with tension and a strange, almost hesitant feeling of understanding. You slumped further against the cold metal side, feeling the slight vibrations as the van roared to life and sped away from the facility. Every bump on the road sent jolts of pain through your body, but you bit down the groans that threatened to escape.
The scrawny man from earlier sat beside you, his gaze flitting between you and Soldier Boy, who sat in the far corner on the other side of the vehicle, keeping his eyes trained out the window as well. He didn’t acknowledge you, but his silence spoke volumes.
Butcher, sitting directly across from you, watched you carefully, his gaze flicking between the sparks still dancing faintly along your hands and your exhausted expression. He was assessing, weighing whether you were still a threat.
“Listen,” Butcher’s voice cut through the quiet, “I don’t give a rat’s arse if you’re feelin’ sorry for yourself. We need you sharp if we’re gonna get through this alive. That means no more ‘accidents,’ got it?”
His tone was harsh, but beneath it was a sliver of something else—almost like concern. Or at least, as close to concern as Butcher could ever muster.
You managed a nod, barely meeting his eyes.
Part of you was angry.
Angry at yourself, angry at Butcher.
But most of all, angry at Ben.
Because how the fuck could he walk around, swinging that shield like it’s nothing, without a single memory of you lingering inside his mind?
You bore your memories. You were burdened with them.
But now, you bore his, too.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen.” You decided to speak up, deciding to no longer make a fool of yourself. Truth was, you had no idea if you could keep the outburst from happening again. The power felt wild inside you, like a caged animal ready to break free the moment you lost your grip.
You turned away, focusing instead on the faint vibration of the van as it rumbled along a rough road. The cold had settled deep into your muscles, making you shiver uncontrollably. It felt like you’d never be warm again.
Butcher, noticing your discomfort, threw a blanket your way, which you caught with clumsy hands. “Don’t say I never do nothin’ for ya.” he muttered. There was no softness in his tone, but it wasn’t entirely unfriendly either. Maybe he didn’t hate you—yet.
He was the one who wanted to get you out of there, anyway.
For his own damn purposes, that is.
You wrapped the blanket around yourself, trying to gather your thoughts. “What is this about?” you asked, not sure if the only thing they’ve done was lie to your face. “The truth, this time.”
Ben switched his gaze towards you instantly, sending you a look that was close to a death glare. And you were the stupid one who locked eyes with him at that moment.
And at that point, you missed his caring gaze. His words that only you had gotten in the past. The person he cared enough for to catch a bullet to the head.
Until he didn’t.
Butcher tilted his head, sending Ben a daring glare, which caused him to look away.
“Butcher’s got a thing for picking up strays.” Soldier boy spoke sternly, absently averting his gaze back outside, his eyes trembling as they followed their surroundings.
You broke your stare towards Ben, and you could sense the weight of his words passing towards you. You were just another stray to them. And you weren’t sure what that meant.
Butcher still didn’t answer. Either he didn’t have one, or he didn’t want you to know about it.
The silence inside the van thickened, each unspoken word a weight pressing down on you. Ben's brief outburst still echoed in your mind, the sharpness of it reminding you just how far you'd fallen from the fragile trust you thought you’d shared with him. He wouldn’t even look at you now, the distance between you as icy as the snow you’d collapsed into earlier.
Butcher leaned back, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. It was like he was weighing whether to trust you with more—or if it was safer to keep you in the dark.
Finally, he spoke up, his voice low. “We’ve got a little operation. Some resources, a few people who ain’t fond of being Vought’s lapdogs,” you noticed a slight tremble in his voice. One a regular person wouldn’t have noticed. “We just needed one more backup- someone who knows all about the company. You.”
You clearly felt like it was a lie.
A straight-up, fully thought-out lie.
Butcher’s words grated against your nerves, the blatant half-truth curling like smoke in the air between you. It was too clean, too practised. You could see the calculation behind his eyes—what he was willing to share and what he wasn't.
You raised an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch out uncomfortably as you locked eyes with him. “Just needed backup, huh?” you echoed, your voice cutting through the tension in the van like a blade. “And it just so happened that your ‘backup’ was locked in one of Vought’s prisons?”
Butcher’s jaw tightened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. He didn’t like being called out, but he didn’t deny it, either. “Look, it’s more complicated than that,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin. “Vought’s got their hands in everything. Any chance to screw with ‘em, we take it. You were there, we got you out. Simple as.”
Ben scoffed, turning his head toward you. His gaze was sharp, scrutinizing. “Yeah, and it’s not like you’ve got anywhere better to be, do you?” His voice was harsher than you remembered as if all the warmth you once thought you saw in him had been stripped away, leaving only the bitterness behind. “Or would you rather be back in that cell?”
You clenched your hands into fists beneath the blanket, feeling the sparks crackle faintly against your skin. It was a good reminder that you were far from powerless, even if you felt lost. But you held the charge back, not wanting to give them any more reason to doubt you—or fear you. “I don’t know what I want,” you admitted quietly, and the honesty of the words stung. “But I know I don’t trust any of you. Not yet.”
Butcher gave a rough chuckle, but it lacked humour. “Yeah, well, join the club. We’re not here to make friends, love. Just keep your head down, and don’t fuckin’ lose it in the process.”
You looked away, your mind racing with the implications of this uneasy alliance. The cold seeped through the metal walls of the van, biting at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the chill in Ben’s gaze. He had been your ally once, your only friend in the darkness. Now, you couldn’t tell if he’d ever been on your side at all.
As the van bumped along the dark road, the tension between all of you settled into a heavy, uncomfortable silence. But despite everything, one thought gnawed at you, refusing to be silenced.
Whatever Butcher’s real reason was for pulling you from that cell, it was more than just needing an extra set of hands. And you would find out what it was—one way or another.
A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.
In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.
CHAPTER 1
A/N: New fic? New fic! This man has me in a chokehold, I'm not even going to lie. I will try to actually finish this one. promise. English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.
Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.
Warnings: not much in this chapter. hostage holding, mentions of being a lab rat, violence, swearing, soldier boy (yes, this man should be considered a warning). possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.
Solitude. Besides the regular visits from the scientists, you hadn’t seen a single person in over thirty years. Or was it forty? In all honesty, you had lost count after the first ten.
The bright light flickered as you leaned against the cold, metal wall of your cell, memories swirling like ghosts in your mind. Once, you had been a soldier. A person with a voice. But all that was ripped away when Vought was done. When they handed you to the Russians. When they completely stripped you of your identity and ripped you from your life as a hero.
Your train of thought was interrupted by a loud clamp, the creaking of a metal door, followed by heavy footsteps. There was no access to time in your cell, but it wasn't hard to recognize patterns and count the hours you were up for the next experiment.
And now was not that time.
As the door creaked open, a shadow fell across your cell. You squinted against the harsh light to focus on the figure standing there, face illuminated by the LED lights above him. Your heart rate picked up slightly, and you unwillingly tugged against the restraints keeping you chained to the floor.
Memories flooded back — laughter shared in the trenches, the camaraderie of battle, the promise of loyalty. But that was before Vought twisted everything into a nightmare. Before he got rid of all that was between you.
As Soldier Boy stepped closer, you realized it was only a shell of the man you once knew. His eyes, once filled with the tiniest bit of kindness towards you, were now clouded with confusion.
With force, you tried to speak up, but quickly realised you hadn't truly uttered anything except screams in a while.
“Well, if it isn't the man who got away.”
Ben looked around before he approached your cell, the glass door the only separation between you. You took the opportunity to look at him properly. This certainly was the man you had once fought alongside, but even if he had been held captive for decades, his features hadn't changed much. His auburn hair was now slightly longer, and a neatly trimmed beard covered the lower half of his face.
“Who the hell are you?” His words stung like a knife, and for a second, you felt like he might as well have hit you with his heavy shield.
“Right. They made you forget,” you murmured as you tore your gaze away from him, head leaning back against the cold wall. “Typical Vought.”
“I’m asking you one more time, lady,” he shot you a daring glance, as if trying to project his dominance despite the fact you were literally locked up. “Who the hell are you? Are you Vought’s newest lab rat?”
“Don’t call me a damn lab rat.” You spat shortly, pointing at nobody in particular.
Ben furrowed his brow, his confusion deepening as he studied you, the spark of recognition failing to ignite in his eyes. The man you had once known—had once fought beside—was buried beneath decades of manipulation, both of your bodies now broken artefacts in Vought's collection.
“They told me you got out, you know,” you started as you realised he wasn't going to speak up first. “Hell, they let me feel that you escaped the labs.”
Ben's face twisted, the sharp edge of suspicion cutting through his once-confident demeanour. He narrowed his eyes as if searching your face for something he should remember but couldn't grasp.
“I don’t care who they told,” he took another step forward, his boots echoing in the empty hallway. The only view you’ve had for decades. “Especially not if they told some rogue kid.”
“Read my fucking sign, Ben. My date of birth is literally there.” You spat, emphasising on his name. Of course, he wasn’t aware you knew of that. Nobody did. Except for his team. Except for you.
“What the fuck did you just call me?”
Before you could even answer, another set of heavy boots entered the room.
“Oi.”
Ben's eyes darted to the newcomer, who emerged from the shadows at the doorway. The figure was stocky and imposing, his gruff voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
The bearded man couldn't resist looking at the sign, whereas Ben chose to ignore it. “Fury,” he stated matter-of-factly as he took his place next to Soldier Boy. “They told everyone you died, you know? But then again, Vought is very good at convincing.”
The name felt foreign to you now, like a relic from another life. Fury—back when you had a purpose. When you weren’t just an experiment trapped in this cold prison of time. But the name still held power. It connected you to a past they had tried to erase, a past Ben was now seemingly detached from.
You studied the newcomer. His presence exuded dominance in a way that Soldier Boy’s arrogance couldn’t touch. Where Ben was brash and impulsive, this man seemed calculating, like he could snap you in half with a flick of his wrist but would choose not to—for now.
"Who are you?" you rasped, your voice a broken shadow of what it once was. You didn't recognize him, but there was something about him that made you wary.
"Name's Butcher," he replied, his gaze not leaving you. “And we’re here to retrieve you.
Butcher’s cold stare seemed to cut right through you, his posture rigid and alert as if he expected you to lash out at any moment. The way he carried himself was different from anyone else you had seen in these halls. He wasn’t afraid of Vought—or of you.
After the words had left Butcher’s lips, Soldier Boy seemed to snap, and he was not afraid to show it. The way he grabbed the collar of the man next to him made you flinch. It wasn't like you've never seen Ben lash out before, but it never failed to make you tense just the tiniest bit. Being brought back to the time when you were on the receiving end.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Butcher?”
Butcher didn’t flinch as Soldier Boy grabbed him, his face betraying nothing but a cold, calculating smirk. He met Ben’s glare head-on, the tension between the two men growing thicker with each passing second.
“Easy there, mate,” Butcher said, his voice as casual as if they were discussing the weather. “You’re all pent up, I get it. But this ain’t the time for a bloody tantrum.”
Ben’s grip tightened, his nostrils flaring as he leaned in closer, his breath hot with barely restrained rage. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Butcher, but I’m not here for your shit. What the hell do you mean ‘retrieve her’? We were here to retrieve information on how to take down Vought.”
Butcher’s eyes flickered toward you, and he spoke as if you weren’t still bound in chains, trapped behind glass. “Vought’s been keeping her under wraps for a long time. You want to take down Vought? There’s your information. And now we’re here to pull her out. Simple as that.”
You shifted uncomfortably in your restraints, your wrists raw from years of confinement. "What do you want?" you asked, your voice low but steady, trying to hold onto whatever strength you had left.
Butcher’s lip curled slightly, his eyes narrowing as soldier boy set a couple of steps back reluctantly.
"What do I want?" he echoed as if amused by the question. "I want the same thing you do. To watch Vought burn to the ground.”
“What’s in it for you?” you only dared to ask. Butcher chuckled darkly, his gaze sharpening as he locked eyes with you.
"What's in it for me? Oh, love, let's just say I've got a personal stake in seeing Vought crumble into dust. But I ain't here for a heart-to-heart. I'm here because you and him, Fury, might be the key to blowing this whole bloody operation wide open."
His words hung in the cold air of the cell, heavy with promise and menace. He wasn’t just some random mercenary or someone acting out of charity—this was personal for him. Soldier Boy, still tense and bristling beside him, seemed less convinced.
“You’re saying she’s got intel on Vought? Enough to take them down?” Soldier Boy’s voice had a sceptical edge to it as if he didn’t quite believe this was worth the trouble.
Butcher shot him a sidelong glance. "More than intel. You and her are living proof of what Vought’s done in secret for decades. And Fury here—she's one of their finest projects."
The way he said “projects” made your skin crawl, reminding you of the years spent under Vought’s control, your abilities twisted, and exploited. But you pushed the feeling down, focusing instead on the conversation.
Butcher leaned in closer to the glass, his voice dropping low. "Vought’s been running a program, a little something they like to keep off the books. Soldiers, supers, experiments—the whole works. They’ve been breeding killers, Fury. And you—you’ve been in the belly of the beast long enough to know exactly what they’ve been up to."
You clenched your jaw, old anger bubbling to the surface. “They don't tell me anything.” you admitted, your voice rough. You didn't want this. You didn't want to be back with him.
But most of all, you just wanted out. You didn't care who you had to betray to make that work.
“But I picked up enough.” It was a simple lie you had told. Of course, you knew what Vought had been up to. You and Ben had been living proof of it. But you knew better than to turn against the people who experimented on you in the first place. You just wanted revenge on the reason you were here.
Butcher’s smile turned vicious. “That’s all I need to hear. You tell us what you know, and we’ll make sure Vought pays for every bloody thing they’ve done to you. To all of us.”
Soldier Boy crossed his arms, clearly still on edge. “And what makes you think she’s gonna play along? She’s been locked up here for god knows how long. Might be more Vought’s weapon than you think.”
“So were you, mate.”
You locked eyes with Ben, a flood of bitter memories surging up as you spoke. "You really don't remember, do you?" The weight of your words hung heavy between you.
Butcher interrupted, his voice cold and calculating. "Whether you like it or not, we could use ‘er. You might not remember, but I reckon she’s got more to offer than just bein’ another lab rat."
"Shut the fuck up," Ben snapped, his voice wavering with frustration. "If I don’t know her, I don’t care. End of story."
But it wasn't the end for you.
It would never be the end for you.
You took a deep breath. "Let me out," you demanded, the last ounce of your strength fueling your voice. "And we take down Vought, together."
Ben shot you a look, his expression hardening. "Why should I trust you?"
You met his gaze, unflinching. "Because, like it or not, I’m the only one who remembers who we really are."
A tense silence filled the room as the weight of your words settled in. Butcher crossed his arms, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Well, then. What’s it gonna be, Soldier Boy?"
“I don’t fucking care. Figure it out.”
His words were sharp. Short. And not a single ounce of caring outlined the roughness of them.
With that, he straightened his back, tightened his grip on his shield, and left the room.
“So,” Butcher said, his voice cutting through the lingering tension. “How about we get you out of those bloody chains, and you tell us what Vought’s been hiding all this time?”
You didn't dare to have hope. But you dared to feel the slightest bit of fury.
A/N: i know she's short. and i know this might probably not make a whole lot of sense?? but i try. it's been so long that i've written that it still feels kinda foreign, so feedback is greatly appreciated!
Okay I am so intrigued by this idea!! I love the reader that you've created and the hero name is AWESOME. I can't wait to read what she can do.
I like that you've given the reader character a bit of "world weariness" and she's tired of how everything is. It's reminding me of the MC in the Old Guard.
Memories flooded back — laughter shared in the trenches, the camaraderie of battle, the promise of loyalty. But that was before Vought twisted everything into a nightmare. Before he got rid of all that was between you.
I also like that Ben can't remember at all who she is and that she's almost burdened with the memories that she carries for both of them. It's also almost a little heart breaking for me to see how much she carries and how he can't remember her at all.
But most of all, you just wanted out. You didn't care who you had to betray to make that work.
“But I picked up enough.” It was a simple lie you had told. Of course, you knew what Vought had been up to. You and Ben had been living proof of it. But you knew better than to turn against the people who experimented on you in the first place. You just wanted revenge on the reason you were here.
I love that you made her morally gray. It's very much like the Boy show and it's always fun to see a morally gray reader.
I can't wait to see what's next! And please don't apologize about him having you in a choke hold. I am right there with you lol. 😂
ive been so busy these weeks that i have struggled with writers block a lot, but this made me very motivated to continue. thank you for sharing your thoughts with me so beautifully 🥰
the next two parts are already posted, but i could tag you in part four if you'd like?
seeing as im going to comic con tomorrow, i didn't have much time to write because of preparations. the next chapter is not het finished, but i promise it'll be up soon enough!!
In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.
series masterlist
CHAPTER 3
A/N: English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.
Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.
Warnings: swearing, descriptions of slight gore, mentions of blood, mentions of death, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.
Present
Getting out of your cell was easier than expected. The hard part was getting out of the facility alive; about twenty minutes into the escape, alarm bells rang out like a symphony of dread, filling the cold, sterile corridors. It wasn’t surprising, really—Vought’s security wasn’t going to let you walk out unharmed. Still, for the first time in decades, your wrists were free from the biting restraints, and adrenaline surged through your veins.
You ran alongside Butcher, who seemed to have an uncanny knack for navigating the labyrinthine facility. His movements were sharp and purposeful. It was clear he had done his homework on this place, even if Vought’s playbook was constantly evolving. Soldier Boy was ahead, his broad shoulders cutting a path through the narrow hallways like a battering ram.
“Thought you said you had this under control!” you shouted over the wail of the alarms, your voice rusty but gaining strength.
Butcher smirked, barely winded. “Oh, this? Bit of noise never hurt nobody.”
Ben shot a glance back at the two of you, his shield gripped tightly in one hand, his jaw clenched. He looked as though he was barely holding himself together—rage simmering just beneath the surface. You couldn’t blame him. Whatever memories Vought had buried inside him, they still left scars. And now, the sound of blaring alarms running through his ears, must trigger his fight or flight response. There was no doubt about it.
“We need to hit the control room,” Butcher said, his voice urgent now. “Shut down the security before they send the big guns.”
You and Soldier Boy exchanged a glance. His eyes still carried that haunting vacancy, but a flicker of something else—recognition, maybe—crossed his face. He jerked his head forward, signalling for you to keep moving. Old habits died hard. Even after everything, he still acted like a leader.
The trio turned a sharp corner just as a squad of Vought soldiers appeared at the other end of the corridor. You didn’t hesitate. Throwing yourself to the floor, you slid behind a row of metal crates, while Soldier Boy charged forward like a freight train. His shield crashed against the soldiers, sending them flying, their weapons useless against his brute force and super healing.
Butcher stayed low, pulling a gun from his coat and taking a few well-placed shots, neutralizing the ones that hadn’t already been knocked out cold by Ben. The man moved with ruthless precision, not a shred of hesitation in his actions. You wondered how many people like you and Ben he’d already dealt with, how much he’d seen. But that was a question for later. For now, survival was your only priority.
“Clear,” Butcher muttered, nodding for you to get up.
“We won’t have much time,” you said, still catching your breath. The alarms were one thing, but Vought had been keeping an eye on every single corner of the facility with the carefully hidden cameras around the building.
“Yeah, no fucking shit,” Ben muttered, shaking off some dust mixed with blood from his shield as if this were a regular Tuesday for him. “Where’s this control room?”
You pointed ahead. “Up two floors. We take the stairs—elevator’s a death trap.”
Your mind was racing with thoughts of escape. But there was another gnawing question you couldn’t shake: Why were they here, really? Why you?
As the three of you burst through the stairwell door and ascended the steps, your legs burning with the effort, you felt the weight of the years clawing at you. Your muscles were stiff, your body weak from disuse, but the rage—the fury—inside you was enough to keep you moving. You were sick of being someone else’s pawn.
Suddenly, Ben stopped at a landing, holding out his arm. You froze, instinctively falling back into soldier mode. “What is it?” you whispered.
“Listen.”
You strained your ears, and sure enough, your superhearing enhanced the heavy clank of footsteps echoing from above. A lot of footsteps.
“They’re sending the backup troops,” You muttered. “They think we’re trapped.”
Butcher grinned, something dark and predatory in his eyes. “Let ‘em come. They don’t know what’s comin’ for ‘em.”
You tightened your fists, feeling the heat of your powers surging just beneath your skin. It hurt, just the slightest. It had been so long since you had the chance to use them—so long since you’d felt anything beyond the dull ache of confinement.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” Butcher asked, glancing at you with an eyebrow raised.
You looked him dead in the eye, trying to hide your hesitation. “Always am.”
The first wave of guards came pouring down the stairs, fully armed, faces masked. Without hesitation, Ben launched himself into the fray, shield gleaming as it smashed into the front line. Butcher followed, a pistol in one hand and a combat knife in the other, carving through the chaos.
You stood back for a moment, feeling the pulsing heat build in your hands, until finally, with a sharp exhale, you unleashed it. Energy—wild, untamed wind—exploded from your palms, sending the next wave of soldiers crashing back into the walls. The surge felt powerful, like shaking off the chains that had weighed you down for years.
But most of all, it was stronger than it ever had been. The most powerful you had ever felt. And you barely dared to admit that it scared you.
Ben glanced back, eyes wide for the briefest of moments when he looked at you before he returned to dispatching the remaining guards.
“Not bad,” Butcher commented, smirking through the chaos. Though an unfamiliar look crossed his eyes.
Once the stairwell was clear, the three of you sprinted up the last flight of steps and into the corridor leading to the control room. You could hear more guards closing in behind you, but the door ahead was just within reach. With a mighty kick, Soldier Boy knocked it open, and the three of you burst into the room, slamming the door shut behind you.
Two of Vought’s employees shot around in their chairs, a look of horror flashed on their innocent faces right before Soldier Boy lifted his shield, moved it at the height of their necks and-
Two heads rolled over de floor.
The air was thick with tension, punctuated by the shrill wails of the alarms still echoing through the facility. The walls were lined with glowing monitors, displaying a maze of surveillance footage, flashing red warnings, and floor plans. This was the heart of Vought’s operations.
Butcher wasted no time, moving swiftly to one of the terminals. He began typing with a speed and confidence that suggested this wasn't his first time hacking into a heavily fortified system. Meanwhile, Ben paced near the door, shield in hand, his eyes darting between you and the hallway as if expecting another wave of soldiers any second.
You, however, stood frozen for a moment, taking in the room—the remembrance of decades of torment, experimentation, and manipulation. You thought you’d feel more relief standing here, so close to freedom, but instead, an overwhelming uncertainty bubbled just beneath your skin.
“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna help?” Butcher barked, not even looking up from the terminal. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he tried to override the system’s security protocols.
You snapped out of your daze and approached another terminal, feeling the heat of your powers still crackling under your skin. And it still hurt.
Before you could respond, Soldier Boy's sharp voice cut through the air. "We've got company."
The door behind him shook under the pressure of a battering ram. Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor as more of Vought’s enforcers gathered outside, their numbers growing by the second.
“Of course we bloody do,” Butcher muttered, his eyes never leaving the screen. “We’re almost through—just a bit more time.”
You clenched your fists, the air around you shimmering with energy that was so unfamiliar, it sent a shiver down your spine. "We don't have time, Butcher. I can feel them—they’re coming fast."
Ben squared his shoulders, stepping forward to brace the door. The rage that always seemed to simmer beneath his surface was now boiling over. He was done waiting, done being manipulated. “Let them come,” he growled, his shield raised, ready to take on whatever came through that door.
Butcher glanced at you, something like hesitation flickering in his eyes. It was a look you didn’t yet know he could have. “You’ve got a plan, love? ‘Cause if we don’t shut this down now, Vought’ll be all over us.”
The door rattled violently as Vought’s forces hammered against it, each thud reverberating through the control room.
"Me, a plan?" you spat ever so lightly, mild accusation in your tone. "You were the ones that needed me out!"
But Butcher didn't respond. Neither did Ben, for that matter.
Time was running out, and the tension was as thick as the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You focused, taking in the situation: Butcher was close to breaking the system, Ben was ready to stand his ground, and you—well, you weren’t the same person who had been shackled in that cell for decades. You had something new simmering inside, something dangerous. And you could feel it in every single piece of your body.
Your powers crackled just beneath the surface, stronger than you had ever remembered. The years of confinement, of being forced into silence, had built a storm within you, and you were ready to let it loose. But you knew this wasn’t you. This had never been you.
Ben stood firm by the door, his broad shoulders braced against the inevitable. His eyes flicked toward you, still cold, still distant. He was ready to fight, but this was a fight you had never been in before. A complete stranger, and a man who couldn’t even remember you, stood by you. And you had no idea if you could rely on them.
Butcher’s voice broke through your thoughts. “We’re in!” he called, finally cracking the security system. “But they’ve got some heavy-duty encryption on this place. It’ll take a few more minutes to wipe the files and shut down the alarms.”
You glanced at Ben. He was steady, but he couldn’t hold off a full squad alone. And your powers—they felt unpredictable. But you didn’t have a choice. Vought was coming, and this was your only chance.
The door shuddered again, and you could hear the muffled voices of the soldiers outside, preparing for a final push. You turned to Butcher. “You’d better hurry. We don’t have minutes.”
He looked at you, his jaw clenched, but nodded. “Just keep them off me, yeah? I don’t fancy getting me head blown off ‘cause you got distracted.”
Asshole.
With a deep breath, you stepped forward, joining Ben at the door. “You got an idea?” you asked, voice low.
Ben shot you a glance, his grip tightening on his shield. “You think I haven’t done this a thousand times? Just stay out of my fucking way.”
You didn’t respond. There was no point. Whatever bond the two of you once had was long gone, buried beneath the years of torture and manipulation. But that didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting through this.
The door burst open, and Vought’s soldiers flooded in. Ben moved like a force of nature, his shield slamming into the first soldier with a sickening crunch. He was fast, brutal, and efficient—every movement a practised execution of raw power. But there were too many.
You felt the heat rise in your palms, the energy building, and it hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before. It used to be a sweet touch of weather, the comforting droplets of rain. But this was different.
It neared a breaking point. Both your power and your well-being. At its maximum power, you lost control. And with a sharp exhale, you unleashed it. The energy exploded from you in a blinding wave, tearing through the room like wildfire. The soldiers were thrown back, their bodies crashing into the walls with bone-shattering force. Bolts of lightning crackled between the men, ensuring death upon impact.
Even Ben was forced to brace himself against the onslaught, his shield raised in defence. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, barely having evaded your attack from reaching him. But he didn’t say anything.
You were out of control. And there was no way you could contain this power any longer. Fuck, you weren't even sure what was going on. You weren't even sure if you were conscious.
When the dust settled, the room was eerily quiet. The soldiers lay scattered, unconscious or worse, and the air was thick with the smell of burnt metal and ozone. You fell to the floor, breathing heavily, your hands still crackling with residual power. For a moment, you didn’t feel anything—just numbness.
Then Butcher’s voice cut through the silence. “Well, that was bloody brilliant,” he muttered, stepping back from the terminal. “Shut down the whole damn system. Alarms are off, security’s locked out. We’re good to go.”
You turned to face him, your body still trembling from the power you barely remembered releasing. “It’s done?”
Butcher nodded, a grim smile on his face. “Yeah, love. It’s done. Now we get the hell out of here.”
Ben lowered his shield, his face unreadable as he looked at you. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was a glimmer of something other than cold indifference in his eyes. Maybe he remembered something. Maybe it was fear.
You didn't care.
You spoke up once more, this time directing your gaze towards Ben, who held a seemingly shocked frown. “What on earth happened?”
Soldiers scattered in the hallway, remains of them smashed against the bloodied wall.
Soldier Boy didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at Butcher, who knowingly glanced back at the supe.
All you could do was look around at the aftermath of whatever had happened to you.
And what feared you the most, was the fact you could only vaguely remember what the answer to it was.
A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.
In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.
series masterlist
CHAPTER 2
A/N: English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.
Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.
Warnings: not much in this chapter. mentions of power imbalance, possibly swearing, Soldier Boy's incorrect view of what a man needs to be, mentions of (mental) abuse and manipulation, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.
1980s
Soldier Boy had noble intentions to protect and serve his country. He had dignity, honour, and believed every man should grow up to be a “real man”, as his father had repeatedly told him.
Enduring the Second World War wasn’t enough.
Becoming a superhero wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough. Not for his father.
His father’s words echoed in his mind, a constant reminder that no matter what he achieved, it was never sufficient.
A real man builds his own success, with his own two hands. He doesn't cheat his way into power.
Those words shaped him, pushing him to become something greater than just a soldier, more than just a hero in the public eye. But no matter how many enemies he thought he vanquished or how many medals adorned his chest, he couldn't escape the feeling that he was failing his father’s impossible standard of manhood.
But the 1980s were a far cry from the battlefields of his youth. Superheroes were no longer symbols of patriotism and sacrifice—they were products, controlled by Vought, manipulated into glossy icons for public consumption. Soldier Boy's clean-cut, all-American image had become a brand, slapped onto cereal boxes and comic books. In private, however, he was chafing under the weight of being Vought’s golden boy. He was a symbol, a puppet, but to his father, he was still just a disappointment.
The breaking point came when Vought began assembling a new team of supes- as Vought would call them- to form the latest supergroup. Ben, a natural leader in his own eyes, felt a simmering resentment. He wasn’t a team player. He was meant to be the star—the hero who stood above the rest, not one who shared the spotlight. To him, the team would only drag him down, undermine his own success, and ruin the carefully crafted image he had worked so hard to build.
But, despite everything, Vought’s grip would always have been too strong. So, despite his disdain, he reluctantly agreed. They understood him. And he needed them. He had been sure he would be appointed the leader of this new group. When he was, he would ensure control over every aspect of the team so they wouldn’t lead to his downfall. This was his time.
As he stood in Vought’s headquarters, a sense of superiority coursed through him. He was the seasoned war hero, the one who had fought on real battlefields. These supes were nothing more than attention-seeking showboats, eager for fame rather than true service.
You, dressed in an orange-red suit, stood next to him with wide-eyed curiosity. You looked like you were barely out of your teens, your youthful face betraying your lack of experience. "Is it true, then?" you asked, your voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "You killed the president?"
Ben thought the suits Vought had made for the team were ridiculous. He wouldn't need a special suit to be the best version of himself. He wouldn't need anything but himself.
Without looking at you, he growled, “You believe everything you hear?”
You blinked, taken aback by his gruff response, but quickly recovered. “No, I just…” you tore your gaze from him, focusing on the other supes getting in the final pieces of their attire. “Would be a shame to be on the team with a murderer.”
Your words lingered in the tight air between you. He realised you had put up a facade, a mask to hide your wariness of the man next to you. You didn’t idolise him. In fact, you might have been close to despising, if he didn’t know any better.
Ben finally turned his head to face you, his eyes cold and unwavering. Your suit tied around your body, but it seemed loose enough to not reveal too much to the outside. Cloves hugged your delicate hands and reached until well near your elbows. A small cape was fastened onto your wrists, which Ben found all the more ridiculous. Who the fuck needs a cape?
“I’m no murderer,” his words were short, harsh. This woman had no right to speak to him like that. “At least not to people who didn’t deserve it.”
“Did he deserve it?” You started, looking back at the slightly taller man next to you. “The president.”
“I didn’t kill the fucking president.”
Soldier Boy’s glare intensified as he sized you up. Your audacity infuriated him. He had dealt with enough scepticism from his father—he didn’t need it from some rookie in a costume Vought had only designed to sell toys.
The room around you buzzed with activity as the other members of the team prepared for their first group appearance. Ben seethed in silence. These so-called superheroes were nothing like the comrades he fought alongside in the war. They lacked discipline, focus, and the hardened edge that came from seeing real combat. They were actors in a carefully orchestrated performance, and to him, that was a disgrace.
You still stood beside him and seemed to sense his irritation, but you didn’t back down. Instead, you tilted your head and raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to lash out.
“You think you're better than us, don’t you?” you asked, your voice quieter this time, but laced with a subtle challenge.
Soldier Boy scoffed, crossing his arms. “Better? I don’t think, doll. I know.”
Your lips curled into a smirk, and for the first time, Ben noticed a flash of something in your eyes—something darker, more calculating than the wide-eyed naivety you'd shown earlier.
“Maybe you do,” you said, your voice a low murmur now. “But this isn't the ‘40s anymore. It’s not about who’s the toughest soldier out there. This world, Vought’s world, is about control. It’s about image and playing the game.” You glanced around the room at the other supes. “And you, with all your medals and war stories, are just another player.”
Your words rang through his ears more than he’d like to, and he started to think he thought of you wrongly. You weren't an ordinary trophy girl- you weren't someone to idolise him. You had your own strong opinion, and it wasn't something Ben was sure he could live with.
He clenched his fists, a storm of rage starting to brew inside him, but before he could respond, a booming voice cut through the tension.
“Alright, team!” The commanding voice belonged to Vought’s newest public relations handler, a slick man in an expensive suit. “It’s showtime!”
You shot Soldier Boy a final, knowing glance before you turned away, your cape swishing dramatically as you moved toward the centre of the room. Ben remained where he was, his jaw clenched, watching you. He hated your arrogance, but deep down, he knew you weren't wrong.
This wasn’t the battlefield. This wasn’t about sacrifice, honour, or even survival. This was a new kind of war, one he wasn’t sure he knew how to win.
But win it, he would.
Because failure? That was never an option. Not for him. And certainly not for his father.
As the team assembled for their public debut, Soldier Boy straightened his shoulders and put on his best, most patriotic smile. No one in the crowd would ever know the battle raging inside him, the war he fought against the crushing weight of expectations.
He would play the game, for now. And when the time was right, he would remind them all just how dangerous a man like him could be.
Cameras flashed; eight new heroes to represent America, to supposedly save the residents from upcoming threats, upcoming wars.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the commanding voice rang through their ears again. “May I present to you, your heroes, your idols, your team; Payback.”
Pictures were taken, but Ben paid it no mind. He was used to all the attention, to all the girls swooning over him. He stood front and centre, flashing his most practised, toothy grin. The name Payback echoed in his ears. A team to stand up for their people. But this wasn’t about anything but pride to Ben—it was about staying on top, holding onto the power and prestige he had built over decades.
And the team around him felt like a joke.
You stood a little behind him, a faint smirk still playing on your lips. Your audacity lingered in his mind, taunting him. Despite himself, he couldn’t shake the way you had spoken—calm, deliberate, and entirely sure of yourself. That was rare. Most of the other heroes around him were too obsessed with fame and too concerned with their image. They fell in line because Vought told them to.
Ben clenched his jaw, his father's words echoing in his mind once again.
A real man builds his own success, with his own two hands.
But was this success? Standing here, posing for the cameras, while Vought puppeteered them all? It didn’t feel like the heroism he had once envisioned. The battlefield, the grit, the true sacrifice—it had all been replaced by PR campaigns and flashy photo ops.
Still, he knew better than to show weakness. He had perfected the art of hiding his inner turmoil, just as his father had taught him. To the world, he was still the unbeatable war hero, the icon of American masculinity. No one would ever see the cracks beneath the surface—the doubt, the frustration, the endless quest to be enough.
As the cameras continued snapping, Soldier Boy’s mind wandered your words. It’s about control. Image. Playing the game. You had said those words so matter-of-factly as if you had already accepted the new rules of this world.
After the press conference, the team dispersed to prepare for their first mission together—a staged event, of course, meant to show the world how “heroic” they were. But Soldier Boy lingered, watching as the others left the room.
One thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let anyone take his place at the top. He would play the game his way, and when the time came, he would show them all—Vought, Payback, his father—that he was still the strongest, still the best.
Because if there was one thing Ben knew, it was that in the end, power didn’t come from suits or smiles. Power came from dominance, from control, and from the ability to crush anyone who dared to stand in your way.
And that was exactly what he intended to do.
As he turned to leave, Soldier Boy caught a glimpse of himself in one of the giant mirrors that lined the hallway. He stared at his reflection—his square jaw, broad shoulders, and the tight-fitting mask over his head. He looked every bit the hero Vought had made him out to be. But simultaneously, he looked ridiculous.
“Suits are cool, huh?” your familiar voice spoke up as he left the previous room and wandered the hallways of the slightly known building. “Kidding. You look awful.”
Ben hadn’t thought he looked awful altogether; the green hugged his features wonderfully, the gold details shining as a representation of his pride. Just the mask was a reject.
“Can’t say any different about you.” Ben said matter-of-factly.
The hallway was dimly lit, and he continued walking with purpose, ignoring the voice behind him. He didn’t need anyone's approval—especially not from the cocky rookie now catching up with him. The smirk he had seen earlier was back, and you walked with a casual confidence that irritated him even more.
You weren't one to shy away from confrontation, clearly. Your snarky comment about his suit wasn’t just meant to jab at him; it was part of the ongoing game you seemed intent on playing. Ben found it annoying, yet there was something about you that stood out. You weren't like the obedient pawns he was used to, always falling in line and praising him without question.
"Aw, don’t be like that," you teased, still walking alongside him. Your cape fluttered with each step, an accessory he couldn’t understand the need for, as if to taunt him for eternity. “Just saying, for someone who’s supposed to be the leader, you sure look like you're heading into a costume party instead of a mission.”
Ben clenched his jaw but kept walking. He wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of a response.
You continued, undeterred by his silence. “But you know, maybe that’s the point. We’re all just playing dress-up here, aren’t we? Vought dresses us up, makes us look shiny, and sends us out to wave at the cameras. Nothing heroic about it.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ben finally muttered, his voice low. “I’ve seen real combat. I’ve been in the trenches. What have you done, other than talk?”
Your smirk didn’t falter, though your eyes darkened slightly. “You’re right,” you said, a hint of venom in your voice. “I haven’t been in your precious war. But I’m not stupid. I know how things work now. And this… all of this,” you gestured around the hall, “isn’t about being a hero. It’s about staying relevant. It’s about power.”
Ben stopped walking, turning to face you. His eyes narrowed as he looked you up and down, sizing you up again. “Power?” he scoffed. “You think prancing around in that cape gives you power?”
Your smirk faded, replaced with a more serious expression. “No, I think understanding how to use what I’ve got gives me power. You’re strong, Soldier Boy. No one’s doubting that. But strength doesn’t mean anything if you don’t know how to play the game. And that’s where you’re going to lose.”
Ben’s fists clenched. “I don’t lose.”
“We’ll see.” You stepped back, eyes locked with his. There was no fear in them, just a cool, calculated calm. “But you should know, they own you, just like they own all of us.”
Silence fell between them, only the annoying presence of you urging him to keep on walking.
“Name’s Fury by the way. For the public, that is.”
He glanced at you quickly, frowning before letting his eyes fall on the relics on the walls when they continued their way.
“Soldier Boy.”
Ben could’ve sworn he heard you laugh; just the faintest hint of a breath leaving your mouth in a way that angered him.
“I know that,” you spoke, and he grew to feel more frustrated at the feeling you wouldn’t leave him alone. “You got a real name?”
“Yes.”
“Mine is Y/n.”
“I don’t fucking care.”
“Alright, I’ll figure it out eventually." Your words echoed in Ben’s mind as you walked away, pace speeding up to leave him alone in the hallway. He stared after you, his mind racing with a storm of thoughts he wasn’t used to entertaining. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to force his mind back to what mattered: control, power, dominance. But your words lingered like a stubborn itch he couldn’t scratch.
You were audacious, irritating, and worst of all, you had a point.
Ben hated to admit it, but you seemed to understand the game better than most. Vought didn’t care about his war stories or his medals. To them, and to the world they controlled, he was just another pawn in a machine far bigger than the battlefield. For all his strength, for all the wars he had fought and won, Ben was no longer the master of his own destiny. He was trapped in a world of PR stunts and corporate interests. And that gnawed at him, more than he cared to admit.
He had always believed power came from raw strength, from being the toughest, the strongest. But this new world, this world of superheroes-for-hire and manufactured images, was different.
Ben’s jaw tightened as he turned and continued down the hallway, alone with his thoughts. Vought owned him, you had said. That was the part that stung the most. He had spent his life trying to prove to his father that he could succeed on his own terms. But the truth was, his success had always been shaped by someone else. First his father, now Vought.
As he entered the large meeting room, where Payback's first mission briefing was about to take place, he felt a new kind of resolve building inside him. He didn’t like playing games, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Vought—or you—think they had the upper hand. He was still Soldier Boy, the greatest hero America had ever known, and he would prove it.
The team was already gathered, some stretching, some chatting, all waiting for their cue from Vought’s handlers. You werethere too, standing off to the side with your arms crossed, your eyes scanning the room with that same calculated coolness. You caught his gaze for a moment, but there was no smirk this time. Just a flicker of something that almost looked like respect—or perhaps it was just curiosity.
He didn’t care.
Ben straightened his shoulders and strode to the front of the room, where the mission briefing was about to begin. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t need anyone to tell him how to lead.
The lights dimmed, and a large screen flickered to life. A Vought executive appeared, slick and polished as always, ready to guide them through their heroic PR spectacle.
The exec began, his voice oozing with rehearsed enthusiasm. “Your mission today is simple: protect, serve, and show the world why Payback is the team they can trust.”
Ben barely listened. The mission was standard fare—save some politicians from a staged crisis, and make it look good for the cameras. Easy. What he cared about was how he would position himself at the top of the group. This wasn’t just about completing the mission; this was about showing everyone that Soldier Boy wasn’t just another cog in the machine.
After some specifics and unnecesary questions from his lower ranked team, they filed out toward the transport that would take them to the mission site. Ben was the last to leave the room, watching as the others chatted excitedly, eager to get into costume and play the part Vought had crafted for them.
He glanced once more at you, your back to him as you spoke quietly with another member of the team. You were different. You weren't a puppet like the others. That made you dangerous.
But Ben wasn’t worried.
Because at the end of the day, he knew one thing for certain: he didn’t lose.
And when the time came, when he reminded the world just what a real man, a real hero, could do, You—and everyone else—would be forced to recognize that.
He was Soldier Boy. And this? This was just the beginning.
A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.
In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.
series masterlist
CHAPTER 1
A/N: New fic? New fic! This man has me in a chokehold, I'm not even going to lie. I will try to actually finish this one. promise. English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.
Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.
Warnings: not much in this chapter. hostage holding, mentions of being a lab rat, violence, swearing, soldier boy (yes, this man should be considered a warning). possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.
Solitude. Besides the regular visits from the scientists, you hadn’t seen a single person in over thirty years. Or was it forty? In all honesty, you had lost count after the first ten.
The bright light flickered as you leaned against the cold, metal wall of your cell, memories swirling like ghosts in your mind. Once, you had been a soldier. A person with a voice. But all that was ripped away when Vought was done. When they handed you to the Russians. When they completely stripped you of your identity and ripped you from your life as a hero.
Your train of thought was interrupted by a loud clamp, the creaking of a metal door, followed by heavy footsteps. There was no access to time in your cell, but it wasn't hard to recognize patterns and count the hours you were up for the next experiment.
And now was not that time.
As the door creaked open, a shadow fell across your cell. You squinted against the harsh light to focus on the figure standing there, face illuminated by the LED lights above him. Your heart rate picked up slightly, and you unwillingly tugged against the restraints keeping you chained to the floor.
Memories flooded back — laughter shared in the trenches, the camaraderie of battle, the promise of loyalty. But that was before Vought twisted everything into a nightmare. Before he got rid of all that was between you.
As Soldier Boy stepped closer, you realized it was only a shell of the man you once knew. His eyes, once filled with the tiniest bit of kindness towards you, were now clouded with confusion.
With force, you tried to speak up, but quickly realised you hadn't truly uttered anything except screams in a while.
“Well, if it isn't the man who got away.”
Ben looked around before he approached your cell, the glass door the only separation between you. You took the opportunity to look at him properly. This certainly was the man you had once fought alongside, but even if he had been held captive for decades, his features hadn't changed much. His auburn hair was now slightly longer, and a neatly trimmed beard covered the lower half of his face.
“Who the hell are you?” His words stung like a knife, and for a second, you felt like he might as well have hit you with his heavy shield.
“Right. They made you forget,” you murmured as you tore your gaze away from him, head leaning back against the cold wall. “Typical Vought.”
“I’m asking you one more time, lady,” he shot you a daring glance, as if trying to project his dominance despite the fact you were literally locked up. “Who the hell are you? Are you Vought’s newest lab rat?”
“Don’t call me a damn lab rat.” You spat shortly, pointing at nobody in particular.
Ben furrowed his brow, his confusion deepening as he studied you, the spark of recognition failing to ignite in his eyes. The man you had once known—had once fought beside—was buried beneath decades of manipulation, both of your bodies now broken artefacts in Vought's collection.
“They told me you got out, you know,” you started as you realised he wasn't going to speak up first. “Hell, they let me feel that you escaped the labs.”
Ben's face twisted, the sharp edge of suspicion cutting through his once-confident demeanour. He narrowed his eyes as if searching your face for something he should remember but couldn't grasp.
“I don’t care who they told,” he took another step forward, his boots echoing in the empty hallway. The only view you’ve had for decades. “Especially not if they told some rogue kid.”
“Read my fucking sign, Ben. My date of birth is literally there.” You spat, emphasising on his name. Of course, he wasn’t aware you knew of that. Nobody did. Except for his team. Except for you.
“What the fuck did you just call me?”
Before you could even answer, another set of heavy boots entered the room.
“Oi.”
Ben's eyes darted to the newcomer, who emerged from the shadows at the doorway. The figure was stocky and imposing, his gruff voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
The bearded man couldn't resist looking at the sign, whereas Ben chose to ignore it. “Fury,” he stated matter-of-factly as he took his place next to Soldier Boy. “They told everyone you died, you know? But then again, Vought is very good at convincing.”
The name felt foreign to you now, like a relic from another life. Fury—back when you had a purpose. When you weren’t just an experiment trapped in this cold prison of time. But the name still held power. It connected you to a past they had tried to erase, a past Ben was now seemingly detached from.
You studied the newcomer. His presence exuded dominance in a way that Soldier Boy’s arrogance couldn’t touch. Where Ben was brash and impulsive, this man seemed calculating, like he could snap you in half with a flick of his wrist but would choose not to—for now.
"Who are you?" you rasped, your voice a broken shadow of what it once was. You didn't recognize him, but there was something about him that made you wary.
"Name's Butcher," he replied, his gaze not leaving you. “And we’re here to retrieve you.
Butcher’s cold stare seemed to cut right through you, his posture rigid and alert as if he expected you to lash out at any moment. The way he carried himself was different from anyone else you had seen in these halls. He wasn’t afraid of Vought—or of you.
After the words had left Butcher’s lips, Soldier Boy seemed to snap, and he was not afraid to show it. The way he grabbed the collar of the man next to him made you flinch. It wasn't like you've never seen Ben lash out before, but it never failed to make you tense just the tiniest bit. Being brought back to the time when you were on the receiving end.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Butcher?”
Butcher didn’t flinch as Soldier Boy grabbed him, his face betraying nothing but a cold, calculating smirk. He met Ben’s glare head-on, the tension between the two men growing thicker with each passing second.
“Easy there, mate,” Butcher said, his voice as casual as if they were discussing the weather. “You’re all pent up, I get it. But this ain’t the time for a bloody tantrum.”
Ben’s grip tightened, his nostrils flaring as he leaned in closer, his breath hot with barely restrained rage. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Butcher, but I’m not here for your shit. What the hell do you mean ‘retrieve her’? We were here to retrieve information on how to take down Vought.”
Butcher’s eyes flickered toward you, and he spoke as if you weren’t still bound in chains, trapped behind glass. “Vought’s been keeping her under wraps for a long time. You want to take down Vought? There’s your information. And now we’re here to pull her out. Simple as that.”
You shifted uncomfortably in your restraints, your wrists raw from years of confinement. "What do you want?" you asked, your voice low but steady, trying to hold onto whatever strength you had left.
Butcher’s lip curled slightly, his eyes narrowing as soldier boy set a couple of steps back reluctantly.
"What do I want?" he echoed as if amused by the question. "I want the same thing you do. To watch Vought burn to the ground.”
“What’s in it for you?” you only dared to ask. Butcher chuckled darkly, his gaze sharpening as he locked eyes with you.
"What's in it for me? Oh, love, let's just say I've got a personal stake in seeing Vought crumble into dust. But I ain't here for a heart-to-heart. I'm here because you and him, Fury, might be the key to blowing this whole bloody operation wide open."
His words hung in the cold air of the cell, heavy with promise and menace. He wasn’t just some random mercenary or someone acting out of charity—this was personal for him. Soldier Boy, still tense and bristling beside him, seemed less convinced.
“You’re saying she’s got intel on Vought? Enough to take them down?” Soldier Boy’s voice had a sceptical edge to it as if he didn’t quite believe this was worth the trouble.
Butcher shot him a sidelong glance. "More than intel. You and her are living proof of what Vought’s done in secret for decades. And Fury here—she's one of their finest projects."
The way he said “projects” made your skin crawl, reminding you of the years spent under Vought’s control, your abilities twisted, and exploited. But you pushed the feeling down, focusing instead on the conversation.
Butcher leaned in closer to the glass, his voice dropping low. "Vought’s been running a program, a little something they like to keep off the books. Soldiers, supers, experiments—the whole works. They’ve been breeding killers, Fury. And you—you’ve been in the belly of the beast long enough to know exactly what they’ve been up to."
You clenched your jaw, old anger bubbling to the surface. “They don't tell me anything.” you admitted, your voice rough. You didn't want this. You didn't want to be back with him.
But most of all, you just wanted out. You didn't care who you had to betray to make that work.
“But I picked up enough.” It was a simple lie you had told. Of course, you knew what Vought had been up to. You and Ben had been living proof of it. But you knew better than to turn against the people who experimented on you in the first place. You just wanted revenge on the reason you were here.
Butcher’s smile turned vicious. “That’s all I need to hear. You tell us what you know, and we’ll make sure Vought pays for every bloody thing they’ve done to you. To all of us.”
Soldier Boy crossed his arms, clearly still on edge. “And what makes you think she’s gonna play along? She’s been locked up here for god knows how long. Might be more Vought’s weapon than you think.”
“So were you, mate.”
You locked eyes with Ben, a flood of bitter memories surging up as you spoke. "You really don't remember, do you?" The weight of your words hung heavy between you.
Butcher interrupted, his voice cold and calculating. "Whether you like it or not, we could use ‘er. You might not remember, but I reckon she’s got more to offer than just bein’ another lab rat."
"Shut the fuck up," Ben snapped, his voice wavering with frustration. "If I don’t know her, I don’t care. End of story."
But it wasn't the end for you.
It would never be the end for you.
You took a deep breath. "Let me out," you demanded, the last ounce of your strength fueling your voice. "And we take down Vought, together."
Ben shot you a look, his expression hardening. "Why should I trust you?"
You met his gaze, unflinching. "Because, like it or not, I’m the only one who remembers who we really are."
A tense silence filled the room as the weight of your words settled in. Butcher crossed his arms, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Well, then. What’s it gonna be, Soldier Boy?"
“I don’t fucking care. Figure it out.”
His words were sharp. Short. And not a single ounce of caring outlined the roughness of them.
With that, he straightened his back, tightened his grip on his shield, and left the room.
“So,” Butcher said, his voice cutting through the lingering tension. “How about we get you out of those bloody chains, and you tell us what Vought’s been hiding all this time?”
You didn't dare to have hope. But you dared to feel the slightest bit of fury.
A/N: i know she's short. and i know this might probably not make a whole lot of sense?? but i try. it's been so long that i've written that it still feels kinda foreign, so feedback is greatly appreciated!
I have been here since the 2000’s and it is has only been resurrected by the new Deadpool and Wolverine Movie lol.
2. Joel Miller
Anything Pedro Pascal honestly has my heart immediately and has me in a chokehold
3. Soldier Boy
Given how much I write for him goodness I love that man so much.
4. The Mandalorian
Am I currently working on a mini-series bakery AU with him right now? Maybe… 😉😏
5. Johnny Storm
Again, I have loved this man since my childhood when I saw Fantastic Four for the first time and it’s just all coming back full circle because of Deadpool and Wolverine. 😂😅
No Pressure Tags: @deans-spinster-witch @zepskies @podiumackles @megara0224
thank you for the tag @lamentationsofalonelypotato :))
making a top 5 out of all great fictional men out there is outrageous.
in no particular order!
DEAN WINCHESTER
ok guys. there is no secret about it. dean winchester made me fall in love with jensen ackles, and sent me toward the path of happiness after watching supernatural and many related shows. though i don't relate to his daddy issues, i do see myself in many of his traits. and as an older sibling myself, i find it so comforting to see how he handles living with the responsibility of being the best version of himself is quite the same as me. not talking about problems? pushing away your feelings? check!!
JOEL MILLER
please. ive been in love with this man since i played the first game. something about older, frustrated, and damaged men who deal with trauma in the wrong way!! yay!! he's a pain in the ass, but can be so sweet. pedro pascal just made him so much better and only strengthened my crush.
NIKLAUS MIKAELSON
i said, "something about older, frustrated, and damaged men who deal with trauma in the wrong way"? yeah, i did. and this man might as well be the leader of the pack. his hotness and mysteriousness in the beginning immediately got me hooked onto this character, and i don't think i can ever let go. i just love vampires and werewolves, man.
SOLDIER BOY
need i repeat myself? something about older, frustrated, and damaged men who deal with trauma in the wrong way.
i know i should hate this man for his problematic views on life and his slight racism, but honestly? he doesn't know better. my man comes from a time where men were viewed as tough, and no way could you show another person that you weren't. anyway, even if he's a problematic ass, he's MY problematic ass.
KILLIAN JONES | CAPTAIN HOOK
in all honesty, this man made me question my gender. i wanted to be him SO BAD. his face, his style, nothing like a good old pirate with sexy eyeliner. hell, i even started wearing eyeliner because of him. and not even as womanly make-up. no, i now wear eyeliner when i either feel emo or feel like a man.
also, his character development? his flirting?? the flushed cheecks when he gets flirted with?? im so whipped for this man it's not even fair.
thanks for coming to my tedtalk !!
i am way too shy of a person to randomly tag people, BUT of course, feel free to do this when you see it!
I'm so glad you did this because your taste in men is PRISTINE. LEGENDARY. BEAUTIFUL. Just
Dean made me start my obsession with Jensen Ackles TOO. The Last of Us is such a good video game and Pedro Pascal EATS as Joel. It made me love him more
"something about older, frustrated, and damaged men who deal with trauma in the wrong way!! yay!!"
I'm DEAD. If this isn't me every day. "I can fix him and give him love" is my life motto.
I love Klaus, he is wonderful and sexy. I will admit I am more of an Elijah girl, but I respect the Klaus choice. I'm obsessed with vampires, have been since high school.
Soldier Boy... yes. Down bad, can't stop, won't stop. Does he have some outdated views, yes. Again..."I can fix him and give him love."
"He's my problamatic ass." 😂
And don't get me started on KILLIAN. Oh my sweet goodness, I would not have survived without seeing that man in OUAT. His style choices made me WEAK and jealous that I could not pull off eyeliner like that man. His character development is so wonderful and his love story with Emma is just grade A beautiful. Ultimate enemies to lovers, they are so cute together.
OMG STOP your response to my tedtalk is so nice thank you 🥹
ITS ALWAYS THE OLDER MEN. ISTG. but honestly, your taste in men being so close to mine is just.. yes.
elijah holds a special place in my heart as well. definitely no originals without him. but like i said, picking just 5 between all great fictional men out there... mad.
i would like to believe i can fix all of them. i definitely could🥰
killian his style choices should be an example for every! single! man! out there. he went from the badass villain to being insecure about ever being one. CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.
aaa once again thank you so so much for replying hehe
I have been here since the 2000’s and it is has only been resurrected by the new Deadpool and Wolverine Movie lol.
2. Joel Miller
Anything Pedro Pascal honestly has my heart immediately and has me in a chokehold
3. Soldier Boy
Given how much I write for him goodness I love that man so much.
4. The Mandalorian
Am I currently working on a mini-series bakery AU with him right now? Maybe… 😉😏
5. Johnny Storm
Again, I have loved this man since my childhood when I saw Fantastic Four for the first time and it’s just all coming back full circle because of Deadpool and Wolverine. 😂😅
No Pressure Tags: @deans-spinster-witch @zepskies @podiumackles @megara0224
thank you for the tag @lamentationsofalonelypotato :))
making a top 5 out of all great fictional men out there is outrageous.
in no particular order!
DEAN WINCHESTER
ok guys. there is no secret about it. dean winchester made me fall in love with jensen ackles, and sent me toward the path of happiness after watching supernatural and many related shows. though i don't relate to his daddy issues, i do see myself in many of his traits. and as an older sibling myself, i find it so comforting to see how he handles living with the responsibility of being the best version of himself is quite the same as me. not talking about problems? pushing away your feelings? check!!
JOEL MILLER
please. ive been in love with this man since i played the first game. something about older, frustrated, and damaged men who deal with trauma in the wrong way!! yay!! he's a pain in the ass, but can be so sweet. pedro pascal just made him so much better and only strengthened my crush.
NIKLAUS MIKAELSON
i said, "something about older, frustrated, and damaged men who deal with trauma in the wrong way"? yeah, i did. and this man might as well be the leader of the pack. his hotness and mysteriousness in the beginning immediately got me hooked onto this character, and i don't think i can ever let go. i just love vampires and werewolves, man.
SOLDIER BOY
need i repeat myself? something about older, frustrated, and damaged men who deal with trauma in the wrong way.
i know i should hate this man for his problematic views on life and his slight racism, but honestly? he doesn't know better. my man comes from a time where men were viewed as tough, and no way could you show another person that you weren't. anyway, even if he's a problematic ass, he's MY problematic ass.
KILLIAN JONES | CAPTAIN HOOK
in all honesty, this man made me question my gender. i wanted to be him SO BAD. his face, his style, nothing like a good old pirate with sexy eyeliner. hell, i even started wearing eyeliner because of him. and not even as womanly make-up. no, i now wear eyeliner when i either feel emo or feel like a man.
also, his character development? his flirting?? the flushed cheecks when he gets flirted with?? im so whipped for this man it's not even fair.
thanks for coming to my tedtalk !!
i am way too shy of a person to randomly tag people, BUT of course, feel free to do this when you see it!
I decided to do a whole revamp of my account because I felt stuck in the same circle of people I wrote for and my interests have grown so much further outside of that.
So, I have now updated the list of people I write for, you can check it out here! I might add more people as I get more comfortable with them.
If you have any requests for any of these people, feel free to leave them in my inbox! Cheers x
In which they allow themselves to become undone in each other's touch, and enter a new phase of their relationship.
word count: 5,9k | warnings for mature content (18+); protected sex, fingering, a small nod to a breeding kink, inexperienced reader and lando (but they try their best), possible offensive language, other than that just lots of fluff | prompt(s) used: s35 and s31
Accidents. You hated them. But while normally associated with unpleasant events, for once in your life it had been good. It wasn't intentional that you met Lando Norris and became friends, but eventually, he had unexpectedly asked you out.
You had encountered the young Brit at a party of a mutual friend. You despised parties, and after you had arrived and greeted the birthday girl, you became to realise why; everyone was high off their asses.
It had barely been twenty minutes into the party, and you had already found yourself alone at the bar with a glass of sugar-free Coca-Cola. You did not like drinking alcoholic liquids, and you had thought you were the solitary person in this building to be feeling like this until you saw a young man sit about three metres away from you - most likely drinking the same exact drink as you did.
“I’m Lando,” he had said as he caught your eye, walked up to you and extended his hand for you to shake. “I take it you are not a frequent drinker either?”
Your rosy cheeks flushed while you shook your head, quietly confirming his thoughts. He looked stunning; bright eyes taking all of your attention from the loose blouse and neat trousers. And then to come back to the curls atop his head; you felt like you couldn’t breathe.
After talking with Lando for the rest of the memorable night, you ultimately felt your social battery run out and decided it was time for you to go, much to your dismay.
With his beaming smile and plumb lips shaping around his teeth, he gently assured you that it was no big deal, and if you had wanted to, you could meet up another time. There wasn’t a single doubt inside your mind when you have him your number, and he promised you he would send you a message after offering you a ride home, which you politely declined.
You had gone home that night, head in the clouds, and your fingers itching to look the youngster up on the internet. He had let it slip that he was a driver, though you weren’t certain for what. Was he a taxi driver? Bus driver, perhaps?
Whatever it was, you were too curious not to look it up. He had to have a social media page somewhere, and with a name like that it shouldn’t have been hard to find. Therefore you eagerly searched for his name; Lando. You hadn’t quite gotten his last name yet, so after searching past a certain star wars character, you finally saw his familiar face pop up on the glowing screen. You frowned thoughtfully. He was a Formula 1 driver. You weren’t so sure how he had managed to avoid that topic altogether, but it caused you to appreciate him even more.
It was about two to three months and a few cat and mouse games after that, around Valentine's Day, that he had asked you out. In the few months of being friends, you weren’t entirely sure what you had done to deserve such a kind human being in your life, but you accepted his invitation, nonetheless.
Therefore there you were; happily together for five more months - except this time as a couple. And it couldn’t have been better.
The both of you decided to take it slowly; neither of you had a lot of experience, and you certainly didn’t want to rush things that didn’t need to be rushed.
He had asked you to accompany him at races a couple of times, but you kindly declined each time. You felt like it was invading his personal space, like barging into an office when someone's at work. He could dismiss your thoughts as much as he liked, but it wouldn’t convince you. ‘Some day,’ you had promised.
Denying his kind invitation to his home race felt wrong, but you just weren’t ready. And he accepted that. So, you had made a comfortable spot on your sofa, windows open, and an iced tea in your hands while you watched the race weekend on your television.
You practically screamed when your boyfriend put his orange and chrome car on the first row. The season had been incredibly harsh for both McLaren drivers, but it ultimately seemed they were getting close to where they formerly stood.
And then, the race. Never in a million years would you have thought he would lead a race this year. It only was for a couple of laps, but he managed to pass the reigning world champion during the start and was ahead of the Dutchman even before the first corner.
The race was intense, and you had long forgotten your prepared drink and snacks on the table. But when Lando crossed the line in second place, you almost felt joyful tears escape your eyes. You could contain yourselves, wanting to seem strong for nobody in particular.
In the middle of the podium ceremony, your mum sent you a quick text, ‘he bloody did it again’, and you could no longer contain your tears. You took photos of your television screen, acting as if you did join him during this race. And oh, how you wish you had.
He called you as soon as he was finished with the media duties, like he always does, and talked you through his racing thoughts of the past three hours. And you could do nothing but listen intensely.
He went straight home to you after he was no longer required at the track, your apartment being a small four-hour drive from Silverstone. You had told him he could take some well-deserved rest first, and visit you the day after, but he just desperately wanted to see you.
After a few hours of eager anticipation, you heard the door open, concluding your boyfriend had let himself in with the key you had given him just the week before.
You shot up to meet him in the middle of the living room, where his suitcase and shoes had already been long left at the door. Your socks-covered feet tried their best not to slip from underneath you, and you embraced Lando in an affectionate hug, his arms finding their way around your waist immediately, resting his hands on your lower back.
You took in his scent, cologne mixed with shampoo from his shower after the race. He wore a hoodie from his newest merchandise collection, and you mentally scolded him for dressing like that with the heat hanging over your country.
“I missed you so much.” You told him, and you had. You always had to miss him for a couple of weeks at the least with the races, but he promised he would come back to you. And he always did.
“I’m here, love,” he murmured into your neck, his warm breath causing a shiver over your back. “And so did I.”
“You did so well.” You whispered tenderly, trying your best not to sniffle right then and there. But he caught onto it.
“Hey, hey,” he pulled back from your embrace, causing your hands to slide down to his chest, his palms resting on your cheeks. “Are you crying?”
You chuckled. Of course, you chuckled. How could you not? This man made you laugh with almost every single word he said, even when he tried to be serious.
“Guess I’m just a little overwhelmed,” you looked him in the eyes, those mesmerising irises looking back at yours - concern mixed with a smile. “It’s been a tough mental day, but seeing you back on that podium again -“ you paused for a brief second, a lump forming in your throat, trying your best not to fully let your tears fall. “It was all I could have asked for this weekend.”
He smiled. Genuinely smiled. He could barely afford any other emotion around you than genuine happiness, and you reciprocated that feeling.
“I did it for you,” he smiled, thumbs caressing your cheekbones, and you suddenly felt weak in the knees. His intense gaze, perfect smile, and lips wettened from the times he occasionally ran his tongue along them.
You weren’t exactly certain what came over you, but you grabbed the collar of his sweater, pulled him down to your height and embraced his rosy lips in a loving kiss.
He was taken aback, sure. But it merely took him a few seconds to answer your gesture and deepen the kiss even more.
“You didn’t just do it for me, and you know that.” You giggled as you pulled back for air, and he could barely open his eyes, still captured in the haze of your presence.
“Well, I also did it for you.” He answered, in that tone that he has when he’s excited, where most of the internet won’t be able to decipher if he’s crying or just genuinely laughing. But of course, you would know.
You looked at him, lips red from your kissing, and you chuckled once more. You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you almost wondered if your eyes turned into heart shapes.
“Lando,” you breathed, his name being just a singular word, but it came out more shaky than ever. “I think I’m ready.”
He was at a loss for words. In the months you had been together, neither of you had initiated the following step of intercourse. And neither of you felt the need to. It’s not like you and Lando had never done this before. This undoubtedly wasn’t your first relationship. But you had thought this fell under the term of taking it slow, and the desire just had not been there yet.
Until now. And he didn’t know what to say.
“If you don’t want to, we can just-“ “No, no-“ he cut you off, trying to come up with the right words. He did want to, but it just didn’t come out. Your gentle smile started to turn into a frown.
“I do,” he started. “I want to, I-“ he was flustered. And slowly, your nerves started to fade, and a smile came back to your face.
“Lando,” it was now your turn to place your palms on his cheeks, resulting in his landing on your hips. “Easy. No need to get so nervous.”
He let out a profound sigh of relief, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
You clasped his dampened hand, leading him to your bedroom. It hadn’t been the first time he entered this part of your small apartment, and neither had it been the first time he had been in this bed. But this time it was different. And he wasn’t certain if he should be nervous or excited about this next step.
You looked outside the window above your bed, the moon coming to stand high in the unclouded sky as the sun said a quick hello to its other half before starting to strike the horizon and taking the light with it.
The golden hour had started, and somehow it made you experience all kinds of things for this intimate moment.
You sat down on the bottom end of the twin-sized bed, pulling Lando down with you so he sad next to you. You experienced a tingling sensation between your legs, but you weren’t entirely sure how to start acting on it.
And then you did. Unknown courage entered your body, whether it was lust or braveness, you weren’t certain. But you carefully placed your lips onto his, after which he immediately returned the favour.
You carefully stood up, Lando wanted to follow your eager actions, but you gently pushed him back down on the bed and sat on his lap, a leg on each side of him.
His graceful hands landed on your hips, your hands on his warm face, as you both battled it out for dominance into the kiss. It wasn’t rough, but both of you were desperate.
Lando decided to take a bit of control, messily picking you up and gently lowering you onto the soft covers of your bed, not breaking the kiss as he came to hover above you.
When you broke apart for air, you reassuringly smiled at each other and loving eyes never breaking contact.
“You know, Carlos told me the other day that -“ “Lando, shut up about Carlos right now.” You cut him off as you passionately kissed him again, this time hungrily trying to pry his hoodie off of him, but failing miserably.
He broke the kiss, lifting himself up and taking off his neon yellow piece of clothing, only to reveal yet another piece in the shape of a t-shirt.
“I swear to god, you are going to be suffering from a heat stroke someday.” You chuckled at the man above you, delivering him a look and he took the hint and undid himself from his shirt as well before leaning back down to capture you in another kiss with a smile.
He didn’t answer your humorous remark. But he didn’t have to. You knew he wouldn’t listen anyway.
You allowed your hands to roam over his chest, down his abdomen and towards his joggers. But, before you could reach the hem, he stopped you. He gently shoved your hands away as he reached for your shirt, and you took the hint to sit up and assist him.
Breaking the kiss for no more than a few seconds, his lips were on yours again after successfully removing your piece of clothing and you took off your bra before laying back down.
Nerves settled in your stomach and Lando could immediately sense it.
“Hey, love,” he broke the kiss to look into your eyes, barely glancing a single look at your exposed chest just yet. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“I know,” you smiled at him and reached up to cup his cheek and gently stroke the area with your thumb. “I want to. But it’s been a while.”
He did nothing but smile at you. That warm, loving smile embracing all of the unique features on his face, the smile that got you head over heels for him in the first place.
“Okay,” he chuckled. “Can I?” He finally gestured to your chest, and you nodded before biting your lip and letting go of his warm cheek.
Lando gave you a final kiss to your lips, before finding a path down your neck, towards the valley of your breasts. He placed his tongue around your left nipple while taking care of the other with his strong fingers.
A contented sigh escaped your lips, and you could feel him smile against your skin as you let your fingers glide through his soft curls. The hand that was caressing your breast hesitantly left its spot, and like it had a mind of its own, travelled down to your own joggers. Lando loosened the knot in the strings which were used to keep them up, and his mouth left the spot on your other breast.
He travelled down, placing delicate kisses on your stomach on the way, causing your hands to glide from his hair and land next to you on the mattress.
He shot you one last questioning glance, and you slowly but eagerly nodded, and he grasped this as his sign to carefully undo you from your pants.
Much to your dismay, Lando took his time. Your joggers slid off your thighs with ease, and you felt his delicate and strong fingers glide over your sensitive skin. You shivered out of sensual pleasure, and your boyfriend looked up with a sly smirk. Your thighs were one of your most sensitive spots, and his gentle touch sent goosebumps over your body. He now knew that, too.
When one of the final pieces of fabric had been taken off your body, Lando gently tossed it towards the chair in the corner of your room, where his sweater and both your t-shirts and his hoodie had previously ended up as well.
You looked at him as he stood at the edge of your bed, and you couldn't decide what you desired to do more; hide yourself from his intense gaze, or let your mouth water at the sight of his trained torso.
Lando, however, didn't allow you to think twice and was soon quick to hover back above you and plant another kiss on your reddened lips.
His wet kisses went towards your neck, to a certain spot just below your ear, towards the place your neck and shoulder meet. You felt his tongue on your skin, rosy lips surrounding the wet sensation, as he forcefully sucked on the spot.
Your right hand flew towards the nape of his neck, right where his hair ended, and tried its best to eagerly grasp whatever it could find.
Simultaneously, your other hand ended on his side, your touch tickling his exposed skin, and he couldn't help but chuckle.
Another sigh unwillingly escaped your lips at the sensation, and he got back up to examine your eyes.
Your pupils were heavily dilated, your breath was unsteady, and sweat started to form on your forehead near your hairline. But he couldn't help but look at you adoringly.
"Can I touch you?" Lando asked, a charming smile still plastered on his face. You could barely answer. Your chest felt incredibly tight, and your mind was filled with just one word as you looked at the man above you; love.
It frightened you. Absolutely terrified you. Neither of you had shared the three most famous words yet, and you certainly didn't expect it would take this to deliver them into your mind.
Feeling like you've let your boyfriend wait long enough, you eagerly nodded before giving him one last kiss.
Lando looked at the purple reminder on the side of your throat with a proud smile before he let his hands wander down towards your underwear. His eager hands slipped into your panties, a quivering breath escaping your lips as his thumb put pressure on your small bundle of nerves when he found it.
With one final look of approval, he slid off your panties with ease and stashed them with the rest.
His fingers caressed your thighs before finding their way towards your core. He slowly made his way towards the part where you desired him most, but not before teasing the whole area, naturally causing you to let out a frustrated groan.
Lando chuckled. Actually chuckled. It wasn't the first time he had done this tonight, but you never believed sex could actually be funny. And it made the experience all the better.
He finally thought you had had enough teasing for the night, and he carefully entered you with his pointer finger.
To be absolutely honest, he had no idea what he was doing. He tried to memorise stories from others or books he had only half read and then tossed them somewhere randomly, but he never came close to doing it like that himself.
Anticipating your reaction, Lando added another finger when he noticed you clenching around the bare minimum. He moved, slowly but steadily, and small moans began to erupt from your throat.
"Is this okay?" Lando asked after a few strokes, looking up at you to await your reaction.
"Apply pressure with your thumb, right here." You informed him, moving his hand in the slightest and repositioning it to your liking.
And once he applied pressure to the part where you needed him most, and hit a good spot inside, you were almost done for.
Your head fell back into the pillows while he felt his fingers gain more wetness from your core, and your hands reached out to grab a hold of his hair but were met with nothing but air.
He took the hint of your desperate gesture, slightly moving his head towards the direction of your hands as they were still grabbing around for him- like a child reaching for its toy.
You pulled on a particular strand of his soft curls, and he wasn't certain whether he groaned out of pain or pleasure. But, after detecting the sounds that escaped your lips, he was sure it definitely must have been the latter.
"Y/n," Lando breathed as he looked up, meeting your distracted gaze. "Your pretty sounds are like music to my ears, and I could listen to them all day."
You let a slight laugh escape your lips as your head fell back, and you gave another loving tug to his hair.
"Lando," you mimicked his tone, another quivering breath leaving your lips as he continued his pleasurable pace with his fingers. "I- I kinda need you now, are you ready?" You could barely speak, too distracted by the feeling between your legs and the butterflies that erupted through your entire body.
"I think I am," he said as he retreated his fingers, awkwardly looking at them as he secretly swiped them off on his joggers. "Might need a few- uh- strokes. But I think we should be okay."
We.
This was the moment you were about to become one, the final parts of your bodied finally exposed to each other.
"Do you have any condoms?" He asked, and you recognised the minor change in his voice; he felt awkward.
And you totally reciprocated the feeling. There was barely anything more awkward than sharing this kind of intimacy for the first time, being new to each other's likes and pleasures, and having to find out what turned the other on.
You sat up and leaned on your elbows before pointing at the closet on the other side of the room.
"They're in there, uh, top shelf." you stated, and he clumsily walked over to the piece of furniture. His eyes widened at the sight when he opened it and felt a sudden wave of redness taking over his whole body.
"There's- you have a full box of them?" He said as he grabbed the box and turned to you. You fell back, hands covering your flushed face.
"Diane gave them to me a couple of days after her party," you mumbled, a sigh escaping your lips. "She saw us talk and, well, yeah. You know her." A simple 'oh' had left his lips before he grabbed one chrome-looking package from the box and placed the rest back.
"Well, at least we have them." He laughed awkwardly as he returned to the bed, a shaky 'yeah' coming from you as a response.
You retracted your arms as you saw him sitting next to you on the bed, the golden light from outside perfectly framing his features.
The golden hour was made for him.
And you were the lucky one that had him in their bed.
Lando undid himself off his joggers, not caring enough to put them with the rest- so he just left them where he took them off. His boxers followed soon after as he sat back down on the soft covers of the bed.
You barely dared to look, but eventually, you did. And you carefully reached for his member, gently wrapping your fingers around the length. You looked up to search for a look that would tell you he was uncomfortable, but it was the contrary. He sought his best intentions to hold in a moan, but as you started to move your hand, he failed miserably.
He, in turn, reached back between your legs to bring back that on-edge feeling you almost felt before he stopped.
Warming up to each other, Lando retracted his hand, grabbed onto the wrist of your hand that was working on his member, and placed it beside your head. His fingers felt slick, once more covered in the wetness of your own arousal.
Gently, he came to a position in between your legs, leaning on his knees and his hardened length halfway towards his stomach.
He messily tried to rip the foil package in two, barely succeeding but ultimately held the condom between his fingers before rolling it onto his member.
Lando leaned forwards, and he placed his hands on either side of your head, your legs locking around his hips and your hands finding their way to his sides.
"At any time, please tell me if you're uncomfortable, okay?" he said, and you nodded eagerly before responding, "Same to you."
You closed your eyes as he wettened his tip with your arousal and carefully entered you. It wasn't pain that rushed through you, but it did feel unpleasant. You placed your hands on his chest to halt his movements and took your time to adjust to the new feeling of your boyfriend inside of you.
When you opened your eyes, you were confronted with the most caring and loving gaze you had ever encountered. You knew Lando wasn't experienced, and neither were you, but he genuinely cared so much about your well-being. It made this new experience so much better.
"You can move," you told him after about half a minute. "God, please do." He smiled at you before placing a delicate kiss on your lips, and he carefully started to move.
The feeling soon turned into pleasure for both of you and suddenly, neither of you could get enough of each other's touch.
Kisses were messy, loose strands of hair were being pulled, and nothing could ever beat this moment of being intimate with your partner for the first time. Lando made it perfect for you.
After a couple of strokes, you experienced a vaguely familiar sensation building in the pit of your stomach and a tingling feeling coming from your core.
But, you weren't quite there yet. Therefore, you grasped one of his hands and assisted him towards the part where you needed him the most. He took the hint, placed his thumb on your clit, and started making figure eights on the little bundle of nerves. It wasn't perfect, but it worked, and his name started rolling off your tongue more than once.
And it was the same for him. Watching you unravel in pleasure caused by him, your breasts bouncing with each move of his hips like you were a machine tangled in each other. And at that moment, it felt like you only worked with each other.
Your soft walls gripped around him, and he was afraid he wouldn't last much longer, but for you, he would try. For you, he would do everything.
"Lando, please move faster." His unique name escaped your sensual lips in a hurry, a mix of sighs and groans barely making it clear what you were saying. But he understood and got on with it.
"You feel so good," Lando said as he started building up a quicker pace. "Please tell me what you want. What you need."
"Anything, everything," you breathed, grabbing his hand that was working on your clit, and gently pulling him back up to get him into your line of view. "Kiss me. Kiss me like you mean it."
And so he did. It wasn't pretty; teeth clashing, lip biting. But it was everything you could wish for.
When Lando started to chase his own orgasm, he instinctively picked up his pace and twisted it into a couple of rough trusts. He wasn't certain what came over him, and for a second, he was anxious this might not be as pleasurable for you as it was for him. But all his worries faded as soon as you pulled him into an embrace, and he fell atop of you, his face buried in your neck, and you vaguely mumbled a couple of words;
"You can have my babies." You told him. He wasn't entirely sure where that came from, but simultaneously, he wasn't complaining.
You, on the other hand, felt embarrassed. You clasped a hand over your mouth and mumbled a scared 'I'm sorry' to your boyfriend.
He retreated from your passionate hold with a reassuring smile, caressing your rosy cheek with his strong fingers. His pace slowed down a bit, but he didn't stop. And that eased your worries the tiniest bit.
"Don't apologise," he chuckled. This man, you thought. He can laugh about everything. "Though I'm not entirely sure where that came from, it might be a little too soon to be thinking about babies."
"No, please, I don't,-" you desperately sighed after taking your hand from your lips. "I don't want any babies. It just happened, I felt hot and my mind took me somewhere else and I just-"
"Ooh! So you have a breeding kink!" Lando exclaimed joyfully, and you felt your face redden at his blunt words. His movements halted, his hand returning towards the back of your neck as he rejoined your embrace.
"Do not fucking speak about this," you said as you hugged him back, feeling his bare skin against yours increasing the pressure between your legs. "In fact, don't mention it for another while. I don't want to think about it."
"As you wish." he smiled, and you were internally grateful he made no big deal about it and didn't find it the biggest turnoff in the bedroom. Everyone has their kinks. You just didn't expect yours to come out during the first time with your current boyfriend.
Lando picked his pace back up, and the feeling in your stomach returned as quickly as it faded before. You let your hands roam through his hair, caressing the back of his neck, as he started pushing in with stuttering thrusts, each of them slow and deep instead of harsh and sloppy.
You tactically moved your hips, trying to find that little fiction from his pelvis against your bundle of nerves, but your desperate movement caused him to reach that spot inside of you.
"Oh- oh my god." You instantly moaned, and Lando came back slightly to look at you, asking if you were okay.
"Definitely. More than alright," a faint sound of a passionate sob escaped your lips as he continued hitting your pleasantest part, a smirk forming on his lips. "Right there, right there."
He felt satisfied with himself. For a second, he was that proud boy who couldn't handle losing. And he felt like he had just won his favourite game.
"Right there, huh?" he teased you, and you quickly nodded before he kissed you again. However, because of your shortened breaths, neither of you could maintain a kiss as Lando picked up his pace and tried to both chase his own high and bring you to yours.
Your foreheads touched, lips just inches away from their other half as the both of you breathed through your mouths to get more air.
Lando shot a brief glance to where your bodies met before he could barely hold on to his pace and started to get sloppy.
You thanked nobody in particular that you had randomly come across a professional athlete. Because no other boy had ever even come close to the stamina the one above you had. nobody gave you the right amount of pleasure. None of them listened to your needs, and most importantly, none of them had ever given you relief.
Your walls tightened, white noise filled your ears, stars came through your vision and you softly clawed on Lando his arms as your high washed over you.
This was how it was supposed to feel.
Lando let out a particularly deep groan, grunting in your ear as your name left his lips, and he released into the condom. The feeling of your orgasm was simply too much for him, but he wished this moment would’ve lasted forever.
For a precious second, everything went quiet. No sounds filled the room except for your shortened breaths, and you took the time to just look at one another. Both of you were smiling contently, and you caressed his cheekbones with your fingers. Lando closed his eyes, simply enjoying your touch, and you looked at the spot where his lashes met his glistering skin.
“Lando,” you started, and he opened his eyes to meet your loving gaze. “I think I-“ You could barely let it out, afraid of what might change. Did he even feel the same way? Did you feel that way? Or was this just the heat of the moment for you, and would you wish you could take back your words right after you said them?
“I love you, too.” Lando finished your sentence, adding the last part to let you know he did feel the same way. You chuckled and pulled him down towards your lips, giving him a kiss that held more words than you could ever speak.
You quickly became to realise Lando never pulled out, and his sudden movement caused you to tremble lightly, suddenly feeling overstimulated by the feeling between your legs.
“I love you, but I’m getting a little overwhelmed here.” You grinned up at him as you pulled apart, after which he replied a quick ‘right, sorry’ and carefully pulled out of you immediately.
A gentle sigh mixed with a moan left your lips at the friction, but Lando got up and went over to your bathroom to toss away the condom and returned with a dampened washing cloth so you could clean yourself.
You looked at him with adoration as he re-entered your room, eyes lingering on his trained abdomen and once more realising how good looking this man actually was.
“See something you like?” Lando said as he handed you the cloth, and you carefully cleaned your core and made sure not to touch any sensitive spots.
“Certainly,” you said as you got up and headed towards the bathroom as well, causing your boyfriend to frown in confusion. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’m just going to pee. Does wonders for your health.” You gave him a wink as you turned the corner while biting your lip to contain another laugh.
You were happy
Lando laughed at your remark before putting his boxers on and turning on the nightlight next to your bed. He slid under the covers, quickly checking his phone, though he didn’t find anything worth replying to.
Once you returned, you also put on some clean panties and joined him under the covers of your warm bed.
You shot a glance at your phone on the nightstand, lighting up with multiple alerts of missed calls and messages, but you weren’t worried about them for a second. The only thing you saw was the name of your friend in the notifications and decided to briefly look at what she needed but didn’t care about responding.
Please tell me you finally fucked.
He ended p2!! P2 darling!!
That has to be the perfect moment for a celebration.
She was unbelievable. Of course, this had to be her way of asking, so blunt yet totally in her style. You couldn’t help but laugh.
“What is it?” Lando asked when you put your phone back on the nightstand and snuggled into your pillows, your gaze pointing at the ceiling.
“Diane,” you simply answered. “I don’t think any more context is needed.” He let out a small chuckle at that, immediately knowing what you were implying.
“I take it she knows her box came in handy, then?” he replied, and you just nodded.
You looked over at him, laying on his side and not breaking his stare at you. His head fit perfectly in the pillow underneath him, and he looked so comfortable that you could nearly cry.
“I love you.” You said, this time officially and quietly, and he was happy to respond.
“I love you, too.”
You hated accidents. Except when you went from friends to this.
