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I am FINALLY caught up to postings in real time! Ah, now the dreaded waiting game for new parts beings lol. I know we’re getting closer to the end of the series now so I can’t wait to see what’s in store!

Ben didn’t let go of your hand the entire time.

We love a lovestruck 104 year old baby boy 😂

Stan Edgar stopped at a steel access door at the end of the corridor and keyed in a temporary lock code. The door opened with a click. “This way,” he said, gesturing for you both to enter. Ben hesitated for a second – instinct told him to. Maybe even fear. He swept the room briefly, jaw clenched, green eyes narrowed – always assessing, always prepared. Then, with a tilt of his head, he motioned for you to step inside, signaling that it was safe.

Okay but no, the way I too would not go in there. Who KNOWS what Edgar’s up to and after being locked up so much in his life? I’m surprised even Ben would want to. So I suppose it really was safe if he was willing to go inside.

“I tried to control what I didn’t understand,” Edgar corrected. “It was a mistake. A stupid one. Vought did what Vought always does: reduce risk, eliminate variables. I won’t defend it. But I will say this – I am the only person in this company who knows what you are and hasn’t turned it into a weapons project.” “Yet.” Ben’s jaw twitched. “You came damn close.”

I’m with Ben here. I wouldn’t trust Stan as far as I can throw him. You just know he wants to exploit reader along with Ben in order to take control of his company again.

“I know enough,” Edgar insisted. “I won’t insult you by pretending we ever understoodd you, but I will say this: you never wanted to be a supe. So I’m not offering you a cape or a mission. You’d burn the first and ignore the second.”

“It’s no CERN,” you stated dismissively, but Edgar only chuckled lightly, seeing right through your weak attempt.

God it makes me nerd heart so happy when other people are smart and know about things like CERN 😊Although being a professor at Godolkein? Hm, I’m on the fence with that one. We all know how above board that lovely campus is…

“Which is why I’m also offering you your own science program for our younger audiences. Primetime. Educational. No Vought branding. You write it. You produce it. Full creative autonomy. The kind of thing you used to watch in secret when your parents forgot to pick you up from school. You could inspire millions of kids the way you’ve been inspired.”

Okay but why is this idea equally hilarious and horrifying at the same time. Y/N making a children’s show? Oh, the way I want to see it now just for the laughs 🤣Although the way this brought back memories of Bill Nye the Science guy, I could totally see her geeking out about it enough to be willing to.

“I think you’re the only supe who ever understood what it meant to serve something bigger than himself,” Edgar replied. “Even if it was a lie. You wore the flag because someone asked you to. You sold the war, the power, the fantasy. You led,and the world followed. You’re the only one who can carry the old myth and make it feel like something worth trusting again. You were made to hold the spotlight. You just don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

Not Stan out here dropping truth bombs…

Whatever you decide, I’ll back you. I’ll burn the world down or hold your coat. And that loyalty – that fucking heartbreaking loyalty – twisted something deep inside you.

I said it before but we love a supportive king. The way he’s letting her decide their next moves and ultimately their fate? Ah, these two little soulmates are killing me in the best way.

“You’re not a symbol to me,” you said. “You’re not a weapon or a product or a fucking bedtime story. You’re just… Ben. Love of my life.”

Ah, I love that they know they can’t trust Stan and are just going to go along to get some time to come up with a way out of this situation. I so desperately want a nice, quiet life for them where they can sit on a porch in some rocking chairs just in the moment with no worries.

You opened the fridge, and of course – three bottles of whiskey, four glass containers of leftover steak, a bowl of lemons, half a chocolate cake, and a single sparkling water.

Yup, that about tracks for how a single, depressed, danger grandpa would eat 😂

“You like the fuckin’ suit,” he murmured knowingly. “You just won’t admit it. Could see it in your eyes today, though.”

I mean, can you blame a girl?

You didn’t know how you got there, just that you were moving through the ruins of what used to be New York City.

WTF WAYNE?!?! What was that! Happy little sexy teasing and then THAT? Apocalypse nightmares? Noir and The Deep escaping? Good god girl, I love your evil brain. Oh, I knew it was all going too well and here comes the pain. You know, I never thought I’d have to fear Ben actually DYING but now that’s on the list. AND DON’T YOU THINK I DIDN’T NOTICE IT WAS 3 SUSPECTS ESCAPED. I AIN’T IN THE MOOD FOR A FAMILY REUNION.

Anyhoo, I can’t wait to see what new torture comes next! 💕

Time After Time – Chapter 20

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, back in the present, SB being his charming self and every (bad) thing that comes with it, some humor and fluff, major angst

Word Count: 8.0k

Posted on Patreon July 14, 2025

A/N: Let's count all the major players on our chess board! Ready? 😝

✨ Chapter title inspired by Cool Hand Luke (1967)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 20: What We’ve Got Here Is Failure to Communicate

The sky crackled with red, white, and blue as fireworks lit up the harbor like artillery dressed up as patriotism. Somewhere across the lawn, a marching band struck up a bastardized version of Springsteen. The crowd roared. Flags waved. Camera crews pivoted to catch the spectacle. Every face was turned skyward, locked in curated awe.

But you were moving the opposite way – backstage, behind the curtain, down a dark corridor not meant for the public.

Ben didn’t let go of your hand the entire time.

He walked one pace ahead and angled protectively, just enough to block Edgar’s reach if it came to that. He didn’t trust Vought’s CEO within fifty feet of you, and it showed. The tension radiating from him wasn’t subtle. You could even feel it mirrored in yourself – muscles pulled taut, stomach knotted tight, skin prickling from the weight of everything unsaid.

He was ready to hit something. Preferably Edgar. You didn’t blame him.

The last two weeks had been the quietest, safest days you could ever remember. You’d lived inside them like a bubble. But this moment? This hallway? Edgar’s deliberate silence?

It was a fucking needle.

Stan Edgar didn’t say a word as he led you and Ben along the hallway behind the Statue of Liberty’s museum annex, past service doors and temporary barricades. It was a staff corridor turned makeshift security lane, cordoned off for the VIPs. The lights overhead flickered, old bulbs in older wiring, and the whole hallway smelled faintly of fireworks, sunscreen, and overworked air conditioning.

Stan Edgar stopped at a steel access door at the end of the corridor and keyed in a temporary lock code. The door opened with a click. “This way,” he said, gesturing for you both to enter.

Ben hesitated for a second – instinct told him to. Maybe even fear. He swept the room briefly, jaw clenched, green eyes narrowed – always assessing, always prepared. Then, with a tilt of his head, he motioned for you to step inside, signaling that it was safe.

The space wasn’t glamorous by any means, just bare walls, old linoleum floors, and a low ceiling. But Vought had dressed it up for the evening: folding chairs with branded seat covers, a catering tray gone cold on a foldable table, and a massive windowed alcove where you could see the fireworks bursting over the water. Someone had swapped the fluorescents for warmer bulbs and wheeled in a minibar, but it couldn’t quite hide what it was.

You didn’t sit. Neither did Ben. But Edgar poured himself a drink from the cart and turned to face you both, completely at ease.

“You’re back together,” he said, as if commenting on the weather. “The loop is closed. History realigned. Congratulations again.”

Ben didn’t respond. Instead, he stepped slightly in front of you, just enough to make a statement. To make it clear where he stood – between you and Edgar. Always.

You didn’t put a hand on him to pull him back or even calm him. You let him stand there, built like a wall, heat firing off him in slow waves. If Edgar noticed – and of course he did – he gave no sign.

He sipped his neat bourbon, then gestured loosely out the window. “It’s a mess out there. The stock is volatile, new supe teams forming, corporate investors circling like vultures. The collapse of the Seven left a vacuum. Everyone’s trying to fill it,” he began his negotiation – because that’s what it was. “The company’s in a state of transition. There are… gaps. Opportunities. The board wants new blood. Investors want stability. The public wants a story they can follow.”

Another firework bloomed outside the window. You didn’t flinch, but your eyes caught the flicker. Red washed briefly across the floor like a warning.

“You can’t chain us down,” you said, your voice carrying the traces of a threat. You could feel the tick of every second in the air – could stop them, twist them, weaponize them if needed.

“I’m not here to revisit the past, Doctor. We all know how we got here. I’m here to talk about what comes next – for both of you,” Edgar said. “Homelander’s meltdown wasn’t just a crisis – it was a revelation. Public trust in supes has cratered.”

“And you want us to clean it up?” you asked, raising a brow.

Edgar gave a slow smile. “I think you’re the only ones who can. You, specifically, Doctor,” he said. “You’re not branded. Not costumed. You’ve never sold merch or endorsed a product. You weren’t raised in a lab or paraded as a child star. You’re off-script – and the public will feel it.”

Your skin tightened. You hated being talked about like a concept. You hated it even more that this was what they’d done to the man you loved next to you. The packaging was different, but you knew the rotten core would stay the same.

“You don’t act like a supe,” Edgar continued. “You don’t argue like one. You dress like a professor, and you think like one. I know you never wanted the spotlight. That’s exactly why people will trust you. They’ve seen the godlike. The narcissists. The tyrants. Now they need to see the human again.”

You huffed a bitter laugh. “You tried to kill me.”

“I tried to control what I didn’t understand,” Edgar corrected. “It was a mistake. A stupid one. Vought did what Vought always does: reduce risk, eliminate variables. I won't defend it. But I will say this – I am the only person in this company who knows what you are and hasn’t turned it into a weapons project.”

“Yet.” Ben’s jaw twitched. “You came damn close.”

“And yet, here you both are. Alive. Whole. Together,” Edgar said, setting his drink down and folding his hands calmly in front of him. “I’m here to make a new offer – one that reflects your… current status.”

Your gaze briefly flicked to Ben’s before you narrowed your eyes at Edgar. “You mean now that your blackmail’s expired.”

He gave you a smile. “Let’s call it… updated leverage.”

“You don’t have any goddamn leverage,” Ben muttered, teeth gritted, and exhaled through his nose. “We already had a fuckin’ deal. She stayed close. You stayed breathin’. Done.”

“You two can kill me and burn Vought to the ground, sure. The whole system even, considering both your abilities,” Edgar replied, infuriatingly calm. “But do you really think it ends with me? Someone else will try to control you. Another executive. Another supe. Another foreign government. You become someone’s experiment. Someone’s nuclear deterrent. It never ends. I can offer you both what you want most – peace of mind.”

Ben snorted. “You’ve been reading your own fuckin’ press releases again.”

Edgar looked at you. Not Ben. Always you.

“I’m not here to sell you on the supe fantasy,” Stan assured you. “You’ve never wanted that. And you never will.”

“Glad we agree,” you muttered, raising your chin slightly. You might’ve punched him if he’d said anything else. “But you don’t know anything about me.”

Ben smirked a little, but you didn’t.

“And I’m certainly not offering you fame. You could’ve had that a hundred times if you wanted to. You ran. For good reason,” Edgar added.

You did. You had run. From him. From Vought. From every corner of the world that tried to weaponize what you were. You’d lived like a ghost for a decade because this man, this goddamn system, had decided you were too dangerous to exist without a leash.

And now, that asshole was trying to leash you.

“I’m offering you to be a stabilizing symbol in a destabilized system,” Edgar continued. “I’m offering you a job – at Godolkin University. Full professorship. Physics department. Your syllabus. Your pace. No oversight. No cameras unless you invite them. I even negotiated a deal with the lab in Brookhaven, so you can use their particle accelerator.”

Your stomach twisted. You noticed Ben shift on his feet beside you, watching your profile, reading your silence the way only he could.

You tried to seem unimpressed, even though you were a little. The man had done his goddamn research on you.

“It’s no CERN,” you stated dismissively, but Edgar only chuckled lightly, seeing right through your weak attempt.

“I’m sure we’ll get there, too. Give me some time,” he replied, unfazed. “I know who your childhood hero was. Not Queen Maeve. Not Homelander. And certainly not Soldier Boy. It was Mr. Wizard.”

Ben’s brow furrowed, his head snapping to you. “Mr. fucking Wizard?”

“She used to watch him religiously as a kid,” Edgar answered before you could.

“He’s not even a fuckin’ supe,” Ben muttered, shaking his head, then looked at you. “You were seriously worshipping some nerd in a lab coat fizz Mentos in Coke bottles?”

“Hey, knowledge is it’s own kind of power,” you told him with a little grin. “He was my hero because he didn’t blow things up just to show off. He didn’t want followers. He wanted kids to ask why. You made boys want to punch harder. He made girls like me want to crack atoms open and figure out what made the universe tick.”

Edgar gave a smile like it was the answer he’d been expecting. “You always preferred him to supe propaganda as a child,” he said without missing a beat, and you tried not be creeped out by how much he truly knew about you. “Which is why I’m also offering you your own science program for our younger audiences. Primetime. Educational. No Vought branding. You write it. You produce it. Full creative autonomy. The kind of thing you used to watch in secret when your parents forgot to pick you up from school. You could inspire millions of kids the way you’ve been inspired.”

Your mouth went a little dry. Edgar was definitely skilled at making deals and anticipating someone’s needs.

“Sounds good,” you said with a smile and a shrug, which drew Ben’s attention. You could feel him stiffen next to you as your answer surprised him, and you were certain he could feel the shift in your heartbeat. “And sure, Mr. Wizard showed me that destruction could teach you something. That even chaos had rules. That the world fucking runs on them. But he also taught me that those rules could not only be understood, they can be bent. You’re scared of us – me especially. Because while Ben burns the fabric, I know which thread to pull to unravel it all. And you know that I know that. You claim you want an insurance policy, but I’m smart enough to know that you’re not stupid enough to trust me.”

Edgar’s eyes stayed on you, not a twitch of a muscle. “This isn’t a bribe, Doctor. It’s simply an option. You’ve always wanted to teach. I’m giving you the infrastructure to do it – without hiding. You’ve been surviving on instinct. I’m offering you the ability to finally build something – and help me out in the process. The world, even.”

You gave him a look. “You really think the solution to Vought’s PR problem is giving me a chalkboard and no mascara?”

“The solution is reminding the world that not all power looks like a red cape and a thousand-yard stare,” Edgar said, eyes drifting briefly to Ben before they landed back on you. “That some of it looks like a woman who teaches physics in a leather jacket and doesn’t blow up buildings. You’re not a supe. You’re a physicist who happens to bend the laws of time. You don’t care about power because you already have it. But you care about structure. Equilibrium. This gives you that.”

“No,” you argued knowingly. “This gives you that. And what about him, huh?” You nodded toward Ben. “He’s not gonna play husband-of-the-physics-professor and keep smiling for the goddamn cameras.”

“What she said,” Ben agreed, voice as bitter and sharp as his look.

“Soldier Boy doesn’t get to retire. Not yet,” Edgar said, still unnervingly calm as he looked at Ben. “You’re a symbol now. You’re the original prototype. She’s the evolution. Together, you’re not chaos. You’re control. And frankly, I think you’ve had enough of being used by people who didn’t respect you.”

“Yeah, including you,” Ben huffed and crossed his arms over his broad chest like he was daring Edgar to keep speaking.

“Yes, and now I’m giving you a chance to set the tone, Soldier Boy. Define your own ending,” Stan replied. “You don’t have to perform anymore. No press circuits. No product lines. You just have to stand beside her, be who you already are. The man the world wants to believe in. The man who came back from the grave and brought the future with him.”

Ben’s jaw flexed. “You just want me to sell the next fuckin’ fantasy.”

Edgar didn’t even blink. “You’ve always known how to hold the line.”

Ben cocked an eyebrow. “That what you think I’ve been doin’?”

That hit him. You could see it in the way his shoulders shifted and in the way he didn't look at you right away. And Edgar seemed to know it, too. So, he pressed on.

“You don’t need to be the voice of reason,” Stan continued his sales pitch. “That’s her. What you are – what you’ve always been – is the symbol, Soldier Boy. The strength. The answer when the room gets too loud.”

“So what?” you asked, cutting in before Edgar could keep pushing. “So we just stand there while you parade us around like good little mascots?”

“Not mascots,” Edgar said. “Anchors.”

“Please, you don’t give a shit about stories. You just want the system to keep eatin’,” Ben threw in, rolling his eyes back.

“Yes,” Edgar said without hesitation. “But I’d rather feed it with something that works. Something that doesn’t explode in my face.”

“And what if we say no?” you challenged.

“Then the next executive doesn’t make an offer, they make a move,” Edgar replied calmly. “You’re not a threat because of your powers, Doctor. You’re a threat because you don’t want anything we usually offer. And that makes you hard to control. But the two of you together? Both of you are dangerous beyond imagination. Not because of what you can do, but because you care about each other. That kind of loyalty… it makes you irrational. Reckless. The two of you won’t find a minute of peace for the rest of your lives.”

Ben shifted again beside you. You could feel him vibrating under the surface, still furious this asshole was even breathing. You glanced at him, and he met your gaze. You saw it in his green eyes – the loathing. Not just for Edgar, but for the idea of going back. The cameras. The staged parades. The bullshit.

“You think givin’ her chalk and a TV slot makes up for the years you fuckin’ hunted her?” Ben scoffed. “Or the fact you left me to rot with the fuckin’ Reds for forty goddamn years?”

“No,” Edgar said simply. “But it gives you two something better than running. You know better than anyone what chaos looks like. You were the original – the warning label no one read. You want to keep her safe? This is the only way. Visibility is immunity. Someone will eventually come for her. Not me – but someone worse. Younger. Harsher. Hungrier. And you know it. You’ve seen it happen countless times before.”

Ben said nothing, but you felt his tension beside you – the way his fingers hovered and flexed, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to reach for your hand or Edgar’s throat.

You tilted your head. “You really think that’s all it takes?”

“No,” Edgar replied. The skyline glowed behind him, reflecting in his glasses. “But I think it’s the only deal you’ll ever get that doesn’t end in a containment facility or a mass grave.”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tear something open – not physically, not violently, but chronologically. Unravel the very fabric of the moment and see what the fuck spilled out.

But instead, you just breathed and let the pressure crest – until every atom stilled and the unfathomably peaceful silence returned.

“God, I fucking hate the guy,” you groaned and started to frantically pace the room.

Ben blinked for a second, then looked around – at Edgar frozen mid-sip, at the crowd on the lawn mid-cheer, and at the fireworks in the sky mid-explosion.

“Nice timing,” he noted with a cunning smirk. “Took you long enough.”

“He fucking knows everything,” you huffed, still pacing. Still thinking.

“He always does,�� Ben said, unperturbed.

“He offered me a goddamn chalkboard,” you said, not any calmer. “A fucking TV show.”

Ben stepped tentatively beside you. “Wouldn’t be the worst gig.”

You met his gaze. “You think we can trust him?”

“Fuck no,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “But I trust you. You want it? What he’s offering?”

He was watching you now – steady, open, ready. That same look he gave you in 1942 when you told him your real name. The same one he gave you in your apartment, arms around you as you cried yourself empty in the dark. Ben never needed to say it. It lived in his body language, in the space he kept between you and danger.

Whatever you decide, I’ll back you. I’ll burn the world down or hold your coat.

And that loyalty – that fucking heartbreaking loyalty – twisted something deep inside you.

You stared out the window and inhaled slowly. “I know you don’t want this life anymore,” you said, not looking at him. “The cameras. The parades. The lies. I could see it today. Better than ever.”

“Never did,” Ben said, voice quieter now. “Even back then, I just didn’t know what else I was allowed to want. You asked me once what I wanted. What would make me happy. Remember that?”

You nodded softly. “Yeah, of course I do. You never could give me a good answer.”

Ben clicked his tongue, head bobbing. “Yeah, well, I know what I want now.”

You already knew what he was going to say, but you needed to hear it anyway.

“I want the quiet. I want you,” he said and offered you a sad smile. “And I want the naked breakfasts and the listenin’ to you sing and waking up to sounds of the piano floatin’ through the house and the late nights drinking on the balcony while I pretend to understand your lectures about fuckin’ supernovas or some other bullshit.”

That almost made you laugh.

Ben stepped closer, taking your hands in his. “But I’ll go back on that stage and smile like a fuckin’ idiot if it keeps these parasites from coming for you again.”

Your throat tightened, tears stinging your eyes.

You hated this. Hated what Vought had done to him –turned him into an icon, a lie, a soldier for hire. You’d seen the way he twitched at camera flashes, the way he flinched when people shouted his name like it fucking belonged to them. And you’d seen the way he looked at you during those quiet mornings, coffee in hand, like he still couldn’t believe you were real – or that you’d fucking stayed.

And he would give up that peace. For you. And that’s exactly why you couldn’t let him.

“I’m not putting you back in their fucking claws. Never again,” you assured him softly.

Ben pursed his lips, nodding. “So you wanna burn it all down? Want me to kill him now?”

You exhaled a long sigh and found his eyes. “We can’t. Not yet,” you said, sounding almost regretful not to give your boyfriend a damn kill order. “Edgar’s right. That’s probably what pisses me off the most. But if we take him and Vought down, something new will just sprout from the ashes like fucking fungus. Not to mention all the other supes. I’ve watched them today. They’re gonna lose it if the system collapses.”

“You mean like Sushi Boy?”

“Yeah,” you snorted. “They’re not gonna know what to do with themselves. They’re all gonna go rogue.”

Ben frowned. “How’s that our problem?”

“Because they’re gonna burn down all the shit we actually like,” you reminded him.

“Right,” he said, smacking his lips.

“So? What d’you think?” you asked him, and he seemed almost bewildered someone even considered his opinion – in earnest, at least.

Ben licked his lips for a moment then, thinking. “I think you’re right,” he replied finally. “I mean, this ain’t my first rodeo, and this isn’t my first bastard in a suit – and they only ever got worse… Which is surprising, considering the first ones were fuckin’ Nazis.”

You swallowed the thick lump in your throat. “And with what I can do… with what we can do... they’ll never stop hunting us. We’re always gonna be a threat to the world.”

Ben’s grip on your hands tightened slightly. “Then we stay one step ahead.”

“We can’t do that forever,” you said quietly. “We’ll slip or get tired or, knowing us, one of us gets fucking cocky.”

Ben lifted an eyebrow. “You mean me with that?”

You laughed a little. “No, actually, I meant myself.”

Ben’s lips twitched with a smile. “Fair enough.”

You lifted a hand and touched his cheek gently. His expression was tense and conflicted but resolute. He was still the wall, still your shield – still willing to stand in front of you and absorb every goddamn hit.

“You’re not a symbol to me,” you said. “You’re not a weapon or a product or a fucking bedtime story. You’re just… Ben. Love of my life.”

Ben smacked his lips and gave you a playfully warning look. “Don’t make me use this pause for a fuck, sweetheart.”

You laughed softly. “I mean it, okay? You’ve given enough. You deserve the quiet.”

“So do you,” he said simply, his gaze drifting past you to Edgar.

That man never fucking blinked unless it served him. You knew he already had a backup plan. Probably five. Maybe six. You could tell Ben was thinking the same thing.

“If we say no, he’ll pull Plan B,” he said aloud. “He’s had it in his pocket since the hospital. Probably before. He won’t come after us with fuckin’ suits and lawyers. He’ll go surgical. Fast. Brutal.”

“If we say yes, we get time,” you mused. “Breathing room. The illusion of control.”

“Long enough to make a real play,” Ben added.

You met his gaze again and arched a brow. “Play along?”

Ben gave a nod before a slow and sharp grin spread on his face. “Just until we figure out how to burn it down for fuckin’ good.” Then his tongue swiped over his lips in contemplation. “What about the others? Your friends? You think they back us?”

Your lips pursed, nose scrunching as you scratched your neck. “Pretty sure I burnt that bridge today.”

Ben didn’t comment further on it, probably remembering Annie’s pissed look earlier, but his head bobbed – still contemplating options and assessing threat levels.

“What about Butcher?” he asked then, his eyes flicking to Edgar before his chin followed. “You think they’re talking?”

“No, not yet,” you replied, chewing your bottom lip as you studied Edgar.

Ben lifted a brow. “Did you just do the glimpsin’ thing?”

“Yeah,” you said, chuckling, and gave him a smile. “I told you I would.”

Ben’s brow knitted slightly. “Can you see if they will?”

You shook your head. “No, future’s been weird lately. Harder to read or even see anything. Can’t even predict who’s winning the Super Bowl these days. I think it’s because the future’s currently fluctuating too much.”

“Why?” Ben asked, and you pointed first at him and then at you as a response. His brows shot up. “Oh.”

“Yeah, we definitely need a plan,” you said, nodding. “Something’s happening.”

Ben pulled you flush against him by your hand, strong arms wrapping around you like the best weighted blanket for anxiety in the world. You cupped his face and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“This deal is only temporary, okay?” you reassured him, looking deeply into his eyes. “But you and me? We’re forever.”

Ben didn’t respond with words, but he pulled you closer and tighter and kissed your temple with a reverence that could part seas. You leaned forward, forehead pressing against his chest, eyes closing for one long second.

“Promise me if I lose myself in this, you’ll pull me out,” you whispered against the shimmering emerald fabric of his suit.

Ben rested his chin on the top of your head. “Only if you promise me that if I try to pose for a cereal box again, you’ll fuckin’ shoot me.”

“Deal.” You smiled widely, then looked up at him again. “So we’re doing this? How are we gonna sell this? What if he doesn’t believe us?”

Ben poked the insides of his cheeks with his tongue. Then he smirked – lazy and familiar. Boyish. Smug. Sly.

“Lucky for us, I’m good at sellin’ bullshit,” he said. “You just keep usin’ your brain to figure out the fastest way I can shove my boot up that corporate cocksleeve.”

You gave him a nod and smile and something invisible to the naked eye – your trust. “You got it.”

You’d both shaken Edgar’s hand to make it convincing.

Ben had even suggested a few “add-ons” – press exclusives, legacy documentaries, a college scholarship program for kids of low-income families named after you – the kind of shit that made Edgar’s eyes glimmer and made you think you were dating a genius. The guy had actually walked away feeling victorious – like he’d closed the fucking deal of the century.

But the truth was so much better.

You didn’t say yes because you trusted the snake – you didn’t have fucking Eve written on your forehead. You said yes because you didn’t trust what would come after him. Because the future was uncertain and blurry. Because you needed time. To think. To prepare. To dismantle everything from the inside out.

Ben had said it first on the ferry ride back to the city. “We’re not signing up. We’re fuckin’ infiltratin’.”

You hadn’t corrected him.

Now, hours later, the last of the fireworks had burned out. The sky was dark. The noise had quieted. The city was still – almost like it was frozen again.

Ben had asked you on the ride back why you froze the whole island and not just Edgar. You hadn’t told him you froze the whole world. You told him you’d done it to make it easier – make it look more seamless for everyone else. But in reality, you just did it to see if you could.

As you stood under the awning of a sleek Midtown high-rise, you looked up at the rows of gleaming windows and the Vought-level security detail guarding the entrance. You hadn’t seen this place before. You’d never even asked about it. Only two weeks ago, you were glad Soldier Boy had never ordered you to his place. You knew the doorman Hank and the building and the marbled lobby, but you’d never seen how he lived these days.

Hank recognized you and Ben immediately and greeted you with a bright smile – you’d dropped a lot of weird stuff here over the last year, mostly after midnight. You were sure you made an impression.

Ben only greeted the middle-aged man with a stiff nod and charged straight toward a private elevator with polished gold doors. It even had an operator inside. You didn’t even think that was still a thing. Wasn’t it just pushing a button these days? Was that the poor guy’s job? Pushing buttons for rich people who were too lazy and comfortable to push it themselves?

God, you had questions – all of them would annoy Ben.

“Evenin’, sir. Miss,” the young guy greeted you two and straightened when he met Ben’s eyes.

“Andy,” Ben said with his usual grunt. Then he stepped back, letting you in first. At least the grump still was a gentleman sometimes.

The kid in a navy blazer couldn’t have been older than twenty-one – probably doing summer shifts between classes. He smiled at you a little nervously.

You gave him a smile back. “Hi, Andy. You always work the graveyard shift?”

“Most nights, yeah,” he replied. “Pays better, and I can study between rides.”

“Oh?” you said, brightening. “What are you studying?”

“Chemistry,” he said, eyes lighting up. “Columbia. I'm pre-med, technically, but I might switch to materials science. I’m still figuring it out.”

You beamed then. “That’s awesome. Materials science is fascinating. Are you into nanostructures or more chemical synthesis?”

Ben groaned behind you like he’d just entered an elevator in a horror movie, but the kid lit up like you’d flipped a switch.

“Honestly, both. I was just reading a paper about carbon allotropes and–”

You were already mid-response when you felt Ben’s eyes on you – that slow, pointed, what the fuck are you doing talking to the elevator guy stare.

You looked back at him and smiled sweetly, then turned back to Andy. “Do you have a favorite lab? I used to sneak into the spectroscopy suite when I was a physics student. Just to touch the equipment.”

Andy laughed. “Oh man, I’m dying to get into the high-res NMR wing. They keep it locked down tight, though.”

“Keep asking,” you encouraged him with a grin. “They wear down eventually.”

Ben coughed loudly behind you. You ignored him and kept talking to Andy. And when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open on the top floor, the kid smiled shyly at you, but Ben dragged you out of the elevator by your hand like a dad at a prom before you could even say goodbye properly.

You couldn’t even tell if he was jealous or simply annoyed he had to listen to science babble for a whole five minutes. Either way, you found the whole damn thing so amusing you kept giggling down the hallway.

And Ben? He waited till the elevator doors closed to give you his full opinion.

“Seriously?” he muttered, glancing at you sideways. “We’re flirtin’ with the help now?”

You snorted, even more amused. “Coming from you, that’s fucking hilarious. I had to get you a new maid every week because you kept burning through them like a dog at the park with his balls still swinging and no goddamn leash. You want me to bring Dottie up again, too?”

Ben drew his lips into a tight line, head bobbing in defeat. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Good.” You grinned triumphantly, then gave him a softer, more teasing smile, leaning into his side and interlacing your fingers with his. “You really jealous of a chemistry student with a textbook and acne scars? He’s a kid. He’s way too young for me.”

Ben stopped and raised a brow. Then he gave you a smug smirk. “Really? ‘Cause I was fuckin’ twenty-three, if I remember correctly.”

“But I already knew the grumpy version of you. Killed the illusion,” you countered playfully. “I wasn’t flirting. I was mentoring, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Ben sighed, antagonizing you in jest. “Seen that one before, sweetheart. You were corruptin’.”

You snorted a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

Ben grinned and unlocked the door to his penthouse. “Just sayin’, if he starts wearing a lab coat and yappin’ about atoms next time I’m in there, I’m shovin’ the kid down the shaft.”

Then, the door swung open, and Ben led you inside.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you breathed, eyes wide but still not wide enough to take in what greeted you.

The apartment was fucking ridiculous.

Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire space, framing the Manhattan skyline in sweeping, cinematic stillness like a goddamn IMAX theater. The ceilings were vaulted, the floors dark hardwood, and everything was sleek, modern, and expensive in a way that felt completely untouched.

There were plush leather sofas you were sure no one had ever sat on, a dining table big enough for twelve, even though you knew he never had dinner parties, and an actual fireplace with an abstract oil painting hanging above it.

The foyer alone was bigger than your entire apartment. The air smelled like leather and oak and subtle cologne – something expensive and masculine and somehow very Ben.

He shut the door behind you with a soft thud. Didn’t say a word. Just let you look and explore like he knew you would as soon as you stepped inside.

“Is this a home or a Bond villain’s Airbnb?” you quipped, wandering forward slowly. Then you gestured at the massive piece of a glass figure that looked like it belonged in a weird art museum. “Ben, there’s a fucking sculpture in your entryway.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Came with the place.”

“No one’s ever said that about a sculpture, baby,” you teased. “That’s a fifteen-thousand-dollar metaphor for erectile dysfunction.”

He snorted behind you but didn’t argue.

You peeked into the kitchen with three ovens and a fridge you were certain was smarter than most CEOs.

You turned to face him, eyebrows raised. “So, this is what Vought blood money buys, huh?”

Ben shrugged again, hands in his pockets. “I use the bed and the bar.”

“Dude, this isn’t a kitchen. This is a weapons-grade culinary research lab,” you said, your eyes not knowing what to focus on first. “The fridge has a touchscreen.”

“Yeah, it supposedly also has Vought Prime, but I don’t know how to fuckin’ make it work,” Ben replied with a smile that told you he found your little commentary on his home wildly amusing.

“Why would you need Vought Prime on your fridge?”

“Why do you need it on your phone?” Ben countered cleverly. “It’s a lonely fuckin’ life, alright?”

You opened the fridge, and of course – three bottles of whiskey, four glass containers of leftover steak, a bowl of lemons, half a chocolate cake, and a single sparkling water.

“You live like a well-funded caveman.”

He grinned boyishly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You shut the fridge again and gestured to the wall of matte-finished cabinets. “Do you even know what’s in those?”

“Probably whatever the interior decorator left.”

Curiouser than ever, you opened one. Of course you did. You found champagne flutes, mugs still wrapped in tissue paper, and a milk frother still in its box.

You closed it and turned to look at him. “You’re basically squatting in a luxury catalog.”

He smirked in response. “Not true. I know exactly where the good bourbon is.”

You then wandered further into the living space, taking it all in – the overstuffed leather sectional, the glass coffee table that could kill a man if angled right, the bar cart stocked like a Bond villain and a 1950s lounge singer at the same time.

“Do you even live here?” you asked and glanced over your shoulder at him.

“I drink here.”

Yeah, you figured. The house in Philly was personal. This was for fucking show.

You trailed your hand across the velvet-lined sideboard, the art books stacked with deliberate imbalance, the museum lighting above a vintage WWII propaganda poster framed like fine art.

But you paused in front of the windows – the skyline was still breathtaking, though.

“So where’s the rest of the fortress, huh?” you asked deliberately mischievous and wrapped your arms around his neck, claiming his lips before he could even reply.

He grinned. “You wanna see the best part, hm?”

“I’m afraid,” you replied, giggling.

“Oh, you fuckin’ should be, sweetheart,” Ben retorted with a smirk that already told you he was up to no good. “Been holdin’ back a few hours now.”

He then led you down the hall, past darkened doors and spotless floors, and opened a door at the far end.

The master suite looked like it had been lifted from a luxury magazine. King-size bed, navy silk sheets, dark slate headboard, walk-in closet the size of your childhood bedroom. The space was all lines and shadows and expensive silence. You barely had time to comment before he pointed toward the en-suite bathroom.

The bathroom of the Gods, that was – big walk-in shower, heated tiles, backlit mirrors, a huge jacuzzi tub, and a vanity with gold accents.

“Is that a steam shower?” you asked, arching a brow as you strolled inside.

“Damn right it is.” Ben leaned coolly against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Why fuckin’ settle?”

“You have a towel warmer,” you muttered, inspecting it. Then you shot him a raised look. “Do you even use half this stuff?”

“Course I do,” he said, smirking. “Wanna see how the steam shower works?”

You turned to say something biting, but stopped when you realized he’d undone the top buttons of his suit. You swallowed once.

“Seriously?” you scoffed. “You’re gonna seduce me in your fuckin’ propaganda armor?”

He stepped inside the bathroom, slowly peeling off the top of the suit, revealing bare skin beneath.

“You like the fuckin’ suit,” he murmured knowingly. “You just won’t admit it. Could see it in your eyes today, though.”

“You’re full of shit.” You folded your arms defiantly but only half-serious. At this point, you were pretty sure the bickering was just part of foreplay. “I’m a woman of science. I like brains.”

He leaned in, cocky as hell. “Then come study my molecular structure.”

God, he even used that correctly in a sentence.

And you laughed – actually, fully laughed. Then you shoved his chest lightly. He caught your wrist, smiled, and pulled you into his arms.

“You done judgin’ my bachelor palace?” he asked.

You tilted your head and then grinned. “Not even close.”

He brushed a hand down your arm – slow, easy, warm. “C’mon,” he rasped and kissed a path down the column of your throat. “You’ve seen the fuckin’ view. Now let me show you the steam settings.”

And fucking hell, he showed you goddamn all of them.

The sky was the color of ash.

Gray clouds hung heavy over the broken skyline, swallowing the sun. Skyscrapers stood shattered like bones picked clean, windows gone, steel frames exposed to the wind. Fires burned low in the distance – not rageful but tired, like they’d been burning too long to care anymore.

You didn’t know how you got there, just that you were moving through the ruins of what used to be New York City. A quiet kind of end. No screams. No sirens. Just the echo of boots on cracked pavement.

You knew this wasn’t a memory or even a dream. It was a future – one you hadn’t seen before.

You strolled carefully through the hollow streets until you reached the edge of a small city park, name long forgotten. The trees were dead. The benches were gone. There was only one thing left: a black stone marker, more polished and new than anything else in this place.

But your throat closed and your feet stopped.

And then, there you were – another version of you. Older, tired, hair streaked with gray like you’d actually and miraculously aged.

The stunned bewilderment didn’t last long, though, because Ben’s name was carved into the granite.

You jolted upright on the king-sized bed with a gasp and sweat-drenched skin. The bedroom was dark, the city’s hum muted behind thick glass. Early light peeked through the edges of the curtains, and beside you, Ben stirred, naked under the sheets, his warmth still clinging to your skin.

He reached for you instantly, voice low and rough with sleep, hand rubbing your back like he’d done it a million times before and hadn’t paused the gesture for the last eighty years.

“What’d I do this time?” he asked unceremoniously.

“Nothing,” you replied quietly, causing his brow to crease. But it wasn’t a ‘I don’t want to talk about this’ nothing. It was a real one.

That might have woken Ben up more than the promise of good coffee and even better sex.

“It was different,” you explained. “It wasn’t one of the futures I saw before. Not back in 1942. It was nothing you did or were supposed to do. This one… I’ve never seen it before.”

Ben sat up slowly at that, propped up on his elbows. “Okay, so what happened?”

You swallowed thickly. “It was New York, but ruined. Everything was burned out and… dead. And I saw myself. At a grave.” You met his eyes briefly before you looked down at your hands in your lap. “Yours.”

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Ben exhaled, slow and controlled. He ruffled a hand through his hair.

And you waited. For panic. For a command to do something. For a plan.

But instead, he just reached for your wrist and pulled you gently into his side. His voice was calm and measured. “We just made a deal with the fuckin’ devil yesterday. Granted, it’s the devil we know, but you’re allowed to have a few nightmares without calling them visions like a normal person, y’know? You’ve been through hell. Even your brain’s allowed to fuckin’ misfire every once in a while, sweetheart.”

You were quiet for a heartbeat and rested your head against his shoulder. “What if it’s not misfiring?”

Ben gently pecked your temple. “Then we deal with it. Together.”

Fuck, you wanted to believe him – and you’d tried. But the dreams didn’t stop.

Night after night, they came. Some subtle. Some apocalyptic. Different cities, different endings – but always some version of the world falling apart. Sometimes you were running. Sometimes fighting. Sometimes kneeling at a grave – not always Ben’s.

But each time you woke up, he was right fucking there.

Half-asleep and grumbling, sure. But he always pulled you closer, put a hand on your chest to steady your breathing, and whispered things in the dark like “It’s just a dream,” and “Still here,” and “We’ve got time, baby.”

Sometimes, you weren’t sure, though, which one of you he was trying to convince more.

A week passed, and nothing changed.

The apartment was warm with leftover summer heat, the kind that stuck to your skin even after sundown. The central air hummed low in the background, and somewhere outside, horns and rooftop music filtered through thick glass.

You were brushing your teeth in the master bathroom, hair up in a loose knot, tank top clinging to your back. You still smelled faintly like Ben’s body wash he’d massaged into your skin earlier.

In the living room, you could hear the flicker of the television – one of those late-night news programs Ben half-watched while pretending not to care as he sipped on a whiskey. You let the sound roll over you like white noise while you rinsed your mouth and ran a damp towel over your face.

Then you heard it. Your name – not loud, not panicked.

Just sharp.

“Come here! You need to see this.”

You wiped your mouth and padded out barefoot into the living room, where he stood frozen in front of the massive TV, shirtless in sweatpants, still damp from his earlier shower, remote forgotten on the couch behind him. His green eyes were locked on the screen. The only light in the room came from the late-night news broadcast – blue-tinted and clinical, glowing off the hardwood.

“Ben?”

He didn’t answer right away, just pointed wordlessly at the TV. You followed his finger and narrowed your eyes.

Breaking News: Explosion at Federal Site in Upstate New York.

The news anchor’s voice was tight, professional, but you could hear the urgency behind it. “–what authorities are calling an ‘unauthorized internal breach’ at a classified facility in upstate New York. The exact nature of the site is being kept under wraps, but early reports suggest involvement of former federal assets long believed to be decommissioned…”

“No,” you whispered. “No, that’s not–… That’s Langley’s black grid,” you whispered. “That’s the cage.”

“The one they keep fuckin’ off-books.” Ben nodded once, green eyes never leaving the screen, however. “Where they keep him.”

Then the tagline changed: Potential Terror Attack – Three Suspects at Large.

“–while the agency has not released an official statement, sources confirm this was not a conventional military base. Surveillance footage recovered from a nearby checkpoint appears to show two unidentified individuals fleeing the site before emergency teams arrived…” the news anchor continued.

The footage then shifted to grainy surveillance videos – timestamped, low-res, flickering black and white. Aerial shots of a scorched clearing were shown, smoke still rising from collapsed structures, blackened trees splintered in every direction. Helicopters circled the wreckage like vultures.

Two men then moved fast through the tree line. One of them was unmistakable – smug even in two frames per second and carrying the aura of a complete moron. The Deep.

Your stomach dropped.

The other guy wore black from head to toe. Armored. Silent. A helmet that gave away nothing. But the fucking shape, the movement, the silhouette–

You felt Ben tense next to you.

“Noir,” he said, deep voice low and gravelly. “He was supposed to be fuckin’ dead. How the fuck’s that possible?!”

Your pulse jumped as his voice picked up volume with each word. Ben’s fists clenched, and you could see it happening with your bare eyes – the old fury curling up inside him like fire looking for more oxygen.

“It’s not him,” you told him then, assured him even with that certainty only someone who saw everything could have. “Deep just found some guy with similar abilities and put him in that suit.”

“The fuck?!” Ben’s brow furrowed wildly, gaze snapping back to the TV. You reached for his arm to anchor him.

His phone then buzzed on the coffee table. Ben checked the screen before frowning. “Butcher.”

Your head snapped up, you met his eyes, and then Ben picked up. You hadn’t heard from anyone on the team in over a week. Only Kimiko and Frenchie had still reached out and asked how you were doing, but they avoided talking about Ben and you like the two of you together were a derogatory term.

Ben listened to Butcher and didn’t say much. A few clipped questions and a longer silence. You could hear nothing, aside from a faint British murmur on the other end. But the way Ben’s face changed, the way his entire posture locked down, told you more than enough.

He hung up after a hefty “fuck.”

Ben licked his lips for a moment before he found your eyes and spoke. “He’s out. Those two motherfuckers broke in and helped him escape. Butcher said they apparently shot him full of V, too. He’s fuckin’ back.”

You walked over to the window, staring out at the skyline like you could already see smoke rising from it. It was starting again – you could feel it deep in your bones.

“Still think they’re just nightmares?”

▶️ Chapter 21: Round Up the Usual Suspects – AUGUST 18

Alright, who had their money on The Deep to derail this whole thing? 😅🐠

Looks like Ben's getting his son back, and John is maybe getting a new mommy? I'm messing with you guys, of course. Don't worry 😇

Coming Up:

Butcher rolled his eyes and pushed off from the window with a scoff. “Alright, enough. You wanna stop this from ever happening? There’s a cleaner option, and you bloody well know it.”

Everyone looked at him, and you didn’t like the glint in his eyes. You recognized that tone – practical, dangerous, diabolical.

“You go back. 1980. Destroy the spunk bank,” Butcher clarified, smirk twitching giddily on his lips.

Your eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“Easiest fucking road,” Butcher said and surely tried to sound as convincing as a car salesman. “Wipe the slate clean. And before you say anything, sunshine – it’s a morally gray area. No killing fucking babies, alright?”

“Thanks for the clarification,” you scoffed dryly.

“You’re welcome.” The Brit smirked cunningly. “C’mon, tell me you haven’t thought about it, Doc.”

Ben opened his mouth, and for one second, you could see it – he had considered it. That was enough for you to stop the clock.

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt. 1:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei

@perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming @hunter-or-the-hunted

@k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways @muhahaha303

@ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith @nesnejwritings

@samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02 @impala67rollingthroughtown

@star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13 @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v @youroldfashioned

#fic recs #lovely mutuals #time after time #soldier boy #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x supe!reader

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 6 hours ago

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Your Future Is Me - A Phantom Pains Timestamp

Summary: The reader and Mark finally take their long overdue vacation...

Phantom Pains Masterlist

Pairing: Mark Meachum x FBI Agent!reader

Word Count: 1,000ish

Warnings: Countdown S1 spoilers, language, fluff, smutty teasing

A/N: We're back! Not that we were gone very long lol. But let's check in with these two a few months after the finale and see how things are doing! This also fulfills my second round of color prompts for @zepskies 5K follower challenge!

You hummed, dipping your toes in the sand, eyes closed. Ah, you could get used to this. No responsibilities, nothing hanging over your head. Just you, Mark, and a couple of cold beers on a quiet beach somewhere in the Caribbean.

“Babe.” You hummed again, Mark grunting. “Baby.”

“Mark,” you chided. You felt him move behind you, rub your shoulders. The warmth of the setting sun tickled your skin. Mark kissed over your skin, a bead of a sweat dripping down your chest.

“Let’s go back to the villa,” he mumbled. You smirked behind your sunglasses. “Have your way with me.”

“Later,” you whispered, patting your lap. “Come lay with me.”

“We can do lots of laying down…inside,” he teased, kissing the side of your neck. You growled, Mark taking that as an incentive to keep going. “Pretty please?”

“Mark Meachum, if you do not let me relax on the beach this afternoon after three days of marathon sex, I swear to god, I’m going to lock your dick in one of those cage things and not let you out for a fucking month.”

Mark froze for a brief moment before he pulled away and walked around the large lounger, settling into your side.

“I just like making you feel good,” he murmured after a few minutes of listening to the waves. You grabbed his hand, holding it over your stomach. “You deserve it after everything you went through.”

“I know, baby. But today I just want to sit on a beach with my husband, enjoying the ocean breeze and that sunset and feeling carefree. Okay?”

He held up his hands, surrendering for now. His long legs stretched out beside you for a beat before they were twitching. Restless. “...So how does this locking up the dick thing work? Have you done research or-”

“I’m going for a swim.” You tossed your sunglasses on the lounger and stood up, walking down the white sandy shore into the crystal blue water until it was hitting your thighs. You sank down into the perfectly warm water, glancing back at the lounger. “That motherfu…”

Mark gave you a wave from where he now sat in the middle of the double lounger, stretched out, sipping on a margarita, wearing your aviators.

“You just wanted my spot!” you shouted up to him, Mark giving a thumbs up. “Get your ass down here!”

“Oh yeah? What if I don’t?” he teased. “More idle threats?”

“Idle threats my ass,” you mumbled to yourself, pointing a finger at him and curling it. “Now, Meachum before you really regret it.”

He slowly, lazily, made his way down to the water, slipping into the clear blue, floating to you on his back. You strode over to him, Mark putting his feet down as you hopped onto him, just in time for him to catch you. “Oh, yes. She’s so fearsome.”

“You’re going to pay for that,” you mumbled, Mark already kissing you. “You little-”

“It’s going to storm tomorrow. I figured, let’s enjoy the sun today and we can be lazy tomorrow.” You grumbled, nipping at his shoulder playfully. “Ah, yes. There’s my feral wife I know and love.”

“You just have to be a know it all,” you said, nibbling on his throat.

“Marking me up?” he teased, smiling to himself. “Remember when we got together in Vegas? Pretty sure I was covered in your little love bites for a-ow!”

You smirked, soothing his shoulder with your tongue. “Swim with me now and I’ll play with you later.”

“Thought you wanted to lay around,” he murmured. “Change your mind?”

“You’re such a shit,” you said, kissing his cheek. “I missed this.”

“Me too baby,” he said softly. “Hard to think it’s been a year since surgery.”

“Look how far we’ve come,” you said, ruffling his hair, the sun’s rays making it appear bronzy. “Still all clear.”

“All clear,” he hummed. “Except…this is actually an ambush.”

“Ambush?” You were shrieking the next second, Mark tossing you in the air and tossing you into the water. You popped up, Mark cackling to himself. “Oh you are so dead, Meachum.”

Later That Night

The brown and tans of your room blended together, bold pink and red flowers sat in a vase by the front entrance. The wind was picking up outside, a cool breeze flitting in through the open back door.

Mark groaned as you coaxed his over sensitive dick, trying to bring it back to life. “How we doin’ there champ?”

“Baby, I ain’t twenty no more. My man needs a break if you-” His whole body shuddered when you gave him a squeeze. “You tryin’ to fucking kill me?”

“I don’t know. You want to fuck me raw?” He sat up on his arms, watching you intently beside him, lazily stroking him up and down. “But you’re right, your dick’s tired. Need your rest and all.”

You patted his cock and released him, stretching out in the king sized bed, making sure the sheet slid off your body as you did so. With a quick roll to your side, you smirked, feeling his intense stare on your back, your ass, all over your body.

It took about point two seconds for him to wrap an arm over your body and tug you back against his now hard cock. “Oh, did someone wake up?”

“Apparently my dick likes the idea of us making a baby a lot,” he teased, leaning his head down to kiss your shoulder and up your throat.

“Well, let’s not keep it waiting.” You turned in his arms, Mark looking to your lips before gently pressing his to them. “We really doing this?”

“Yeah, baby. Let’s do this.”

#mark meachum x reader #mark meachum #countdown #mark meachum x you #mark meachum x y/n #countdown season 1

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 7 hours ago

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Honestly I’m still so freaking impressed by the sheer length of TAT. That’s unheard of this day and age on tumblr yet it’s all so good and needed. Do you have a rough final word count? It’s gotta be over 200K or close to it.

It still astounds me the amount of research and knowledge you must have done/had since you so many little throw away lines that reference such real things. I’m saving Part 20 for tonight after I get my errands done today. And yes, I hope life calms down and you and your family can avoid any and all illnesses for the next 5 years cause y’all are due for a break 😂

Omg yeah, I keep going back and forth on the name, especially since Phantom Pains “stole” some of the lyrics. But I may switch it back still. They just both fit the vibe of that series so well. Most of this series will take place in the 50’s so that pic dropping was perfect timing for some inspiration! My only goal is to post it before Vought Rising comes out but I think I have some time on that front 😆

Not me commenting on every part of how heart-wrenching TAT is only to be working on a Soldier Boy series called, Loss of My Life. Whoops 😅 I guess I'll be able to pay you back in the future 😉😂 (btw people, if you're not reading Time After Time, what are you doing with yourselves? This is one of the best fics I've ever read)

I know! I saw and screamed!! I'm still catching up with the ones you left in May. It's been an insane few months lmfao 🤣🤣

Thank you so much, Michelle! 🥹🧡 Can't wait to answer them all in detail 🤓

And wait, wait, wait... Is Loss of My Life your SB fic previously known as All Too Well?! I so can't wait for that! And I was legit wondering if you're gonna rename it because you went heavy with All Too Well on Phantom Pains (but honestly, there's never too much ATW 😝). I honestly can't wait to see what you're gonna do with this series and how you're gonna rip all our hearts out 🥲

Especially with Vought Rising on the horizon, we can never have too much (old school) Soldier Boy, can we? 😏

#lovely mutuals #soldier boy #TAT

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 7 hours ago

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Jensen Ackles as Soldier Boy | Vought Rising

#Jensen Ackles #Soldier Boy #Vought Rising

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 19 hours ago