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artyandink · 13 days

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the art of heresy forged 1983

SUMMARY: Modern day, 2022, and you have no clue what’s going on. You knew what you went through. You knew it was real, but why were there people trying to convince you that everything that happened to you wasn’t real. Hell, you called bullshit. But you get your chance to fight back when you get a call at your door.

TW: psychological torture, trauma, mentions of sex, Ben (cause he’s an individual warning), it’s The Boys so be careful guys, really creepy shit, angst, crack

A/N - divider by @chachachannah

Song Inspo: Heaven by Julia Michaels

superglue

You’re slumped on the couch, the kind of heavy exhaustion settling in your bones that feels more like a leaden weight than simple tiredness. It’s like the room’s been spinning for hours, but you can’t quite pinpoint how long it’s been since you last felt steady. The air around you is dense and suffocating, a cruel mockery of the freedom you thought you’d found.

The front door of the safe house bursts open with an audible crack, followed by the heavy thud of boots on the floor. Ben, always a presence larger than life, storms in with a fierce scowl etched into his rugged face. His intense eyes scan the room quickly before locking onto you.

"Goddamn it, what the hell’s going on here?" Ben’s voice is a low, angry rumble. The old soldier’s tone doesn’t disguise the edge of concern that cuts through his gruff exterior.

You blink, trying to focus on his face, but the world around you remains stubbornly blurry. Your throat feels like sandpaper, and you’re struggling to summon the strength to even raise your head. Ben’s presence is a double-edged sword—comforting and overwhelming in its intensity.

"I’m—” you manage to croak out, but it’s barely a whisper, and your voice trails off into a weak, unconvincing silence.

Ben’s jaw tightens as he strides over, his big, rough hands gripping your shoulders with a firm but gentle pressure. “You’re not fine, obviously. Shit, you look like you’ve been dragged through hell.”

You want to reassure him, to tell him that it’s nothing serious, but the dizziness and weakness make coherent speech a distant dream. Ben’s face blurs again, and he kneels in front of you, his expression a mix of frustration and worry.

“Don’t you fucking dare pass out on me,” he mutters, the curse slipping out as he tries to figure out what’s wrong. “We’ve got enough problems without you going down like this.”

It’s true; the situation is already a mess. You’re both on the run from Vought, hiding out in this nondescript safe house that Ben managed to secure for you. The constant fear of being discovered, the constant movement—it’s taken its toll. But you had hoped, foolishly, that you could push through it.

Ben’s hands are surprisingly gentle as he checks your pulse, his rough fingers surprisingly tender against your skin. “Look, we can’t go to a hospital,” he says, his voice steady but laced with frustration. “They’ll find us faster than you can say ‘bad idea.’ We need to figure this out ourselves.”

You try to nod, but the effort makes the room spin harder. “Too dizzy,” you manage to say, the words coming out in a strained whisper.

Ben swears under his breath again, the sound a mix of exasperation and worry. He starts rifling through the small first aid kit that you keep hidden away for emergencies. He mutters to himself as he pulls out various items, trying to find something that might help. His movements are quick but careful, a stark contrast to his usual brash demeanor.

“You gotta hang in there, alright?” Ben’s tone is softer now, though still rough around the edges. “I’ve got some basic stuff here. It ain’t much, but it’s better than nothing.”

You want to tell him to calm down, to not worry so much, but your body feels like it’s betraying you. The dizziness is relentless, a cruel reminder of your current predicament. Ben’s hands are a blur as he works, but you catch glimpses of him preparing something—perhaps an old remedy or just basic care, you can’t tell.

“Goddamn, you better not have caught some fucking bug or something,” Ben grumbles, more to himself than to you. His concern is evident in his voice, despite his gruff exterior. “We’ve been through too much shit for you to be falling apart now.”

You hear him moving around, and it’s clear he’s trying to make do with what little he has. It’s both reassuring and unsettling to see him so focused, so determined to make things right. You feel a pang of guilt for being a burden, for dragging him into yet another mess.

“Ben,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut the fuck up, sweetheart,” he interrupts, his tone softer but still firm. “I don’t want to hear it. Just focus on staying awake. We’ll figure this out. We always do.”

You try to heed his advice, focusing on the sound of his voice as a tether to reality. The room continues to spin, but Ben’s presence is a constant anchor. His hands are steady and reassuring as he applies a cool compress to your forehead, his touch gentle despite his usual roughness.

After what feels like an eternity, Ben finally sits back on his heels, his eyes never leaving your face. “Alright, this is the best I can do for now,” he says, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and relief. “Just stay with me. We’ll get through this.”

You want to tell him that you’re fine, that you don’t need to be coddled, but the words won’t come. Instead, you nod weakly, doing your best to keep your eyes open. Ben’s expression softens slightly, though the worry still lingers.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go down.”

Despite the dire situation, there’s a strange comfort in Ben’s presence. His unwavering determination, his concern—it’s a stark contrast to the harsh world outside. It’s a small, bright spot in an otherwise dark and uncertain time.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one dragging on as you fight to stay conscious. Ben stays close, his presence a steady reassurance amidst the chaos. His occasional muttered curses and frustrated sighs become a strange lullaby, a reminder that despite everything, you’re not alone.

“You know,” Ben says after a while, his voice low and contemplative. “I always thought we’d get through this. Hell, I always figured we’d come out on top. But I never thought we’d be here, like this.”

You try to respond, to offer some form of comfort, but the dizziness and weakness make it difficult. Instead, you focus on the sound of his voice, the feeling of his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. It’s a small comfort, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there’s a sliver of hope.

Ben’s eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, the fierce soldier’s mask slips away, revealing a glimmer of vulnerability. “We’re gonna make it through this,” he says firmly, though the edge of doubt lingers in his voice. “We always do.”

You want to believe him, to hold onto his words like a lifeline. The room continues to spin, but Ben’s presence is a steady anchor. His determination, his refusal to give up—it's a beacon of hope in an otherwise bleak situation.

Slowly, the dizziness begins to ebb, the world around you settling into a semblance of stability. You still feel weak, but the worst of the spinning has subsided. Ben’s eyes never leave your face, his concern evident in every line of his expression.

“Feeling any better?” he asks, his voice softer now, tinged with a cautious optimism.

You manage a weak nod, the effort making you slightly lightheaded. “A little,” you croak out.

Ben’s face relaxes slightly, though the worry still lingers. “Good. That’s good,” he says, his voice filled with a mix of relief and determination. “We’ll keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t go down again.”

As you rest there, Ben’s presence a constant comfort, you allow yourself to hope. Despite the chaos and uncertainty, there’s a sense of calm that comes from knowing that you’re not facing this alone. Ben’s unwavering determination, his refusal to give up—it’s a beacon of hope in an otherwise dark and uncertain world.

The minutes continue to tick by, each one bringing a little more stability, a little more strength. Ben remains by your side, his presence a steady reassurance amidst the turmoil. And as you start to feel a bit more like yourself, you can’t help but feel grateful for the stubborn soldier who refuses to let you go.

You were sprawled on the couch, feeling like a half-deflated balloon for what seemed like ages. Ben’s fussing and cursing were a constant backdrop to your recovery, his heavy footsteps and occasional grunts a reminder that you weren’t in this mess alone.

It took some time, but finally, the dizzying haze of whatever the hell Vought had done to you was starting to lift. Your vision cleared, and the world stopped spinning like a damn carnival ride. Ben, ever the persistent asshole, had stayed by your side through it all.

“Fucking finally,” he grumbled, tossing the medical supplies back into the first aid kit with a rough shove. “You look like a human being again.”

You shot him a tired smirk. “Glad I’m not looking like roadkill anymore. Thanks for not letting me die on your watch.”

Ben snorted. “Like I’d let you off that easy. Can’t have you croaking before we sort out our shit.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigar, the crinkling of the wrapper loud in the quiet room. “Here, take this. It’s not gonna fix you up, but it’ll take the edge off.”

You eyed the cigar with a mix of amusement and suspicion. “You know, if we weren’t on the run, I’d ask where the hell you even found a cigar. But right now, I’m just too damn tired to care.”

He tossed it to you, and you caught it with a lazy hand. “Well, consider it a gift from one fucked-up asshole to another. Light it up and relax, will ya? You’re starting to look like you’re ready to pass out again.”

You huffed a laugh, managing to sit up and fumble with the lighter. “I suppose one cigar won’t kill me. Might actually help with the goddamn stress. And lord knows, I’m tired of dealing with your ranting.”

Ben’s smirk was evident even as he watched you, his rough demeanor softening slightly. “Hey, I’m a goddamn expert at ranting. It’s a talent.”

After a few clumsy tries, you managed to light the cigar and took a long drag, savoring the brief respite it provided. The smoke curled around you, a welcome distraction from the persistent gnawing feeling of something still being off.

“Okay,” you said, exhaling a plume of smoke. “I’m feeling somewhat normal now. Thanks for the smoke break.”

Ben leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing. “You still look like shit, though. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You took another drag, the cigar’s warmth a small comfort. “It’s probably the fucking chemical Vought messed with me. I’m starting to think it’s still lingering in my system or some shit.”

Ben’s brows furrowed, and he let out a low, frustrated growl. “Seriously? They’re still fucking with your head? I thought we’d gotten rid of that crap when we made a run for it.”

You nodded, feeling the frustration mount. “I thought so too. But the way I felt earlier? It’s not just normal exhaustion or stress. There’s something else, like a goddamn residue of their mind-fucking bullshit.”

Ben’s face twisted into a scowl. “Fucking Vought. They never know when to quit. Always got to leave their goddamn mark.” He rubbed his temples as if trying to erase the anger. “So what the hell do we do now? We can’t exactly waltz into a lab and get your system cleaned out.”

You took another drag, the cigar’s taste a bit bitter but strangely satisfying. “Well, first thing’s first, we need to figure out how to deal with this shit without getting ourselves blown up or caught. And maybe stop living like fucking hermits.”

Ben snorted. “You think I don’t know that? But we’re kind of on a goddamn tightrope here. Vought’s still sniffing around, and we’re not exactly in the best position to go making noise.”

You leaned back against the couch, letting out a long, smoky breath. “Yeah, I get it. We’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. But just because we’re stuck doesn’t mean we can’t do something about it. I’m tired of being a goddamn guinea pig for Vought’s experiments.”

Ben’s expression softened slightly as he took in your frustration. “I get it. I’m fucking tired of it too. But we’ll figure this out. We always do.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “Yeah, right. Like our usual method of ‘wing it and hope for the best’ has worked out perfectly so far.”

He rolled his eyes. “Hey, we’ve survived this long, haven’t we? Not saying it’s ideal, but it’s worked. And I’ll be damned if I let Vought win this round.”

You took another drag, the cigar almost done. “Fine. I guess we keep at it. But I swear, if we end up getting fucked over because of this, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you don’t pass out on me again. I’m not up for another round of you looking like a goddamn zombie.”

You smirked, tossing the cigar butt into the nearby ashtray. “I’ll do my best. And maybe next time, I’ll be less of a burden.”

“Fucking hope so,” Ben said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “For both our sakes.”

You could feel the tension easing slightly, a small relief in the midst of the chaos. The cigar had helped, more than you’d care to admit, and Ben’s presence was a rough but comforting reminder that you weren’t completely alone in this mess.

“Alright,” you said, pushing yourself to your feet with some effort. “What’s next on our list of shit to do? We need to get this sorted before we’re back to running from goddamn Vought.”

Ben’s eyes sparkled with a mix of irritation and determination. “Next on the list is figuring out how to deal with your chemical hangover and making sure we don’t get our asses handed to us. But first, you’re going to sit your tired ass down and get some rest. I’ll handle the rest of the shit for now.”

You gave him a grateful nod, leaning back against the couch. “Alright, boss. You’ve earned the right to take charge for a while.”

He grinned, a rare moment of genuine warmth cutting through his usual rough exterior. “Damn right. Now, just relax and try not to get us both killed while I figure out our next move.”

You leaned against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, your hand resting on your stomach. A frown pinched your forehead as thoughts spiraled through your mind like an endless loop. It was quiet, save for the muffled sounds of the world outside. The scent of old wood and bleach filled the air, mixing with something raw and vulnerable that clung to your heart. You breathed out slowly, trying to untangle the web of emotions inside you.

You were staring blankly at your reflection, the person looking back at you a mere shadow of the confident, brash figure you usually portrayed. It was just a simple bathroom, one of many you'd encountered in your life, yet it felt like a fortress, protecting you from the outside world. Outside that door was Ben, the man you had been entangled with for longer than either of you cared to admit.

The thought of him made your stomach twist, but not in a way you were used to. It was more like a punch to the gut, a reminder of the recent past that felt heavier than any weight you had ever carried. Just a couple of weeks ago, everything had been so different. The vibrancy of life had filled your belly, but now it was an empty ache, a loss you didn't know how to confront.

The door creaked open, and you turned your head just enough to see Ben stride in, his boots thudding against the floor. He looked rugged as ever, his dark hair tousled and a five o’clock shadow gracing his jaw. His brow furrowed slightly when he caught sight of you, and your stomach churned with an unsettling mix of gratitude and annoyance.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked, his voice gruff but tinged with concern.

You quickly straightened up, forcing a nonchalant shrug. “Nothing,” you lied, the word tasting bitter on your tongue.

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” he shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve seen you look like this before. You can’t fool me.”

You turned away from him, gaze drifting back to the mirror. “It’s just… it’s been a long day,” you muttered, trying to sound casual.

“Long day?” He scoffed, stepping closer. “Since when does a long day make you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

You clenched your jaw, unwilling to let him in. “Maybe I’m just tired, alright?”

Ben’s expression shifted, a mix of confusion and frustration clouding his features. “Tired? You look like you’re about to lose your lunch. What the fuck is really going on?”

Your heart raced, a storm of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. You knew he was only trying to help, but you didn’t want to open that door. Not now. Not ever. You turned to face him, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “I said I’m fine, dammit! Just drop it, okay?”

He let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. “You’re never fine, you know that. You’re always either ready to kick someone’s ass or…” He paused, his gaze falling to your stomach, the implication hanging in the air like a loaded gun. “What’s going on, really?”

A heaviness settled in your chest, and the weight of his scrutiny made your heart race even faster. You had been through so much together, the two of you—friends, lovers, partners in crime since the '40s. You had shared everything from laughter to battles, but this was different. This was something raw, something that threatened to tear you apart if you let it.

“I just… I don’t want to talk about it,” you finally replied, your voice softer, though it held an edge of defiance.

He sighed, frustration flickering in his eyes. “Well, you don’t have to talk about it, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and watch you crumble. We’ve been through hell together, and if something’s eating at you, then damn it, I’m going to want to know.”

The resolve in his voice made you flinch. You hated how much you respected him, how much you cared. You had spent years crafting a tough exterior, refusing to let anyone close enough to see your vulnerabilities. But Ben had a way of breaking down those walls, and it terrified you.

“I told you, I’m fine,” you insisted, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Fine? You’ve got that look on your face that says you’re about to lose your shit. And don’t try to pretend it’s just because you don’t like the smell of the bleach in here.”

A laugh escaped you, though it was devoid of humor. “Well, maybe the smell of your bullshit is just as bad.”

He took a step closer, the intensity of his gaze pinning you in place. “You think I’m letting this go? Not a chance. You know damn well that I can smell when something’s wrong. Just tell me what’s up, and I swear I’ll be out of your hair.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. The truth hung heavy, a ghost that refused to leave you. You thought of the last time you had felt hope, the last time you had dared to believe that something beautiful was blossoming within you. It had all been ripped away, and now you were left with nothing but grief and confusion.

“Just… don’t,” you finally murmured, the defiance in your voice fading. “It’s not what you think.”

He furrowed his brow, his confusion deepening. “Then what the hell am I supposed to think? You’re acting like you’ve lost something, and I want to help.”

You turned away, your heart racing as the memories flooded back. The way you had held on to that tiny flicker of life, how you had nurtured it, and the devastating moment when everything had come crashing down. The bathroom walls felt like they were closing in on you, and you struggled to catch your breath.

“It’s just… it’s complicated,” you finally managed, your voice barely a whisper. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Ben’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, invading your space. “Try me,” he said gently. “You think I haven’t dealt with my share of complicated shit? Hell, we’ve both been through enough to fill a goddamn library. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.”

His sincerity disarmed you, the tenderness in his eyes making your chest tighten with conflicting emotions. You wanted to push him away, to keep him at arm’s length, but the truth was you were scared. Scared of losing him, scared of losing everything you had worked to build together.

“Ben, please,” you pleaded, your voice cracking slightly. “I can’t… I can’t talk about this right now.”

He nodded slowly, though his eyes were still filled with concern. “Alright. I get it. But don’t think I’m just going to forget about it. I care too much to let this go. Just remember that.”

You nodded, feeling a mixture of gratitude and frustration. You didn’t want to admit how much his words affected you, how much you needed him in that moment. Instead, you turned back to the mirror, focusing on the face that stared back at you, a mask of bravado and pain.

“You’re a stubborn pain in my ass, you know that?” you said, trying to lighten the mood, though it felt forced.

Ben chuckled, his tension easing slightly. “Yeah, but you love it.”

“Maybe,” you replied, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Or maybe I just tolerate it because I have no choice.”

“Sure you do. You could always kick me out, but then who’d listen to your bullshit?”

You shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted. “Don’t push it, soldier.”

He grinned, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Look, I know you’re hurting. Just promise me you’ll let me in when you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sincerity in his tone sent a wave of warmth through you, and for a fleeting moment, you considered breaking down the walls. But the fear of vulnerability held you back, and you simply nodded, knowing that words would only complicate things further.

“I’ll think about it,” you replied, trying to sound casual, though your heart felt like it was about to burst.

“Yeah, that’s all I can ask for,” he said, pushing himself off the wall and moving toward the door. “I’ll be outside if you need me. And don’t think you can escape without me knowing. I’ve got eyes like a hawk.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, waving him off as he stepped out, leaving you alone once more.

As the door closed behind him, the silence enveloped you. You stood in front of the mirror, your reflection a reminder of the battle you were fighting within yourself. You wanted to scream, to cry, to let it all out, but you couldn’t. Not yet.

Taking a deep breath, you placed your hand back on your stomach, feeling the emptiness there, the loss that echoed in your heart. You knew you couldn’t hide forever. Eventually, you’d have to face the truth, face Ben, and confront the reality of what you had lost.

But for now, you allowed yourself a moment of solitude, a moment to gather your strength. You weren’t ready to let him in, not yet. But when the time came, you hoped he would be there, waiting to catch you when you finally fell apart.

1983:

The opulent luxury of the hotel room was a sharp contrast to the rough and raw energy that had just unfolded within its walls. The king-sized bed, with its crisp white linens and extravagant pillows, lay rumpled and disheveled. The sheer curtains, pulled halfway open, allowed the dim glow of the city lights to seep in, casting a sultry ambiance over the room.

You lay sprawled on the bed, your body still tingling from the intense passion you had just shared. The cool air of the air conditioner brushed against your sweat-slicked skin, providing a fleeting relief. You caught your breath, the previous moments of heated fervor slowly giving way to a familiar post-coital exhaustion.

Beside you, Ben was stretched out, one arm draped casually over his eyes, his breathing uneven but steady. His dark hair was in disarray, sticking to his forehead in a way that only added to the raw, unfiltered appeal he exuded. The bed creaked softly as he shifted, his muscular frame moving with a languid grace.

You turned your head to look at him, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. The man was a damn force of nature—blunt, obnoxious, and fiercely unapologetic. It was part of what made him so damn irresistible, despite the fact that both of you were more than willing to push each other’s buttons.

“You know,” you said, your voice husky and tinged with amusement, “for someone who’s always so goddamn rough, you’ve got quite the knack for taking it easy afterward.”

He snorted, his arm lowering to reveal a cocky grin. “Well, pet, it’s not like I’m gonna be a raging bull 24/7. Sometimes, even I need a break.” He shifted closer, his body heat radiating toward you. “Besides, someone’s gotta give you a chance to catch your breath.”

You laughed, though it was more of a throaty chuckle than a full-blown laugh. “Catch my breath, huh? I’d say you’re just too lazy to do more.”

“Lazy?” He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Let’s not pretend you’re any better. I seem to recall you screaming my name like you were calling for a rescue.”

“Hey,” you said, turning to face him, “don’t act like you’re some kind of saint. You’re just as bad as I am, if not worse.”

He laughed, a rough, gravelly sound that was both comforting and infuriating. “Guilty as charged. But you know what they say—better to burn out than fade away.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your lips remained. “Always so dramatic. It’s a wonder you haven’t tried to take up acting yet.”

He shot you a mock-serious look. “Oh, please. I’d be terrible at it. I’m much better at being a reckless asshole.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m just some kind of saint?”

He chuckled, reaching out to stroke your hair. “No, not at all. You’re just as much of a wild card as I am. That’s what makes this whole thing work.”

You shifted slightly, feeling the weight of his hand and the warmth of his body. The intimacy was strangely comforting, despite the gruffness of your interactions. You had both built a fortress around yourselves, yet somehow, this unfiltered connection managed to break through.

“Yeah, well,” you said, propping yourself up on one elbow and looking down at him, “I suppose we’re both a couple of hardasses. But at least we know how to make it work.”

“Hell yeah, we do.” He grinned, his eyes twinkling with a mix of affection and mischief. “And speaking of making it work, don’t think I’ve forgotten about our little game.”

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Game? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Come on,” he said, his grin widening. “You know exactly what I mean. That little bet we had about who could go longer without…”

You rolled your eyes again, though the amusement in your gaze was clear. “Oh, right. The bet. I suppose I should have known you wouldn’t let that go.”

“Damn right,” he said with a chuckle. “But let’s be honest, neither of us was exactly keeping track.”

You smirked, leaning closer. “True enough. We’ve always been more interested in enjoying ourselves than actually playing by the rules.”

He reached out, his hand cupping your face with a rough tenderness that always seemed to surprise you. “And that’s why I love this mess we’ve got going on. It’s never boring, that’s for damn sure.”

You let out a soft sigh, leaning into his touch. “Yeah, I suppose it isn’t. Even if it does come with its share of headaches.”

He chuckled again, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You mean like the one you had earlier?”

You gave him a sideways glance. “Don’t remind me. I’m still trying to forget that little disaster.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said softly, his tone more serious. “We’ve all had our share of those days. But at least we’ve got each other.”

You met his gaze, feeling a rare moment of vulnerability. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s nice to have someone who gets it.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you with a protective and surprisingly tender hold. “Damn right it is. And no matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, the roughness of his skin against your cheek providing a strange comfort. “You better not. I don’t think I could handle you disappearing on me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “We’ve been through too much to let it all fall apart now.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken understanding. It was rare for either of you to let down your guard, but in these moments, when the raw edges of your interactions softened, it felt like you could actually breathe.

You glanced around the room, the luxury and opulence starkly contrasting with the reality of your lives. The extravagant setting seemed almost absurd in light of the gritty, rough lives you led outside these walls. But for now, it was a sanctuary—a place where you could be as blunt and unfiltered as you wanted.

“Hey,” you said, breaking the silence, “you ever think about what comes next?”

He gave a thoughtful hum, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your skin. “Sometimes. But mostly, I just focus on the here and now. We’ve got enough to worry about without adding more to the pile.”

You nodded, appreciating the simplicity of his approach. “Yeah, I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

“You know it is,” he said, his voice taking on a more playful tone. “And anyway, as long as we’ve got each other, I’m not too worried about what comes next.”

You smiled, the warmth of his presence melting away some of the hardness that had settled over you. “Yeah, I suppose we can handle whatever comes our way.”

He grinned, pulling you closer until you were nestled against him. “Damn right we can. And if anyone tries to fuck with us, they’ll have to go through me first.”

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “I’d like to see them try. We’re a force to be reckoned with.”

“Hell yeah, we are,” he said, his voice filled with a rough but genuine affection. “Now, why don’t we enjoy the rest of this night before it all goes to hell?”

You sighed contentedly, letting yourself be enveloped by his presence. “Sounds like a plan. For once, I’m more than happy to let the world outside fade into the background.”

He chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “Good. Because I’ve got no intention of letting you go.”

And so, in the luxurious confines of the hotel room, amidst the remnants of passion and the comfort of shared intimacy, you both allowed yourselves a rare moment of peace. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t always easy, but it was real. And for now, that was more than enough.

You woke up to the soft, muted sounds of the city filtering through the thick curtains of the luxury hotel room. The morning light crept in, casting a warm glow over the plush bedding. For a moment, you enjoyed the calm, the gentle embrace of the sheets that cocooned you. But that moment was short-lived. A tightness in your stomach sent you jolting upright, and before you could fully register what was happening, you were bolting out of bed.

You barely made it to the bathroom in time. Your stomach churned violently, and you doubled over, retching as your body expelled whatever remnants of last night’s indulgences remained. The taste of bile burned at the back of your throat as you grasped the cool porcelain of the toilet, your knuckles whitening with the pressure.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally settled back against the wall, panting and trembling. The fluorescent lights above hummed, and the stark whiteness of the bathroom felt overwhelmingly bright and sterile. You took a deep breath, the air feeling sharp and acrid. Slowly, you pulled yourself together, trying to steady your racing heart.

As you sat there, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. This wasn’t the first time you had felt nauseous in the morning. In fact, over the past few weeks, you had noticed a series of bizarre cravings—things you’d never even considered eating. Pickles and peanut butter, raw tomatoes, and even the occasional urge for a strange concoction of ice cream and hot sauce. You had laughed it off, chalking it up to stress, or perhaps just the weirdness of being a super who had too many mental battles to contend with.

But the signs were all there, laying themselves out like a damning series of clues. You felt your heart begin to race as the realization washed over you like a cold wave, crashing against the shoreline of your thoughts.

“No. No, no, no,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head in denial. This couldn’t be happening. You were too young, too wild, too reckless for this. The very thought of being pregnant sent a jolt of panic through your system, making your hands tremble.

You pushed yourself up from the floor, swaying slightly as the realization sank in deeper. Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink as you leaned over the mirror, staring at the reflection that looked back at you—a face filled with dread, uncertainty, and an overwhelming sense of vulnerability.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “This isn’t happening.”

©️ 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐤 / 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲’𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨

𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐝/𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

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the-widow-sisters · 1 year

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“You’ll have a hard time believing this because it never happens, but I made a mistake.”

With Nakia and Kamala?

A/N: Thank you so, so much for this request! These two are such a fun pair and it's always a wild ride when they're getting into stuff 😂💖💖💖

I'm slowly trying to crank up the inspiration again 😅 I've actually added some new oneshot prompts to the list here if y'all want to check them out!

I hope y'all enjoy!

Word Count: 1.1k+

“So, um,” Kamala trailed off, interrupting the comfortable silence between her and her best friend. Nakia looked up from where she was currently lounged on Kamala’s bed.

Kamala and her had been hanging out in Kamala’s room, and while Nakia was peacefully reading a book, Kamala was over at her desk doing something with her little paper models that she used to make her YouTube fan videos.

Up until now they had been mostly silent, only interrupting each other for the occasional weird thought or small conversation, and they had mostly just been enjoying each other’s company in the unspoken manner that only the best of friends could.

“You’ll have a hard time believing this because it never happens, but I made a mistake,” Kamala nervously laughed, and Nakia raised an eyebrow as she regarded the other girl.

“Not that hard of a time—”

“Hey!” Kamala cried, offended at Nakia’s unashamed lack of faith or perhaps show of faith in the wrong area.

“But what did you do?” Nakia questioned, slightly amused and rather unimpressed as she eyed Kamala and patiently awaited her words.

Kamala instantly shifted uncomfortably, and Nakia could not help the slight worry rising up. She was not sure if this was a superhero screw-up or just a regular Kamala mistake. The latter Nakia could likely give some advice on, but the former was something that Nakia was not entirely sure she could help with.

It was unlikely that it was a superhero problem, but sometimes Kamala waited longer than she should have to share problems to do with her superhero side. So truly, Nakia had no idea what was about to come out of the girls’ mouth.

“Umm… I might’ve accidentally superglued my phone to my desk,” Kamala admitted, and Nakia froze for just a moment, staring at Kamala as she took in her words.

After just a moment, Nakia started to laugh, the mirth bubbling in her chest as relief gripped her.

“Don’t laugh,” Kamala practically whined, and Nakia shook her head, barely managing to hold back the laughter as she moved off the bed and approached the desk where Kamala had been working.

She soon spotted Kamala’s phone laying face down on the desk.

“Is the screen stuck to the desk or just the case?” Nakia asked, and Kamala sighed.

“I don’t know… The case comes up above the screen a little so if the superglue touched anything, it was probably just the case. Hopefully,” Kamala rubbed her head, letting her cheek rest in her hand as she propped herself up.

“Did you look up how to get superglue off of surfaces?” Nakia asked. Despite how unlikely it was, Nakia figured that she would check to see if Kamala might have researched any potential answer before she had announced her phone’s plight to her.

“No… My phone’s stuck face-down to the desk,” Kamala stated plainly, and Nakia huffed, raising an eyebrow as she looked pointedly at the computer on the desk.

“Can you look up how to get superglue off of surfaces?”

“I can’t look up stuff without my phone,” Kamala whined, and Nakia rolled her eyes in fond exasperation.

“There’s a computer right here,” Nakia told her, gesturing to it, and Kamala shook her head.

“I don’t mess with my computer while I’m working with superglue,” she explained, and Nakia sighed, shaking her head.

“Maybe you shouldn’t mess with your phone either,” Nakia pointed out, and Kamala groaned, completely unimpressed with Nakia’s astute observations surrounding Kamala’s own poor choices. Nakia shrugged.

“Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, my dude,” Nakia stated wisely, and Kamala chose not to grace that with a response. Nakia pulled out her own phone, and Kamala started to reach for it with her free hand that was not holding her head up. Nakia moved her hand away from Kamala, keeping her from grabbing her phone.

“Oh, no, you don’t. I don’t want you putting some spell on mine, too,” Nakia informed her, and Kamala just let out a loud and long noise of whining protest. Nakia ignored her whines, looking at her phone carefully as she looked up what would dissolve superglue.

Finally, she got some results, and she read through a few of them, checking that the information on the first search result was accurate before she committed.

Once she got her answer, she put her phone away. She looked down at Kamala and the girl was just gazing up at her with a terrible pouty face. Nakia shook her head with a small chuckle, placing her hand on Kamala’s head before letting it fall away. She then headed over to the bed to put the hijab back on.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to the dollar store to get some nail polish remover. Turns out that acetone can dissolve superglue,” Nakia explained simply. Kamala sighed unhappily for what seemed like the thousandth time.

“I think I’m a grade A screwer-upper,” Kamala declared.

Nakia laughed, grinning widely despite her best efforts to try to be sympathetic to Kamala’s rather humorous plight.

“No. You’re just a little ditzy.”

Kamala instantly gasped in offense, not bothering to look at Nakia in the midst of her own self-pity and embarrassment about this whole thing. Instantly, Nakia almost laughed.

“Ditzy?! Bro!” she cried, and Nakia hummed as she finished putting on the hijab.

“I have to call them like I see them, Kamala,” she replied simply, and Kamala grumbled under her breath.

Nakia started out the door and she paused just before shutting it behind her.

“I’ll be back,” she told her, trying to earn a smile by doing a poor impression of the Terminator despite the fact that neither of them had ever seen the movie. The reason it meant so much to the both of them was that Bruno had been somewhat into those films and had started quoting them in a terrible version of the Terminator’s voice.

Kamala huffed, grinning a little despite her attempts to remain sour, and Nakia flashed her a wide smile before shutting the door behind her and heading down the stairs.

However, as she was about halfway down them, Kamala suddenly yelled.

“Nakia?!”

“Yeah?!” Nakia replied, raising her voice a bit to be heard by the other girl from where she had shut herself in her bedroom.

“Buy a lot of acetone!” Kamala told her.

Nakia was silent for a few beats, uncertain of why exactly she needed to buy a lot.

“Why?!”

There were several moments of quiet, but then Kamala called back to her hesitantly, her voice smaller than it had been before.

“Because… Well, because my hand’s stuck to my face…”

Nakia immediately burst into loud laughter.

#nakia bahadir #kamala khan #ms. marvel #ms marvel #bruno carrelli #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #superglue #friendship #platonic relationships #platonic

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