Curently Working On Unlocking The Shang Tsung Throne Room Sa Krypt Then School Then Writing Johnny Fics

Steve solos

where do i even begin again

Jason Todd x dom f!reader

inspo - for the anonnie that asked so nicely

this is a random collection of sub!jason scenes ive written. cause im bored

contains spanking & mommy kink (sub jason is such a mamas boy and im taking that to my grave, you can pry needy boy jason out of my cold dead hands)

He pretended to fight it.

“Don’t you fucking dare—”

But the second you grabbed his wrist and sat on the edge of the bed with that look in your eyes, Jason Todd—the Red Hood himself—stumbled straight into obedience.

Because you weren’t playing. Not really.

You tugged him forward.

He grumbled. Bitched. Rolled his eyes.

But when you bent him over your lap, he didn’t resist.

His face hit the blanket with a sigh he tried to cover as a groan. His hips were tense, his hands fisting the sheets.

“You really think this’ll do something for me?” he muttered.

You smoothed a hand over the curve of his ass—grinning as he twitched.

“You tell me.”

Smack.

The first one was gentle. Barely more than a firm tap.

He jerked anyway.

“You—!”

Smack.

A little harder. You watched his shoulder blades shift, a low breath slipping from his lips.

“Jason,” you cooed. “Still wanna act like this isn’t getting to you?”

He didn’t answer. But his hips shifted just enough for you to see the outline in his sweats. Obvious. Wanting.

So you kept going.

Soft spanks between harder ones. Your hand soothing, then striking. He gasped. Swore under his breath. Gritted his teeth. But never told you to stop.

“Color me surprised,” you murmured, scratching your nails along the reddened skin. “You’re really into this, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled.

But it was weak* Shaky. His ears were pink. His thighs tensed with every slow touch between swats.

You leaned close to his ear.

“Say ‘please.’”

He groaned, full-body, low and wrecked. His pride dangled by a thread, and when he finally whispered:

“Please…”

"Please what, baby?"

"...Please ma'am...."

You swore you felt his cock twitch against your thigh.

You let him up when he was panting—chest rising, face flushed, lips parted.

He couldn’t look at you. Wouldn’t. Just flopped beside you and buried his face in the blanket.

“Shut up,” he mumbled again.

You didn’t say a word.

Just ran your fingers through his hair while he came down from it—melting under your touch, his ego scattered in the sheets behind him.

And he’d never admit it.

But he hoped you'd do it again.

Maybe harder.

Maybe next time… he'd call you something filthier than “ma’am.”

He starts off strong. Confident. Pushes you down on the bed with a smirk like he didn’t melt over your lap last time.

“Yeah? You like being bossy, sweetheart?” he grins. “Let’s see how you like it when I take the reins.”

He climbs over you, muscles tense, eyes dark—but not angry. Hungry. His hands skim your waist, his voice drops.

“Gonna make you beg, baby.”

But two minutes in?

Your fingers dig into his hips, your mouth brushes his throat, and he shudders. His pace stutters. You roll your hips just right and suddenly—

“Fuck—wait—don’t—ah—”

His words are breathy. Loose. Falling apart.

And then you're teasing again.

“You sure you’re the one in charge, baby?”

He growls. Tries to flip the script. Tightens his grip on your wrists like it helps.

But then you say:

“You gonna beg again, pretty boy?”

And his whole body reacts.

His breath catches. His eyes flutter. He whines—actually whines—and buries his face in your neck.

You grin.

“Poor thing,” you whisper. “You’re so easy to ruin now.”

And he is. Because when you wrap your legs around him and pull, his strength is nothing next to how bad he wants it—how much he craves you. Not just the sex, but the way you see him, the way you touch him like he's precious and yours.

“Fuck—please,” he pants, rutting into you, voice high, desperate. “Don’t stop, just—please—"

He doesn't even realize he's begging until it's too late.

And he hates how much he loves it.

Afterward, he lays there—boneless, panting, wrecked—his forehead against your chest and his ego shattered into stardust.

You run your nails up his spine and kiss his hairline.

“Still think you’re the one in control?”

He groans.

“You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”

No. No, you’re not.

And he’s never been more in love.

It started as a joke. A throwaway comment.

“What’s the matter, baby? Need Mommy to take care of you?”

He froze.

A beat. A shiver. Then the quietest:

“…yeah.”

And that was it.

At first, he’s holding on—tense arms, furrowed brow, trying to act like he’s in control. But the second you start cooing at him, fingers tight in his hair, praising him just so sweetly?

He’s done.

“Such a good boy, my sweet boy,”

“Look at you, taking Mommy so well,”

“You don’t need to think, baby, let me do it for you.”

And he whimpers.

He’s not speaking in sentences anymore. Just broken little sounds—gasps and moans, half-formed pleas.

He says “Mommy” once with a sob in his voice and it flips something in you. So you lean down and purr it back.

“That’s right, baby. Say it again.”

And he does. Again and again—until it’s not even full words anymore.

“M-Ma—Mama—please, I can’t—”

You stroke his flushed cheeks with your knuckles, praise spilling from your lips like holy water while his eyes glass over. He’s trembling—beautiful and desperate, hips rocking mindlessly as you guide him toward the edge.

“Shh, shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart. Mommy’s got you. You’re perfect, you’re doing so good—such a good boy.”

Tears slip down his face. He’s not even embarrassed. Just holding you tight, breathing you in like air, nodding with wide eyes and wet lashes.

"Love you, love you, need you, Mama—”

And when he finally breaks? It’s with your name in a gasp and a sob, clinging to you like you’re the only thing holding him together.

Later, when he’s curled up against you, totally wrecked, you whisper:

“Didn’t know you were such a little Mommy’s boy.”

He grumbles, hiding his face in your chest. But his hips twitch.

“…fuck you.”

“You did, baby. So well.”

And he melts again.

He tries to pretend it’s fine. That it was a one-time thing. That he didn’t come undone in your hands, babbling and begging with tears in his eyes.

But the minute you scratch the back of his neck or kiss the hinge of his jaw just right? His whole body tenses.

And he goes quiet.

Not brooding Jason quiet—bratty, needy Jason quiet.

The kind where his eyes are heavy, cheeks pink, and you know he’s already spiraling.

“You okay, baby?”

“…m’fine.”

Liar.

The second you tug him into your lap—yes, lap, this man is heavy but obedient—and whisper a soft “Good boy,” he melts. One hand in his hair and the other stroking his thigh, and he’s sinking into it like a fucking prayer.

He doesn’t even notice he’s whispering it until it slips out again—

“…Mama…”

You feel him freeze against you, like he could claw his soul back into his body if he tries hard enough.

“You said it again.”

“…no I didn’t.”

“Oh, baby. You did.”

You tilt his chin up, and he whines. Pink all the way to his ears.

You could ruin him right there again, and he knows it.

Later, when you're tangled together in bed, he’s curled up in your chest, hands possessively clutching your hips.

“Didn’t even know I could feel like that,” he mumbles. “Didn’t know I wanted to.”

And you just stroke his hair, murmuring,

“That’s okay, baby. Mama knows what you need.”

He shivers. Bites his lip.

But he doesn’t deny it this time.

You’re lying together, the soft glow of moonlight spilling over the bed, the hum of the city just outside your window. He’s been asleep for about an hour, still tangled in your sheets, body pressed up against yours.

At first, he’s calm—silent in his slumber. But then, in the stillness of the night, you hear it. Just a whisper.

“Mama…”

Your breath catches. He’s not awake, not fully. It’s just a soft, murmured confession, but it’s so full of need, so full of him, that you can’t ignore it.

You smile softly, rubbing your hand through his hair, playing with the ends. You could ruin him again, could wake him up and pull him back into that desperate little boy he’s trying to deny, but instead, you let him sleep.

But you can’t help yourself. You press a kiss to his forehead.

“I’ve got you, baby.”

His face twitches, a sigh slipping from his lips, and his hand instinctively wraps around you tighter, like he’s afraid you might disappear. It’s adorable—your tough, broken Red Hood, shivering in his sleep at the thought of losing you. You think, maybe, if he did wake up, he’d be too ashamed to admit it.

But right now, he’s safe. And that’s all that matters.

The next day, it’s like nothing happened. He’s still the same, stubborn, cocky Jason Todd you know—sarcastic quips and teasing jabs thrown in your direction like they’re second nature. He’s acting all tough again, but there’s a subtle edge to it.

He can’t hide the way he’s looking at you—his eyes softer, not quite as guarded, as if he knows he doesn’t have to pretend. And you notice—his hand keeps brushing against yours whenever you’re near, like he’s testing the waters, waiting for you to remind him who’s really in charge.

He doesn’t expect it when you tease him.

“You’re acting so bratty today,” you murmur with a sly grin, catching his eyes.

He smirks back, though there’s a nervous edge to his smile.

“I’m not—what are you talking about?”

But you can tell by the way his hands are fidgeting, by the way his jaw clenches, that he’s not as calm as he wants you to think.

So you step forward, so close he can feel the heat of your body.

“Do I need to put my good boy in his place?” you purr, your voice low, teasing.

His whole body freezes. His eyes flicker to yours, and for a moment, you can see that war raging inside him—half of him wants to throw a smart comment back, but the other half? The other half is aching, desperate for you to take control again.

His hands ball into fists, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t even try.

“You’re—goddammit,” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it. He’s already gone, undone by just a few words.

You can see the tension coil in him, his breath hitching slightly. You’ve got him right where you want him. But you decide to push a little further.

“You need me to remind you who’s in charge, baby?”

He breathes out slowly, eyes dark, but this time, he doesn’t pull away. He swallows hard.

“…Yeah,” he whispers.

And that’s all you need. You step closer, running your hand over his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath your touch. You lean in, just a breath away from his lips, and whisper one last thing:

“Good boy.”

And just like that? He’s lost again. You’ve undone him—completely.

That night, when he’s curled against you, you hear it again.

“Mama…”

But this time, it’s not a whisper. He’s awake now, groggy, blinking at you through the dark, eyes glazed over with sleep and want.

You press your lips to his forehead, your thumb tracing over his cheek.

“I’ve got you, baby,” you murmur, soothing him back to sleep.

And this time, he doesn’t fight it. He nuzzles against your chest, his hand wrapped tightly around you as if you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. He’s not even embarrassed anymore. It’s just you and him.

“I love you, Mama,” he mumbles softly, his voice thick with sleep.

Your heart swells. He’s yours. Completely.

You press one last kiss to his head and whisper softly, “I love you too, baby.”

And as he drifts back into sleep, you both know it’s only a matter of time before the cycle starts again. The teasing, the control, the sweet surrender.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

He was quiet at first—staring at you with that unreadable expression, hands fisted in the sheets.

But his body? His body betrayed him.

You could feel the tension in his shoulders. The heat in his chest. He wasn’t fighting anymore. He wanted this, needed this.

You watched him closely. His movements slower now, like he was afraid that one wrong move would have you pulling away.

“You’re going to follow every single command I give you tonight, aren’t you?” you asked softly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead.

He didn’t hesitate this time.

“Yes,” he breathed. Quiet. Almost too quiet, like the confession itself was a secret, something too intimate to voice.

You smiled. That’s what you wanted to hear. So you slid closer to him, brushing your fingers along his jawline, letting the weight of your touch sink in.

“Good boy.”

He exhaled sharply—like he couldn’t believe it was happening. Like he’d been dying for you to say those words for far too long.

But you weren’t done yet.

You placed your hand on his chest, making sure he was looking right at you. His gaze met yours, intense, vulnerable.

“Take off your shirt. Slowly.”

Jason swallowed, a slight tremor in his hands as he obeyed. His body was perfect—strong, scarred, but perfect. He was so fucking beautiful, and the way he took his time, like he was savoring every second of your attention, made you ache with the need to claim him.

He never once looked away, not even when his hands fumbled at the waistband of his pants. He wanted you to guide him. To tell him how to do it. How to strip for you.

You whispered, “Good boy, Jason. Now. Pants off. All the way.”

And like the obedient puppy he’d become, he did exactly what you said. He took off his jeans, laid out before you, chest heaving as his face flushed. His cock was already hard, his body responding eagerly to your commands.

You smirked at him, that familiar power creeping back, the knowledge that you had him exactly where you wanted him.

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes anymore. His gaze drifted to the floor, face burning with embarrassment, but his cock stayed hard, aching for your touch.

“Touch yourself,” you ordered, voice low and controlled. “I want to see you touch yourself.”

He hesitated just a moment—his usual resistance slipping away.

Then, with a shaky breath, Jason obeyed. His hand wrapped around his cock, starting slow. His breath hitched, but he didn’t stop.

You watched him carefully, every twitch in his body making your pulse race.

“Good boy,” you whispered. “Just like that.”

He shuddered, his hand speeding up, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

He was desperate.

And you were the one who had broken him. Completely.

“Please, mama,” he gasped, eyes searching yours. “Tell me what to do next.”

Your heart skipped a beat. This was the side of Jason that he never let anyone see—the side of him that was completely at your mercy.

“Don’t stop,” you commanded gently. “Make yourself cum for me. Don’t hold back.”

The words were barely out of your mouth when his body stiffened. His breath caught, and his hips bucked involuntarily, his hand moving in a blur as he got closer.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m—”

But you cut him off with a firm command.

“Cum for me, baby.”

That was all it took.

His back arched, a deep groan escaping his lips as he came undone. You could see the way his whole body trembled, his fingers gripping the sheets beneath him for stability.

And even after he was done, his breathing ragged and shaky, he didn't stop.

He looked at you—desperate. That familiar cocky grin was long gone, replaced with nothing but adoration. He wanted to please you more. Wanted to feel you take control, wanted to hear more of your voice, more of your praise.

“Good boy,” you murmured, brushing a hand through his hair as he collapsed against the pillows, completely undone.

Jason didn’t say anything for a while—just let the feeling wash over him.

He didn’t need to say it. You could see it in the way he held you after. The way he kissed you slow and deep, like he was claiming you in the quiet moments afterward.

And you both knew—it wasn’t over.

He wanted more. More of you. More of your control. More of being broken and put back together, piece by desperate piece.

anyone wanna date ;/

Phantom Thread (2017) dir. Paul Thomas Anderson

being put in a group where i legit can't depend on anyone and have to do all the work can be so ,,, humbling ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

Something Real

Summary: You had offered him the chance for something the two of you could build, something real, if he gave up the suit for good.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female Reader

Warnings: angst, character death, implied violence, implied injuries, mentions of blood, mentions of terminal illness/treatments/effects, implied sex, Soldier Boy being himself at times, language (I guess?), tears, heartbreak - I think that pretty much covers everything

Word Count: 9434

A/N: Something I started writing back on Thanksgiving. I was hurting that day, needing heat to ease the pain, and I was working on something else for SB. This just popped into my head (the idea of "warm hands") so I ran with it. Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. I picked the name Violet because it's a bit of a reference to the other SB story I'm working on. Please let me know what you think (and please don't kill me).

I heard this song on a Soldier Boy fan edited video on YouTube and ever since then I can't get it out of my head for this one shot. It just makes me see Ben and the reader that much clearer in my mind.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

SB Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

You can also read on AO3

“I forgot how warm your hands are.”

Ben could feel his devastation threatening to overwhelm him but he quickly forced it away. He had to be strong for you; no time to be a pussy.

As if you had heard his thoughts, you gave him a sad smile, your own eyes starting to blur with unshed tears that you were trying to hold back yourself, not wanting to make this worse for him than you already knew it would be. But then it suddenly hit you that life was indeed short; what did it matter if you let your feelings surrounding your current circumstances show? You had never held back before. Why would you start now? So you let your tears flow but you did your best to turn them into happy tears so whenever he thought back to this moment, he wouldn’t see how scared or sad you really were. You were determined for him to never know the true depths of your fear or despair in this moment.

Instead, you weakly lifted your hand and placed it against his cheek, watching as he briefly closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. His green gaze settled on you once more and you could have sworn you could see a slight shimmer there but in the next moment, it was gone, so you couldn’t be entirely sure. 

Both of you were having flashes of the same memories that your words brought to mind. 

You were both in bed, naked, you laying sprawled out over him, having just made love for the second time that evening. Ben always called it fucking but you refused to use that word to describe what the two of you did. Sure, he fucked you sometimes but things were more serious between you than you just being a bedwarmer of his or some random pussy for him to stick his dick into and get off as he’d crudely put it. 

They had been ever since you’d caught him by surprise one night after too much whiskey mixed with conversation and you kissed him ever so sweetly. He’d tried to turn it into something else — because he was who he was after all — but you wouldn’t let him. Something changed between you that night and an understanding began to form. If he wanted you, then he’d have to give up everything that wouldn’t allow him to keep you. That meant the women, the drugs, the bad behavior — all of it. You weren’t trying to change him, not at all, but you knew those things weren’t really the true make-up of who he was; it was a mere reflection of the suit and persona Vought encouraged, expected, and enforced. Ben made his own choices of course, but you knew he could do better, be better. And that’s who you wanted; that’s who you loved — the man that belonged with you, not the Supe that belonged to a greedy corporation and the world. But it would have to be up to him to make that final choice. You made that perfectly clear and told him to come to you when he was ready, ready for something real.

And sure enough, despite his keeping away for a while to prove a point, he eventually ended up on your doorstep that night three years ago, dressed in modern day clothing and cleaned up in all manners of the phrase. Ben was ready. He wanted you, he wanted real and most of all, he wanted it with you. 

You’d been together ever since and while things hadn’t been perfect, they’d been perfect enough for the both of you. So here you were, laid out in bliss, listening to his strong heartbeat underneath your ear as his hands glided up and down your bare back. You closed your eyes, smiling, and murmured, “I forgot how warm your hands are.”

Instead of answering you, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger there, as he tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer into him. He held you like that for a little while until you could feel him stirring beneath you once more and his caresses turned more insistent before he rolled you onto your back, his kisses feverish as you both started your third round of lovemaking for the night. Supe stamina and all that.

You winced as you felt another sharp kick to your stomach. “Damn,” you muttered.

Ben’s eyes were immediately on you, worried. “What?”

“Nothing,” you tried to lie but another kick had you flinching. 

He laid down the wrench he had been battling the pipes with and wiped his hands with a rag before making his way over to you. “The kid kicking you again?”

A third kick had your face screwed up in a grimace as you nodded. His jaw tightened and he urged you down onto the sofa before joining you and holding you from behind. He lifted your shirt above your belly and you both watched in fascination as there was a slight movement to it right before you hissed in pain and bit your lip to keep from crying out. Ben lowered his hands and began to rub your skin soothingly. The pain eased and like always, your baby started to settle down, something it did whenever it sensed its father’s strong presence. You assumed it was a Supe thing, since your kid would have half of those V-mutated genes, and you refused to let that worry you in the slightest. There was no guarantee your child would have superpowers like its dad though you wouldn’t be surprised if it inherited his strength if these painful kicks were anything to go by. Either way, you’d cross that superpower bridge if and when you came to it. 

You let out a breath of relief and closed your eyes, leaning your head back against Ben’s shoulder. “I seriously forgot how warm your hands are,” you whispered, enjoying how the warmth both settled your child and you at the same time.

“Don’t know how,” he murmured into your ear. “I hardly ever take them off you.”

You smiled wider at his teasing and wrapped your hands around one of his arms, humming your contentment. After a moment, you opened your eyes to find him watching you with an affectionate smirk. You lifted up and gently kissed him. “I love you.”

His smirk melted into a smile and he leaned down to kiss you one more time. “Back at you, doll.”

And almost as if your child wanted a say, to agree with the sentiments exchanged between both parents, it kicked against Ben’s hand albeit more gently this time, not causing any pain.

You grinned as you watched Ben teach your daughter, Violet, how to make a snowman. Which really meant he was making it for her. She had her father completely wrapped around her little finger. If there was anything that could bring Soldier Boy to his knees, it was his little girl. The strongest Supe in the world was at the mercy of the whims of your six year old.

You both had been surprised when the child you’d both eagerly been anticipating turned out to be a girl. You were excited — you’d always wanted a little girl. Ben — you weren’t sure how he would react. His heart had been set on a boy and while you could see a faint layer of disappointment shadowing his expression when you heard the doctor’s announcement, the moment he and your newborn daughter locked eyes, he was hers. It turned out you had nothing to worry about, on any counts.

He had promised you he would be better than his father and thus far he’d lived up to that promise. While you both had discussed extensively what type of parenting style you’d be implementing, you weren’t sure what would happen when the tough days of parenthood would hit. And while he had come a long way from his antiquated mindset (which had been beyond painful for the both of you back in the early days of you moving in together), you wanted to make sure that none of that would ever touch your child, literally and figuratively. But it turned out, you really had nothing to worry about. There were only a few instances that you had to gently remind him that it wasn’t the 1940’s anymore and each time he’d apologized, and set about making it right however he could.

Ben pleasantly surprised you in being there for all of the night time feedings, being willing to change a diaper after you’d eventually forced the issue and he found out that it wasn’t as big a deal as he was making it out to be, and taking her from you so you could sleep, shower, or get some time for yourself when he realized he wouldn’t break her. Her tiny form made him nervous and all the more careful. He held her hand when she started walking, read to her at bedtime (even though he secretly told you later there was a lot of pussy bullshit stories the world had available for kids these days), and beamed when one night she’d sleepily hugged him and whispered that Daddy was her hero after a particular conversation they’d had about a story he was reading, when she asked why the main character was going to fight the dragon. “Because he’s the hero, sweetness, and heroes fight the monsters.” You’d found him later standing at the foot of her bed, watching her sleep, an expression of sadness mixed with realization in his face. 

You’d wrapped yourself around his arm, hugging him, as you joined him in his study of your daughter. “You okay?” You whispered after a moment.

He looked unsure how to answer you so you gave him a little time to think of what he wanted to say, smiling as you noticed your daughter’s quiet breathing, her little lips curled up in the cutest pout as she dreamed — of what you had no idea but you hoped it was warm and wonderful and everything she could possibly want in her four and a half years of life.

“She said I was her hero,” Ben admitted quietly.

You turned to glance up at him and caught the furrow of his brows. 

“I’m not really a hero, though.” He pressed his lips together. “Not with the things I’ve done.”

You slipped your hand into his, intertwining your fingers, and squeezed. “Then be one.”

His eyes snapped over to you in question.

You gently framed his face with your hands, forcing him to look at you. “Ever since you decided you wanted something different from what you had before, you have made better decisions every single day. Who you were back then, Ben…that’s not who you are now. So if you want to be a hero,” You briefly glanced at your sleeping daughter. “Her hero, then be one.” 

Ben contemplated your words as you released him and his eyes drifted over the child that had somehow carved herself into his heart in a way that the fucked-up Homelander or the idea of any kid of his that possibly existed out there never had. He was already trying every single day to be better, for her, for you, for himself — and it was something he would keep doing.

“But just so you know,” you whispered to him. “No matter if you wear the suit or you’re just plain ol’ Daddy who reads her stories and threatens the monsters in her closet before she goes to bed each night, you’re already going to be her hero.” You gave him a soft smile and watched as your words played out upon his face. His lips lifted up slightly in the corners and he ran his tender glance over his little girl. It surprised you though when he then turned that smile and gaze onto you.

He marveled at just how simple you made it all sound sometimes. Not that you hadn’t acknowledged his effort or the strides he’d made in attempting to be a better father than his old man — a better man period — but he secretly admired when you gave it to him straight, no bullshit, no matter the subject. And while he wanted his daughter to always see him as the hero she called him earlier, he was grateful that you made sure to make such a distinction in your words: he didn’t have to put the suit back on to be his little girl’s hero. That’s not who she saw him as anyway. She saw him as her hero because he was her dad — and that was enough for her. 

There were times like this where he’d remember exactly why he chose to give everything up for you, why he chose you. You’d seen past the suit, past his public persona, saw all of the good and even more of the bad, and yet you still chose him first, still loved him, and still gave him the family he’d been craving even if it wasn’t how he’d imagined it for years on end. You gave him exactly what you’d promised if he chose you back: something real. And Christ did he love you for it.

Ben had never been very good at saying the three words that seemed to take no effort whatsoever to roll off your tongue every single day, even when it came to your daughter. While he might have had no issue speaking his mind back in the day, when it came to the two important things in his life, he struggled to put into words exactly how he felt about you two or to return the sentiment because it was unfathomable to him. He had never known that he could feel the love he did as a husband, a true partner, never mind as a parent. You both were his world and he wasn’t sure how he’d function without either of you in it. Hell, he wasn’t even sure how he functioned before either of you came along though a small dark part of him knew the answer to that: booze, drugs, sex, violence, and enjoying the Supe high life all combined. But right now, he was feeling that overwhelming feeling again that he hesitated to put a name to but deep down knew what it was. However, instead of just being able to say it, just once, he did the second best thing like he did every time you made him feel like this: he showed you.

He took your hand in his, squeezing, and glanced once more at Violet. Noting again that she was sleeping soundly, he then turned his attention onto you and led you from the room. Once her door was shut, he was on you, his kisses passionate and insistent yet desperate, his hands hungrily trailing your body, before he picked you up and walked you down the hall to your bedroom. 

So watching him now making the snowman your daughter wanted — old hat, scarf, pipe, and all — you were amused but also couldn’t be prouder. Ben had heard you that night and he had chosen to be the hero his little girl wanted him to be: her dad while also being a good man and someone she could be proud of. It didn’t erase his past but it was just another step in the right direction towards his future. The suit was still hidden away in a closet but he hadn’t pulled it out for which you were also immensely grateful. Vought International and The Seven had been annihilated years ago at the same time Homelander had been killed. Supes had scattered across the globe, now not being run by one single entity anymore. Some had world governments after them for crimes they had committed previously and were still committing to this day. Compound V as well as Temp V had now unfortunately hit the streets so random fresh Supes were turning up everywhere. The world certainly had its hands full when it came to the whole Supe thing. Maybe it was incredibly selfish of you but you were relieved when Ben chose to stay out of the fray and instead concentrate on living the life he’d chosen to live with you and focus on your family.

Your grin grew when your daughter excitedly hurried over to you. “Mama, mama! Did you see the snowman Daddy made?”

“I did, kiddo. He looks great.” You arched a brow over at the snowman though when you noticed something. “Well, just a tiny bit lopsided, but that’s okay. It gives him character.”

Ben huffed, appearing next to you. “I don’t make lopsided snowmen.” He then turned to Violet. “Your mother needs to have her eyes checked.”

“Hey,” you cried out indignantly. “Who are you telling to get their eyes checked, old man? Considering it’s a lop-sided snowman, I say you should get yours checked.”

Ben flashed his teeth in a grin. “My eyes are perfect, like everything else about me.” You couldn’t help your eye roll though in your estimation, he wasn’t too far off the mark. Never aging thanks to Compound V would do that to someone you guessed. You tried not to be too envious when you remembered back to the few gray hairs you’d managed to find coming from your scalp a few weeks back. 

Violet was giggling watching the two of you and you couldn’t help but join in her merriment. “Sure,” you teased. “So instead of Frosty the Snowman, we’ll call him Skewy the Off-Balance Snowman?”

Ben sent you a mock glare and you shrugged, smiling, making your daughter laugh again. He handed an old ratty coat to her. “Vi, why don’t you put on the finishing touches so your mom can stop being a critic and finally appreciate our hard work?” 

“What? I am appreciating it. I even appreciate that you have to tilt your head a bit to see it straight. Off-kilter is all the rage now, I get it. See? I’m appreciating it.”

Your daughter grinned and took the proffered coat before rushing back over to the snowman.

Hands suddenly on your hips whipped you around and Ben was on you before you could utter another word. He kissed you hard and you swore you could see stars when he finally pulled back, letting you catch your breath. He smirked down at you, muttering “Pain in the ass” good-humoredly, before you both caught movement out of the corner of your eye. You both glanced over in time to see your daughter leap gracefully into the air to toss the coat onto the tall snowman. Ben’s smile was proud and you watched in awe as she landed lithely back down on the ground. As you had wondered often enough when pregnant with her, your daughter had inherited some Supe DNA from her father after all. Something you and Ben both worked hard with her to keep tamped down when in the presence of other children and especially their parents. Your life was blissfully lowkey, normal (as normal as it could be with two Supes in the house), and safe — you and Ben both wanted to keep it that way and you both especially wanted to make sure your daughter’s life continued in that fashion as well. You didn’t want your daughter to be ashamed of her special abilities and Ben was able to teach her restraint, something he had to teach himself long before she was born. 

Ben watched as she used her strength to shift the snowman a little to the left so it would indeed be a little straighter. He rolled his eyes at your triumphant smirk but his smile never left as he cupped your face between his hands. “There. Happy?”

“More than you know,” you answered honestly. His smile faded slightly when he realized you meant more than the adjustment to his recent snow creation. You saw an all-too familiar internal struggle play out in his eyes that you had seen often enough over the years, especially lately. When he was making love to you; when he quietly watched you and your daughter working on her homework together; when he found you in the kitchen late at night when you couldn’t sleep and without speaking you’d turn on a slow song from his era and hold out an expectant hand to him; when you wrapped your arms around him from behind in a hug and snuck in underneath his arm as both of you observed Violet playing out in the yard with the dog she’d managed to convince you both to get — you knew what that struggle was and while it might have bothered another spouse that he never properly vocalized his feelings, you more than understood. How could you not after you knew how Ben had grown up, what he’d been taught? He’d made tons of strides over the years to undo all of that programming, but this…this was the hardest for him, and you knew why. So you didn’t push and instead willingly took what he gave you, knowing he was doing the best he could to show you how he felt instead.

You pushed yourself up on your toes and kissed him. “I love you, too,” you whispered, letting him know it was okay; you knew. You felt his thumb glide along your bottom lip as he studied you intently, and you could feel the heat radiating on the sides of your face. “I always forget how warm your hands are.”

He gave you a suggestive smirk. “You better not have forgotten how warm the rest of me is.”

“Might need a reminder,” you murmured, leaning into him.

His smirk widened. “Then you’ll get one.” He kissed you and before you could get too carried away, the sounds of your daughter giggling and calling “Daddy” had you both pulling apart. “Later,” he promised, pecking your lips one last time before looking over at Violet and the snowman whose apparel had changed to wearing her coat and hat instead. 

Ben gave her an indulgent smile. “What’d you do, Princess?” Violet giggled again and her father shook his head as he headed over to her. You watched as he picked her up, tickling her and making her squeal in laughter, and you smiled. Life really didn’t get much better than this.

You laughed yourself when Violet tried to tickle Ben back. 

Not by a long shot. 

You gave your husband a tired smile when he walked into the room.

“Did she get to school okay?” You asked.

He nodded and removed his coat, hanging it up on the empty hook on the wall.

“And you gave her the envelope I left on the table, right? The one that had her pictures and money for the yearbook?”

“Yeah,” he gruffed out, taking the empty seat next to you and ignoring the curious stares directed his way. Ben was huge and even though he hadn’t been recognized in years, his hulking stature still attracted inquisitive gazes every now and then.

“Good. Thank you for doing that.”

He took your free hand and frowned when you involuntarily shivered. 

Your smile was immediately apologetic. “I always forget how warm your hands are.” You gently gestured to your head where a cold cap sat. “This is freezing so with your hands, it felt like I stuck mine over a fire for a second.”

His frown intensified but he let your hand go. 

“No, no, it’s fine.” You grabbed at his fingers and intertwined them with yours once again. “I like warm.” You then tried to give him a flirtatious smile. “You know that.”

His responding smile was more of a grimace but he kept his hand in yours. “There anything you need?”

You noticed that once again, he was hardly making eye contact with you while you were receiving treatment. You hated it when he did that though you understood. He hated to see you like this, knowing there was nothing he could do to help you. Correction, nothing you would let him do that is.

You’d found a lump in your breast during a self-exam and you’d gotten it checked out right away. More examinations and tests later, it was confirmed: you had cancer. Thankfully, it was not the aggressive kind but your doctor wanted to go after the tumor just as if it was anyway. Your daughter was only in high school; of course, you agreed to whatever plan the doctor suggested. So now here you were, getting chemo after a successful removal of the tumor. 

Ben and Violet had been worried but you assured them that you would be fine, even if you didn’t know that to be true. Ben kept it together in front of your daughter, but once she had gone to bed, you could tell that even though he wouldn’t admit it, he was scared shitless. He knew what cancer meant like everyone else but he didn’t understand the mechanics of the treatments you would be receiving or the rates of survival depending on the ability to remove the tumor and keeping it from spreading versus the percentage rate of success of said surgery and treatments. He asked you question after question after question which you tried your best to answer while trying to keep from falling apart yourself. Eventually, he got frustrated and assured you he would get a hold of some Compound V. Though the government was still currently fighting the sale of the drug on the black market, they had to have some locked away for evidence or testing or they were just simply hoarding it. And if that didn’t work, he planned to track some down and get you a vial. Even if it was only Temp V. 

You were horrified at this suggestion. “Ben, no. I’m not taking that stuff!”

“Why? It’ll make you healthy! It’ll get rid of this fucking cancer! Why wouldn’t you take it?”

“I can think of several reasons. If you break in somewhere to steal it, you can get caught and thrown into some max security prison or CIA black op site that I’ll never be able to get to, never mind being able to find, where they’ll keep you locked down with that gas! Or if you get it off of the street or from the black market, you have no idea if it’s been tampered with or if they’ve laced it with anything else. Temp V is completely out of the question, from a legit source or not. Not to mention, we don’t even know if this would work. It might not heal me or it could even kill me instead. That’s why!”

“You don’t know that,” he insisted. 

“I don’t care. I’m not doing it, Ben.”

His eyes were darker than usual and he looked as if he was about to say something that you probably would both end up regretting. And sure enough, he did. “You’re fucking taking it and that’s it.”

“Excuse me?” You hissed. “This is my life we’re talking about. My life, my decision!”

“We are your life, goddammit!” He roared. Your eyes began to burn as you held back tears and he noticed the familiar sheen in them. When he spoke next, his tone was a bit quieter but no less firm. “So, it’s our decision. You’re taking it and that’s final.”

He had stormed out of the house after that and you had burst into tears. You knew he could hear you but he didn’t come back. You’d cried out all of the fear and anguish and despair you’d felt since receiving your diagnosis. 

It was only later that night when Ben crawled into bed, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his body, that he whispered an apology into your ear. You squeezed his forearm, letting him know you’d forgiven him. 

“If I can get a hold of some, will you please take it?” He begged.

You thought it over for a moment, weighed the risks heavily against the rewards that it could yield, and then shook your head. “No. It’s too risky. It could kill me, Ben. At least with the surgery and chemo, I have better odds.”

“What if I gave you some of my blood?” You heard his voice break near the end of his question and that shocked you. The entire time you’d known the man, he had never once cried. Not in front of you, at least. 

You slowly turned in his arms and while you didn’t see any tears, you saw the shimmer in his green eyes along with pure, unadulterated fear that you’d only seen rare glimpses of over the years: during your pregnancy; the birth; when Violet was a baby and he held her small body in his too big arms, afraid he might break her; when you’d gotten into that car accident on the way to Vi’s dance recital that left you with a few scrapes and bruises; the one time a new Supe in the making claimed to the media that he didn’t believe the death rumors and he was hunting Soldier Boy down in order to prove himself as the strongest Supe which ended up with Ben relocating your family to somewhere even more lowkey (you’d had to talk him out of going to find that damn kid and teaching him a lesson). But now, here it was, naked and laid out plain for you to see. You’d been right; he was scared shitless. 

You ran your fingers soothingly through his hair and he briefly turned to kiss your wrist. “We have two different blood types. It wouldn’t work.”

“I could find a scientist that’ll make it work. With all of these watered-down Supes running around, you can’t tell me there isn’t another Vogelbaum out there somewhere studying them. I could nab him and make him help us.”

You gave him a sad smile. “It doesn’t work like that. This isn’t something that can be fixed by some mad scientist or some miracle superhero-making drug.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Ben,” you pleaded. “Please…” 

He laid a hand against your face and stared into your eyes. “I don’t want to lose you.” You heard the breaks in his voice again. 

A tear slipped down your cheek and he gently wiped it away with his thumb. “One day, you’re going to. Whether it’s now or later, it’s inevitable.”

You could see how hard that hit him, even though you both had known this truth for some time. This wasn’t the first time he’d brought up the possibility of you taking Compound V in your relationship and it wasn’t the first time you’d refused. 

He wanted to keep you with him, always. You didn’t want to live forever and once Violet came along, you definitely didn’t want to outlive your daughter. And that was only if the drug was successful and didn’t outright kill you. Not to mention, even if it was successful, who was to say that it would work for you the same way it worked for Ben? Perhaps you could still easily be killed or you would still age. Perhaps your abilities would be completely different to his. He’d offered to get you some Temp V to preview what it would do, but after what you’d seen happen to Billy Butcher from taking that stuff, you refused.

Now, having cancer, as much as that terrified you, you still didn’t want to risk it. The doctors knew you wanted to see your daughter graduate high school. That was enough for you, for now.

You’d watched as Ben compulsively swallowed and pulled you up to meet him. He kissed you and you could feel the desperation, this time layered by a whole new level of it. He’d made love to you that night, the most tender in his touches and movements since the accident. He took his time with you and even though fear clung thickly to both of you, by the end, you felt loved and cherished and warm.

Such a contrast to how you were feeling now. You let out another involuntary shiver and Ben frowned over at you. By now, he would have picked you up and deposited you on his lap, wrapping you in his embrace to warm you up. But he couldn’t due to the goddamn machine and tubing you were connected to. So instead, he got up and laid another blanket over you, leaning in to murmur into your ear, “When we get home, I’ll warm you up.”

He pulled back with a wicked smirk and you gave him a grateful smile before he returned to his seat. You knew he only meant that he would hold you until you warmed up or until he had to pick up your daughter. You were much too tired for anything else, especially after each treatment, something you hated but it couldn’t be helped. You missed being intimate with him, you missed having the energy to do your usual flurry of picking up after your family around the house, you missed being the one to take Violet to school every morning — you missed it all. You lived your life as normally as possible but the tiredness, the lack of energy, the sickness, the effects this drug had on your system…sometimes it was beyond frustrating and that was putting it nicely. But Ben and Vi had been there through it all, ready to help and step in wherever needed. Violet did her chores like always but she also helped her dad whenever he would allow her to. And Ben…well, he had really stepped up. There were zero complaints that men shouldn’t be doing the laundry or the cooking (something that had been a leftover contention point from the early days of your relationship). He did his best to help Vi with her schoolwork if she had any questions and you were napping. He did the picking up around the house now and he took care of you when you got sick, his nose no longer scrunching up at the smell of vomit (something you had noticed when you had morning sickness and he sat with you, rubbing your back; he later explained to you just how sharp his sense of smell was). He did everything you asked him to and even things you didn’t. He had been a pillar of strength and support that you hadn’t even known you’d needed in the beginning.  

When he took your hand again, you carefully lifted his and kissed the back of it. “I love you,” you whispered, smiling as you nuzzled his warm skin.

He watched you, a familiar struggle taking place inside of him as a tell-tale shimmer started in his eyes that he didn’t want you to see. By the time you opened yours and looked over at him, the shimmer was gone and a tender smile was in place. “Back at you, dollface.” He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, staying like that a bit longer than he usually would have. You thought he was telling you what he still couldn’t put into words and he was. But he was also doing his best to warm you up. He’d felt the cold when you’d kissed his hand and rubbed your lips against it. Cold wasn’t something he felt easily so if he felt it, then he knew just how cold you really were. He hated these treatments, how sick they made you, how cold those damn caps made you (at this point, he didn’t care if you lost your hair, it wouldn’t change how he felt about you and he just wanted you warm and alive), he hated that there wasn’t anything he could to make you better — he hated it all. He meant what he’d said to you, when he got you home, he was going to strip you both down and hold you under the thickest, biggest blanket he could find in your house until it was time to pick up Vi from soccer practice. Warming you up, now that was something he could do. Which is exactly why he made sure to keep his lips connected to yours until the ice cold feeling disappeared and some color came back into them. He stared into your eyes, making you a silent promise that he would always chase the cold away and he would keep you here with him, warm, for as long as he could.

You smiled and leaned in to kiss him again, not caring in the least that you might have an audience with other patients and their family members or nurses. You loved Ben with everything you had; you didn’t care who knew it or even saw it.

“Oh, come on!”

You could hear Ben’s chuckle from the other room and you smiled.

“You cheated!”

“No, I didn’t,” Ben insisted, sounding offended.

“Yes, you did! Dad, admit it!”

“Oh and you didn’t? Those bombs came out of nowhere, right?”

You heard your daughter groan. “It’s battle mode, Dad. You’re supposed to battle it out!”

“We did and I won.” You could practically see the triumphant smile on your husband’s face.

“Yeah, by cheating. What do you think, Rose?”

You could hear the poor girl practically stuttering out her response, trying not to offend either party. “Uh, I think it was…pretty fair…”

“What?” Violet yelled. “You call what he did fair?”

“Y-Yes?”

Ben let out another chuckle. “I knew I liked you, kid.”

You shook your head, smiling to yourself. The two most competitive members of your family had decided to play a video game while you were cooking to help pass the time. Vi had offered to help but you shooed her away since she had brought a friend home with her for the holiday. Ben had looked over at you expectantly, wondering what you would ask him to do, but you’d simply put a beer in his hand and sent him off to entertain the girls. He’d tried to hide his relief as he made his escape but you saw right through him. Thankfully, he didn’t see your own relief. You loved that Ben would do whatever you asked of him when it came to the kitchen, but sometimes he had his own way of doing things (from the time you’d been sick) and it clashed with yours. So, for a meal this large, as much as you loved him, you’d prefer for him to be out of the way. While it was a lot of work, your time to yourself in here was peaceful and you were amused at the bickering you overheard between Ben and Vi. Video games, board games, puzzles — it didn’t matter. If they were involved, there was bound to be claims of cheating by one of them or both, and massive competitive drives. You’d learned long ago to let them battle it out while you would be happy to be in 3rd place in Mario Kart or own St. Charles Place and maybe a railroad during a round of Monopoly. Most of all, though, you loved spending time with your two favorite people in the world, whether they were bickering over a game or competing against each other for a pixelated trophy on the television screen.

You heard voices start to rise slightly, Violet’s in particular. Someone else might have been nervous, especially for the young girl who was your guest, considering two Supes were locking horns, but you weren’t worried. Vi was now in college and thankfully, you’d been in remission for a couple of years. If your family had managed to survive that, you knew they’d overcome any argument over something as silly as who won a race between a plumber and a mushroom man. 

But just in case, you called out, “Guys, remember it’s just a game, please. We have a guest.” 

Sure enough, Violet lowered her voice but you could still hear her accusing her father who scoffed his denials. You rolled your eyes in amusement. 

It wasn’t long before you felt strong arms wrap around you from behind, and lips pressed against your neck. “And the victor returns,” you murmured, smiling and leaning back into him. 

“Mm-hmm,” Ben hummed against your skin. “He wants his spoils.” You felt him attempting to lift the hem of your dress and you slapped his hands away.

“Ben,” you hissed. “Not right now with our daughter and her friend in the next room.”

He didn’t let you deter him; he was determined. “Then let’s go upstairs while this bird cooks. The kids can entertain themselves for a few minutes.”

“A few minutes?” You teased. “You mean like this morning?”

Ben had sweet talked you into sneaking out to the garage after you set everything up and put the turkey in the oven. He’d had you up against the hood of your car, his hand covering your mouth as he went to town on you, both of you in a hurry because he’d heard your daughter starting to wake up on the floor above you. 

Instead of being insulted or rolling his eyes and glaring over at you, a dirty smirk settled onto his face. “Mmm, that was hot. You were hot. So hot I want to lift this dress up and do that thing with my—”

A loud throat clearing coming from the other room had you both straightening up. Right. Your daughter shared super senses with her father. Whoops. “Uh, Mom? Is dinner ready yet?”

“Uh.” You quietly cleared your throat yourself as you moved away from Ben, making him frown. “Not for another two hours or so.” You had just checked the turkey before you’d been interrupted. 

“Okay, well, Rose and I are going to go walk outside for a bit. We’ll be back.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Be careful and make sure to take your coats. It’s cold out,” you warned.

Violet laughed. “Yes, Mom.”

She must have said something too quiet for you to hear because Ben suddenly went rigid. “Listen to your mother,” he added for good measure.

Another laugh. “Sure, Dad.”

You continued prepping dinner and once you heard the front door shut, Ben was on you. “Ben,” you laughed. “I don’t have time!”

He picked you up and moved you to the one area of counter space that wasn’t covered. “Yeah, you do. There’s always time for a quickie.”

“A quickie? Another one of Ben’s infamous life rules?”

He lifted the skirt of your dress over your thighs and quickly worked your underwear down your legs. “Another one of my infamous life rules with you.” You and Ben were used to having the house to yourselves so anywhere, anytime had become a sort of routine you two had. You missed Violet tremendously but you also had time to physically reconnect with your husband.

Almost as if he heard the direction your thoughts were going in, he framed your face with his hands. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. 

You gave him a grateful smile. The truth was, while you were grateful to be in remission and for more time with your family, you had worried about the toll chemo had taken on your body as well as your sex drive. The doctor assured you that while it would take time, there was a good chance you would start to feel normal again. Ben had been understanding but you had been frustrated. However, the doctor was right; it took a while but you started to feel back to normal, libido included. 

Luckily, you hadn’t lost a lot of your hair, the cold caps having helped, and once the treatments were over, whatever was gone did indeed grow back. Unfortunately, a lot of gray hair also came with it. You’d wanted to dye it back to your original color but Ben urged you not to. “You look fucking sexy as hell with it,” he’d murmured before you watched him nibble on your ear in the bathroom mirror. You knew his preference for older women, something you knew before you’d even gotten together, walking into the bar you’d found him in and seeing him making out with a grandma one time. So you knew your aging wasn’t an issue; he’d told you often enough that he didn’t care how old you got, he only wanted you. That was why he had wanted you to take Compound V, far before your diagnosis, because he wanted to be with you forever, or as long as forever would be given your actual life span and his. But you were still struggling with all of the changes your body had gone through in the last couple of years and you’d broken down into sobs, letting your face fall into your hands. He’d held you and whispered reassurances into your ear that everything was going to be okay. 

And thankfully, he had been right. It had all turned out to be okay. You’d gotten to see Violet graduate, you’d gotten to go on campus tours with her as she decided on a college, you got to drive up with her and Ben to move her into her dorm room, you’d gotten to spend more time with your husband who loved you deeply — you’d gotten more time period.

And here you were, able to cook a full Thanksgiving dinner for your family on your own, and all three of you were thriving. Most people would be stating what they were thankful for on this day but you — the gratitude you felt overwhelmed you and it was something that couldn’t be put into words. You had a beautiful life, a wonderful life, a daughter just as beautiful and wonderful, and you were thankful for the man who had given it to you. Who had laid down his shield (and everything that came with it) and chosen to make this life with you.

You stared into his green eyes, seeing a certain amount of reverence mixed with affection watching you back. You felt his skin warm against yours, reminding you of all of the days and nights he spent trying to keep you warm during and after your treatments, and you smiled. “Your hands are so warm,” you whispered the familiar words. “I always forget how warm they are.”

And as expected, he grinned and responded with, “Not sure how, dollface. I never take them off of you.” He ran a thumb tenderly along your bottom lip. “And I never will.”

He kissed you then and you couldn’t help the tear that escaped and rolled down your cheek. The quickie ended up being not so quick. The turkey was a little drier than you liked but your family ate it all the same while Rose politely complimented you. Violet gave you a nod, smiling, missing her father unapologetically smirking over at you while shoveling forkfuls into his mouth. You gave him a look when your daughter glanced back down to her plate and he chortled before digging in again. You gazed around the table, smiling, content as could be. Gratitude. Thankful. Those were the two words that repeated themselves over and over in your head as you watched your family eat the food you’d cooked for them, even when Violet insisted that Ben had still cheated in Mario Kart, her father told her to let it go, and both agreed to a rematch right after dinner. 

This is what you’d wanted back when you gave Ben your ultimatum, but never in a million years did you think you’d actually get to have it. Thankful indeed.     

Being awash in these memories, you failed to notice that a tear was making its way down Ben’s cheek until it fell near your hairline when he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. You didn’t really feel anything that wasn’t pain or cold, except for him. Even his tears were warm. So warm.

“Not sure how, baby,” he answered you, smiling, his eyes wet. “I always have them on you.”

You couldn’t help but smile in return at your familiar exchange. That smile fell, though, when you heard what he said next.

“I’m gonna get him. I promise you that.”

You could see the faint edges of Soldier Boy peeking through as you saw your husband’s green eyes harden in an all-too familiar fashion. You slowly shook your head, even that tiny movement causing you pain. “I don’t want that. I want you and Vi to be safe.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue but thought better of it. Instead, his eyes softened once more and he gave you a nod. “Okay, baby.”

You and Ben had been walking through town, buying last minute Christmas presents. Ben wanted to order them online and avoid the crowds, but you wanted to take a walk, breathing in the fresh air and be imbued with the Christmas spirit that permeated the town. Ben had begrudgingly indulged you and you enjoyed yourself as you bought gifts for Violet, her fiancee, and you even managed to sneak one for Ben when you’d sent him to ask the guy manning the stand in the outdoor market for a price on an item. The woman from the stand next door had just bagged your gift when you noticed a young man walking through the market, commanding everyone’s attention. He had a suit on with a cape so it was obvious he was a Supe and he was looking for something or someone. His eyes flickered in Ben’s direction, who had his back to him, and a dangerous smile formed on his face. Within seconds, you recognized him. He was the Supe you had seen on TV a few years back, though he’d been wearing a different suit then and he wasn’t nearly as bulked up as he was now. He was the one who had been saying he would hunt Soldier Boy down to kill him. You quickly glanced back at Ben who was completely unaware, involved in the discussion he was having with the older man. You saw the Supe’s eyes begin to glow and you knew what would happen before it did. 

You dropped everything in your hands and ran as fast as you could towards Ben, yelling his name. He glanced up at you, his brows furrowed, and he tensed seeing your expression. It was mere moments that passed before you were in front of him and you felt a lava-hot feeling erupting from your insides, making you scream. 

You fell to the ground and you watched as Ben went to catch you but was forced to let you fall when he looked up to see more lasers coming his way. He moved out of the way just in time. As you lay, unable to move, hearing some of the sounds of battle all around you and people screaming and stampeding out of the market while your ears were still ringing, you prayed to whoever was listening that your husband won and that he and your daughter would be safe. 

It wasn’t until you heard something that sounded like a jet taking off into the sky and saw Ben’s boots come to a stop in front of you that you realized he had survived. You nearly cried at the sight of those worn work boots that you kept urging him to replace. He managed to roll you over though you cried out in pain as he did and he settled you onto his lap, his eyes wide as he took in your injuries. Not only could you feel how bad it was, but you could also see it on his face. It was a miracle you were somehow still alive, able to talk even, but you didn’t have long. You didn’t need to be a doctor to know that the rapidly-spreading cold wasn’t a good thing. Your hands and arms were practically numb at this point. And you thought cancer would be the one you’d have to worry about showing up.

“Make sure you take care of Vi. She’s going to need you,” you urged him.

He gave you another nod. “You know I will.”

“And don’t let that asshole find her.”

His jaw tightened and his eyes hardened again. “He won’t.” You knew what that meant but not having much energy left, you could only hope that when he thought back to this moment, he remembered what you had told him you wanted. 

It worried you a little when he picked up your hand and kissed your palm that not only could you not feel it, but your hand looked the palest you’d ever seen it, even during chemo. 

More tears rolled down your cheeks but you made sure to look up at him. You had no idea how much time you had left but you needed to tell him, you needed him to know. “Tell Vi that I love her and I’m so proud of her.” And you were. Inspired by what had happened to you years back, she became a doctor, specifically an oncologist. She was determined to find a cure and in the meantime, help people who had gotten some of the worst news of their lives. “And, Ben.. Thank you for our life together. Thank you for our daughter. Thank you for everything.”

You could see his eyes beginning to glisten once more and he compulsively swallowed. “I should be thanking you for that.”

“You made the decision to walk away. If you hadn’t…”

“It was an easy decision.”

You tried to give him a smile that probably came out more of a grimace. “No, it wasn’t. But I’m thankful you made it.”

He leaned down to press another kiss to your forehead before staring into your eyes. “I’m thankful for you.”

You tried to smile wider but instead a cough erupted out of you and you could feel something wet on your lip. Ben gently swiped his thumb across it, moving it out of your sight, and a slight panic set in when you realized you could barely feel the action. “Ben,” you croaked. “I’m so cold.” You could barely feel the pain anymore and it felt as if someone had turned on an A/C inside you at full blast and the icy air was making its way up to your head. 

Ben attempted to give you a familiar smile. “Then I’ll warm you up, doll.” You heard the breaks in his voice but when he leaned down to kiss you, you let him, taking comfort in the familiar show of affection. You breathed through your nose and you relaxed, feeling the last bit of warmth that was infused into your lips.

Ben stayed there long after you took your last breath, long after you went limp. He knew you were gone but a small irrational part of him told himself that if he just kept trying to chase the cold away for you, he might somehow succeed. But ultimately, as he knew it wouldn’t, it didn’t work. He lifted his head and stared down at you, silently willing you to open your eyes. When you didn’t, more tears fell down his bearded cheeks and a sob tore out of his throat that he had no idea was there waiting to escape. “Baby,” he choked out, shaking you as gently as he could, still mindful of your wounds. But still, nothing. Then he said the words he’d always struggled to give voice to, thinking if nothing else would bring you back, this might. “I love you,” he let out in a broken whisper against your lips. When that didn’t work either, he knew that was it and subsequently broke down, rocking you tenderly in his arms as he buried his face in your neck while his shoulders shook. For the first time ever since becoming a Supe, Soldier Boy cried and didn’t care who saw it or knew about it. He ignored the cries of people looking for their loved ones, he ignored the police cars showing up and the sirens of the fire trucks on their way, he ignored people clamoring around the site asking what happened or trying to help others — he ignored them all. All he focused on was you. You had knowingly put yourself in front of those lasers to save him. …And now you were gone.

A/N: Please don't hate me. 🫣

dividers by @firefly-graphics

across timelines — johnny cage !

sum. seeing you again amidst armageddon overjoyed johnny, but, were you the you that he knew? whatever or whoever you were, all he knew was he was glad to see you alive.

author's notes. beyond pressing 'read more' – everything you'll read is purely fictional and based on the mind; spelling and grammar mistakes, spot them and get a price (aka my thanks), moreover, feedback and comments are highly valued! i hope you have a good reading experience. love, ian. ౨ৎ‧₊˚ ⋅

tags ・・・ johnny cage x reader, character death, angst, hurt/comfort, very mcu gamora and quill coded. does not accurately follow the storyline of mk1.

word count ・5.9k

send an ask → find more on the navi → find more on the mortal kombat masterlist !

johnny was still in place, motionless, his breathing stopped.

seeing your body drop down the floor, hearing it thud. bruises and scars decorating your skin, and blood weeping from your body staining the floor scarlet.

he could swear he'd watched how the life force drained from your body and dissolved into the wind, all from giving your all in the war to subdue your own mother, or at least one who was a splitting image of her.

"Y/N!!" he'd cry out, snapping from his trance. he'd run to your disheveled state, everything around you faded to black. "y/n.. no.. don't .. stay with me" he would plead, breaths heaving in desperation, trying to find reason and sense, how does he end your misery. his touch was delicate, afraid of hurting you even further, his hand would caress the back of your head and he would bring your half-asleep body closer to him. "y/n.. stay awake.. liu kang.. he can help you.." he would try, he would try to convince you, to convince himself, just to keep you with him, to persuade you to stay.

"johnny.." a soft plea in your voice, barely conscious, you were losing too much blood at this point. black spots clouded your vision, if you weren't fighting tooth and nail just to stay awake you probably couldn't feel how heavenly it was to be held by the jonathan carlton this way. finally. was this all it had to take? for him to finally hold you close... to hold you so tight, to never want to let you go. agonizing as it was, you'd force yourself to lift up your hand to his face, faintly feeling his ease into your touch.

"i'm here, y/n.." he'd reassure you. nothing felt better knowing, you know he's here with you. a small smile fell on your lips, before gradually, your eyes began to close. brows furrowed, johnny started panicking. "y/n? y/n? hey, don't be like this— y/n, y/n wake up!" he'd try to shake you slightly, until he shaked you more. "Y/N WAKE UP!" he'd cry louder, but to no use... you were...

"NO!"

johnny jolted from his slumber.

... gone. you were gone. truly... gone. forever.

his shoulder slump, his morale and his energy on the down low. it was the middle of the night and he'd awoke from his nightmare to another, the real one, this time. he couldn't bring himself to sleep again, he'd thought of you endlessly that night, dreading the fact of his not being there for you, that night where you had gone. why wasn't he where you were? why wasn't he with raiden and liu kang, why couldn't he stuck with you, like he promised?

how could he have slept at a time like this... gods only know how. a creeking noise would play in the dead of night, alerting johnny who arose from where he'd lain. "johnny.." he called, glowing white eyes, solemn and hints of worry in his voice – the god of fire and thunder wasn't well on hiding the heavy weights on his shoulder – johnny thought subconsciously, above all his concern, was his own exhaustion, what possibly could liu kang be barging inside his room for?

"come.. we must go." the lord said, it was not a simple ask, moreso an obligation.

this was it.

the .. the thing he had promised months ago, though at this point, it's felt like years for johnny.. this was.. this was gonna be the thing that would change the arc of his life..

for the better?

nah, how could it be? when you were... dead.

and he couldn't have done anything to prevent it. hell, liu kang couldn't. so how's this for the better? if it's without you?

he shrugged the thought off, he has to focus on now, as he walked alongside valiant warriors facing up against those who cowered up those stairs that descended from the heavens down to this hellscape.

"let's fucking dance" he'd say to himself, bouncing up and down to pump up in preparation, jazz and all.

then it began ...

cacophonies of war cries echoed from above and from behind him as everyone charged at each other. it was fucking arma fucking geddon. johnny rushed to reach the top, kicking, throwing, and punching anyone in the face, gladly, in their nuts— who got in his way. everytime he did, that sweet killer smile grew on his face, brushing off the sweat and blood that adorned his skin whilst continuing his descent towards the skies.

he was well on his way, when something suddenly clung to his ankle and dragged him down a LOT. "fuck!" he cursed out before trying to get back up, seeing who this fucker was trying to come for him, he was having none of it.

it was...

him.

"well if it isn't.. me" the other johnny seemed almost taken aback seeing johnny,

"just gonna put this out there, i'm the sexy one." johnny would taunt at him even when he was slightly struggling to get on his feet but he found himself bouncing right again ready to take this son of a bitch who was another version of himself, the other would just scoff, "yeah? well i'm sexier." a smirk etched on his stupid face, he would regret that for sure, johnny thought.

the other would launch forceballs at johnny but his were red, it was nothing to our ol' jonathan – dodging it like the plague. punishing the other with a crushing blow to the sternum with his shadow kick. he would laugh at his other who'd fall on his ass, groaning in pain, he'd go back to running up where he was supposed to go.

he ran and ran like there was no tomorrow, because it really felt like there wasn't gonna be anymore. he threw forceballs at anyone who got in his way, not caring anymore, he was gonna get up there and stop this shit.

and he got so close, closer, and closer!

and.. finally, he was there.

wow.. that was.. easy.

he'd scoff at the absurdity, that proved to be a mistake– when he got knocked down a few the pavement of the heavens.

"ow, what the fuck" he kept cursing, everyone's out for him today, no, literally.

he was about to crush the son of a bitch who tried him without pulling back his punches this time, when suddenly his arm clashes with theirs and time is stuck and still, as his eyes gaze back to the same eyes he'd missed terribly.

"...y/n..?" a call to the wind, above a whisper but beneath a yell, his heart doesn't know whether to pick up its pace in absolute euphoria or to slow down and cherish the small time in seeing you again.

oh he was so happy... so happy, he'd let his guard down.. as you did, surprisingly.

"you're alive..." a revelation to him.

an even bigger revelation to you,

who was this man? and why was he looking at you like this? ... nobody, you don't know this creep. you're alive? when had you not been?

"more than ever." you'd say, before swiftly moving forward to knee him in the groin. he'd groan aloud from the heavy impact.

kung lao hissed imagining the agony johnny must've experienced, "hurt like a bitch" johnny described poorly, eyes down, almost as if he wasn't upset at it, finding humor in the interaction with.. someone who resembled you. he almost laughed, but he'd smile smally instead.

he knows. he knows that lookalike wasn't you, because he remembers the you he'd known.

and he had no intention of forgetting you, ever. because across all the timelines that existed, of all the y/n's and the johnny's out there.

to him, the only y/n that mattered was you. and he knows you shared that sentiment. he was wholeheartedly yours, just the same way, you were his.

he would mourn you, for life.

omg found this old yummy polarr filter,,, ok,, layout switcheroo

bro im too pussy to play kombat league, i've only tried twice, one once, then that was it kwjdhwhwukfeld