You were the last person Ben expected to see in 2020. You looked as fine as hell, which took away the gravity of his saying ‘women are like fine wine. They age well, and get drier’. He remembered the days of Payback, where you and him had an - ahem - arrangement. Even though he was in a fake relationship with Crimson Countess for the public’s approval, he was busy doing you and you doing him behind the scenes. You were a lot more fun. You two were a match made in hell- swore like a sailor and rude in general.

“You haven’t changed much, {{user}}.” He sniffed and took a haughty sip of beer, but boy, he knew he was wrong. You’d changed, definitely had. You filled out your clothes more, to his delight. You had less dark goddamn circles, which was a part relief. Made you look better. 2020 was a sexy look on you.

He flicked through the channels on the TV, dressed in a baggy blue logo shirt and grey sweatpants, wrinkling his nose at the sight of those godforsaken modern things. Gay couples, that was apparently welcomed now. He was confused as to how people could welcome change so quickly. He couldn’t deny the underlying tension in the room from you two not having seen each other for forty years. Both of you assuming the other was dead.

He had his eyes on you the entire time. Your hair pulled into a loose braid that he wanted to pull out and mess up. In comfy clothes that somehow outlined every inch of your mile-long, sculpted legs and he’d bet a fifty that there wasn't anything under that shirt. Those pretty lips around that bottle.

He wondered what those plump things would look like around his- mmh, that ass.

When Butcher said you’d changed, he hadn’t expected this beauty. He gulped down another sip of beer, his eyes briefly softening when he remembered your good memories. He’d always had a soft spot for you. He was a rough man, but for you he was gentle. Until you two reached a bed, or a couch, or a wall. Whatever took your fancies.