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godmadeaterribleerror · 7 months ago

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Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Me, reading more and more smut the further we get into the story: I’m studying. I’m improving my craft. It’s for the people. Chapter Title from Coming Down by Halsey

Word Count: 23k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You have a revelation. Nasty fucking smut. Just so much smut. And usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst, pining, smut

Read on A03!

Chapter 14 - Chapter 16

This was bad. This was really, really bad.

You loved him.

You loved Ben.

You totally, completely, wrathfully and comfortably loved Ben.

That’s what this was. This eternal feeling of need and want and safety. Love. For Ben. Infinite and indestructible love. No way around or over or under it. No way to talk or twist yourself out of it. You loved Ben. With every bloody and broken part of you, you loved Ben. You burned because Ben was there. He didn’t even have to burn with you, because that’s how strong your love was. You would burn for him, and it would be an inferno that carried you both. He would burn with you though, because he was an idiot. Your idiot. Your idiot, because you loved him.

It had pushed so close to the surface, when Violet had almost said it for you. That you only silently communicated with people you loved. But you’d rationalized. You’d been doing that with Ben for months now. Love had nothing to do with it. You just understood each other. That was all it was. Not love. Just the implicit knowledge that Ben had you. Got you.

Then he’d held you again. He’d moved you and danced with you, still touching you so gently. He had been everything around you, the song, and the rhythm, and his chest rising and falling as your head had pressed into it. And it was all so painfully obvious that it was love. You loved Ben.

You loved his stupid face. His stupid, handsome, stoic face that starred in your dreams. It was a little mean, actually, that he was so attractive. That his jaw was sharp and his lips were full and his eyes were pretty and green and boundless. It would be unfathomably easy to just get lost into his eyes forever. So easy it was downright cruel. Nobody should be allowed to have eyes like that. To look like that. But Ben did. When he slept his face would grow slack and peaceful as his lips parted and his hair fell across his face, and you’d always need to brush it away so it didn’t have a chance to wake him. When he was focused his brows would knit and his eyes would grow intent, and you’d always need to be the thing he was watching and picking apart. When he scowled at stupid things his nose scrunched slightly and all the lines on his face deepened, and you’d always need to run a hand over them until he smiled again. Because Ben’s smile was the most amazing thing you’d ever seen. It was so rare, because he’d wink and smirk and grin all the time—and it would always make you want him more—but his smile was rare. The wide, toothy, carefree smile that made his whole stupid face happy and brighter than any star. And when he laughed with his smile, he might as well have just shot you. It would make your heart stop, ruin and implode your world, and spill your heart out of your chest faster.

Nobody’s laugh had ever sounded as powerful and consuming as Ben’s. He made a lot of sounds that drove you insane—grunts and moans and snorts and low growls that always moved through you—but his laugh, his real, full laugh, was like a song. Full and deep and loud, filled with genuine amusement and digging into your brain. It moved mountains, it parted oceans, it made you warm and happy and love him so much more. Impossibly more. Because it meant he was happy, and he was the most handsome, idiotic, amazing person in history when he was happy. And it made your whole world solid and clear to feel his joy, made you feel just a little more real yourself when it was you making him happy. When he laughed at your joke or completed a task you’d set for him or you did something for him. Just for him. To make him happy. You’d do anything to make him happy. If he was happy he might stay with you, so you’d do anything. There were frighteningly few lines you wouldn’t cross for him. You’d be more worried about it if you didn’t trust him so completely. If you weren’t full of so much faith that Ben wouldn’t throw you across those lines, or even bring you anywhere near them. You wouldn’t love him if you thought he would. He might not love you, but he understood you, and understood what things you’d never do. And you’d make that enough. You make him staying with you and caring for you and keeping you safe worth his time. You’d keep holding his head and healing his PTSD, even when he bitched and moaned about not needing it. Because he was noticeably less paranoid, more often at ease. He didn’t have as many nightmares anymore, you didn’t feel the drums pound inside him when someone said Russia or sleep. It was the very least you could do for him, when he chased away your nightmares just by existing in your orbit. By surrounding you with his body and smell and making you fly out of your mind with desire, chasing away every shadow in the night and stifling every hateful part of you.

He was everywhere around you. Everywhere you looked was just Ben. Everywhere you looked would always be Ben. That was one of the more detrimental parts of living with him, was that every corner of your home was Ben. The fridge was full of strawberry cream cheese and the freezer had three pints of malt vanilla because he’d tear through one in a day. There were apples instead of oranges on the counter because oranges were a goddamn disgusting ass of a fruit. The carpet in your bedroom was there because Ben asked for it, and the bathroom had a razor because Ben needed to shave. His shield rested at your bedroom door, and there was a page bookmarked in your cookbook for pancakes. His clothes were mixed in with yours, so even when you wore one of your shirts they smelled like him, and when you showered you had to stare at his half-used shampoo that was evidence. Evidence Ben existed here, with you.

He was woven all through the world as well. You saw Ben everywhere in the world. You’d look at the map of the United States hanging in the dining hall and frown at Florida. You’d eat lunch with Annie, and she’d serve you strawberries and your whole body would start to search for him. You’d glance out a window and see the sky and a voice in the back of your head would go Blue. Pussy fucking color. You’d never be able to go outside again. Because you’d look at the grass and the trees and the bushes and only think Ben. Ben’s eyes are green like that. You’d never be able to do a lot of things again, especially if you lost him. Nobody would be allowed to address you, because it would just make you think that Ben had said your name better. The sun would have to stop shining because sunshine wouldn’t be allowed to exist anymore, and everyone would have to stop swearing because nobody would do it as well as he did. And nobody would touch you again. They wouldn’t do it like Ben did it. They wouldn’t wreck you just with hands on skin or names hummed into mouths. If someone held you, it wouldn’t be like you were holy. They wouldn’t be everything.

It wasn’t healthy. You weren’t stupid, you knew it wasn’t healthy. But you didn’t care. Healthy was a privilege. Healthy was for people who budgeted out their months and worked semi-stable jobs and had been born half-sane. Healthy was for people you could get their heart broken and have enough of themselves left to heal it. Healthy was for people who had a heart that was capable of remolding to fit in place with a new, different one after the heartbreak was over. Your heart was for Ben. It didn’t fit anywhere else. It could either be in your chest, or in his hands. It wouldn’t survive anywhere else. You’d survive without Ben. If you lost him, the world would keep spinning and your heart would keep beating and you’d heal after a very, very long and lonely time. But that would be it. It would just be you. No one else. If Ben left you’d let him and mourn it for the rest of your life, alone. If he went back to sleep, you’d burn everything to wake him up, and not just because you’d promised. Because you wanted him awake and happy and holding you. You wanted him. You needed him. You loved him.

And now you have to live with that. You’d have to learn how to love Ben like this. In this way that sat in your brain and made everything clear as your whole body was wrapped in some kind of cocoon, some sort of shield that kept you warm and alive because you loved Ben. You have to learn how to love him in this infinite way and never let it show.

You’ll keep going like you have been. Because you’ve loved him for a long time, if you think for just a second about it. You don’t know when it began, and you’re a little afraid to search for the exact moment where it became something of no return. The turning point, the moment that made your thoughts and feelings about Ben change from understanding and friendship into love. Horrible and loud and glorious love. Because it feels a lot less recent than it probably should be. It doesn’t feel like something that happened last week, or two weeks ago, or even a month. If you concentrate and comb through the past maybe you’d find when this became love, but it doesn’t really matter. Because it feels old. It feels like it’s something ancient that was dormant and now will never stop raging inside you. Just because you’re aware of it now doesn’t mean it wasn’t strong and fixed like this before.

So you’ll love him like you have been. Because you have been. Nothing needs to change because you have been loving him in secret for a while, it’s only just no longer a secret from you as well.

The only difference is now that chorus of Ben that runs through your brain all the time is followed by I love you. You wake up the morning after Violet’s visit, with Ben’s body heavy and secure over yours—his head pressed into your neck and his snores reverberating through your bones—and your mind goes Ben. Ben, I love you. You lay there for a while, waiting for him to wake up because you could. You had all the time in the world to lay in bed with the man you loved, letting his hands drift in sleep to the hem of your shirt and his legs tangle thoughtlessly in yours. To let your brain go Ben, I love you over and over until he made that small grunt that always preceded his waking.

Ben’s eyes open slowly, looking at you from underneath his eyelashes, and even those are pretty. You’d never stood a chance.

“Mornin,” he grumbles, and you smile at him.

“Good morning, Benjamin.” Your voice is soft, barely above a whisper. Already, acting normal is not going well.

“Benjamin?” He drawls, smirking up at you. “The fuck did I do to earn a Benjamin this early in the day?”

You wrinkle your nose at him, pushing your knee up into his gut. “It’s your name. Am I not allowed to call you your name?”

“Not when I’ve barely opened my damn eyes.” Trying to knee him was fully ineffective, because he's completely unaffected and now your calf is brushing against his half-hard cock. And he’s still looking at you. “You only call me that when I’ve pissed you off. Tell me what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything.” Ben, I love you. “You’re doing something, right now. But I was just saying your name.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Then say it again.”

“What?”

Ben grins, shifting up on his arms and hanging over you. His face only a slight movement from yours. “Say my name again. My full name.”

“Why-“

“Because I want to hear it when you’re not mad at me for some shit reason.” His breath is moving from his mouth into yours. “Say it.”

You swallow, his lust sitting somewhere with your own in your chest and throat, but still manage to say, “Ask nicely.”

“Brat.”

“I’ll never say your name again-“

He kisses you, sloppy with his tongue falling into your mouth and his hand coming up to cup your face. He’s groaning your name, and his voice is so deep and he smells like pine and his body is warm and he tastes like mint-

You push up on his chest, gaping at him slightly. “Did you fucking brush your teeth?”

He scowls. “Shut up.”

“No, you brushed your teeth!” You grin at him, feeling the closest thing you’ve ever felt to embarrassment course through him. It’s sore and hot, crawling along his skin as he avoids your gaze. “I can taste it, Benjamin, so don’t even think about lying to me.”

“I wasn’t goddamn going to lie to you.”

“Because you’re not a pussy.”

“Because I’m not a fucking pussy.”

“But you brushed your teeth?”

Ben’s still glaring at you, but there’s nothing cold or sharp behind his eyes, or in his body. You can feel more of a sour annoyance, like he’s mad he got caught. “Brat.”

“Cunt.” You whack his chest lightly. “Are you just not going to admit it? Or am I going to have to get up and check your toothbru-“

You choke on your words as Ben drops back to your neck, sucking a line up your jaw.

“Ben-“

“I fucking brushed my teeth,” he growls into your ear, and somehow it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. “Are you happy now?”

You want to say yes, or very, or Ben, I love you, but all you can manage is a strained, desperate sound that’s half-sigh and half-moan.

“Good. Now say my name and I’ll-“

You’re moving so fast to grab Ben’s face and pull him back against yours that whatever he was about to promise you is lost in a groan down your throat. You don’t care, because it can’t be better than this. It can't be better than Ben over you, his hand kneading the skin at your hip and his teeth making your lips swell. It can’t be better than the heat of him around you, the power of his hunger in you.

It’s so easy to moan, “Benjamin-“

He’s gone, hauling himself off of you in a second, so fast you can’t grab his arm and yank him back down.

“You asshole-“

“If you had let me finish my fucking sentence,” Ben grins down what’s meant to be your murderous glare but—based purely on his amused expression and teasing tone—is more likely a pout. “You’d have heard the part where I’m making you breakfast now.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you grumble. “Get your ass back down here.”

Ben hums. “No.”

“Benjamin-“

“There she is,” he leans down, pulling you up just enough that he can kiss the top of your head. “That’s how you always fucking say it.”

Before he can draw back up again, you grab his wrist with one hand, pushing your jaw up into the air to try and move his mouth to yours. He lets you, kissing you far too sweetly for the thirst to be overflowing like this, for the ache between your legs to be growing painful.

When Ben moves away once more, he presses another kiss to your forehead and all your thoughts become clear. It’s only Ben. Ben, I love you.

“Pancakes?” He mumbles against your skin, and you nod.

“Of course I want pancakes, but you-“ His mouth is gone again, hands still holding your face as he draws to his full height. “Ben-“

“I’m going to pick you up.” He says firmly, watching you carefully. It’s not a question, but he doesn’t move. Towering over you, waiting for you to prompt him. You nod, and the rough feeling in his chest pulses slightly as his arms drop under your knees, pulling you up into him.

“I hate you.” Your tone, quiet and gentle, isn’t convincing. Your movement isn’t convincing, arms wrapping around Ben’s neck and body leaning into his hold.

He chuckles, “No, you don’t.”

And you don’t. You love him. But you still glare at him, and revere in the complete concrete safety of Ben touching you. The strength of his body, the power of his resolve coursing through your bloodstream. The way you barely jostle against him when he walks down the stairs, how carefully he sets you down. How—once the coffee is brewed—he pours your mug first and places it in front of you. Shooting you a sharp glare when you start and stand up to help him.

“Get your fucking ass back in the chair, Sunshine,” he snaps. “I can cook my goddamn self.”

“I know,” you walk over to his side, holding his glower with an overly sweet smile. “But I want to cook with you.”

He’s still frowning, looking you up and down. “Why.”

“It’s fun,” you shrug. Ben, I love you. “You get mad at some really stupid shit. I’ve never seen someone snap a bowl in half before, I didn’t know you could snap a bowl in half.”

“It was broken already,” he grumbles. “Wasn’t fucking mixing the batter.”

“That’s not how bowls work, and you know it.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Shut up and get the milk or sit the hell back down.”

You smile at him, wide and light, and start to turn to the fridge. You don’t even take a step before Ben’s hand catches the top of your arm and spins you around, his lips crashing into yours in a long, needy, marked kiss. Walking you back into the kitchen counter, going and going until you’re breathless and moaning his name.

He smirks against your lips, sucking slowly on your top lip before moving away. Staring at you with the lust shining in his eyes. The lust and another, louder, fiery thing that’s roaring somewhere near his lungs. He says your name, voice hoarse, and you think it might kill you. “You’re a real fucking pain in my ass.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I can really tell how hard all this is on you.”

He groans, because your words were carefully chosen. “Fucking hell-”

“Is there a problem, Pretty Boy?” You smile at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re lucky you’re beautiful.” He kisses just the tip of your nose, and your whole body sings. “Get the milk.”

“Cunt,” you mutter under your breath as he walks away, and his laugh echoes through you. Ben, I love you.

This will work. You’ll love him like this. Keeping your lines set in stone rather than sand, because as much as you need him to walk back over to you—to pick you up again and just fuck you—you can’t. Knowing you love him made it easier to not chase after him, easier to stop yourself from giving him everything as you were now certain he couldn’t return it. But it made you want everything so much more. So you had to keep your head on your shoulders, and let him call you beautiful and kiss him until he was hard and you were wet, and never let it go further. You can love him like this. And it will be fine.

You master it, over the next three days. You get in stupid fights about nothing—Ben uses an abominable amount of toothpaste per brushing for someone who probably hasn’t done any sort of dental care in almost a century—and they either end with you winning, Ben’s tongue down your throat, or some combination of the two. And your brain always goes Ben, I love you, and you turn it into a whack of his arm or a wordless moan into his mouth or against his skin. You snark at him, and he chuckles and teases you, and instead of climbing on top of him and grabbing his face in your hands and screaming Ben, I love you, you make him laugh. You savor the sound as it fills the apartment, and squeeze your thighs together because everything this insufferable ass of a man does turns you on. It was a problem before, and now it might be starting to actively hinder your life. You’re training with him—Ben has insisted you learn how to coordinate fire in with your combat so you don’t rely wholly on your power, saying any supe worth their goddamn salt can do more than just party tricks, Sunshine—and your task is to knock him down.

It’s not going well.

“You did this better when you hated me,” Ben taunts, side-stepping you again.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs. “Maybe I will, once you’ve earned it.”

You scowl, lunging at him again. This time, when Ben doges, he moves right into the column of flame you’d risen in his path.

“Fucking Christ-“ He jumps away, shooting you a glare and snapping your name.

You don’t let him keep going, rushing another wall of flame at him. You’d learned to control the temperature—hot enough for Ben to feel, not hot enough for it to burn—and he takes a stumbling step back.

“That’s more fucking like it,” he’s grinning now, fists up. “Keep it coming, at this rate you’ll get me down by April.”

You flip him off, wrapping your hand in fire and throwing a punch right at his stupid, handsome face. “I’m going to wipe the floor with you Pretty Boy.”

He fakes left, the fire shooting up to block him in the wrong spot when he ducks right, under your arm. You recover fast, but Ben’s already grabbing you by the hook of your elbow, pinning you against his chest.

“Those are some big words,” he mutters, lips brushing your ear as his arm snakes around your waist. “For someone who can’t even land one damn punch.”

You angle your head back and kiss him. Rough, sudden, and harsh. It catches him off guard, and his grip loosens just enough for you to turn and jump up. He catches you as your legs wrap around him—you knew he would—and growls into your mouth as your hands pull at his hair. You keep going, Ben matching every bite of his lips with a bite of yours. Every groan you pull from him makes him harder and harder against you, makes his hold on you like steel and his hunger start to burn in your body. You lean your chest forward slightly—still holding his mouth against yours—and he moans. Ben moans, and your whole plan almost goes entirely out the window. The only thing that keeps you on track is the fact that if you don’t move now he’ll moan again and not a thing in the universe could stop you from fucking him.

You shove down on Ben’s shoulders, your whole body going up in flames. It does the trick, and Ben loses his balance just enough for you to push harder. Make him drop down to the floor as you straddle his chest, grinning triumphantly at his adorable, befuddled frown.

“I win.”

The disbelief and shock dies in Ben fast, and suddenly the hunger is bigger. Everything in him is bigger. Hunger and affection and a strange feeling that makes you light-headed and giddy.

“Dirty fucking trick, beautiful.” He says, smiling widely up at you as his hands find your hips. “Don’t think that’ll work on the average opponent.”

“Worked on you,” you say smugly, and the feelings somehow grow in him. In you. It makes you blink, your whole body consumed by it, and you don’t see or feel Ben grab your wrists until it’s too late and he’s flipping you over.

He’s above you, he’s everything, and nothing in you wants to try and get him away. You’d won already, and even if you hadn’t you can’t think of a way out of this. Not when his face is so happy, not when you can feel all of him. His body and his desire and his care.

“Fucking brat,” he mutters, mouth lowering just over yours. “Too smart for your own damn good.”

“You love it,” you mumble. I love you.

Ben snorts, and your whole world is just that sound. Content and moving through and around you. Just Ben, kissing you until your back is arching off the floor. Picking you up and dropping you both on the couch, going and going until you’re both out of breath. Then just touching you. Thumbs tracing circles on your skin, head resting against yours, all just Ben.

You look up at him, and he’s watching you. He’s always watching you. You don’t ever want him to look away. You move your hands up into his hair, palms pressed against his head, and his brows raise.

“I feel goddamn fine,” he drawls your name. “You don’t have to keep fucking doing this.”

“You had a nightmare last night,” you glare at him. “I decide when I stop doing this.”

Ben scowls, but doesn’t move your hands away. Sulking as your grip tightens and you set to work. You’re grateful for it, because his nightmare had scared you. It had been the first in a while, and while he hadn’t fallen into the drums and exploded, the pain he’d felt was still sitting in your bones. The strained sounds of suffering and fear that he’d made were rattling around in your head. It was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to make those sounds. Ben wasn’t made to make those sounds. So you’d keep doing this until he never had to make them again. It wasn’t hurting you at all anyway, you felt fine. Were shadows a little darker in corners and sounds a little louder at night? Maybe, but you were fine. And this wasn’t about you. It was about Ben.

It was about how soft his hair was in your hands, and how handsome his face looked when it was relaxed. It was about making him keep looking at you. All the time.

“We have dinner in an hour,” you say after a while, mostly to try and drown out the song in your head of Ben. Ben, I love you.

“I know,” he grunts. “It’s the same time every fucking night.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Someone’s grumpy.”

“Shut up.”

“What, not looking forward to Butcher’s nightly interrogations about if we’re fucking yet?”

Ben smirks at you. “You’d think he’d realize that the moment we start fucking we’d stop coming to dinner.”

“We’d still go to dinner-“

“You wouldn’t leave the bed for a week,” his voice is low, taunting, and your nails start digging into his scalp. “Longer if you wanted.”

Ben, I love you. “Someone’s real cocky.”

“And one day,” he winks. “You’ll find out why.”

You snort, even as your whole body starts to feel like putty. “Okay, Pretty Boy.”

“Are you fucking doubting me?”

“No,” you scoff. “Before we met, about 85% of the things I heard about you were that you were an asshole manwhore. I don’t think I ever doubted that you could fuck.”

“An asshole manwhore?” Ben scowls. “Who called me an asshole manwhore?”

“I think that asshole manwhore was Butcher.”

Ben grunts, “fucking pussy.”

“If it helps,” Ben, I love you. “You are an asshole manwhore. But you’re also the most aggressively caring person I’ve met.”

“Aggressively caring?”

“You give a shit about me. More than anyone ever really has. In a very violent, mean, asshole manwhore way.” Ben, I love you. “But it, it means a lot.”

“You mean a lot,” Ben grumbles. “And of course I give a shit about you. It’s not like you don’t give a shit about me.”

“Yeah but that’s not my point-”

“Sunshine, just take the fucking compliment.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Asshole.”

Ben winks, still watching you. So full of lust you might pass out from it. “You need to shower.”

“You need to shower.” You mutter, and he grins.

“We could do it together-“

“Fuck off,” you mutter, face heating and eyes moving to stare at his forehead. Looking at him right now—with his face alight and the hunger and want painting his every feature—would be counterproductive. “Once I’m done with this you’re showering, without me, and then we’re going to dinner.”

“You’re going first.”

“Ben-“

“I take longer showers than you,” his tone is firm, and you can feel his eyes on you. “So your options are going first and having warm water, or going second and freezing your beautiful fucking face off.”

“But-“

“You could always just shower with me,” he continues, and your eyes drop back to his against your will. They’re bright, and so green, and boring right through you in a way that makes you think he can see your thoughts. See the way your whole mind is just going Ben. I love you. “Eliminate the damn problem altogether.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, and Ben chuckles, pulling your hands down from his head.

“Then you should get a fucking move on,” he says your name, eyes never leaving yours. “Don’t want to be late to our stupid dinner, do we?”

“Cunt.”

He kisses your knuckles, and your whole brain is Ben. “Brat.”

You shoot him one last glare as you stand, and try not to let your whole body feel cold without him as you climb up the stairs. You turn the shower handle so steam fills the room and the water is scalding. It doesn’t hurt, heat never hurts anymore, but the sensation still exists. You know it’s hot, you know it burns and would’ve hurt before, but now it just feels good. It would’ve, once, been used to wipe your head clear of him, used to chase the thoughts of Ben away into the water and down the drain at your feet. But now it just amplifies them. You don’t know how long you can keep this up, when everything Ben does is like a river that sweeps you up into him, that’s started to smooth rules you’d carved into stone about not going everywhere with him. It’s only been three days. Three long days of knowing you love him. How you managed this before you knew is a mystery, how you didn’t know for so long is even more baffling. Maybe it’s because you didn’t understand that love could feel like this. You’d been in love before, sure. And it had swept you away and made you smile, but it had never been a part of you. It had never been something that felt bigger than you, something that was only building and building by the second. You’d only fallen in love after sex, after months of casual dating and messing around until it grew deeper. You think you might have loved Ben before he even kissed you. You think you might love Ben until the universe is wiped away in fire.

You think the fire might be yours. You think what might destroy the universe is this love for Ben, pouring out of you until it’s everywhere and still only a fraction of what he is.

And it’s only been three days.

You’d had forty-five minutes when you’d entered the shower. Wallowing in the fog and warmth of the water might’ve taken up five. Ben took half-hour showers, but you could cut it down to twenty-five if you really got on his ass about it.

Ten minutes was more than enough to get yourself off.

The good thing about the rain showers was that they were relaxing. The bad thing was that there was no removable shower head to work with, but you could improvise. You lean back against the wall, planting your feet firmly on the floor as you arch your hips, angling them so that the water falls right between your thighs. You move your fingers down slowly, and part the lips of your pussy so that your clit is exposed to the air and the stream of the shower lands steadily against it. The effect is immediate, your whole body seizing for a fraction of a second at the sensitivity before you adjust, completely relaxing against the wall. All your thoughts are wrapped in the steam, wrapped in the sensation of the heavy beat of falling water on your clit, and you don’t even try to stop the moan that escapes your mouth.

Ben. If you were a little weaker—or stronger—it could be him doing this. He could be holding you up against his muscled chest instead of you leaning against tile, it could be his rough hand squeezing your breasts instead of your own, and he could be devouring your high, needy sounds into his body. Holding your chin up so he can lean over you and kiss you until you feel like you’re going to pass out. Wrapping his arm over your hips to keep them from bucking as his hand dives between your legs. Rubbing large, strong fingers over your clit in a fast, mind-numbing pace and rhythm. Head lowering so he’s sucking on your neck as he moves down, down, down and plunges inside you, palm still bumping your nerves as he moves in and out at a brutal pace. Going and going until you’re screaming his name, muttering filth and praise against your skin, bringing your over the edge-

Your legs almost give out when you cum, and as your wits return you realize your own fingers have stilled inside you, and your throat is aching. You were screaming his name.

Any hopes that he might not have heard are dashed when you exit the bathroom and Ben’s sitting on the bed, smirking at you.

“Have fun?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, walking around the bed to where your phone is plugged in.

“There better still be hot water-“

“If there’s not,” you glare at him. “Then maybe you won’t take a year to shower. For once.”

He winks. “You’re real mouthy for having just been screaming my name, Sunshine.”

“Fuck you.”

“I could’ve. If you’d let me in the damn shower.”

“Well I didn’t,” you stick your tongue out at him. “So haul ass.”

He leans across the bed, grabbing your forearm and yanking you down with a yelp. You land right in his lap, and the lust in him is so strong that, combined with how your whole body is still alight from your orgasm, you don’t even think to squirm away as he kisses you until you’re grinding against his thigh.

“This fucking needy already?” He hums, nipping at the corner of your mouth. “I’ll have to make it two damn weeks.”

I love you. “Benjamin, you dick-“

He chuckles, gently rolling you off his body. “The moment you say the word, my dick is all yours.” Ben smirks at your slack expression, kissing your cheek before growling in your ear. “But you’re going to have to beg for it.”

When he stands and walks into the bathroom, leaving you panting slightly on the bed, you realize this is going to kill you. It’s only been three days, and this love for Ben is going to kill you.

How some people do this for years will never cease to amaze you.

Nobody’s caught on yet. Tonight, just like the past three nights, dinner will be weird, but normal weird. The biggest thing that changed was two nights ago, when Ben called Annie Annie instead of Starlight for the first time. The reaction had been similar to the switch from Cocksucker to Hughie, with everyone starting slightly in their seats before rushing to continue the conversation and gloss over the change. You’d asked him, later that night when you’d returned to your room, what had done it.

“Done what?” He’d grumbled.

“Don’t play stupid, Ben-“

“I don’t know what you’re fucking taking about.”

“Yes, you do.” You’d narrowed your eyes at him. “What made Annie earn name privileges?”

He’d glared at you, but grunted, “She’s not being a damn bitch anymore. Finally got off her fucking high horse.”

You’d nodded and dropped it, but didn’t miss the way he didn’t glare at Annie when she talked to you anymore. Now, as you walked into the dining hall with his arm hanging over your shoulders, he even gave her a curt nod when she smiled at you, and no rush of angered protectiveness surged through him.

Annie had asked you, the day after Violet left, how the meeting had gone. You’d been standing downstairs at the doorway, and Ben had been upstairs, but there was no way he hadn’t heard. Annie’s voice had been slightly hushed, and the door had been closed, but Ben had the ears of a moth. You’d told him that once and he’d shaken his heard, grumbling about you being a too fucking hot for a walking encyclopedia. But he did. He heard everything. There was no way he hadn’t heard Annie.

And he’d called her Annie that same night.

When you drop across from Annie and Hughie, Frenchie and Kimiko are nowhere to be seen—despite a jacket you recognize to be Frenchie’s tossed on one of the seats—and MM and Butcher are shuffling over from the kitchen doors.

“Where’s-“

“Kimiko’s making Frenchie listen to some songs she just found on Spotify.” Annie smiles at you with a shrug, and you smile back. “It’s a lot of J-Pop and showtunes.”

“If it’s Kimiko showing them to Frenchie, he’ll love them.” You lean slightly across the table, Ben sitting silently at your side with hand resting on your lower back. “What’s on the menu?”

“I dunno, we just got here.” Hughie cranes his neck to look at Butcher and MM. “Hey guys-“

“Pizza.” MM sits next to Hughie, angling his plate for display. “They got Hawaiian, pepperoni, cheese, and broccoli.”

You nod, starting to rise from your seat, but Ben pulls your wrist slightly. “I’ll get it.”

“Okay, can you get-“

“I know what you fucking want.” He mutters, and you blink at him.

“Really?”

“We have pizza every damn Friday,” Ben shrugs, standing. “You always chose the same thing.”

He stalks past Butcher, still standing with a scowl at the head of the table, and pushes roughly through the doors.

“He’s, uh, he’s right.” Hughie’s staring after Ben, a small frown on his face. “They do give us pizza every Friday.”

“Like we’re fuckin babies,” Butcher’s holding his plate with white knuckles, glowering the two remaining seats. Next to Annie, and next to you.

“Babies don’t eat fuckin pizza, Butcher.” MM mutters. “It’s bad for their guts, and they can’t chew it.”

“It’s more like we’re teenagers,” you nod. “My high school cafeteria definitely had pizza Fridays.”

Annie hums. “Actually, mine did too.”

“That makes three,” Hughie takes a large bite of his pizza, a little cheese hanging out his mouth, and you all look expectantly at MM.

He sighs. “Mine did as well.”

“Well ain’t that just bloody fantastic for all you.”

“Butcher,” Annie sighs. “Just eat your pizza or go sit alone.”

This happens every night. Butcher stands at the table, making jeering comments until someone—usually Annie or MM—tells him to sit and eat, with them or by himself. He always sits down, usually next to Hughie or MM, sometimes next to Frenchie, once next to a very stiff bodied Ben and once next to a wide-eyed Kimiko. Never next to Annie. Never next to you.

You think tonight will be the first night he sits alone, right up until he’s marching around the table and sitting down at your side so aggressively it shakes the bench. The shocked silence only lasts a second before Hughie jumps frantically into a conversation about some movie he and Annie watched last night at MM’s suggestion, you and Butcher both refusing to look at each other.

The kitchen doors swing back open, Ben reappearing with two plates in hand. His eyes narrow when he sees Butcher at your side, a scowl overtaking his face. The fuck is he doing?

Sitting, apparently. Your shrug is so small that anyone except Ben wouldn’t have caught it. Don’t say anything about it. I think he’s like a reverse Tinkerbell.

Ben raises his eyebrows. The fuck does that mean.

If you give him attention, he dies.

Snorting, Ben sits back at your side, and you grin at him as he slides your plate in front of you before dropping his hand to your thigh. Letting it rest there as you glance at his serving—five slices of pepperoni—and then yours. He’d gotten it right, and you blink up at him.

He frowns. What?

Ben, I love you, is what you want to tell him. You even know what that face would look like. A full smile, all teeth and joy, with your eyes shining with all your love for him as you just look at him.

But you only give him a smaller smile, still happy, but not everything. Thank you.

Don’t. He squeezes your thigh, rolling his eyes. Never fucking thank me.

You wish Ben would let you thank him, but a small part of you knows it’s a mercy he doesn’t know he’s giving you. You’d never stop thanking him if he didn’t get all grumpy when you did. You’d thank him for every stupid, handsome smile and every brush of his skin against yours and every teasing jab that meets and spars with yours. You’d thank him for holding you under the table for the whole dinner, Butcher eating at your side without a word. You’d thank him for leaning back slightly when Kimiko sits at Annie’s side so you can talking to her in sign about the music she’d been showing Frenchie. You’d thank him for staying silent and grounding when Butcher launches into a briefing, despite everyone’s glares.

“Grace says Edgar’s almost ready,” he’s looking around, meeting everyone’s eyes to ensure they’re listening. “We got a plan for when he makes good.”

“A plan?” Annie frowns. “Can you be more specific-“

“No.”

You’d thank Ben for rolling his eyes at you. Fucking pussy probably doesn’t even have a fucking plan.

I’m sure we can improvise. You shrug, and he scowls.

You always have to improvise. If they want you to keep fucking improvising for them, they better start paying us both what we damn deserve.

You raise your brows at him. We? When have you ever improvised for them?

This whole plan was my goddamn idea.

That’s a plan. It’s the exact opposite of improvisation.

Brat, Ben grins at you. We’re a package fucking deal. They want your services, they pay us both.

You wrinkle your nose at him. I did not agree to that.

I go where you go, beautiful. Ben winks.

You’d thank him for the flush of your face, and the smile you have to physically fight off your face.

You’d thank him for clearing both your plates when Butcher’s doing the same so you don’t have to be alone with Butcher beside you, and you’d thank him for bringing you back a fistful of chocolate when he returns from the kitchen with his own full pint of ice cream. You’d thank him for holding your hand all the way back to your apartment, and up the stairs, and into bed. You’d thank him for kissing you until you’re scraping at his back, and for doing that annoying thing where he tells you you’re tired and you suddenly are.

You’d thank him for staying—at your side—every day, every time you so much as saw him. You’d thank him for humming terribly as you drift off to sleep, you’d thank him for the way his heart pounds softly against his chest until the world is dark and peaceful.

The world had taken a turn. You’d been somewhere that was full of sunlight and life, Ben holding you against him, and suddenly it was dark. So dark you couldn’t see your own hands. Your body is lit in flames and it’s somehow still so very dark. And cold. There’s wind and it’s freezing your skin and guts, even as you burn. You call for Ben, your voice turning from nervous shouts of his name into screams. Loud, panicked screams for Ben to find you, to shout back and tell you he’s there, that he’s okay, that he’s searching for you as well.

There’s only silence, your name swallowed in a vacuum of the cold darkness. And it’s silent and cold for so long. So very long where you’re burning and can’t find Ben. He’s in danger, you know, you can feel it. Something’s keeping him from you, because that’s the only reason he wouldn’t be roaring for you to return to him. And he’s in pain. You’re certain he’s in pain. Ben is in pain, somewhere in the dark, because you can feel something ripping you open and flaying you alive and drowning you. Something is drowning you. Something is drowning Ben. And it’s all you can feel, for a long, long time, until a voice sounds through the world, screeching in your ears.

Run.

You’re gone. You’re sprinting through nothing and it’s like falling. There’s no end, and it’s so fast, and where’s Ben. You have to go faster, you have to find him. You have to crash into whatever that’s doing this, causing this pain, and destroy it. You have to find it, you have to find him, and you can hear something. Breaking through the fire around you and your own screams for Ben, there’s something running at you. Behind you. Faster than you, gaining pace, a cruel cackling sound that’s becoming louder and louder.

There’s a light. Far away there’s a warm light that’s growing and growing with drums. Loud, heavy, bloody drums. It’s Ben, chest alight as the drums become all you can hear. He’s facing you, and the danger behind you is closer, closer, closer as Ben grows brighter, brighter, brighter.

The danger tears past you. It’s not going for you anymore. It’s headed for Ben. Faster, and the drums aren’t loud enough, and there’s a fraction of a second where you could’ve held it back. Where it ripped through the space between you and Ben and you could’ve struck it down. You could’ve redrawn its attention to you.

But Ben is doing what you should’ve done. His eyes lock with yours, right as the danger hits him. And suddenly there’s nothing, not pain or danger or drums or any sign that Ben was ever there. Just cold nothing.

The world floods with light.

Fluorescent, blinding, painful light. Everything smells like hand sanitizer and the air is too clean. Artificial.

When you can see again, everything in you dies.

You’re back. You’d swore you’d never to go back. To this white room with the too bright lights and everything deep cleaned so there’s no proof. No proof you exist. You’re just another decoration in this horrible, horrible place.

It’s changed though. There’s no longer a steel door with a small slat that meals were once pushed through. There’s nothing. Not even glass. You could just walk out, right into the lab.

The white room and the lab had been different though. You’d never existed in both at the same time. And this lab isn’t the same as yours. At the surface level, it’s an identical copy with bleached floors and a lot of tools that make your blood run cold. But the vials are all full of nothing. Just air. There’s a large one, connected to an IV that doesn’t run into a body, but a tube.

A large, metal tube. More like a box. With a single clear panel that’s just too high for you to look into. You don’t need to though. When the box shakes slightly, something in you pulses and thrashes against your chest and you know. When the box is still, and the thing dies out a fraction of a heartbeat, you know.

Ben is there. Asleep in the box. And you’re burning everything to try to get him out, but the box isn’t even shaking again. It’s still and silent as you scream, and it echoes through the ashes and smoke around you. You’re burning the world and everything between it, but Ben is still asleep. Gone.

You hadn’t been smart enough. You hadn’t been fast enough. You hadn’t done whatever it took, and now Ben was gone. You’d failed him.

You’d failed Ben.

You’re still burning when you wake up. You’re still screaming when you wake up. Your voice is hoarse, your throat feels raw, but you can’t stop screaming. The world is on your back, pushing down on your shoulders and snapping your spine in two. You’d failed him, you’d lost him, and now Ben was gone-

“I’m right fucking here,” the most familiar voice in the world moves through your body, saying your name, but all you can think is Ben. He’s gone.

You’d lost him.

“You didn’t lose me,” it’s the same voice. Low and forceful. “I’m here,” it’s saying your name. You need to listen, because it’s making your name sound important. Like it’s the only thing in the world worth saying. “I’m right fucking here.”

That’s Ben’s voice. As you’re coming down you know it’s Ben voice, because he says fucking like that. You think his voice was built to say fucking, with the spitting sound on the f and the deep growl of the uh. The speed at which he tears through the king.

Ben’s here. You didn’t lose him. He’s here. Suddenly you can feel him all around you, and it’s not just the feeling of his resolve like a shield around you that’s pulling you back down. It’s him. It’s just Ben. It’s the heat of his body, the way he’s holding you with real, strong hands. It’s the sound of his voice, and the rumble of his heart where you think your head is pressed into his ribs. It’s the smell of him. Pine and vanilla and Ben. All Ben. Real, with you, not gone.

Your screams turn into sobs, and your breathing grows faster until you’re lightheaded. Until gentle, calloused hands are on your face, pulling you back from where you’ve buried yourself.

Ben’s face is drawn, focused, and the frown on his face isn’t at you. It’s for you. You can feel the way in which his anger is blowing, and it’s up and around and everywhere until he can find something to turn bloody and beat to a pulp. But for now he’s holding you. Searching your eyes for his answer.

“Fucking breathe,” he says your name again. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You sob again, hands flying up to keep his on your face. In case this is another lie. In case your mind is truly that hateful and would do this to you again.

“I’m not going fucking anywhere.” He hisses. “You need to know that, Sunshine. I’m never going anywhere without you.”

Your breathing slows, and the blood pounding in your ears with it. Soon it’s just Ben. You and Ben.

He must read it on your face somewhere—that you’re here, in your mind, without the fear and panic—because he kisses your brow, still holding your face as he speaks. “What happened.”

You shake your head. “Just a nightmare.”

“You haven’t had a nightmare like that since damn Neuman.”

He’s right. You’d had bad dreams, one or two, but not nightmares. No fire had torn through this room before, Ben hadn’t had to bring you back from some sort of ledge on this mattress.

“I don’t know where it came from,” you whisper. “I’m sor-”

“No apologies.” He pulls your face up just a little further. “You’re okay.”

Not a question. “I’m okay.”

Ben grunts, thumb drawing circles on your cheekbones. “Swear it.”

“Promise.” You pause, looking up at him. Ben. Ben, I love you. I can’t lose you. I can’t fail you. I can’t fail anyone, but if I fail you it’ll destroy me and the world. “Ben?”

He hums your name, and you run your hands from over his to hang off his forearms.

“You trust me?”

“Of course I fucking trust you.”

“Can you promise me something?”

Ben grunts. “What.”

“I don’t know what Butcher and Mallory are planning,” your voice is still choked, and it hurts to speak. But you keep going. You have to keep going. “But if it falls through, I need you to promise that you’ll let me do what I need to do.”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Ben’s hold on your face tightens, and you swallow.

“If whatever Butcher and Mallory have-“

“That’s not what I’m asking.” He’s irritated. You can hear it in his voice, you can feel it on his fingertips. There’s something else, the bitter thing has wrapped around his throat, combined with something bellowing inside his chest. “What the fucking hell do you mean what you need to do.”

“To finish this,” it’s painful to look at him. It’s painful to see his jaw clenched and mouth frowning when he’d been gone from you, even if it hadn't been real. It’s painful to see the intensity of his gaze when you’re asking this of him. “To do what needs to be done.”

“What needs to be done?” Ben hisses. “If you don’t speak more fucking clearly, I’m not promising you shit. If you’re talking about your god awful plan-“

“I’m not,” you squeeze his arm, and he relaxes slightly. The bitter thing becomes easier to breathe through. “Just, what I need to do.”

“That's not nearly goddamn clear enough.” Ben says your name, and his voice is becoming strained. There’s gruff pain to it, like someone is trying to claw out of his airway. “What will you possibly fucking need to do.”

You can’t answer. Because you don’t know. You don’t know what the plan is, how it could go sideways, what will need to be done. You’re not even certain you know if you’re talking about the mission or not. But you need to be able to do it. Whatever it is that needs to be done, you have to do it. You have to be able to keep Ben here, you have to save Ryan Butcher, you have to kill Homelander, this has to be over. You’re so tired. Whatever needs to be done to just rest, for the world to rest, you need to be able to do. And you can’t let Ben stop you, or hold you back. You can’t let him take all the danger for you, it’s not fair. You love him.

But you can’t say that. So you say, “I don’t know.” No lies. “But I need you to promise me you’ll let me do it.”

“No, I’m not promising that when I don’t fucking know what-“

“That doesn’t matter,” you’re begging now, head shaking frantically between Ben’s hands. You don’t care. He needs to give you this, he needs to understand and promise. “It doesn’t matter what it could mean, Ben. I just, please, I need you to promise, please promise-“

He pulls you forward. Back into his chest until the drum of his heart makes breathing easier again. When he speaks, his voice is everywhere. Around your body and making a home in your brain. “It fucking matters. It always fucking matters. I’m not promising something fucking stupid like that.”

Your hands fist against his shirt, word muffled. “Please. I need, Ben, please.” You’re not crying anymore, you’re trying to climb into him. To keep the safety and everything of Ben around you, even as you push. “I need to help, I need to help, I can’t be useless, I need to help and it needs to matter-“

“Shut up.” Ben has one hand in your hair, one wrapped around your back and resting on your hips. It’s the way he’s holding you so diligently—as if this is his whole purpose, to touch you—and the way his voice and body are wholly devoid of anger, and how it all makes your brain clear to Ben, Ben I love you, that makes you fall silent and let him continue. “You matter. You’re helping more than any other fucking pussy in this damn building. And you are the least useless person I have ever fucking met. So I’m not promising that.”

You pull your head back through sheer force of will, because you need to look at him. Even if it’s painful. “Please.” You could use a favor, you have a few left, but it needs to be Ben that promises. He needs to understand, you need him to mean it. “Please, Ben. I need you-“ a sob wracks your body, and you almost leave the sentence there. You need Ben. You love him. “Promise. Please promise, I need you to promise. Just this,” you tug at his shirt, and your body is smoking. When you pull back his skin is redder, but he hasn’t flinched. Only holding you, only watching you. “Just this one thing. I’ll never ask you for anything again. Please.”

He stiffens. For the most horrid, long moment of your life, you think you’ve shown too much. You think you’ve said the thing you’d promised not to say, found the line you’d been trying to toe so carefully. That keeps him beside you and never wondering why you’re clawing so desperately to do so. You don’t know which part of your pleas were the thing, which part turned your cards around for him to see and which card is going to be the one that makes you lose him-

“Fine.” His words are through gritted teeth, and you can see the tick of his jaw, but he’s nodding once, roughly, and you know you haven’t misheard him. “I promise.”

His voice is so hollow. You’ve never heard Ben’s voice hollow before, and it’s wrong. “Swear it?” You whisper, because you need him to look less like a statue. You need him to move with a chuckle or a frown or an eye roll.

You get a small twitch of his mouth. That’s enough. “Fucking swear it.”

“Thank you,” you breathe. And Ben doesn’t stop or correct you about it. He lets you burrow back into his chest, pulling you up a little farther so he can shift back against the headboard. Your head lies somewhere between his ribs and stomach, arms around his torso, and he just stays there. Real and solid, and you’re no longer sure whose heart is pounding. You just know it’s steady, and that Ben is here.

He holds you until the sun rises, and well after. You don’t want to move, you can’t move, so Ben just holds you. Holds you until you tug at his arm and ask quietly for coffee. Then he kisses the top of your head and hauls you up from between his legs to against his chest.

“I’m going to carry you,” he grunts, and you just curl further into him.

When he sets you down on the couch he kisses the top of your head before walking to the kitchen, and you sink into the cushions. You don’t know how long he’s away—away meaning five feet away, shuffling loudly around the kitchen—but only when he returns to the couch, sinking into the spot by your feet, do you realize how cold you’d grown.

“Thank you,” you mumble as he passes you a mug of coffee.

“Don’t.”

You smile softly, staring at the dark liquid in the cup. “Are we doing fire later or-“

“You are not fucking training today,” Ben snaps, and you look up to find him glaring at you. “Or doing your stupid brain magic.”

“Brain magic?” Your smile feels a little more real, and you’re not going to fight with him about training or healing. You’ve battled with him over more pointless things, but you’re just so tired. So you’ll just tease him, pushing and pulling with him about nothing.

Ben gives you a flat look. “What would you call it, smartass?”

“Healing.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You give a small giggle, and Ben’s whole face is still stoic, still drawn, but there’s less tension along it. “Grumpy old man.”

“I said shut the fuck up.”

“Make me.”

The speed at which Ben sets his own mug on the coffee table and climbs over you is truly remarkable. “You know very well,” his voice is gruff, the weight of his hunger crashing through you. “That I am not a fucking old man.”

“Well,” you hum, grinning widely up at him. “Just in terms of chronology, you are an incredibly old man-“

It’s amazing how good he is at this. How Ben is so easily capable of dragging you up from the worst pits and holes of your own head and throwing you into this thirst. How fast he can make your mind go from spinning and finding every nook and cranny or your life, your self, that is evil and hopeless, to just singing Ben. Ben, I love you. It’s why you don’t fight back when he falls onto you, his arm around your waist pulling you up into him and his mouth destroying your whole body in the most amazing way. He’s only against your own lips for a second, and the moment you open for him, moaning his name, he’s gone. Biting and sucking along your jaw, and your neck, up to your ear to tug it between his teeth, then down to your collarbone. Going until the sounds rising from your throat aren’t Ben or please or fuck, but only incoherent whines. Then he’s back on your mouth, and you give everything back to him. Your hands in his hair, your legs wrapped around him as you grind up, and your tongue running along his lips. Trying to get him as impossibly close as you can without crossing the line.

You say it. You know somewhere in the haze, your brain still slightly hazy from the pain of the night and your will weakened by all of him, you say it. Ben, I love you. It comes out a high, breathy whimper, but you know that’s what it was supposed to be. You know he doesn’t pick up on it, because nothing in him changes. He doesn’t waver or push further, he just goes the same as he had been. Letting you try and devour him as he does the same. So you moan it again—this one from somewhere deeper in your chest—because you’re allowed to say it like this. You’re allowed to say Ben, I love you, when it’s just another plea for him that he can’t understand the power of. Just like how you’re allowed to try and make him part of you when there’s not a chance he will be.

He hisses your name into your mouth when you yank his hair hard enough for his head to move up. His beard scratches along your cheeks and lips, but it’s Ben, so it’s everything. And he lets you drop down to his neck, lower, biting into his shoulder slightly. You don’t break skin, you’re not that strong, but he groans against your ear as your teeth scrape his skin and that’s enough. It’s more than enough—it’s the whole world—when Ben starts to knead at your skin under his hands, and he’s still making sounds that echo through your blood and bones. It’s everything, when he pushes you further down, down, moving his mouth back to yours and burying you between him and the sofa. Safe. Strong. Real.

Ben. Ben, I love you.

He’s hard. You can feel him bumping against your lower thigh, and it makes your moans louder. It makes your legs tighten around him, trying to move him up into you without you telling them to. You find another thing you’d thank Ben for, when he stops this for you. It makes you feel a little empty, but he doesn’t leave. He just drops his lower body down, pinning you to the couch so that you can’t keep bucking up into him. Resting his forehead against yours until your breath is steady, and your brain can manage to control your body.

“Better?” Ben mutters, and you blink up at him. It is better. Everything is better now.

“Better.” You whisper, and he nods. “If we’re not training today, what-“

“I need to clean my shield. We’ve got dinner with the Pussy Brigade. I have to shit. You said we’d watch something called The Mummy a few nights ago. And you have your stupid fucking lunch with Annie and Hughie.”

You grin at him. “In that order?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he kisses your nose, and you think this might destroy you more than anything else could. How easy this is. To love him, to let his voice move through you and settle your nerves. To let him just touch you all the time in the most simple and boring and mind-numbingly good ways. “Go get dressed, Sunshine.”

You push up on your forearms, grabbing Ben around his neck and pulling him down to you one last time before he can stand. One longer, gentler kiss, where neither of you are trying to take it further, take it right up to the edge. Just kissing him because you love him, because you can. Because he’s real.

Ben carries your mugs up into the kitchen, and you climb up the stairs, allowing yourself to turn back and look at him once. The most attractive, stupid man you’ve ever seen in your life. Glaring at the mugs as he dumps the now-cold coffee in the sinks. Turning on the sink to wash them with so much force you’re surprised the knob doesn’t snap off. But still doing it. His handsome scowl and rough movements not stopping him from doing it. You love him. You love Ben so much. It’s everything. There’s been blood on his hands and darkness in his head and life that should be unforgivable, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s become the most dependable, insufferable, important person in your life. Not when you love him like this. Not when you know he’s trying. In his own angry, violent, and sullen way, Ben is trying so hard. You’re not sure why he’s trying, or if he even knows he’s trying, but he is. He’s washing the mugs without you asking, because that’s what he does. Everything for you, without you needing to ever ask. And you’ll never stop loving him for it.

Annie’s early for lunch today. She collects you around eleven, mentioning that she and Hughie have something planned for the afternoon as Ben opens the door, snapping at her that she's too fucking early. You tell Ben to let it go—you’ll be gone the same amount of time regardless—and he does his angry, half-pouting frown about it but kisses you lightly and sulks upstairs.

“Something?” You tilt your head at Annie as you walk down the hall.

“What?

“You and Hughie have something planned?” You almost nudge her shoulder like you would with Ben but stop yourself. “Did you just not want to tell Ben, or is it-“

“My mom.” Annie says softly, staring down the hall. “She agreed to visit last week. Mallory’s bringing her today.”

“Oh, shit.” You want to hug her. She looks like she needs some sort of comfort. So you give her your most reassuring expression, holding your hands behind your back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Annie sighs. “I mean, I asked her to come. But I haven’t talked to her since-“

“Firecracker.” Something clenches around your heart. Something that is all bones and burnt flesh.

Something grabs your wrist, and you freeze. Anxiety and tension and exhaustion run through your body—it’s different from your own—and you realize it’s Annie’s. She’s touching you on purpose.

When you look at her, she’s watching you carefully. You blink at her, eyes wide, afraid to move. Afraid to ruin this and make her let go.

“I never thanked you for that,” Annie’s voice wasn’t joyful, but it was lighter. Even as the anxiety tightened around your skull.

“For what?”

“Killing that bitch.” She gives you a small, close-lipped smile. “I don’t ever really condone murder, but if anyone deserved it, she did.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you say before you can stop yourself. You’re not a sadist, this might be a test, maybe Annie’s not really grateful but trying to see if you’re remorseful. “It was an accident.”

“I know. I’m still thanking you.”

“Oh.” You swallow, trying not to give the emotions you can feel through Annie’s hand any attention. “You’re welcome.”

Annie nods, and just before she lets go something like relief spins through her.

Hughie made pancakes and eggs. Well, Hughie tried to make pancakes and eggs. He burnt the eggs, twice apparently, so now it’s pancakes and a fruit salad. It’s still good—you add honey to the fruit, as well as strawberries and syrup to the pancakes because you’re a masochist and miss Ben—and sit at their dining room table. Annie brings out hot chocolate, and it’s comfortable. Especially after Annie tells Hughie you know about her mom visiting, because any nervous tension dissipates into the air and it’s fully, genuinely comfortable.

All three of you silently agree not to talk about family, because none of you have amazing relationships with your mothers, Hughie’s wound from his father’s death is still open and fresh, and fear still occasionally grips your heart that Homelander will find Violet and use her against you. So, you talk about frivolous things instead. Annie and Hughie want your opinion on a hideous throw pillow Hughie bought. You burn it, and Annie laughs as Hughie sighs, grinning as well. You debate with Hughie about Billy Joel songs, because his love for the man makes him blind to the fact that We Didn’t Start the Fire is just a truly terrible song. You win by pulling out a video of Billy Joel himself echoing your point, and Hughie throws his hands up in mock exasperation. Annie asks you if you need any help buying decorations for your apartment, or continuing to decorate, full stop, given your roommate—she hesitates before labeling Ben, and you don’t blame her in the slightest—not exactly being the most aesthetically oriented man in the world.

“Ben’s actually been shockingly helpful,” you shrug. “He chose the rug in our room, and aggressively vetoed plates with his face on them.”

Hughie gapes at you. “Plates with his face on them?”

“Limited Edition Soldier Boy Dining Set, manufactured and sold by Vought International,” you grin, and miss Ben more. This is really becoming a problem, that you get this dopey just thinking about him. “I thought his jaw was going to break.”

Annie and Hughie exchange a glance, and Annie says slowly, “What, what exactly is going on with you guys?”

“What do you mean?” You know what she means. You’re just hoping you can get out of this conversation if she’s not willing to say it.

“You live together, you sleep in the same bed,” Annie watches you carefully, and it’s an active effort to hold her gaze. “You kiss-“

“Make out,” Hughie corrects. “I’ve never seen two people make out like you two do. And that’s how you make out in front of us.”

“Well-“

“He’s right,” Annie cuts you off. “You make out. And do heart-eyes at each other all the time. But you’re,” she pauses, looking to Hughie for help.

“Not fucking?” He offers nervously, and Annie nods, turning back to you.

“You’re making out, but not fucking.”

You glance between them. “Is that a question?”

“Kinda,” Hughie mumbles. “It’s just confusing to see, if you’re really not fucking.”

“We’re not.”

“Okay,” Annie sighs. “But you do get how that’s a lot more confusing, yeah?”

You tap your fingers on the table, wondering if you do it loud enough Ben will hear and come save you from this conversation. “It’s complicated. We’re just, we’re not fucking.”

“And he’s,” Annie frowns. “He’s not-“

“No.” Your voice is a little harsher than it maybe needs to be. But it feels appropriate. Ben wouldn’t do that. “He’s not. I mean,” you bite the inside of your mouth, searching for the words. “I was surprised as well. I still don’t fully understand why he’s not trying to get me to do more. But, I don’t know. He’s not.”

“I’m not,” Hughie says, so simply for how both you and Annie are looking at him. Like he’s grown a third head. “What?”

“What are you talking about?” You frown. “You’re not what?”

“Oh, uh,” Hughie blinks at you. “I’m not, I’m not surprised.”

“Surprised?”

“It’s like,” Hughie looks at Annie, likely for aid, but her expression is just as befuddled as yours. “It just makes sense to me. I dunno.”

“What makes sense to you?” You push, because you need to know what he means. What he’s trying to say, in case it’s what you think.

“I mean, in all this fucked up shit,” Hughie stumbles over his words, rubbing the back of his neck. “You two seem to get each other. In a weird, kinda gross way. I think Soldier Boy would give you the moon if you asked for it.”

Annie nods cautiously, and suddenly you’re the only one still lost in this conversation. “You’re right, I don’t think he would’ve agreed to that deal with Mallory if it was just like, physical.”

“Deal with Mallory,” you say, looking between them in jerked, half-controlled movements. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“When we brought him to make the deal with Edgar,” Annie frowns. “And Mallory told him that-“

“You don’t know,” Hughie cuts Annie off, scanning over your frown and overly tight posture. “I don’t, I don’t think he told you.”

“Told me what.” Your voice is rising into panic. “What didn’t Ben tell me?”

“Um, I don’t know if it’s our place-“

“We agreed to stop pushing you into dangerous positions, like Tek Knight’s club.” Annie’s voice is blunt, but her face remains hesitant. “If he stayed in line.”

Something cold is freezing your bones. Everything’s a little blurry. It’s a labor to speak. “Or?”

“Um,” Hughie takes over for Annie, even as he looks at her reluctantly. “He’d go back to sleep? That part wasn’t our idea-“

You raise a hand, and Hughie falls silent as you stare ahead into nothing. Everything is becoming sharp, your blood is rushing hot and wild through you, and you’re regaining control over your thoughts. And all of them are circling around the same thing.

“I need to go,” you stand, pushing the chair back. “Thank you for lunch, and uh, good luck with your mom.”

Annie calls your name after you, but you’re gone. There will be time for guilt later, and you’ll apologize for your abrupt departure. Right now it’s about the thought in your head, pushing up your throat so violently that you’re yelling it the moment your door slides open, before your even fully through it.

“Why would you do that?!” You almost scream into the apartment, before you can even see him. “Benjamin, why the fuck would you do that?!”

He sits up from the couch, just a handsome, stupid head frowning at you. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You stalk over to him. “What fuck possessed you to do that? To fucking agree to that?!”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking abo-“

“Mallory!” You’re screaming now, and he’s standing up, glaring at you. You hold your line, you’ll continue to hold it until he explains. “Why the fuck would you agree to that?”

Ben’s shouting your name, and if you weren’t so blinded by your anger you’d focus on the strain in his voice. “You need to stop speaking in fucking riddles! What the fucking hell has got you losing your damn mind?”

“They’re going to put you back under!” You’re hugging into yourself, nails digging your skin. “If you step out of line Mallory and Butcher are going to put you back under!”

“That was always fucking true-“

“No it wasn’t!” You think you might start to cry. You can’t pull rank. “That was never true! If you stepped out of line I would handle it! I would make the call! That was the whole fucking point! Why didn’t you fucking tell me-“

“What the fuck could you have done?!” Ben snaps, and you can see his fists clench as he marches around the couch to tower above you. “It wasn’t a fucking secret! And I wasn’t going to step out of their stupid goddamn line-“

“But why would you do that?” You scream, refusing to touch him, even to shove him. If you touch him you’ll crumble. “Why would you agree to let them threaten that just to keep me away from stupid fucking shit that doesn’t matter?”

“It matters more than anything.” He growls. “Stop fucking saying that it doesn’t.”

“No, it really doesn’t!” You feel so small. You’re caving in, shattering in a way that’s worse than when he didn’t care, when this was about trust and not about losing him. Ben being taken away from you. “I’m fine! You didn’t need to do that!”

“That’s real fucking easy for you to say, Sunshine!” Ben roars. “You don’t have to fucking watch you break. Again and again over the worst fucking plans in the world when those fucking pussies throw you to the goddamn wolves and in front of their shitty fucking trains! I have to! I’m the one that has to watch you be fucking afraid!”

“But why would you do that,” you’re definitely crying now. But you keep screaming, even as your voice becomes raw. “I’m always fine-“

“Because it fucking kills me! You are fucking everything to me, and every time you break its the worst thing I’ve never fucking seen!” You don’t think your heart is beating anymore, not as his voice grows louder. “Because I can never just fucking fix it, and you always break. And I mean it more than you can possibly fucking imagine when I say that I will do whatever it fucking takes to keep you safe! I’d rather go back to Russia right fucking now than just stand aside like a fucking pussy and let you keep breaking!”

Ben’s face contorts, and you think he’s only just realized what he’s said. What it means. But he doesn’t take it back, doesn’t walk away, and you won’t pull rank.

“Do you think,” you hiss through tears, fear building and morphing into some sort of love-born fury. “That it wouldn’t fucking destroy me if you went back under? That I wouldn’t do fucking anything to get you back to me?”

“That’s not fucking the same.”

You almost laugh. “It’s the exact same-“

“No, it’s not.”

“I adore you, Benjamin!” you scream. “Every good, and bad, and ugly part of you, I fucking adore you.” His whole body stills, and you keep going. You say everything but the thing. “And I made a promise as well. I might not be going back to Homelander, but you aren’t going back under. You’re not burning without me right there, by your side. It is the exact fucking same, because you are fucking everything to me!” You take a deep breath, trying to bring yourself down as your words become pleading. “There are so many beautiful things in the world, but I’d destroy them all to keep you awake. To keep you here. So don’t say it’s not the exact fucking same.”

You can feel him. You’re not touching him—you're still trying to cave into your own body—but as the last words hang in the air you can feel Ben. This is hunger, not thirst. This is something rioting around and clawing out of your chest, not the love that’s resting for him in your head. This is Ben, not you.

This is Ben and you. Together. He’s not leaving. You’re not leaving. You’re everything to him and he’s everything to you.

Ben. Ben, I love you.

You almost say it. You’re seconds from saying it. It’s going to fall out of you and the only way to stop it is Ben. And you lunge at him just a fraction of a second before it’s too late.

He catches you. He always catches you. And when you slam your lips into his, he doesn’t hesitate.

This is different. This kiss is different. You can’t distinguish Ben from you anymore. Touching him has completely razed whatever remainder of a line existed, and now it’s just us. It’s you and Ben inside your body, even if everything around you is Ben. Kissing you with his tongue and teeth, pulling your lip into his mouth, making deep sounds from his throat that make you grind against his muscled torso. Sounds spurred by your hands pushing him further into you by his jaw—his beard rough against your fingers—and pulling at his shirt until the only space between your bodies is two thin stretches of fabric. One of his arms was secured below your thighs, holding you up with a hand on your ass, squeezing and making you moan into his mouth. The other is holding you under your own arm with a hand on the back of your neck, fingers pulling light at your hair. Touching you with a reverence. Always with a reverence, a furious care that makes you feel safe. Always with an attentive fire and ardor running through your blood. Ben’s blood. Someone’s blood who you can taste on your teeth because you think you might have bitten his tongue slightly, but Ben didn’t pull back or flinch so now there’s a slightly metal flavor that mixes and fades with Ben. Salt and coffee and strawberries and Ben.

You need more.

Whatever he’ll give you. You’ll take it. You’ll take every single part of Ben he’s capable of offering and plant them in you, grow them and tend to them until he pulls them out so that the roots remain. You need him. You love him.

“Ben-“

“All the way?” His words roll through your body, down and into your core.

You only whine into him, and suddenly he’s moving. Walking backwards, mouth never leaving yours. Holding you tight enough that you can’t continue to rub against him, looking for friction. You’re desperate for it, the sounds escaping you growing louder and louder as his steps offer you something, and then giving a needy, long moan when you manage to adjust just enough to bump against his cock. Still in his pants, hard and long. Then Ben spins, slamming you between his body and the wall, hoisting you up by his hold on your ass and thighs so your faces are level. At some point you’d begun to scrape at his back, and he chuckles as you start to grind against him once more.

Ben’s holding your face firmly, angling you for his mouth to devour yours, grinning against your lips.

“What do you want, beautiful.”

You run your nail back up between his shoulders, unable to break skin but trying to sink into him. “Please.“

“Please what,” even as he teases you, Ben’s never separating from you. You’re not sure how either of you are breathing, whether the lightheaded feeling is from Ben or just lack of oxygen. If it’s the way all your air is trading between your lungs and Ben’s, or the way he’s started to rut up into you. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you. But you have to use your words.”

“Ben, just-”

His head drops down to your neck, finding the one soft spot that makes you whimper and focusing all his efforts on it until your grip on his hair is tight, your sounds a string of pleas. Then he moves up, right to your ear. “Beg. Say my name and beg and I’ll give you the fucking world.”

“Ben,” You look down at him, and you don’t think anything could’ve prepared you for what you see. He’s staring at you, and every part of his face is alive. His lips are parted, and his eyes are almost black, and he’s relaxed. Full of lust and hunger but so completely at ease in every feature of his handsome face. “Please.”

“Please what.”

“Fuck me.”

A low growl escapes him, and his cock twitches against your thigh, but he still doesn’t move. “Whole thing.”

“Benjamin,” You grind back against him. “Fuck me now.”

That snaps something in him. Ben’s mouth crashes back into yours, and he doesn’t even have to push before you’re opening for him. Nipping at his upper lip, letting him take whatever he asks for. Anything that keeps him doing this, dropping a hand down and back up through your shirt. Ben’s hand is dropping down and back up through your shirt. Squeezing your breast once, then—when you make a high sound—leaning away from your mouth and doing it again. Then once more, running his thumb over your nipple slowly, so focused you’d think he’s doing surgery.

He looks back up at you, watching him, breathing heavily with a little bit of droll falling from your mouth. “You like that?”

You nod, head pushing back against the wall when he does it again. “Ben, you ass-“

“That’s not very fucking nice, Sunshine.” He leans forward, pushing you further into the wall and bringing his lips just over yours, moving back every time you try to bring him closer. “Manners.”

“Fuck you,” the moan from your mouth is captured by his, sucking it down with another whine into him. “Ben-“

“You never begged,” he says your name against your mouth, moving against your breast once more. “Fucking beg.”

“Cunt-“

“I’ll get there.” He chuckles as you buck into his chest. “But you have to tell me that you want this.”

Somewhere in the daze of Ben’s hands and his mouth and the power of him, your love for him somehow grows again. Becomes something purer and more sweet than it had been.

Ben, I love you. “I want this,” you breathe. “I want you.”

He grunts, and he twists your nipple between his thumb and forefinger once before starting to run his hand slowly and lightly down your stomach.

“Ben, please-“

Your words become a strangled whine when Ben bites your lower lip gently at the same time his hand drops into your shorts. Palm pressing against the ache through your underwear.

“Ben-“ He starts to rub in circles, fingers dancing lightly against your slit through the fabric. “Fuck-“

“You have too much clothes,” he mutters, and you moan.

“Too many-“ He pulls his mouth away, and you bury your head into his shoulder. “Ben-“

“Fucking smartass,” you can hear the smile on his voice, feel the amusement running up his spine and colliding with whatever is bouncing around his ribs. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, you asshole-“

Ben kisses you again, and your protests turn into a long noise of want. He chews at your lip for a second before moving away once more. “I’m taking off your shorts. I can do it fast or careful. You don’t get both.”

“Please-“

He presses his hips back with a groan, forcing you to stop grinding. “Words.”

“Fast-“

The choice had barely left your mouth when Ben was ripping them off your body. Tossing them on the floor without a thought before looking back up at you. Raising his brows in a silent question as his hand rested between your thighs, over your underwear.

“Yes,” your nods are frantic, bordering on pathetic. But he’s so close. “Ben, please.”

He runs his hand over you once, still not just doing it. “So fucking wet, just through the damn fabric.” he smirks at you. “All for me, brat?”

You whimper, trying to drop all of your weight into Ben’s hand as you clench around nothing. He knew what that word would do, there’s no way he didn’t. Not with his smug expression and the way he won’t let you bring his lips back to yours. “Cunt-“

“Answer my damn question,” he growls your name. “Or I’m not fucking you.”

It’s a bluff. You know it’s a bluff because you can feel how vast and insatiable his hunger is. You know it’s a bluff because, as good as a liar Ben is, he’s rock hard against you and keeps bucking up when you kiss his neck. You don’t call it though. You just meet his eyes and hiss, “It’s for you, Ben. Now are you going to fucking do something about it?”

You see Ben’s grin for only a second before his mouth is pushing your head against the wall with the force of his kiss. You feel him tear off your underwear in one, fluid movement, and the cold of the air has barely hit you before his hand is back. And everything is just Ben.

He’s teasing you. The base of his palm is bumping against your clit, but never for more than a second. His fingers are running between you, over you but never in. You’re going to kill him. You’re going to wipe that smug and cocky grin you can feel against you off his perfect, handsome stupid face-

“You think I can make you cum just like this?” Ben hums against your lips, pulling his head back just a fraction. “Without even properly fucking touching you?”

“Fuck you, Benjamin.“

“I know you want that,” he drawls your name, rolling his palm one firm time, and your hands start to scratch across his neck and shoulders. “But you need to tell me if you think I can make you cum on just my fucking fingers.”

“Cunt.”

“That’s what I’m asking. Do you think I can make your pretty cunt cum here, without even fucking you like you deserve?”

“Like I-“ Ben pushes one finger in ever so slightly, and stills it completely. You take a long breath. “Fucking dick. Like I deserve?”

His lips bruise against yours, and his palm fully presses against your clit. Rubbing once, twice, fingers still not moving. “Like the beautiful fucking brat you are. Until all your fancy words are just my name and you’re so fucked out you couldn’t even think to be worried about dumb fucking shit. Until you’re fucking stupid.”

His finger sinks all the way in, and you press your forehead against his, arms fully wrapping around his neck. “Do that.”

“Fucking words, Sunshine.” He growls, pulling out slowly, and you shake your head desperately against his.

“Ben, please-“

His finger pushes back in, fast, and you don’t know if you moan or scream or whine because Ben is eating any sounds that leave your mouth. Moving his finger faster and faster until you’re trying to chase it when he pulls away, his deep groan rumbling through you when your thighs brush against his cock, still in his pants because life is unfair.

“That’s more fucking like it,” he grunts, moving his head down in sloppy kisses to your neck. “Want some fucking more, beautiful?”

“Fuck, yes-“

He latches onto your neck—sucking in a way that would leave a mark if either of you were capable of being marked—and just as the second finger pushes in his palm finds a pattern. A steady rhythm that turns whatever remaining sanity you had into just Ben. Ben, I love you. You impossible asshole, you’re everything in the fucking world. Ben.

He’s not letting you over the edge. Every time you get close he slows just enough and rises back to your mouth. You might have been here for a lifetime, or just a millisecond, but it’s all just Ben. Hissing your name against your skin and making everything just good. This is so good. Why did you deny yourself this? Why did you ever deny yourself Ben when he’s making everything so good like this. So warm and easy and so fucking good.

“You're so fucking tight,” he hisses in your ear, and you try and tug him closer by your legs. Try and make his dick just brush against you. “Think you can do three?”

You cannot do three. You think three might kill you in the best possible way. Ben’s huge, his hands are rough and broad like every other insufferable, amazing part of him, so three would make you explode. But he’s watching you with so much hunger, so much adoration as you pant and whimper his name, and he’s still not just fucking you, so three will have to be a suitable substitute until he stops toying with you. You nod, and he chuckles against your skin.

“What did we say about words-“

“Just fucking do it, Benjamin, now-“

You are going to die. This love for him is going to kill you, and the murder weapon will be the way he’s finding every single thing that makes you scream his name like he’s been studying for it. How his fingers get so deep in you and find that spongy, electric part every single time he plunges back in. Crooking against it for just long enough to make you moan before yanking his hands back down and pressing his palm against your clit until you're keening, before repeating in all again. You’re going to turn into just flames that sing the same song of Ben over and over.

“Want to fucking cum?” He mutters against your lips, and you whine again, high and needy and barely a breath.

“Ben, yes-“

“Beg.”

“Asshole-“ you choke on your own words, because he’s going faster, it’s all going faster, and you can’t think of anything outside of Ben. Ben, I love you.

“Fucking beg.” His words echo through your body, and you’re vaguely aware of smoke rising around you. But he’s not stopping, if anything there’s a vigor to him now. A brutal, rough pace that’s just one move away from making you find release. A move he won’t make until you ask for it.

Dignity is overrated. Dignity is for people who don’t have Ben making them feel like the whole world is just him, touching them like he’s touching you and groaning their name like he’s growling yours.

“Please, Ben, please.” You make yourself look at him fully, hungry and cocky and watching you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen and he’s so handsome and stupid and Ben and you love him- “Fucking please-“

Any sounds or screams or moans of Ben are captured in his mouth when he presses you so far back against the wall with a kiss you think you hear it crack. When he twists his fingers in you and his palm draws one long, heavy circle over your clit and everything is reborn inside you. It’s just Ben, Ben, fire and life and love and Ben. Your orgasm hits you like a train, your vision going white and your hands trying to pull Ben further against your body. He’s still in you, fingers resting inside you as you clench around him, palm rubbing slowly against you until you fall back to earth, back to him.

You blink at him, mouth hanging open and all of your mind and body completely made of love and need for him. Everything is full of Ben. There’s a thick cloud of smoke through the room, but he’s so close it doesn’t matter. You can see him, his jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. His whole face is made of—if you know anything about him, and you do—devotion. Ben pulls his fingers out of you slowly—never breaking his gaze from yours—leaving you empty and sensitive and trying not to just start grinding against where you can still feel him, somehow harder in his pants. Then his fingers rise into his mouth, and he sucks on the wetness still falling off of them, and any attempt at control is gone. His gaze is lidded as he tastes you, and you start trying to pull him down to you with scrambling movements against his neck.

He doesn’t budge, only grinning at you as you whine again. “Fucking needy, beautiful.” He brings two fingers—the same ones that had just been in his mouth—to brush against your mouth. Pressing them lightly until your lips part. “Taste.”

You let him push his thumb into you, and you become a woman on a mission. Sucking and licking at his fingers until you can feel him twitching against your thighs, going with a fervor until he’s groaning and pulling them away with a pop. When you lean forward to kiss him gently he lets you, taking every moan you give him with a squeeze of your skin under his hand and a trace of your cheekbones with his fingers.

When he rests his head against your shoulder, you’re both breathing heavily and Ben’s words are hissed against your skin.

“I’m going to fuck you for a whole year,” he grunts your name, rutting up against you. “And I’m going to make you fucking scream and beg for two.”

You’ve never been more on board with a plan in your life. You’re going to tell him. You shouldn’t, not when it might make this go away, not when you just got this, but you want to. You want him to know that when he fucks you for a year the only thing you’ll be thinking is Ben. Ben, I love you. You want to be able to moan it into his mouth and against his skin and around his cock and scream it when he makes you cum, in a way that he can hear and know about.

Your mouth falls open, your hand moving to his face to pull him up to look at you, and the door to the apartment bangs open.

Ben’s faster than you, but in your defense most of your thoughts and instincts are being covered by the daze of your orgasm. He doesn’t drop you or turn you, but slides you down his chest and twists you around so your arms are wrapped on his torso, your feet back on the ground. When he whips around you realize he’s blocking your half-naked body from view, keeping you secure against him with a hand on your forearm. Stupid, handsome, perfect, safe fucking man.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ben barks, and you lean around him to see Butcher in the doorway, smirking at the scene before him.

“Well, Gov,” Butcher drawls. “I was coming to congratulate you on your awful fuckin plan working, let you know Edgar delivered, but now,” he winks at you. “I’m just chock full of other questions.”

“How did you get in?” You ask with a frown. “Only I have a keycard.”

“Mallory unlocked all you cunts doors for me,” Butcher shrugs. “We got a meetin, I’ve been sent to collect you since you weren’t answering your fuckin phone.”

You flush, because your phone is indeed long forgotten somewhere near the couch. “Can we have five, please?”

“What, only five?” Butcher’s mocking smile turns to Ben. “You that fast, gov? Because I can give you ten if you wanna take care of your,” his eyes flick down. “Problem.”

You can feel Ben’s anger, and tighten your grip around him until he looks at you. Don’t kill him, please.

Why the fuck shouldn’t I.

You give him a small smile. Murder is a crime. Also, it’ll ruin the mood.

Whatever, Ben rolls his eyes, but you can see the tug of his lips, feel the amusement dart through him.

“You two done?” Butcher snaps, and you both look back to him with frowns. “Care to have an out-loud conversation, share with the fuckin class?”

“No.” You give him a sickly sweet smile. “Are we meeting in the cafeteria?”

Butcher nods with a grunt, and you sigh.

“Can you please leave so I can get dressed?”

“I’m waitin outside, and if you two horny twats aren’t outside by then I’m coming back in.”

“Fine. Go.”

Butcher slams the door behind him, and you squeeze out from behind Ben to start to run upstairs and put on clothing that isn’t completely destroyed. You pause though, doubling back to Ben and pulling his face down for one last, long kiss.

“We’ll fuck later,” you whisper against his lips, and he grunts. “Thank you.”

You yelp as Ben picks you up, carrying you up the stairs in long, quick steps. “Stop fucking thanking me.”

You smile at him, all teeth and joy because you fucking love him. “Make me.”

“Brat,” he snorts, kissing you again as he lowers you onto the bed. “Keep it up and I won’t let you cum again.”

“You don’t let me do anything.”

“You’re real fucking sure of that,” he taunts, marching over to the dresser to toss you a new pair of underwear and sweats. “But you sure were goddamn begging me less than ten minutes ago.”

“Cunt,” you mumble, catching the clothes. You don’t have a good comeback, because your brain is still a little addled, and you can see that Ben’s still hard, and nothing about his deep voice and word is making you less horny.

“You love it.” He stops above you again, watching with heavy eyes as you pull the clothing on.

I do. I love you, dumbass. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ben laughs, pulling you up the moment you’re dressed. “Later. Later we can shut each other up as hard as fucking possible.”

“Deal,” you whisper, because he’s holding you so lightly and close to his body and it’s not helping. “Ben?”

He raises his brows at you, a small frown on his face. You think he can hear the nerves in your voice. “What.”

“Edgar-“

“We’ll make it work.” He says firmly. “Whatever it is, whatever stupid shit Mallory and Butcher are planning, we’ll make it fucking work for us.”

“You promised-“

“And that won’t fucking matter, because we’ll make it work.”

“Ben,” you squeeze his hand, tangling his fingers between yours. You feel him everywhere now, all the time—the clenching in his chest and around this throat and the sour taste of it—and that might be something to worry about later. But for now you just want to touch him. “Please. Just say you promise.”

He sighs, jaw ticking, but nods. “I swore it. I meant it. But that doesn’t fucking mean-“

You kiss him, and every part of his body falls into yours as the grip against your hands loosens. When you pull away, smiling at him, he’s looking at you with that same devotion. “Thank you.”

Ben grunts, slinging his arm around you as you walk back downstairs. Kissing the top of your head once, and this is right. This is you and Ben and it’s right. It’s everything, and he’s yours. You love him more than you’ve ever loved anything and now, for whatever amount of time he’ll give you, you’re his.

—————

Ben had learned there was a hierarchy in the promises he made Her. There weren’t many—neither of them threw around those words with ease or carelessness—but his promises of staying here and no more lies were secondary to keeping her away from Homelander. There was nothing as fucking important in the world, and that meant that Ben would let Her do what she needed to do—like he’d promised—but not if it meant she went back to Homelander. He’d have done anything to keep Her safe before, he’d have gone back under if it meant she’d be free, and now Ben was fucking certain he’d goddamn die before he lost Her like that. If he had any fucking say in anything at all, nothing was ever going to break Her again. If she tried to throw herself in front of him to take whatever bullets Homelander or Mallory were aiming at them, Ben would be faster. He’d move to let them hit him first.

He’d let Butcher hit him with a goddamn bomb to keep Her safe. Because She was fucking perfect, and Ben wasn’t going to allow anything to hurt her again. She was leaning into him as they walked to the dining hall, and Ben might have to take a detour to the bathroom to get himself under fucking control if She kept tugging and tapping at his hand around her shoulder. Her hair was still messy, and her lips were still a little red, and Ben could still fucking taste her, lingering in his mouth. And that was his shirt. She was wearing his fucking shirt, and holding his hand that had just been inside her, and chewing the inside of her mouth that had just been screaming his name. The Thing didn’t need to tell Ben She was perfect. He had fucking eyes, and a fucking brain. And a very hard dick that was becoming slightly painful, straining against his pants for Her. For Her beautiful face and the perfect sounds she’d made when she came. On his hand.

Ben didn’t have to hold himself back anymore. He didn’t have to keep waiting until She was keening against him and moaning his name before ripping himself away from her. Before he came in his jeans from just the feel and taste of Her mouth like a fucking teenager. He could fuck Her, she’d let him fuck her, and he was going to. Ben was going to fuck Her so hard and good that she might stay with him and keep looking at him forever. He was going to make Her cum until she said Ben, I adore you again. Until She told him she wanted him again.

That had made the Thing roar inside of him. Her perfect, breathless, needy voice telling him she wanted him. Nothing could take that away from him now. She fucking wanted him. People had wanted him before. Countless forgotten pretty faces had wanted Ben. But none of them had been perfect. And none of them had said it like She had. They had wanted the power of him, they had wanted Ben to fuck them and give them more than he cared to. All those pretty faces had wanted to be the one’s on billboards and red carpets with him, to fuck Soldier Boy and be a good enough fuck that he decided to keep them. When She said he wanted him, it wasn’t just to fuck her. There had been something that made the Thing climb into Ben’s brain and consume him in Her voice.

She wanted him. She wanted every part of him. She had every part of him, She’d had it for what felt like a lifetime, and he’d never have taken it away from her. When She one day left Ben, she’d take every part of him that was worth a fucking thing with Her. And no one else would ever get to have him, not like She did. Not like he was going to give Her. Ben was going to fucking worship every perfect part of Her, until he could maybe ask her to stay with him and there was a single goddamn chance She might say yes.

Every member of the Pussy Brigade looked up when they entered the Dining Hall. Butcher had marched in brisk, pissy fucking steps ahead of Her and Ben, and apparently hadn’t been just bitching when he’d grumbled that everyone was just waiting on them.

“Is everything okay?” Starlight was watching Her, under Ben’s arm, nervously. “You weren’t answering your phone-“

“The cunts were fucking,” Butcher snapped, stopping next to Mallory at the head of the table. “In the middle of the goddamn room.”

Ben bit his tongue, because She has to handle this. He needed to hear what She told her pussy fucking team, so he could figure out what she wanted from him.

“It’s our apartment, you ass,” She glared at Butcher. “It’s not like we were in the hallway.”

“So you admit you were fucking, Love?”

“Not yet.” She shrugged. “Some dickwad fucking cunt interrupted us.”

“But,” Cocksucker looked between them nervously, not fully meeting Ben’s eyes. “You were going to fuck?”

She sighed. “This really doesn’t feel like an important conversation to have right now.”

“It’s not,” MM grunted. “I’m already gonna to need to wash out my fucking ears. Any more and I’m going to have to cut them off.”

Ben disagreed. He thought they all needed to fucking know, that this was the only conversation worth having right now. Ever. She wanted him, and every single pussy fucker in the world should know that. But She shot him a small look, important meeting, don’t be a fucking idiot, Pretty Boy. And Ben let Her pull him onto the bench.

Later, he’d fuck Her until she screamed so loud everyone could hear it, hear his name and Her moans falling out of her perfect mouth.

“Can we get started?” Mallory stood—arms crossed with a thin scowl—at the head of the table. “Or do you need another ten minutes to discuss your sex lives?”

“Jesus, no.” MM snapped. “Just fuckin talk, Grace.”

“Stan Edgar sent files over to me last night, and we’ve just finished clearing them for use,” Mallory launched into her explanation with the most monotone, boring voice Ben had ever fucking heard. “Butcher and I have been working on a plan-“

“What are the files?” Starlight asked, raising her hand like a damn child. “Will they work?”

“They’ll work a fuckin charm,” Butcher winked. “They’re everything we could’ve bloody asked for, times two. Keep goin, Grace.”

Ben felt Her relax slightly against him, along with Butcher’s eyes on them both. Cold, tense, but not mocking. For once in his goddamn life, the pussy seemed to have some sort of mind to not be an instigating piece of shit, and he was better for it. Ben would’ve thrown a stray plastic fork into Butcher’s eyes and ripped off his dick if the asshole had said even a single fucking detail of Edgar’s files. A single detail about Her.

“Thanks to Marvin,” Grace gave MM a small nod. “A-Train has agreed to clear a path for us into Vought tower. We’ll ensure Homelander is away, dealing with something else, and retrieve Ryan Butcher.”

Ben could hear the tapping begin, and covered Her hand with his.

She looked up at him with a frown, What’s wrong?

This is going to fucking work. Ben held Her gaze. You’re going to be fine.

She smiled at him, and every time she did it like that—gentle and comfortable—the Thing doubled in size. I know.

“How are you going to get Homelander away?” Cocksucker asked with an anxious frown. “I mean, this might not be quick and if he arrives back at the tower-“

“Frenchie,” Butcher nodded at the French Prick. “Will be causing a diversion.”

“By diversion,” Starlight said slowly. “You mean-“

“A massive, glorious fucking explosion.” The French Prick grinned. “It will be impossible for the Homelander to ignore.”

“No.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Her lean forward across the table, shaking her head. Why the hell was she talking. Why could Ben hear her damn thinking. What the fuck was she planning-

“No?” Mallory asked, looking at her with slight curiosity. Saying Her last name in clipped words. “Please elaborate.”

“He’s on alert, right?” She looked around the table. “After Neuman, he won’t just fall for something like that. Especially not with Sage whispering actual coherent thoughts in his ear.”

“Maybe,” Mallory nodded, still looking at Her. Ben needed Mallory to stop looking at her like that. Like she was a fucking toy. “But it’s our best bet, and we’ve already lost too much time to waiting for Edgar.”

“I have an idea-“

“No,” Ben cut Her off with a grunt. He knew what type of ideas She always had. Mallory and Butcher always knew what type of ideas she had. Genius, stupid fucking ideas that always worked—so everyone went along with them—and always put her in the line of fire.

“No?” She glared at him. “What do you mean no?”

“You lost your idea privileges a while ago, Sunshine.” Ben snapped. “So no.”

“Oh, fuck you Benjamin.” She kicked him under the table and looked back at Mallory. “Ignore him. I have an idea.”

Ben gave Mallory his most menacing, violent scowl that the woman knew signaled he wanted to kill someone. But she ignored him, giving Her a nod. “Go on.”

“He’s looking for me. Let’s show him what he wants.” She took a deep breath, and every fiber of Ben, from the Thing to his brain, was telling him to shut Her up now. Before she said what he knew she was going to. “Let’s show him me.”

The room was silent, and blood was roaring in Ben’s ears. He glared around at the Pussy Brigade daring any one of them to speak.

MM was the idiot who volunteered for Ben to kill him first.

“The hell you mean show him you,” MM said Her name slowly, and the fact that he didn’t seem to be agreeing to it was the only thing that kept Ben rigid in his seat.

“Bait,” She answered, quiet and soft and Ben was going to kill someone- “Offer him me. Draw him out to a fight to get me. He’ll go, and he’ll leave Ryan behind. He didn’t want Ryan to meet me until I was-“ She made a small choking sound, and that was it.

“No.” Ben said firmly, daring anyone to fucking disagree with him. “There’s not a chance in fucking hell you’re doing that.”

“You’d go with me,” She looked at him with wide, sharp, desperate eyes. “Please, Ben. It would work.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter if it would work. They,” Ben jabbed a finger at Butcher and Mallory. “Swore you weren’t doing stupid fucking dangerous shit anymore.”

“We did promise him that,” Starlight says Her name gently. “Promised you. That’s, doing that’s too far. Too risky.”

“It would work,” She was pleading, and if Ben didn’t know better he’d think she fucking wanted to die. “You wouldn’t be giving me to him. We’d escape. We’d go in public, Homelander would see it, we’d keep him there until Ryan was out, and then we would escape.”

“How?” MM frowned at Her. “The motherfuckers got X-ray vision and super speed. He won’t just lose you in a crowd.”

“He won’t lose us. We’ll,” She paused, fingers tapping under Ben's hands. “We’ll call him. We won’t go in public, for a fight, that was dumb. We’ll call him, tell him I want to meet him, play right into his fantasy. Annie and Hughie will come with us, because he can’t kill either of them without ruining the narrative. We’ll keep him there until Ryan’s out, then Frenchie will do the explosion. We’ll play it off as a mistake, bad timing, and he’ll go to investigate. By the time he realizes what’s happened, we’ll be gone."

“That’s still a dumb fucking plan,” Ben growled Her name. “What if he doesn’t go. What if he tries to fucking take you.”

She looked at him, Her beautiful face so sad and determined. “He won’t.” I won’t let him. You won’t let him.

“It’s a good idea,” Mallory mused. “Where would you meet him?”

“Old Starlight Fund,” She turned back to the group. “Ben will call him. He’ll take a call from Ben. And then I’ll take the phone and tell him I convinced you to let me see him.” She looked fucking sick—her heartbeat panicked in her chest—and it made the Thing twist inside of Ben. Made Ben sick. “But that you won’t let me meet with him without you there.”

“The Starlight Fund was where they wanted that first meeting,” MM said to Mallory. “And it’s right fuckin across from the tower. He won’t think we’re trying anything in his backyard.”

“We’ll vote-“

“No!” Ben almost roared. “You fucking pussies goddamn swore-“

“Ben,” Her voice was gentle, too fucking gentle. To perfect and kind for this goddamn fucking bullshit, for how fast her heart was inside her. Trust me. Her face pleaded. Just please trust me.

This is fucking insane, Ben glared at Her. Even for you, this is a fucking stupid, insane plan.

You promised. She flipped her hand under his, folding her finger between his. You promised me you’d let me do what I needed to.

You don’t fucking need to do this.

Yes, She gave him a small smile. I do, Ben. You know that. Please.

Ben cursed himself in every vulgar, lewd and angry way he knew. “Fine.” He grunted aloud. “But if anything,” he hissed around the table. “Goes fucking south-“

“It won’t, Gov.” Butcher winked at him, but there wasn’t anything crude or sneering in his voice. “We’ll get you both home in time for a nice fuckin dinner and dessert.”

Mallory sighed. “Ready to vote?” After several nods from around the table, she continued. “All in favor?”

Her hand shot up just as fast as Butcher’s, Kimiko’s close behind them and the French Prick’s right after. For one long second, Ben watched MM frown at Her. Studying Her, before looking at Ben and narrowing his eyes. He looked back at her—hand high in the air and feature determined—and MM’s hand went up. Five fucking idiots in favor.

“All against?”

Ben raised his hand, and She glared at him. Benjamin-

I won’t fucking stop you, Ben glared right back. But I’m not in any form of goddamn favor for this shit.

She sighed, and Ben glanced around the table to see Cocksucker and Starlight both raising their hands with him. Three people who seemed to give a single shit about Her.

Too fucking little to stop this.

“Alright,” Mallory nodded. “We’ll move tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Hughie blinked. “Don’t you, uh, need to plan-“

“We wasted too much fuckin time, Lad.” Butcher shrugged. “A-Train’s ready, we move tomorrow.”

“Are we fucking done here?” Ben grunted, and barely saw Mallory’s nod before he was standing, hauling Her up with him, and marching out of the door. He heard her call some goodbyes—running after him with Her heartbeat unsteady—and pulling Ben’s arm until he slowed down.

“Are you mad at me?” She whispered, and he shook his head. He wasn’t, he was furious with himself. For being a weak fucking pussy who was allowing this to happen.

Nothing’s going to hurt Her, he reminded himself, reminded the Thing to try stopping it from tearing his tissues and guts apart. No fucking thing is allowed to hurt Her. I’ll be there. If it comes to it, I’ll do whatever it fucking takes to keep Homelander away from Her. Even if she hates me for it.

“Then can you look at me?” She pleaded, and Ben couldn’t help himself. He glared down at Her, and felt a twist in his stomach at the desperation in Her eyes. “I’m sorry-“

“Don’t,” he snapped. The only thing worse than Her being sad and weak and broken was Her apologizing. Thinking she was a problem for him, and not the most perfect thing in the fucking world. “I’m not fucking mad, Sunshine. I’m just-“ He ground his teeth, pushing the words out between them. “I fucking hate this.”

“I know you do,” She took a small step forward. “But it’ll be fine. I promise.”

It would be fine. Because Ben wasn’t going to allow it not to be. So he just picked Her up into his arms—if She kept moving so hesitantly and tentatively around him he’d fucking explode—and carried her down the hall. She didn’t push against him or protest, only wrapped Her arms around his neck as Her heartbeat slowed.

“Ben?” She asked, voice muffled by where she’d pressed into his shoulder, her warm breath fanning against his skin.

“What.” He glanced down at Her—perfect face turning up to him—and the Thing clenched inside him at her nervous expression. “Are you-“

“I’m okay,” She shook her head slightly and Ben grunted, unable to hide his stupid relief. “I, um,” She swallowed. “Do you-“

“Spit it out,” he muttered, hunching slightly so She could scan the badge. She’d needed that—needed not lose Herself in a spiral of her too quick head—because she nodded, fingers scratching light against the nape Ben’s neck. She took a deep breath, and Ben turned to push the door with his back.

“Do you still want me?”

She was the smartest fucking person Ben had ever met. She was a goddamn genius, it was insufferable and impossibly fucking hot how smart she was. How clever she was, how well she understood other people. Which is why Ben snorted aloud, because for the brilliant woman she was that was such a stupid fucking question.

“Ben-“

“Of course I still fucking want you,” Ben scoffed, walking up the stairs. “You have no fucking idea how much I want you. I’ve wanted you through a lot of your stupid plans, another one isn’t going to make me stop fucking wanting you.”

Nothing could make me stop wanting you, Ben’s head hummed in time with the Thing. If I ever stop wanting you, it’s because I’m fucking dead.

“Oh,” She mumbled, and Ben wished She would just look at him so he could figure out what she was thinking. “Good. Is that why-“

“I’m not fucking you,” Ben drawled Her name as he pushed open the door to their bedroom. “Not tonight.”

“Okay,” Ben glanced down to find the saddest look he’d ever witnessed on Her face. If the Thing wasn’t fucking whining at the sight of it, he might have been smug about her looking so morose at the idea of not fucking him. “That’s fine.”

“I’m not fucking you,” Ben grabbed her chin, gently with a firm hand. To make Her look at him. “Because I want to take time when I fuck you. I want to make you scream and make it hurt when you sit down. And you need to be able to walk with full damn mobility tomorrow. So later. When I can keep you in bed for a decade without anyone fucking interrupting.”

Her heart sped up, and Ben smirked at her. “You started with a week,” She told him, even as she leaned into his hand. “Then it became a year. Now a decade?”

Ben winked. “If you want a century, just fucking ask, beautiful.”

“Cunt.”

“Brat.”

She looked over him, eyes resting where Ben knew she could feel his dick straining against his pants. “What about hand stuff?”

Ben snorted. “I’ll allow it."

“Oh, well if his majesty allows it-“

Her words turned in a yelp as Ben tossed Her onto the bed, grinning down at Her. How fucking perfect she was, looking up at him with wide, pretty eyes that were so soft. For him. Right now, every part of Her was for Ben.

He started to lean down, planning to move across the bed until he over Her. Test what different sounds She would make in a bed instead of against a wall. But She sat up before he could, crawling across the blankets with her perfect fucking ass in the air. Drawing up on Her knees when she reached Ben at the foot of the bed, smiling at him with all such an ease and adoration. She adored him.

Ben grabbed Her face between his hands, her back straightening as she grabbed at his shirt. Yanking him closer. Ben attacked her mouth, revering in the way it fit so well against his, the way she tasted like honey and chocolate and Her. That taste of Her he’d gotten early, that wasn’t sweet but strong. The best thing he’d ever had on his tongue, a little weaker in her mouth but still there. The proper fucking taste of pussy. Of Her. Ben didn’t think he could live without it now that he’d had it.

But there would be time to deal with that later. Right now everything was Her. The way she moaned into his mouth, and one of her hands tracing down Ben’s chest to palm him through his pants.

He pulled back with a grunt of Her name. “You don’t-“

“I want to,” She chased his mouth, but paused. Look up at him with some sort of apprehension that made the Thing itch. “But if you don’t-“

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” Ben snapped. And he was going to add something about this not being about him right now. Something saying how this was about Her, about making her understand how perfect she was and making her scream his name again. But She nodded with a hum, and squeezed Ben through his pants and suddenly that really didn’t fucking seem worth saying anymore. He’d say it later. If She wanted this—wanted him like this—he couldn’t deny her. Ben wouldn’t be able to deny Her his whole fucking brain or heart or lungs if she asked for them. And what type of fucking pussy would he be to deny the most perfect woman in the world his cock.

“Off, please.” She nodded to his pants, and Ben almost chuckled because she could’ve called him every vulgar name under the sun and he still would’ve taken his pants off. A please was in no way damn necessary.

“Fine,” he pulled down his pants, watching Her carefully as his boxers followed. “But after this, beautiful, it’s my fucking turn.”

She swallowed, staring at Ben’s dick—now fully exposed—and Ben had never felt so smug in his fucking life. A lot of women had been impressed by him, but none had looked at him like that. Like they needed to touch him. Ben had never needed to touch them. Not like he was pretty sure he’d have died somewhere in the next few seconds if She hadn’t looked back up at him—with parted lips and a flushed face that Ben needed to burn into his eyes so he’d never stop seeing them—and kissed him so eagerly that he groaned.

Then She started touching him, and Ben realized he had been right. As he tangled his hands in her hair and started buck into her hand—trying to keep his mouth on hers so she would catch every sound she was causing him to make like he’d eaten hers—Ben knew this would kill him. She would kill him, because nobody should be allowed to so fucking perfect in every possible way. Nobody should be capable making him feel like this with just their hand, just by stroking him and somehow finding such a painfully good fucking pace. Nobody should be allowed to read him well enough that they adjusted for every rut of Ben into their hand, to make him feel like he was high. But She could, because she was perfect, and was trying to kill him. She had to be, or she wouldn’t be pulling back to look at Ben like she was, with something so deep and impossibly caring in her eyes as she pulled him apart. He was supposed to look at Her like that. She was the one supposed to be wrecked. Ben didn’t get wrecked.

But it’s not like She liked listening to him. Or allowing him to just follow the rules he’d set for himself decades ago. Every single thing Ben had known and understood she’d destroyed, then rebuilt, just by smiling at him and never wavering. Like she was now.

So Ben buried his face in Her neck—finding the spot that he knew would make Her feel half of what he felt—and started to fuck her hand. Faster, faster until she moaned, and he grinned against her.

“When you’re done,” Ben started to kiss up Her neck until he was growling in her ears. “I’m going to make you scream. Got it?”

She nodded, and the small sound she made just made Ben go faster.

“You’re so fucking good,” he kept talking, because Ben hadn’t missed that every time Ben spoke She’d fall a little further into him, her free hand tugging at his hair. “Your hand’s fucking made for this, beautiful.”

“Ben-“

He grinned. There it was. If anyone tried to say his name again—in a way that wasn’t breathless and passionate and falling from their mouth—he’d rip their tongue out. “So fucking perfect.” He pulled Her closer, one hand cupping the back of Her head and the other kneading at the soft skin of her stomach, arm fully around her waist. She squeezed him just fucking right, and Ben hissed against her skin. “Fucking perfect. Too fucking good at this, too fucking beautiful, too fucking-“

She turned Her head, moving Ben to her lips, just as she moaned down his throat and made one, long movement—nails running lightly against his balls with another squeeze—that did it. Ben groaned Her name into her wide, perfect mouth, swearing as he jerked forward. She didn’t stop, didn’t pull back, just stayed exactly where Ben needed her until the bare parts of her legs were covered in cum. Ben’s cum. On Her.

Ben kissed Her roughly, waiting right up until she whined to pull his mouth away slowly. Panting slightly, he kissed the top of Her head and waited for her to look up at him.

“My turn.”

He didn’t wait for Her to speak before leaning over her, moving her down until she was flat on the bed below him. Letting her grind against his chest and wrap her legs around him, moan his name and claw at his hair and back, for just long enough to build Her up and up. Ben moved his hands down from her face to her thighs, squeezing once.

“Please,” she whimpered into his mouth, and the only sound better than that was what followed it. “Ben.”

He gave Her one last, wet kiss, and dropped down to the edge of bed, kneeling on the floor and using his hold on her thighs to pull Her forward. As Ben hooked her legs over his shoulders—tossing her underwear and shorts away into some corner of the room—he saw Her sitting up on her elbows, frowning down at him.

“We said hand stuff, Benjamin.“

He raised his brows at Her. “Do you want me to stop?”

”No, but you’re cheating-“

Ben didn’t give her an opportunity to keep talking. He’d have a long time—if he was lucky—to listen to Her talk about whatever she fucking wanted. Right now he needed to make her scream.

It was almost immediate. Ben dove forward, sucking on Her clit one long time, and she whined, high and loud.

“Fuck, Ben-“

That was good. He liked that. Ben liked everything about Her, but that—the sound of Her feeling good with his name—was one of the fucking best things he’d ever known.

She needed to do it again. He needed to find every way she could do it. This was his fucking job now. Everything else could fucking wait until she came all over Ben’s face, until she felt so good she’d never be in danger of breaking again.

So Ben set to work. Sucking and licking and goddamn eating Her alive. Tracing rough patterns with his hands against her thighs and ass, bracing an arm over her hips to keep her still. To allow Ben to fuck her with his tongue until the taste of Her, that real, powerful taste was drowning him as she screamed his name. He’d die for this. She wouldn’t have to kill him because he’d give everything to keep Her like this forever. To keep her blissfully whining and moaning, to make her never have to feel fear again because she was too busy being tended to under him. For there to be even the slimmest fucking chance that She’d want him to do this forever. Want him forever.

For now, though, Ben would settle for this. He’d settle for him being the one who made Her squirm in this moment. Ben got to see this, Ben got to cause this. Right now She adored him, right now she wanted Ben. Nothing else. Just Ben.

So he’d give Her everything he had.

He focused fully on Her clit, puffed and red, and dedicated himself to it. Pulled it into his mouth until her screams turned to breathless begs and sounds that might be Ben’s name—tangled with other noises he didn’t understand—and then let his teeth brush it, groaning against Her at the same time. She managed to scream one last time—hoarse and deafening and the most amazing sound in the fucking world—as She came. Squeezing around his tongue as Ben lowered to taste it all, as she pushed up into his face to give him it all. Back arched off the bed and thighs trapping Ben against Her as if he was so much of a fucking pussy idiot he’d even damn think to try and leave.

When She was done—shaking and breathing heavily as she relaxed fully around him—Ben rose up, wiping the remaining wetness clinging to his beard with one hand. Watching Her, pulled apart and reaching for him, just him. So thoroughly wrecked at his efforts, heart hamming against her chest. So fucking beautiful.

Ben started to walk to the bathroom—quickly pulling his pants back on—but She made a needy sound for her throat that made him pause.

“Are you-“

“Where are you going?” She whispered, and Ben felt the Thing rip inside of him. Torn between making Her smile and taking care of her.

“Getting a towel.” He grunted, still rooted in place. “Need to clean you up.”

“No,” Her voice was hoarse, and she was starting to sit up. “I’m fine, just stay-“

That won the war inside of him. Ben crossed back to Her in two long steps. Dropping next to her on the bed and rolling her onto his chest. Lying with her until her heart slowed, her breaths became easy against him.

“Ben?” She whispered into the air, the room having fallen dark at some point. Ben hadn’t noticed really, unable to be fucked to pay attention to anything but Her, against him. Safe and happy and warm.

He hummed Her name, and waited for her to continue.

“When it’s over, I’ll go with you.”

Time stopped. Everything stopped. Nothing fucking mattered except Ben knowing exactly what She fucking meant. If it was what he thought—fucking hoped—she meant. “With me?”

“Wherever they send you off to, when this is done. I’ll go with you.”

Ben nodded slowly at nothing, trying to act like he was unaffected. Like the Thing wasn’t bellowing and scraping at his ribs and brain, trying to tell him something really important, make Ben tell Her something important, but he couldn’t figure out what it was-

“If you, um, if you still want that.”

He blinked, glaring down at Her in the dark. “Did I ever fucking tell you I didn’t?”

“No, but you haven’t said anything-“

“You’re coming with me,” Ben said, firmly. She wasn’t allowed to think anything else, not if She wanted this. Wanted him. “Nothing in the world will goddamn stop me taking you with me, not if that’s what you’re choosing.”

“I chose that,” Ben could feel Her smile against the base of his neck. “I chose you.”

The Thing needed something. Something earth-shaking and impossibly fucking vital for Ben to know if he was going to keep living. Something She had to know or Ben might explode.

“I’ll let you fuck me on the beach,” She hummed, and Ben just decided to ignore the Thing. She was more important. “And in the ocean and in a bed and wherever else you want.”

“Wherever I want?” Ben chuckled into the dark. “Dangerous fucking promises, beautiful.”

She yawned, and Ben kissed Her head as her voice turned sleepy. “That’s the point, Pretty Boy.”

As She pulled herself further into him—breathing turning slow and body relaxing further under Ben’s hands—Ben said Her name softly.

“Yeah?”

“If this doesn’t work,” Ben said slowly. “I want to fucking leave anyway. If we don’t get the kid, me and you are gone, Sunshine. We’ll go wherever you want, and we’ll go together. Somewhere with a beach for me to fuck you on, or somewhere in the mountains so you can scream even louder. But we’ll be gone.”

She sighed, but didn’t protest. Ben had expected Her to push back—tell him they had a job and responsibility and had to finish this—and even as he’d thought the words he’d known she’d tell him no, but she didn’t.

“I’ll think about it,” She said after a long, silent minute, and Ben wasn’t sure if it was Her or the haze of the sleep overtook her only seconds later. He didn’t know if she’d even remember him asking, or was just too tired to try and convince him that they couldn’t just leave.

But Ben decided to believe Her. To allow himself to think that she’d really consider it. Either way she’d go with him. No matter what, she’d stay with him. That was all that fucking matters.

It was the steady beat of Her heart, paired with the lingering taste of her and sound of Her wanting him, that allowed Ben to sleep soundly through the night.

End Note: I’ve made the unprecedented and totally out of left field executive decision to make Ben a top. Crazy. I’m sure this is really shocking news, but we’ll get through this like we always do. Together and horny.

Leave a comment, if you want! Any and all thoughts, feedback, jokes, and predications are always welcome, and will make my day. Also I'm thinking of giving you guys a playlist? Idk lemme know if that's something you'd want. Thank you so much for reading, and see you soon <3!

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods @ahoytothestorm

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rosewoodcafe · 9 days ago

Text

What's Found in Grief

[this is smut]

[MDNI]

[This is my MC Evie and Ominis pairing]

Wattpad | A03

Evelyn Thompson had always been a romantic, something so many took advantage of. Thinking the absolute best in people can always lead to the worst outcomes, one of them being the end of her relationship.

Five years ago she watched who she thought was the love of her life, murder his uncle in cold blood. His trial was short and served him a lifetime in Azkaban, where he would spend the rest of his days rotting amongst the worst of wizarding society. She watched him be dragged away, Ominis by her side in comfort, both of them losing the first person they felt truly themselves around.

Nowadays she spends most of her time alone, in her flat that was located close to work. She opted out of getting too close to anyone, in fear of her magic, and in fear of being hurt as badly as she was before. The only person she saw anymore being her blind best friend, who stopped by every Friday. This being one of those Friday’s, she waited patiently for him to knock on the door, dressed in her work attire and worn out from the week's work.

The knock she eagerly waited for came, and without seeming too impatient opened the door. He stood there, in his black slacks and white button up, a velvety dark green vest wrapped around his torso.

“It’s good to see you, Omi.” I said. “How have you been?”

“Better now that I’m here.” He said stepping inside. “Have you made tea?”

“I hope that's oka-”

“I was thinking maybe something a bit- stronger.” Ominis replied. “In order to truly mourn today.”

Her heart had dropped a bit, forgetting that today was the anniversary of Sebastian’s sentence, she looked down, closing the door. Ominis almost instinctively knew something was amiss, circling back and pulling his Evelyn into an embrace, tucking her head into his shoulder. The two of them stood in silence, the warmth of each other being a source of comfort.

“I should have some liquor in my cabinet.” Evie said, breaking the comfortable quiet. “The tea can wait till tomorrow.”

The night was spent sipping the liquor that felt endless, laughing about the memories shared and the moments of frustration throughout the week. Evie felt herself getting heavier as the whiskey dropped down her throat, and Ominis was getting more disheveled by the moment. His vest pulled off to just his shirt, the top two buttons undone, and his hair carelessly swept to the side. They both kept sipping till the bottle was empty, and the clock was at an hour that the world had gone quiet, except for their laughter.

“You know Evelyn,” Ominis said, moving her hair behind her ear, “you are incredibly beautiful. Why are you still here?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She said quietly. “It’s cheap, close to work, and has enough space for me.”

“You know I’m not talking about here.” He moved closer to her on the sofa. “Why have you not moved on? You’ve been stuck in this moment since we graduated, and I know you’ve had your fair share of men asking to court you, so why have you turned them down?”

She put her drink down, looking down as she held her hands together. “I- I don’t know Ominis.” She moved her gaze up to meet his. “A part of me wants to move on, but I truly don’t think anyone would ever understand me… the magic, the grief, how do you explain that to someone you’ve never been around? I can’t imagine starting over.”

Ominis moved his hand over hers.

“Why haven’t you moved on?” Evie asked him, the question catching him off guard slightly.

“The one I want to move on with isn’t ready.” He paused. “I would never force her to move on for me.”

She looked into his eyes, which were clouded but full of hope, something she hadn’t seen in him for a long time. “I didn’t love him.” Evie blurted out.

Ominis’s face went through what felt like a thousand emotions at once. “Ev- what are you talking about?”

“I never loved him.” She said again. “Sebastian- he was a wonderful experience, and my best friend, but I was fifteen. I feel guilty that he was locked away, especially since I have committed much worse crimes than he ever did, but I truly did not love him in that manner.” She took a breath, releasing the pit in her stomach that had been forming. “You ask why I haven’t moved on- well I haven’t because the one I want to move on with, I thought would never want me as well.”

There was silence for a moment, both bodies filled with a warmth of anxiety, comfort, and uncertainty. Heavy whiskey-soaked breaths were shared, mere inches between them both, so close to colliding on the star fated path set for them.

“You have been on my mind since the moment we met Evelyn.” Ominis said, placing his hand on her cheek. “There was never a moment I considered not moving on without you by my side.”

Evelyn leaned closer, with Ominis closing the gap between them. Their lips crashing against each other, a hunger that had built finally being fed. Ominis couldn’t think about anything but the feel of her dress beneath his fingers as he held her waist lightly, making sure not to pressure her into anything she didn’t wish.

She felt like Evelyn to him, his Evelyn, her lavender scent filling his soul, her soft hands that ran up his arms, the gentleness of her fingers as she held his face. Ominis moved her to straddle his lap, their lips never breaking apart. Pulling her closer, he could feel her, he could feel the fifteen year old girl he had met all those years ago, and he could feel his girl now. She was perfect, truly and utterly perfect, despite what she thinks of herself.

Evie was anxious, the thought of opening up to the one person she’s wanted to open up too for the longest time a terrifying thought. She moved her hands to his chest, unbuttoning more to reveal his bare chest, their lips breaking apart as she gazed down at him.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly, holding her lower back as he sat up.

“I am,” she whispered. “I suppose I didn’t ever think this was going to happen.”

“Did you want it to happen?”

“I…”

“I need a yes or no answer, love.” Ominis said before kissing her neck slightly.

“Yes, I do.” Evie responded, leaning into Ominis’s kisses. “I just- it's surreal is all.”

“I love you.”

“You- I love you too.”

Ominis’s hands slid under Evelyn’s thighs, lifting her and himself off the sofa. Despite his lack of sight he knew Evelyn’s flat by heart, being here every week and more often than not tucking his girl into her bed when they were too drunk to leave. She held onto him tightly, his scent making a spot that was tightly knit in her memory.

He laid her softly onto her bed, standing above her. The two drunk adults fully realized what they were planning to do.

“If you want me to do this,” Ominis said softly as he crouched down, meeting Evelyn at her level. “I will be marrying you, I’ve spent too much time without you in my life.”

“If that’s your proposal, then I accept it.” Evelyn laughed. She sat up and looked down at her boy. He moved his fingers down to the hem of his shirt, ripping a stray string off.

“Then let me ask you properly.” Quietly he found Evelyn’s ring finger, wrapping the string lightly around it. “Evelyn, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

She brought him up to kiss her as she tore off his shirt, taking her time to marvel at his scarred body. Every etch in his skin a story, one of anger and harm, but all Evelyn saw was how he had made it out alive, even through everything. Ominis Gaunt was not broken down by the things thrust upon him by his family.

He held her close as he fumbled his fingers with the back of her dress, their lips tied together in a dance only they knew. He was shaking, with fear? No, he could never fear his girl, and never would he be scared of the woman Evelyn had become. She was kind, and had so much done to her in the response of her kindness. Ominis made himself a silent promise of keeping that kindness protected, to make sure that she always knew that her kindness had saved him. Finally getting the back of her dress undone, he pulled it down slowly, dragging his fingers down her skin, memorizing every bump, scratch, mole, and scar. Every part of Evelyn was for him to relish in, and let merlin strike him down if he didn’t.

Evelyn couldn’t help but feel nervous, Ominis in front of her, touching her in a way no man has ever done before. She’d dreamt of this moment for years at this point, but the moment of fruition felt agonizing. What if he did not like her like that? What if he decides she’s not what he wants for the rest of his life? What if-

“Calm your head my love.” Ominis whispered. Evelyn looked down at her palms that rested upon his bare chest, their glowing blue leaving slight marks on him. She buried her head into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry.” She said into the crook of his neck.

“Don’t be,” he held her head so gently, “we don’t have to continue if you-”

“I do.” She shot up, looking at Ominis’s clouded eyes. “I want you, Ominis.”

He smiled softly, bringing her into a kiss that was gentle, before lifting her again, then laying her onto the bed. Ominis worked on pulling off the rest of Evelyn’s dress. She was bare in front of him, and he cursed himself for not being able to see at such a crucial moment in time. Ominis dragged his hands slowly up her legs and rounding her curves, embracing every aspect that was her, before reaching her face. He cupped her cheeks, hovering over her.

“You are- the most extravagant woman I have ever felt.” He spoke softly, planting a kiss onto her lips. Undoing his own belt and stripping down was simple, the thought of someone seeing him so- so bare, was a challenge. Especially since his own knowledge of what he looked like was so limited, he worried about what she would think of him. Evelyn didn’t speak as she helped undress him, only in awe of how beautiful of a man Ominis was.

Evelyn couldn’t imagine anyone else in this moment with her, just the thought alone made her feel disgusted, but with Ominis in front of her, trusting her in a way she trusts him… she couldn’t believe it. She brought him closer, planting kisses from his abdomen, up his chest, until landing on his lips.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked softly, hovering over her. The nerves were written across his face, but Evelyn was confident as ever, knowing exactly what she wanted at this moment.

“I do Ominis.” She said, placing her hand on his cheek. “I am ready for whatever this blossoms into too.”

He kissed her again, not getting enough of her sweet taste.

She felt him, it was incredibly painful at first, a stab to her insides, but he stayed still, telling her how much he loved her, and perhaps that made everything better. Softly he pressed into her, gasps escaping her lips as Ominis kissed her neck. Heaven could not replicate the feelings she felt. His fingers were an angel's touch, pressing into her skin with a neediness she had never known from him. Ominis’s face was beautiful, blissfully in the moment, and completely at peace for the first time in his life. Ominis knew the science behind this, being taught this by his horrible parents in order to make more Gaunt babies, he always thought of this act as a horrible hellish thing to do, but with Evelyn… he never wanted to stop.

Evelyn could feel her body tighten, as if she were a cord about to be snapped, and she soaked in the moment, remembering everything about him, as if he would disappear. Their breathing matched, slowly losing themselves in the pleasure of it all. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling them closer as his thrusts became erratic, their foreheads pressed together. Ominis felt himself nearly lose himself, but he couldn’t-

“Where-” he breathed out. “Where do you want me too-”

“I want you all Ominis.” Eveyln moved his hand to hold her face, and Merlin he would do anything for her.

“I love you.”

He thrust harder, holding her as her moans filled his ears. Ominis may curse his lack of sight but hearing her come undone under him was something he would keep forever. Evelyn’s cord snapped, and she truly wondered if there was anything better on this earth besides this. Ominis spilled into her, kissing her as every last drop of him was left inside of her.

Their bodies were pulled close, and they tucked themselves under the blanket. She fit so perfectly in his arms, and she slept for the first time in true peace, not feeling the anguish of the past years in her sleep. Ominis weaved his fingers through her hair, humming lightly as he started to drift, the smell of lavender lulling him to sleep. The night moved slowly, neither one of them dreaming of the past, only the future they would build together.

@heylorrain @butternutt613 @whalesongsblog

anyways I will never be writing smut again lol

maybe I will who knows

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy mc #ominis x mc #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis #Evelyn Thompson x Ominis Gaunt

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daddy-dins-girl · 1 year ago

Text

Rush

pairing: Dave York x f!Reader

No use of Y/N. No physical description of reader other than that she has hair long enough for Dave to grab... (mood board is for aesthetic purposes only)

Word Count: 5.7k

summary: You're a part-time nanny for the beautiful York family. The money is good, the job is easy, and on days when Mr. York works from home, well, those are more than enough incentive to keep you coming back. (Literally this is just PWP and I'm sorry, not sorry).

notes: the Dave York brain rot is so real y'all. I'm sorry, I know I owe you updates on other stories still! Also, this is my first moodboard EVER. How'd I do? lol.

warnings: 🔞 18+MDNI. PWP (this is basically just smut y'all). Infidelity (is it even Dave York if he's not cheating on his wife?). Implied age gap I guess? (Reader is mentioned to be in college but no actual age is specified. Dave is in his 40's). Dom!Dave York. Degradation kink. Cockwarming. Oral sex (f and m receiving). Protected p in v sex. Inappropriate behaviour during a Zoom call (Dave York is a menace and I will not apologize for that). One ass slap (as far as Dave goes I'd say this fic is a tame one).

My masterlist

A03 link

It’s like you have developed a Pavlovian response to even seeing his name pop up on your screen with the notification alert. You practically start drooling before you even open it to see what he’s said or sent you, you just can’t help yourself. There’s a heat that runs through your veins and you feel it down to your toes, the rush that comes over you over the simple four words displayed across your screen.

Incoming Message: Mr. York

You tap the message to open it and can’t even pretend to ignore the heat that floods your abdomen when you click again and open the attachment inside. The attachment your employer just sent you.

You bite your lower lip as your gaze quickly darts around the room, ensuring nobody is around to see your reaction. The girls of course are with you but they’re planted directly in front of the television, currently mesmerized by Elsa, for the third time this week, not that you’re counting, while you sit dutifully behind them on the sofa. Mrs. York is out shopping or getting her hair done or running errands or whatever it is she does for most of the afternoon that requires you to be here to watch the children. You don’t mind. The money is good, the job is easy, and on days when Mr. York works from home, well, those are more than enough incentive to keep you coming back.

You’re more than a babysitter, more like a nanny, however not full time. You don’t live there, just spend a few hours there each weekday and you’ll watch the girls on occasional evenings or weekends when needed. You pick the girls up from school each day, bring them home and sometimes one or both of their parents are home but busy, or sometimes neither of them are there. You do things like the girls' laundry and prepare their dinner as well as their school lunches for the next day and some light cleaning tasks like the girls' rooms or cleaning the kitchen after you’ve made their meals. It was a good gig that worked well around your current class schedule and the money was much better than what most of your friends made to keep themselves afloat, working in restaurants or retail jobs.Not to mention the added benefit of your job.

Today, lucky for you, is a work from home day for Dave. Mr. York. And the message he sends you leaves no room for interpretation, you know exactly what he wants. You stare at the picture a moment longer, the dark navy blue of his dress slacks with the very obvious outline of his hard-on straining against the fabric. His hand sits on top of his thigh right next to the bulge under his pants and the gold band around his finger on prominent display does absolutely nothing to dissuade you as you push yourself up from the sofa.

“Girls I have some of your laundry to finish up, just keep watching your movie ok and I’ll be back in a little bit” you tell them sweetly and Molly casually acknowledges you with a wave of her hand, Alice not bothered enough to look up from the screen.

Honestly, thank god for Frozen.

You smooth down your skirt as you walk down the stairs to the finished basement and turn the corner to the only firmly closed door in the house. Mr. York's home office. It was off limits to everyone. Everyone except you, when you were invited of course, and the text he just sent you might as well be an embossed formal invitation printed on expensive cardstock.

You don’t bother knocking. You can hear his low voice through the door. It’s muffled and you can’t make out what he’s saying but you know he’s speaking and must be on a call.

A boring conference call.

Your favourite.

You can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips as you carefully push the door open, ensuring to be quiet and gently push it shut behind you. You don’t bother locking it, not anymore. You had once, the first time, and Dave ensured you that it wasn’t necessary. The girls knew this room was off limits because “Daddy was working” and Carol, if she did bother to come down here at all, would be sure to knock first to not interrupt Dave while he was working. You think he secretly likes the thrill of it, doing absolutely depraved things with you in his family’s home behind an unlocked door, knowing that his wife could walk in whenever she wanted. Of course it’s not something he would ever want his children to see, but it's been engrained well enough in their heads by now not to come down here that he knows he doesn’t need to worry about it.

You turn around from the door after closing it and see him casually leaning back in his office chair, elbow resting on the arm of it while he rests his face on his hand, a bored expression on his handsome features. His government-provided laptop sits open on his desk and you hear a mixture of voices flooding through the speakers though you don’t pay any attention to what they’re saying. You stand near the door still in the middle of the room and begin to unbutton your blouse, ignoring the little flutter in your tummy when you notice Dave sits up a little straighter in his chair. It’s a routine by now. You know what he wants without either of you needing to speak a word. Of course it’s not always the same when you step into this room, but when Dave is on a conference call, this is what you do.

All buttons undone you shrug out of your top and waste no time in undoing your bra next, letting the straps slide off your shoulders as you toss it carelessly to the floor. Next you pull down the zipper to your skirt and tug it down your legs along with your panties, not bothering to waste any time.

Dave likes efficiency. He also likes you completely naked, always, regardless of his level of dress or what the two of you might be doing. Even if he wants you under his desk sucking his cock where he can’t really even see your body, you will be naked while you do it and he’ll likely be fully clothed with just his belt open and zipper pulled down. Those were Dave’s rules. And you were nothing with him if not obedient.

You smile coyly at him as you make your way towards his desk and he pushes his chair back slightly further as he mumbles some confirmation over the speakerphone to his underlings. You know you don’t need to worry about the laptop or the Zoom call he’s currently in, Dave had a little black security sticker placed over every camera lens on all the larger electronics in the house, always taking his privacy seriously. Even the girls' tablets had the camera lenses blacked out.

He puts a single finger to his lips as you walk over to him, signaling to you that you need to be quiet, be his good girl, but of course you already know this. You nod your head slightly as you reach him, hands instinctively running over from the top of his chest up his broad shoulders as you swing one of your legs over him until you're straddled on his lap. Your hands slide back down his front, all the way down until you reach his waist and quietly unfasten his belt, popping the button open on his slacks and sliding his zipper down. Dave helps you by slightly lifting his hips, enough that you can shove down the material of his pants and boxers just enough to set his waiting cock free. You love that even when he’s working from home he is always dressed sharply in a business suit. Today his jacket is off, hung around the back of his chair and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his forearms but aside from that, everything, including his tie, is perfectly in place.

Dave York, ever the professional, as his personal employee gets situated to sit on his cock during a conference call.

Once he’s on full glorious display for you you look up at him, waiting on his confirmation. That slight nod of his head he gives you that says ‘go on sweet girl, sit on my cock’. Deep brown eyes stare back at you and you wait, unmoving, until he lifts his hand and presses two fingers to your lips. You dutifully open your mouth, inviting them in and suck, wetting them with your tongue and saliva for a few long seconds until he’s satisfied and pulls them away. He immediately brings those same fingers down between your legs and slowly drags them through your folds, a smirk crossing his lips when he feels how wet you are already, how you don’t even need his fingers to be ready to take him. The truth is you were uncomfortably wet before he even sent you that text. The anticipation, the waiting, the wondering if today’s a day when he summons for you, it was enough to have you already worked up.

Despite you being ready he takes a few seconds to leisurely circle your clit with his thick fingers and you have to bite your lip to suppress the moan that wants to come out. You know you need to be quiet, it’s another one of his rules. If he wasn’t on an active call you are allowed to make some noise, he likes it even, but just not loud enough that your voice carries upstairs. His hand not currently working between your legs slides past you to the computer at his desk and you hear the tap of a button and you know he’s hit ‘mute’ on his call.

“Going to be a good girl for me, nice and quiet, right?” He asks and you nod your head.

“Yes” you whimper, sounding wrecked already despite that he’s barely begun.

“That’s good. I unfortunately need to be an active participant in this godforsaken budget meeting and will need to unmute from time to time and god help you if you start moaning like some bitch in heat and somebody hears you, I’ll turn on my camera and let them watch what a slut you are for my cock, do you understand?”

“Yes sir” you nod your head enthusiastically. “I’ll be good”

God the way he speaks to you when you’re together like this, maybe you should be concerned with how hot it gets you but you’re not. You know of course it's just talk, it's a persona he puts on when you’re intimate together and he gathered very quickly early on how much you enjoyed it so these are the roles you play when you are together. Truthfully Dave is respectful towards you, always has been, before and after the first time you’d hooked up. You chalk it up to him needing a different kind of release than he can get with his wife, the mother of his children. He needs a break from reality. From white-picket fences and playdates and fortunately for you, that’s where you came in. Call it ‘Daddy Issues’, call it whatever you want, but when Dave got a little mean with you or called you names or got rough with you, well, you’re honestly worried you’ll never again feel the sexual satisfaction that you get from this man. Nobody else could possibly measure up.

“I know you will baby” he smirks at you. “Now come on, you know what I want” he says and then taps a button on the keyboard again as he clears his throat and begins speaking to his colleagues again.

It should be scientifically studied how Dave droning on about quarterly budgets and fiscal year-ends can get your pussy absolutely dripping for him.

You do know what he wants and when his hand leaves the apex of your thighs you reach into the desk drawer beside you and pluck a foil packet out of the small wooden box he keeps nestled inside his desk (using protection is another one of Dave's rules so there's always a stash nearby in his office). Once you’ve torn it open and carefully rolled the condom down his thick shaft you lift yourself up just enough to hover over it before you sink down and are fully seated in his lap, buried to the hilt. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck and you lean your head down to rest on his shoulder but otherwise you don’t move. Dave doesn’t want to fuck you. At least, not right now. He wants you to be his good girl and keep his cock warm for him until his call is over and then he’ll decide what he wants to do with you. You hope the call isn’t a long one but sometimes in the past you haven’t been so lucky. Sometimes you sit here for five minutes, sometimes for thirty. Either way, you’ll be good while you do it and not move, otherwise Dave will become upset and punish you. And unfortunately punishment for you means he gets to come and you don’t, so you’re very careful now not to be punished. That lesson has been learned.

The meeting continues and after a few minutes Dave grows bored of his colleagues. You see it on his face and how his head falls back against the chair. Though you’ve barely been paying attention, even you know that they’ve just been talking in circles for the last five minutes.

“All right enough, let’s move on I don’t have all day” Dave suddenly barks at his computer and you hear several “yes sir”’s and “sorry sir”’s and flipping of papers as they switch topics to the next article on their agenda. Dave is still annoyed and bored and you know this because he snakes an arm between your bodies and his fingers are suddenly between your legs again where the two of you are joined. You lift your head from his shoulder again and pull back just enough so you can look him in the eyes as his fingers slowly begin to press at your clit. You pull your bottom lip through your teeth and your brow furrows slightly as he gently teases you and this… this is new. He doesn’t normally play with you when you’re meant to just be sitting still for him and honestly it terrifies you a little bit, knowing you can’t make a sound.

He’s still off mute as he occasionally responds to his colleagues and seemingly ignores the desperate plea your eyes are giving him as he rubs torturously slow circles around your little bundle of nerves. God he’s going to make you cum and you’re not allowed to utter a sound. A sly grin pulls at his lips and you know he’s enjoying this. Watching you squirm in his lap, desperate to please him as you focus every ounce of your concentration on not moaning out loud but Dave knows your body so well by now, like he’s fine tuning an instrument he’s had for years. You bury your face in his neck as your hands cling around the back of his head and the hand not between your legs comes up behind you, rubbing comforting circles across the span of your lower back. If it weren’t for the fingers at your clit and the cock buried inside you you’d feel like a small child being soothed and you might as well be because despite your best efforts, tears well at the corners of your eyes that you know Dave can feel drop hot against his skin. He’s making you feel so fucking good, but not good enough that it’ll get you to come and he knows that. He’s left you teetering on that edge as he plays with your clit with practiced precision and you need to come so badly you’re literally reduced to tears, the tight coil in your abdomen desperate to snap but can’t quite get there. He’s toying with you, and he loves it.

Your mouth mimes a desperate ‘please’ when you pull back again to look him in the eyes, hoping he’ll take pity on you. You must look a mess, tear-stained cheeks and he has to be able to feel the way your thighs are literally trembling. The smug grin hasn’t left his lips and for a moment you think he’s going to continue to torture you, but to your elated surprise he leans a bit forward to speak into his computer.

“All right everyone I think we’ve accomplished enough for one day, let’s pick this up on Monday, yeah? Have a good weekend everyone”

He doesn’t bother to wait for any of his colleagues to reply, just slams his laptop shut and shoves it aside with a sweep of his arm and you yelp out in surprise when he suddenly hoists you up and off of his cock, placing you down on your back on his desk. You whimper at the loss of him inside you but don’t have another second to complain before he shoves his chair back as he gets out of it and kneels to the ground in front of you.

“Oh fuck” you whimper, lifting your head up as far as you’re able to and reaching a hand out to place on his head.

“You were such a good girl for me, weren’t you baby?” he grins up at you from between your spread legs and you desperately nod your head in agreement. Honestly, you were proud of yourself.

“Good girls get rewarded, isn’t that right sweetheart?” he asks and you nod again.

Dave pauses for a moment and then his gaze lifts upwards to the ceiling. “Frozen?” he asks, knowing that his children are essentially mindless drones when their favourite movie is playing on tv and won’t come looking for you.

“Yes” you breathe out, your voice shaking. God, you need him so badly.

“Good” he grins again. “Want to hear you baby” is all he says before he dives in head first, literally, his mouth and tongue going straight to your core.

He begins greedily lapping at you, tongue pushing through your folds before he brings it up a little higher and swirls the muscle around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips cant off the desk without your permission and you hear him chuckle before he places a strong arm across your waist.

“Easy baby, let me take care of you”

And take care of you he does. He takes his free hand and inserts one thick finger inside your wet heat, beginning a steady pace of fucking you with his single digit before his mouth closes around you again, sucking your clit into his mouth and a loud moan followed by a string of curses leaves your lips, your hands clutching into the short stands of hair at his head. Your orgasm floods over you within seconds, already being so close from the earlier teasing and Dave moans into your cunt when he feels your walls pulsing around his finger.

“Fuck,” he groans into you, apparently pleased with you and himself. His finger continues working inside of you, at a slower pace thankfully and his arm around your waist leaves you and disappears behind the desk where you can’t see it but you know where that hand is going and you let out a little whimper, causing Dave to chuckle against you.

“What is it sweetheart? Tell me”

“Want your cock” you whine. “Please” you add, because Dave likes it when you have manners.

He presses a single kiss to your oversensitive centre before he finally pulls back and gets up from the floor, settling back into his chair and looking at you expectantly.

“Well go on then” he nods towards his aching length that now rests against his clothed belly, the condom long discarded. You assume he took it off not long after he pulled you from his lap so he could jerk himself off with his free hand while he ate you out.

You quickly scramble off of the desk and onto your knees, greedily taking him into your hand and mouth, not needing to be asked twice. Your hand wraps around the base while your mouth envelops the rest of him, taking him as far down your throat as your gag reflex allows.

“Eager today” Dave chuckles from above you before a small groan escapes his lips when your tongue comes up to press into his already leaking slit.

“Fuck, the mouth on you…” he tuts, hand coming around to gather your hair so he can hold it back from your face and get a better view of how you take him down your throat. You continue to suck and lick and swallow him down, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth to ensure you reach all of him and he groans, head falling back against the headrest of his chair. The hand not holding your hair back presses down on the top of your head, forcing you further down his cock. He likes to hear you choke and gag on him, likes to see the spit and saliva and drool run down your chin and hear those debauched noises that leave your throat when you take him so deeply. Tears pick at the corners of your eyelids as the head of his cock knocks against the back of your throat and he forcefully pulls your head back, tilting it so your gaze finds his and you see the satisfaction stretch across his lips as he watches the fat tears hit your cheeks.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl” he practically growls at you before yanking you off of him. You gasp for breath once he’s pulled you from his throbbing member, your hands coming up to rest on his knees to steady yourself as you catch your breath. You know you had him close to that edge so the fact that he’s pulled you off of him has you instantly flooded with arousal again, knowing that today he wants to finish inside of you rather than in your mouth.

“C’mere” he grunts, grabbing you by the arm and hauling you up to your feet as he also stands from his chair. The moment you're both up he pulls you forward and his lips crash against yours, shoving his tongue inside of your mouth to hungrily taste you. You can’t help the little whimper that escapes you when you taste yourself on his tongue and his lips curl into a smile at that.

He pulls back after a few seconds and begins to kiss and nip along your jaw and upwards until his lips and breath are hot against your ear.

“Turn around for me sweetheart, bend over”

You follow his request immediately, turning in his arms and bending over the desk until your top half is fully resting on the smooth, hard cherry wood surface and your feet are planted firmly on the ground. Dave’s dark brown leather shoe comes between both of your feet and he hastily kicks them further apart, spreading your legs wide for him and your breath catches in your throat for a second before you let out a little giggle at how eager he is to have you. His hands go to your hips and he angles you just right so when he steps forward his cock slides right between your folds and you let out a low moan at the friction it causes. He lets you feel him bare for a few more passes through your folds as his right hand leaves your hip to begin rustling around in the top desk drawer again. You have to bite back the words that are on your tongue, ‘don’t use one, just take me’ because you figure if he wanted to fuck you raw he would have by now. Dave is always careful and for the most part, always in control of himself but sometimes you wish he’d just let go and be reckless with you. It’s not really even that reckless, you argue with yourself. You’re on birth control and Dave knows this because he’s seen the little square patch you wear on your hip for three weeks of the month. He’d asked what it was as his fingers delicately traced the shape and you’d told him. A simple “hmm” was all you got from in response. And aside from that, Dave was the only person you were currently sexually active with and you’re pretty sure Dave knew that as well. There was so much Dave seemed to know about you. It would probably be almost unsettling if you really stopped to think about it so you just didn’t. You were happy to stay in your little bubble of blissed ignorance, so long as it meant Dave would continue to show you the attention you craved from him.

You turn your head back just in time to see him ripping the package with his teeth and then his hips pull back from you just enough so that he can roll the condom on before he’s back, pressing forward and teasing at your entrance again.

“Ready baby?” he asks.

“Mmm hmm” you nod weakly, desperate to feel him inside you finally. “Please”

With that final uttered syllable Dave thrusts forward, entering you in one swift motion and burying himself to the hilt with a single rough snap of his hips and all the breath gets knocked out of your lungs as your upper body is shoved slightly further up the desk. He stills for a moment once he’s fully seated inside you and lets you adjust to him, his left hand rubbing soothingly back and forth on your hip.

“That’s it, take my cock so good sweetheart, fuck” he groans, tossing his head back and now you’re not sure if he’s stopped moving for your sake or for his own. “God damn, love this tight fucking pussy” he practically growls before he rolls his hips back before snapping forward again. He sets a hard, rough pace from there, stealing the breath from your lungs with each snap of his hips and the guttural noises that leave your throat each time he hits that spot deep inside of you sound downright sinful as they bounce off the four walls of the small office.

Not quite as sinful, however, as the smack that reverberates in the room when Dave’s hand lands a sharp blow to your right ass cheek as he continues to pound into you from behind.

“Ah!” you cry out, sounding positively wrecked, because you are. “Fuck, oh my god, ohmygod”. You’re reduced to a whimpering, whining mess within minutes as Dave bucks into you with reckless abandon. His fingers dig so deeply into your hips you know for fact they’ll leave bruises. You manage to turn your head slightly back to look at him, and what a glorious sight he is. Neck veins prominently on display as he tilts his head slightly back but still manages to keep his hard gaze on you. His teeth are bared and there’s beads of sweat at his forehead from his exertion and it’s enough to send you catapulting over that edge. You come long and hard with a wrecked sob leaving your throat as your walls pulse and contract around him.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck” you cry out, hands stretched above your head to hold onto the edge of the desk for dear life as your orgasm crashes over you.

“Shit baby… shit” Dave curses and you know your orgasm nearly brought his own on as well. Another low growl escape his lips before he’s hauling you up by your arms. “C’mere”

Your limbs might as well be made of Jello after how hard you just came so fortunately for Dave you’re very pliant in his arms as he all but manhandles you around. He pulls out of you and turns you around before he hauls you up and off the desk. He backs up just enough to sit back down in his chair and pulls you down on top of him, situating you just right so you’re sat right back on his cock the same way you were earlier and you cry out again once he has you speared on his dick.

“Ride me baby, bounce up and down on this dick, come on” he urges you on, sounding wrecked himself and it’s enough to give you the gust of energy you need to comply. Your hands go to his shoulders to hold on and his go to your hips to help you raise them just slightly before he slams you back down into his lap and then repeats the motion, over and over.

“That’s it, oh fuck” he seethes through gritted teeth. “Such a good girl for me, oh ride that cock baby come on” he encourages and your eyes roll back in your head at how deep he hits inside you. You think you actually feel a third orgasm coming on and Dave must sense it in you too because the next thing you know his thumb is at your clit, rubbing frantic circles as he begs and pleads with you to give him ‘just one more’. And you do just that. With a cry of his name leaving your lips you come a third time, hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as he fucks you through it and then his arms wrap tight around your lower back and he presses you firmer into his lap as he pushes a few final deep thrusts into you until he finally stills, a shuddering moan released from the back of his throat as he spills inside the condom.

You stay just like that for long moments afterwards. Dave’s arms wrapped tightly around you and yours around his neck, your face buried in his shoulder and his nuzzling into the side of your face. Dave isn’t exactly a cuddler. At least not with you or in your experience with him yet. Typically when your done he slides out of you and likes to get the condom off and get himself cleaned up immediately, dismissing you to get back to whatever you were doing but today he seems content to just hold you and you’ll greedily take every second of it until he regretfully pulls away from you like you know he has to.

You're so blissed out in your post-orgasmic state that you almost don’t even hear it when he murmurs the words against your ear.

“Come away with me”

Confusion laces your tone as you push back from him just enough to search his eyes for answers “What?”

“I want you to come away with me” he repeats, clearer this time but you still don’t understand exactly what he means. He sighs and raises a hand to gently push your hair back behind your ear before his hand lands softly on your cheek. “For a weekend. Let’s get away. I’ll say I have a work trip or something and we can just… be together. No interruptions, no… fucking Olaf the snowman singing in the background while I’m trying to fuck your brains out” he adds teasingly and you can’t help the full belly laugh that escapes you.

“Do you mean it?” You ask after a moment. You want to believe it. A whole weekend with Dave sounds like fucking heaven, but you don’t want to get your hopes up if he’s just talking madness because he just blew his load and isn’t thinking straight.

Dave shrugs. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while” he remarks casually, thumb softly stroking back and forth at your cheek. “What do you say?”

“I say yes, of course!” You practically squeal, surging forward and stealing a kiss from his waiting lips. You kiss for long moments. It’s not a frenzied kiss like you usually share but it’s still heated and before long you’re forced to pull away when Dave’s cock twitches from where it’s still buried inside of you. You unfortunately both know you don’t have time for another round and so you regretfully pull apart, Dave gently lifting your hips to pull you off of him. He takes the condom off, tying it off at the end and tossing it into the small trash can under his desk before he carefully stuffs himself back into his underwear and rights his clothes. You gather your own clothes and quickly dress until you’re presentable again and then wander back over to where Dave has sat back down in his chair, undoubtedly going back to work for a couple more hours.

“Thank you” you whisper before you lean down and plant a kiss to his waiting lips.

“I’ll text you. About our… plans” he says and you smile warmly at him.

“Looking forward to it” you remark as you slip out of his office and back upstairs to check on the girls.

True to his word Dave texts you a week or so later, giving you very vague details on your trip. It’s just dates he’s told you to blackout, a friday through sunday at the end of the month and that he’ll pick you up at your place Friday at 3pm. No other details, not where you’re going, what you need to bring or pack or what type of clothing you’ll need. You assume you won’t be going far, a local hotel is most likely, but you’d at least like to know if you’ll be going anywhere nice for dinner, what kind of wardrobe you need to bring.

“What should I bring?” You settle on asking him when you reply to his text and a stupid grin forms at your lips from his simple reply.

“Just a toothbrush baby, won’t be needing anything else for what I’ve got planned for us 😈”

taglist: @janaispunk @nerdieforpedro @anotherpedrolover @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @axshadows @suzdin @yorksgirl @lincolndjarin @pedroshotwifey

thanks to @saradika-graphics for the page dividers!

I might turn this into a little series? But it would literally just be PWP lol. Not much storyline. Just for when I need to get the Dave York brain rot out lol. So if you wanna see more of these two (or see their little getaway) just lmk!

#dave york #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #dave york x reader #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe #dave york x you

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imsodishy · 5 months ago

Text

Come and Knock on Our Door

also on A03

(this episode filmed in front of a live studio audience)

March, 1987

She hears them before she sees them, which means Steve has lost the battle for his car’s stereo for the three hundredth day in a row.

Robin is standing in the slush on the curb outside the Columbia campus bookstore with her chatty co-worker Francis, with her messenger bag clutched to her chest so she doesn’t do something insane like swing it full force into Francis' fucking face. Which wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t. Francis isn't the worst or anything. He’s just really jazzed about the philosophy classes he taking. And he loves the sound of his own voice. And he can’t take a hint or a subtle no, or a really fucking pointed no. And, okay, he kind of is the worst, but Robin needs the job, it accommodates her class schedule, and she’s rarely shares shifts with Francis. So Robin will just continue to tune him out while he blithely goes on and on about solipsism or whatever the fuck.

When the BWM rounds the corner and comes into view she sighs in relief.

Eddie’s got an arm hanging out his backseat window, drumming aggressively along to the aggressive song the beemer is blasting, when he spots her he sticks his head out too, “Buckley! This guy bothering you?” he hoots, as they pull up to the curb. Her body language must be more starkly uncomfortable than she realized.

Before she can deny it, Billy is crawling out the fucking passenger window like someone who doesn’t know how doors work, sitting himself on the ledge, and slinging his arms over the roof of the car to glare silently at Francis.

Steve turns down the music to a bearable volume, “Problem, Robin?” he slides his ray-bans down to the tip of his nose to give Francis an unimpressed once over like he’s still King of Hawkins High, like anyone in New York should give a shit about him. It’s an attitude that’s depressingly really effective in a lot of situations. When he’s in a good mood Steve says it’s all about confidence, when he’s being a moody butthead he says it’s all just bullshit. Either way, it does the trick.

Francis is bug-eyed and slack jawed, and blessedly silent for the first time all day, staring at the spectacle that is Robin’s day to day life.

“Well,” she says with cheery a smile and a smack to his shoulder, “That’s my ride. See ya, Frank.”

She rounds the car and Billy climbs the rest of the way out the front window before he opens the door for her, shuts it behind her, and then drops himself in the back seat behind her, through the actual door this time, at least. And he does it all while maintaining extremely hostile eye contact with Francis over the roof of the car.

Robin gets shotgun, always , is the only car rule Steve has been able to consistently enforce so far in their time as a unit. She’s not sure how or why.

She's also not sure how or why this is how her life is turning out. If anyone asked her to recount the story of how she came to be sharing a house in New York, with this particular array of boys she could probably lay out the steps one by one pretty easily, and coherently, but it wouldn’t really clear anything up.

The short answer is Steve Harrington suddenly started collecting strays after high school. Which no one who knew him for the first eighteen years of his life could have predicted, Robin can confidently say that as someone who did know him then, or at least knew of him. So its Steve's fault, basically. He collected the three of them like weird dogs, and he found the house they're renting too.

Just before they peel out Steve turns to her and says, “Who's the clown?” maybe loud enough for Francis to hear, maybe on purpose.

“He's a turd,” Robin says dismissively once they’re on the road. “Listen, I need to talk to you guys.”

Because she does, and she's been putting it off since the phone call on Tuesday. Told herself it could wait a day, and then Steve had a jam-packed work schedule, and then Billy was cramming for a big test he was stressed about, and then Eddie's hours were so odd she just couldn’t find a good time to sit them all down, and if she really put her mind to it she could just delay, delay, delay until the bomb dropped in their laps and they all exploded in a giant mess.

She wasn’t sure why that seemed kind of appealing, but she figured it was probably a bad sign.

Billy leans forward, hand gripping the headrest of her seat, “That guy bothering you?” it’s the same question Eddie asked before, but with a wildly different tone of menace behind it.

Eddie tries to wedge his face in next to Billy, “You need us to talk to him Robbie? Lean on him a little? Scare him into backing off?” Eddie says like a parody of a tough guy. Billy shoves him back over to his side of the back seat with an annoyed grunt, but his grip on Robin’s seat relaxes a bit too.

“The only people who find you scary are people who have never had a conversation with you,” Steve snorts, “Not even a whole conversation. Just a passing interaction. You're a scarecrow.”

Eddie squawks.

“Pretty sure Buckley’s packing bigger guns than you, dude,” Billy says and Eddie squawks again, louder and more dramatic.

“Untrue! Buckley, flex real quick.” He demands, as he tries to shake an arm loose from his permanent leather jacket/denim vest combo.

“No,” she says. “Listen-.”

“There's more than one way to scare a square,” Eddie goes on, “Just because I'm slender and svelte, doesn’t mean I can't be intimidating.”

“Sure. But you're not intimidating though,” Billy drawls.

“This is character assassination!” Eddie’s too loud for the confined space of the car, “I terrorized Hawkins High! They thought I worshiped the devil!”

“And they kicked your ass on the regular. No one was scared of you, dude.”

“Guys!” Robin tries to interject, desperate to get this conversation on track.

“You know,” Steve says, hand peeling off the wheel to gesture at Eddie, “If you wanted to bulk up you could try working out with us sometime.”

“What about any interaction we’ve ever had makes you think I would want to do that?” Eddie asks.

“You were literally just complaining about being a scrawny little weakling,” Billy says.

More (mostly) mock outrage from Eddie, “Not any of the words I used actually. I’m lithe . Like Mick Jagger, you meathead.”

Billy snorts.

“Shut up!” she finally shouts them down. All three of them give her sidelong looks like that was a little uncalled for. She takes a deep breath and gets right to the point, “My mother is coming. This weekend. She is very concerned about my living situation.”

“Little late outta the gate, isn't it. It’s been, like, months,” Billy’s right, except for one thing.

“Yeah,” Robin tugs at her bangs, “She was not aware that I was living with three boys until now. She thought I was rooming with my cousin April.” Who, when caught out by her own mother that she was not attending Columbia with Robin, but was in fact trying to make it as an actress in New York, had sung like a canary, trying to deflect some heat off herself. It hadn't worked, incidentally, Aunt Janine was also headed for the Big Apple to lay down the law. “The fact that I have been lying to my parents for months didn't really help matters.”

“Your dad’s not coming up though?” Billy checks.

She shakes her head, “Couldn’t get time off. Just my mom, taking the Greyhound up tomorrow to assess how far I’ve fallen.”

“You want one of us to pretend to be your boyfriend?” Eddie offers, “We're all single, you can take your pick.” He strikes a pinup pose, nearly elbowing Billy in the face by accident. Billy elbows him in the ribs on purpose.

“God no! Absolutely not. Any hint of impropriety, forget it. She’ll tie me up in a sack and ship me to a women’s college. I have barely negotiated a stay of execution pending a visit. She cannot under any circumstances think I'm involved with any of you,” she pauses to gag at the thought, “So, you guys need to be on your very best behaviour. Okay?” she pleads

“Okay,” Steve says dubiously, “But, she spent your whole senior year convinced I was going to get you pregnant. And I’m pretty sure I did nothing to deserve that.”

That’s true. Steve worked very hard to project good respectful boy who is not trying to have sex with your daughter. But, even though it was the truth, it never did him any good with Sharon Buckley. The fact that he is one of the three boys Robin now lives with definitely didn’t help her mother’s freak out.

“We're just going to have to make it work, okay?” She can already tell that she sounds panicky about it, she doesn’t need Steve awkwardly patting her knee to make the point to her.

“We'll make it work,” he parrots back. “We’ll be on our best behaviour, we’ll clean the whole house-“

“Real clean,” she butts in, “Not teenage boy clean.”

Eddie says, “Hey I’m twenty-one, remember.”

“All the more reason you should know how to wash a fucking dish by now.” Billy mutters. Eddie smacks him and it devolves from there. Billy quickly gets him in a headlock.

Eddie squeaks, “Uncle! Uncle!”

“Uncle Wayne can’t save you now dipshit,” Billy laughs.

Steve throws an arm back blindly to smack either or both of them, “Stop kicking my seat you assholes. I swear to God I will crash this car and kill us all!”

It has to go well with her mother. She really doesn’t want to lose this.

“Wouldn’t it be better,” Eddie says, as he's carting another load of laundry down from his room (Robin's got him doing a preliminary clean before she goes in there to help. She categorically refuses to deal with any or their dirty undies, and she will never compromise on that), “If my room looked really lived in? Since were trying to prove everything is above board and nobody is a bed hopping harlot?” He’s been kind of vaguely complaining all afternoon, but he hasn’t actually been slacking off.

The house they share in the Bronx is tall, narrow, and a little rundown, in a neighborhood full of tall, narrow, rundown houses. Eddie's room is just the whole third floor all to himself. Which is ideal, because he's a rabid collector of junk and it gives maximum room for his knickknacks and oddities to spread out without taking over shared spaces.

The second floor has Billy and Steve's rooms and the boy's bathroom, which they squabble over constantly.

Robin’s room is on the ground floor, along with the living room, kitchen, laundry room, and her own bathroom, which Steve is not allowed to use for his hair routine, no matter how much he bitches about Billy hogging their sink. If she gives an inch she'll be drowning in hairspray in no time.

“There's a fine line between ‘lived in’ and ‘biohazard,’” Steve says. Robin has him vacuuming, which right now means he's cross-legged on the ground trying to extract a sock that was under the sofa and is now tangled up in the beater-bar of their second-hand machine. She told him to move the sofa first, but did he listen?

“Easy for you to say, rich boy. Missing your maid yet?”

“For the millionth time, we didn’t have a maid!” and they're off on that we’ll tread track, Robin tunes out the millionth go ‘round of Steve insisting a cleaning lady is different than a maid, because she only came once a week, not every day.

Billy's been tasked with deep cleaning the kitchen, because he's the only one who can be trusted to do it undirected.

Robin's been trash bagging anything that she deems Not Mom Safe, saucy albums and posters, cheeky mugs and the like. She's not actually going to throw their stuff out (she quite likes a few of those posters), but she is going to stash it all under the porch for the weekend.

She's made all three of them swear on their lives that their porn is locked down like Fort Knox. Which will have to be good enough. She’d rather die than have first hand knowledge of any of their jerkoff material.

She's peeling down their calendar that's purportedly advertising power tools, but is covered front to back in bikini babes, when Eddie exits the laundry room and asks, “Is all this really necessary?”

“Yes,” Robin says without hesitation, “She's like a dog with a bone. Anything could set her off.”

Billy pauses in the kitchen, “Set her off like how?”

“Lectures. Endless ones about all the dangers of sex, and how sex is everywhere, and you need to be prepared, and the urges and dangers, and dangerous urges, and on and on until you just wish the earth would swallow you whole.”

“You know,” Eddie says speculatively, “There’s an easy fix, if she's so worried us dirty boys are gonna compromise your genteel virtue.”

“Oh yeah? What's that, Casanova?” Billy asks, turning back to the sink he was scrubbing.

“We could pull a triple-Tripper.”

Steve scrunches up his face, looks around to check he’s not the only one who’s lost, then asks, “A what now?”

“Jack Tripper. Three's Company?” Eddie clarifies, then, when that clarifies nothing (obviously), he singsongs like a grade school teacher trying to lead the class to an obvious answer, “We pretend to be homosexuals.”

Robin freezes. Trash bag full of half naked babes in her hand.

“Is that what went on on that show?” Steve wonders out loud before his eyes drift to Robin and he notices her deer in the headlights routine, “Uh, would that be… bad?” he asks her tentatively.

Because Steve knows. Steve’s the only one that knows. Since they got accidentally way to high after a shift at the mall the summer they started hanging out and she word vomited all over him (she also real vomited on him that night, but that was incidental).

In her frozen prey animal state she cannot answer him, of course. What she can do, is clock the other body that has gone unnaturally still. Standing in the kitchen with a sponge clenched in his fist. In stark contrast to her wide-eyed panic, Billy’s face is entirely blank. Eerily blank.

A year ago she wouldn't have hesitated to say he was angry, disgusted by the very concept. He'll, even just a couple months ago. Now though…

No, though. That's an insane thought. Surely.

Probably.

Definitely.

On the bright side, the insane thought (quickly dismissed, not at all camped out in her brain for later obsessing over, no sir) knocks her out of her torpor enough to choke out, “Uhhhh, we’re not hatching any hi-jinks, okay. We're just going to show her that I have my own room, and my own bathroom, and very plainly show her that no one here is having any kind of sex!” She swings her arm like she’s axing that idea, which only calls attention to the soft-core calendar still clutched in her hand. She hastily stuff it in the trash bag.

Steve nods slowly at her and mimes taking a deep breath, she copies.

Billy silently goes backs to scrubbing the sink somewhat more aggressively than he had been.

Saturday, after her morning shift, Robin goes to the bus depot alone to collect her mom. Steve had offered to drive her, but the car is almost never worth the hassle honestly, they've been using it less and less the longer they've been in New York. He should maybe just sell it, like Billy sold his before the move, but she knows Steve feels better having it just in case. Anyway, it’s good for when they go back to Hawkins on breaks.

Honestly the main reason she says no to the lift is… she just wants a chance to see her mom alone for a second. Maybe she can prime her a little, really try to sell that everything is fine and dandy, but mostly… she just wants to see her mom just the two of them. She hasn't seen her since Christmas and she misses her. Sue her!

When her mom steps of the Greyhound it’s easy to forget for a second all the stress this visit dumped on her head. She’s got the same mousy brown hair as Robin, swept half up to keep it off her face, and she’s wearing the same pea-green puffy coat she’s had for a decade. Robin can’t help smiling.

It seems like Mom’s in the same boat, big reflexive smile that it takes her a second to lock down into Concerned Mom Mode as she drops her bag by Robin’s feet. “Let me get a look at you,” she squishes Robin's face between her palms and manually bobbles her head around, this way and that way, like maybe she’ll be able to see the debauchery if she catches it in the right light.

“Hi Mom. How was the bus?”

“Smelled like grass. I think it was that guy,” she lets go of one of Robin’s cheeks to point unsubtly at guy with a long gray ponytail, “Toking up at ever rest stop.”

Robin smacks her hand down, “Mom! You can’t just point at people.” she hisses, mortified. Some of those warm fuzzy mom’s here feelings instantly evaporating in the heat of her embarrassment.

“Oh, I can’t point out pot heads, but you can shack up with a bunch of boys? Is that how it is in the big city?”

So that lasted about thirty whole seconds.

“Mom,” she huffs, flapping her hands, “We are not ‘shacked up.’ We’re just four people in a house. It’s nothing scandalous.”

“Then why hide it from us?” Mom swipes.

“Because you would have been worried.” Robin parries.

“Because it’s worrying, sweetheart. We don’t want you throwing your life away for some boy. Three boys? It’s a minefield, this could derail you so easily.”

“I’m not going to throw my life away.” Robin rolls her eyes, grabs her mom’s bag and starts leading her to their subway stop, “They’re friends. Good ones! They support me. Billy’s at Columbia too!”

“Your education is not less important than your boyfriend’s-”

“Oh my God, I am not dating Billy!”

“-You can’t drop out, even if he-”

“Who the hell is dropping out?!”

“Robin Caroline Buckley, do not curse at me!”

It goes about like that the whole ride home.

It's bedlam in the middle of the living room when they get home. Because of course it is. Because that is the house she lives in.

Billy’s got Eddie by the arms and Steve’s got his ankles and they’re swinging him like a sack of potatoes between them. Steve and Billy are both obviously post run, sweaty and a little ripe. Eddie is screeching, “I’ll be Mick Jagger! I’m Mick Jagger!” over and over. He’s the only one of the three of them with a shirt on. It’s got a girl in a metal bikini on it.

“You are no Jagger, jack-ass,” Billy snorts.

Eddie notices the Buckleys in the entryway first, says, “Oh fuck, what time is it?”

When Steve looks their way his eyes go wide and he immediately drops Eddie’s legs, letting him thump down with an oof and enough force to nearly bring Billy down on top of him.

Steve gamely smiles his goodest good boy smile, as he hustles over, hand outstretched, “Mrs. Buckley, so good to see you again. How was your trip?”

Mom looks at his hand, looks over his shoulder at Eddie struggling to his feet and Billy climbing over the sofa instead of walking around it like a normal human being.

Steve forces a laugh, “We were just, uh…”

“Trying to entice Munson to join us in some calisthenics,” Billy cuts in, “Physical fitness is so important.” He thrusts out a hand same as Steve did, but a good boy smile is nowhere to be found. His smile is distinctly smarmy, Robin hates it on sight. “Hi, Mrs. Buckley, nice to meet you. Billy Hargrove.”

Climbing to his feet Eddie is out of breath, despite the fact that he was not the one hauling a whole person’s body weight around. “I successfully dodged gym class for six years I refuse to be pressganged into it now just because you two are masochistic, meatheads. Hello Mrs. Buckley, it is my sincere pleasure to meet you.” Robin thinks he might be aiming for good boy but the smile comes off a little… insane.

Rather than just sticking a hand out to be ignored, Eddie grabs one of her Mom's in both of his and gives it a very earnest looking shake. Then he gestures expansively with one hand, the other keeping hers trapped, “Welcome to our home.”

Her mom definitely doesn’t know what to make of Eddie, a common reaction. But she's got a long standing opinion of Steve: Risky. And she's clearly formed a quick opinion of Billy based on, just, everything about him: Risky Squared. She’s tightlipped, observing their bare chests like a pair of sweaty time bombs. The hand Eddie hasn’t claimed is wrapped tightly around Robin’s wrist like she's thinking about running all the way back to Indiana with her daughter in tow.

Robin turns big, doleful eyes over to Steve. He grimaces and mouths ‘ Sorry.’

“Mom-“

Ripping her hand out of Eddie's, her mom whirls on her, finger pointed firmly in Robin's face, “No, no. How can you possibly expect me to just leave it alone? I cannot just pretend that there’s nothing going on here.”

“Nothing is going on though, I swear,” Robin pleads.

Her mother scoffs, “I am not naïve, Robin. I am a nurse, I know what young people get up to, I see the fallout of it every single day.”

“Mrs. Buckley-“ Steve tries.

“Put a shirt on, for Christ sake!” she snaps at him.

Steve yelps, “Yep,” and hightail it to the laundry room. Comes back with a shirt on and a spare that he lobs at Billy’s head. All three of them are just standing there, looking so goddamn awkward, obviously wanting to help and with no idea how to.

They spent their whole Friday cleaning. Today’s the first day of spring break technically. They were planning to get drunk, watch a bunch of horror movies, and throw gummy bears at Steve every time he had a bad movie opinion.

Instead, this is happening.

“Sweetheart,” Mom entreats, “I know you never want to listen when I try to talk to you about boys and sex, because you think it’s icky,” and Robin tries desperately not to squirm or cringe, “But you can’t stick your head in the sand. Condoms can fail, and you're not on the pill, god knows I tried when you first got your period-”

Robin loses the battle and cringes away, but the boys are right there , shuffling around awkwardly. She’s pretty sure she heard Steve whisper a horrified, “They can?” when her mom mentioned condoms. She really doesn’t want to talk about any of this.

“-No! Listen to me! I know you want to just, la-la-la,” Mom sticks her fingers in her ears, just when Robin is embarrassingly close to doing that exact thing, “And not think about it, because it grosses you out. But you have to think about it! Because if you get pregnant-“

“I'm not going to get pregnant!” she protests.

“You might!”

“I won’t!”

“ Robin ,” her mom sighs, beyond exasperated.

“I'm a lesbian!”

Sharon Buckley is, for perhaps the first time in Robin's entire life, at a loss for words.

In the silence, Eddie gasps quietly, “A reverse-Tripper.”

Steve thumps the back of his hand into Eddies gut, hisses, “No, dumbass, she's just gay.”

“Oh shit, for real? Right on,” Eddie whispers.

Billy’s face is carefully blank again.

Steve clears his throat, “We should, uh,” he points to the ceiling and raises his eyebrows at her, asking silently if she wants them to clear out. She’s not sure she does, but she nods anyway.

Steve herds them up the stairs. He’ll probably lay down the law while they’re up there. Necessary or not.

Once they’re gone the first thing her mom says is, “What on earth is a reverse-Tripper?” eyes unfocused, sounding slightly perturbed.

“It’s not a thing,” Robin says, “Eddie makes up his own things a lot and they’re mostly, you know, nonsense.”

Her mom blinks, refocuses on her, searching her face like she’s looking for a sign of it. “Robin, are you- You're not just trying to shut me up, are you?”

Robin tucks her elbows in, folds her arms around herself tight. “No. Mom, I’m gay.”

“Okay, we should- let's sit down,” her mom says, gesturing to Robin’s own sofa like she’s the host and Robin’s the guest. They should sit, that’s a good idea.

But then once they’re seated, knees angled towards each other, Robin can barely look at her mom she’s so tense. She focuses on the green coat, she’s still wearing her coat. Robin is too, no wonder she feels overheated.

“Sweetheart,” they’ve been sitting in silence for... who knows how long, days maybe, when Mom speaks, “I hope you know that all I have ever wanted, all I have tried to do, is give you the best chance to make it. To get you to adulthood, to a point where you could go out into the world and have the opportunity to do... whatever you wanted to do.”

Robin nods, because it seems like she should.

Mom’s eyes are shiny when she takes Robin’s face between her hands, “So if you’re out in the world now, well, not if, you are, you’re out in the world now- and I am so proud of you, sweetheart- and if you’re telling me that what you want is a... a girlfriend?” Robin nods again, a tiny nod, barely a nod at all. “Then I am thrilled you have the opportunity to want that. I love you.”

Robin launches herself at her mother, smothering her and her puffy green coat in a hug, “I love you too, Mom.”

“It can’t be all you want though,” Mom keeps talking, even all choked up, “You have to finish school.”

“Mom!” Robin laughs.

They reset.

She calls the boys back downstairs, and they creep down all unsure until they see her mom smiling on the couch. Billy and Steve have both cleaned themselves up in the interim (Eddie has not changed his shirt). They all get real handshakes and a much more gracious intro, they give her a tour of the house.

She catches her mom having a quiet, concerningly earnest conversation with Steve at one point. When she asks him what it was about he says, “She asked me if I knew all last year, and then she wanted to thank me for having your back.” Then, after a pause, “Also she wanted to make sure i understood that even if condoms aren’t infallible I should still always use them. She had stats.”

“Well, she is a nurse,” Robin tells him.

Eddie snitches about the stuff hidden under the porch, so her mom gets a cup of coffee in a mug with a sunbathing pinup girl’s butt prominently displayed and Bottoms Up! in a cheerful font on it.

Billy waffles wildly all day between being weirdly flirty with her mom and being even more weirdly awkward and quiet, like he can’t figure out how to act. Robin corners him in the kitchen eventually and pokes his ribs until he snarls at her. “You’re being super weird,” she informs him.

“I know.” He tilts his head back against the cupboards, closes his eyes, and doesn’t elaborate.

Out in the living room Eddie’s telling some story, arms waving wildly and face gleeful. Her mom is laughing.

“She’s really nice,” Billy says eventually, eyes still closed.

“Yeah, she’s pretty okay,” Robin replies, leaning her head on his shoulder.

On Sunday Robin and her mom meet up with aunt Janine and April in Manhattan for lunch and a debrief. They also seem to have come to some kind of agreement. April apologizes to her about ninety times, and Robin lets her grovel a bit, even though it worked out alright in the end.

Aunt Janine tries to stir the pot at one point, says something about Robin’s living situation with pointedly raised eyebrows over her mimosa. Mom looks at Robin, pats her hand, and says mildly, “Well, they’re nice boys.”

Robin smiles so big her cheeks hurt.

After lunch Robin takes her to the bookshop, to show her where she works, and lets her terrorize Francis for a little while.

Monday morning Mom goes home. The boys all get big hugs at the bus stop, their reception ranging from enthusiastic to baffled with Steve falling somewhere in the middle. Robin gets the biggest hug, and her mom cradles her cheeks between her hands for a long moment. She says, “Be safe,” and gives her a kiss on the forehead.

They all wave until the Greyhound is out of sight.

And so ends the Mom Visit.

Monday night they get down to their briefly delayed spring break plans. Steve and Eddie aren’t students, of course, and all four of them still have work this week, so it’s not much of a break. But for tonight they have a stack of movies, a stock of adult beverages, and a pile of very childish snacks.

Robin, Billy, and Eddie are in the kitchen dumping various configurations of sugar and salt into many bowls, Steve is in the living room setting up the VCR.

“I can't believe you had us convinced your mom was a total prude, when, all along, t’was you.” Eddie pokes a finger right up in her face, which she slaps away. He does it again, and again, switching hands each time she smacks one down, and cooing, “You the prude,” each time.

“I'm not a prude,” she protests.

“Oh yeah? Then instead of Poltergeist you wanna watch some porn?”

She gives a heartfelt, “Ewwww,” to that thought.

Billy tosses a handful of skittles at Eddie as he leaves the kitchen, studding his dark hair with colorful little pellets.

Robin fiddles with a bag of chips, “It just- It was never relevant. It was never going to be relevant, even- even if there were girls like that around, it’s not like I would be, you know,” Eddie waggles his eyebrows as if to say prude because she can’t even say it, “It’s not like they’d be interested in me.” If she just keeps staring at this bag of chips she won’t have to see whatever stupid face Eddie is making.

“What are you talking about? Robin, you’re great!” he says.

“I’m not exactly a hot commodity,” she tells her bag of chips.

Eddie spins her around by the shoulders to make her face him, “Look, Buckles-“

“Don't call me that.”

“-Hawkins was a stupidly small pond. It was a puddle. No one’s thriving in a puddle, not many fish in a puddle. But we’re in the ocean now, baby! And when we do find some fish ladies of your persuasion-”

“Gross.” Robin interrupts again, because she has too.

“-When we do find them,” he continues on louder, “You will be an irresistible lure to them.”

“That metaphor was strained dude.”

“Yeah, yeah. You wanna talk problems?” He asks, leaning back against the counter beside her, “My actual, pretty much twenty-four-seven, standing right beside me competition is Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, and Billy ‘Hard-Body’ Hargrove. Okay? I am the one who is screwed.”

She just sips her beer and absolutely does not share her suspicions that Billy’s not in any kind of competition with Eddie for dates.

Robin can see Billy and Steve in the living room, sitting at opposite ends of the couch, chucking candy at each other's open mouths. They’re already getting competitive about it, she can tell. Someone’s going to end up with a corneal abrasion from a skittle tonight.

“But then again, who knows?” Eddie tilts his bottle towards hers, “It’s New York City, baby. Anything can happen.”

She’ll drink to that.

#robin buckley #steve harrington #billy hargrove #eddie munson #robin's mom #dishy writes #four's company au #crossposting this (which I really should have done in the first place not sure why i didn't)#i'll post the second one here too in a couple days probably

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petals2fish · 1 year ago

Text

Genius

Summary:

After Lily breaks her iPhone, she finds herself at the Genius Bar on Valentines Day, and an old flame is there to help her in all things technology and romance.

read on A03

Marlene McKitten: babes you're missing out on blackberry margs!!

Lily Evans: I’m sorry! It was the only time I could schedule a time for my phone to get fixed!

Marlene McKitten: you just hate me, its okay, you can say it

Lily Evans: you’re a drama queen, Marlene McKinnon

Marlene McKitten: you love me anyways…find me a hot date at the apple store so I can get discounts!!

Lily Evans: if I find a hot guy he’s mine for the night

Marlene McKitten: further proof that you hate me

Lily Evans: I’m here. … Pray this doesn’t take five hours and I can come meet you for drinks.

Marlene McKitten: how hard will it be to replace a screen? … I bet I could do it myself with youtube and a little superglue

Lily did not reply back to her friend, she didn’t have the heart to tell Marlene that superglue and youtube weren’t the answer for everything. Even if superglue had proven effective at keeping Lily’s favorite mug together after it broke in the dishwasher.

Lily just couldn’t believe she was spending her free time at the Apple Store because she'd somehow cracked her phone screen. In all her years of owning a phone, of course it would be the most expensive phone she’d ever had that broke. Even her flimsy flip phone had been more sturdy than her iphone.

“Hi, are you here for an appointment?” A scrawny kid about her age asked, holding the iPad too close to his face as he approached her near the front doors.

Lily nodded quickly. “Yeah, Lily Evans, for a screen repair.”

“Gotcha.” The kid's nametag read ‘Peter,’ and he barely looked up at her as he typed away on his screen. “I checked you in; just go wait at the Genius Bar.”

“Thanks.”

Lily maneuvered around the cramped store, sighing all the while as she made her way to the Genius Bar. It was rather depressing to be alone on Valentine's Day, but it was almost extra disappointing that she’d had to skip lunch with her girlfriends to come here. Lily couldn’t believe she was missing out on the tacos at Casa Grande, a tradition that went all the way back to Uni. She nervously picked at the crack on her screen, most annoyed that she’d somehow forgotten to add the screen protector when she got her new case two months ago. Another sigh escaped her lips before she finally took a look at her surroundings.

There were three boys at the counter, each of them so different from the other. The first, on Lily’s left, was a bloke with a leather jacket, emitting a touch of emo metal head from his persona. The one on the right definitely looked like he belonged at the Genius Bar in the Apple Store, thanks to his perfectly pressed sweater vest and nicely combed hair. The man leaning against the table opposite Lily, typing into his iPad, was a sporty-looking bloke wearing slacks with a rumpled button-down shirt.

She thought to herself, Actually, no, that sporty bloke looks really familiar… Oh.

It hit her like a freight train.

She couldn’t remember his name for the life of her, but he’d somehow gotten hotter in the year since they graduated from college. It’d been almost that much time since they’d danced at a party, stumbled up the stairs to his bedroom, and he’d fucked her on his bed. Not even a quick go. No, she had woken up in his bed to find his arms around her, her clothes all over the room, and her phone dead from going all night without a charger.

He’d been such a gentleman when he woke up. He had practically stumbled over his words when he realized she was there, in his bed, naked with him. They had both been drunk, so even he admitted it had probably been a bad idea. They’d parted ways an hour later, Lily promising that she’d be okay to walk back to her dorm, and he had let her go so she assumed he really hadn’t wanted anything more than a once go in the sheets.

More than once, she'd thought about this bloke, wondering what happened to him.

His black hair was in a mess of waves around his head, and he didn't look up from his iPad as she stared in shock. She didn’t know what she’d say to him if they did make eye contact. The last thing she’d said to him was ‘thanks for the sex’ which somehow grew more and more embarrassing the longer she sat here and recalled it. She kept picturing his naked body in that bed in the morning. What would she say if he looked up right now and she was there remembering the contours of his body?

Hi, I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.

She’d save that gem for later.

Probably never.

Lily felt disappointed as he walked away without looking up, disappearing through a door that likely led to the back. Her heart slowed in her chest, just slightly, but she felt like her throat was drier than the desert. She cleared it twice, earning a look from the guy in the sweater-vest, but he just went back to his task at hand.

Since the other two men at the Genius Bar were preoccupied, she took that to mean she was going to have to wait for help. She checked her Tumblr, finding nothing of consequence, just some idiots in her ask box telling her to eat dirt and choke on it. A usual occurrence on her blog thanks to internet trolls with nothing better to do than hate strong women like Taylor Swift and Captain Marvel. Lily was fully convinced people just liked to find something to complain about. She tried really hard not to complain or take anything a bunch of internet ghosts said to heart. She scrolled through her favorite Taylor Swift blog and saw there had been a new song mashup released. She wished she had brought her headphones so she could at least listen to the music while she waited.

London Boy crossed with This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things would be absolutely disastrous and she was here for it. She reblogged it for later, then exited out of the app, settling for people watching instead.

Around her, couples were looking over new computers, AirPods, and various other electronics. All the girls wore really pretty dresses, and all the partners kept one firm arm around each other's waists. Lily’s dress was pretty too, and she played with the edges of the corset cut as she stared at the door through which the fit bloke had disappeared.

Had he spotted her and run? Did he remember her? Did he forget her? She wasn’t sure what would hurt her more, if he walked away because he saw her and remembered her, or if he walked away because he forgot about her.

Lily wasn’t a bragger, but she knew for a fact he had fun with her a year ago. She remembered enough of that night to know that he’d been really, really enjoying it. Not many men would get between her legs for her, and very few actually made her scream. No, he’d been one of two, and he’d been the best of all.

Lily crossed her legs, trying to ignore the heat gathering on her face (and in other places) as she recounted that night. Sadly, her body wasn’t listening to her imploring thoughts. She felt like a damn animal in heat, the way her entire body was strung up, waiting for his reappearance.

Beside her, the emo guy helping the old Lady change her voicemail sent her a sidelong glance randomly, and Lily felt a blush raise on her cheeks when his eyes grazed up and down her body as if he were checking her out. She didn’t drop his gaze, and instead offered him a smile. His gray eyes snapped back to the old lady and spoke to her in a smooth tone that didn’t seem the least bit flustered.

She looked down at her candy-colored nails, the pink already chipping from scrubbing her hands too much at work. The phone on the table in front of her buzzed with a text from her girls' chat. Marlene sent a photo of a plate of tacos in the shape of a heart. Lily smiled and opened her phone, hearting the photo. As she did so, the grandmother finished her session and walked away, leaving the emo kid free. Lily looked up from her phone quickly, expecting him to turn to her, but instead, he had his back turned to her as he talked into his headset.

“No, I won’t stall for you—Prongs! Don’t argue with me.” He sounded stressed, as if whoever was on the other end was ruining his life. “Then get out here, you idiot.”

Whoever was on the other end was clearly addressing the whole store through that headset, as Lily witnessed the sweater vest-wearing, scrawny boy, and the long-haired brunette nearby all turning to send looks in Emo’s direction with raised brows. Lily couldn’t help but feel as if they were all looking at her too, despite her not being privy to the conversation happening.

“Hi,” someone touched Lily’s shoulder from behind, making her turn in surprise.

A baby-faced woman with bubblegum-pink hair smiled kindly. “Have you been checked in?”

“Oh,” Lily blinked owlishly, feeling stupid for thinking everyone was looking at her. “Uhm, yes, Lily Evans? Screen repair?”

“Our screen repair guy is stuck on the phone with a customer in the back,” she said cheerily, “but he should be out soon.”

“Oh, there’s a guy?” Lily said in surprise. “I thought screen replacements were kinda a universal genius bar thing.”

“Oh, we can all do it,” The girl’s name tag told Lily her name was Tonks, “but someone called dibs already.”

“Dibs?” Lily didn’t miss that Emo kid was cackling as he typed something into his iPad.

“Did I say dibs?” Tonks put a finger on her lips. “I meant he was assigned to you by the boss.”

“Who’s the boss?”

“He is.”

Suddenly, the door behind them slammed open, and a body stumbled out quite dramatically. Lily perked up at the sight of the familiar form. Sporty boy was back! His black hair was even more wild around his head, as if he’d been running his fingers through it non-stop since he’d disappeared. His glasses were skewed too, but it only made him so much more attractive, to see how flustered he was.

Tonks peered around Lily’s shoulder, her pink hair falling into her eyes. “Smooth entrance, Potter.”

“Thanks for holding down the fort, Nymphadora,” Potter said. “I can take her from here.”

Lily’s eyes traced his tall form, realizing it had been a long time since she’d been able to admire it. When her gaze returned to his face, her eyes met brown orbs that looked delighted to know she’d been openly checking him out. Lily’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She brushed nervously at her red curls, biting her lip as James waltzed over to her at the bar, leaning against it so he was only a foot or so away from her.

“Hi,” his voice was smooth, like an ASMR streamer. “I’m James Potter.”

“Hi,” she almost choked on her own spit. “Hi.”

James’ fingers trailed along the edge of the bar, casual yet deliberate, as he said, “I heard you rang for a genius?”

Lily’s mouth quivered when she heard Tonks sigh loudly. The emo guy slammed his palm against his head, as if James had embarrassed them all. Sweater vest physically gagged. James just kept smiling at her though, as if he could tell she was attracted to him regardless of his cheesy pickup lines. And it was true, she was.

“I heard you are the only one in this store who can help me,” Lily flirted, watching his eyes light up at the challenge. “I had no idea you were so important.”

“Me either, to be honest.” He placed his chin on his hand, supported by his elbow against the bar. “What was your name again?”

Lily tucked her hair behind her ear. “Lily Evans? We met about a year ago at a party.”

His eyes seemed to sparkle as he replied smoothly, “Oh, I remember how we met, it was just your name that escaped me last year.”

The blush was uncontrollable now as she reached out a hand for him to shake. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You have no idea how nice it is to see you again.” James’ grin grew wider. “And on Valentine's Day, no less.”

"I know how to make an entrance." She managed weakly.

James' eyes were molten gold mixed with green flecks, "you sure do, especially in that dress."

“Get a room,” the guy in the sweater vest muttered.

“How about yours, Remus?” James shot back, a bite in his tone.

Remus pretended to be interested in his customer's macbook in response. When Lily looked back at James, she felt a punch to the gut as she saw nothing but pure lust in his eyes. She could practically pinpoint where his mind had dropped, thanks to his eyes staring at her breasts, which were practically popping out of the corset cut top of her dress.

“Like what you see?” She asked boldly.

"Yes." He cleared his throat, and her eyes dropped to his mouth when he licked his lip and then curled the edges up to smile confidently.

Hazel eyes.

His eyes were hazel, and she’d forgotten that, so now all her memories were being replayed with coy hazel eyes that undressed her without even trying. He wasn't even trying to hide it, especially not right now.

“Well, what can I help you with today?” James asked, breaking her concentration on his eyes.

Dinner. She thought desperately. A quick go in the back of the storage room. Instead she offered, “I think I cracked my phone screen.”

James looked down at the phone in question. Lily picked it up, popping off the blue protective case in one fluid motion, before handing it to him. She fiddled with the case as he turned the phone over in his hands once.

“And you’re sure it’s not just the screen protector?”

Lily shook her head no, “I tried to pull it off, twice, but couldn't get it, so I’m pretty sure I forgot to put the protection screen thing on when I got my new case.”

“Oh Lily,” James clucked his tongue, “always use protection.”

Oh, that was the wrong thing to say.

Her brain immediately fluttered into the pit of her stomach with ideas of all the things they could do with protection. God, she hadn’t been so turned on since the last time he’d gotten her into bed with him…only this time it was daylight and she hadn’t had a single thing to drink.

Pure thoughts, Lily Evans. She thought. He’s just a guy. A hot, cool, incredibly charming guy. Fuck it, I’m screwed.

James casually picked at her phone screen, seemingly ignoring the desire flickering in her eyes as he remarked, “The glass shouldn’t stick up like that; I think it’s just a screen protector.”

“I really don’t think–”

Watching in mortification, Lily winced as he used his thumbnail to pry at the glass. Suddenly, a sound of unsticking reached her ears as he removed a screen case from her phone's actual glass. Redness flooded her face for an entirely different reason. She’d been a total, utter, helpless idiot for bringing her phone here.

It hadn’t been broken at all.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, “Oh, no, no, no, no!! I am such an idiot.”

“No!” He quickly reassured her, “You’re not an idiot!”

Lily felt herself spiraling with embarrassment, realizing she just hadn’t pulled hard enough to separate the sticky tape from the glass. “I swear—I tried so hard—I thought it was the screen.”

His thumb brushed the side of her wrist in comfort, but instead of soothing her, it sent a wave of shame coursing through her stomach. “It’s an honest mistake; it was securely fastened.”

“Yeah,” she squeaked, noticing he had leaned closer over the counter, now mere inches from her face.

“Seriously,” he seemed so amused, and that only humiliated her further, “it’s fine, I won't even charge you.”

She didn’t know if she’d ever felt more stupid, and in front of the hottest guy she knew, too. “I’m really sorry for wasting your time.” He searched her face as if seeking something within it. Lily withdrew her hand from his shyly and then grabbed her phone. “I’ll just go, thank you, um, bye.”

Trying to escape the awkward situation, she hurried out, acutely aware of the stares from those around them who had witnessed the embarrassing exchange. She slipped her unprotected phone under the strap of her dress and brushed her hair behind her ears as she rushed to her car in the parking lot.

“Dumb, stupid, idiot.” she muttered over and over to herself, repeating the whole scene in her head. “How did you graduate college with a science degree, but you can’t even pull a fucking phone condom off.”

She reached her car in record time, the lingering sense of humiliation mingling with a cocktail of other emotions churning in her gut. Her plan now was simple: she would rendezvous with her friends at the taco place and immerse herself in a flight of margaritas. Maybe if she got intoxicated enough, she could erase this entire fiasco from her memory. As she finished flinging her bag onto the console of the passenger seat, she heard footsteps approaching from behind.

Turning abruptly, she was startled to find James from the Genius Bar standing there, a friendly smile gracing his features. “Hey, Lily.”

“Hi,” she managed, her voice high-pitched from her embarrassment.

HIs eyes dropped to the phone, precariously held between her pale skin and tiny spaghetti thick dress strap. “Why do girls stuff everything right there?”

Lily looked down at her phone and then back up to him, feigning tucking her hands into the folds of her dress skirt, “most girls clothes don’t have pockets–so we improvise.”

“Interesting.” He then asked promptly, “Did you know that I worked here?”

“No,” she swore, as the wind made her skirts gather around her legs, “I swear, I had no idea.”

A light flickered in his eyes, “that’s a shame.”

“Why a shame?”

“I was hoping you made up that entire thing about the glass cracking just to talk to me.” He grinned. “But you genuinely thought it was broken, didn’t you?”

“You were hoping I was lying?” Lily blinked owlishly at him, “really?”

He lifted a lunchbox in his hand, smiling awkwardly. “I only have an hour for lunch; why don’t we catch up, and we can talk about what I was hoping for.”

“What?” Lily asked, not comprehending anything because her hormones were cheering excitedly.

“Sorry,” he tucked the lunchbox behind his back again, “did you not want to eat with me? I think I may have gotten mixed signals from you back in the store…”

“Eat with you?” she repeated. “ With you?”

“I know it’s been a while,” he was rambling, “I know we aren’t even like–friends–but you showed up and I–I nearly had a heart attack seeing you again. A heart attack in the good way–not a bad way. You are definitely good. All good. So good.”

Lily still had one hand on her car door, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to find the words. “I–I’m an idiot who can’t tell the difference between a screen cover and a phone screen…and you want to have lunch with me?”

James shrugged, “despite working at the genius bar–” Lily offered him a snort of amusement, “--I prefer idiots, don’t you?”

“You're not an idiot,” Lily said, motioning to all of him, “you’re–you’re that .”

“Eloquent,” his smile was so wide, his eyes crinkled at the edges. “But I’m 100% just as much an idiot as you.”

“How so?”

“I was an idiot for ever letting you go without a number to text you at.”

She felt her stomach erupt with pleasant butterflies. “What?”

James looked down at her body, then back up at her eyes with a coy wink. “Truthfully, I've been wondering where you disappeared to for a year now and would really like to catch up. I’d also really love your number, for your working phone, just in case you ever need a genius to fix it again. Is that okay?”

Lily felt like she might be dreaming. She pinched her arm. It hurt. Thank god. “This isn’t a joke, right?”

“No,” James walked forward, almost flush with her person now. “I do love a good joke, though.”

“Really?” He was so close, she could count the tiny freckles dotting his tan nose.

James' hand brushed her arm, sending shivers racing up it. “What’s the best book to read while eating breakfast?”

Lily felt a smile replacing her confused expression as she leaned up on her tiptoes, allowing his free hand to cup her chin. “What book?”

“Much Ado About Muffin.”

"You're right, you are an idiot." She rolled her eyes, but her tone was flirtatious, "a really, really cute idiot."

"They'll hire just about anyone to work the Genius Bar these days."

Lily didn’t wait anymore; she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him down, letting her lips muffle his laughter.

She could still feel his smile through the kiss though, even when he opened his mouth to taste her with an eager fever she had forgotten about. She kissed him back harder, especially when she heard his lunch bag fall to the ground near their feet, and both his hands grabbed hold of her long hair to keep her firmly attached. He tasted like mint gum, like he'd just been chewing it before coming to find her. Like he'd planned for this exact scenario to happen.

She almost swooned at the thought.

Finally, what felt like only a second later, he broke off the kiss. When her eyes opened, she saw nothing but him, and that only made her smile grow wider. His hands remained in her hair, but he tugged them forward to cup her cheeks, bringing the red strands with him.

“So,” he said somewhat breathlessly, “lunch date?”

"What'd you have in mind?"

"Calling out of work, taking you home, and ordering pizza for a long movie we won't watch."

Lily stepped forward, about to kiss him again for suggesting it, but then she felt her chunky heel step on something, and a resounding crack filled the air. Lily thought it might be the lunch bag he’d dropped, and for just a second she hoped, but whatever was under her foot was smaller. She looked down, face white, and all she saw were broken bits of glass under her heel. Her heart plummeted from its high as she stared down at her broken phone.

“I broke my phone,” she realized, lifting her foot to show a screen in tiny bits and pieces. “Oh my god, I really broke it this time.”

James untangled himself from her and leaned down, picking it up carefully, and they watched as it disintegrated into multiple pieces in his hand. His eyes lifted from the phone to her. She stared back at him. Lily fell against her car, pressing her hands into her hair as she processed her disbelief. James' mouth was partially open, like she'd just stunned him to silence.

“I can’t believe this!” she half laugh, half cried, while wiping her eyes. "I can't fucking believe this!"

Then, James doubled over with laughter, weeping from the irony of it all. Lily crossed one leg over the other as she laughed too, her head rolling back against her car. Passerby in the parking lot shared attempts like they were lunatics for laughing so hard. It only made them laugh harder.

"What am I going to do?" Lily cried, her side in stitches. "Oh god, I haven't even paid that phone off yet!"

"I can't believe you broke it!" James wiped the tears from his eyes, "oh my god, your luck!"

"Oh fuck," Lily pressed a hand to her forehead, "I don't know why I'm laughing, this is actually so bad, I need my phone for work."

James walked forward to plant a firm kiss on her mouth before reminding her, “Don’t worry, you know a genius who can fix it.”

~~~

+44 7123 456789: Lily??? Are you Alive??? Your bedroom doors been shut since yesterday?? have you even been home???

Lily Evans: holy shit I am so sorry, who is this? I have a new phone and forgot to switch my contacts over from the cloud

+44 7123 456789: ....Marlene....HOW BROKEN WAS YOUR PHONE??? It was a scratch the last time I saw it??

Lily Evans: funny story...

Marlene McKitten: where are you?!

Lily Evans: do you remember that one time I got super drunk at a party and woke up in a hot guys bed?

Marlene McKitten: ya...why?

Lily Evans: I'm currently in his bed right now

Marlene McKitten: ??? get home right now or so help me god I'm tracking your phone and coming to you

Lily Evans: save yourself a drive and meet us at the Genius Bar, he's taking me over there to fix my old computer I thought was broken.

Marlene McKitten: ?????????????

#jily #lily evans #james potter #jily fanfiction #jily fic #sleepover saturday #JPLE

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mysterious-moonstruck-musings · 3 days ago

Note

How can i read your stories again if tumblr shutting down? 🥺

Hi Friend,

As a precaution, I have set up an account on Pillowfort since that seems to be where a lot of tumblr users are heading. I already hate it, but it's there for backup so I can stay in touch with all of my lovely pocket friends if this hell site dies.

You can find me here:

I do also have an a03 account where I have started posting fics. I have a love/hate relationship with it as it's just not the same as posting here. It's not as visually appealing and it's a pain in the ass to post extras. With that said, I've been slacking with the posting there. However, if tumblr goes down, that's where you can find my writing. I do have it set so that only registered users can view my works.

Let's keep our fingers crossed that tumblr doesn't go down because I'm not loving the alternatives as much. 🤞🤞🤞🤞

Just know that I will be using tumblr as my main application for now. I'm going down with the ship. 😘

💜Mysty

EDIT: Context for those who haven’t seen it. The original posts have since been deleted. 🤷🏻‍♀️

#mysty's musings #asked and answered #talk to me

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marisol-000 · 5 months ago

Text

The Sandbox Scientists ch.2

Chapter 2! I can't believe how long this got, I had to push some stuff to the next chapter sooooo look out for that one!

(a03)

The boys didn't take the news that they weren't going home well.

There were lots of tears and crying and yelling until eventually weak promises and the offer of cookies calmed them down.

She couldn't blame them of course, the poor things suddenly waking up in a place they don't recognize with people they don't remember.

But what could they do? Neither she nor Robert knew where Jekyll had lived, just “somewhere” in Glasgow; and forget Edward 'street urchin’ Hyde!

Even if they could send them home it probably wouldn't be a good idea. Whatever had happened to her friends was likely temporary, or at least more likely to be solved by one of the scientists here than any townie in scotland.

All they could do now was try to keep the two comfortable while they looked for a solution.

And the first step to that was to get the boys in some fitting clothes!

“Right, but we don't have any. This isn't exactly a daycare.” Robert mused.

“Well you seem to forget! I'm quite the gifted seamstress!” Rachel bragged, wiping some cookie dough off her hands.

She flipped the patterned rag over her shoulder. “I can have some outfits going for these two in no time.”

Robert leaned around her, peeking into the kitchens where the two were playing tag. Henry kept tripping over his pants which slowed him down, but Edward couldn't seem to catch him anyways; not stepping wide enough and his arms not quite reaching, so there seemed to be no clear winner.

He let the door swing shut.

“Hmm, A whole wardrobe? For two boys? There's no telling how long they'll be this way. We'll need shirts, slacks, vests, coats, shoes and who knows what else. I'd much prefer taking him to a tailor.”

“Him?” Rachel raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms, “I suppose you mean Henry.”

“Yes Henry.” he said unflinchingly, “You can't expect me to take Edward Hyde to the bloody tailor, he's still a wanted criminal you know.”

“He's a child!”

“He's a nuisance! He'll probably knock a candle over and set the shop on fire, it's in his nature.” he huffed.

Rachel paused and clenched her hands. She fixed him with a nasty glare.

“Don’t talk like you know him! That fire was *not* his fault! Master Hyde is a sweet boy who’s not done *anything* wrong.”

Lanyon hesitated, surprised by her sudden attitude change. Regardless he cleared his throat.

“Well, you seem to have forgotten about all the drinking and bar fights he’s known for. He's a bad influence. I don’t want him anywhere near Henry.”

Rachel rolled her eyes, “He is *not* a bad influence.”

She walked into the kitchen, swinging the door open and holding her arm out to gesture. “Edward Hyde is a charming young man who would never do anything wrong, much less convince Henry of all people to do so too!”

Both boys were on a chair, eating raw cookie dough directly from the bowl.

They blinked at the adults with their big round eyes.

Robert crossed his arms over his puffed chest, turning to her with an infuriating smirk.

Rachel sighed and got them cleaned up.

First Edward, then she balanced Henry on her hip while leaning over the sink. He was old enough to use the bar of soap by himself but she couldn’t resist wiping his rosy cheeks, humming while she dried his hands with her apron.

His feet barely touched the floor before Robert grabbed his arm and whisked him towards the door.

“Oi! And where do you think you’re going?” Rachel yelped.

“To the tailor, as I said.” Clearly believing he won that argument. Which he hadn't! She just… hadn't had the best timing.

“While he looks like that?” she gestured to Henry’s oversized and by now wrinkled clothes. “Robert, people are gonna think you kidnapped him.”

“Well how do you-” Lanyon made a shooing motion towards Edward, who was trying to follow them, “How do you expect the tailor to make him clothes without measuring him?”

Rachel rolled her eyes, sometimes she couldn't tell when he was being a helpless rich boy who couldn’t do anything himself or just plain stubborn.

“I’ll take the measurements, they don’t need him there in person. I’ll measure both boys and you can take that to them.

And say it’s for nephews come to town! No one’s gonna believe Robert Bleeding Lanyon of all people is taking in poor orphans.” That got a snort out of him.

Privately she didn't think it was a good idea to separate the two so soon, they only just stopped crying. And they'd been sticking close together since she and Robert found them. Seemingly feeling safe and comfortable with each other.

She snickered to herself. She couldn’t wait to tell Dr. Jekyll and Hyde how cute they were together.

Once they warmed up to the place the kids will be back at each other's throats in no time!

“Besides, you probably couldn't handle one child much less two.” she smirked.

Robert huffed, Take that! Who's winning now Robert?, and crossed his arms while sitting back down at the table.

“Fine, whatever, just measure them already.”

Rachel ushered the boys to her room, wrapped a measuring tape around the wiggly worms, and wrote a list of things for Lanyon to buy. With notes on fabric types and colors. Lots of Red and Green of course!

As much as she would have loved to see Edward in Eli's old clothes, they hadn't kept any from that age.

The neighborhood they had lived in was in constant need of hand-me-downs, and they hadn't been expecting to need things to remember him by…

Anyway!!!!! That just meant that it was time for her favorite activity:

Dress up time!

‘Edward Hyde’ was not enjoying dress up time.

They liked Rachel, the woman who found them, well enough. She was making them cookies after all, but she's so grabby!

Especially with him, he couldn’t go longer than a minute without being practically picked up in hugs or stuffed with various snacks.

Not that he didn’t want them, he was SUPER hungry after waking up, but the way she squealed when he said ‘Thank you’ hurt his ears.

Henry…it felt weird to call someone else his name. He tried to think of it like the two Jeffery’s in his class, who both had the same name. Instead of someone else who was him.

Henry didn’t like being prodded either. Whispering as much to him when she left the room with her note.

He agreed, and hoped whatever “Situation” the adults said they had to be here for would be over soon.

“Alright! Here are those cookies I promised you, *cooked* this time.” Rachel pouted, entering the room with a silver tray.

“You two are welcome to any books I have when you're done, I'm gonna be busy for a while.” With that she sat at some sort of machine. And started using it to stitch some fabric together.

He knew how to stitch! Well, kinda, Momma had shown him a few times, but putting dead animals back together was different than clothes.

He snuck glances at the boy who was also Henry, who occasionally glanced back.

He wanted to talk to him so bad, surely if they were the same person then he had done that too?

He wanted to ask so many questions, and try things he couldn’t do alone. It was thrilling to potentially have a friend that was willing to do weird stuff with him.

But for now Rachel was in the room, and adults never liked his ‘science’ much.

The two of them sat in silence and ate their cookies.

After what felt like hours the woman straightened up with a pop in her back.

“Whew! Two pairs of shirts and pants in record time! Ready to try them on?”

He looked up and nodded eagerly, dropping the dreadfully boring romance novel, “Yeah! It’s so cold in here.”

She whipped her head to look at him, pigtails flying.

“Oh! I’m so sorry Edward, I should have noticed! I’ll get you some blankets and more of Jekyll's socks, I’m sure we can layer them til you're warm again!”

He was sure she could layer them to the point that he would never walk again.

“Er, no thanks! The clothes will be fine.” he said, dodging another hug.

Henry snickered softly, out of Rachel's hearing. He snuck around and inspected the clothes she put together for them.

They were nothing fancy, buttonless white shirts and coal black pants. The stitching for both of them looked to be black too, but upon closer inspection it was actually a dark green, it seemed she had a lot of green lying around.

He wondered if she would notice if they took out the thread later, or if this was a ‘gift’ they'd have to rewear, like with his extended family.

“Well, when you two are done, come back to the kitchen and I’ll make you something more filling than cookies!” she said, and muttered, “God knows you two don't eat enough.”

“Yes ma’am.” they said in unison.

With another squeak and a giddy grin she shut the door behind her.

A few minutes later, the door slowly creaks open. And two heads pop out.

Archer was losing his mind. Maybe he saw wrong? Or was finally going mad like the general public believed.

Surely something had happened to his head because he could have sworn he just saw a child.

Two even.

“Uh…did you see that?” he asked Bird, welding pen loose in his grip.

Bird looked up from adjusting one of his contained moss cultures, “Hmm? See what mate?”

Archer was leaning comedically far in his chair to see out the door, cord stretching to its limit.

“Just. Two little…I don’t know, ghosts maybe? One of Maijabi’s do you think?”

Bird raised an eyebrow, “Something on the loose in the society again? Should we tell the others?”

“Uh, could be my imagination.” he said, but set the pen down where it wouldn't burn anything. He stretched his arms above his head and groaned.

“Well, I’m overdue fer a break anyway, it’s been a while since anything interesting’s happened around here.”

Flowers was on the hunt.

She was on her way to the kitchens for a bite when she saw a short shadow dart through the common room.

Fortunately she had all sorts of equipment in her pockets, a true scientist is always prepared! But for some reason her emf reader wasn’t picking anything up.

Not under a couch… not behind this case…

The clack of shoes alerted her to someone approaching but she was more interested in the sound of wheels or metal boots.

“Hello Flowers, what are you looking for?” Tweedy then, she should remember to ask about some more batteries before he left. Her mosquitoes were too small to include a charging port.

“A small robot,” she said, checking under a table, “ ‘bout waist height. I think one of Pennybrigg’s creations is on the loose.”

“Oh, is that what I saw? I thought Ito shrank someone again.” he laughed loudly.

“Yeesh, that woman can be cruel when she's pissed off. Still can’t believe Dr. Jekyll taught her how to do that.” she shuddered.

Tweedy leaned on an armchair, derailed from whatever he’d been doing, “Actually I heard it was Hyde, everyone forgets he is Jekyll’s lab assistant.”

“Ah, well I’ll believe Hyde did that.”

On the floor above, Lavender rushed in, skidding to a stop before the railing. A large net slung over her shoulder.

“Excuse me! Has anyone seen any kids around here?”

Flowers and Tweedy looked up at her in shock.

“Kids?! I thought that was a robot?” Flowers gaped.

“Well *I* thought it was one of our creatures. I saw something slip out of our lab and was chasing it, but it turns out there's actually human children running around the society!” Lavender wheezed.

“I can’t emphasize enough how dangerous this place is for kids.”

The two on the ground floor looked at each other, slack-jawed, then scrambled to help her search.

“Well, we’ll just hope none of your creatures slipped out after them!”

By now it had spread throughout the society that somehow, for some reason, there were children there.

A good amount of lodgers were gathered in a random hallway, loudly trying to figure out what was going on.

“Is it true? Are there really children here?” someone asked.

“Sure are!” Pennybrigg laughed, “I saw them with my own eyes!”

“Huh, I thought that's what that was but I didn't think anyone would be dumb enough to let kids in here.”

“Does anyone know how many? We can’t have any left behind that's for sure.”

“Just two. I had to chase them out of my lab.” Griffin huffed, “The damn brats laughed at me.”

That earned a few snickers from the very mature adults in the room.

“How’d they even get in here is my question.”

“Well, it’s not like we keep the doors locked, it's probably just some curious teens here for a lark.”

“No, they looked younger than that. What if they're lost and need help?”

“Has anyone seen Dr. Jekyll? He’ll want to know about this.”

“Screw Jekyll! We don’t need him to hold our hands all the time, we can find two kids by ourselves!”

“But if they get hurt it’ll reflect badly on the society!”

The crowd murmured in worry, with people either confirming they locked their labs or resolving to. Luckett cursed and sprinted off right then, almost losing his hat in his haste.

“Then we’ll just find them before they get hurt! Come on, less talking, more looking!” someone said, clapping their hands loudly.

With that the crowd split off into different hallways.

“I GOT ‘EM!”

Twenty minutes later there came a cry from Ranjit Helsby.

Like a flock of birds the lodgers descended upon him. Cheering and pushing to see his catch.

“You cheeky buggers can’t hide from us!” Helsby crowed.

The exploratory bathynaut was carrying one child in each hand.

Scruffed and struggling like kittens, the two were yelping and crying for help.

They seemed to be about the same age. One was brunette, with a healthy flush, and dark brown eyes. He was yelling to be put down and kicking his legs in the air.

The other was smaller, frailer, a little pale but was squirming and kicking the same. He had a wild shock of blond hair, and quite the set of lungs, his voice quickly growing hoarse from his shouting.

The outfits they were wearing were odd. They weren't anything fancy, though they certainly weren't the rags worn by street urchins. Bizarrely, neither of them were wearing shoes. Just plain clothes with visible stitching.

Contemplative, Flowers reached into her pocket.

“Oh Helsby, put them down already!” Cantilupe cried, “They’re damn near the verge of tears!”

Sure enough the boys looked like they were about to start bawling. With the blond starting to hiccup, and the brunette's lip wobbling dangerously.

Pouting, Helsby did, trusting the wall of lodgers to prevent their escape.

Predictably the boys were off the second their feet touched the floor. Everyone reaching arms out and bumping into each other to catch them.

However they didn't try to escape, simply darting for the nearest person wearing a dress. Who happened to be Chabra.

They crashed into her, nearly knocking her off balance. She startled but didn’t pull away. The small boys took hold in fistfuls and buried their faces in her skirt.

Chabra leaned down and awkwardly, cautiously, put her hands on their backs.

“Aww, guys we scared them! They're just babies!” Archer cooed from the crowd, triggering a flood of coos from everyone else.

The blond one peeked out to give a glare, but it was watered down by his red nose and big eyes.

“W-Who are you people? Leave us alone!”

Lavender curiously offered her skirt to the boy closest to her, the brunette.

He eyed it for a moment, then took the bait, reaching a pudgy hand out to the fabric. He didn’t grab on though, only running a hand over it a few times.

Incapable of going one at a time, the lodgers began bombarding the two with questions.

“Are you lost?”

“Do you need us to find your parents?”

“Who sent you??”

“Wot? Nobody-”

“Yeah what? They're literally children!”

“That's what they want you to think!”

“Do you want to see me set this plant on fire?”

“What are your names?”

“Hen-er- Ed-”

“Henderson you say, I had a cousin named that, but my uncle's name wasn’t Hender!”

“Oh, shut up Bryson!”

“No my names-!”

“Do you know someone by the name of Rachel Pigdley?”

The two boys look up at that.

Amidst the swarm of questions, Flowers had managed to win their attention, the other lodgers quieting down attentively.

The boys hesitate, suspicious. They whisper to each other, not even Chabra able to hear despite still leaning at an awkward angle.

“Do *you* know Rachel?”

Flowers puffed in pride at her hypothesis being confirmed. She relaxed her grin into a softer, hopefully reassuring smile.

“I do, she's the Day Manager. Next to Dr. Jekyll, she's the boss around here. Though she’s quite nice when you get to know her.”

Pushing someone out of the way, she approached the boys and carefully knelt by them.

She reached into her pocket. And turned it inside out.

“You see? Rachel’s a friend of mine. She sewed some pockets into my dress for me.” Flowers showed the boys the stitching on her inner pockets. The thread was a lighter shade of green than theirs, to match her dress, but visibly the same pattern and spacing.

She could have done them herself but these ones had been thanks for fixing an alarm clock Hyde had broken when he came in a window once.

This more than anything seemed to convince the boys. They let go of Chabra completely and leaned over her pocket like curious birds.

“Yeah! Rachel patches up some of my stuff too!” Sinnet jumped in.

He raised the elbow of his shirt, where a large brown patch was surrounded by some soot that had never washed out.

Some of the others pitched in, getting the idea.

“Yeah mine too!”

“And me!”

The two boys seem convinced and relax fully. A few people let out sighs of relief that they wouldn't have crying kids on their hands.

“Do you live here too?” asked the blond, looking around at all the people.

Sinnet looked at him quizzically, “Too?”

“Yeah, like Rachel and Robert.”

“Oh, yeah! Can't say I know any Roberts, though.”

“They mean Dr. Lanyon dear. Dr. Robert Lanyon, our co-founder?” Lavender sighed.

“Huh, I didn't think he liked kids, you suppose they’re new recruits of some kind?”

“Do we look like babysitters? Half the things in this building could kill a child like *that*!” Luckett snapped his fingers.

To everyone’s surprise the two boys gasped in excitement, “Really?!”

They didn't look scared, they looked eager. And… curious?

“Er…yeah actually. Do you… want to see them?”

Lavender smacked the man on the shoulder, “Luckett!”

“Come on! You saw their faces! Remember when you were that age and curious about the world? I'd bet anything these two are scientists!” he nodded confidently.

That got some excited whispers. Everyone turned to look at the two boys.

Their mismatched eyes were open as wide as possible, jaws dropped. “You-you’re scientists?” asked the brunette.

Nods from the crowd.

They looked at each other, then back. “We’re scientists!!!”

“That settles it! Let’s give them the grand tour!!”

The lodgers broke into cheers and lifted the boys up, prancing up the stairs as fast as they could.

As the others raced towards the nearest lab, Cantilupe and Maijabi followed at a more leisurely pace.

Once they reached the landing, the rapid click of flats managed to reach their ears.

Glancing over, they watched as Rachel ran through the halls and the common room. Calling out and frantically checking behind furniture.

“Oh, there's Miss Pidgley. I was beginning to think something had happened to her to have left those boys alone so long.” said Cantilupe.

Maijabi squinted, adjusting his eyepatch, “Hm, least she could’ve done was give us a heads up if there were new lodgers. It’s not like her.”

She paused to take a breath and called out again, “Edward! Henry! Edwaaaardd!!”

“Ah, that explains it, Hyde’s on the loose again.” Cantilupe giggled.

“Ha! That'll keep her busy fer a while. Suppose we’ll have to ask about the boys later then.”

Cantilupe nodded in agreement and they carried on behind the others.

Rachel checked the candelabras to make sure no candles were knocked over.

#The Sandbox Scientists #the glass scientists #tgs #tgs jekyll #tgs hyde #tgs rachel #tgs lanyon #tgs lodgers #like so so many #i love them all #the strange case of doctor jekyll and mr hyde #my fic

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glitchy-npc · 4 months ago

Note

51 from the whump prompts?

Lady Argent pays Ricardo a visit after hes been gone a few days. 1021 words, content warning for alcoholism. [A03]

51. “I thought I was better.”

Los Diablos, August 2019

Lady Argent patiently listened to the sounds of multiple locks clicking open on the door to Ricardo’s apartment. After she had asked it so nicely it only felt fair to wait and it was willing to oblige, despite its programming. Machines were often easier to talk to than people, more polite for one, straightforward, and they rarely left you to worry about them.

Unlike Ortega.

Striding into his apartment the door slid back into place, locks resetting. It didn’t take long to find Ricardo, the soft snoring a dead giveaway. Staring down at him where he laid sprawled out on his couch, the former Marshal looked nothing like he did at HQ, the cocky confidence he always wore when in uniform, and even less like his airbrushed counterpart from the covers of magazines. Here he looked…fragile. Disheveled hair sticking to his forehead, a day or two's worth of stubble on his jaw, expensive shirt creased in whatever shape he had collapsed in. The smell of alcohol made her wrinkle her nose.

The sight of him made her heart twinge. It also pissed her off.

She made no attempt to quiet her footsteps as she stomped towards the kitchen throwing open the cabinet door with a loud enough bang that it should have woken him but didn’t. She filled a glass to the brim with tap water and when she returned to the couch, dumped its contents squarely onto his face.

She didn’t flinch at the string of spluttered Spanish curses or the lightning that danced around his knuckles as Ricardo jerked back to consciousness. Attempting to wipe water from his eyes it took him a moment to focus on his assailant.

“Angie? What the hell…?” There was far more confusion than heat in his words.

“I think that should be my line.” She crossed her arms over her chest, still standing. It wasn’t often she got to loom over him and she was going to make the most of it.

“How…did you get into my apartment?” He glanced over at the door that had betrayed him.

“Your security isn’t as good as you think.” She tapped clawed fingers against her own arm, not caring if the sound made him wince.

“So to what do I owe such a nice, unexpected visit?” He tried to push wet hair back from his forehead and throw on a smile, neither of which were very successful.

“Don’t get cute with me Ricardo-”

“You think I’m cute?” This time the smile fit. But Argent wasn’t going to fall for it.

“You know damn well why I’m here!” She needed to pace if she wasn’t going to slap that stupid smile off his face. “Herald and I have been pulling double shifts because you haven’t bothered to show up to work in days!”

“Ah…sorry about that.” He at least had the decency to look guilty but that only pissed her off more.

“Sorry!?” She stopped pacing to give him an incredulous look until he looked away. “The entire team has been worried about you and picking up your slack and all because you’re what…getting day drunk at home!?”

“Listen…”

“No, you listen! No one wants to go through this shit again! I thought you had quit.” That was only half true. Cut back maybe, at least had it under control. Self control was something she understood intimately. She expected better from him. Maybe that wasn’t fair but what is?

“Look I didn’t exactly plan for this I just…” He trails off, leaving her to pick up the pieces. This isn’t a conversation he wants to have but he's getting it anyway.

“What happened?” Her words are sharp but she sits down on his coffee table to face him directly, no longer looming. “Talk to me.” She added, softer.

Ricardo’s sigh was heavy as he started to worry at the emitters on his hands. Nervous, vulnerable, Argent wouldn’t want to be in his shoes right now but he got himself into this mess, he can at least try to get out.

“I…thought I was better but…I thought I saw him again…my old partner.” The admission is barely above a whisper.

Argent sighed heavily through her nose. So that was it, a relapse, enough to induce the hallucinations again. It stung more than she thought it would. How long can you watch someone you care about destroy themselves over a pain you can’t share?

“Ricardo…”

“I know what you’re thinking but I swear I was stone sober at the time!” He tried to meet her gaze, to will her to believe him.

“So what's this then?” She kicked the tequila bottle next to the foot of the couch, finding it empty.

“That was an experiment…a stupid one.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking even more sheepish than he had before.

“I won’t argue that, but you're going to need to explain it.”

“I guess I thought that…maybe if I was drunk I could force it, prove it wasn’t real. Just my brain playing tricks again.”

“You’re right, that is stupid.”

“Y’know with the whole tough love thing there's supposed to be a little bit more of the latter…” He chuckles a little and it doesn’t sound fake.

“That I’m here is proof of that.” Matter of fact, no need to get mushy about it.

“You’re right and…thank you Angie, for checking in on me. I’ll get my head back on straight, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” She reached out to touch his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. She wasn’t normally one for physical contact but he needed it. Maybe so did she.

As she rose to make her way to the door she looked back over her shoulder, the fond smile on his face making her heart twinge again. “You better show up early tomorrow, I plan on being late. I’m sleeping in.”

“Yes, mam” He replied in as military a voice as he could muster. Argent snorted and rolled her eyes as she left, hoping he’d keep his promise.

#fhr #lady argent #ricardo ortega #chargent #argent is so hard to write but really fun when you can get in the swing of it #my writing #ask prompt

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jrob64 · 6 months ago

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Exacting His Revenge - Chapter 1

It's an international holiday, also known as @kmomof4's birthday! This story has been floundering in my WiPs folder for months under the title 'Bad Boy Hook'. I finally decided to try to finish it for Krystal's birthday, even though she actually helped plot it out! I'm not finished writing the story yet. It will have 3 chapters and chapter 2 is nearly finished, so hopefully the rest of it will be posted soon. Happiest of birthdays, K!!!

Special thanks to my beta @hookedmom.

Story Summary: When Hook sees an opportunity to finally get his revenge on Rumplestiltskin, he seizes it, putting him in the company of Emma Swan. A season 2 canon divergent story.

Rating: T

Words: 6980

Also posted on ffn and A03

(Story found under the cut)

*********

Hook stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the dank wall of the dungeon containing the cell where Rumplestiltskin had once been imprisoned. He stared at the four women currently trapped there; or more accurately, he stared at Emma Swan, the woman who bested him twice in the last few days.

He refrained from snorting derisively as he listened to Cora taunt them, directing her venomous comments toward the dark haired woman who was somehow Emma’s mother. The Queen of Hearts was attempting to sound like a loving mother who just wanted to make her daughter Regina happy, but he knew better.

“...and now I’m going to give her the one thing she’s always wanted - your heart. Goodbye, Snow.”

Hook flinched as he watched Cora thrust her hand toward the other woman’s chest. When he saw the Swan girl push her mother out of the way, he dropped his arms and jerked forward, his own heart in his throat and sick despair in his gut. But before he could utter the warning that was on the tip of his tongue, Cora’s hand plunged into Emma’s chest.

Frozen in place - extremely unpleasant and unbidden memories parading themselves across his mind - he waited for the inevitable. He didn’t think he would be able to stand to watch the blonde’s heart get crushed and see her crumple lifelessly to the ground.

“Oh, you foolish girl!” Cora chided. “Don’t you know? Love is weakness.”

Hook’s eyes closed as he heard the unmistakable squelching sound of a heart being seized, but they popped open again when Cora’s gasp of disbelief reached his ears. She was tugging repeatedly, unable to extract the organ.

Suddenly, Emma straightened and stared straight into her adversary’s face. “No,” she stated, forcefully. “It’s strength.” The moment she uttered those words, Cora was thrown backwards by a stunning blast of magic.

Hook stood numbly, his jaw slack with shock. In his entire association with Cora, he had never seen anyone who could repel her magic. Yet here was the Swan girl, seemingly a complete novice in the practice of magic, completely knocking the witch off her feet. It was at that moment, Hook made the final decision of who would receive his allegiance.

Cora pushed herself to her feet with a curse, dramatically brushing the dust from her gown and glaring at Emma. “I should make you pay for that little stunt, but simply knowing you will die a slow death in the dungeon of your parents’ own castle is enough satisfaction for me.” With as much dignity as she could muster, she pivoted and swished past the pirate. “Come, Hook. We have everything we need to get to Storybrooke.” She said the last word pointedly, obviously knowing the pain her statement would inflict.

Hook watched her go, fingering the withered bean he pilfered from the giant. He took a step toward the cage as he considered giving it to the Swan girl, but thought better of it and placed it in his pocket instead. He just witnessed the powerful magic she had within her and had no doubt she would somehow be able to break them out of the cell.

Ignoring the pleas of the four women, he turned to follow Cora out of the dungeon, checking his hook to ensure it was securely locked into the brace. Moving stealthily, he came up behind her, hesitating only a second before plunging the appendage into her neck. His aim was true, puncturing the carotid artery. Cora stumbled and fell to her knees, clutching at the wound which was spraying the walls with her blood.

Kneeling beside his former ally, he plucked the compass and Aurora’s heart from the floor where she dropped them, and quickly located the vial containing the ashes of the magic wardrobe. Then, looking into her rapidly paling face, he stated, “My apologies, Your Majesty, but I find I am no longer in need of your services.”

Choking on her own blood, her answer came out as a gurgle. Her fingers clawed at the leather of his vest, desperately trying to cling to life, but to no avail. He watched the last flicker of light leave her eyes, then her lifeless body collapsed to the ground.

*********

Hook was waiting outside the castle when the four princesses came rushing out some time later. Aurora’s hand was covering her mouth, clearly queasy after seeing the grisly scene on her way out.

Emma stopped short when she spotted the pirate, lounging against the stone wall at the entrance of the dungeon as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “I’m assuming that’s your handiwork in there?”

“What, Cora?” he asked nonchalantly, making a show of polishing his hook with his sleeve. “Aye, it is.”

“Why did you kill her?” Mary Margaret asked. “Not that I’m complaining, but why did you do it?”

Hook slowly straightened up, taking his time before answering. “Cora was not to be trusted. I only worked with her because she appeared to provide the best opportunity for me to meet my objective, but now that is no longer the case.”

“So you found another way to get to Gold?” Emma asked.

“Indeed, I did.”

“Then why are you still here?” Mulan questioned.

“Because you lovelies are that other way.”

“Us?” Mary Margaret squeaked. “But we haven’t figured out a way to get back to Storybrooke yet.”

“I believe I have everything necessary to accomplish that,” Hook said, patting the satchel resting on his hip. “And I also have this,” he added, reaching into the bag to pull out Aurora’s red, glowing heart. He held it out to Emma, who took a step back.

“Why are you giving it to me?”

“Because it takes magic to return someone’s heart, Love.”

“But I…” Her voice trailed away.

“Have magic, Swan,” Hook continued her thought when it became clear she wouldn’t.

She squirmed under his penetrating gaze, her mind struggling to come to grips with the thought. Did she have magic? It was unbelievable! Then again, a week ago, she wouldn’t have believed she could slay a dragon or break a curse with True Love’s Kiss. But freaking Captain Hook was obviously convinced she did.

What even was her life?

“Please,” Aurora pleaded, interrupting Emma’s spiraling thoughts as she stepped in front of her. “Hook’s right. It has to be you.”

Emma stared at her disbelievingly for a few moments, then finally held out her hand for Hook to place the heart into it. Balancing it on her palm, her face tightened into a mask of determination before she thrust her hand forward, burying it in Aurora’s chest. The princess gasped, nearly doubling over, then straightened and beamed at Emma as she withdrew her hand. “You did it! Thank you!” she exclaimed.

Emma stood looking down at her hand with a slightly squeamish look on her face. “That is definitely something I hope I never have to do again.”

Aurora grabbed Emma and gave her a hug, before turning to Mulan. “We need to get back to Philip.”

Mulan glared at Hook with narrowed eyes. “Are you sure that’s wise? Snow and Emma might still need protection.”

“Do you really think I pose a threat to them when they are going to help me get my revenge?” he growled.

“Who’s to say you won’t kill them once you do?” Mulan countered. “You disposed of Cora once you didn’t need her anymore.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Aww, don’t tell me you had become fond of her.”

Mulan straightened her spine to stand at her full height. “Of course not! She was pure evil, but you killed her in cold blood.”

“You have no reason to fear for your friends’ lives.” He almost looked offended by Mulan’s words. “I don’t intend to harm them, but you saw what Cora tried to do to Snow White in there. She was the one who was going to enable her daughter to murder in cold blood. I was simply putting a stop to her reign of terror.”

“Look, I don’t really care who murdered who in cold blood,” Emma interjected. “I just want to get home to my son! Mulan, go with us or don’t, it doesn’t matter. Aurora, go find your prince. Hook, show me what you have in that bag and tell me how we can use it to get to Storybrooke.”

“There’s the tough lass I’ve come to know,” Hook smirked, lifting the flap on the satchel and reaching inside. “Compass and magic wardrobe ashes,” he recited, placing each of the items into Emma’s outstretched hands. “Cora’s theory was that the ashes could create a portal, but just in case she was wrong, I also have this.” Drawing the string containing the giant’s magic bean over his head, he let it swing at eye level between them.

“How is that supposed to help?” Snow asked. “It’s dried up, useless.”

“Ah, but the waters of Lake Nostos have regenerative properties. That’s where Cora and I were going before she met her…unfortunate demise.”

“That lake doesn’t have water in it anymore,” Snow said. “We…we needed it to save David’s mother, but it was completely dry because he had killed the siren who lived in it. Of course, she was trying to kill him first.”

Hook turned his eyes on Emma. “Cora said the lake could be restored with magic. That’s where you come in, Love.”

Emma stared wide-eyed at each of the four people surrounding her in turn. “I know nothing about how to use…” she paused and waved her hand around, having trouble actually saying the word, “...magic!”

Snow stepped in front of her daughter and grasped her upper arms. “You can do it, Emma! You said it yourself - love is strength. If you just concentrate on the love you have for Henry and how much you want to get back to him, I’m sure you will be able to make your magic work.”

Blowing out a long breath, Emma said, “Well, I guess I won’t know until I try.”

“Too right, lass,” Hook agreed. “Now, shall we be on our way? I have a crocodile to skin.”

After bidding goodbye to Aurora and Mulan, Hook led the way to Lake Nostos, attempting to engage Emma and Snow in conversation along the way. “So, tell me how the two of you are mother and daughter when you look to be nearly the same age. Have you been to Neverland where time stands still, Milady?” he asked Snow.

The two women exchanged glances. “It’s a long story,” Snow said.

“My schedule is pretty open right now,” Hook quipped.

“You were with Cora. Did she not tell you about the curse her daughter cast?” Snow asked.

“Ah, yes, of course. She did explain the significance of the wardrobe ashes. So, you were caught up in it and didn’t age, while your daughter was sent to the Land Without Magic by herself, essentially an orphan.”

Emma’s eyes flitted over to him at the reminder of the words he had spoken to her on the beanstalk. “Do we really have to listen to you talk the whole way? I’m trying to concentrate on how I’m going to make my magic work once we get there.”

“I shall endeavor to give you the silence you request, Princess,” Hook said with a slight bow.

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered under her breath.

“As you wish, Emma.”

She glared at him, eliciting a smirk before he turned his attention back to the path in front of them. They walked on in silence for a while, until Snow quietly said, “The lake wasn’t completely dried up when we reached it, you know.”

“Why couldn’t it save my grandmother, then?” Emma asked.

When Snow didn’t answer for a few moments, Emma looked over, her brow furrowing when she saw that her mother was obviously struggling with her emotions. Her chin trembled and Emma could see the glistening of tears in her eyes. Finally, she whispered, “Because she insisted that I take the swallow of water left to reverse the curse of barrenness King George put on me. If she hadn’t…well…you wouldn’t be here.”

There was silence between the three of them as they pondered that revelation.

“Then you and David were married on the shore of the lake, right?” Emma asked, seeking to lift the somberness of the moment.

“Yes,” Snow smiled slightly. “Lancelot married us, so Ruth could witness it before she passed.”

“That’s quite the romantic tale, Milady,” Hook murmured.

“What would you know about romance?” Emma mumbled.

Hook’s eyes snapped to hers and she saw a flash of hurt in them. Remembering what he said about Milah when they were at the top of the beanstalk, she immediately regretted her words and was opening her mouth to apologize, when he cleared his throat and responded, “I’ve wooed many a woman, Swan. Perhaps you desire to be one of them.”

Although she could tell he was using the innuendo to mask his true feelings, she couldn’t keep herself from retorting, “In your dreams, buddy.”

He turned and took a step closer to her, bending until his face was within inches of hers. “Since it appears that you’re amenable, I will see you in my dreams, Swan.”

“I think we’re almost there,” Snow stated, and Emma breathed a sigh of relief at the interruption.

Hook gave her one more meaningful look before turning and glancing around their surroundings. “Aye, you’re correct. It should be just around that bend in the road.”

They finished the journey in silence. Once they reached the edge of what obviously used to be the lake, Hook came to a stop in the soft sand, halting Snow and Emma in their tracks. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “Well, this is it. Time to work your magic, Swan.”

“You say that like it’s the easiest thing in the world,” she grumbled, her eyes flitting over the barren ground in front of them.

Snow stepped up beside her and took her hand. “I believe there is powerful magic inside you, Emma. No one has ever been able to defeat Cora like you did. You don’t need to fill the lake, all you need to do is generate enough water to restore the bean.”

“Yeah, okay,” Emma answered, widening her stance and setting her jaw in determination. She closed her eyes, picturing her son and father in her mind. A tingling sensation worked itself up from her chest, down her arms and to her fingertips. Stretching her arms out in front of her, she felt the sensation build until she was sure it was ready to burst, then thrust her hands forward.

She heard her mother gasp beside her, but Emma kept her eyes closed, afraid to open them for fear it hadn’t worked. Suddenly, she felt Hook’s presence beside her. “Well done, Love,” he murmured into her ear, sending a different type of tingle through her body.

Her eyes popped open, her knees nearly buckling as she beheld the sparking blue water of the lake, filled so completely that the water lapped at the toes of her boots.

“You did it, Emma!” Snow exclaimed. “I knew you could!”

As Emma continued to stare in disbelief, Hook once again pulled the string containing the magic bean over his head. Holding it out to Emma, he asked, “Would you like to do the honors?”

“Uh, sure,” she said, snapping out of her trance to take it. Bending down, she dipped the black, shriveled bean into the water, waiting a few seconds before pulling it out.

Snow gave a little cheer when the crystal clear bean emerged, fully restored. When Hook reached for it, Emma pulled it back. Slipping the string over her head, she said, “I think I’ll hold onto this, if you don’t mind.”

Once again, she caught a quick glimpse of hurt pass over his face before he composed himself and replied, “As you wish.”

“What’s the next part of the plan?” Emma asked.

“Now,” Hook replied, “we sail to Storybrooke on my ship, the Jolly Roger.”

“Of course we do,” mumbled Emma. “Why am I not surprised?”

*********

Hook decided to use the bean to create a portal and, in a surprising show of generosity, gave the vial of ashes from the wardrobe to Mary Margaret ‘for the sake of nostalgia.’

“I had no idea you had such a soft side,” Emma commented.

“I don’t,” he was quick to reply. “Just don’t have any need for sparkly dirt.”

Emma could tell he wasn’t being completely truthful, but decided getting to Henry was more important than questioning him.

He quickly got the ship ready to sail and they were soon out at sea, dropping into a portal that looked like a whirlpool. It was the middle of the night by the time they reached Storybrooke.

“It’s been a pleasure to travel on such a beautiful ship!” Mary Margaret proclaimed.

“Aye, my ship - she’s a marvel,” Hook agreed proudly, guiding the Jolly Roger into the harbor.

“I can’t believe you were able to sail it without a crew,” Emma said.

“I’m a hell of a captain,” he smirked. “Besides, I had the two of you to help and you were fast learners. You’re welcome to join my crew.”

“Don’t count on it,” Emma mumbled.

“Pity, that,” Hook commented. “I could take you on exciting adventures, show you exotic places that are beyond your wildest dreams.”

“I’ve had enough adventure in the last few weeks to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. Right now the only place I want to be is with my son.”

Hook hummed, nodding his understanding as he expertly maneuvered the ship into a berth. As soon as it was docked and he dropped the gangplank, Emma and Mary Margaret hastily thanked him and wasted no time disembarking and hurrying down the street.

Hook stood alone, watching them until they disappeared around a corner. Even without Emma in his line of view, he could still see her in his mind’s eye, blonde locks flying behind her as she ran, her lithe body moving effortlessly.

Mentally shaking himself, he tried to force his thoughts toward how he was going to exact his revenge on the crocodile. He had been waiting for this opportunity for over two hundred years, and now it was within his grasp.

So why was winning the affections of the feisty Emma Swan suddenly more important?

*********

Storybrooke was an enigma to Hook. It was nothing like the Enchanted Forest, but some of the same laws of magic still applied. Even though they were in the ‘Land Without Magic’, magic had somehow found its way there, and the Dark One was still the Dark One, with the same power and immortality.

Hook had trouble reconciling the fact that the distinguished-looking Mr. Gold was the persona adopted by the evil imp, Rumplestiltskin. Yet, as he spied on the man day after day, he could see that he exhibited the same despicable and selfish tendencies when interacting with the residents of the town.

He was stunned to learn the Dark One had a lady love - Belle French, the beautiful, mannerly librarian. When Rumplestiltskin was with her, his behavior was entirely different, and Hook could tell she had won his heart. This knowledge helped him hatch a plan that was sure to destroy the crocodile’s life, just as he had destroyed Hook’s.

By listening carefully to snippets of conversations while he covertly roamed around Storybrooke, he learned no one could cross the town line. Rumplestiltskin, however, had apparently found a way around that little problem.

While gathering that information, Hook also kept an eye on Emma Swan. It turned out she was the town’s law enforcement, so was often out on the streets. He watched her from a distance and felt a pang of jealousy every time he saw her with a handsome, sandy-haired man, until the day he saw the same man with Mary Margaret and realized he must be Emma’s father.

He also saw her with the boy he assumed was her son. It felt odd to have a sense of pride at being able to help reunite the two. The lad didn’t seem to be any worse for the wear, having nearly lost his mother and grandmother. He was always speaking animatedly to Emma as they strolled down the sidewalk together.

Hook had been able to avoid contact with Regina thus far. He was hoping not to have to explain his role in her mother’s death. Her relationship with Cora was contentious, but she was still Regina’s mother and he was sure to be the recipient of her wrath and perhaps a fireball or two.

His stealth as a pirate served him well, and he was able to elude being noticed by the crocodile. However, hiding the Jolly Roger was a completely different matter. He knew his ship was too visible in Storybrooke harbor, but he needed her to be at his disposal. He finally settled on docking her around the bend at a rocky outcropping where she would be concealed, while allowing him access via a secluded section of beach that seemed to be ignored by the citizens of the town.

The day Rumplestiltskin planned to cross the town line finally arrived. Hook hid himself amongst the trees along the road early that morning, unsure of when the attempt would be made. He checked and re-checked the gun he managed to pilfer from the sheriff’s station. It was similar to the pistols he used for centuries, but was smaller and easier to handle. After watching Emma using one to shoot target practice in the middle of the woods one day, he knew it would be much more efficient than his hook in reaching his objective.

When Hook heard one of those odd contraptions called a car approaching, he made sure the gun was ready to fire and got into position behind a large tree. He watched Rumplestiltskin and Belle exit the vehicle and step toward the town line. Belle held a shawl in her hands that Hook recognized as one Milah made, and Rumplestiltskin held a potion bottle. Hook saw him speaking to Belle, but wasn’t close enough to hear what he was saying. The way she stood there gazing at him as if he hung the moon turned Hook’s stomach.

Rumplestiltskin took the stopper out of the bottle and poured the potion on the shawl, then tossed the bottle away. Hook saw the fabric glowing as Belle placed it around Rumplestiltskin’s neck.

“Here we go,” he said, then slowly limped over the town line. Turning, he hesitated for a long moment, then pointed at the auburn-haired beauty and said simply, “Belle.”

She let out a joyful laugh and said, “It worked!” Taking his hand, she added, “Now you can find your son.”

Just as Rumplestiltskin began to respond, Hook stepped out from behind the tree.

“This is for you, Milah,” he whispered, then pulled the trigger.

Belle’s scream ripped through the air as Rumplestiltskin stepped quickly over the line to catch her before she fell. Looking up, his eyes filled with rage at seeing his old nemesis. “What have you done?” he screamed. “Belle has done nothing to you!”

“I can’t kill the Dark One, but I can kill the woman who holds your heart. You killed my love. Now you know the feeling.”

Rumplestiltskin turned his attention back to Belle, searching for her injury. Meanwhile, Hook started walking back through the woods, intending to return to his ship and sail away, his revenge complete.

He was on the outskirts of town when he heard the sounds of what he had learned were sirens. His smile of satisfaction faded, knowing Emma would soon find out about his murderous act. She was sure to disapprove. Apparently in this modern world, scores weren’t settled with a life for a life.

Hook finally reached his ship and went aboard. He was in the process of readying it to sail when he heard a familiar voice.

“Going somewhere, Hook?”

Walking across the deck, he looked over the side. The light from the moon illuminated the blonde hair of Emma Swan, who was standing on the beach below.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Swan?” he asked non-chalantly.

“You do know it’s against the law to shoot someone, don’t you?”

“In the Enchanted Forest, it’s called vengeance.”

“In Storybrooke, it’s called attempted murder.”

Hook’s brows shot up. “Attempted?”

“Oh, are you disappointed you didn’t succeed in killing an innocent woman? You shot her in the shoulder. She’s been taken to the hospital, but she’s expected to be fine.”

“Bloody hell,” Hook mumbled, pounding his fist on the wooden railing.

“Are you going to come down here or do I have to come onboard?”

He decided to try turning on the charm. “Why Swan, are you seducing me?”

“You’re not funny, buddy. Belle isn’t only a citizen of this town, she’s also my friend. Now, I’m not asking, I’m ordering. Get down here right now. You’re under arrest.”

Hook sighed. He knew if he tried to sail away, he would appear to be a coward. Might as well face the music. “Very well,” he said, starting to saunter over to the gangplank.

“And bring the gun you stole from the sheriff’s office. You’ll be charged with theft for that, too.”

Hook briefly wondered how she found out about that, but didn’t ask. Being such a brilliant lass, he was sure she figured it out on her own.

She met him at the bottom of the gangplank, a set of handcuffs in her hand. “Hands behind your back,” she instructed gruffly.

“Is that really necessary? I’ll come along peacefully.”

“It’s standard procedure,” she said, encouraging him to turn around by tugging on his arm.

Once the cuffs were firmly around his wrist and the brace holding his hook, she patted him down until she found the gun in the deep pocket of his long duster. Holding it up in front of him, she snarled, “I can’t believe you stole a gun from the police. When did you manage to do that?”

“I can’t give away all of my secrets, Swan.”

“Fine, but you’ll have plenty of time to reconsider. You’re gonna be locked up for a long time,” she stated, giving him a not so gentle shove to get him moving.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, throwing her a look over his shoulder.

“You should count yourself lucky that you’ll be locked up. Gold is furious and if he gets to you, it’s hard to tell what he’ll do.”

“I’m not afraid of the bloody crocodile,” Hook said, a sardonic grin on his face.

“Keep smiling, buddy. You’re under arrest and handcuffed. He’s on his feet, immortal, has magic and you hurt his girl. If I were to pick dead guy of the year, I’d pick you.”

Hook turned away from her and continued trudging along the beach. Neither of them spoke again until they reached the squad car. After locking him in the back, Emma seated herself behind the wheel and picked up the radio. “I have the suspect in custody,” she reported. “I’ll be at the station in five minutes.”

Once they arrived, David came out of the building and opened the back door. Grabbing Hook by the arm, he roughly pulled him out of the car. Keeping an iron grip on him, he led him into the station, Emma following along behind.

“Any news on Belle?” she asked.

“Whale took her in for surgery a little while ago. He said he would update us when he’s finished.”

“Is Gold at the hospital?”

“Yeah. I asked Leroy to hang around and let us know if he leaves. I’m sure once he finds out Hook is locked up here, he’ll be paying us a visit.”

“Good idea. I’m sure Leroy won’t mind being our informant.” Holding up the gun, she added, “Got this back. I’ll tag it for evidence.”

“Think you’re pretty clever stealing a gun from the police and using it to shoot an innocent woman, don’t you, Hook?” David said, practically spitting the last word at him.

“I’m usually a better shot, but I’m not used to such a small weapon,” Hook quipped. “My weapons are much bigger and have better accuracy.”

“Why didn’t you just use one of them, then?” Emma asked, stepping behind the camera to take his mugshot.

“Alas, I failed to procure more ammunition before embarking on our trip to your fair Storybrooke.”

David positioned him in front of the wall, instructing him to look at the camera. He glowered as Emma took the first picture. “Turn to your right,” she ordered.

“You look good, I must say. All ‘turn to your right’ in a commanding voice. Chills,” Hook commented as he followed her directions.

Emma rolled her eyes before clicking the button on the camera.

After the pictures were finished, David unlocked the handcuffs, telling Hook to take off his heavy coat, which he did without complaint. However, when Emma told him to remove his hook, he balked.

“No arguments,” Emma commanded. “You’ll pick the lock with that thing.”

He glared at her for several moments, but it made no difference. She stood there with her hand out, staring him down until he finally twisted the device out of the brace and begrudgingly placed it in her palm.

Soon he was escorted into one of the jail cells and the door slammed shut behind him. “I’ll take the first watch,” Emma told David. “You go home to Mary Margaret and tell Henry I’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” David asked, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he gave Hook a hard stare. “I’d be happy to stay here and let you go home to get some sleep.”

“It’s no problem. I’m too wound up to sleep, anyway.”

“Or you could both go home,” Hook stated. “I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“Yeah, like I would trust you,” Emma spat.

“Okay, I’m taking off. If he gives you any trouble, call me. I’ll be more than willing to punch him in the face,” David said.

“Quite hostile, aren’t you?” Hook drawled, casually leaning against the bars examining his fingernails nonchalantly.

“Just making myself clear,” David responded. Turning back to Emma, he added, “If I hear anything from Whale or Leroy, I’ll let you know, but they will probably call the station first.”

“True. I’ll text you if they do.”

“Text?” Hook questioned.

“It’s a way of communicating through the phone,” she explained, waving the device in the air to show him. “Something a thousand-year-old pirate wouldn’t understand.”

“More like three hundred,” Hook grumbled.

David and Emma said their goodbyes, then she sat down in the desk chair, swiveling it back and forth as she crossed her arms and fixed Hook with a stare. “So let me get this straight - your idea of getting revenge on Rumplestiltskin was to steal a gun and shoot his girlfriend, then sail away?”

“As you’re well aware, the Dark One can’t be killed. I wanted him to know the pain of losing a woman he loved. That pain is worse than death.”

“From what you said at the top of the beanstalk, I surmised he killed the woman you loved. ”

“Aye, my Milah. He pulled her heart out and crushed it right in front of me.”

Emma winced. “No wonder you hate the guy. What did you do to him to make him do something like that?”

Hook wandered over and sat on the cot, leaning back against the wall and crossing his own arms. “Well, you see, Milah was Rumplestiltskin’s wife, but she left him because he was a coward. The laughing stock of the town. She couldn’t take it anymore and ran away with me to live a life of adventure on the high seas.”

“You were either brave or stupid to fall in love with the Dark One’s wife.”

“He wasn’t the Dark One when I fell in love with her.”

Before Emma could answer, the phone sitting on the desk began ringing. “Sheriff’s station,” she answered.

Hook listened to her side of the conversation, watching her furrow her brow and nod. After she hung up, she said, “That was Whale. Belle is out of surgery. The bullet came out clean and she’s going to be fine.”

“Is she in pain at least?”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “Belle is sweet and would never hurt anyone.”

“Neither would Milah,” he shot back.

“Still, don’t you feel at all guilty about shooting Belle when she didn’t do anything wrong?”

“She fell in love with the bloody Dark One! She should thank me for trying to put her out of her misery.”

“I should have known you wouldn’t feel any remorse. You are a pirate, after all,” she scoffed with disdain.

A flash of hurt passed across his face before he huffed, “Aye, that I am.”

Emma placed a call to David to tell him the news about Belle. After ending it, she and Hook fell into silence. He lay down on the lumpy, narrow cot, dramatically punching at the pillow with his fist, then closed his eyes to make a pretense of falling asleep. Every time he cracked open his eyes to peek at Emma, she was staring at him.

“See something you like, Swan?” he finally asked.

“No. I just see someone who can’t be trusted.”

“So you plan to remain awake all night to make sure I won’t escape?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Rest assured, Darling, I have no way to escape this cell. You can go to sleep.”

“Actually,” she said, standing up and striding over to a file cabinet, “I have a lot of paperwork to fill out because of your little stunt tonight. Might as well put this time to good use.”

Sitting back down at the desk, she pulled out a pen and started writing. Hook watched her for a few minutes until he got bored, then closed his eyes and drifted to sleep. He dreamed that Milah was lying on the deck of the Jolly Roger in the exact spot where she died, sobbing and telling him that he failed her again.

*********

When Hook woke up the next morning, David was sitting at the desk, playing solitaire with a deck of cards.

“So that’s what you look like when you don’t get your beauty sleep, Swan,” Hook quipped.

David didn’t even look up. “I see sleep doesn’t improve your ability to be funny.”

Hook sat up and swung his legs over the side of the cot, looking around the cell. “I don’t suppose you have a chamber pot available, do you mate?”

“No chamber pots and I’m not your mate,” David said, pushing himself away from the desk. “I can let you use the bathroom, but if you try anything…” he patted the gun in the holster he was wearing.

“I wasn’t asking to take a bath, sheriff,” Hook said, over emphasizing the last word. “I just need a pot to piss in.”

“A bathroom is where you do that in the modern world, pirate,” David retorted. “Haven’t you heard of a toilet?”

“Can’t say that I have since I’ve only been in this world for a few days. How long did it take you to adjust to all of the changes?”

David unlocked the cell door and swung it open, reaching in to firmly grip Hook’s arm. “I don’t know. I was in a coma for twenty-eight years.”

Hook gaped at him as he stumbled out of the cell. “I suppose that was Regina’s doing?”

“Yeah, She also provided me with a wife, and it wasn’t Snow.”

“She really had it in for the two of you, didn’t she?”

“The three of us, actually. We were forced to send Emma to this world just minutes after she was born in order for her to escape the coming curse. We hoped she would be able to find us and break it someday.”

“And she did,” Hook stated knowingly.

“Of course she did. And besides that, the first day she ever handled a sword, she slayed a dragon,” David said, puffing his chest out proudly. “In case you haven’t noticed, my daughter is the strongest, bravest, most intelligent person you will ever meet.”

“I have noticed, believe me,” Hook muttered.

They reached the bathroom and David gave him a small push inside, then closed the door behind him. After a moment, he called out, “The toilet is the thing with the water in it. Don’t pee in the sink!”

*********

Hook was surprised Emma didn’t come into the station that morning. Ruby arrived to deliver breakfast from Granny’s for David and Hook, but otherwise, it was just the two men ignoring each other.

It was almost noon when Leroy burst into the office, spouting something about Gold running off to New York City. None of it concerned Hook, who was happy to hear the crocodile would be leaving town, until he heard the dwarf mention Emma.

“Why would Emma go anywhere with him?” David asked, launching himself out of his chair.

“Gold said she has to help him because he doesn’t know how airports work,” Leroy explained. “He said if she won’t, he’s going to come here and kill Hook.”

“What’s the downside of that?” David asked.

“Hey!” Hook protested.

“I’m going to go home and try to talk some sense into her,” David said, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. “Can you stay here and keep an eye on him?”

“Gladly,” Leroy growled, glowering at Hook. “If he tries anything, do I have permission to shoot him?”

“He won’t try anything, will you, Hook?”

“I wouldn’t dare, after being threatened by a dwarf,” Hook responded derisively. He watched David sprint out of the station, hoping he would be able to talk Emma out of the insane idea of traveling with Rumplestiltskin.

Leroy plopped into the chair David had vacated, crossing his arms across his chest with a furious look on his face. Hook wasn’t in the mood to deal with the dwarf, so he lay down on the cot, turning to face the wall.

He had no idea how much time passed before he heard David come back. He continued to pretend to be asleep, hoping to hear information about Emma.

“Did he give you any trouble?” the sheriff asked.

“Nope. I let him know in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t put up with any nonsense. Must not have wanted to tangle with me, because he hasn’t said a peep.”

Hook rolled his eyes so hard, it was almost painful.

“Were you able to talk your daughter out of the cockamamie idea of going to New York with Gold?” Leroy continued.

Hook’s blood froze at David’s next words. “No. She’s as stubborn as the day is long. They’re on their way to the airport right now. Henry is staying with us until she gets back.”

“Do you think she’s safe with him?” Leroy asked.

“The only consolation I have is that he needs her to drive him there and navigate the process of flying. He won’t gain anything by hurting her.”

In theory, Hook knew that was true. But he also knew the Dark One tricks and the Dark One lies. He didn’t put anything past Rumplestiltskin. His mind began churning with ideas for how to break out of jail and get to Emma before something happened to her. If he had to kill Rumplestiltskin to accomplish that, so much the better.

While David and Leroy continued to talk, Hook formulated a plan.

The first step was accomplished shortly after Leroy left, when Ruby delivered lunch from the diner. While David was occupied chatting with the waitress, Hook used a large hairpin he kept in his pocket to help him pull the small buttons of his shirt through the buttonholes, to pick the lock of the cell. It wasn’t easy doing it with one hand, but he managed in a relatively short amount of time.

“I’m going to wash my hands, then I’ll give you your lunch,” David announced, turning his back to walk toward the bathroom. Hook slipped out of the cell, immediately going for the crowbar he had noticed sitting in a corner of the room. Stealthily, he moved to stand outside the bathroom door with the weapon raised in his hand.

When David emerged a minute later, Hook clocked him, muttering, “Apologies, mate, but if you aren’t going to ensure your daughter’s safety, I guess it’s up to me.”

Stepping over David’s unconscious form, he went to the desk and started opening drawers. Finding his hook in the bottom one, he clicked it into place, grabbed his heavy duster from the coat rack and left the station.

After making it down Main Street by ducking and dodging into alleys and behind dumpsters, he arrived at Gold’s Pawn Shop. He made quick work of picking the lock on the back door, entering quietly and starting his search.

He soon found the case where Gold kept his potions and poisons. The bottle filled with a thick, inky liquid drew his attention. He carefully unstoppered and sniffed it. Finding it to be exactly what he was hoping to procure, he stuck it into the deep pocket of his coat and rushed back out the door.

The trip to the Jolly Roger was without incident or coming into contact with any of the townsfolk. Since it was made ready to sail the night before, he was out on the open water in record time, sailing toward the mysterious land of New York.

*********

Thank you for reading. Please join me in wishing Krystal the happiest of birthdays!

Tagging:

@qualitycoffeethings @grimmswan @cs-rylie @wyntereyez @kmomof4

@hookedmom @ultraluckycatnd @paradiselady19 @xarandomdreamx @motherkatereloyshipper

@lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic

@eleveneitherway @elfiola @kday426 @julieenchanted-swans @gingerchangeling

@andiirivera @djlbg @jonesfandomfanatic @snowbellewells @anmylica

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @zaharadessert @lyssapup27

@undercaffinatednightmare @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @xsajx @jackieorioncat

@teamhook @soniccat @jarienn972 @softkilly @kymbersmith-90

@apiratewhopines @hollyethecurious @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate

@caught-in-the-filter @stahlop @veryverynotgoodwrites @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @earanemith @superchocovian @idristardis @captainswan-kellie

@beckettj @killihan-jones

#exacting his revenge #jrob64 #csff #birthday fic for krystal #ouat season 2 canon divergent #captain swan fanfiction #ouat fanfiction

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godmadeaterribleerror · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter 31 - I'd Do It All Again

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: It’s Joever.

Chapter Title from The Kids Aren't All Right by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 33.6k (good luck soldiers)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: The finale. Usual warnings, plus a little angst and heavy smut.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, angst, smut (fingering, oral m and f receiving, p in v sex), established relationship

Read on A03!

Chapter 30

The whole world was moving too fucking fast. The storm began to pass—small fires flickering out as only water was left to wash them away—and when it did, light fractured through the clouds and reflected off the melted wreckage along the highway. MM had found them when there was still mist shrouding the destruction from the world, and every fucking cop and suit and doctor in existence arrived only minutes later. Homelander’s unrecognizable husk of a body—all twisted scars and flesh falling off bone, blood pooling behind his head from Butcher’s killing shot—was covered in a tarp and carried away, a knocked out and pale Butcher was loaded into a car, and a shaking Ryan was wrapped in a blanket and pulled into Annie’s arms.

And Ben didn’t fucking move.

He should be revealing in this. In the look he’d seen in Homelander’s eyes, of pure, weak fucking fear as a Butcher raised the gun to his head. In the echoing bang as Butcher had pulled the trigger and the pathetic, ragged sound of Homelander’s last breath. Ben should be sitting in the world where Homelander was finally fucking dead and celebrating it, but he couldn’t fucking move. He couldn’t do anything but replay the image of Her collapsing over Homelander’s body and look at Her beautiful face, cradled between his hands and drawn in pain.

She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t fucking allowed to die, and She defiantly wasn’t dying because Ben would be able to feel it. If it was more than pain—lit up and stabbing and ripping in deep parts of his heart and lungs—Ben would. know. He’d never died before, but this wasn’t, couldn’t, be it. Death would feel small and withering, and She was alive inside of Ben’s body. In so much fucking pain that was only just dulled by her sleep, but alive. Her chest was rising and falling in an even pattern, and Her heart was still fucking beating, so She wasn’t dying.

But there was so much goddamn pain. Pain Ben could fucking feel. There was Her pain—the feeling of wrong and sick and fucking horrible rooting and twisting in his body—that had passed between them during the fight and almost knocked Ben out, but that had faded into only a screeching sound in his brain and over his spine as She’d fallen to the ground and he’d rushed to Her side. There was the pain of watching Her eyes flutter and her hands go slack, of roaring Her name and only getting shallow breathes in response. There was the pain of the storm in his body, tearing him apart because Ben should’ve fucking done something. He shouldn’t have let Her fight alone, he shouldn’t have let Her fight at all, he should’ve destroyed all the leftover original formula V in the fucking world, he should’ve never fucking allowed any of this to happen. Ben should’ve never fucking enlisted, never gone into Dr. Vought’s trials, never done any of the shit that had lead Her to getting hurt.

She’d tell him that was stupid. That She didn’t blame Ben, thaat it hadn’t been only him, and if he’d never taken the V, they’d have never met. Ben would’ve died a long fucking time ago, and She’d probably be halfway across the damn world, dating someone just as smart as she was, safe and happy and loved.

Not loved in Her whole body, where She could feel and find and always sense them, but loved. Not loved like She deserved, because every single pussy on Earth combined would never be what she deserved, but loved. Not loved like Ben loved Her, because the love that lived in Ben’s body was holy and powerful and immovable, but loved.

And She’d say she didn’t want anything that wasn’t Ben, or how he loved Her. How he tended to and cared for and devoted every single fucking part of himself to Her in a way no one else could. How She was a fucking menace and he wouldn’t ever want Her to be anything else. How when She woke up—because She would wake up—Ben was going to fucking kill her, then spend eternity worshipping her. He would go where She went and do what she asked, and when she cried he’d hold Her just like this—reverently, but with an ease he lacked now, because She’d be shaking and screaming and sobbing, but Christ, anything would be better than this hollow fucking silence—and She’d fall asleep in his arms. He’d make Her pancakes for breakfast, then watch Her look so fucking beautiful as She ate them before fucking Her right there, on the goddamn table.

Until then, Ben couldn’t to do anything but stay at Her side, holding her in his arms, and hanging onto every soft, steady beat of Her heart as her body pulled itself back together. He’d remain right here—blocking Her bare skin and pain from the world—until Her sharp eyes opened and she smiled at him. Until a hand moved up to hold his face and a teasing voice like a song said so grumpy, Benjamin. No force on earth would take him away from Her, because the world was moving a mile a minute but it wouldn’t start turning again until she woke up and smiled at Ben. Until the sky began to fall and he had to drag them both to safety, Ben was going to stay right goddamn here.

People in white uniforms with red crosses on their chests kept trying to touch him, to check if he was okay. Ben was fucking fine, because Her heart was still beating in his head and under his palms. And those same pussies kept trying to touch Her, to take her away from Ben, and the next sorry fucker that called him sir and asked for him to move was going to get their skull bashed in. They didn’t know how to hold Her, not right. Not like Ben could. Ben needed to be here. He needed to be at Her side when she woke up, because he needed to drop his brow to Hers and tell Her that Homelander was dead. That it was fucking over, and Ryan was safe, and Ben fucking loved Her and they were going to be okay.

She didn’t need to be poked and prodded and studied, she needed to be kissed and held in Ben’s arms. She didn’t need a cot or hum of a machine, She needed a bed and Ben just saying whatever the fuck he needed to say for Her to open her eyes.

Because Ben needed Her. He needed Her to look at him, and talk to him, and touch him and love him and want him. He needed Her to stay, to smile, to finally just be fucking happy because this was over. This was finally done, and it wouldn’t mean a single goddamn thing if She didn’t wake up. Ben needed Her to wake the fuck up, right goddamn now, or he’d track down Homelander’s body to kill him again.

“Sir-“

Ben’s eyes shot to the small, nervous woman—reaching for Her body with shaking arms—and his voice sounded damn near feral. “Don’t fucking touch my wife.”

“She’s, um,” the woman swallow, glancing over her shoulder to the rest of the medical pussies, watching with wide eyes. “She appears to be in critical condition, sir, it could be crucial we get her the treatment she needs-“

“And what the fuck do you think you’ll be able to do?” Ben’s grip on Her tightened, his words strained through his teeth. “You know how to suck a V overdose from her body? Stop her DNA from fucking exploding?”

The woman paled. “No, but, um-“

“Can you fucking feel her? Can you feel how much pain she’s in-“

“If she’s in pain, sir, that could be a warning that she needs immediate medical attention-“

“She doesn’t need shit from you-“

“Sir,” the woman’s voice became all weak and sympathetic, and Ben was going to fucking stab her. “I understand that this is distressing, but if you want to save your wife’s life-“

“She’s not fucking dying!” Ben roared, clutching Her like he could force her life to stay in her body. “She isn’t fucking dying, so back the fuck off before I fucking crack your head open-“

“Hey!” MM pushed through the crowding medics, stopping at the woman’s side and glaring at Ben. “No more murder. Not,” he ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Not today. Just, fucking cool it.”

“They’re trying to fucking take her-“

“They’re trying to help her, you caveman-brained motherfucker. But,” MM raised his hand, and giving Ben a firm trust me look. “I get it. I do. So let me handle this shit, and we’ll get her inside. Get her in a bed, somewhere quiet. All you have to do is shut the fuck up and let me deal with this. Got it?”

Ben’s jaw clenched, and he glanced down at Her in his arms. She looked so fucking small, and She was in so much fucking pain, and if She got help it wouldn’t be from these pathetic fucking nurses. It would be from Ben, or Frenchie, or MM, and that’s what somewhere quiet meant. Somewhere for them, and Ryan, and their team. Somewhere that news vans and cops weren’t watching them like fucking vultures, somewhere She’d be safe.

“Fine.” Ben grunted, and what was probably relief flashed over MM’s face. “But be fucking quick about it.”

MM nodded, and turned to the anxious woman, still watching Ben with fearful eyes.

“You’ve got clearance to move on, and attend to other victims.” MM crossed his arms, and Ben wasn’t sure what other victims he could be referring to, but he wasn’t going to question that. Whatever the fuck got the woman away from Her. “Understood?”

“Um, sir,” the woman looked between MM and Ben, her voice unsteady. “I, I can’t just leave a victim, I have to-“

“I know, I was a field medic. But she,” MM gestured to Her, still in Ben’s arms. “Is an exception. She’s a supe.”

The woman blinked, but still fucking pushed. “Sir, I’m still expected to provide aid to the super-abled-“

“You aren’t gonna be able to help this one, I,” MM glanced at Her, then Ben, and let out a long, labored sigh. “I don’t have a clue what’s going on with her, but if she’s not waking up, that shit’s above your pay grade-”

“Sir, I-“

“Listen.” MM’s voice dropped, growing stern as stress Ben could see on his face began to leak through. “I know it’s your job, but you try and take her away from that asshole,” MM jerked his head at Ben. “And someone’s going to have to scrape your guts off the pavement.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “If, if this is an unsafe environment for the victim-“

Ben felt something vengeful and bloody shoot through his body, the radiance in his body turning outward, growing bitter and furious. “What the fuck did you just say-“

“Goddamnit, no.” MM shouted over Ben, taking a sidestep to block the woman from his view. “That’s her husband, he’s an overprotective dick, and now is not the fucking time to work on that. I got some guys who will take care of her, you need to move on. Now.”

The woman finally seemed to get that MM wasn’t fucking asking, but ordering, and walked away. MM moved his gaze back to Ben, scanning over Her body.

“I got a car,” MM said, his words short and tense. “We’re staying at the farmhouse until all this shit blows over. Got Butcher back there-“

“No press or suits?”

MM glanced over his shoulder—where people with microphones and useless fucking badges had started to try and fucking sneak up on them—and looked back to Ben with a curt nod. “No one but us.”

Ben hauled Her up his body—hooking one arm under her knees and making sure her head was resting comfortably on his shoulder—and stood. MM understood the silent agreement, turning and walking without another word, and Ben followed. He kept him slightly hunched, kept Her face hidden in his neck, and shot glares that held a violent promise every time some pussy fucking dumbass raised a camera in their direction. This wasn’t for the public, or media, or any sort of goddamn history book that would want evidence of Her defeat of Homelander. Ben didn’t have a single damn doubt that the world would sing Her praises for a million years after this, because She had fucking earned that. She’d sacrificed and fought and dragged herself through mud and guts at the cost of her own sanity, all to make the world safe. She deserved every parade Ben had been given, all statues and holidays and glory, because She goddamn deserved it.

And She wouldn’t want it. She’d just want to rest, and for Ben to stay. And he always would, and he’d always protect Her, and that was the goddamn end of it. Because She didn’t deserve this. For Her pain to become just another part of the show, for it to be consumed like a goddamn product. She trusted Ben with her goddamn life and happiness, and if one single fucking pussy thought they’d make a profit on how she was curled into him—how she naked, and covered in ash and blood and wasn’t waking the fuck up—they’d find their limbs ripped from their bodies and scattered through the wreckage.

They seemed to get that, because Ben would look at them and they’d cower, dropping their cameras and hiding their faces. Ben and MM made it to the car—a shit old truck MM must have grabbed from Edgar’s farm to reach the scene—and only a single, idiot suit tried to stop them.

“Um, Soldier Boy and Mr. Milk-“

Ben couldn’t stop the snort at Mr. Milk, and MM’s had an expression of damn near disgust as he cut the man off.

“It’s MM,” he snapped, looking the suit up and down. “What do you need.”

“We’re just collecting statements, and neither of you have given yours-“

“We don’t need to give fucking statements,” Ben kept his words low, and made sure She remained hidden from view as he spoke. “Just use your damn eyes and common sense-“

“With all due respect, sir,” the suit looked Ben up and down, his voice weak and unsteady he—very fucking stupidly—pushed. “We really need yours, given that you were involved in the event. I’d advise you come with me, as it will be for your own benefit to cooperate-“

The suit cut himself off with a flinch as Ben to a step forward, dropping his voice to a hiss.

“Listen very fucking carefully.” He growled, ignoring MM’s eye roll and groaning sigh. “We’ll talk when we’re fucking ready, and until then I’d advise you shut your goddamn mouth and let us leave.”

“Um,” the suit swallowed, glancing to Her. “And the, um, the Anomaly-“

Ben snapped Her name, because nobody should ever fucking call Her the Anomaly again. “Is coming with me.”

The suit looked like he was about to protest. To try and argue that She needed to stay here for a goddamn statement, or medical assistance, or some other pointless shit that Ben would not fucking allow. But his eyes darted to somewhere past Ben, his mouth snapped shut, and he gave a small, awkward bow of his head with a cautious step back.

“Understood, sir.” The suit mumbled, glancing between Ben and whatever the fuck MM seemed to be doing to make the suit back off. “Just, we’ll contact you later for your statement.”

Ben turned as the suit stumbled away, and saw MM pulling the truck door open with a scowl.

“MM.”

The man stopped, turning to Ben with raised brows and waiting for him to continue.

“Thank you.” Ben muttered, and the words didn’t taste wrong on his tongue. “For, that. And-“

“I got it.” MM gave a half shrug. “And you’re welcome.”

Ben clenched his jaw as he nodded, and knew he probably wouldn’t ever be able to thank MM enough. For Her. For not pushing Her to stay away from Ben, for reluctantly accepting that Ben would either fucking burn the world or stay at Her side, as long as She wanted him there. For realizing that She did want Ben there, and that she was always fucking right, so Ben needed to be near Her all the goddamn time.

He’d never thank MM enough for knowing that. Knowing Ben had Her, and loved Her, and was really fucking trying. That he’d be trying for a while, and was going to keep trying, and never fucking stop. That all both She and MM seemed to ask was that Ben tried, so he’d keep fucking earning Her—even when She’d say he’d done enough, he’d always want to do more—and working to build some sort of real trust with Her friends.

Their friends. Ben had somewhere found himself in a life where these assholes were people he could tolerate, and didn’t loathe the company of, and wanted to be around Her and Ryan. And that seemed to be what friends were.

Friends like Annie, who told Ben they were happy She had him. Friends like Kimiko, who were excited for them getting married.

Whatever the fuck Butcher was, who told Ben he’d done well. And he had. Ben had done goddamn amazing, because he’d loved Her enough to try, and tried enough to repent.

And MM, who helped Ben keep Her and Ryan safe. Who muttered to Ben that Annie and Hughie were with Ryan, and that he was being taken care of until She and Ben could get to him. Who got Her away from the chaos and cleanup of Homelander’s death, and knew that Ben would rather fucking die than be kept away from his wife. Who didn’t push Ben for words or explanations, because they both seemed to know that what mattered was what Ben did. How he carried Her like the sacred thing she was, and didn’t hold Her like she was breakable—She fucking wasn’t—but still touched Her like she deserved to be touched. Like a star or work of art or something bigger and more important than anything else in the universe.

Like the god she didn’t want to be. Like an alter Ben didn’t need to kneel at, but was the only one who seemed to know how to.

Ben fucking got Her. He’d always fucking got Her, and MM could see that, and that was why explanations weren’t needed anymore.

And it’s why words were easier. They didn’t feel owed, and Ben thought MM needed to hear them, so it was so fucking easy to break the silence and speak over the hum of the engine.

“It’s an overdose,” Ben said, keeping his gaze on the gray of the world around them. “Or some shit like it.”

“What-“

“You said you didn’t know what was going on with her. It’s the V, it’s fucking-“ Ben had to cut himself off, because he’d use the wrong word. This wasn’t killing Her, because She wouldn’t fucking die. “It’s hurting her.” He muttered, staring at Her beautiful, perfect, bloodless face. “Our V isn’t like the normal V. Most pussies don’t survive one. I got knocked down by two. This is,” Ben swallowed, tracing his hand over her cheek as his voice began to hurt, sounding hoarse and rough as a rock-like lump grew in his throat. “This is her fifth.”

There was a long silence, and when MM spoke his words were low and cautious. “You can feel it.”

It wasn’t a question, but Ben nodded anyway, because he could. He could feel every nerve trying to sink into Her bones and reshape them, all while trying to escape Her body. Ben could feel how hostile her blood and muscles and organs were, and how they felt like they were fucking collapsing. “I can. All of it.”

“You felt the shot?”

“Yes.”

“And she,” MM glanced at Her body, her hands curled into Ben’s burnt shirt, even in sleep. “The V, it worked on her? She got something new?”

It had. Ben wasn’t sure what exactly had fucking happened, but the V defiantly goddamn worked. He’d felt how every possible fucking way to be in pain had pushed through Her body, then settled deep, deep down somewhere in Her skull or heart or womb. Somewhere fundamental that Ben didn’t have a name for, somewhere that had called forward all the radiance and resolve from his body to move into Her. She was somehow more goddamn powerful, and it was going to fucking rip Her to pieces. The V couldn’t find a place to settle, and it was making everything in Her fucking burn, but She wasn’t fucking allowed to burn without Ben, so she’d have to be fucking fine-

MM cleared his throat, and Ben realized he’d never actually answered the damn question.

“She did.” He pulled Her a little tighter against him, as if he could drain all the fucking pain into only his body, where she’d somehow never have to feel it. “Some sort of fucking power copier-“ Ben cut himself off, searching for what word She’d probably use to describe it. “Mimicry.”

“Mimicry.” MM repeated, raising his brows. “Like a chameleon.”

Ben nodded, and did his best to put to words what he’d seen. What he’d felt from Her, in Her, with Her. He wasn’t fucking good at this shit—She was, and Ben loved her for it, and had no goddamn clue how she was so fucking perfect that she was able to do damn near anything—but he had to try. For Her, for how this might be critical to her pretty eyes fluttering open and her attention on Ben being adoring and soft, Ben had to talk like he had a goddamn clue what he was saying.

He could try and talk like Her, but that never fucking worked for him. She’d probably laugh if she heard Ben talk like her. So Ben had to get this across, his way.

“Like a damn chameleon.” He said, every word scratching at his throat. “When we got there, she looked fucking exhausted. I threw up a barrier around us while Butcher dealt with him,” Ben didn’t want to say Homelander’s name, not when She might be able to hear it, and there wasn’t a damn chance MM didn’t know exactly who he was talking about. “And she touched me and it felt like she was fucking calling something. Like some part of me was supposed to go to her, and it did.”

“Something.” MM glanced at Ben with a frown. “The hell does something mean.”

“Just fucking something.” Ben grunted. “I’m not a goddamn poet, it just was. Something was being told to go to her, and it wasn’t,” he let his words grow a little harsher as MM opened his mouth. “The fucking brain connection shit. This was all me, and it belonged to her, and then she was strong and glowing and that was the damn end of it.”

There was a long stretch of silence, MM parking the car outside the farmhouse, and neither of them moved.

“You,” MM shook his head at nothing, pressing his palm to the wheel three times without setting off the horn. “You motherfuckers have no right to be so goddamn romantic.”

Ben’s scowl deepened, his brow drawing together. “Say whatever the fuck you mean-“

“I mean you really goddamn love that woman.” MM nodded to Her, and Ben’s hand moved to run through her hair on instinct alone. “And she clearly fucking loves you, and I’ve never seen any shit like it.”

“Of course I fucking love her-“

“How do you know she’s not dying.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “Watch what you’re fucking-“

MM raised his palm in mock surrender, but his glare on Ben didn’t waver. “I’m not saying you’re fucking wrong. I’m asking why the hell you’re right.”

The answer was so fucking simple that Ben couldn’t really understand why it needed to be said. He didn’t have an idea what MM was trying to fucking get at either, but the man was watching him expectantly, so Ben looked down at Her and muttered, “Because I’d fucking know. If she,” he couldn’t fucking say it, he hated even damn entertaining the thought. “Did that, I’d know.”

“How.”

“I just would.”

MM rolled his eyes, giving Ben a flat look. “How, motherfucker. Use your words-“

“Because I’d fucking die.” Ben was half shouting, and MM didn’t even flinch. “If she was doing that shit, I’d go with Her.”

There was silence, and Ben knew he hadn’t said a single lie. She was going to live, because Ben didn’t feel like he was dying. She had to live, because Ben wanted to fucking live. He wanted to spend a lifetime with Her, and if she died neither of them would get that. If it wasn’t Her brain—rooted so deep in Ben, tangled into every single part of him—withering and spreading like a disease into Ben’s, it would be the pain of Her death. The physical pain—dragging him down and pulling him after Her—or the pain of his fucking heart. The way Ben didn’t know how he’d lived before Her, and how he had no interest in living after Her. In how he was pretty damn certain that if he lost Her, his whole fucking body would just give up. It would search for Her, and not find Her, and decide that Ben just needed to be wherever the fuck she was.

“She won’t.” MM muttered, and Ben turned to fully face him with a frown. “She’s not going to die. She’s the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, and she’s not going go down without you. And I know for a fact you’re not going down that easy.”

Ben wasn’t. He wouldn’t. And neither would She. She’d be furious at Ben for the very idea that he was useless without Her, that if she died he’d simply have no choice but to follow He. She fucking hated that tragedy shit.

But this wouldn’t be a tragedy, because MM was right. She was a spiteful, perfect fucking problem, and she’d probably rather leave Ben than let them both die in a way she’d hate. She’d hold onto the world she loved so much by Her fucking teeth and nails and will, hold onto Ben by that part of them that had become fundamental and bigger than the whole goddamn universe, and She’d wake up.

Ben just had to wait for Her to wake the fuck up. And he’d waited for Her longer. He’d waited for Her his whole life, without a single thought that she was what he was waiting for. He’d waited for Her for three fucking months, knowing she needed him but would refuse his help every single goddamn time he offered it. And that had be far fucking worse than this, in the end, because he hadn’t been able to touch Her then. He’d only been allowed to ache for Her, and sit in how he’d failed Her, and grip onto everything single roaring bit of his love for Her in his chest, trying to prevent it from spilling out of his mouth and breaking Her.

But She hadn’t broken. She simply wasn’t goddamn capable of that, and Ben fully got that now. She’d wake up, and Ben would be here, and this time it would be easier to wait because he was able to hold Her. To pick Her up, and carry Her carefully inside the farmhouse, up the stairs to where MM had directed him. Into one of the bedrooms, where Frenchie could take a proper damn look at Her, and Ben could stay by her side and hear that She’d be okay.

And She would be. Ben was still fucking here, so She’d be okay.

It took almost an hour for Frenchie to arrive, but MM had said it might be two, so Ben was more than damn fine with it. The hour had been time for him to care for Her. For Ben to wrap her in a warm, clean sheet until he could find her a shirt, to wipe all the ash and blood from her beautiful face. For Ben to hold her in bed, to kiss the top of Her head and mutter promises that sounded more like blood oaths or prayers against Her skin.

“We’re going to buy another fucking house,” he told Her, running a thumb over her lips to feel the warmth of her breath, to test if Her mouth would still slightly part at his touch. It would. “It can be wherever the fuck you want, and as big or small as you think we need, but we’re buying another house, Sunshine, and that’s that.”

Her heart stumbled slightly in Her chest, but she still didn’t wake up, so Ben dropped his brow to Hers as he continued.

“You’ll find somewhere good. Somewhere that Ryan can get a proper fucking education, and prove that he’s smarter than any other damn pussy idiot kid in his class. Where we can get stupid fucking jobs, and have neighbors that we hate and make fun of together, and go on proper dates. I’ve,” Ben paused, shaking his head against Hers as his voice dropped so fucking low he could barely hear it. “I’ve never taken you on a date. Planned something, helped you dress up, driven you somewhere fucking stupid just to do it. And I don’t care what the fuck people do now, or if you’ll call me old, I’m getting you flowers, because I’m a goddamn gentleman. And I’m opening your door, and paying the bill, and you’re going to be beautiful and happy, and then we’ll go back home and have sex that shakes the foundation of the fucking house-“

Someone cleared their throat, and Ben looked up to see Frenchie standing at the end of the bed, a guilty look on his face.

“Excuse moi, Monsieur, ah, Ben,” Frenchie gestured to Her, giving Ben a weary look. “But MM asked I examine her. See if I can help.”

Ben nodded, sitting up against the headboard and adjusting Her in his lap. “Fine.”

Frenchie paused, realized that was all Ben was going to give him, and shuffled forward. He didn’t have any medical equipment—or fucking experience—but Ben still trusted him more than any random fucking pussy in a white coat. Frenchie knew Her, and he probably had some damn clue what he was looking for, because he didn’t hesitate as he began his work. Checking Her pulse, feeling her temperature, testing Her healing factor with a cautious, gentle prick of Her skin.

“And it was only a fifth V shot?” Frenchie glanced at Ben, taking a long step back from the bed. “No, say, gas?”

“Didn’t fucking see any,” Ben muttered, tracing patterns on Her hips as he glared at Frenchie. “She just fucking collapsed, and I felt it. The V.”

Frenchie nodded slowly. “Can you feel it now?”

“Yes.”

“Is the same as the beginning?”

It took Ben a second, but he realized it wasn’t. The dull of the pain wasn’t just muffled, but blunt. Not trying to push through him in the same way, not wrapped around his lungs like iron. There was less ringing in his ears, less blood pounding in his head, less electricity shooting up and down his spine. It was still fucking torture, but just the smallest fucking bit less consuming.

“No,” Ben said. “It’s,” he didn’t want to say better, but he couldn’t think of anything else, so he just scowled and shrugged.

Frenchie understood, and sighed. “Bien. That is, that is very good. It is only time now, I am afraid. We will just have to let her wake herself up, it is the easiest, safest way.”

Ben grunted an acknowledgement, and Frenchie didn’t move from the edge of the bed.

“What.”

“It is just, ah, Monsieur Butcher wishes to speak to you. Soon.”

Ben scowled. “Butcher’s awake.”

“Oui.” Frenchie swallowed, glancing at Her and lowering his voice as he said Her name. “Her blast wiped the V, and there were many injuries on his body that will now not heal. Along with his DNA experiencing many changes too quick, he is not in good health. There is no promise that he will ah, see more.”

There was no promise Butcher would live, is what Frenchie meant. No promise that this wasn’t the fucking end of that asshole, that he’d finally pushed it all too far and was going to pay the goddamn price.

“What the fuck does he want to talk to me for-“

Frenchie cut off Ben with a shrug. “I do not know. He only told me he wished to.”

Ben pulled Her a little closer as he glowered into the air. Butcher probably wanted to just fucking gloat. To jerk each other off about how they’d finally gotten Homelander, how everything was fucking better in the world and they’d done the mission.

She would tell Ben to go, because Butcher was dying and he had given his whole damn life to get to this moment.

But Ben didn’t give a single goddamn fuck. He wasn’t going to leave her side, fucking walk away just to celebrate Homelander’s death with Butcher. Ben wasn’t going to offer Butcher a single thing when nothing was better, because She was still in pain. When She’d also tell Ben that killing Homelander hadn’t fixed their dogshit government. That there was still work to do, even if Ben had not goddamn interest in doing it. He’d help Her do it—he’d help Her do fucking anything—but every single fucking part of him didn’t want Her to get mixed up in fixing the world anymore.

Ben wanted Her to rest. To finally just fucking rest, and let someone else take care of this. To make someone else deal with this mess, because She’d fucking killed herself for this and now she needed to rest. She needed to wake up in Ben’s arms, and know she was safe, and let Ben do whatever the hell it took to make Her happy.

Ben wouldn’t give a fuck about anything—let alone Butcher—until She was happy. So he looked back to Frenchie, and made his voice firm and clear.

“Not until she’s up.”

“He may not make it until she’s-“

“Then the pussy better fucking pray it happens soon.” Ben hissed. “Because I’m not fucking leaving her.”

Frenchie swallowed, nodded, and did the smart thing. He walked away, and carefully closed the door behind him.

The day bled on in slow hours, and the pain continued to morph in Ben’s body as he waited. Waxing and strong, then fainter and fading, then bright and hot and unbearable. He was silent, hanging onto Her every heartbeat and soft, humming breath, tending to Her in every way he could. Frenchie had dropped their clothing outside the door, so Ben pulled one of his shirts over Her body, kissing her brow before crawling back over Her, holding her until she returned to him. She would return to him. She fucking had to wake up, because there wasn’t a goddamn chance Ben would manage if she didn’t-

He heard Annie first. Shifting outside the door, holding the doorknob but never just fucking turning it.

“Annie,” he raised his tone, tucking Her face carefully against his neck in an almost fucking desperate hope she’d be close enough to his voice it would drag Her awake. “What the fuck do you want.”

The door creaked open, and Annie shuffled inside with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I didn’t want to bother you if you were sleeping-“

“I’m not.” Ben grunted. “I won’t.”

Annie glanced at Her, and nodded as she heard the silent part of Ben’s words. He couldn’t fucking sleep. Not until She was really, fully okay.

“I, yeah.” Annie signed, rolling on Her feet in the middle of the room. “Is she, is she better?”

Ben nodded, looking down at Her beautiful face. A little less twisted in pain, a little more peaceful in his body. “She will be.” She had to be.

“Okay, good. I,” Annie paused, taking a nervous step forward. “I actually wanted to talk to you?”

She said it like a question, so Ben muttered an agreement and jerked his head to the edge of their mattress. “Fine.”

Annie nodded, lowering herself down with a care Ben appreciated, not speaking until Ben rolled his eyes and shot her a glare.

“What-“

“Thank you,” Annie half blurted, looking a little shocked with herself. “For your help. With the Deep. I don’t, it really means a lot. More than you probably understand-“

“He hurt you, didn’t he.” Ben cut Annie off with short words, because he didn’t have to time or patience to pussyfoot around this shit. “Like Homelander-“

“No.” Annie shook her head. “Not like that. I mean, a little like that but, um,” Annie said Her name, and Ben could fucking swear Her heart stuttered in response. “It was different for her. Similar, but not as fucked up.”

“But he did.” Ben frowned. “Hurt you.”

Annie swallowed. “Yes. And you helped me kill him. So thank you.”

Ben shrugged, carefully not to shake Her in his arms. “Don’t. She,” Ben kissed the top of Her head, letting the small, something easing in his body at Her small, breathy sigh, “Would fucking kill me if I didn’t. She’d kick my ass.”

Ben loved Her so fucking much.

“I know, but thank you anyway. It’s,” Annie sighed, looking back to Her. “It’s hard. It’s going to be hard. For a while.”

“The hell-“

“I’m still angry.” Annie muttered, looking at Ben with one of the saddest fucking expressions he’d ever seen on her face. “The Deep is dead, and I’m still really, really angry at him.”

Ben frowned. “Why the fuck are you telling me that-“

“Because,” Annie said Her name, hand drifting up the bed to rest near Her’s. “She’s probably going to be angry for a long time too. And I just, I think you should expect that. She’s going to need you, and you should know it’s going to be hard for a long, long time.”

“I fucking know that.” Ben grumbled. “And I’m not going to goddamn leave her-“

“I don’t think you will, asshole. I’m just, I’m angry because it’s over, but it still hurts. And I want to help her, because she’s my friend, so I’m telling you because you’re the person that loves her the most. You’re,” Annie sighed. “Ben, you’re the only person I know she’ll let help her. That’s why I’m telling you.”

They were both silent for a second, and Ben’s eyes fell back to Annie’s hand. Resting near Her’s, scratching at the mattress but never inching any further.

“Hold her fucking hand.”

Annie looked at him with wide eyes. “I don’t-“

“You want to.” Ben shrugged, because he understood that more than damn anything. Everyone should always want to fucking touch her. Not like Ben touched Her—though Ben was pretty goddamn certain nobody could touch Her as well as he did—but for comfort. There shouldn’t be a goddamn person on this plant that didn’t understand that She should always be loved and cared for in every fucking way, and if Annie wanted to hold Her hand while she was in pain, Ben wasn’t going to fucking stop it. “She’s your friend. Hold her goddamn hand.”

Ben would admit that the words sounded almost like a threat, but they fucking worked. Annie held Her hand, and Her breath slowed just a little damn more, and the world got a little fucking better.

“I,” Annie paused, looking at Ben with an expression he didn’t understand. “I meant what I said. I’m really glad she has you.”

Ben nodded, moving one hand to trace the beautiful features of Her face, and muttered, “I’m fucking lucky I have her.”

Annie scanned over Her, voice only a whisper. “I don’t know what you guys have planned after this, outside of marriage, obviously, but-“

“Whatever the fuck she wants.” Ben raised his voice, because maybe She’d hear and wake up to smile at him. “As long as she’s fucking happy and safe, whatever the fuck she wants.”

There was another moment of silence—both of them watching Her, still fucking asleep—before Annie broke it.

“She’s strong. She’ll, she’ll get through this.” Annie’s gaze dragged to Ben, and her tone became almost goddamn strict. “And she’d tell you to go talk to Butcher.”

“I don’t have a goddamn thing to say to that pussy-“

Annie fucking scoffed. “Of course you have something to say to him. We all have something to say to that dick, he changed our lives.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Maybe your life-“

“And yours. He was the one who made us go to Russia. And,” Annie looked pointedly between Ben’s glare and Her perfect, sleeping face. “He was the first one to vouch for the idea to wake you up. To back up that plan.” To back up Her plan.

“I’m not leaving-”

“Won’t you feel it?” Annie’s asked, watching Ben carefully. “If she’s waking up?”

Ben needed to stop letting these people know shit about him. Letting them see how he knew every single way She breathed and bled and moved, how he fucking adored and loved every single fucking thing about Her, how he would fucking feel it, because there wasn’t a goddamn world where he didn’t.

“You can come right back,” Annie continued. “When she does, if you’re still talking to Butcher. But he’s really,” Annie sighed. “He’s in bad shape. Hughie and I were talking to him, and I’ve never seen him like that.”

“Like what-“

“Mortal.” Annie said, and Ben somehow knew exactly what she fucking meant. Ben had always been able to fucking kill Butcher, but something about the asshole made it seem like that would be pointless. He was like one of those fucking immortal bear things she’d told Ben about. The ones that just didn’t know how to fucking quit, and survived every extinction in history.

Butcher was either like that, or a fucking cockroach. But either way, Ben understood why the dick seeming mortal meant something.

And he could just run right fucking back to Her, if he felt her waking up.

And he did have shit to say to Butcher.

And She would tell him to say it.

“Fine.” Ben grunted, narrowing his eyes on Annie. “But you have to fucking stay here. You can get Hughie, or Ryan, but no more than three people, because I don’t want her freaking the fuck out when she wakes up. Make sure she has blankets, and if she kicks them off get me, because that means she’s burning, and if she’s burning she’s probably having a nightmare-“ “I’ve got it, Ben.” Annie looked almost amused, shifting further up the bed as Ben moved Her head to rest on a pillow. “She’ll be okay, I promise.”

Ben knew she would. He’d lain her down the way she liked, moved all the hair from Her face, and when he kissed the space between Her eyes he could feel something light bloom in along his ribs—Her ribs—so she’d be okay until he got back. Annie would take care of Her, and Ben would break through the fucking walls if she started to wake up while he was with Butcher.

Now all he had to do was get it the fuck over with, and talk to Butcher.

It was a short walk. Butcher was on the same damn floor, a few doors down, and Ben could hear the weak, stumbling sound of his heart right before he pushed open the door.

Butcher did look fucking awful. His face was sunken, his breathing was ragged, and his smirk at Ben looked like it hurt his goddamn face.

“Well, look who finally decided to pay a dyin man a visit.” Even Butcher’s voice sounded like shit. It was barely a fucking croak as he said Her name. “Did she wake up? Got on your fuckin ass to be a good lad and fulfill my last fuckin wish?”

“She’s still asleep.” Ben muttered, glaring down at Butcher. “You can thank Annie for this, but you cross one fucking line and I’ll kill you my goddamn self.”

“The fuckin hell did Starlight say to get you to listen-“

“That you’re fucking finished.” Ben narrowed his eyes, keeping his tone flat. “And I might have something to say to you before you kick the damn bucket.”

“Well then,” Butcher gave a weak shrug, settling into the bed. “Better say it, Gov.”

Ben didn’t bother to look for his words or be gentle. That shit would be wasted on Butcher, and if Ben knew anything about the asshole, it was that he’d appreciate the honesty.

“You’re a backstabbing fucking dick, and dogshit excuse for a man.” Ben said, standing tall and not stopping at Butcher’s snort. “You tried to fucking bury me, you treated my wife like she was garbage, even when you owed fucking everything to her. Ryan’s only safe because she made that shit happen, and you only fucking won because she sacrificed fucking everything to make it happen. But,” Ben’s first clenched, and he pushed on. “If you hadn’t been such a fucking asshole, I wouldn’t have gotten her.”

He paused, because Ben wasn’t a damn liar, but this might be the most horribly true thing he’d ever fucking said. Ben owed everything fucking good thing in his life—in some way—to Butcher. He owed Butcher for freeing him from Russia and getting behind Her idea to wake him up, but he also owed him for Ryan. For keeping the kid alive, so Ben could be proven fucking wrong—he’d be more pissed about how being wrong had become a damn pattern if it didn’t mean he finally got a fucking family to love and care for, if he wasn’t really fucking happy for the first time in his goddamn life—and Ryan could get the hell away from Homelander. Ben owed Butcher for fighting alongside Her, helping her kill Homelander, because Ben had been able to keep Ryan safe and She hadn’t been forced to do that shit alone.

And Ben really did owe Butcher for Her. In a really fucked up way he’d never say aloud, Ben would be in debt to Butcher for the rest of his goddamn life for carving a path where Ben got to find Her. Because She’d point out that, that if Butcher hadn’t betrayed him, Ben would’ve killed Homelander and Ryan and She would’ve rotted away at a graveyard in Boston. If Butcher hadn’t tracked Her down, She never would’ve even thought about Ben.

And She and Ben had forged their love together, without a single damn thing to do with Butcher. But Ben never would’ve even fucking met Her without Butcher, and he’d never be able to repay that.

“I won’t forget that.” Ben muttered, watching Butcher carefully. “I have her now, I’m never going to fucking lose her, and I won’t forget how that happened.”

Ben had never seen that look on Butcher’s face. Almost soft, almost covered in a real damn emotion. Almost fully fucking human. Eyes that were brimming with something, and lips that were pulled, and studying Ben in a way that didn’t feel cruel.

“You finished, Gov?”

Ben nodded, and Butcher sighed.

“Take care of em.”

“What-“

“I ain’t stutterin. Take care em. And tell Ryan that he’s a good kid. Give him,” Butcher’s jaw clenched, and he was looking at something Ben couldn’t see. “Give him a childhood. Like Becca woulda wanted, where he’s safe and got a fuckin stable family. And tell him I’m sorry. And I shoulda tried harder for him, for his mom.”

Ben frowned. “You’re not going to fucking talk to him-“

“He don’t need to see me like this.” Butcher muttered. “He seen enough shit for a fuckin lifetime. I ain’t lookin to add to that list.”

“You think you’re done?”

Ben wasn’t sure why the fuck he said it like a question. Butcher was right damn in front of him, and he looked fucking done. But Butcher only huffed a low laugh, and a gave Ben a flat look.

“I ain’t stupid, Gov. I never died before, but this sure fuckin feels like it.” Butcher sighed, and he was staring at that point just past Ben again. “There’s only one hope in bleedin hell for me now, and I ain’t gonna ask that.”

Her. She’d be the only thing—beside maybe fucking prayer, but both Ben and Butcher knew that was fucking stupid—that could save Butcher. If She woke up in time, She could press a hand to Butcher and stitch and mend his every wound.

And Butcher was, for once in his sorry life, right. He had no goddamn right to ask that of Her, especially because She’d do it. She’d glare at Ben when he tried to convince Her that she was still in fucking pain, and then take another goddamn bullet for Butcher. She’d heal the asshole, not ask for much—if anything—in return, and then fall back into Ben.

He’d hold Her, grumble that she was too fucking good, She’d say she really wasn’t, and Ben would shut Her up with a kiss because he could. Because She’d whack his chest but still moan in his mouth, and mumble in his head that he was such a fucking ass, and he’d grin and tell Her that he was. He was Her ass, and She loved him.

And She did. And Ben owed a fucking part of that Butcher.

Who was dying in front of him. Who She’d heal without question, because She’d say he deserved a second chance.

Ben would tell Her that was fucking idiotic. That Butcher didn’t deserve shit, and Ben might owe him but She didn’t, and nothing was ever going to make up for how Butcher had treated Her.

And She’d give Ben a soft smile, and half whisper I think some people might have said the same about you. And look at you now, Pretty Boy. Just a grumpy old man that loves me. She’d kiss him, long and sweet and fit so fucking perfectly against him, and hold his face between Her hands as she whispered against his lips. You’re an amazing husband and father, Benjamin, my love. And you only get to be that because-

The door pushed open—cutting off Ben’s thoughts and making the vague smell of flowers and smoke vanish into thin air—and Hughie stumbled inside, shouldering the door closed behind him as he stared at something in his hand

“Butcher, I’m not sure-“ Hughie’s mouth fell open as he saw Ben, and he locked his hands behind his back as he began to stutter. “Um, Ben, hi, I don’t, I didn’t expect to see, uh, you-“

“Christ on a cross,” Ben muttered, raising his brows at Hughie’s red face. “What the fuck is wrong with you.”

Hughie glanced at Butcher, shaking his head slightly. “Nothing. I just, I’m making the rounds? You know, big day, we should be, uh, there for each other, and I wanted to check on Butcher. And, you know, speaking of being there for each other, Ben, uh,” Hughie mumbled Her name, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s, um, I heard she’s asleep, which is like the fucking worst, but don’t you want to go, uh, sit with her-“

Ben looked over his shoulder to Butcher, and found his own expression—a scowl and drawn brow—mirrored on the asshole’s face. They exchanged a brief look that Ben decided meant one of us should shut Hughie up before he starts confessing to crimes he’s never committed or gives himself a fucking heart attack, and Ben turned back to Hughie, raising his voice to a damn near bark.

“Hughie. Stop fucking talking.”

The kid paled, mouth snapping shut, and nodded nervously as Butcher coughed, shaking his head.

“What are you doin here, Hughie.”

“I’m just, I’m checking on you-“

“Annie said you were just in fucking here.” Ben snapped, and Hughie swallowed.

“I know, but it’s not like we have visitation limits-“

“Ain’t no way in bloody hell you’re just here for a fuckin visit.” Butcher drawled. “We had our words, Hughie. I don’t need some sort of fuckin pity-“

“This isn’t pity!” Hughie blurted, his arms tensing slightly behind his back. “I’m just, I-“ Hughie glanced at Ben, and took a nervous step back. “I’m actually, I think Annie needs my help with something, I’ll come back later-“

“Annie doesn’t need fucking shit right now. She’s doing me a favor.” Ben said Her name, clinging to the way something pounded in his chest and hummed over his skull like a fucking beacon guiding him home. “Down the hall, Annie’s watching her. And you,” Ben’s voice dropped to a hiss, and Hughie’s eyes widened. “Better start making some damn sense about why you’re here, and show us what the fuck is in your hand.”

Hughie looked at Butcher—still looking so strangely fucking human on the bed—and sighed. “I, I wasn’t sure if you’d want it, Butcher. Or if it would even work, but I needed to try, you know? I mean, we’ve lost so many people, and I needed to try-“

“Spit it out, lad-“

“It’ll heal you!” Hughie half shouted, his arm shooting out to present one of Frenchie’s drill bullets. “It’ll probably, it’ll fix you! And you’ll live, and get a second chance! We all, I think we should all get a second chance!” Hughie looked at Ben, his face almost desperate. “I know you’re not like, friends with him, and it’s complicated, but-“

“Hughie.” Butcher muttered. “You don’t need to fuckin lie, lass. This ain’t my second chance, it would be my fuckin,” he chuckled to himself, and it turned into a long spitting cough.

“Millionth,” Ben provided as the coughing faded, and Butcher nodded.

“Bloody right, Gov. And like I said, I don’t want fuckin pity-“

“And I told you this isn’t pity!” Hughie protested. “And Homelander’s dead now! We’re done! We all get to move on, and that’s different than before. You get a chance, Butcher, a real one where if you go down there’s nobody to blame but yourself, and you can see Becca’s son grow up, maybe, I don’t know, join a book club-“

Ben snorted at that, because there was no fucking universe where Butcher was happy in a goddamn book club.

But something was also tearing and mending inside of Ben at the same time. Something that was half bitter and resentful, and half glowing. That half was made of whatever the fuck made Ben all soft and pathetic, lined with his love for Her and Ryan and filled with how fucking wrong Butcher looked like this. The cockfuck wasn’t supposed to cough, or be unable to sit upright. He was the only person Ben had ever known that rivaled Her for being an uncontrollable pain in the ass. And while Butcher wasn’t nearly as goddamn hot and adorable and perfect in his brand of annoying, he still felt certain. Something about how She and Butcher never fucking stumbled or quit made Ben find them to be fundamental in the world.

And She was fundamental in Ben, where Butcher wasn’t, but Butcher might be real fucking vital to Ryan. To the kid not thinking he was somehow responsible for another death, for knowing he wasn’t responsible for any of this shit, for having someone stay just for his own damn sake.

But that’s where the bitterness came in. In how Butcher would stay for Ryan’s sake, but fuck, the asshole didn’t deserve that shit. Butcher had spent damn near half his life making everyone around him fucking despise him, making every wrong choice fucking available, being too blinded by vengeance and hatred to even goddamn try to be better. Ben was pretty fucking sure Butcher didn’t think he needed to be better. That this life was shit, but it was his, and he’d be goddamn fine dying in some sort of blaze of goddamn glory.

And—more than a second chance—Butcher sure as Christ’s blue balls didn’t deserve to die a fucking hero. To leave them all in the aftermath of a world without Homelander, and never have to say any apologies or fix a single damn thing he’d broken. To never need to hug Ryan and tell him that none of this had been because of the kid, and that Butcher knew his mother would be real damn proud of him. To never be forced to look Her in her beautiful, sharp eyes and say that he’d been a manipulative ass, and was going to buy Her and Ben a fucking kitten or some shit to make up for it.

Ben should get Her a fucking kitten. She’d like a kitten, because she liked stupid, cute things.

But he had something else to do first.

“Hughie.” Ben grunted, raising his voice enough to drown out Hughie and Butcher’s continued argument. “Give me the V.”

Hughie shook his head, his grip on the vial becoming white knuckled. “I, I really think we should help-“

“I don’t need your fuckin help, Hughie-“

“Both of you shut the fuck up.” Ben’s jaw clenched, and he reached out an arm to Hughie, flexing his fingers. “Give me the fucking V. Now.”

“But I-“

“Now.” Ben hissed, and Hughie shoved the V into his hand with wide eyes. “Good. You,” Ben turned to Butcher, pointing at the pathetic fucking asshole as he raised the V into clear view. “Are going to shoot this up-“

“Ain’t no bloody way you’re puttin that shit in my body-“

“No way you’re going to able to damn stop it.” Ben drawled, giving Butcher a flat look. “We’re saving your life, you piece of shit. Be grateful.”

Butcher frowned, his voice growing almost fucking soft as he looked between Ben and the vial. “Why.”

“Because you don’t get to be done. You’ve got to live this shit life with the rest of us.” Ben paused, holding Butcher’s glare. “For Ryan.”

That fucking did it. Butcher grew somehow more fucking pale, and he gave a short, curt nod. “Fine.”

Hughie smiled, small and nervous, and mumbled, “Thank you, Butcher. I know it’s hard, you’re a dick, and I know why, but I don’t want you to die-“

“Don’t get all fuckin whiny and emotional on me, Hughie.” Butcher muttered. “Good of humanity and all that shit, I fuckin got it.”

Hughie nodded, walking over to the side of the bed and glancing down at Butcher’s arm, resting on the mattress. “It’ll, it’ll probably hurt, but I can do it. And get you some painkillers-“

“I’m not a child, lad, just fuckin do it-“

“Not yet.” Ben walked to Hughie’s side, gripping the V and looking down at Butcher with a careful glare. “I got some terms.”

Butcher rolled his eyes, sputtering another cough before muttering, “Course you fuckin do-“

“Shut the fuck up, you pussy-“

“Ben,” Hughie mumbled, attention still on Butcher. “I don’t, I’m not sure we’re in a position to make demands-“

Ben scoffed. “Course we fucking are, Hughie. He’s dying, we’re saving his sorry ass, and I’ve got some shit to say-“

“But he’s already not really on board with being saved-“

“Can you cunts stop talkin like I ain’t able to hear you?” Butcher snapped, holding Ben’s glare. “Spit out your bloody terms, Gov. You want a fuckin iPad?”

Ben wasn’t sure what the hell an iPad was—She hadn’t taught him that yet—so he just pushed on.

“We’re going to shoot you up,” Ben shook the V in his hand. “And that’s it. No wiping the V with my bomb, no trying to figure out how to flush this shit out of your system. You’re a supe now, and that’s the end of it.”

Butcher’s jaw ticked, but he nodded. “Fine. That it-“

“Hughie and I,” Ben jerked his head at Hughie, who turned red again. “Are going to come up with a bullshit excuse for the V reappearing in your body, to make this all real damn simple. Then we take this to our fucking graves-“

Butcher scoffed. “Like you ain’t gonna tell your wife, Mate-“

“She doesn’t count.” Ben grunted. “I’m fuck-buddy-brain-connected with her, she’d find out no matter what. And I,” Ben narrowed his eyes, dropping his words to a hiss. “Don’t lie to my woman.”

There was a moment of silence as Ben and Butcher glared at each other, and Hughie cleared his throat.

“Okay, cool. We come up with a lie,” Hughie said Her name, bracing his hands on his hips. “Uh, she gets to know too, and Butcher stays a supe for… reasons.“

If Ben was being honest, there wasn’t a real reason he wanted Butcher to stay a supe. It just felt fucking right. Like something She’d do, a smart move that was all artful and brilliant, and that She’d explain to Ben with bright eyes and a smirk, hanging off his arm as he reveled in how She might be an evil mastermind, but he fucking adored Her anyway. Butcher having to be a supe was something She’d do, something she’d say was-

“Repenting.” Ben muttered, and Hughie swallowed, nodding.

“Yeah, uh, okay. Butcher stays a supe to repent, and we, we can shake on not telling anyone. I can hold Butcher down while you do the shot, Ben-“

“Fine.” Ben leaned down, bracing Butcher’s arm against the bed as he lined up the V. “But-“

“Fuckin Christ, Mate, just get it over with-“

“You need to be 50% less of a fucking dick.” Ben snapped. “And remember, if you start to be a problem for us again, I can and will fucking kill you.”

A look flashed in Butcher’s eyes that Ben knew meant he’d gotten who us was. That Butcher understood that, if he ever made Her or Ryan even a little fucking sad, Ben would bash his goddamn brains in.

“You got a deal.” Butcher grunted, curling his hand into a fist on the bed. “Do it.”

Ben nodded at Hughie, who moved to pin Butcher down, and set the needle into the crook of Butcher’s elbow. Butcher’s eyes squeezed shut as the V was pushed into his blood, and when Ben rose back up he was already fighting against Hughie’s hold and groaning in pain.

There was a long moment where every sound in the room was Butcher bucking and twisting in the bed, then the asshole passed the fuck out.

Ben frowned. “He didn’t do that last time.”

“Well, I think,” Hughie paused, turning Butcher’s head to the side to expose his neck. “Yeah, there. No burn scar.”

Hughie was right. Butcher was knocked down, but his body was healing, and they’d done it.

“Do we, um, do we want to figure out what the fuck we can tell everyone else-“

“I’ve got that.” Ben muttered, because he’d come up with some ideas while he waited for her to wake up, then She’d pick the perfect fucking one, and probably make it better. She made everything better. “You got him?”

Hughie sighed, looking over Butcher with a half-hearted shrug. “Yeah. I think we just have to wait. You can go.”

Ben nodded, moving to leave the room—to go back to Her, where he belonged—and his hand was on the doorknob when Hughie coughed.

“Ben?”

He scowled, turning back around. “What the fuck-“

“Thank you.” Hughie said, watching Ben with weary eyes. “I know he’s a dick, but I, I think we all deserve a second shot-“

“Don’t. I,” Ben sighed, pushing his words through his teeth. “I get it. You don’t need to fucking explain it. It’s done anyway.”

“I know.” Hughie gave Ben a close-lipped smile. “But thanks.”

Ben scowled, but nodded, and left. He didn’t have the fucking energy to deal with the teams fucking emotional shit right now, he needed to save anything he had to offer for Her. For kissing Her and loving her with every fucking fiber of his being when She woke up. She was growing less painful in his body by the minute, and the closer he got to Her room the more Ben could fucking swear she was stirring and glowing around his brain-

He stopped dead in his tracks outside their room, frowning down at Ryan. Curled up in the hallway, staring at the floor and looking too goddamn sad.

“Ryan.”

The kid’s gaze shot up to Ben with an almost panicked look.

“Ben, I, I didn’t, I’m sorry-“

“Shut up.” Ben glanced at the closed door, where he could hear Her heartbeat—just a slight beat more unsteady than when he’d left—and Annie’s, and looked back to Ryan. “Why the hell are you outside.”

“I, um, I didn’t want to bother her. Or wake her up-“

Ben let out a dry chuckle—even as everything ached in his heart and behind his eyes—and dropped down to one knee. “Kid, she needs to wake the fuck up. And she’d get real fucking pissed if she heard you say you’d be bothering her.”

“But-“

“No fucking but.” Ben extended a hand to Ryan, giving him a pointed look. “Let’s go.”

Ryan still looked so damn uncertain, but he nodded, and took Ben had. Let him pull them both up, shuffling closer to Ben’s side as he moved a hand to clasp Ryan’s shoulder, guided him into Her room.

She was still fucking asleep. Ben had known she would be, he’d expected it, but that didn’t change how everything single part of his body roared and twisted at it, how he felt bruised just from the goddamn sight of Her. She still looked so fucking small—Her pain flaring in Ben’s body, almost seeming to reach out to him—and his fists curled when he realized She’d rolled over in her sleep. Buried Herself where Ben had been before, and tucked her whole body into itself.

“How was Butcher?” Annie asked, and Ben had fully forgotten she was there. She’d dragged a chair up to the bed, and was still holding Her hand.

“Fine.” Ben muttered, taking a slow step towards the bed and moving Ryan at his side. “Didn’t look bad. He might make it.”

Annie blinked—Butcher had looked on the brink of damn death and they both knew it—but let it go, giving Ryan a small smile. “How are you, Ryan?”

“I’m,” Ryan’s words were soft, and when Ben glanced down at him, the kid was just fucking staring at Her with a pale face. “I’m not-“

“Annie.” Ben grunted, and he didn’t need to elaborate for her to understand.

“Okay.” Annie slowly stood—Ben didn’t miss the last squeeze of Her hand—and made her way out of the room, only briefly stopping before them to offer Ryan a gentle expression and words of comfort. “She’s going to be okay, Ryan. I promise.” Annie’s gaze turned to Ben, her words growing a little firmer. “She’s responsive. I was talking to her, and she was reacting at really weird times, but she was reacting. And she moved there,” Annie nodded to the bed. “Pretty much right after you left. So she’d not lucid, but she’s okay. She’s going to be okay.”

Annie sounded more like she was trying to convince herself, but Ben understood that. They all needed to think She be okay—because She would be—otherwise the world would fucking burn.

But Ben just nodded, grunting an acknowledgment, and Annie gave him one last, small smile before shuffling out of the room.

Ben dropped onto the bed, grabbing Her hand and carefully turning her perfect face to the side. She looked better. She was still goddamn asleep, but she looked better. There was more color on Her face, and when Ben started to run his thumb over Her knuckles, she let out a small sound of content, so she’d be fucking fine.

“Ben.” Ryan whispered, frozen at the end of the bed, his gaze locked onto Her. “I’m, I’m sorry”

Ben scowled. “Don’t be fucking sorry, Ryan, this shit isn’t your fault-“

“But it is.” Ryan’s voice turned pleading, his desperate gaze turning to Ben. “I, I was the reason she had to fight my dad, the reason he shot her with the V, I, I hurt her-“

“You can’t fucking hurt her-“

“But I did!” Ryan was shouting, backing away from the bed and shaking his head franticly. “You told us to take care of each other, and I lasered her. I was trying to help, but I made it worse, I hurt her, but I didn’t mean to-“

“Ryan.” Ben stood, crossing the room to Ryan’s side in two long steps. “This isn’t your fucking fault. Listen to me.” He grabbed Ryan’s face between his hands, forcing the kids gaze away from Her and onto him. “You are not Homelander. If you hurt her, it was fucking temporary-“

“No, no it wasn’t, she won’t wake up, Ben.” Ryan’s voice was so fucking sad—weak and choked and nervous—and Ben could see his eye grow glossy. “What, what if she doesn’t wake up? I don’t, I didn’t mean to, I promise, and if she doesn’t-“

“She’ll wake up.” Ben kept his voice firm and steady, raising it so maybe She’d fucking hear him. Hear how Ben needed that be a goddamn order, how he needed her body to respond and just fucking wake the hell up. “She will. I fucking swear it, son. She will.”

Ryan’s body started to shake as the first sob left him, and his arms wrapped around Ben, clinging to him like a goddamn baby as he cried.

“I’m, I’m sorry-“

Ben didn’t have to think to react. His arms moved to hold Ryan, to rub his back and keep this kid upright as he continued to cry. “Not your fault, Ryan.” He muttered. “You didn’t shoot her with the fucking V, and whatever the hell happened on the highway wasn’t your fault-“

“I hurt her-“

“Ryan.” Ben made his voice stern, glaring at Ryan until he moved his head back, watching Ben with nervous, red eyes. “That was a goddamn disaster. If you hurt her, I know it was not on purpose, and that she will not fucking blame you. Whatever the hell happened, she doesn’t blame you.” He paused, holding Ryan’s gaze and softening his tone. “I don’t blame you. That,” he jerked his head slightly to the bed. “Is not because of a fucking laser. And even if it was, I wouldn’t fucking blame you.”

“I,” Ryan’s voice was weak and hoarse, his arms tensing around Ben. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, I didn’t-”

“I know.” Ben muttered, moving Ryan’s face back into his chest as the kid started to cry again. “I know you didn’t. And this isn’t your fucking fault.”

They stayed there for a long while. Ryan crying against Ben, and Ben just fucking holding him until he tired himself out. Until Ryan slumped slightly in Ben’s arms, sobs turning to heavy, long breathes, and Ben could pick him up and carry him carefully outside, into a spare room.

Ryan’s eyes fluttered open as Ben set him down in a bed, his hands curling into Ben’s shirt before he could draw back up.

“Can you,” Ryan swallowed, whispering Her name and searching over Ben’s face with a pleading expression. “Please tell her I’m sorry. If she wakes up-“

“Not a fucking if.” Ben grunted, pulling the cover’s over Ryan’s body. “She will, Ryan. And you’ll tell her your damn self, and she’ll tell you exactly what I did.”

“That it’s not my fault.”

Ryan said the words like he didn’t fucking believe them, so Ben made his voice strict.

“Yes. Because it’s fucking not.” Ben paused, looking over Ryan’s sad expression. “What’s the rule about her.”

“She’s always right.”

“Damn right, she is. And if she says it’s not your fault-“

“It’s not my fault.” Ryan mumbled, his eyes starting to droop. “Not my fault.”

Ben waited until Ryan was passed out—breathing even, heart slow, hands flopped on the bed—before he moved. Kissing the top of Ryan’s head, over his hair like a dad fucking should, and turning off the lights so nothing would disturb his rest. This sleep wasn’t like Her sleep, it was needed. Ryan needed to sleep, to stop his head spiraling until She was awake and could tell him it’s not your fault in a way the kid would believe. It blew Ben’s mind a little, how at the end of the day Ryan was a hell of a lot more like Her than Ben. Her was certainly more like Her than fucking Homelander, because Homelander wouldn’t have fucking apologized, and Ryan wouldn’t stop apologizing.

Ben had gotten Her to stop apologizing. To cry and break in Ben’s arms, but never fucking tell him she was sorry. And now Ben would have a lifetime to get Ryan to stop as well. To give the kid a firm look every time he said sorry for something fucking stupid, until everyone Ben loved understood that they weren’t fucking burdens or problems. They were his whole fucking world, and he never wanted to hear them apologize to him. To apologize to anyone who didn’t really damn deserve it, and very few people did.

He’d get Ryan to understand that. Until then he just had to wait for Her to wake up. Until She made good on Ben’s promise, and woke up.

She needed to fucking wake up, because Ben would be damned if he’d just lied to Ryan. She needed to be okay, because she didn’t have a choice. This was going to the one goddamn thing in the world he wouldn’t bend to Her will for.

Ben would do anything for Her, in a way that he’d come to terms with a damn long while ago. That he’d always put up a fake fight—glaring and muttering and scowling—and then give in, because She’d smile and kiss him, and nothing could really be that bad if She was happy. And She’d never ask too much of Ben, because that simply wasn’t who she damn was. She was the only person in the fucking world that could make Ben turn on his own fucking principles, and it was because she’d never asked him to. She’d just been fucking perfect and beautiful, and now Ben was Her’s.

He’d move mountains and burn countries and level cities at her word. Ben would get Her whatever she wanted and go wherever she went, and she wouldn’t need to fucking lift a finger. But She wasn’t allowed to die. If She wanted to get away from Ben, she’d need to fucking say it to his face. If She tried to just die, Ben wouldn’t let her. He’d find Her wherever she went, and bring her back. And—even now, when She wore the ring on her finger and Ben could feel every stab and wrench of pain in her body, all growing by the second—Ben would walk away when S he was safe, if she asked him to.

But She’d have to fucking ask. To look Ben in the eyes and tell him she didn’t want him anymore, and he needed to go.

And She’d never fucking do that. Fuck, She’d get all pouty and sad at the damn idea of Ben leaving. She’d grab his face between Her hands, pull him down to her eyes level, and whisper I don’t want you to go. Please don’t go, Ben. Please.

He’d nip the tip of Her nose, and mutter against Her skin I’m not going a damn place without you, Sunshine.

Good. She’d mumble, and give him a soft smile. Please don’t.

I damn said I wouldn’t, and I’m not a-

Pussy fucking liar?

Shut up, brat. He’d roll his eyes, and smirk down at Her. And you’re only supposed to beg when I fuck you, beautiful.

She’d giggle, and drop Her head to Ben’s chest. I think that’s a problem that’s easy to solve, Pretty Boy.

Ben had dropped back down on the bed—moving Her carefully onto his lap and holding Her head against his neck—and felt something start to push against his throat. It was an early sign of the storm, and Ben was too fucking exhausted to hold it back. Not when She was still asleep. Not when he’d fucking meant it. That he’d do anything for her, do whatever she asked of him, but he wouldn’t let Her not be okay.

Ben said Her name, his voice barely a rasp, and hoped She could feel him. Feel how the ache was alight in his mouth and eyes, how the world was starting to blur and everything fucking hurt because She wasn’t okay.

“I need you to wake up.” He muttered, and every word was impossible to say. “Now. I don’t want to be a graveyard coke snorter, I want you. I fucking need you. You need to wake the fuck up, because you’re not allowed to die. If you’re trying to, you won’t. I’ll stop you. I’ll find you, I’ll always fucking find you, and I’ll bring you home. You-“ Ben choked slightly, and there was something wet on his face that he didn’t bother to wipe away, because it would mean moving his hands away from Her. “You’re going to be okay. I got there in time, because you called me, and now you have to be okay. You need to be fucking okay, because Christ, I can’t do this without you.” His voice had risen to almost a shout, and Ben didn’t fucking care. Maybe then She’d fucking hear. “You burn, I burn, Sunshine. You die, I’m fucking done with you. So you can’t fucking die, for me. I don’t want you to fucking die, so don’t.”

Ben dropped his head against Her brow, taking long, deep breaths as he closed his eyes and tried to grab onto Her inside of him. She was so fucking close, but so goddamn far, and Ben needed Her to really feel him. To feel that he meant every goddamn word, and that he loved Her. Ben really fucking loved Her, and She’d hate all this tragic, dying together shit, so She simply wasn’t allowed to fucking die.

Wake up, he muttered Her name between their heads. Please.

He felt Her. For the first time since Homelander, Ben really fucking felt Her. All around him, everything was a little fucking infinite and beautiful and holy. Her love was alight in Ben’s head—bright and burning and ancient and vast—and it made him fucking high. And he only felt higher as hands that he’d recognize if he was buried in the core of the earth moved to hold his face, and a heartbeat he’d find in the vacuum of goddamn space fell into time with every single good thing in the world.

Love bellowed in Ben’s chest—attentive and pious and bloody and all fucking hers—and hurled into Her body. And he could feel Her love grow—endless and sacred and singing a vital, ancient song made of something powerful—as She matched it.

And when Ben opened his eyes, She was smiling.

—————————

You can’t hear him. He has a voice that’s calling to you like a song, and you seem to know it—know him—but you can’t pull it out of the millions of other harmonies around you. There are songs in your body, and they’re vital to everything breath and movement, like they’re ingrained in the very fiber of your life. It’s all something like a bird or drug, something thicker than water, and something under your skin that crackles and hisses and hums but mends some cracks up your spine and over your skull. Then there’s the music bouncing around your brain. The countless patterns like searchlights, and the loudest song that’s only one noise, over and over. That one is deep and fundamental, keeping you right where you’re supposed to be.

But this voice, his voice, in from outside. It’s not in you. It’s like the creaks and whistles and shuffling that’s a little far away, but it seems to be more important than anything else. It’s louder, and safer, and makes every other piece of you reach out, trying to follow whatever it says because that feels like what you should do.

You can feel him. Every second that the world is muffled and distant—as if you’re in a cage made of gentle darkness as a cloth covers whatever lies outside—you feel him. You feel the pain in his body that’s probably born from you, you can feel the mold and rot eating at his heart as time stretches on, and you can feel all his love. In every muscle and aching pound against his ribs, there’s something a little deeper and more innate. Something that feels right in your body. It morphs and turns as you sit in this strange between, becomes sour and straining and white-hot and bloody, but it’s always love.

It’s aimed somewhere that feels like it’s deep in your brain. It’s alive in your every nerve and fiber, and you think it, in a way, belongs to you. That it’s as old the earth around you and more holy than whatever is tugging on a strange, deep part of you that you don’t have a name for.

You don’t have a name for most anything right now. It’s almost all just pain, and the terrarium, and him. The pain is inescapable. It’s sunken so far into your body, and it’s ripping you apart. Trying to make you scream for mercy with words you don’t have, feeling a little sick. As if it’s rooting around for a place to live inside you, but everything is so raw and unstable that it can’t find somewhere to stay and keeps leaving everything else broken in its wake. The pain is driving on that tug, and the tug doesn’t feel like it would break you out of the terrarium, but it would help you escape it. You’re not sure where you’d go after that, but you wouldn’t be here anymore. Here, where you’re so slightly removed, so deeply in pain. It would be really nice to not be here anymore.

And then there’s him. You don’t know who he is, but you know he’s part of you, and you know he’s yours. You know he’s big and strong and warm and made of that arduous and rough song that you can’t work out the meaning of. You know he really doesn’t want you to leave. That you don’t know what he’s saying, but you can feel that it’s made of don’t leave. You’re not allowed to leave, Sunshine. I don’t fucking want you to leave, so don’t.

You think you should listen to him. He says every word like it’s a prayer, and he calls you Sunshine—you’re not sure what that means, but it sounds right when that deep, rolling voice says it—and he feels safe. Your whole body seems to like him, more than it really even likes you, and you think there’s something in your chest that is him.

It’s how you know he loves you.

It’s how you know you love him.

Whoever he is, you love him. He’s a little more than anything else, he might be everything, and he doesn’t want you to go. He’s calling you back to his side—he’s begging for you to be there, and nothing about him seems like he’d ever beg, so that’s probably important—and that feels like a place you’d fit perfectly, so you think you’ll go. You’re still in pain, but you think you’ve been in pain for a while before this, and you’ll probably be in pain for a while after. And every part of you seems to agree that you’d rather be in pain with him than anywhere without him, so you grab onto that thing in your chest, scream in a place without noise that you’d really, really like not to go, and the terrarium breaks.

Ben’s love crashes into you before you’ve fully opened your eyes. It’s hot and pious and ravenous, consuming but never taking, wrathful but never harmful. It drags your eyes open because you need to see him, and pulls a smile onto your face because God, everything hurts but Ben is here so nothing’s really that bad.

It won’t ever stop making your whole body malleable and molded into Ben’s, how fucking handsome he is. How his jawline is sharp, and his beard is soft when you move your hands to touch it, and his lips are full and will always belong on your skin, wherever he decides to put them. His arms are holding you against his chest, and it makes his love flow right into your body, and every breath and shift makes his muscles flex around you. His body is firm and tangible and permanent against you, and his love is immovable yet weightless in your chest, and he’s already watching you.

Ben always watches you. His gaze is always reverent, and it’s always on you. Following you and caring for you and moving your whole body with just how he looks at you. How nobody has ever looked at you like that before, and how nobody will ever look at you like again.

They couldn’t. Nobody would ever be able to know you like Ben does, and if you searched for a million years, you’d never find eyes like Ben’s. Green and boundless, full of a power you can feel in your heart and filled with an adoration that makes you warm everywhere. Eyes that have an attention you’d happily receive for the rest of your life, and that you’ve never worried about straying because they seem to like watching you more than they like anything else. They look at you like you’re the only reasonable thing to look at, as if they’d be wasting time on anything else.

Neither of you speak for a long time. It could be only seconds, or it could’ve been a lifetime, but you don’t really care to know. The world is spinning around you, and there might be empires rising and falling and cities being swallowed in water, but Ben is here so you’d be safe from any threat, and you’d burn the water away together. You just need to stay here, a little longer, with Ben. You need to feel the relief in him wash down into his stomach and throat, and the fury under his every muscle make him hold you as if you’re going to vanish from his arms, and the mold in his heart die, burned away as the glow begins to bloom.

He looks so tired. There’s that storm wracking through his chest and head that tells you he’s been crying, and even as it’s chased away by the glow, the glow is still wrathful. Still ripping open and moving through Ben’s body far too fast, still trying to stay contained within him but seemingly unable to not riot and crash into you. There’s still a hurricane in his body, but it seems to mostly be moving the concrete resolve of his body by shaking and fracturing a low, angry part of him into shards like glass.

They’re jagged and rough, but nothing in Ben is fragile, so they’re mostly just golden. Atomic and raw, not painful but strange and unsure where they belong in his body. Ben isn’t moving, only watching you, and the shards are starting to carve into his bones, so you kiss him.

It’s barely a movement, you’d already been sharing a breath, but it’s enough. You pull him a little closer with a gentle tug of his jaw, brushing your lips together, and the glass bursts up his spine and sinks into that same, deep concrete part of him, and everything comes back together. Whatever the hurricane had broken in Ben is repaired in the same moment, and now it catches the light of the glow and illuminate everything within him like a prism or star. His hands start to knead on your skin as he deepens the kiss—pressing his tongue on your lower lip, making a deep, rumbling sound when your fingers move to tangle in his hair—and he rolls you both over until your back is flat on the mattress and he’s wrapping you in his warmth.

Ben starts to leave small, gentle kisses down your neck, and when he reaches the base of your throat he lets out a long, heavy breath, grunting your name against your skin.

“Don’t ever pull that shit again,” he braces his arms on either side of your head, rising back up to glare at you as something clenches in his chest. “Got it?”

You give him your softest, sweetest smile, and the glow in Ben seeps into his bones as his body relaxes above you before you’ve even spoken.

“Got it.” You whisper, picking your head up off the bed, just enough to bump his nose with yours. “Hi, Benjamin, my love.”

He sighs, and drops his brow to yours. “Hi, Sunshine.”

You kiss his cheek—just an easy way to remind him you’re here, and real, and love him—and a low, strangled noise leaves his chest as he turns his head, capturing your lips back into a full, long, slow kiss.

I fucking love you, he mutters in your head, and you wrap your arms around his neck with a high, happy sigh.

Ben pauses, and pulls back to look at you with a scowl.

“Say it back.”

Your smile spreads as you trace fingers over his cheekbone, not bothering to hide the amusement in your voice. “I was going to, you massive baby-“

“But you didn’t-“

“I was literally about to-“

“But you fucking didn’t-“

“Benjamin.”

Your firm, sharp tone gets him to shut up, and you let all the blood in your body—everything in you made of holy an eternal, bright, easy love for Ben—fly into him as you pull his brow back to yours.

I love you, Ben. I love you a fuck ton. You’re a grumpy, old cunt, and I really, really love you.

That seems to satisfy him—his whole body relaxing over yours as his grin becomes wide and unrestrained—and he drops to your neck, speaking against your throat.

“Fucking brat.” He leaves sloppy, wet kisses along your collarbone, his voice rolling through your body. “Such a smart fucking mouthy, beautiful, so fucking good-“

You gasp slightly as he begins to suck and bite at that one spot, your hands tugging slightly at his hair. “Ben-“

“You’re goddamn perfect.” He says, and then as his hands tighten on your body, his movements still.

You have to wait for him to speak. He’s not tearing himself apart inside of you, but there’s an almost blinding heat behind his eyes and ringing with his every heartbeat, and it’s made of the glow and ache and all his bright, atomic love. And when he does speak—after a long while of Ben just squeezing your body and breathing against your skin—his voice is low and gravelly, like he hates the very words leaving his mouth.

“I’m fucking serious, Sunshine.” He doesn’t look up at you, but he doesn’t need to. You can feel his love finding another place to live inside you as this strange heat spreads, and now it’s buried in somewhere bruised near your lungs, somewhere you know is fogged with pain, that tightens when you’re afraid. “Don’t fucking do that. Ever. Swear you won’t.”

You’re not sure what that he’s referring to, but you’re not planning to do any of it again. So, it’s easy to hum an agreement that calms everything in Ben and know that you mean it.

“I won’t.” You whisper. “I promise.”

He nods against you, but doesn’t make any effort to move, so you’ll let him stay. You’d let Ben do almost anything he wants to you, and this—his face staying buried in your neck as his familiar weight traps you under his warmth—isn’t much of an effort to give him when you love him like that. When you love him in a way that every single part of him just being here is making the whole world better, because you can comb your fingers through his hair and breathe in pine and gunpowder and strawberries that tell you you’re really safe.

You can just watch his chest rise and fall, and hear his every low breath, and feel his muscles move as he shifts so slightly above you. You can sit in this moment that’s so peaceful and realize that you’re wearing one of Ben’s shirts and a pair of his boxers, and that you can’t have been asleep that long, because Ben hasn’t even changed his clothing. He’s in exact same monotone shirt he’d been wearing when you’d left, although it’s now wrinkled and burned and covered in even more blood than when you’d been fighting Homelander-

Homelander.

You don’t know what had clouded and fogged over your brain, but you’d entirely forgotten about Homelander. You don’t know what happened. You think he’s dead—you have a memory of empty, blue eyes and a body going limp near yours—but you don’t know. You don’t know what happened to Butcher, what happened to your team, where everyone is and if the world is falling apart while you’re not there to fix it. You haven’t been here to fix anything. You haven’t even checked on Ryan-

Ryan. Ben had been taking care of Ryan, and you trust Ben with anything, but what if Ryan needs you. What if he’s scared or confused or distressed in the wake of Homelander’s maybe death, what if he needs to talk to you and you’ve been asleep, what if Butcher’s dead and now all Ryan has is you—and Ben—and you’re not there-

Ben says your name, and you hadn’t even realized you’d frozen, your body beginning to rise with smoke as the world blurred.

He says it again, and his face is level with yours, one hand moved up to angle your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze.

“What’s wrong.” Ben’s words are urgent, almost an order as he scans over your every open feature. “Words, darling-“

“Ryan.” You whisper, and your fingers curling in Ben’s hair. “Where’s Ryan, is he-“

“He’s okay.”

“Where-“

“Asleep, few rooms over.” Ben traces his hand over your cheek, brows drawing together. “Kid is freaked the fuck out, but alive.” He pauses, and the glow flares in his chest as his gruff words grow a little softer. “He’ll be real happy you’re awake.”

You exhale, your words still soft as you mumble, “Ben.”

He grunts, and you have to swallow down a foul taste of fear. Cold and paralyzing and lingering until you know for sure.

“Is, is he-“

“He’s dead.”

For a really long time, long enough for it to go dormant and feel like it’s a part of your body, there’s been an extra weight living at the base of your neck. It’s made it turn and strain, made your whole spine feel tight and hot and brittle, made your head feel too crowded and your whole world feel small. Made everything in you feel so fucking small, because there had to be space for that weight. How it could move to your throat and lungs and make breathing the most difficult thing in the world, but also knew to look in which shadows, and what key dangerous fans hummed in, and what smells meant wrong.

And it’s not gone. It might never be gone.

But Ben says he’s dead, and it withers. It shrinks and cowers, and everything feels clear. Light moves into you easier, and parts of your body you hadn’t realized were tense relax, and one last thing in your breaks.

Your whole body shakes as you begin to cry, and it’s long and loud as everything becomes overwhelmed with something that feels like the sun breaking through the clouds, but you don’t sound weak. Every ragged breath is taken with the knowledge that this is air Homelander will never breathe again, and every tear shed is easy because you know Ben will wipe them away and Homelander will never fucking touch you again.

Ben holds you so carefully the whole time. Drawing you both up until you’re slumped forward onto his chest, one hand tangled in your hair as the other traces patterns on your lower back, and taking deep, even breathes that lull you down and back into ease. You probably have things to do. People to talk to and problems to solve and steps to take as aftershocks of Homelander’s death ripple out, but right now you just need to stay here. The world will likely be the same when you move, and you’re not weak but you’re still exhausted. Still so, so tired as it hits your bones and sinks into your skin that he’s dead. You’d done it, and Homelander’s gone. His hands are harmless, because he’s just a body, and his voice will only carry in the harsher winds because he can’t speak. You’ll never have to worry about the sky again because Homelander will never fly through it, will never see you, never hunt you, never hurt you.

And you’ll probably have to talk soon. Recount every story a million times for records and trials, explain what happened over and over until it’s mostly mechanical and rehearsed. But here, with Ben, you don’t have to. You don’t need to say Homelander aloud, because with Ben this is about you. Just in this exact moment, you can be selfish and exhausted and relieved and hide in Ben’s arms until you’re ready.

It takes a while, but soon you’re only breathing heavily, and your fingers start to play with the hair at the base of Ben’s neck as he draws back, presses a kiss to the top of your head, and lingers there until your speak.

“Did,” you look up at Ben, and try not to drown in how caring and warm and his eyes are. Green and pretty and unwavering, his gaze alone resetting your heart back to where it’s meant to be. “Did Ryan, did he see the body?”

“No.” Ben shakes his head, and another wave of relief hits you right in the gut. “Gave him to Annie, she brought him back here.”

There’s a second where you wonder why Ben hadn’t brought Ryan back himself, and then a fresh burst of Ben’s own exhaustion cracks over your bones. He’d stayed with you. He’d gotten Ryan to safety—just as he’d promised—but Ben had waited at your side. You’d been sick, and Ben had stayed, and Ryan…

“What about.” You swallow, dropping your head back to Ben’s chest. “What about me. Did Ryan-“

“Yes.”

You think another wave of pain is about to push through your lips and eyes and nose, but a big, warm hand cups your cheek as Ben pulls your gaze back to his, and his voice drops to a low, firm tone.

“He’s okay,” Ben says your name, and you don’t think you have any choice to not believe him. Not when he sounds like that, or looks like he does, or touches you like this. “I fucking swear it. He’s just down the hall, and he’s a strong kid. He’s okay.”

You nod in Ben’s hold, your hands gliding down his chest to curl in his shirt, and he lets out a long, heavy breath.

“You want to go see him.”

It’s not a question—Ben’s rough, deep words rarely are—but you’ll always answer.

“Yes, please.” You mumble, fidgeting with the charred fabric between your fingers. “I, I trust you, I just need to make sure he’s-“

“I know.” Ben mutters, and you give him a small, gentle smile.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t-“

You lean up, kissing Ben in a soft, easy way that you hope he feels, somewhere in his heart or skull or lungs. Feels that you’ll never be grateful enough, because he’d found you, and done what you asked every step of the way, and now you’re safe.

“Thank you, my love.” You repeat, never pulling away from Ben’s soft, parted lips that always fit perfectly against yours. “For everything.”

Ben just makes a deep, rumbling sound that’s probably meant to be annoyance, but his touch is so careful, his ribs and arteries glowing, and his attention so reverent and devout, you know he understands. Ben always understands you, and you’ll never need every word to express your love for him, because he’ll feel it and push it back into you a million times over, right up until the world burns out.

He carries you to Ryan. After he helps you change into your own underwear and pull on pants you try to push off Ben’s chest, but your legs are still unsteady and a fresh rush of pain shoots over your skin and under your feet, so Ben’s grip tightens as he hauls you up into his arms with a stern glare.

Ben-

No. He rises slowly, adjusting you in his hold until you’re fit perfectly against him, your head on his shoulder and his arm under your knees. I fucking felt that, Sunshine, don’t lie to me and say you don’t need help-

But you don’t need to carry me, dummy, you could just hold my hand-

He gives you a flat look. You couldn’t even get off the fucking bed.

You wrinkle your nose at him, weakly slapping his chest as he dips down to open the door. You didn’t give me a chance-

Because you were going to fall over, and I’m not going to goddamn let you fall-

You don’t let me do shit, Benjamin-

If you think I’m just going to fucking stand here while you hurt yourself-

We were two feet off the floor, I think I would’ve been fine-

I don’t give a fuck. No hurting yourself.

Or what, Pretty Boy? You’ll leave me?

Ben rolls his eyes. Shut the fuck up.

You fight your grin, giving him a fake pout. Why? What did I say?

I said shut up-

Someone’s grumpy-

Ben stops abruptly, smashing his lips to yours in a brutal, rough kiss that turns you into putty in his arms. You don’t bother to push back, just grabbing at his shirt and giving him whatever piece of you he asks for—opening up for him to go deeper, moaning into his mouth without shame, saying his name between your heads in a way that’s still somehow breathless—until he pulls back with a smirk.

“Fucking brat.” He nips at your lower lip, and you think you whimper. “I am never fucking leaving you, so shut the fuck up.”

“Fuck…” You have to take a deep, steadying breath, because Ben’s scanning over your flushed face with a dark, heavy gaze, and his hunger is alight in your body. “Fuck you-“

He chuckles, leaving one mockingly innocent kiss on your cheek as he slides you down his body, looping an arm around your waist to keep you upright. “Not in the damn hall, beautiful. But,” his voice drops to a deep promise you can feel between your legs, and you have to bite down a moan. “Once this shit is sorted, I’ll fuck you until we break every bed in this damn house.”

You nod, and it’s a little pathetic, but Ben just keeps smirking at you and being handsome, and his muscles keep flexing around you, and God, you love him so much-

It’s a good thing he guides you into Ryan’s room when he does, because you’d been seconds from trying to tackle and ride him on the floor of the hallway. Your brain refocuses itself almost immediately as Ben flips on the lights, because you know every bit of thirst in your body will return when you have time to let Ben throw you around and bury himself where you’re always aching for him, and Ben’s never not hungry for you—you can always feel it, molten in his gut and pounding in his chest—but Ryan is more important than anything else in the world.

He’s still asleep, as Ben guides you fully into the room. Ryan’s passed out, his face slightly twisted in distress, and when you sit on the edge of the mattress—right at his side—and slide your hand into his, he’s mostly just full of tension. Every single bit of him is wrapped in taut, wired nerves, and you can feel something aching in his chest that rolls around and seems unable to rest.

But he’s not in pain, and something in him does begin to ease as you squeeze his hand, as Ben drops at your side, so you don’t wake him. You’ll wait, because you have time.

You have all the time in the world to stay at Ryan’s side, leaning your head on Ben’s shoulder as he pulls you into his side and kisses your brow, both of you sitting in comfortable silence until Ryan’s ready to wake up.

It takes a while, but nothing’s really been rushed since you woke up. You think you’re developed a sense of everything can wait. This needs to be sat in, this knowledge that nothing needs to be urgent because there’s nothing to run from anymore. It’s why Ben just rests his chin over your head, and traces small circles on the skin of your waist, and you tuck yourself half into his body as you both just watch Ryan. Watch the lines fade off his face—everything in him falling to a natural, simple hum—and remain in this moment where it’s just you, Ben, and Ryan, and nothing’s going to come and try and take that away from you.

When Ryan’s eyes do open, it’s slow and unsure, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to wake up. You can see the sleep still lingering in his gaze as he blinks around the room, and how fast it fades as his eyes land on you.

He says your name in a quiet, almost fearful breath, and you can feel an uncertain haze clouding over his brain. He’s not sure you’re real, that this isn’t a dream and it makes your heart split in two.

You smile at him, making your every feature gentle and open as Ben’s hands on your body tighten slightly, waiting for you to tell him how to proceed.

“Hi,” You whisper, reaching out to brush some hair from his eyes. “Are you-“

You don’t get the chance to finish your question, because Ryan surges up, wrapping his arms around you in a hug that would bruise your skin and crush your bones if things like that could be permanent on your body. But there’s no real pain, even as Ryan’s grip grows impossibly tight, because it’s all lined with the mind-numbing relief and choking guilt in Ryan’s body. Your arms had already moved to return the hug, and you fall back into Ben’s chest as he holds you and Ryan up in silence.

You start to hum, Ryan’s body shaking in your arms, and the room fills with colorful mist and leaks with soft light. There’s a warm breeze drifting through the air, and it carries the smell of vanilla and pine and coffee, and everything is glowing a little golden as Ben presses a kiss on the top of your head and Ryan takes an uneven, but full, breath.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan’s voice is quiet, muffled on your skin, and you stop humming to make sure you hear every word. “I, I didn’t mean to-“

“Ryan.” You don’t try to pull him back watch his face, but you wait for him to make a strangled nervous noise of acknowledgment before you continue, because he needs to hear this. “You didn’t do anything wrong-“

He shakes his head frantically, still hiding his face against you. “I hurt you, I lasered you and I, I couldn’t fight my dad-“

“Fighting him wasn’t your job.” You say, keeping your tone soft. “And I’m okay. I promise, I’m okay.”

“You, you wouldn’t wake up-“

You feel something like iron wrap over Ben’s throat in almost perfect time with a rip in Ryan’s chest, and you sigh.

“I know, but that wasn’t anyone’s fault but Homelander’s.” You lean back slightly, giving Ben a pointed look as you continue “Okay?”

“Okay,” Ryan mumbles—he believes you, at least for now, because there’s a sense of easy defeat in his voice—and Ben’s face drops into a scowl.

I never fucking said it wasn’t-

I can feel you, Benjamin. You turn around head just enough for your lips to brush over his jaw, and the iron in him starts to melt as the glow spreads to his hand, stilling them on your body. If it’s not Ryan’s fault, it’s not yours either.

Ryan’s a fucking kid, it’s not his job to protect you-

No. You glance back to Ryan, who’s still clinging to you like a baby, even as his grip begins to relax. But it’s still not your fault.

I should’ve-

Not listened to me? Left Ryan alone while I fought Homelander? Taken us both away and left Butcher to get his ass kicked? Your voice is dry in your head, and you can feel Ben’s eye roll.

Butcher would’ve fucking deserved that, the pussy-

Maybe. But Homelander would still be alive.

He’s silent for a second, and when you look back up his brow is drawn in a glower. Shut up.

No, I’m right-

He angles his head over yours, giving you a long, careful kiss that’s filled with unyielding adoration and wrathful love, all directed into your chest and making you sigh into his mouth.

You’re always fucking right, brat. He pulls back, looking between you and Ryan with a painfully strong affection. So shut the fuck up.

You smile at him, and Ben tugs you a little further back into his chest as you both wait for Ryan to move once more.

It’s sudden when he does, his head shoot back to stare at you with a wide, frantic gaze as he starts to grab at his jacket. Ben’s jacket, still wrapped on his body, slightly blackened, and covered in mud that nobody seems to be bothered by.

“Ryan,” you grab his wrist, slowing his wild, too-fast movements, but that just makes his feel wired in your body. “What’s wrong-“

“You, you gave me your ring,” his free hand is still digging into his pockets, even as he leans into your touch. “You said to keep it safe, and I, I did, I promise-“

He pulls it out, almost shoving it into your hands before scooting back on the mattress and curling into his body.

“I, I hoped you’d wake up to get it.” He mumbles, not meeting your eyes as you slide it slowly back onto your finger. “I’m sorry, you probably wanted me to give it to Ben-“

“Well, I did wake up, so it worked.” You reach out, squeezing his hand and offering him an easy, gentle smile. “Thank you for keeping it safe for me.”

Ryan returns your smile with his own, smaller one, and you feel Ben’s hand move to cover your free one, his thumb running over your knuckles as his clears his throat.

“How you feeling, kid?”

Ryan looks up, over your head to where you can pictures Ben’s sharp gaze peeling him apart.

“Better.” He says, and Ben’s makes a grunt of satisfaction that rumbles in his chest. “Are you, are you okay?”

Something like shock, hot and electric and jarring, in Ben’s chest as he grumbles, “I’m fucking fine, Ryan. I’m good.”

Ryan glances at you, and you make a half shrug, rising your brows in an amused look of he’s grumpy.

It makes Ryan’s face relax, his smile growing to be a little more real, and Ben tilts your chin back so you can sit in his attentive, completely fake glare.

“What the fuck did you tell him.”

“I don’t know what on Earth you’re talking about, Pretty Boy-“

His frown deepens, his attention moving to Ryan. “What did she say.”

“Nothing.” Ryan matches your look of complete innocence, and Ben scoffs.

“I know she said something, kid-“

“You’re losing your mind, my love.” You sigh, turning back to Ryan and dropping your voice to a mock whisper. “The old age is getting to him, Ry. I didn’t say anything.”

Ryan’s grin is full and toothy now, and you know Ben’s playing into it just as much as you are, because his eye roll is the most dramatic you’ve ever seen and his whole body is made of only a fervorish love.

“I am not fucking old-“

“He’s so old.” You shake your head, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “He doesn’t even know how to text me-“

“I don’t need to fucking text you, I can use-“ He cuts himself off, and you look back with a bright, amused expression.

“Use what?”

Ben scowls. “Shut up.”

“Use what, Ben? What can you use instead of texting?”

He says your name in a low warning, and you know it’s not real because that’s the exact same voice he uses during sex, or when you’re tired and he’s trying to take care of you. The voice that overrides all the willpower in your body, because it’s deep and rough and powerful, and every word he says sounds like scripture.

If this wasn’t about Ryan—keeping him happy and bright-eyed and not traumatized—you’d have melted right into him or rolled onto your stomach to lean down and worship him with your mouth. But now, all you do is look at Ryan and shake your head in faux defeat.

“He can’t even remember the Ben’o’phone. I just hope he can remember that we’re married-“

“We’re not married.” Ben grumbles. “You wouldn’t let me marry you.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Because we didn’t have time, Benjamin. We have time now, but-“

You cut yourself off, scanning over Ben’s deeply serious expression, every handsome feature slowly moving from fake annoyance to genuine concern at your silence.

What-

Let’s get married. Now. You smile at him, trying not to be too amused at the almost adorable look of confusion on his face. We have time.

All his love starts to pound against his chest, trying to burst in you and wrap over your skin as his voice in your head becomes barely a rasp. You said you wanted the whole fucking thing. We do it now, you don’t get that.

We can still do the fancy party. But we can also get married now.

Ben practically growls your name in your head, and you really wish he wouldn’t do that when Ryan’s in the room and you’re not allowed to jump on him and beg him to fuck you. Are you fucking positive-

Yes. We’ll do the big ceremony that costs too much money, but we’ll get married now. You pause, a small frown pulling at your lips. I mean, if you want to-

Of course I want to, don’t be fucking stupid-

So are we getting married?

Christ, woman. He smirks, wrapping his arm over your stomach and pinning you to his chest. You’re that fucking desperate to marry me-

You wrinkle your nose at him. Big words from the man who tried to spontaneously marry me in an attic.

It wouldn’t have been in the attic, brat, we would’ve gone downstairs. But if you really are that fucking needy, he winks, and you feel your face flush. I’d be more than happy to get married right damn now, or just go back to that attic and skip to the honeymoon-

Fuck you, Benjamin, you shove his chest, and turn back to Ryan before your Ben-addled brain can fully register his promising, hungry grin. “Ry, Ben has a question for you.”

Ryan looks at Ben with a wide expression, and Ben pinches the skin of your hips, sending small sparks of very unproductive, pure want through your body.

Ben, your voice between your heads is meant to be strict, but Ben’s pulled you to sit right over his half-hard cock, and you’re not sure how to focus on anything else. You need to ask him-

I’ve got it, Sunshine. Ben’s voice is rough and amused in your head, his attention remaining on Ryan as he splays his hand on your lower stomach, and you have to force down a breathy moan. You just sit there and look beautiful.

“Ben-“

Ryan’s nervous prompting is cut off by Ben’s low, firm words. “Listen, Ryan, I’m going to ask you something, and you don’t need to say yes if you don’t want to. Got it?”

Ryan nods, and Ben pauses. You can feel something shifting at the base of his throat, and you think he’s trying to find the right words before he speaks, his tone gruff and steady.

“You’re my best man.”

You have to swallow a giggle, because Ben says everything like a fact or order, and the man is lucky Ryan knows it’s meant to be a genuine question. His whole face is lit up with joy, even as his words are uncertain.

“Are you, are you sure-“

“Of course I’m fucking sure.” Ben leans over your body, and when you glance up his brows are drawn in concrete focus. “Yes or no, kid.”

“Yes!” Ryan almost yelps, like Ben might take it back. “I, um, thank you-“

“Don’t, it’s the obvious fucking choice. We can get you cleaned up, and then go.”

Ryan frowns. “Go?”

“To get married. Now.” Ben says, and Ryan’s mouth falls open, and his gaze darts to you.

“Now? Like, today?”

“Today.” You smile a Ryan, even as you slap Ben’s hand in a silent message of you are very bad at explaining things, my love. “We’ll find a spot on the farm, and I’m sure someone will be certified-“

“MM.”

You give Ben a flat look. “We don’t know that-“

“There’s no damn way he’s not-“

There’s a loud cough from the doorway, and you twist in Ben’s hold to see MM looking between you and Ben with his arms crossed. “There’s no damn way I’m not what.”

You sigh. “Ben thinks you’re a minister-“

“He’s right. Got certified while I was in the corps.”

You feel smug pride inflate in Ben’s chest. “I fucking told you, Sunshine-“

“But,” MM cuts Ben off with a snap, walking up to the edge of the bed. “I’m Episcopalian, so I don’t know what you motherfuckers want, but-“

“Marry us.” Ben says, and MM freezes.

“Marry you.” He repeats Ben’s words slowly, looking to you. “What the fuck is he talking about.”

“We want to, um, to do it now?” You mumble, turning your ring on your finger. “Just so we are married. It’ll be small, because we still want to do the party, but we’d like to be married soon, and if you can, that would mean a lot, but I understand if you don’t-“

“Fine.”

You blink, gaping slightly. “Really? Are you sure?”

“We could use a celebration.” MM shrugs, shooting Ben a glare. “And as long as he’s agrees to not be a massive fucking asshole, I’ll do it.”

“You, you really don’t have to-“

MM’s gaze turns back to you, and softens slightly as he says your name. “You’re my friend. And like I said, I accepted this insane shit,” he waves a hand between you and Ben. “A long time ago. I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” your grin is wide and relieved, because if MM said no you wouldn’t have pushed it, but there’s an undeniable, comfortable feeling of relief in him agreeing. “That, it really means a lot. Are you,” you look MM over, his posture still stiff and something about him a little wired. “Is everything okay?”

MM sighs. “Depends on what you mean by okay.”

Ben’s arm tightens around you, and he shifts your bodies so Ryan’s fully behind you. “What the fuck is happening-“

“Singer’s here.” MM grunts, glancing over his shoulder to the hallway before giving you an apologetic look. “And he won’t go until he talks to you.”

“Well, tell the asshole to fucking wait, we’re busy-“

“Not you, Ben.” MM runs his hand over his face, grimacing as he mutters your name. “Just her.”

“There’s no goddamn way-“

Benjamin. You squeeze his hand, keeping your voice even as you speak aloud. “Just me?”

“You, as well as a select group-“

“Who.” Ben leans over you, and you think he’s trying to move you into his body so you can’t leave without him. “Fucking names-“

MM says your name, shooting Ben a glare as he continues. “and me. Singer and his new Defense Secretary. Annie if she finishes her press statement in time, and Butcher if he swears not to be a dick-“

“Butcher’s okay?” Ryan’s voice is almost a squeak, and guilt twists at your stomach as you realize how close he’d been to losing two out of the three important people in his life. “I, I saw him, he looked bad, I don’t, I was worried-“

“Asshole made a miracle recovery. All of a fucking sudden,” MM gaze moves to Ben, his words becoming clipped and sharp. “The V came back. Hughie said he found the motherfucker fully healed and healthier than he’s been for a decade.”

Ben shrugs, and you feel something odd shut pulse in his body, somewhere that’s and screwed shut. “Christ, that dickfuck is lucky.”

MM hums, his eyes narrowing. “Or something.”

Ryan asks another question about Butcher—something very sweet about if he’s okay, how he’s feeling on the V—and you don’t hear it at all, because you’ve twisted in Ben’s hold to scan over his handsome, stupid face.

He smirks at you, brows raising. Need something, Sunshine-

What did you do.

You’re not allowed to lose your shit.

Benjamin-

Swear you’ll keep your damn head on your shoulders, and I’ll tell you not. Otherwise you’ll have to wait until I can tell you somewhere you can hit me.

The way that he’s still holding you so carefully against him begins to mix with the way he already seems set on telling you—how it didn’t seem to even occur to him to keep it a permanent secret—and it all makes you unfairly vulnerable to his pretty eyes and low words as you pout at him. I’m not going to fucking hit you-

He says your name between your heads, giving you an adoring, rough look of amusement, and you have to actively stop yourself from shoving his chest.

Fuck you, cunt. Tell me.

Swear it.

I promise, I won’t freak out. Ben-

I injected him with V.

You stare at him for a second, your own voice high with shock between your heads. You what-

I injected him-

I heard you, you fucking dumbass. Why? Why did you do that?

Ben gives a small half-shrug. He looked fucking pathetic, I was giving the dickwad a second shot. You’re always on about the stupid good in goddamn humanity, and I fucking listen to you. You’re the one gave him the damn Solider Boy V to use in the first place-

And you told me that was stupid!

And it fucking was, but the ship goddamn sailed, Sunshine. Butcher’s a supe now, and, Ben grins at you, something prideful and bright growing over his ribs. We made a deal where he’s going to 50% less of a cockfuck.

You doubt that deal will last more than a week, but Ben looks so pleased with himself, and you’re a little swept up in how he did it because he fucking listens to you, so you just sigh, drop your head to his chest, and shake your head slightly. You’re such a fucking dummy, Benjamin. You move to kiss at his jaw, smiling slightly. I love you.

He pauses, and his voice becomes low in your head. You’re not mad.

No. I mean, we’re going to talk about it more later-

MM clears his throat, muttering your name. “Singer. Sooner rather than later.”

“Okay, just,” you peel back, giving MM a slightly pleading look over your shoulder. “Can I have a minute?”

MM grunts an agreement, and you turn back to Ben, playing with the hair of his beard as you sit here just a moment longer, where everything is warm and good and easy, and Ben’s real beneath your fingers and strong around your body.

“I’ll be back soon,” you mumble. “You can wait, if you don’t have anything to do-“

“We’re getting married today,” Ben mutters your name, tilting your chin up so you fully meet his gaze. “I’ll take Ryan and get it ready.”

You blink at him, glancing at Ryan. “Do you, I mean do you know what you’re doing?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Of course I know what I’m fucking doing, it can’t be that hard-“

MM snorts from the doorway. “You’ve obviously never gotten married before, because there’s no way you’d think it’s easy to just throw that shit together in a day.”

“I’ve never wanted to get married before, you dickhead-“

You cover Ben’s mouth with a hand, tapping your fingers along his bicep as you think. “Benjamin.”

He grunts, and you give him a sweet smile as you continue.

“I love you very, very much, and I think we can do this, but you have to listen to me. Okay?”

He nods. Fine.

Good. You drop your hand, wrapping your arms around his neck. All you need to do is find a spot on the farm that doesn’t have media or government agents. Be careful, and if you take Ryan don’t let him out of your sight. We’re in the woods, and I don’t want him tripping or running into a fucking bear, but I think he needs to stay with you. Just, keep him with you, and distract him, please-

Breathe. Ben mutters in your head, kissing the space between your eyes. I’ve got him, Sunshine. We’ll find a spot.

Okay. You nod, leaning back to give him a gentle, easy smile that’s so fucking real it makes you a little high. I’ll find you when we’re done with Singer, and we’ll get married.

Ben frowns. Don’t I need a fucking shower, or some shit-

No. You flush slightly, scanning over his bloodied clothing, messy hair, and big, warm, dirtied muscles. It’s, objectively, disgusting, but it’s also so fucking hot you can’t look at him for very long or you might start to short-circuit. He looks a little wild, and animalistic, and handsome, and real, and Ben. You’ve had wet dreams where he’s looked like that, and it’s so purely, entirely Ben that marrying him like makes you feel a little high. He’s alive and brutal and covered in grime but it’s all for you, so you can’t really imagine wanting him another way. I, um, I like it.

A cocky grin creeps over his face, and he lowers down to brush his lips over yours. You fucking like it? You like me all dirty, Sunshine? You think that’s fucking hot? Want me to damn marry you like this-

You stick your tongue out at him, but it’s not convincing because you’re also trying to subtly shift in his lap to relieve the ache between your legs without outright grinding onto him. Fuck you-

You want me to. His smirk turns a little feral, and MM might have to drag you to Singer if Ben doesn’t stop teasing you and kneading at your hips and looking so primal while being all yours. You want me to throw you around and fuck right now, don't you, beautiful. He starts to kiss along your neck, sloppy and shameless and Ben-

“Singer!” MM practically shouts, and Ben chuckles as you all but shove him away from you. “The president of the country is right downstairs, so can you horny assholes stop brain-fucking each other for five minutes-“

“Keep your damn head on, MM.” Ben tugs you back against his body as he turns to Ryan, and MM scowls. “Kid, we’re going for a walk.”

You can’t see Ryan—you can’t look away from Ben—but his voice sounds hopeful, and it makes your heart feel a little more full. “Really? Why-“

“Finding somewhere to get married while you,” Ben’s attention turns back you as he drawls your name, and you might have let out a high whine only he could hear, because something wild bursts through his body and flares in his eyes. “Kick Singer’s fucking ass.”

“I can’t kick Singer’s ass, Ben, he’s the president, that would be a crime-“

“Who gives a fuck-“

“I do,” MM calls from behind you. “I’d really prefer not to start another fucking conflict with the government right now.”

“Whatever.” Ben rolls his eyes, dropping his brow against yours.

You say the word, Sunshine, and I’ll kick his fucking ass for you. Nobody will ever even damn know what happened-

People will obviously know what happened. You’re not exactly a sneaky, covert guy, my love-

I can be, Ben shrugs, bumping his nose with yours as he grins down at you. To defend my wife’s honor, if Singer says some fucking bullshit about her.

How noble, you give Ben a soft kiss, holding his face between your hands. I’ve always wanted to have a husband who’d commit high treason for me.

You’ve got one. Ben chases your lips as you try to pull away, shoving his tongue down your throat and devouring you until he’s all you can feel and you’re limp and writhing in his arms.

Ben-

He pulls away with a long suck and nip of your lower lip, smirking at you likely pathetic, wanting expression. Go kick Singer’s pussyfuck ass, Sunshine. He leaves one last, gentle kiss on the space between your eyes. Then we’ll get fucking married.

You nod—a little stupidly—and force yourself to crawl off Ben’s lap, give Ryan a tight hug, and follow MM out into the hall.

You stop him at the top of the stairs with a light touch to his arm—hot tension and an almost cutting vigilance shooting through your body—and he turns around with a frown.

“What-“

“Thank you, MM.” Your voice is uncertain, and you try to ground yourself by wrapping your arms around your body as you offer him a nervous smile. “For, um, everything. And doing this for us.”

MM sighs, glancing downstairs before clasping your shoulder. The tension you’d felt before isn’t gone, but it’s wrapped in certainty. A feeling like worn-down stone, that’s heavy in your chest but not hard to breathe with.

“Listen to me,” he grunts your name, running his free hand over his face. “I meant what I said before. He’s good for you, and I can’t,” he pauses, shaking his head at nothing. “If I hold onto this shit for the rest of my life it’ll kill me. So believe me when I say we’re good, and I’d be happy to marry my friend,” he offers you a small smile, and the feeling of certainty grows. “And her asshole boyfriend, because if I know one thing in the whole damn universe, it’s that the old motherfucker really loves her. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, and MM nods, releasing his hold on you.

“Good. Now let’s get this over with so you can go marry your idiot.”

Your smile grows into something more real, because Ben is your idiot. All you have to do is talk to Singer—which should be daunting, but you’re a little done with being afraid—and you get to marry that idiot. That massive, vulgar, horny old man who makes you feel safe and happy, who’s as much a part of you as your hands or head or legs. Who’s tangled into something fundamental in your body that’s changed the whole world from beauty that’s too much to hold and not enough to have into Ben. It’s all Ben, because he’s everything and he’s powerful and permanent and you could love him until everything was just ash and it still wouldn’t be enough.

It’s going to be so, so easy to get through this, because once you do, you’re going to marry Ben and it’ll be over. That knowledge carries you down the stairs and into Edgar’s shitty dining room, drops you at MM’s side. and never allows anything cold or paralyzing into your body.

Annie arrives shortly after, her eyes lighting up when they find you at the table, and before you know what’s happening you’re wrapped in a tight hug and your whole body is a dent of guilt and sorrow that wanes by the second. You don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around Annie, returning the hug, and it makes the depression in Annie’s throat evaporate faster. Turning into airy, high joy, her voice near your ear soft and relieved.

“Holy shit,” she says your name, squeezing you tighter. “You’re awake, you’re really awake, do you-“ Annie cuts herself, pulling back to scan over your face. “Do you feel okay? Do you need to lie down, or rest-“

“Annie.” You give her a reassuming, calm smile, your voice firm as she almost fusses over you. “I’m okay-“

“You don’t feel sick-“

“I’m good, I promise. You’re worse than Ben, you know-“

“Sorry, I’m just…” She trails off giving you a sad look that twists in your gut. “You looked really bad. I was, I felt bad. I got focused on the Deep, and we didn’t stop to think about where Homelander was, or what he was doing-“

“The Deep?”

“Yeah, I,” Annie draws back, giving you a slightly sheepish look. “I kinda killed him.”

“Fuck, Annie.” You grin, bumping her shoulder with yours and feeling a rush of something turning in and out inside Annie’s body. It’s hot and aching, spreading over her gut like shame, but then twists and becomes like water, fresh and light and cooling into a simple ease over her skin. “Do you,” you frown, tilting your head. “Do you feel guilty about it?”

“Maybe?” Annie shrugs, seeming to shrink into herself. “I, I’m not sure-“

“Don’t.” MM cuts in from your other side, his attention mostly on the doorway. “The Deep was an idiot and a monster. You did everyone a favor, Annie.”

You hum in agreement, and Annie sighs, giving a small uncertain nod.

“So, um,” she looks back to you, and you don’t miss the sudden subject change. “What are Ben and Ryan doing, while you’re here-“

“They’re going for a walk.” You can’t fight the wide, bright smile on your face as you picture Ben scowling at trees, having grumbled conversations with Ryan about not enough fucking sun. Too much fucking dirt. We’re not getting married near a fucking tractor, kid. “Looking for a, um, spot. For us to get married.”

Annie’s eyes widen, her mouth falling open in slightly shock, but before she can say anything Butcher appears in the doorway.

“Butcher,” you watch him sit down, scanning over his body for any obvious signs of the V. “You look healthy.”

“Thanks, Love. Nearly fuckin dyin always gives me a glow.” Butcher grunts, frowning around the mostly empty table as he sits down. “Where in bloody hell did Singer go?”

“Phone call.” MM mutters, leaning forward as his tone becomes low and firm. “Good for us, though. Gives us a chance to brief.”

“Mate, ain’t nothin to brief about. We killed Homelander, and Singer can shove it up his arse if he’s got a fuckin problem with that-“

“We need to all be on the same page.” MM snaps. “We got the V from an undisclosed source, and if they want to know it they’re going to have to serve us a fucking subpoena. Our mission went sideways, but all civilian loss of life was Homelander, and we can get A-Train to testify to that if we need it-“

You blink. “A-Train’s okay?”

MM lets out a long, slow sigh. “He’s alive. Might never walk again, but he’s alright. Got him to tell me where he took the others, so I’ve got a guy going after them. They can testify as well, just like we planned. What we’re going to have to focus on is that we got Homelander. If Singer gets on you two,” MM nods between you and Butcher. “Using the V, just bring it back to killing Homelander. If he wants more details, tell him you’ll be willing to cooperate later, after we get our shit back together and sorted. We’re almost done, motherfuckers.” He looks around the group, something heavy and almost desperate in his voice. “Let’s stick the landing.”

The room fills with an abundance Secret Service agents only seconds later, and when Singer and a tall, long-haired man—who looks like he could be Ben’s brother if you squinted and tilted your head—arrive, they mostly just look tired. It makes you hopeful, because if they don’t want to draw this out, you could be done in an hour, and—if nobody picks a fight—married before the sun sets.

All you have left to do is get through this.

“Alright.” Singer drops across from you, the tall man at his side. “You idjits got some nerve with this shit, so you better have a damn good explication.”

“Sir, we’d won’t be able to explain ourselves until you and…” MM trails off, frowning at the tall man, who sighs.

“Secretary Campbell.” The man moves like he’s going to extend his hand, but then thinks better and flinches back. “I replaced Muller-“

“Well, Mate, you have her,” Butcher jerks his head to you, smirking at Campbell. “To thank for your fuckin promotion. But I ain’t clear what you’re doin here-“

“He’s here,” Singer snaps, shooting Butcher a glare. “Because you dumbasses destroyed his department’s property, and might be a goddamn threat to American security! I don’t know where you got the V in those bullets we confiscated, or what the hell you were plannin to do with it-“

“It was to kill Homelander.” Your voice is bored and flat, and you pretend you can’t see MM’s glare as you continue. “We told you that, when we made our request-“

“Which you ignored my fuckin answer to!” Singer barks, and you don’t flinch. “You disobeyed a direct command from the White House and continued of your idiots warpath, got Grace Mallory fuckin killed, as well as who knows how many other civilians-“

“Nine.” Your voice is cool, and you hold Singer’s glare as something like surprise flashes in his eyes. “The only additional civilian deaths were at the gas station, and there were nine people.”

Most everyone is silent, and you know you’re right—you’ll be haunted by every face in that gas station for the rest of your life, and then a little while after—but you wish someone would speak. You keep feeling something sticky on your hands and hearing screams in your ears, and it’s a little too much to bear as it grows and grows.

You know Singer’s only here for you. It’s why Ben isn’t in the meeting, why there are so many agents, and why Campbell is watching you as if you’re a bomb that might detonate at any moment. You’re the threat. You killed Sage. You’re the one who mangled and burnt Homelander’s corpse. You’re the reason he had to replace Neuman, the reason he lost Muller, the reason the country is in chaos as Vought crumbles and the public demands answers.

But you’re not going to waver. You’re done bending and folding in on yourself, done shattering and imploding, and fucking finished with breaking. You won’t apologize for this, and you won’t be Singer’s weapon, or scapegoat, or experiment. All you need to do is call for him and Ben will come, and nothing is going to hurt you or use you again.

“I’ll pay for their funerals, because they were lives pointlessly lost in Homelander’s rampage. But Mallory got herself killed, endangering Ryan Butcher in the process, so if you plan to pin that one on us,” you gesture between yourself and your friends. “I suggest you begin collecting evidence.”

Singer scowls, but Campbell clears his throat, leaning forward on the table.

“Speaking of Ryan Butcher,” he says. “Both of his parents are dead, which makes him a ward of the state-“

“You are not going anywhere near Ryan.” You hiss, sitting up a little straighter as you hold Campbell’s gaze. “New York law states that custody of an orphaned child will be offered to closest living kin. Ryan’s grandfather is still alive.”

“There’s no way we’re handing the kid over to Soldier Boy,” Campbell snaps. “Just one well-structured court case and we can have him declared unfit to parent-“

“On what grounds?” You raise your brows, looking between Singer and Campbell with a mock interest, and Singer scoffs.

“Maybe his damn war crimes-“

“That you pardoned him for?”

Singer narrows his eyes. “He’s broke. Given the circumstances, no finances will be more than enough-“

“Ben is broke.” You shrug, your face curling into an almost manic grin. “But his wife is fucking loaded, and she’d be more than willing to adopt Ryan. She’s already really close with him, so it’ll play really well in court.”

There’s a beat wired silence as your words sink in, and when Butcher clears his throat, his face is blanched.

“When the fuckin hell did you twats find the time get married-“

“Tonight.” You wink at Butcher, and you’d be more worried about him having a heart attack from shock if you didn’t know about the V in his body. “You’re invited by the way. Wear your fanciest Hawaiian shirt.”

Before Butcher can respond, Singer cuts back in with a low, cold voice.

“You’re just as legally dead as that geriatric asshole, and if you’re planning to capitalize of this mess you’ve made-“

“I think it’ll be pretty easy to get my death reversed, given the fact that my face and name are about to be in every breaking news story for about a month.” You snap, tapping your fingers on the table. “And don’t worry, I’m not about to write a memoir. But I did recently come into a small fortune, and once I’m declared alive, I’ll be happy to provide finical statements as proof. But Ryan is staying with Ben and I, so back the fuck off my family.”

Campbell’s smart enough to flinch, but Singer only sighs.

“I don’t think you know what you’ve done.” He mutters your last name, scanning you over with a look you don’t quite know how to read. “You aren’t going to just be able to fuck off. America wants answers, solutions, something clean to wrap this shit up. And Ryan Butcher is Homelander’s son, he won’t be safe in public-“

“He’s not just Homelander’s son.” You hiss. “And he’ll be safe with us.”

He pushes on. “You’re going to have even more to answer for. You killed Homelander, but Vought ain’t gone, and they won’t just fall without a fight. Hell, there’s a whole population of super-abled idiots who just became unemployed, and are going to be looking for a new leader or martyr. You’ve made a mess, girl, and if you leave right now without fixing what you damn broke, the world’s going to give you hell to pay-“

You let out a dry laugh. “It’ll give you the same, Mr. President. Almost appointing Homelander to the VP slot, withholding vital information about his nature and crimes from the public? I’m not sacred of other supes, but you should be scared of your constituents. We both know this doesn’t end with Homelander, or you, or me. And I didn’t break this, but I’d be willing to help you figure it out. I did write my thesis, for my doctorate, on repairing broken cultural systems, after all, I’d be the most qualified idiot in the fucking room. But I will not be your toy. I am done being a fucking toy or tool. I could endorsee you for your aid, and understanding the complexities of this situation. I could help you put Neuman back in the VP slot, which would be an excellent gesture of goodwill, and back you up for the entirety of the absolute circus of media and lawsuits and senate hearings about to begin. I could help. Or,” your face twists into a sweet mocking smile, and the words begin to spit out of you, and you don’t look away from Singer as every Secret Service agent draws their gun. “You could go after Ben or Ryan, and I could tell the world you plotted to kill Victoria Neuman, and withheld weapons from the effort to take down Homelander, or fell for the words of Sage’s fucking puppet. I could become your worst fucking nightmare, and then clean up everything myself. It’s your choice.”

You wish you had your phone, because Ben would love to see a picture of Singer’s face as you finish. Slightly gaping and shocked, looking like a fucking dumbass cockhead, and mostly furious. Furious because you’re right, and he knows it.

“Now.” You stand up, giving the Secret Service agents flat looks as their guns follow your movement. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get married, you pussyfuck. I’m sure you can find your own way out by yourself, but don’t wander. This was Stan Edgar’s farm, and he’s a careful, vigilant man, so we’ll know.”

You nod to your friends, who blink at you for only a second before scrambling up and following you out of the room. Butcher shuffles up the stairs, Annie grabbing out her phone and moving outside, and before you can follow her, chasing after the instinct of Ben—warm and bright and everything good, calling you back to his side—MM grabs your arm.

“That,” MM hisses. “Was fucking stupid-“

You know that was stupid. Sage would’ve called it emotional. Too human, too tired to your love of Ben and Ryan to negotiate and keep a level, clever head.

And Ben will call it hot. He’ll grin at you and tell you that you did the right fucking thing, putting that old cockfuck in his place. We’re not his fucking weapons, and unless he starts paying us what he goddamn owes he’s doesn’t get a say in what we do.

“He doesn’t get to use us, MM. I’m,” Your voice has lost almost all its venom, because the adrenaline is faded, and the heat of the afternoon is dry, and you’re so fucking tired. “I’m really done being used. Besides,” you give MM a sad smile, and his grip on you loosens as you let a little bit of your blood pass into his body. Just the tiniest amount of your exhaustion and love and desperation to just be happy. To spend the rest of your life helping people in a way that doesn’t put blood on your hands, and singing love songs to your handsome husband, and teaching Ryan—and nameless other children, with sharp eyes and wide, confident smiles—everything you can about the beauty of the world. “There’s nothing Singer can do to me that’s worse than what Homelander did.”

MM nods slowly, releasing you entirely, and mutters, “Just be careful with this. There will be consequences-“

“There always are.” You shrug. “And we always get through them together. As a team.”

“Fine.” MM looks between you and the door outside, the whole world cast in a blue glow as the sun begins to set. “Ben find a spot for you?”

“I don’t know.” You sigh, hanging onto that strong, loud beat of Ben in your chest. “He’s out there somewhere, but I haven’t had a chance to Ben’o’phone him-“

MM snorts, shaking his head. “That’s a dumb as shit name, I hope you know that.“

“I do.” You smile at the horizon, because everything is starting to glow with gold, and you can feel Ben calling you forward. “But it makes me laugh, and that makes him happy. And it’s really good when he’s happy. I’m not,” you turn to fully face MM, your tone becoming slightly apologetic. “I’m not sure what the plan is? And I know you’re not a fan of that, but-“

You cut yourself off, because the feeling of Ben is drawing closer. You know he’s coming—you always know he’s coming—before you see him, and when he appears over the hill you can’t stop the wide, stupid smile from over taking your face. You think, if he wasn’t guiding Ryan with a hand on his shoulder, you might have run outside and leapt into his arms.

You’ll have time for that later, though, and what you have now is more enough. Ben grabs one of your hands as you approach, tugs you forward as he wraps his free arm around your waist, and kisses you until your knees are weak and your brain is just a blissful haze of Ben. Pine and coffee and strawberries and Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben.

He chuckles—the sound rolling through your body and prompting a loud moan to fall from your mouth—and his voice is deep and teasing in your head. I’m here, Sunshine.

You flush, realizing you must have been chanting his name for him to hear, and find it impossible to preserve any dignity as he pulls back and gives you a cocky, wide grin that makes his love flare in your body as you all but fall into him.

“Did you,” you have to take a heavy breath, because Ben’s so big and strong and hungry, and you’re so warm and needy and thirsty it might all drive you mad. “Did you find a spot-“

“Ryan did.” Ben says, pride glowing over his ribs. “Bunch of fucking flowers and grass, you’ll love it. We’ll get everyone there when Frenchie and Hughie get back-“

“Frenchie and Hughie get back?” Annie walks up behind Ben, glancing down at her phone with a drawn brow. “Where did they go?”

“Hughie said we need rings and papers,” Ben shrugs, slinging his arms over your shoulder. “Frenchie’s going to a pawn shop-“

You shove Ben’s chest. “A pawn shop-“

“For metal,” he drawls, giving you a glare that’s mostly just rough amusement. “To make the rings. You have such little faith in me, beautiful-“

You sigh, burying your face in his side, muffling your words against his body. “Sorry-“

“Shut up.” Ben kisses the top of your head, and you feel him shift to address Annie. “Hughie’s getting papers. Said that if it’s too late notice, he can do his fracking shit and steal them-“

“Well, bloody hell.” Butcher reappears at this top of their stairs, wearing a new, bloodless Hawaiian shirt. “Didn’t know the lad had it in him, stealin government property-“

“Technically it’s hacking government forms.” Annie jumps, her voice defensive, but you can see the doubt on her face. “And I don’t, I’m not sure it’s illegal. But I guess we’ll find out.”

Turns out it’s incredibly illegal, and none of you seem to really fucking care. Considering your lives up until this point—the past two weeks alone consisting of at least four outright murders, several car thefts, countless blatant felonies, and you maybe committing light treason by vaguely threatening Singer—document fraud is just another Tuesday. When Hughie and Frenchie get back—driving a car that’s almost certainly former federal property—Frenchie grabs several odd, metal trinkets and disappears into the basement, and Hughie sits you and Ben down in the kitchen, pulling out the form.

Hughie says you name, sliding the form across the table with a pencil. “I filled out most of yours on ride here, you just need to do your parents full names and birth state, your social security, and what you’re changing your name to. Ben,” he gives Ben an apologetic look, scratching the back of his neck. “I kinda just put that you were the groom and born in Philly. I don’t know any of the other stuff.”

“What other stuff.” Ben frowns, leaning over your shoulder as you scrawl all the missing information on your page. “How many damn questions do we have to answer for this.”

“Normal stuff, Pretty Boy. Our names and information, our parent’s names and information, if we’re…” You trail off, frowning at the form. “We haven’t talked about if we’re changing our names.”

“Changing them to what.”

You sigh, trying not to giggle at Ben’s almost adorable look of confusion. “When people get married they usually change their last names, dummy. You won’t even tell me your last name.”

“And I’m never damn going to-“

“You’ll need to.” Hughie mumbles. “You have to write it on the form.”

“That’s fucking stupid.” Ben grumbles, grabbing the pencil as you slide the form in front of him, and shooting you a stern glare. “I’ll writing it, for you, but you’re not allowed to look and you’re never fucking taking it. Got it?”

You nod, your smile wide and bright as you whisper, “Grumpy,” and Ben rolls his eyes, moving his hand to your thigh as he writes.

“So, um,” Hughie looks between you, frowning slightly. “No name change? I mean, Ben’s going to need a last name if you want to be part of like, society. For paychecks, and bills, and, uh, kids-“

“Fuck," you lean into Ben’s side, tapping your fingers on the counter. “I mean, I could be Mrs. Boy-“ You cut yourself off with a frown. “Actually, no. I’ll die before I’m Mrs. Boy.”

“Fucking Christ,” Ben grumbles, practically stabbing the paper as he writes. “I’ll just take your name, it’s the only one we’re damn using anyways.”

You and Hughie exchange a surprised look, and you swallow. “Ben-“

“What.”

You study his face, feel all his love steady and alive in your chest, and smile. “Nothing.” You kiss his cheek, and mumble between your heads. I love you, Benjamin.

I love you too, he scowls, even as his love flashes and glows along your ribs. What the fuck is going on.

Nothing.

It’s not fucking nothing, Sunshine, Hughie looks like he’s seen a damn ghost and you’re being fucking weird.

Marry me and I’ll tell you?

Ben grunts, tucking you closer into his side as he slides the form back to Hughie, and kisses the side of your head. Deal.

It’s a little amazing how prepared everyone is for a last second wedding. Hughie takes the forms with mumbled words about how—given the whole legally dead thing—he won’t be able to put them into the system immediately, but today will still be your recorded marriage. Frenchie returns upstairs with a proud, smug look, telling you that the rings will be ready in about ten minutes, MM tells you Ryan and Annie have cleaned up the spot a little, and suddenly this is happening. You don’t have doubts—you love Ben, you’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected to him, and you’re pretty sure he’d been dying with you just this afternoon—but there’s still something electric under your skin. Something that doesn’t make your stomach twist, because you have no need to be nervous about the most certain thing that’s ever been a part of your life, but something that makes your fingers tap against Ben’s arm and your body refuse to move from his side.

There are superstitions about seeing the groom before the wedding, but you don’t really fucking care. When you do the larger, fancier party you’ll have all the time for pointless traditions. You’ll wear something old—you might just use Ben himself and call it a day—and something new, and something borrowed, and something green because fuck the color blue. Maybe your sunglasses. You’ll sleep in separate beds the night before, and cut a cake, and wear a dress that’s fancy and white and gets ripped off your body the moment Ben gets you behind closed doors.

But right now, walking across the farm as the sun makes the whole world golden, all you need is Ben half holding you up with an arm around your waist and every bit of his own wrathful, burning joy in your body. You need to look at how handsome and dirty he his, and feel how it sets off something wet and hot in your core. You need to be able to bury your face in his side—drowning in warmth and pine and something deep and earthy and strong that’s just Ben—as he guides you forward, never once worrying about if he’ll let you fall. Ben would never let you fall. He won’t even let you stumble.

This is the most important place to be right now. In Ben’s arms, so painfully safe and happy and loved. You don’t think you ever could’ve even dreamt of being loved like this. Loved in a way that feels a little more real than the lingering mud beneath your feet, or the hot air in your lungs. Loved in a way that he adjusts to your every movement like it’s just as much muscle memory as walking, drawing circles on your hips and breathing in a pattern that’s in perfect time with your heart. Loved in a way that you can feel him, feel him everywhere, and never doubt that he’s everything. Never doubt that Ben loves you, because you’re not sure either of you remember how to not love each other. You don’t think it’s something you’ll ever be capable of forgetting, because Ben’s planted so deep into some vital piece of your very existence, and every step on dirt and rustle of leaves sounds like Ben.

The spot is a clearing, near the back of the property, where everything is clean and peaceful and green. There are flowers at the edge of the forest, and the last minutes of sunlight flooding the world, and it’s perfect. It’s so fucking easy and bright it makes you a little high, because there’s water clinging to grass that makes it shimmer, and nobody to watch you but your friends. It’s just you, the people you love, the forest, and a tall barn cresting the hill behind you, and the world seems to be glowing and singing in the wake of the storm.

Everything is glowing and singing, and this is going to be the easiest thing you do in your life.

MM gives you a small smile as you stop in front of him, and there’s no order to any other this. You’re already clinging to Ben, your alter is haybale covered in pink flowers that’s been moved to the center of the field, and nobody seems to be bothering with standing anywhere that makes sense. Kimiko, Annie, and Hughie are smiling next to you, and Frenchie is fidgeting with what looks like a firebox a step behind MM, Ryan’s shifting on his feet next to Ben, and Butcher keeping a firm hand on Ryan’s shoulder with one of the most unreadable expression you’ve ever seen on the man’s face. There’s no malice or hatred, but there’s no joy. Just something reluctantly yielding, as if he wants to grumble and be cruel, but can’t find the willpower to do so. It’s more than you could’ve asked for, Ryan seems happy he’s here, and the asshole did change into his best Hawaiian shirt, so you let it go.

You have more important things to focus on anyway.

“This shit is weird.” MM’s arms are crossed as he begins, his voice slightly exasperated. “We’re gathered here today because you’re two impatient idiots who can’t stand to not be married, you motherfuckers can’t get sick or die, so death do you part feels like we’re just wasting time, and you haven’t had time to write vows, but-“ He raises his hand, and you close your mouth. “I know you’ll have something to say about each other, so we’ll let you improvise. Just try to remember that your fucking son is here, and I don’t want to have to clean my ears with soap after this. That said, we ready?”

You’re not sure you remember how to breathe, but you nod all the same, and Ben grunt of acknowledgment rolls through your body, making your knees a little weak. He must feel it, because he squeezes your waist and pulls you up a little higher.

“Alright.” MM claps his hands together, letting out a long breath. “The sermon is usually about commitment and sacrifice and what love means, but I don’t think you two need the reminder. There’s nothing more committed than planting your damn brain in someone, and I can’t think of a bigger sacrifice than how you seem to be constantly trying to die for each other. And I,” MM runs his hand over his face, looking between you and Ben with something like admiration. “I have never seen two people love each other like you do. It’s disgusting, and annoying as hell, and one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in my goddamn life.” His expression softens, and he shakes his head slightly. “I’ll be the first to admit I thought this would be a fucking disaster. But,” MM says your name, offering you a small grin. “I met you when you were a fucking shell. You were mean and bitter and angry, and you had every right to be, but it was painful as hell to watch. I never saw you cry, but I thought it was because you couldn’t anymore. But you cry with him. You’re alive with this asshole, and that’s what matters. You’re one of the kindest, smartest, strongest women I’ve ever known, and if you’d told me when we met that fucking Soldier Boy was the person who’d make you happy I’d have laughed.” MM turned to Ben, his voice becoming almost stern. “And I’d have been wrong. Ben, you make her smile and laugh. You care about her, and you’ve worked to be different, which is more than almost any other motherfucker does in his life. You got a second chance, and you didn’t waste it, which takes guts. Better men than both of us have.”

The glow in Ben’s body is overwhelming, and later you’ll tease him about how prideful he is from MM’s acceptance.

Later.

Right now MM is prompting you for the vows, and Ben’s boundless eyes are on yours, and the rest of the world has fallen into a blur as everything becomes Ben. Just pine and strawberries and green and strong and warm, just a deep, gruff voice that sounds like your heartbeat and says your name like it’s calling you home.

“I love you,” Ben says name again, pulling you apart under his attention in that way you’ll always crave, and everything in him is love. White-hot ardor and devotion, focused care and resolve, and love that feels so pure you’d never know it had been forged in fire and washed in blood. “I love you more than fucking anything. You’re beautiful, and brilliant, and have a smart fucking mouth and a habit of driving me goddamn mad, and you’re fucking perfect.” He takes a deep, slow breath, lowering down to hold your gaze, and his voice drops to something that sounds like a hymn or an oath. “ You’re the best thing that’s ever fucking happened to me, Sunshine, because you’re the first person I’ve loved and liked. Where it’s not about lust or coincidence, it’s just fucking you. You’re my best fucking friend, I love you so much it makes me a pussy, and I wouldn’t trade that for the goddamn world. You burn, I burn.”

“You burn, I burn.” You echo, and when Ben takes the ring from Frenchie’s box and slides it onto your finger, you realize the metal is still molten and hot. That if you and Ben weren’t you and Ben, you’d be worried about getting burned. But you are you and Ben. And you’re probably supposed to wait for MM to prompt you, but you can’t stop the words from falling out of your mouth like a breath as the whole world becomes just you and Ben.

“I love you, Benjamin. And I could say it in a million different ways, but in the end it’ll still just be that I love you. I love how much you care, and how hard you try, and how you can always make me smile and laugh and feel safe. I love how you’re always there, and always listen, and you’re never anyone but you.” You hold Ben’s face between your hands, your smile wide and easy, and when Ben leans into your touch it makes everything hazy and high. “You’re an old, grumpy, stubborn asshole, and you’re the best man I’ve ever known.” You tug him slightly, and Ben drops his brow to yours without another word. Ben, I love you. And I’ll never be able to tell you that enough.

MM clears his throat as you slide Ben’s ring on, and doesn’t bother to try and guide or prompt you and Ben away from each other as he says your full name. “Do you take Benjamin to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you whisper, and MM needs to start talking faster or you’re going to pass out from the sheer force of Ben’s love and hunger in your body.

“Benjamin, do you take,” MM says your full name again, and Ben’s grin is the most feral, consuming one you’ve ever seen on his handsome features. “To be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“Fuck yes.” Ben’s voice is growl, and MM sighs.

“Great. I now pronounce you husband and wife. I’d say kiss the bride-“

You don’t hear the rest of MM’s words, because Ben crashes into you like a hurricane and you can’t hear or smell or feel anything but Ben. Alive and devout inside you, big and solid around you, devouring every single piece of you until it’s just Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, he’s your husband and you’re his wife and Ben.

You’ve kissed him a million times. You’ve touched him a million more. You’re going to kiss and touch him for the rest of your life.

But no kiss has ever been better than this one. Nothing has ever been better than Ben. Nobody has ever been as permanent and critical and sacred as Ben, and your love for him, and his love for you. And that’s why the kiss is like this. Why it’s all teeth and spit and bruising force, but still filled with a raw, infinite love and care. Ben’s mouth fits perfectly against yours—everything about Ben fits perfects against everything about you—and his hold and touch are reverent on your skin, and you know you’re going to dedicate the rest of your life to worshipping him but it won’t be enough. Because you’ve never been more satisfied, and you’ve never been more desperate. One of Ben’s broad hands is kneading at your skin as the other tangles in your hair, and his tongue is shoved down your throat as he groans you name between your heads, and you’re his wife.

And that’s that.

Most of the night passes in a blur. Frenchie smashes Edgar’s wine cabinet—he could’ve just opened it, but you and Kimiko are the only ones who see and neither of you are about to snitch—and Hughie finds a grill in the basement that Ben carries outside, grumbling about how it’s rusted and old as fucking shit.

“Older than you?” You tease, hanging off his arm as he starts to clean it off, your smile growing as he shoots you a glare.

“We’re married now.” He grumbles, tugging you closer to his side. “Fucking watch it with the old jokes, Sunshine, because you’re the one who’s going to have to tell everyone I’m a hundred when they ask.”

“A hundred and six,” you hum. “And I’m not too worried. You don’t look a day over eighty.”

Ben rolls his eyes, but you feel amusement flash through his body. “Brat.”

“Cunt.” You smile up at him, and it’s pointless to fight how fucking high you are. How Ben makes everyone burgers, and you’re surround by people that care about you, and everyone is laughing and happy and there’s no fear or wired tension in the air. MM’s started a fire—Frenchie tried to but got yelled at by almost everyone—that you’ve all gathered around, and the world feels peaceful. There will be more work to do, but right now is so fucking peaceful. Even Butcher doesn’t look like he’s all that worried. His face is cast in the shadows of the night and fire, and he’s only really talking to Ryan and Hughie, but there’s nothing hateful on his face.

You can’t actually read the look on his face. It’s the same one from the actual wedding, and it’s strange, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay when he suddenly moves to stand in front of you and Ben, his voice low and firm.

“Got you cunts a gift,” he snaps, and you feel Ben sit a little taller as you only gape.

“A gift.” Ben grunts, and you’re not sure he knows that he’s starting to pull you half onto his lap. “We don’t fucking need anything-“

“Ain’t that the whole point of gifts, Gov?” Butcher drawls, raising his brows as he shrugs. “And don’t worry, it’s not from just the kindness of my fuckin heart.”

You frown. “What is it?“

“Don’t worry, Love, you’ll like it plenty.”

Butcher winks, and you sigh. “Butcher-“

“There’s a motel bout ten minutes down the road. Two stars, continental breakfast, ain’t no pool but-“

“Did you,” you pause, frowning as you scan over Butcher’s too passive face. “Butcher did you get us a hotel?”

He nods, his face twisting into a scowl made of mostly frustration. “No one here is interested in listenin to you twats hump like rabbits all night. You slide on out whenever the Gov’s dick starts twitchin, and I’ll keep Ryan for the night.”

Ben’s hand tenses on your waist. “What’s the catch.”

“No catch. Fuckin gifts don’t got catches, you old ass-“

“Thank you,” you whisper, squeezing your hand over Ben’s in a silent command to stay silent. “I mean, it’s a really fucking weird gift, but thank you. I think,” you lean to look around Butcher, watching where Ryan and Kimiko are locked in a silent conversation. Ryan yawns mid-gesture, slumping slightly, and you smile. “We’ll wait until he’s asleep, just make sure he doesn’t have any nightmares and tell him we’ll be back, please-“

“I got him, Love.” Butcher mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Room is under my name, sent you the confirmation code earlier.” Butcher pauses, looking between you and Ben, and when he speaks the words sound painful, but not venomous. “Congratulations. And I fuckin meant it, I’ll watch Ryan cause I got stake in the kid, but you cunts start makin mini-Soldier Boy’s and you’re on your bloody own.”

You nod, fully shifting onto Ben’s lap to distract him from shouting at Butcher about hypothetical babysitting. “Thank you, Butcher.” You say it again, offering Butcher a smile that might be realest you’ve ever given him. “I mean it.”

Butcher grunts, shuffling back to Ryan, you think you need to make sure Butcher knows he’s not losing Ryan. That you and Ben might have to take custody to keep him away from the government, but Butcher is the last reminder Ryan has of his mother, and you’d rather die than take that away from him.

That can be another conversation for tomorrow, though. Tomorrow you’ll talk to Butcher about Ryan and his new status as a supe, and talk to Ryan about how you can keep homeschooling him, or, if he really wants, you can figure out how to get him into a public school, and talk to MM and Annie about how you’re all suddenly unemployed.

But it was all wait for tomorrow. Tonight—as Ryan drifts off and all the chaos of the past five years finally starts to drift and fade like smoke into the night sky—you’re going to go lock yourself in a hotel room with Ben and fuck him until you pass out. You’re going to do whatever he asks, and let him touch you wherever he wants, and scream his name until your voice somehow finds a way to be hoarse.

The drive is short and silent, Ben’s hand resting in its rightful place on your thigh and both your rings flashing in the streetlamps as he drives. You mostly just watch him, because he’s yours to watch and fuck he’s handsome. His muscles shift when he turns the wheel and you want him to pick you up and throw you around, and his lips are slightly parted and you want them to make yours swollen, his hair is shifting slightly in the wind—you’d rolled the windows down, everything becoming impossibly hot the moment Ben had started to rub patterns on your skin—and you want to pull at it as he splits you open on his cock-

You’re staring, Sunshine.

You flush, wrinkling your nose at him. Am I not allowed to stare at you, Pretty Boy?

It’s fucking rude-

Not when you’re staring at your husband. You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder as you take his hand between your own, playing with his big, broad fingers that you want shoved and pumping inside you-

Christ on a fucking cross, Ben says your name with low amusement between your heads, his eyes flashing as he glances at you. I can hear your heartbeat, beautiful, feel how fucking needy you are-

Fuck you-

You’d love that, wouldn’t you-

You can’t dignify his smirk and burning, prideful hunger with any words, because they’ll come out pathetic and breathless, so you move one hand to palm Ben through his jeans, and he cuts off his own words with a hiss of your name.

Fucking- He groans, ripping his hand from yours to move you off his growing bulge. You’re a horny fucking problem, woman, stop trying to make me crash the goddamn car-

You’re going to pout at him, and say something about how neither of you can die if he drives off the road, and giving Ben a hand job in the car doesn’t really feel like a terrible way to go anyway, but then his voice drops an octave and nothing else seems important.

I’m going to fuck you stupid, darling. Don’t fucking worry about that. But, he squeezes your hand, bringing it up to his mouth so he can kiss your knuckles. I want to do something else first.

You nod, unable to use pointless things like words as all of Ben’s love riots and blooms in your body, and he smirks, keeping his hand in yours for the rest of the ride.

The hotel room isn’t anything special—a king bed, a small couch, a TV and table—but it might be the best place you’ve ever been, because Ben hooks the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle, slams the door closed behind you, and bolts it shut before crashing his lips onto yours. And it’s just you and Ben in the world, from this moment until the world burns out. Just Ben Ben Ben, tasting like vanilla and wine and strawberries, biting and sucking on your neck as he walks you backwards. Warms under your hands and so fucking real as his beard scrapes your skin, hooking an arm around your waist to keep you upright and tangling his hand in your hair, touching you like you’re holy and stopping in the middle of the room-

Ben’s stopped. He’s drawing back from you with a wide, cocky, adoring grin, pressing one last kiss to your brow as his hand moves to trace over your cheekbones and lips, then dropping it to grab yours as he adjusts his grip on your body.

Sing. Ben’s mutters the order in your head, and your mouth and voice obey him before you even know what’s happening.

The room fills with colorful, glowing mist, the sky seems to open up above you with stars and warm breeze, and you let Ben guide you. He starts slow, in the easy, simple steps you’ve have a half-hold on, but then he starts to spin you around and dip you down and half carry you around the room, and all you can do is keep singing and smile as you dance. You get breathless and dizzy, the illusions from your voice fading as you start to giggle—high on the smell of pine, on the heat and thirst growing everywhere in your body—and Ben takes over. Slowing down as he hums—low and deep and terrible but still Ben, so the best song you’ve ever heard—swaying you back and forth until you’re half fallen on his body and starting up at him with an open expression made of adoration as you just sit in at him.

He’s so inhumanely beautiful, and he’s yours. You can feel the cooled metal of his ring as he holds your hand, and you can feel that imbedded piece of him always, and Ben is all for you, forever. He’s grinning at you—wide, bright, and toothy in a way that would’ve made you a goner if you weren’t already so rawly and eternally his—and you couldn’t make yourself look away if you wanted.

This time he doesn’t tease you for staring. Ben just slows to a stop, and angles your head back until his lips can press to yours. It’s long and deep and gentle, his tongue tracing over your lips before pressing into your mouth, and you’re going to collapse.

Ben pulls back, and time doesn’t really feel real anymore. You’d be happy here for a lifetime, just staring at Ben as he holds you, smiling at each other like there’s never been any other choice. You’ve clawed and screamed and fought for this, for Ben, and now you think you might want to just stay here for a while. Stay where you’re loved, stay where you’re safe, stay where Ben’s looking at you like someone’s dropped the sun into his hands and it’s shining just for him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters, his thumb pressing onto your lower lip, hunger flaring in his gut and chest when your mouth opens on pure instinct. “Christ, Sunshine, you’re perfect.”

You lick the pad of his finger, your legs almost giving out just from his low groan. Ben-

“Going to take such good care of you, darling.” His words are rolling through your body, and he can’t keep looking at you like that—with an awe and devotion that would be pure if his eyes weren’t dark with lust and desire—or you’ll pass out from want before he even starts kissing you. “Going to fuck you stupid for a million goddamn years, and you’re not getting out of that bed until you’re fucking full of me.”

Please-

“Please what?” Ben’s grin begins to grow wide and cocky, his thumb pushing further into your mouth, his eyes flashing with something almost feral as you start to suck on him. “Fucking- You’re such a fucking brat,” he growls your name, and you start to grind onto the air. “So fucking perfect, going to be the death of me, going to fuck you until you can’t even damn walk-“

Lot of talk, Pretty Boy. You pop off of his thumb with a low moan, clinging to his arm as you give him a wide, sweet, teasing smile. Think you’re going to prove it?

His jaw clenches, his hunger almost intoxicating, and you’re amazed he hasn’t hauled you up and tossed you onto the bed already. But Ben just keeps smirking at you, wiping your own drool on your cheek before fisting his hand in your hair, forcing your gaze to stay on his.

“You know damn well it’s not just talk.” He drawls, and you whimper as his arm unwraps from around your waist, his hand slipping into your pants, allowing his big, broad fingers starting to play with your clit. “And I fucking know how desperate you are for my cock, beautiful.”

Ben’s face drops to your neck, his lips latching onto the one spot until you’re clinging to his arms in desperate attempt to not fall over. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the asshole, and you’re a wet, needy, moaning mess before he’s even gotten inside you. You’re growing dizzy and a little lightheaded as Ben sucks and bites and licks at your neck, then your jaw, then your throat, then your collarbone, and every sound you make becomes a strangled, pleading whine of his name. Your fingers scratch pointlessly at his arms as your pants get ripped of your body and Ben presses his palm to your clit, continuing to rub as his fingers start to tease over your dripping slit, and your legs are barely hold you up anymore as you grind down onto his hand, drowning in how fucking powerful his hunger is, how his cock keeps twitching whenever your thigh bumps against it, how he keeps groaning your name onto your skin like it’s a prayer.

Ben-

Going to be a good girl and beg for me, Sunshine? Ben presses the tip of his middle finger into you, pulling back to watch your flushed, gaping expression. Ask me to fuck you until you’re screaming? He pushes the finger a little further in, groaning as you squeeze around him. Fuck, beautiful, you’re so fucking tight-

Please, Ben. You drop your head to his chest, your legs shaking as he adds another finger, both of them not nearly deep enough. Please, I need you, please-

Words, darling-

Those are fucking words- fuck! Your mouth falls open as Ben shoves his fingers knuckle deep and crooks them against that deep, soft, sensitive spot. God, Benjamin, you’re such a cunt-

I know, he kisses the curve of your ear, his groan sending a shiver up your spine as you feel him start to throb against your lower stomach. Hold on.

You do on pure instinct, your arms wrapping around his neck as you all but hang off his body, and it’s all the warning you get before Ben’s fingers start to scissor and pump inside you. He knows how to work you like an instrument, pushing so deep and twisting and hooking at the exact right moment, his palm still bumping and pressing onto your clit until your panting and dripping down his wrist.

Ben, fuck, I need you, need to cum-

He growls near your ear, and tugs on your hair just enough to pull your face back and kiss you with a fervor as he goes faster. You’re dizzy and a cock-drunk and you haven’t ever touched him yet, and he’s released your hair to hold you upright, his mouth devouring yours as he walks backward, half carrying you with him. You’re not entirely sure what’s happening—your whole existence focused on the feeling of Ben’s lips on yours, his fingers plunging in and out of you until you’re squirming on his hand—until he suddenly pulls away. Ben pulls your lower lip between his teeth, changing the rhythm of his movements to shallow, small thrusts, and then his mouth is gone.

Your eyes shoot open as you whine in protest, but it falls to a choked sound of pure need as Ben drops onto the mattress, his fingers stilling for only a second, and shoots you a wink before latching his lips to your clit and sucking.

If Ben wasn’t gripping and pulling at your hips, you’d have fallen over. Your orgasm hits you like a train, something warm gushing out of your pussy as Ben’s fingers push fully into you and press on that one spot, and all you can do is scream his name and pull at his hair.

When Ben pulls back, your legs shaking as he leaves your fluttering cunt empty, his beard is shining with your mess and his eyes are flashing with lust and want.

You’re a damn miracle, he mutters your name, running his fingers between the lips of your pussy. So fucking good, taste like fucking heaven-

Ben-

Want my cock, Sunshine? He smirks up at you, slapping your pussy once, and you fall forward onto his chest with a moan. Fucking Christ-

You can’t wait for him to start fucking you. You need Ben now, or you might die. You’re aching and empty and he’s everything and all yours and there’s that glowing, atomic feeling inside him that’s calling you again-

Ben lets out a grunt of surprise as you shove him onto his back, a sudden rush of strength overtaking you as his power sinks into your body. You rip off his pants, taking his boxers with them, pull off your own shirt with slightly more care—it’s Ben’s, and smells like him, and you want the chance to wear it later—and drool slightly as you take in Ben’s huge, throbbing cock, standing at attention and already dripping with pre-cum.

Ben grabs at your hair as you crawl over him and take him in your hand, and he tugs you back to meet his gaze as he grunts your name.

“What the fuck-“ He’s scanning over your face, and you feel it when he realizes what’s happening. You could’ve seen it—his dick twitches in your hold, his nostrils flare, and his throat bobs as he swallows—but the feeling is incomparable. It’s primal and ardorous and starved, pulsing and burning and bellowing in your body. Ben says your name, his voice a low warning of need, and you don’t waste any more time.

You bend over, taking Ben into your mouth in one smooth movement that bumps him against the back of your throat, press your thighs together at his groan, and start to suck on him like your life depends on it, because it might. Every sound Ben makes is like oxygen, every buck of his hips making his strength in your body grow, and you own thirst is somehow like water. Ben’s hissing your name through his teeth, his hand fisted in your hair as he starts to guide you up and down his cock, and fuck, you’re strong enough to steady yourself with only one hand so the other can play with his balls, and it earns you a moan.

“Fucking, fuck,” Ben says your name, and you can feel the coil of his orgasm building in your own gut. “You’re, fuck-“ Ben grunts your name, and you whine around him. “So good, so, fuck-“

Ben’s still just a little stronger than you are, and you’re starting to lose any remaining sense of even fake resistance as the ache between your legs becomes unbearable and wetness drips down your thighs, so when he yanks you off his cock and hauls you up his body, you don’t resist.

He’s looking up at you with awe and adoration, his hands pulling and rubbing at your hips as you straddle him, and all you manage is a pleading whimper as his cock pushes into the back of your thigh.

“Christ on a cross,” he mutters your name, and you squirm in his hold. “You’re a menace, Sunshine. Suck my cock like a fucking vice, being all goddamn strong and perfect, looking like a fucking painting,” he groans as you grind above him, moving one hand to palm at your breasts. “Need me to fuck you, darling? Need me to pound that pretty fucking pussy until you squirt all over me?”

Yes, yes, please, Ben- You moan as Ben’s free hand snakes around to your clit, flicking and teasing you as your nails dig into his abdomen. God, fuck, please, please fuck me-

He hums, pinching your clit once and smirking at your whine. Since you asked so nicely, darling- he grabs you by the hips, pulls you into the air, and spears you down onto his cock in one, mind-numbing movement. I’ll let you ride me.

You don’t hesitate. Ben’s as deep in your body as possible, the head of him pressed firm against that overly-sensitive spot, and his hands have started to roam over every inch of skin he can reach—leaving trials of fire and care in their wake—so you roll your hips and throw back your head, riding Ben and drowning in his low, filthy praise.

“You’re so fucking good,” he groans, playing with your nipples and rutting up into your cunt. “Fucking made for me, Sunshine, goddamn perfect, fucking beautiful, so fuck-“

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and start to bounce up and down. Ben’s hands shoot your ass, squeezing and pulling at your skin, and his every word rolls through your body.

“Fucking, Christ, you’re so fucking perfect, tight as goddamn sin, so pretty fucking yourself stupid on my cock, darling-“ Ben groans, and you’re just lucid enough to notice the room suddenly flooding with golden light as you moan.

“Ben-"

“That’s right, Sunshine, say my fucking name-“

“Ben,” you whimper on his command, feeling yourself build back up to the edge. “Fuck, you’re so big, Ben, please, need to come-“

“Come for me, beautiful, fucking squirt all over my cock-“

That’s all it takes, and you scream as you fall back into blissful, high pleasure, the world blurring around you as your breathing becomes ragged and your whole body lights up with fire that might be real, or an illusion, but is all born from Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, still hard inside you and looking animalistic and staring at you like you’re his god and fuck, you feel so fucking good-

Ben surges up without warning, knocking you onto your back with a brutal, rough kiss, never pulling out as he shoves your thighs apart and hooks your knees around his waist.

Fuck, Ben, please-

Need more, brat? He makes a small, rough movement that hits your cervix, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. Need me to fill you up? Fuck you until it fucking sticks, fuck you until everyone knows you’re mine, until the only word you know is my goddamn name?

God, yes-

Beg. Ben pulls almost fully out, smirking down at your dumb, slack expression, and slams back into you with a grunt. Fucking beg for it, Sunshine, tell me how bad you want my cock-

So bad, Ben, fuck- Your eyes rolls back slightly as he repeats the movement, your whole body burning, and you slap his chest weakly. God, you’re, you’re such a fucking dick, please-

You love my fucking dick. Ben presses a mockingly sweet kiss to your lips, wrapping one around your waist to pull you up off the mattress, pushing himself deeper until you’re no really sure where Ben starts and you stop. You love me.

You nod, wiggling under him. I do, please, please fuck me, please-

Ben groans, making a shallow thrust that leaves him pressing right against that spot, but still doesn’t give in. Say it.

I love you, please, Ben-

Full thing, Sunshine. He rolls his hips, grinning at you with a reverence that feels vital in your heart, and slaps your clit once. Say the whole fucking thing.

I love you, Benjamin, I love you, please-

Good girl, he mutters in your head, crashing his mouth back into yours, kissing you into the mattress and pushing his tongue down your throat, groaning into you as you squeeze around him, sucking and biting at your lips before he draws back and admires his work. Ben peels you apart under his devout gaze, moves his hand to lazily rub your clit, and looking like a fucking angel again as the light of your fire—the real fire, searing into the sheets and casting shadows over Ben’s handsome face—fills the room.

You make a strangled sound that might be his name, reaching up to try and pull him back over you, and you feel the snap in his will. Feel it echo through your whole body as he turns into something that’s only made of love and hunger and care for you, and Ben starts fuck into you at a brutal, unforgiving pace that would break your bones if you weren’t filled with his borrowed power. Still, all you can do is moan his name, scrape as his arms and chest and back as he drags you higher, and take it.

So fucking good, beautiful, so fucking tight and wet for me. Ben groans, and you whine as he rolls his hips at the deepest point, making you dizzy and your head only a drunken haze of pleasure. Christ, fucking made for my cock, made for me, such a pretty fucking mouth and perfect fucking pussy-

He’s plowing into you, the bed creaking and world seeming to shake around you from the force of Ben’s worship, and fuck it’s so good. It’s heaven, being split open and fucked by Ben’s huge cock, being praised by his deep voice. Being fucking used and tended to all at once, Ben’s movements feral and rough, but his hands still rubbing at your skin, his words still filled with affection and love.

Gonna fucking fill you up, make you squirt all over me and smell like my cum for a year, so fucking beautiful when I make you feel good. Ben’s movements are starting to grow uneven, and over the lewd slapping of his skin against yours and the song in your head of Ben, you think you hear a crack as the bed breaks under you. Only one who fucks you right, fucks you like you deserve, fucks you all stupid and pretty and gets that smart mouth to fucking beg-

Ben-

Fuck, darling, so goddamn perfect-

You moan, Ben’s mouth return to yours as his orgasm begins to build in both your bodies. Ben, please. Fuck, Benjamin, so fucking good, feel so fucking good, please-

When Ben cums—wet heat bursting inside you as he fucks you through it—he roars your name, and it sets off your own orgasm. Color and light explode across the room, mirroring the bliss in your body, and it’s overwhelming, and dizzying, and so fucking good. You’re so full and high and fucked out, all you can think is Ben.

“I’m here,” you hear him say your name as he pulls out of you, and you let out a long moan as he slaps your pussy. “So perfect, Sunshine, fucking love you.”

You moan, grabbing at his shoulders without fully being able to see them, and tug his weight down over your body. Ben stays right where you need him to be—draped over you and solid and warm, humming off-key and brushing hair from your eyes as you fall back to earth—and when you blink away half-evaporated tears of pleasure, he comes into full focus. Handsome and grinning, pressing a light kiss to the space between your eyes and muttering your name against your skin.

“You’re okay-“

“I’m good,” you mumble, tugging his gaze back to meet yours. “Really, really good. So fucking good.” You let out a blissful sigh, tracing your hand over his cheek. “Hi, Benjamin.”

He chuckles, falling slowly onto you in another dizzying kiss. Hi, Sunshine. Fucking Christ. Ben’s voice is low and gruff in your head, his brow dropping to yours. We’re married.

You let out a small, breathy laugh. That is how weddings work, Pretty Boy.

He snorts, squeezing his hand on your waist. Smartass.

You love it.

Ben nips at your upper nip, smirking at the small whine that escapes you. Of course I fucking love it, Sunshine. I love you.

I love you too. You smile at him—grinning and handsome and covering you in warmth—and this is real. Ben is real, and yours, and you are married.

It’s not after anymore, it’s now. And it’s yours to have.

You’re going to do the fancy, stupid wedding, even if it’s only all the same people who were at your real one. You’ll convince Singer to give you and Ben real jobs, or just do something yourself. Use most of Vought’s fortune, now yours, to help people. Start a non-profit, where victims of Vought can have support, and supes can get help figuring out what to do with their lives, and you can really try to fix what’s things that have been broken for a long time. You’ll use the rest of the money to buy a house that’s somewhere suburban—on the outskirts of DC or Boston or Philly—and stupid. You’ll vacation in Rome, but you’ll want a home here. Somewhere with good schools, and at least five bedrooms, and within driving distance of your friends. Nobody’s going to want to stay in New York, so maybe you can all live on the same street and piss of your neighbors as a collective, having loud cookouts where Ben makes burgers and Frenchie gets everyone drunk on homemade liquor that’s probably a bioweapon. You’ll need to keep yourself a little sober, though, because eventually there will be babies you need to stay responsible for. Ryan will like them, because you’ll make sure he never feels any less loved, and Ben will be an amazing father. He’ll spoil them, and help them with all their problems, and make sure they’re never afraid.

You’re never going to be afraid again. You’ll be scared—haunted by nightmares and the sky, not able to see certain colors or smell certain smells—but you won’t be afraid. You’ll sleep in Ben’s arms every night, and his legs will always be tangled in yours as his snores lull you to easy sleep, just like now. You’ll wake up the same way, and put on coffee while Ben makes pancakes for you and a house full of children that only ever really smile. You’ll go to work with him in the day, and make him and your family dinner in the evening, then watch TV with him as your children shuffle off to bed.

Then it will just be you and Ben, and you’ll start to pout and shuffle onto his lap as he smirks at you.

Can I fucking help you, darling? He’ll ask, already grabbing at your ass and waist, and you’ll wrinkle your nose at him.

I think, you’ll grind down onto him, already half-hard and prodding against your thigh, and he’ll groan. You need some help as well, my love.

It’ll go back and forth for a minute, because that’s what you and Ben do, and then someone will give in, and something will snap, and Ben will carry you upstairs and fuck you into the mattress. His brow will drop to yours when it’s over, and his voice will be a low, rough sound in your head that’s just as natural as your heartbeat.

I love you, Sunshine.

And you’ll smile, holding Ben’s face between your hands as you play with the hair of his beard and take a long, deep breath of pine and coffee and vanilla. I love you too, Benjamin.

Then you’ll fall asleep like this again, and wake up again, and live a peaceful, happy life with Ben by your side every step of the way.

Everything will get to be love.

And you will never have to fight another war again.

End Note: I can't believe it's done. I’d like to thank my cat, Pete Wentz for writing baller lyrics that make up 20% of our chapter titles, Jensen Ackles for his face and the rizz he gives every single character he plays, and you guys. Thank you everyone who stuck to the end, now and any future readers, and for being so supportive of my silly little (little in the silly way. this thing is longer than fucking Les Mes) story. I never imagined this would be met with the love you guys have shown it, and I am unspeakably grateful for all of you. Thank you again, and if you’re sticking around, see you soon!

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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