#Annie fluff

[shiganshinaslut]

I want to fall asleep sandwiched between Mikasa and Annie, their arms messily thrown over me as I hear their soft, even breathing. It’s warm, and there’s a soft light emanating from the lantern in the corner. I hear the faint snores of the others in the room. It’s a comforting sound, and tonight I drift off to sleep feeling safe.

[astraystayyh]

the premise : u apply lipgloss on felix because ofc he suits glossy lips except it takes an emotional turn???? because felix is perfect sorry. this is fluffyyyy and the sanest reaction to this man being ur bf (and these pics. these pics....)

“lixie, stay still,” you giggle, body nestled between felix’s legs. He's leaning against the bathroom counter, hands propped on the sleek ebony marble as you apply a shimmering lip gloss to his lips.

“but don't you wanna know what changbin said to me?”

“of course i wanna know what creative pickup line he used on you today. of course i do, baby,” you smile and he rolls his eyes at the sarcasm dripping from your tone, his tongue poking against his cheek before gliding in (fake) annoyance over his lips.

“but…” he muses, tilting his head to the side, his hands finding your waist once again (they've been away for two minutes too long).

“but when your mouth moves i can't technically apply lipgloss to it.”

“maybe you're just a bad make-up artist,” he teases, before quickly planting a kiss on your temple. “kidding baby. you're the very best at everything you do.”

“you're actually incapable of being mean,” you laugh heartily, your thumb swiping across his chiseled jaw.

“i am very much capable of being mean,” he pouts, his eyes widening slightly, golden light spilling into his pupils— it refracts into an arrow delving straight into your heart.

“you can't say this in the softest voice and expect me to agree.”

“i am very much capable of being mean,” he repeats, only this time his timber is many many octaves lower. his voice reverberates straight through your stomach, a deep melody orchestrating the untamed butterflies in your stomach.

“this is the equivalent of a kitten throwing a punch to me,” you pull his face closer, and he shakes his head, mouth shut tightly as you reapply the glitter infused gloss on his lips, going delicately over his cupid's bow. his eyes are boring onto you, yet you don't shy away from his gaze. it is a kind one— like a blanket knitted with love thrown over your body.

“done,” you whisper, hands trailing up to his hair, blonde silky locks akin to threads of sunlight. you think he must be favored by the stars— how they stored the sun inside every component of his being for him to keep safe.

“you have the prettiest lips,” your voice is suddenly hoarse, thumb grazing slightly over his lips, ones shaped like a heart— akin to the one freckle he has right underneath his eye.

it wasn't enough for him to have the kindest soul, no, love needed to be etched onto his skin too.

“felix,” you rasp out his name.

he catches your tears before you sense them falling, swiping his thumbs delicately on your cheek. “angel?”

“you're an idiot.”

“am i?” he brings you to his chest swiftly, your nose buried in the orange blossoms and sea notes of his skin— your home, the one you'd recognize in blindness, in despair, in safety, in love.

“i wanted to apply this lipgloss on you because shimmer would suit your angelic lips and then we'd make out. but you just had to be so beautiful and pure that it makes me wanna cry.”

“I'm sorry,” he says and you giggle, more tears spilling from your eyes.

“see, this is what i mean. why are you apologizing. this is so silly and you're so perfect and i can't believe you love me.”

“well i do,” he leans away, kissing your forehead tenderly. the sticky lip gloss lingers on your skin. “i love you so much, angel. i will only ever love you.”

“promise me?” you ask in a feat of vulnerability almost foreign to your being.

“i promise.”

you believe him.

“thank you. please don't put this lipgloss near anyone else or it'll make them cry too.”

“i think that's just you baby,” he grins, his thumb swiping over your thigh comfortingly, then, his nose brushing against your own. “kiss?”

you close your eyes, a sigh of relief, of longing escaping your body. “please.”

to be loved by felix— maybe you're the one favored by the stars after all.

[hanjisungslag]

attack on titan headcanons #14

synopsis: when attack on titan characters make you cry 💦

characters involved: eren, mikasa, armin, jean, sasha, connie, reiner, annie, bertolt, levi, erwin and hange.

notes: 2 posts in 2 days! arent you a lucky bugger x

☆ eren jaeger

it’s really situational for eren, he cannot take you seriously if you’re in a bad situation. if you’re on the battle field or doing anything important to do with titans, strategy plans etc. he will tell you that you can’t be crying in that moment. HOWEVER, if you’re not in any of those situations he is so empathetic!! my little baby is so sweet to you like, he’s like putty in your hands especially if he’s the one making you cry, oh my god. he would just DIE and probably cry with you.

☆ mikasa ackerman

her eyes soften… her eyebrows pinch together… her lip quivers and tilts into a frown… SHES SO DISTRAUGHT, HOW COULD SHE DO THIS? SHES SO STUPID GAHHH. super mellow, super quiet and of course, super sweet. she’ll approach you like you’re a fragile animal in the woods that she doesn’t wanna scare. she genuinely couldn’t think of anything worse in this world than upsetting you and her being that reason? HER HEARTTT, she’ll drop her nonchalant dread head act immediately and silently reassure you with physical affection.

☆ armin arlert

breaks the boys heart. he is absolutely and utterly DESTROYED. his self-esteem reaches an all time low in that very moment, as soon as that one tear fell of the apple of your cheek, GOD. he wanted the world to swallow him while to be honest, he was so upset and embarrassed he made you cry! but obviously, he really tried not to be selfish and start crying as he didn’t want to take any attention off you but trust, by the end of it, he will be crying alongside you.

☆ jean kirstein

god he is just so gentle, so caring, so comforting, so patient. he KNOWS exactly how to comfort you - he apologises profusely, sits with you, hugs you, talks the whole situation through with you LIKE UGH, and whatever it was that made you cry i can promise you this man WILL FIX THE FUCK UP! he lives to serve you and make you happy 🙇.

☆ connie springer

very quiet afterwards… he just feels really awkward, he wishes he could reverse time and just pretend nothing happened 😭. he’s like, do we break up now orrr…? he will eventually say sorry and become less awkward but, he definitely shows his sympathy through physical affection. after everything’s died down, he cracks a joke or two.

☆ sasha braus

SHES SO SWEET, definitely also awkward and she doesn’t realise you’re being serious for the first 2 minutes but afterwards oh my god, she’s so apologetic!! she gives does acts of service as an apology and of course, says sorry. profusely.

☆ reiner braun

breaks him into a million bijillion pieces. he turns into a puddle like, he just dies. HE made YOU cry? his life is over. sooo apologetic & he makes sure to let you know that he is! he will not be over this for days, days i tell you, he will continue to make it up to you even if you’re over it in like an hour.

☆ annie leonhart

she’s in shock honestly. she didn’t think you would be so upset over what she had said… but most of all, she’s shocked that seeing you upset had such a big impact on her. what- what was this? oh my god, she’s crying? because you’re crying? she’s in deepp😭. keeps her tears to her self and apologises to you and you make sure to tease her because you saw those tears!!

☆ bertolt hoover

crying with you. not in a way that would steal any attention from you or what he did to make you cry, he really tried to stop himself but after trying to not cry and apologise, he breaks down and now you’re both crying. a lot of ‘i’m sorry’ and ‘i love you’, ‘i won’t do that again‘s are being thrown around and it’s just an adorable sobbing, loving mess.

☆ levi ackerman

errrmmm, it’s kind of tough for him. he’s been very desensitised to mostly everything, even horrid things like people being eaten alive by titans, literally watching them be ripped limb from limb yk? the usual stuff! anyways, he does feel bad though because of course, he loves you. and he never wants to hurt you or be the cause of your pain so, he does apologise even if it doesn’t sound very normal coming from his mouth, lol.

☆ erwin smith

he feels bad, of course. he’s a very respectable, normal man so, as any other person, he’ll apologise for making you feel that way, say he won’t do it again, say he loves you and move on with his day.

☆ hange zoë

NOOOO THEY CANT BELIEVE THEYVE DONE THIS!! tragedy has struck 😔. they will do everything in their power to make it up to you, they will do a simple, straightforward and sincere apologise HOWEVER, afterwards they’ll do something extra for you, just as a cherry on top like, a candle lit dinner in your house or something along those lines ^o^.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

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

[darthannie]

Hi! Can I request Tommy Shelby who loves to spoil his gf and she has a hard time accepting it all but he reassures her in a very loving and protective way (hope you get what I mean lol) thank you! :')

a/n: This is short but I hope I did your idea justice! I just want to see him smile 😭

grand gestures

Thomas Shelby x f!reader

Warnings: Tommy being happy and in love, Tommy’s love language is gift-giving I don’t make the rules, kissing

You had been seeing Thomas Shelby for a while now and he was absolutely smitten. You have never met a man who doted on you as much as he did. Under his hardened exterior was a man longing to love and be loved.

On a particularly cold evening, you arrived home to a surprise. On your bed lay a beautiful new coat you had seen in the shops while out with Tommy. You must have stared at it in the window a little too long. He took that as a sign that you wanted it. You hadn’t even thought to go in and check the price tag, let alone purchase it. 

Tommy knew you weren’t used to receiving many gifts so he made it his personal mission to make you comfortable with it. He’d started with a gold bracelet. 

You had gasped when he took it out of the small box. “Tommy, you can’t. This is too much.”

“It’s not. Nothing is too much when it comes to you.” It was almost threatening. It sounded like a warning when he said it. It was foolish to underestimate how much you meant to him.

After the bracelet, he began giving you gifts periodically, even things you didn’t need or want. It was difficult for you to understand why he even bothered to give you all those things. Any other woman would welcome new dresses and jewels with open arms. Instead, you just felt like you didn’t deserve it. 

You stared at the coat on your bed. Its fur collar was sure to keep you warm, you thought. The gold buttons going down one side shone in the dim light of your bedroom. You held it up and gawked at it. You rubbed your face into the fur and smiled. You didn’t notice, but Tommy was standing in the doorway. 

“Why don’t you try it on?” His voice made you jump and you dropped the coat, putting your hands over your heart.

“Jesus, Tommy!” You sighed and laughed. He had been making a habit of being at your home before you were. He usually made himself known somehow, but tonight he decided to be a bit of a prankster. 

“Sorry, love, couldn’t help it.” He chuckled, walked towards you, and pulled you in for a kiss. He always kissed you like it was the last time he would be able to. 

He pulled away, “Do you like it?”

“I love it, Tommy, but” you looked down at the item of clothing, “you really didn’t have to. Really, you never have to.” You looked back at him and his arms were crossed, his head cocked to the right. He sighed and put his hands on your arms, caressing them. 

Looking into your eyes he asked, “Do you love me?”

You replied slightly irritated “I’ve never loved a man more, Tommy, and you know that. I just- I’m not used to you spoiling me like this.”

“If you’re gonna be my girl, you gonna have to get used to it, love. Now, are you my girl?” He was deadly serious. He was never controlling, but you were his and his alone. He wanted to make sure you understood that.

You looked him in the eye. “Yes. I am.”

His hands held your waist as he pulled you in closer. He kissed you passionately. A small moan escaped. It was intoxicating. After a few moments, you pulled away for air. He put his forehead against yours and gave you a chaste kiss. 

“You are worth more than anything I could ever give you. I wish I could give you the world,” he smirked, “the coat is the best I can do for now.”

You smiled softly at him. It would take some more work on your part but you knew that he did it because he cared.

“Thank you, Tommy. I love you.” You gave him a quick kiss. 

He pulled away with a smile and said, “I love you, too.”

He reached over to your bed and grabbed the new coat, holding it up for you. You quickly took off your old one and he helped you put your arms through the sleeves of the new one. The inside of the coat felt just as luxurious as the exterior. The fur brushing your neck was comforting and warmed your skin. You stood in front of a full-length mirror and took in your reflection. Tommy stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your body, holding you flush against him. You turned your head to make eye contact with him.

He whispered, “You look beautiful, my love.”

You had hearts in your eyes, “You make me beautiful, Tommy.”

[redroses07]

Like this and i’ll return from my temporary hiatus to write a Billy Butcher fanfic.

[lucy-gray1075]

finnick odair who's always picking you up like it's second nature to him. he doesn't even have to expend any energy, he just wraps one big arm around your waist and tugs you into him, lifting your feet off the floor. he grabs your thigh with his other arm, hand squeezing your ass as he encourages you to wrap your legs around his torso so he can kiss you harder.

[strawberrybuni]

WHEN YOU'RE STRUGGLING

Characters: Levi, Hange, Eren, Armin, Erwin, Mikasa, Reiner, Jean, Annie, Sasha, Miche, & Yelena Summary: You've been struggling with your mental health, and your lover is here to make it aaaall better CW: LOTS of comfort, fluff, this touches on a lot of depression related things so pls keep that in mind in case that's triggering! A/N: request complete! I hope you enjoy and just know you are loved and I hope this brings you and everyone comfort :)

[anna-proxx]

♡ 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐭𝐬

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

summary: you and arthur are occasional lovers with no strings attached, except you caught feelings.

word count: 2613

tags: fluff, suggestive, love confession, high honor arthur, friends with benefits, fem!reader

warnings: nsfw/explicit content

a/n: I’ve been battling writer’s block due to perfectionism and decided to write a spontaneous oneshot as an attempt to pretty much break through it. It's not really a smut, just a fluff with suggestive aspects and nsfw setting. Found this idea sweet, hope you enjoy!

✮ masterlist

You and Arthur first met when he was drunk and while you usually steered away from drunk men, this one in particular caught your eye. For some goddamn reason you decided to take care of him as he sang to himself in the saloon, alone, almost picking a fight with one of the regular customers, if it weren’t for you getting involved.

He hadn’t even tried to touch you and overall he seemed to be safe to be around. You made him eat some food (though he protested, saying he’d rather dance with you) and drink some water, to make his hangover at least a bit better the next morning. Then you made sure he was sound asleep before leaving him in the hotel room, putting a little note on the nightstand saying his adaptation of the song about Otis Miller was by far your favorite.

The second time you met in the same saloon. Though this time he was still sober, with a beer in his hand, looking quite worn out after the day. He didn’t remember you that much but you explained and after realizing you were the stranger who took care of him and left his sick, disoriented self the note, he opened up to you more.

And after sharing a few drinks, that he insisted to pay for you, and some loose conversation, you ended up in that same room, this time with you both being tipsy and making out, after you made the first move and kissed him.

It was like you were obsessed. With the way his rough hands treated you so gently, how he towered over you with your back against the wall, how you found yourself enveloped in his strong arms or the deep low groans in your ear that sent tingles into your belly.

It progressed into something more regular. Both of you helped each other release all the pent up tension and forget about everything that was going on outside the bedroom. What happened in that hotel room stayed between the walls. The desperate kisses, muffled whines and hot touches, your bodies intertwined like stems of ivy. The hungry look in his eyes stayed ingrained in your mind, keeping you company during the nights you spent alone.

Arthur felt safe with you. After Eliza he was reluctant to do this type of thing again, but there was just something about you that set his whole self on fire and made it impossible to resist you.

There was a good hunting spot nearby and he liked to return there for that reason, or maybe, just maybe, it was also the way he stopped by at the saloon every time, searching the room for a familiar face as soon as he stepped inside.

This sort of relationship was unusual for you as well, but his touch drove you crazy. He was so gentle and rugged at the same time, so big and mysterious while having a soft side you got to see anytime he let his guard down.

You knew he was no saint. Though he never told you details, you assumed the law was after him, but your intuition let you relax in his presence and you leaned into the comfort, trusting that if anything, he would protect you rather than hurt you.

The connection was mostly physical but slowly, one night after another, he was taking a hold over your heart, as much as you denied it to yourself.

Until you were finally ready to accept it.

— ∽ ♡ ∼ —

“You… seemed… angry today,” you said between your breaths, lying with your back against the soft mattress and covered only by the thin layer of a blanket.

His eagerness today was really something, clutching the headboard as he pushed his hips against yours, making you lose your breath with every thrust. It seemed personal, like there was more tension to release than usually – and you were more than happy to give him the freedom.

A soft groan left his lips in an agreement, his lungs still trying to fill with air as he lay beside you, exhausted but satisfied.

You yourself were still in that sweet daze, your heart pumping warmth into your whole body and tingles dancing all over your stomach, a smile on your face you couldn’t hold back.

The soreness between your legs somehow felt so good, a reminder of this night that would stay even after he’s gone.

After a moment you rolled to your side, watching Arthur’s glistening face as he was covered in sweat, as much as you were. The loose strands of his hair were sticking to his forehead and a familiar warmth spread in your stomach as you imagined reaching out and brushing those strands back, gently caressing his cheek and planting a kiss on the little scar on his chin.

Yes. You were pretty much screwed.

He turned his head to look at you and caught your gaze, silently reciprocating it and giving you a perfect view at his greenish blue eyes. He looked so vulnerable in that moment it tugged at your heart, wanting nothing but to embrace him in your arms.

But you had no idea how he felt and you didn’t want to make a fool out of yourself.

“I uh…” Arthur cleared his throat, turning away to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Lemme clean this up.”

Your soft gaze followed him as he held onto the cloth and as his eyes asked for consent before he lifted the blanket and gently wiped the stickiness from between your thighs.

You didn’t even try to hide your red cheeks, the situation making it seem more than understandable. You wondered whether he realized how sweet this was of him, how much it made you fall in love even more.

You were both silent and the air felt thick between you two, as if there were many things left unsaid and it made the silence louder.

You never knew but always wondered what ran through his mind after your shared intimacy, how he felt, what was the mysterious gleam in his eyes as he watched you hot and sweating beside him.

When he was done, you sat up with the blanket over you again, watching his flexing muscles as he turned away from you, giving you a perfect view at his back.

Arthur lit himself a cigarette, breathing out soft clouds of smoke that floated up towards the ceiling. He sat back, feeling nothing but lightness and comfort inside.

He turned his head to look at you and found you already watching.

“Ya want a drag?”

“Sure,” you accepted, holding the blanket over your chest as you leaned forward. Instead of taking the cigarette from him as he expected you to, you left it between his fingers and simply wrapped your lips around its end while he held it out for you.

You gently put your fingers around his wrist instead, letting him watch you a little surprised.

Leaning away, you fought back the irritation in your throat and turned away from him, tears forming in your eyes. With your mouth at the crook of your arm, you broke into a violent cough.

“Not used to it, huh?” Arthur lightly mocked you, bringing the cigarette back to his own lips as he watched you struggle to gain composure.

You turned to him with teary eyes, laughing at his snicker. “I can’t be good at everything, cowboy.”

After a few moments your breath finally steadied and you found Arthur lost in thought when you looked back at him. Studying his side profile without him taking notice as he continued to smoke, something occupying his mind.

You caught yourself wishing for those hands to hold your hips instead like they did just half an hour ago. For his bare chest to be pressed against yours again, to have his lips on your own. It was like an addiction.

Having him sit beside you like that, naked, turned you on all over again.

He had no idea how much he had you wrapped around his finger.

You cleared your throat, moving your gaze before he could catch you drooling over him.

“So uh… I’d like to ask something of you.”

He looked at you with surprise in his face, curiously turning his whole body towards you.

“Huh, what is it?” he asked in a relaxed tone, shifting closer to you.

You chuckled under your breath as you turned to reach for your satchel lying beside the bed and pulled out a folded paper.

You slightly shook your head at how silly this was, but handed Arthur the paper along with a pencil nonetheless, a grin on your face.

“I’d like an autograph please,” you said playfully, making sure he knew this was a harmless request from you. Lying back, your eyes followed him as he unfolded the paper with one hand, a wave of shock stunning him as he stared at his own wanted poster.

He immediately searched for your eyes, puzzled by the gesture, frowning in confusion. But the soft features of your face and relaxed body language calmed him. You were just playing around.

Now amused, he chuckled, looking back at the paper in his hand. “Where did ya get that?”

There was a hint of insecurity in his voice. Now there was no doubt you knew about him being a criminal. You had an evidence in your possession and yet you were still here, in the same bed, naked, your skin still hot from his touch.

“On a business trip. Seems you’re quite a celebrity.” You grinned, moving closer as you looked over his shoulder at the drawn outlines of his face.

“You’re prettier in real life, trust me.”

He softly huffed at the compliment, hoping you wouldn’t notice his flushed cheeks. But you did and found it endearing.

“So… you gon’ collect that reward?” he asked, a joking tone in his voice though he kept his gaze fixated on the poster.

You chuckled. “No, no, I don’t think I’d stand a chance against someone built like you, besides, I don’t usually sleep with people I plan to turn in to the law.” You kept the playful attitude, pointing to the pencil in his hand. “Come on, sign it. I’ll keep it as a memento.”

“This?” He seemed amused by the idea, not grasping why you’d possibly do such thing.

He turned around to stub out his cigarette, his thoughts an entangled mess. Did you really not mind? He almost spiraled into overthinking as he stared back at his effigy, paired with a ‘wanted’ and a fair sum of dollars in bold. He wished he could make this part of him disappear, especially around you.

“Sure. I don’t have your photo, so…” You were clearly still joking with your lighthearted tone, little did he know there was truth in it. You planned to keep that poster, safely hidden away, as a way to keep something as a reminder of him. Was that silly?

He chuckled again as he put the pencil against a corner of the poster, scribbling down his name in neat, pretty letters.

Arthur trusted you, knew you wouldn’t misuse it. Your eyes were too honest and your physical intimacy too passionate for that.

You thanked him as he handed it back to you, giddily putting it aside and giving him a big smile.

“I must assure you,” you started teasing him, “that this is my first time being involved with an outlaw. You’re not a threat to me, are you, Mr Morgan?”

“Well that depends,” Arthur answered with the same kind of mischief, a playful gleam in his eyes as he turned to his stomach and lay close to you, his breath warm on your face.

“Depends on what?” You held back a laugh, enjoying the mood of the conversation.

“I’ve made ya scream before.”

“Oh, shut up.” You gently hit his arm with your palm, a laugh escaping your lips this time, making the outlaw laugh with you.

“You know, you’re not quite that threatening,” you said, still smiling, purposefully teasing Arthur who furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Am not?”

“No. Unless you attack me with your kisses, that is.”

“You haven’t seen the things I’ve done, woman.”

“No, but I’ve certainly felt some other things.” Without thinking you hurriedly planted a kiss on his scrunched nose and turned your bare back to him, sitting on the edge of bed as you reached for your clothes scattered around the floor.

Arthur lay back with his arms behind his head as he continued to rest in bed, watching you put on your clothes, though quite messily, and your hair that stayed tangled despite you running your fingers through it.

You let out a soft sigh as the room got filled with comfortable silence, yet it made you nervous to the core.

You were in love and you usually weren’t afraid of expressing your feelings. But now it felt so intimidating, so risky.

“Arthur…” you said with seriousness in your tone this time, quiet and hesitant enough to pique Arthur’s interest. He sat up straight in bed and you looked back over your shoulder, catching him as beautiful as ever.

Lit by warm candlelight, you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over his bare skin. The broad shoulders, though slouched in relaxation, his chest and flat stomach, small scars all over his exposed arms. The way the blanket lay casually over his lap brought warmth into your cheeks and you bit your lip as you remembered the events of just a little while ago.

You looked at his hands, his knuckles bruised and his fingers holding the sheets. And finally his face, curiously watching you with something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite identify. His light brown hair that you loved seeing this ruffled and messy. He really was so beautiful.

“I think…” You tried to swallow the dryness in your mouth, your palms sweating as you struggled to hold eye contact. “I caught feelings for you, Arthur.”

There. You said it. And you felt like a fool.

Your cheeks were now red and you felt a pit in your stomach, not quite believing you just said it out loud. You knew you wouldn’t have it in you to say it again.

You avoided his gaze, having no idea what his reaction was, the little moment of silence felt like an eternity to you.

“You… did?” There was disbelief in his voice and it made you shift nervously, taking a deep breath as you seemingly forgot to breathe.

“Yes.”

The silence became unbearable. You didn’t know how he looked at you, too scared to see the expression of his face and too embarrassed to meet his eyes.

“I have feeling for you as well, (y/n).”

Your eyes widened in surprise and your heart jumped in your chest as you turned around, joy spreading through your veins.

You searched for any sign of deceit in his face, but there was none. He sat there looking completely vulnerable, honest, defenseless, his cheeks pink as he watched you back.

You rushed towards him, cupping his cheeks before connecting your lips in a long sweet kiss. Arthur wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his body as he lovingly pulled at your lips, softly breathing into the kiss with a sense of relief.

Slowly you put his weight on him, making him fall backwards little by little until his head lay on a pillow underneath you.

He broke the kiss, looking up at you with dilated pupils and flushed cheeks. “‘M the only one undressed here.”

You grinned at him, not moving a single inch as you kept him locked under you. “I don’t mind.”

With a kiss you muffled his laugh, a wide smile on your own face.

“So… how ‘bout I join you on your hunting trip tomorrow?” you proposed, hope in your eyes.

“Sure.” Arthur chuckled at your excitement, finding the spark in your eyes adorable as he caressed your cheek. “But I ain’t much of a good hunter.”

“That’s okay.” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Me neither.”

[jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd]

how would the girls feel about their so participating in no nut november

no nut november, according to your aot girlfriend!

18+ | MDNI | NSFW

(pretty tame but still, also ymir & historia are vague but written with female readers in mind, no i won’t change it and no i won’t apologize.)

mikasa thinks you’re idiotic for wanting to do something like this. not that she thinks you don’t have any self control, more or less she knows you don’t want to have any. she’s pretty blunt about the whole thing, telling you you’re going to fail. she puts money on it.

sasha mainly knows about nnn because of connie and his incessant blabbing. she wants you to ‘win.’ but per her rules, that rules out any act of sex. she can’t possibly be the reason you lose! its the ultimate mind game. you bust a nut or you don’t get close at all, there’s no in between.

annie, like mikasa, bets against you. she berates you and laughs at the idea but ultimately encourages you just so she can prove you wrong. there’s no way you’ll last the month. she’s just waiting to catch you slacking so she can shove it in your face.

historia’s got the wrong idea but she’s got the right spirit. she wants you to, like, ‘better’ yourself and practice self discipline but you can’t expect her to keep her hands to herself. she encourages you verbally about lasting the month but her actions are a direct contradiction. she’s a sweet teaser, nothing extreme, just enough to make your mind wander.

ymir takes it as a personal challenge when you announce your participation in nnn. it’s the ultimate opportunity for her, to get you off as many times as she can. she’s a wonderful girlfriend, always respecting you when you say no to her advances. but that never stops her from teasing you.

hange surprisingly has never heard of the challenge but she encourages you to take part in it if you want. she’s curious too, about how long you’ll last and what will make you cave in. she decides to join in on your challenge, determined to beat you even if she isn’t entirely clear on the rules.

pieck giggles at you and pokes fun at the ridiculous idea. she doesn’t believe in you, whatsoever. she doesn’t even have to worry about purposefully trying to make you lose, she knows your willpower is weak when it comes to her. so, she enjoys the ride and waits for you to beg her to help you out.

[kometqh]

𝐄𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (fem reader) 𝟓𝐤 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐍𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐩𝐭.𝟐 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝-𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭-𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 ,𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫-𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐀𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫?

Tugging at my hair, the wind brushed past me in a hurry. It came from far away, seemingly always looking for something, never being able to find it. Paired with the wind, a steady but small wave washed up against the shoreline, the thinnest part of the wave just barely scraping my feet.

I looked up at the sky. It was partly clouded, but beautiful nethertheless. The sun was just barely breaking through the horizon, casting gentle light across the beach. It mixed with the blue sky and formed a rose-pink colour across the clouds, the shore and the sea. Was it always so beautiful here? 

I shook my head, casting my gaze to the side, my eyes landing on a lone boulder which sat in the water. The exterior was decorated by lavish long seaweed and a cluster of barnacles. It sat proudly in the water, the waves crashing against it every so often, sprays of water flying into the air. It was a pretty sight. Almost pretty enough to distract me from the anxiety tugging at my heart.

A sliver of water touched my feet, before being dragged back to the sea.

Today is my last year of reaping. Today is the day that decides whether I'll be free for the rest of my life, or whether I will die fighting for my life in a gruesome bloodbath.

Though in this context, freedom isn't exactly what one might think it is. Nobody is ever truly free in Panem.

Someone like me would not survive in any of the arenas we've seen so far. I can barely handle killing a fish, let alone an entire human being, a child. I can feel a shiver travel down my spine, and I shake my head, casting those thoughts aside. Nothing will happen, I think to myself, and continue to look at the splashing waves, hypnotised by the rhythmic back-and-forth movement, accompanied by occasional licks of water against the tips of my feet, which have found respite in the sand.

With a sigh, I lean back on my elbows. Squinting slightly, I observe the clouds. None have any particular shape to them, but it feels comforting to stare at them as they move. Would I get to see them in an arena? I don't think so.

Time passed by rather quickly. When you lay on a beach with no form of watch or clock, a minute can quickly become an hour. And before I knew it, I began to notice some small boats setting out into the sea, as the sun slowly climbed up higher into the sky. It must be what...7am? Maybe 8. That's usually when people wake up to go fishing, since the waters are calmer in the morning.

With a sigh, I begin to think of the day ahead. It is mandatory to attend the reaping. If one doesn't, they'll be dragged out of their homes, whipped in the town square, and then forced to watch. I sigh heavily, fingers digging into the sand beneath me, and with a light shake of my head, I reluctantly heave myself up and off the sand, heading towards the treeline.

Nobody really ventures into the wooden forest, in fear of the peacekeepers that guard the borders of District 4. Although I learned very quickly that they're further out than one might think, many citizens of District 4 have no interest in venturing out, believing that there isn't much out there to be seen in the first place.

But not me.

When I was much younger, I'd often run into the forest to go exploring. There aren't many dangerous animals in there, so nobody would worry unless I haven't returned by the evening.

On one of those adventures, I had discovered a bunch of rock pools. Now that may not sound fantastic, but it was. I saw big animals, at the time I wasn't sure what they were, but now I do - they were seals. All bearing different kinds of fluffy coats of fur, ranging from pure white, to a spotty grey, brown and black. 

After that day, I'd always return at least once a week to observe them from afar. I don't know much about them, and I'd prefer to minimise the risk of being mauled by an animal. But each year, I'd see small seal pups, sunbathing around the rock pools, chasing each other over the expanse of the beach, or cuddling up to their mothers.

Other times, when the seals weren't there, I'd venture further out, playing around the rock pools, observing the little creatures stuck in them. Sometimes there'd be small crabs hiding in crevices, other times there'd be small fish swimming endlessly in circles. 

I'd sit there each day, staring at and observing the different animals, until I'd look up and realise I've overstayed my welcome. On one particular day, I walked around the beach for so long, mesmerised by the waves, gazing at the stars in the sky, that I hadn't noticed it was dark. Upon realising it I had hurried back home, still in a daze, but it was already pitch black by the time I returned, and I had gotten the biggest scolding from my mother, asking where I've been. She was quick to ground me, and I wasn't allowed out of other people's sight for almost two weeks.

Annie Cresta, my best friend, had repetitively asked where I went that day, but I never uttered a word of it to her, only insisting that I had been diving too far from the shore. I've been friends with her for years now, practically since we were in diapers.

A long time ago, we'd go out swimming together in the kelp forests near our homes, they were far away from the main area of fishing, but close enough for adults to not worry. We'd often see sea otters swimming around the kelp, but they stayed far from us. Me and Annie would often follow the otters, as they knew where to get Abalone from. But after each return home, we'd be scolded by our mothers, who insisted we had to stop if we didn't want to get into trouble.

I guess finding abalone and bringing it home without the permission of the authorities counts as poaching.

We'd sometimes share some with other families of trusted friends, but mostly Finnick Odair's family, who were just as close to us.

Anyway, I'm not willing to disclose information about the beach, or the animals, to anybody. Not even my long-time crush, Finnick, the boy with sea-green eyes. I've had a crush on him for years now, but his eyes were always on Annie. I can see why, their personalities match so well, Finnick's confidence and caring nature complements Annie's shy and anxious one. I'm just the third wheel whenever all three of us are together, but I guess I don't mind.

I'll find the right one eventually, I hope.

Too deep in my thoughts, I had failed to realise that there was a low lying tree branch ahead of me. And looking up too late, I walked face first into it. The pain struck me all at once, and I swear I heard a tiny 'crunch'.

"Ah! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!" I shouted, hissing in pain. "Stupid branch! Why is it even there?!" I shouted at no one in particular, holding onto my nose tightly. I slowly let go, feeling the burning pain flare up on my skin like a smouldering flame, and then I felt it. The steady flow of blood. It was everywhere. My face, lips, my hands, even my clothes. Who knew a human nose could bleed so much? I looked over myself, crying out at the state of my shirt.

I have to get home, I thought. With quick, long strides, I soon found myself walking through the front door of my house, being greeted by my mother standing in the kitchen, preparing our clothes for the reaping. "I'm home." I said loudly, my tone laced with annoyance, I stepped in and shut the door behind me, walking into the kitchen, still holding tightly onto my nose.

My mother turned her head to greet me with a smile, but that smile quickly disappeared at the sight of me.

Her face paled and her eyes widened in shock, mouth falling agape as a worried yelp left her lips. "What happened to you dear?!" She screamed, dropping everything mid sentence as she made her way over to me.

I rolled my eyes, sighing loudly. "I walked into a tree branch." I muttered under my breath, my shoulders slumping in defeat.

My mother laughed at me, all of the initial worry dissipating from her body. "Really?" She asked in disbelief, howling in laughter, holding her stomach. After two minutes of her laughing, she finally calmed down enough to take a look at my injury, deciding that some cold, wet rag will be enough to soothe both the swelling and the pain. "Annie will be laughing just as much as you, I bet," I said as I walked over to the tap, turning it on, "'Y/n you're so clumsy!'" I mocked her voice, groaning in anticipation of that knock on the front door, awaiting my closest friend to come and retrieve me. I began to wipe the blood off my face and hands with some water, using a towel to dry off after.

Early this year me and Annie had decided to go to our last reaping together. We had both turned 18, and so it would be the last year that our names would be put into that glass bowl. We were ecstatic over it, but at the same time terrified. This was the last year, but what if one of our names gets pulled out? We're both anticipating it, and praying at the same time that it won't happen. It would be devastating, and I don't believe that either of us are prepared to face 23 other tributes in the arena, let alone kill any of them.

But putting those thoughts aside, I decided to focus on the present. I had managed to drown out my mother's voice, but when I tuned in, I realised she was talking about the dress I'll be wearing. It was a sundress, in the faintest colour of royal blue possible, with a frilled, off-white hem. "I wore it years ago, at my very last reaping too," My mother spoke, her hands lovingly gliding over the faded fabric, "I was told that all the boys looked at me that day." She laughed at the memory, now gently holding the dress by the straps, pressing it against my body. "Hold it, dear."

My hands gently held the dress, and I looked down at myself, my eyes widening in shock as I looked over the intricate designs scattered across the expanse of the dress - sunflowers graced the fabric, painted in the faded blue, overlapping each other.

"Go, try it on dear." My mother said, ushering me to my room, "I'll do your hair after, okay?" She said, and shut the door on me before any words could form at the tip of my tongue.

I shook my head with a small smile, setting the fabric down onto my bed. I turned away, beginning to strip out of my blood-tattered t-shirt, discarding it to a dark corner of my room, my shorts and socks following in tow. I walked a few steps over to a large cracked mirror. It leaned proudly against the wall, reflecting the bright sunrays that made their way into my room.

How many hours has it been?

I looked myself over, turning from one side to another, observing. If my name was to be called out...Would I even have a chance in the arena? Most of the kids that are chosen are frail and skinny, others are fit and healthy, and others are strong and tall. Which category did I belong to? With a loud sigh, I moved away from the mirror and back to my bed, where the beautiful dress laid. I looked over it, staring intensely. The sound of birds chirping in the distance, the gentle breeze coming in through my window, and the smell of the sea all invaded my senses at once. I love this place - no matter how difficult life may be. I'll always have some form of a safe place in District 4. If only the circumstances were different, maybe I'd be able to-

"What are you doing?" A voice asked, ripping me out of my thoughts. I slowly looked over to the person, my eyes going first as my head followed suit. It wasn't Annie, nor was it my mother or sister.

"Finnick?! Look away!" I shouted, grabbing the dress, covering myself up. Maybe I did have a crush on him, but that didn't mean I would happily expose myself. "It's not like you've got something I haven't seen already!" Finnick laughed, a wide amused grin gracing his lips, exposing his pearly white teeth. Though in my embarrassment, I failed to hear the dark undertone in his voice. "I don't care! You don't just invade in on my privacy like this!" I said, chucking one of my pillows at him. "Alright, alright! I'll cover my eyes! Is that good enough?" He asked, a tint of amusement still lacing his voice, but the genuineness was unmistakeable.

"Fine. What did you want anyway?" I asked, slipping the dress on as my eyes focused on him like a hawk, making sure his eyes were covered.

"Just came to say good luck, since y'know, it's your last year of reaping." He said, smiling at me as his hands covered his eyes. I smiled with a huff, and smoothened the dress out over myself. The end of it just about reached my knees, but the material was stretchy enough if I needed it to be. I walked over to my mirror, stunned at how it complimented my skin tone, and looked over myself, turning from side to side, completely forgetting that Finnick was even there for a moment. 

"Can I look now?" He asked, his voice so smooth and gentle it made my heart flutter. "Yes, go for it." I said, walking over to him. 

"How do I look?" I asked, giving him a small twirl. The end of the dress seemed to flow in the air like a jellyfish, the beautiful blue turning almost into a gentle wave, rising slightly before it dropped as I came to a stop.

I looked up to Finnick, searching for a reply, but there wasn't any. He simply stood there, silently watching, but his eyes were slightly widened. I cleared my throat, snapping my fingers near his face. "You look great, I'm sure any guy you want will chase after you after seeing this." He said, almost breathless but still confident, a smirk gracing his lips as he looked me up and down through hooded eyes.

I laughed, shaking my head in denial. "No, I don't think so," I said, leaning against the window frame, staring into those pretty eyes of his. I looked him over, noticing that he was wearing a dark blue tank top, along with some form of tight-fit joggers. His hair glistened in the sun, his skin tan from the rays. His hand slowly reached out to me, and his rough fingers gently latched onto the straps of my sundress, toying with the material. 

His touch against my skin seemed to set it on fire. My heart began thudding aggressively against my chest, and I had to focus on breathing normally, fighting the rising heat in my cheeks.

Does he always have to be so touchy? If he comes any closer he'll be able to hear how fast my heart is beating. 

 "Anyway, have you seen Annie?" I asked, quickly diverting his attention, and his gaze. At that he shook his head, looking up from my shoulders to my eyes. "I was gonna see her after you." He said, biting his bottom lip in thought. 

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it, you know how she gets." I finished quietly as a pang of hurt tugged at my heart. Was I jealous?

"Yeah, but it can't be that bad. What are the odds?" He asked, his fingers lightly tugging at the material of my dress, observing how the fabric bounced back to my skin. His eyes concentrated on the material again, his eyebrows furrowing in worry as he remained silent, still chewing on that lip. I observed him, looking over his hair, it looked so fluffy. His forehead glistened, some sweat having built up, his green eyes stuck in a trance. His fingers felt soft against my skin, and his breath lightly fanned over my neck.

I took a deep breath, focusing on how my chest rose up as air filled it, giving myself a spare moment to realise my thoughts. My hands came to hold his own, gently rubbing the sun-kissed skin.

"It'll be okay, if anything happens...I'll be there." I said, giving his hands a soft squeeze, reassuring him softly, "You better get going. She'll think you won't show up." I stroked his cheek affectionately, smiling down at him. I could tell that Annie was at the forefront of his mind, after all, he did have feelings for her, even if he hadn't admitted it. To anyone. But, as a person who believes herself to be in love, I can recognise another person that's in love. Or so I think. "Go Finnick." I said, pushing him away with the tip of my finger against his forehead.

He sent me a quick but charming smile, nodding softly, saying his goodbye's before jogging off in the opposite direction of my house. I began to feel a sadness tug at my chest, and even though I knew I shouldn't feel like this, I couldn't help it. 

That sadness stayed with me for a while, it stayed as my mother tied small strands of hair together so that it resembled a net, it remained as she talked about the dress my sister would wear, it remained whilst my sister gaped at how pretty I looked, picking at her nails in nervousness, it remained until the moment that Annie's gentle fist knocked at my front door.

My mother quickly opened it, greeting her sweetly. A small 'Where's Y/n?' could be heard, and I peeked my head out, ready to go and face our last reaping.

"Y/n? You look...Amazing!" Annie exclaimed, a bright smile on her face as she trotted up to me, extending her arms for a hug. "So do you Annie, so do you." I said happily, careful not to ruin her hair. It was tied up into a thick ponytail, with a couple of braids running through it, and two strands of hair framing her face prettily. My own hair was let down, however the top pieces were tied together into an intricate net pattern. My mother had outdone herself, genuinely.

Annie's hugs were a different kind of love - warm and gentle, but they conveyed everything that her words failed to. I could tell by the way her hands trembled around me that she was anxious. Annie wasn't a fighter or a hunter, and anyone that had been around her could tell.

Someone began running to the front door, stepping loudly onto the floor. I looked behind me and saw Hali making her way towards me, her arms outstretched. "Are you going now?" She asked, her voice quiet. I wrapped my arms around her in a hug, placing a small peck on the top of her head. "Yes, we want to be there early to avoid the crowds." I said, patting her head with one hand. Hali looked up at me with her big doe eyes, her bottom lip quivering.

"I'll see you there, right?" She asked, and I could hear the fear in her voice. I nodded softly, smiling at her. "Yes, you'll see me and Annie standing with the other oldest girls, alright? I'll wave at you too." I reassured her, not letting go until she was ready. She nodded her head quickly, shaking like a leaf.

"It'll be okay. They won't choose me." As I said it, Hali unlatched her arms, stepping a bit away. "Alright, I really hope not. But what if they do?" She asked, twiddling with her hair. 

"If they choose me, then I'll need you to support me from home okay?" I asked, kneeling down in front of her. "I'll need you to take care of mum, and take care of yourself until I return. Is that okay?" I asked, looking at her with a small smile. She nodded her head, wrapping her arms around my neck in a hug. She didn't want to let go, and Annie had to step in and ask 'Are you ready to go' before Hali unwillingly detached herself from me. With a quiet 'yes', I gave Hali one last hug and a reassuring squeeze of her hand, making my way backwards to the door.

"You'll see me for dinner, okay?" I asked, and she nodded her head, wiping away a few tears. "I love you." She said through her tears.

"I love you too, now go get ready." I said, giving her one last hug before walking out of the house, bidding my goodbyes to both my mum and Hali. "Take care of yourself dear. We'll see you there." My mother said, waving to me as she placed one hand on Hali's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"You'll see me there, mum. I love you." I said, my mother whispered an 'I love you' back, shutting the door gently. With a heavy sigh, I turned to Annie, linking my arm with hers.

 Annie looked at me worriedly, chewing on her bottom lip - a nervous habit she had picked up over the years. "Do you think we'll be okay?" She asked quietly, looking at me, concerned. I nodded my head, forcing a smile onto my lips, even though I could feel the sick tumbling around in my stomach. 

Suddenly, the air began to feel a bit too warm, and I could feel sweat beginning to cling uncomfortably to my skin. "We'll be okay Annie," I reassured her, giving her a side hug, "You've got me." I said quietly, nudging her to keep moving forward.

The town square wasn't so far away that we had to hurry, yet we made it there in record time. The queues weren't massive, and so we got through to the courtyard rather quickly, holding onto our throbbing fingers. It wasn't long until everyone else had slowly started filing into the courtyard, every person of every age group was there. I looked around, noticing how quickly the yard had filled with people. My eyes then looked at the entrance, trying to see my sister and mother. Soon enough they entered the courtyard, hand by hand heading to the side-lines, where other adults and young children would file and stand. 

Hali's big, wide eyes scanned the area, and she looked like a lost rabbit, all alert and ready to run. She was looking for me, and soon our eyes connected and I sent her a reassuring smile and a thumbs-up.

I then looked forward, staring ahead at the temporary golden podium. There were four chairs situated just behind the single podium and two glass balls on each side of it. One chair is for our Mayor, one for the announcer, and two for the two Victors from District 4; Finnick, and an elderly woman named Mags. Everyone is seated in the appropriate seats. 

Once the crowd begins to come to a stall, the Mayor takes it as his sign to walk up to the microphone, looking up at the big clock above him, clearing his throat.

It struck 12. 

He begins by greeting the citizens, and then proceeds to tell the history of Panem, as he does every year. He talks about the natural disasters, the uprisings, the destruction of District 13 - all of this is old news. After overcoming the Dark Days, laws were created, and alongside them so were the Hunger Games. I manage to tune out his voice, and instead focus on those behind him.

The announcer, who every year comes from the Capitol, gets the opportunity to personally pick out which children will be sent to their deaths in a bloodbath. 

Her hair was styled into some sort of glamorous, 3 story high bun, with a few loose strands framing her oddly sharp face. It was dyed an unnatural golden colour, and had sparkling silver beads embedded into it, two particularly large ones placed just at the tip of her hair strands, sitting comfortably on the frilly material of her sparkling, turquoise two piece - a skirt and a corset, her feather-like, white skin covered by the material of a matching jacket. She really outdid herself.

Seated on her left were Finnick and Mags, both looking over the crowds, both wearing unreadable expressions as the Mayor continues to talk. 

For a second, I believe that Finnick has noticed me, it looked as though he was looking directly into my eyes. His sea-green eyes peeking into my very soul. My heart fluttered, and the butterflies started circling around in my stomach. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. I took a deep breath, but then I'm harshly hit with reality, and remember that Annie was right next to me, probably looking at him too.

He looks away as the Mayor begins to name the winners of District 4, and stands up along with Mags to wave at the crowds, being greeted with the appropriate level of applause. Curt and short, but it didn't matter. Next, the Mayor announces the Capitol representative, Sylvia Borgnino, and she stands up, waving excitedly at us, making tiny steps towards the microphone, her cheery voice echoing around us in seconds. 

"Happy Hunger Games everyone! And may the odds be ever in your favour!" She shouts excitedly, almost hopping on her toes. 

I guess there is at least one person here that's happy about the games. 

She thanks the Mayor for his kindness and welcoming, and then quickly turns back to us, the audience, her voice changing to a more serious tone.

"And now," She pauses, leaning over the podium and looking over at everyone, "We shall draw the names of the Tributes." She states, slowly walking over to the glass bowl full of girls' names, the sound of her heels clacking, beating at my eardrums.

"Ladies first."

I look over to Finnick, and then Annie, and then Hali. Hali is already looking at me, and so is my mum. I reach my hand out to hold Annie's, squeezing tightly as I feel how clammy her hand is, my chest tightening as I breathed. I swallow an imaginary lump, feeling how my throat constricts uncomfortably.

The sun was beating down on us, its' rays glazing over my skin, bubbling up sticky sweat. Were did the clouds go?

Wearily, I glance up at the large clock towering over us, its' heavy ticking weighing down on my shoulders.

Sylvia Borgnino's gloved hand shoots up into the air dramatically, and the crowd collectively goes silent. No one dares to even breathe as she animatedly rummages through the name cards for a solid 10 seconds.

It better not be me. I swear if it's me I will riot, I think to myself. The nerves tickle at the inner lining of my stomach, and for a moment I believe that I might throw up.

A bead of sweat trickles down the side of my forehead

Tick, tock.

Was the sun always so hot?

Tick, tock.

I swallow heavily.

Her hand grasps onto something, and she dramatically withdraws it, menacingly crossing over to the podium.

"And the female tribute from District 4 is.."

Please not me. Not me. My breathing quickens as she draws on her silence, smiling devilishly down at the crowd. My hair was sticking to my neck, creating an unpleasant sensation. 

I swallow dryly, my mouth feeling as though I had been deprived of water.

As the words leave her mouth, I can feel my heart drop.

"Annie Cresta."

Time seems to stop. I can no longer feel Annie's hand in my grasp, her fingers having slowly slipped out. I turn my head, feeling my chest heaving up and down, tears pricking at my eyes. My hands fly up to my mouth in shock, intense tremors travelling from my shoulders up to my fingertips.

Annie falls to her knees with a thud, hiding her face in her hands as she cries out hysterically, her mane-like hair looking like a flame. I follow suit, embracing her in my arms, whispering quiet 'It's okay's', holding her head on my shoulder. The other girls slowly step away, creating a circle around us.

What do I do? Do I let her go? That girl won't last a minute in there!

Two peacekeepers rip through the crowds aggressively, roughly pushing anyone out of their way, before coming to a stop in front of us, heaving Annie up by her arms, ushering her towards the stage. Her face is covered in sweat and tears, her fiery hair sticking uncomfortably to her face, her mouth wide open as she wails.

"Please! No! I can't go in there!" She screams, digging her heels into the ground, protesting, thrashing her arms around. She looks as though she suddenly became haunted, a sort of violent air surrounding her. 

With small footsteps, I attempt to follow after her, but more peacekeepers arrive to stop me, creating a blockade of bodies. I look towards my mother and sister, eyes wide, and see their shocked faces. My mother is shaking her head in a 'no', but it's too late. Hali looks at me wide-eyed, tears starting to fall from her eyes as she senses what I'm about to do. 

I look to Finnick, noticing that he had stood up from his chair, his fists clamped shut, once tan skin now having turned a strained white colour. His eyes are stuck to Annie, and never dare to leave her once.

Before Sylvia Borgnino can utter a single word, I raise my hand, pushing through the peacekeepers. All heads turn to me. The guards stop pushing Annie, and she looks to me, her thrashing easing a bit.

The words leave my lips before I can even process them myself. 

With a dry mouth, clammy hands and a wildly beating heart, I shout, "I volunteer!"

[tasteracha]

I’ve noticed Bangchan has a habit of sticking his hands into the tears or holes of his jeans when he wears ripped jeans. And I can’t help but imagine he does this with his S/O’s jeans to mindlessly when sitting near them

noOOOOOO

god he’s so endearing and the fact that i do the same thing with my jeans makes me :))) he would ABSOLUTELY do that. he would also just stick his little fingers into whatever crevices he could find, i think. this kind of got away from me.

him sticking his hands in your back pockets when he’s standing behind you, wiggling his fingers around just so you squirm. him hiding his giggles into your hair as he continues his attack, only stopping when you’re both too breathless from laughter to stand up.

him sticking his hands in the front pockets of your jeans when you’re walking together, holding onto you like it’s a leash. he’s bouncing like an excited puppy next to you.

him sticking his fingers into the rips in your jeans that are right at your knee, dipping his fingers inside almost absentmindedly as you sit together. he’s thumbing at the fabric and rubbing the pads of his fingers against your skin like it’s the biggest comfort.

him sticking his fingers into the holes on your upper thigh when he’s feeling possessive, squeezing the flesh of your leg into his hands in a way you hope leave a painting of bruises there for you to look at tomorrow.

him sticking his hand into the waist of your jeans, popping open the button and zipper with the other hand as he dips lower and lower, shushing your whines with a we wouldn’t want anyone to hear, would we?

[bunnisari]

just thinkin of a sub + sub relationship dynamic with armin arlet. just both of you guys always being so needy and whiny for eachother, fucking like rabbits every day. you both overstimulate each other, feeling so sensitive. armin would be hovering over you, your body laying spread on plush pillows. his reddish-pink leaking tip rubbed up and down your wet folds, bumping against your sensitive clit. you both let out whiny-breaths.

you both were so overstimulated but you wanted more of eachother. armin slides inside your warm hole, moaning loudly in your ear. “f-fuck you feel so g..good��

“more more more” you whined, thrusting your hips up to get him deeper. you felt so needy for him, wanting to be so close to him. armin can’t hold back the whines that leave his lips, thrusting fast into you. both of your cum from previous orgasms leaked out of you, spreading all over you and armin.

“a-ah i’m cummin m’cumming” armin hissed as his cock throbbed inside you, his cock shooting white ribbons into you. you clenched around around at an attempt to hold back your orgasm. armin winced, pulling out of you as you squirted clear liquid onto him.

you sobbed, biting your bottom lip as your eyes rolled back. “minnn f-fuck” you whimpered as armin rubbed his thumb on your clit. the room filled with your heavy breaths as you both came down from your high, both of you throbbing and tingling

[hanjisungslag]

attack on titan headcanons #10

synopsis: how the characters react when you, their s/o, gets hurt. 🩹

characters involved: eren, mikasa, armin, jean, connie, sasha, reiner, bertolt, annie, levi, erwin and hange

notes: i am cooking up a storm, so watch out for that & also hit double digits!!

☆ eren jaeger

bro is INFURIATED

“WHO DID IT HUH?! ILL KILL THEM WITH MY BARE HANDS-”

oh.. you got injured in training? poor babyyy☹️

he’s super sweet and gentle with you.

if anyone tries to go near you though.. he’s super scared they’re gonna accidentally hurt you😭.

so he’s always at the edge of his seat ready to rescue you if needs be.

he gets all of your food, water, clothes, bandages etc.

then the nurses catch him doing it and have to YANK him off of you, once again.

☆ mikasa ackerman

so incredibly caring and concerned 🤍

she was the one who found you on the expedition with a broken leg

she refuses you to the hospital

lets the nurses do their jobs (thank god)

she really wants to be able to help nurse you back to health as well though..

she gives you the next best thing aka massages.

she literally comes in everyday and gives you 3 massages minimum a day

she’ll also sleep in the hospital with you most days.

☆ armin arlert

nothing less than an angel.

for however long you’re in the hospital, he’ll bring you flowers

in there for 3 weeks? new flowers every week.

in there for a week? new flowers every other day.

reads you books every night to help you sleep

sleeps there EVERY single night

always gives good morning and good night kisses

keeps you updated with what’s going on with everyone and training to make sure you don’t miss out.

makes sure to surprise you by bringing your friends there too!! it was a super sweet surprise.

when you’re sleeping, he goes around asking nurses if they need help😖.

☆ jean kirstein

UGH TERRIFIED FOR YOUUU

he has to hype himself up before going to see you in hospital because it just breaks his heart.

but being able to see you, hug you, know that you’re being taken care of makes him feel wayy better.

he’s just happy to see that you’re not too badly injured.

just a sprain from training!

he likes to draw things for you from the outside

or you guys draw together.

yk that cute game where one person draws a squiggle and the other person has to make into a drawing?

yeah, you guys do that. and it’s frickin adorbs😡

☆ connie springer

you went to do some late night training by yourself

and cornelius found you on the ground. in a lot of pain.

he rushed you to the first aid

fastest anyone has EVER seen that man run

you got cleaned up but had to take a break from training until you were better.

definitely tries to make you laugh all the time

even with your injury, he still wants to see you happy and smiling 🤍

☆ sasha braus

aw bless her cotton socks.

your injury wasn’t fatal enough to warrant a hospital stay

but the nurses said to stay home and rest up!

you had to take care of your scar

in her own time, sasha headed over to first aid to ask the nurses how to help you properly☹️.

you literally do not lift a finger!!

she does everything for you, like cleaning it up, wrapping it up etc.

and she’s really good at it and all…

☆ reiner braun

he’s like a scared little boy.

he’ll sit by your side and tell you it’s all okay

but when he’s alone.. HE GETS SO UPSET

sometimes he’ll take ‘bathroom breaks’ just to pull himself together because he hates seeing you in this state :(.

really affects his everyday life

but he hides it well.

BIGG celebrations as soon as you’re out of hospital

is literally like a servant, will get you everything and anything you want.

☆ bertolt hoover

GAH SO ANXIOUS!!

he bakes you cookies for being so brave☹️.

he stays with you all day long until the nurse finally tells him he has to go.

it breaks his heart leaving you but he gets up bright and bloody early to see you in the morning

like i’m talking the second the hospital opens up.

☆ annie leonhart

she’s not nervous,

your injury wasn’t fatal or anything.

she’ll still visit you, of course ;)

she also makes sure to tell you how brave you are

since you are scared of hospitals.

she’ll giggle at your wimpy-ness though.

like you were getting patched up and you were just like trying not to scream

and she was just standing there chuckling at you.

☆ levi ackerman

so so so scared, secretly.

he has lost one too many people

but to lose you? that would completely and utterly BREAK him.

it was a pretty gnarly injury as well…

which was rather terrifying for both you and him

but he’ll keep a cool persona around you.

if he’s unable to visit due to work, he’ll ring the hospital and asks how you are.

he’ll always make time to come see you though, no matter what!!

☆ erwin smith

he hears from his assistant that you’ve been put into hospital

he runs STRAIGHT over and makes sure to comfort you.

he’ll stay till dark when you’re asleep and pay the nurses a visit too

he asks them to take extra good care of you.

if he’s unable to see you, he makes sure to call you up every single day

or at least have SOMEONE come check on you.

☆ hange zoë

GAH!! FREAKS OUT!

hange has seen it all at this rate

but doesn’t seem to heavily affected.

they’ve never really had anyone close to them be extremely injured

they were sooo scared though :(.

it was really sad for everyone to see hange’s energy so low but

they couldn’t help it!!

all they could think about was their poor love in hospital :(.

when they’re around you though, they try to stay positive! and tells you all about their work to keep you both distracted.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I love you guys <3

Chapter Title from Northern Downpour by Panic! At The Disco

Word Count: 25.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You're home. Usual warnings.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 19 - Chapter 21

There’s a soft blanket across your body and a hand in yours that you’d recognize as Ben’s if you were in a grave, and you know you’re home. You can’t really remember how you got home—there’s a blur of screams and pavement under your feet, and a ghost of something in your ear telling you where to go—but you know you're safe. You can hear Ben’s snores and feel a comfortable weight pressing near your stomach, and it tells you that you’re safe. You’re exhausted, you feel like something is numb in your blood, but you’re warm. Ben’s heat is radiating across your body, and the blanket is trapping it in your chest. And, most importantly, you’re not alone. Ben was here, you were home, and you’d never have to be cold and lonely again.

You open your eyes slowly, because everything in you is still foggy and trudging through mud but you have to see Ben. Just look at him. Make sure he’s real.

The room is dark, all the lamps off with the door closed. You blink a few times and try to raise your free hand to wipe away sleep from your eyes, but there’s an IV in it that’s sore to pull on. And you can’t move your other hand, wrapped up in Ben’s, so you just keep blinking and squinting until nothing is blurry. You have time. You have all the time in the world to wake up, because you’re home.

Dawn is breaking, and everything is cast in a golden glow. You’re in a cot, just a little more comfortable than a hospital bed, and there’s no blood on your body. Everything is clean, and there’s a half-empty paper cup of coffee on a table next to you, the rim of it wrinkled and a little torn. The blanket—green and fluffy—seems to be moving in a wind from under the door, and Ben’s head is resting against it. Resting against you. 

Ben. 

He’s passed out, breathing steady and face peaceful, but he’s here. He’s pulled up a chair up to the side of your bed, one hand holding yours near his face, and the other one splaying out and up to your head with fingers tangled in your hair. His lips keep brushing against your knuckles when he lets out another grunting snore that rolls through your bones, and the way his face is half squished against your body makes your heart flutter slightly. He’s slumped over in a position that shouldn’t be comfortable—his back is hunched and he’s half out of the chair beneath him—but he’s knocked out. Those are his deep sleep snores, and he’s dead weight on your body. When you squeeze his hand once, just because you can, all he does is make a low noise and slump further into you. The room smells like him—pine and coffee and salt drifting around the air and soothing your head—and his thumb drifting across your hand in his sleep in small, mindless circles. His hair is falling across his eyes—if your arm wasn’t still trapped by the IV you’d brush it away—and his face is cast in the shadows of the morning, and he’s everything. You smile, even as a small lump forms in your throat, because he’s warm, and safe, and pretty.

He’d grumble and bitch if he could hear you, but he’s so pretty. With his face smushed into your stomach, his eyelashes fluttering when he shifts, and his jaw twitching when you squeeze his hands again, Ben’s beautiful. You love him, so fucking much. 

You feel your breathing start to grow unsteady, and suddenly the most important thing in the world is that Ben looks at you. You almost let yourself sit in it and let him sleep—he looks so peaceful and you can see the gray-purple bags under his eyes—but you’ve missed him. You’ve missed his touch and smell, you’ve longed for it, but they’re not enough. You need him to look at you, to see his smile or frown or the furrow of his brow on his face. You need to hear him. He needs to say your name, or call you Sunshine or beautiful or brat, or just anything as long as he says it like him. Deep and faking annoyance, meaning every single word he says. He needs to say you’ll be okay. The longer you’re awake the more you can feel those cracks on your body and mind, the more you’re overwhelmed by where they’d broken open at the end. Ben needs to say you’ll be okay, because he wouldn’t lie about that. If Ben says you’ll be okay, if he tells you you’re home and safe, you’ll really believe it. If he wakes up you’ll feel him again, and you have to feel him. You need to feel all his concern and care and adoration in your body, to make sure it’s still there. You can’t feel his Thing anymore, but he’s asleep. You can’t feel Ben because he’s asleep, and when he wakes up everything will be good again.

It takes effort to open your mouth and speak, your throat dry and not moving fast enough. But you need Ben to wake up. 

“Ben.” You’re whispering. He looks so calm, and you’re so tired, so you can’t do more than whisper. “Benjamin.”

A low grunt escapes him, and you shift under him just enough to jostle his head. You’ll have time to apologize—and hear Ben tell you to shut the fuck up and never apologize to him—for is later. Right now you need him to wake up.

“Ben,” your voice is a little steadier, but still quieter than you want. “Please, Ben, please wake up.”

His face twitches, eyes fluttering slightly, and you still can’t feel him. You need to feel him. 

Your voice is growing louder, getting higher and more panicked as your heart picks up. “Ben, please,” you sound almost hysterical, trying to tug at him but you’re so tired. “Benjamin. Ben, please, please wake up-” 

His eyes shoot open, finding yours immediately, and your words die in a choked sob. 

You’ve never seen Ben move so fast. In a second he’s up from your body, up from his chair, and sitting on the cot at your side. His hand in yours never lets go, the other moving behind your head and gently pulling you up to his chest. He’s so warm, and you can feel his every breath as he whispers your name. His voice is low and hoarse, just barely audible over your crying and the sound of his heart, but it’s Ben. That’s how he says your name, that’s how you always want him to say your name. Like it’s the most important word in the world. He’s surrounding your every sense, his body firm under your hands and his smell soothing your head. He’s big and warm and Ben. He’s everywhere.

You can’t feel him. The part of him that belonged to you is gone, and he’s touching you but you can’t feel him. 

Some feral instinct of no takes over your body. That’s not your Ben. You can always feel your Ben. He’s the only one that’s supposed to touch you and hold you and say your name, and this fucking imposter is doing it all right—your stupid heart that’s only for Ben even thinks it’s him—but you can’t feel him.

He’s still holding you, carefully and reverently like your Ben would, but you can’t fucking feel him. You can’t feel anything but no. Something is trying to trick you, trying to make you feel so safe and warm and no. Not real.

It’s not a dream. You try and push the imposter away, but he’s strong like Ben is and all that happens is you shriek in pain as the IV pulls at your arm. The fake is trying to talk to you and ease your fear, but you just want Ben. You want the real one to appear and pull the liar away and pick you up. You can’t fight anymore, you’re so fucking exhausted and this is so cruel. This painful and fucked and you don’t know why Sage is doing this to you—making you think you were home—but it’s not real and you’re going to break because this is torture-

Ben’s voice is saying your name. The imposter is trying to calm you down as you make strangled sounds of protests and try to escape his hold. He’s pulled you away from his body, his hands are cupping your face, and he’s holding you right. His hands on your face are calloused and his tracing the same patterns your Ben does, and it’s not real.

He says your name again, and you can barely hear him through panic clouding your head. You have to go, this is so cruel because your heart is trying to make you just fall forwards into the imposter but your brain knows it’s a lie. It doesn’t matter how he smells like pine and how he’s touching you like you’re holy, or how his voice has all the right inflections and his body molds perfectly against yours. You can’t feel Ben. 

This time, his voice is louder. Almost desperate as he repeats your name, and your evil body responds to it. Makes you listen to him as he speaks.

“You’re from Boston, and you lived in New York, and now you live with me in fucking Jersey.” He’s just saying facts about you. Facts Sage knows. “We lived in a safe house, because you’re too smart for your own fucking good and decided to wake me up. You’re the most powerful supe in the world, and you got the idea that you could fucking control me.”

These are all just facts, Sage could’ve just fed the liar a script-

“You were right. You’re right about most things, and good at a lot of shit, but you can’t fucking cook. Nobody taught you how.” His voice is urgent, and you stop screaming. These are more specific, things Sage could guess but doesn’t know. This maybe Ben must pick up on why you’ve stopped trying to claw his hands off your face, because he stops naming facts and begins to list off things about you. About who you are. His voice grows louder, clearer, but you still can’t feel him. 

“You call coke cocaine, say shit like braggart and macabre and unbecoming, and you swear like a fucking sailor. You love music, you have the voice of a goddamn siren, and you tap Moon River when you’re getting emotional. I’m not allowed to call you emotional, because it’s tasteless. You hate your mother, because she’s a bitch, and you hate advertisements because they prey on people’s insecurities. You fucking love people. You got a PhD because you’re fucking brilliant and love people.”

You’re breathing a little steadier. You want this to be real, you’ve never wanted anything more. But Sage still could’ve just figured you out- 

“You think everything is amusing, and you help everyone, even when they’re fucking pussies who don’t deserve it. You taught me how to use a phone, and the first photo in my library is one you took of my shield. You made it my lockscreen, and taught me how to change it if I wanted to. I made it a photo of you watching a movie, because you looked hot in it. You’re hot all the time, but when you’re doing something you love you’re brighter than the goddamn sun. And you loved watching that stupid fucking movie. And I loved watching you.” 

Your brain is still hazy, and all his words sound right. But you still can’t feel Ben, and you’re so tired-

“You call me Benjamin, and old, and grumpy, and I let you because you’re fucking everything to me. You think your three best qualities are your dumb as fuck plans, your tits, and your ability to put up with my shit. You’re wrong, because your plans always hurt you,” his voice is almost strained, and you want to make it happy. “Your tits are perfect but all of you is perfect so they don’t fucking count, and you love putting up with my shit. You think it’s funny.” I love you, your traitorous heart is siding with maybe Ben. I love you. Ben, I love you. “Your real best qualities are that you’re smart, and kind, and you have the best fucking pussy of all time.”

Your body is leaning into him. You’re not strong enough to stop it, not when you need this to be real. This has to be your Ben, or you’ll shatter.

“When you’re ready, I’m going to fuck that pussy wherever I want. You said I could, as long as we’re together, because my dick is yours and you chose me. When this shit is over, we’re going to go to Rome, together. We’re going to go to Rome and open an escort business and you’ll be the pimp and I’ll be your muscle and fuck you everywhere. You burn, I burn, Sunshine. You’re never going to burn without me again. I won’t fucking let you.” He chuckles, and it’s dry. “But I don’t let you do anything.” 

The world clears in your head. You can see Ben watching you, and it’s Ben. You still can’t feel him, but nobody else would know those things but your Ben. Your hands are still fisted in his chest, smoke rising from your knuckles and nails, but this is Ben so there’s no fire. He’d let you beat at his chest and kick up into his gut because he’s Ben, and you couldn’t hurt him if you tried. 

“Ben,” you whisper, falling forward until your brow is pressed to him. “Something’s wrong. I can’t feel you.” 

“I know,” His voice is gruff, deep. Ben’s. He’s real. “They gave you some sort of drug to stop it. The French Prick said it would help you. He’s clearly a fucking idiot.”

You huff a dry laugh, shaking your head in his hands. “That’s rude, Benjamin.” 

“I don’t give a fuck.” 

“I know.” You smile at him, and his mouth twitches slightly. He’s here. “Hi.” 

He sighs, eyes fixed on yours. “Hi, beautiful.” 

“I missed you.” 

“I know,” he mutters. “I missed you, too.” He falls silent after that, just watching you. You’re just holding each other, your body having moved itself into his lap and one of his arms long dropped to circle your hips and keep you there. And this is your Ben. Nobody else is capable of looking at you like that, nobody can fake the way that Ben’s eyes on yours always pull you apart, and how it’s so strangely comforting. They could look like him and say all the right words and hold you the right way, but only your Ben sees you. And they couldn’t fake that.

“I’m sorry-“

“Shut up.” He grunts, and you can’t help your small smile. “Never fucking apologize to me.”

“I tried to scratch out your eyes, Ben.” You mumble. “That feels like it warrants an apology.”

“Well you didn’t fucking manage to, so shut up.” He pauses, scanning your face. When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse. “You’re okay.”

Not a question. You giggle, and probably look insane—his scowl tells you that you do—but you missed him. You missed Ben so fucking much. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “I’m really okay. I just,” you sigh. “I’m tired. I’m-“

“If you say you’re sorry again, I’ll kill you.” 

“I’d like to see you fucking try-“ 

Ben kisses you. It’s slow, soft, and careful. Like you might turn into ash or smoke if he makes the wrong move, and you still can’t feel him but he tastes like coffee and salt and Ben. This is him, his tongue tracing your lips lightly and his hand running through your hair. His arm around you holding you tight against him, his hand on your waist kneading at your skin.

When he pulls back, you’re smiling. This is real, you’re home and Ben is here, so you’re smiling. There will be time for shadows and pain later, right now Ben is here.

He looks like he wants to say something. His eyes are narrowed, his mouth slightly open, and his hand has moved down to trace the line of your cheekbone. You need to tell him you love him. Ben’s looking at you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen, and you’re sharing his breath, and he’s so warm and strong and Ben. He hums your name, and you’re going to tell him. Even when you can’t feel him, he's everything, and in the haze of sleep and Ben’s presence it really feels like a good idea because he has to know you love him.

The door bursts open, and Ben’s whole body wraps around you. Pull you into his chest and his arms steadily, gently cage you there. His shoulders hunch down, like he’s trying to push you into his body, and his roar rolls through your ribcage.

“What the goddamn fucking hell is wrong with you pussies?! You can’t just fucking barge in without a goddamn warning-“

“Our apologies, sir. We heard a disturbance, and wanted to check on the patient.” You don’t recognize that voice, but Ben’s grip on you has loosened slightly, enough for you to know that Ben knows them. That he’s decided you’re not in danger.

“She’s fine,” Ben snaps, and you start to try and wriggle out of his grip. “Get the fuck out.”

You poke at his chest, because the stupid bear of a man won’t budge. He’s looking over his shoulder, not even flinching when you pinch his arm. “Ben, let me go.”

Ben’s glare turns down to you, and he’s so close and handsome and Ben and you need to get a fucking grip. Love is making you an idiot.

“No,” he grunts, and hauls you slightly further up his chest. “Shut up.”

“Fuck you. Let me go.”

“I said-“ 

“Please, Ben. My arm hurts.” 

It’s not technically a lie, the way he’s moved your body puts the IV at a weird angle that’s sore and stinging, but you say it because you know he’ll listen. His eyes dart down to where the IV is stuck in the crook of your elbow, and he’s scowling as he lets out a long sigh.

“Fine.”

His arms grow just slack enough for you to move your head back and peek around him, seeing a skinny man in scrubs standing at the door.

“Hi.”

The man blinks, gaping at you. “You’re awake.”

“Fucking obviously,” Ben mutters. “I could’ve told you that, I should be the goddamn doctor-“

“You’d be a terrible doctor, Ben.” You pull back to grin at him, and you see something soften in his glare when your eyes meet. “You have no bedside manner.”

“Bedside manner is for pussies-“ 

“I should, uh,” the man is still in the door, staring at you with wide eyes. “I should go get Director Mallory. She said to tell us when you were awake-“ 

“Do not get Mallory,” Ben snaps, twisting around to meet the man’s eyes. “Get a fucking doctor, you dickless ass, so we can go the fuck home.”

You punch his chest, and he looks back down with a scowl as the man scrambles away with a frantic nod.

“I’m fine, Ben. You don’t need to bully the nurse.”

“I wasn’t fucking bullying the nurse-“

“You’re a big guy, Benjamin.” You sigh, leaning back into him and letting his body muffle your words. “You’re scary. That guy looked like he was going to piss his pants.”

He grunts. “You’re not scared of me.”

Not a question. You’ll always answer.

“No,” you smile up at him. “But I could kick your ass if I wanted to. And you wouldn’t hurt me, so there’s nothing to be scared of. But most people don’t know how much of a big softie you are-“

“I am not a fucking softie-“

You kiss him this time. You move your hands up to his jaw and tug lightly, and he lets you move him down. Back against you. You hate not feeling him—really feeling Ben in your body—but this is still everything. Even without the stone resolve wrapping over your muscles and head, or pound of him against your ribcage, he’s still Ben. And that’s more than enough. Him touching you and meaning it will always clear your head, and he’ll always fit perfectly against you, and he’ll let out low grunts and groans that make everything easy. Ben will always be warm, always keep you safe, and when he pulls away from your mouth his eyes will always watch you. His forehead will keep pressing to yours, and his hands will keep making you feel good, and his voice will keep rolling through you when he speaks.

“Brat.”

“Cunt.”

Ben kisses you again, and he’s still being so gentle. Even when he deepens it, pressing his tongue against your lower lip in a silent request, he’s going slow. Holding you lightly against him, groaning in a way that’s driving you a little insane but not growling. Not hauling you up against him and biting at your neck until you start to grind against him. You wish you could feel him. If he’s worried or angry. If he’s not just laying you down on the bed and fucking you because you’ve only just returned and something is still snapped and flailing weakly in the muscle of your chest, or because he doesn’t want you anymore. Because he’s waiting for you to move, so he knows you won’t freak out again if he tries anything, or if he’s seen how you’d broken and decided you were weak. Not good enough for him, too human for him to waste time on.

But Ben wouldn’t do that. He would always want you. He might not love you, but he wants you. And he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do, doesn’t give people things out of obligation. Ben likes that you’re kind, that you’ll always be a little more human that the V should allow.

Still, a mocking, sadistic voice echoes in your head. Too human. Too weak. 

Ben’s hand drifts up your body, brushing against your ribs, and your head goes clear. He can still do that. You can’t feel how solid and immovable he is, how his touch is filled with adoration, but you can know it. It’s not in your blood, but it’s in how he’s sucking on your upper lip and his teeth are brushing against your skin. It’s in how—even with touches that are a little too soft—he’s holding you in a way that you can feel every movement of his body, and it’s all firm. Assured in his place against you, never hesitating to move you a little closer, never pulling back for air because this is more vital.

Someone coughs, and Ben still doesn’t let you go. His hand on the back of your head holds you steady where he wants you, dropping his mouth to leave a wet, sloppy kiss at the base of your neck before rising up your jaw, your cheek, your brow. Leaving a trail along your face before finally pressing one, heartbreakingly light kiss on the top of your head.

“Excuse me,” someone with a tight, croaking voice is speaking from behind Ben. “If the patient has woken up, I need to speak to her.”

Ben pulls back, rolling his eyes at you as he responds. “Fucking talk.”

“May I see-“

You wiggle yourself upwards, using your free arm to pull on Ben’s neck and peek over his shoulder. The doctor—standing hesitantly in the doorway—cuts himself off, staring at you in surprise before shaking his head and entering the room. 

The doctor stops at the side of your bed, and Ben still doesn’t let you go. You try to twist around in his arms, to face the doctor while remaining pressed into Ben’s chest, but the IV tugs at your arm and a small sound of pain escapes your throat. That makes Ben move, picking you up carefully so he can adjust his own position to be at the head of the cot, lowering you between his legs and keeping one arm wrapped around your torso. The doctor watches with a wide-eyed, nervous expression before coughing again and grabbing a clipboard that’s been hanging on the wall.

He says your name—your full, real name—confirms your birthday, and begins to read off the clipboard. “Super-abled female. Primary residence, redacted. Powers, regenerative healing factor, empathy, pyrokinesis, and redacted. Occupation, redacted. Emergency contact, William Butcher-“ 

“What?” You frown, feeling Ben tense around you. “Why is Butcher my emergency contact?” 

The doctor shrugs. “I’m just reading what I was given, ma’am. If you would like to change it, we can do that when you’re discharged. Speaking of which,” his eyes narrow at the clipboard before looking up to you. “We will need to run some tests before allowing you to leave, and Director Mallory will have to approve the removal of your IV.” 

You sigh. “What kind of tests?” 

“While you’re here I like to get your vitals, and I’ll have to ask you some questions about the events leading up to, uh,” the doctor shoots a quick, anxious glance above you, where Ben’s chin is resting on your head. “Your admittance.”

“I, um, I don’t really remember much-“ 

“That’s common for events of emotional distress such as yours.” The doctor scratches at his ear, looking between you, Ben, and the clipboard. “We just need to gather as much information as possible. While there’s been no sign of physically inflicted harm, given your situation and history we’ll still need to ensure mental stability-“ 

“Okay.” You try and curl further into Ben and he gets the silent message, squeezing his hand on your thigh and rubbing circles against your skin. Your whole body relaxes into it, and you nod at the doctor. “What do you need to know?”

“Um,” the doctor’s eyes fall to where Ben’s touching you, and you’re too tired to be embarrassed. Ben’s touching you, and he’s big and warm and safe, and it’s making breathing and speaking easier. The doctor can deal with it. “Just, try and recall anything you can.” 

“Anything?” You repeat, and the doctor nods. “Anything about…?” 

“What got you here.” 

You nod slowly, but when you try to think about what happened after Homelander had left all you see is blood and all you feel is cold. “I, um. I really don’t know. I figured out that my empathy power could reverse, so people could feel me, and I tested it to make sure. I was just, I was exhausted and alone, and whenever I touched people they’d fall over.” Your nails are digging into Ben’s arm, and he doesn’t flinch. Only pulls you closer. “I, um, I was looking for something in the tower, a weapon against Homelander, and I found it.” The part of you that had broken when Homelander kissed you grows painful, and your voice becomes strained. “I figured out a way to get Homelander away from the tower, and I just ran. I don’t, I can’t really remember what happened after, but I think I just kept running until I got here.” 

The doctor frowns. “When you arrived, you were covered in blood. Do you remember if anyone tried to hurt you-“ 

“No,” you whisper. You remember that. All the blood on your hands and under your feet and dried against your face, even when nothing was burning anymore. Blood in your hair and metal on your tongue and red splattered across your clothes-

Your clothes. The stained pants and shirt you’d left the tower in, the pockets you’d been keeping the V in. 

Where are your clothes. 

You turn around, grabbing the collar of Ben’s shirt and ignoring the pain shooting through your arm. Your clothes. 

“What-“ 

“Ben,” you cut him off with a frantic shake of your head and a high voice. “Ben, my clothes. Where the fuck are my clothes. I need my clothes-“ 

Ben says your name with a frown. “I changed you out of them, you were covered in fucking blood and dirt-“ 

“Where did you put them,” you pull yourself up to his eyes level, holding his face between your hands. “Ben, where are my clothes-“

“Annie took them up to our apartment,” his hand moves off your thigh, circling around your wrist. Holding you still. “They’re just up in the fucking apartment. We can clean them, or burn them, or whatever the fuck you want. It’s okay.”

It’s okay. Your clothes are up in the apartment, the V in is your clothes, and Ben says it’s okay. You fall forwards, pressing your head into the crook of his neck, and you’re okay. 

The doctor’s pencil is scratching against paper, and you don’t bother to look at him. You don’t think you could pull away from Ben if you tried, because it’s safe here. Ben’s hand is running through your hair, and you can feel every rise and fall of his chest with his breath, and you’re safe here. He won’t leave. You love him, and he won’t leave.

“I’d like to order a psychological evaluation,” the doctor is saying, and you just nod into Ben’s body. “And I’m going to recommend to Director Mallory that you remain out of the field until it’s completed and you’ve been approved.” 

You hum and acknowledge, and when Ben speaks you can feel every word in your bones and gut, soothing any lingering fear.

“She doesn’t need a fucking shrink.” He snaps. “She needs to go home and rest.” 

“It will just be a brief session, to make sure there’s nothing to worry about. Given the, um, nature of her time away, we’re required to ensure there was no deeper trauma inflicted. She may as well be fine, but it’s just precautionary-“ 

Ben’s going to shout at the doctor. You can hear his heart picking up where your ear is pressed to his body, his body has gone rigid, and when you look up his jaw is clenched. 

You almost reach up to pull his face down to yours, but his gaze drops down to yours with a frown before you even move. 

There’s not a chance in fucking hell we’re staying here another night-

It’ll be an appointment, Ben. We’ll go home, and come back for an appointment. Or they’ll come to us, we do live here. You offer him a small smile. And the longer you yell at the medical professionals, the longer we have to stay here. 

He rolls his eyes. I’m not fucking yelling. 

You were about to. 

Shut the fuck up. 

Not until you promise to calm your ass down.

I am fucking calm.

You give him a flat look, vaguely aware that the doctor had long fallen silent. Really. 

I’m calm as shit. I just want to take you fucking home- 

I am home. You lean forwards, resting your chin on his chest. You’re here. 

Ben’s glower vanishes in a second, and he’s watching you with an expression you can’t understand. It’s familiar, but if you’re supposed to be able to read it, you can’t. 

He doesn’t look away when he speaks. “Fine.” 

“Um, sir,” you can see the doctor in your periphery, frowning at Ben. “I’m afraid you’re not allowed to speak on her behalf, considering you’re not family or given power of attorney. Technically you shouldn’t even be here-“ 

Ben’s head shoots up, his scowl returned in full force, and you have to speak before the doctor gets his head bashed in.

“It’s fine, he’s okay.” Please don’t make him leave. “It’s um, he’s right. I’m fine with a psych eval. I just, can I ask how long I have to be here?” 

When you lean back to watch the doctor’s reaction, he’s staring at Ben with a frozen expression. “We, um,” the doctor swallows. “Director Mallory needs to speak to you first, then you’ll be discharged. Vitals can wait, I think.” 

“Can you please go get her?” 

The doctor nods, retreating backwards. “Yeah. I can.”

“Thank you-“ 

The doctor slams the door closed as he leaves, and you glare up at Ben. 

“Benjamin.” 

He’s still glaring at where the doctor had disappeared into the hall. “What.” 

“I told you to stop bullying.” 

“I didn’t even goddamn say anything-“ 

You snort. “You were looking at that guy like you were going to rip his head off.” 

“He was going to try to make me fucking leave you-“ 

You wrinkle your nose at him. “He couldn’t make you do anything. And he was technically right, you’re not my relative or emergency contact, so you probably shouldn’t be here. That’s policy at most hospitals.”

“This isn’t a real hospital,” Ben mutters. “All their policies are made up dogshit.”

“Well, all policies are made up dogshit. They’re all just fake, hyper-specific corporate law.” You grin at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“What, so I’m not allowed but fucking Butcher would be-”

“I’m going to make you my emergency contact, Ben.” You tilt your head at him. “But not until you stop being a fucking man-child.”

“I am not a man-child-“

“Then stop throwing a temper tantrum.” 

He’s still glaring at you, but it’s for show. You know that glare, where his brow is furrowed and his mouth is in a frown, but his eyes have nothing but content affection in them. “Brat.” 

You smile at him, and it’s a real smile. There’s teeth and joy and comfort and your cheeks hurt a little bit, but it’s the only pain you’re feeling because you’re happy. Ben’s here and you’re happy. “Cunt. I can still keep Butcher as my contact, so don’t test me.“

Ben’s eyes narrow. “That’s not fucking funny.” 

“It’s a little funny-“ 

This kiss is harsher. Still not rough, but desperate. Full of want, Ben groaning your name down your throat and his tongue pushing a litter further than before. His nose bumps yours, and when you don’t pull away he goes deeper. Nipping at your lips until they swell, pulling your tongue into his mouth with a low sound from his chest that makes you whine at start to climb up to get closer. He grins against you, and his voice is in you. 

“Fucking like that, Sunshine?” You nod against him, and he does it again. “Use your words.” 

“Yes,” you’re breathless. He’s barely touching you, but all your air has been pushed into his body and you have no desire to take it back. “I like that.” I love you.

“More?” 

You nod, and Ben moves to your ear, kissing right below it before growling against your skin. 

“Fucking words-“ 

“More,” you mumble, lowering your head into his shoulder. “More, please.” 

Ben hums, and your whole body shivers. “Try again.” 

“You’re such a fucking asshole-“ 

“You’re into it.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it from only thinking Ben. Ben, I love you. Please, Ben, I love you. “I am. But I’m a little fucked up.” 

He pulls away, and you almost whine again. You barely manage to swallow it, trying to pretend it doesn’t kill you that you still can’t feel him. He’s looking up at you—sitting halfway on his torso—and you love him. You love that he’s here, and touching you like you didn’t break or leave, and smirking at you as you start to grind onto him.

“I like you a little fucked up.” He says, and you can’t swallow your next whine as he squeezes your ass. “But I’m also not fucking you here.”

“Ben-“

He drops his arms down to your hips and holds you carefully up his body as one hand snakes up, below your shirt, and keeps you steady against him as he flips you both over. Pressing you down into the mattress, and kissing you into the half-plastic cot pillow until you whimper.

“I’m not fucking you here,” he says your name again, and you can only nod. Anything that keeps his voice rolling through you, keeps him around you. “I’m going to fuck you, and when I do you’re going to say my name, and moan, and cum all fucking over my cock and hands and face. But not here. Not until you’re okay.” 

You are okay. You’re still broken and tired, but you’re okay. Ben’s here, and safe, and warm, and you’re okay. You should tell him, you should tell him you’re good, he’s here so you’re good, but it will come out I love you. If you try to talk to Ben right now you’ll say Ben. Ben, I love you. Ben I’m fucked up and broken but it’s all good because I love you, and you’re here.

You can’t say you love him. You’re awake now and you know that you can’t say you love him. You’re not ready for him to say he doesn’t love you, you’re not strong enough to live through that right now, so you can’t say you love him. All you can do is surge up and grab Ben’s face, feel him in every way you can with your empathy numbed, and let him groan into you. Let him guide your arms back down so that the IV doesn’t pull at your skin, let him make your head clear with just Ben. Kissing your and invading your senses in the best possible way. Here and real and Ben.

“I missed you,” you hum the words into his mouth, and hope he hears the underlying song of I love you. Ben, I love you. “I really fucking missed you.”

His head lifts up, pressing a kiss on your forehead, words muttered against your skin. “I missed you too, Sunshine. Don’t ever fucking do that shit again.”

“Okay.” You whisper, and mean it. You’re exhausted, and a broken piece of you is still shifting around inside your body. You won’t survive doing that again. “I won’t.”

Ben nods, and draws back to watch you. Eyes scanning over your body, picking you apart and searing into every single part of you. You’ve never felt safer.

“Fucking swear it,” he grunts, and you don’t hesitate.

“Promise.” You smile at him again, and his whole body relaxes. “I’ll never leave you again.”

“You didn’t fucking leave me,” Ben mutters. “I lost you-“

“You didn’t lose me,” you reach your hands up, ignoring the sting of the IV. This is more important. “You’ll never lose me, Ben.”

He nods, but doesn’t move. “Good.”

You can’t feel him. You wish you could feel him, because he’s saying something else. There’s something in his voice that you’ve heard before, but it’s stronger. Almost everything in his tone is filled with the one part of him you don’t understand. That big, focused thing that had lived in your body. That was him, that you can’t feel anymore. You want it back. You want all of him, but the IV is still in your arm and you can’t have it right now. So you just smile at him. You smile at Ben, and it’s the simplest thing in the world.

I love you. Ben, I love you. 

His eyes are dropping back to your mouth, and you hope he just fucks you. You’re tired, and this bed is uncomfortable, but if Ben’s hand moved just a fraction lower on your hips and if he kissed you like that again, there wasn’t a single thing you wouldn’t let him do to you. When he looks back up at you his eyes are blown out and dark, focused on you as his hips drop and his cock presses against your inner thigh, and you need him. You need him to stop being such a misguided noble ass and just touch you when you’re broken. You need someone to pull this stupid fucking IV out of your body so you can feel Ben, and he can take you home and fuck you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters your name, and you make a small weak sound. “So fucking good and beautiful.” 

“Ben-“ 

He cuts off your plea of his name with his mouth, with one long, sweet kiss. This kiss is sweet. It’s not to shut you up or make you moan, it’s just to kiss you. To make you sigh and smile against him when he hums your name, when his hand reaches up to brush hair from your face.

“Whole thing,” he mutters. “Say the whole thing.”

You couldn’t deny him, even if you wanted to. He’s tracing his thumb across your jaw and dropping his mouth to kiss the spot only he knows about, and you love him. You’ll give him anything.

“Benjamin,” your voice is unsteady, and you can hardly focus over his gentle bite on your skin. You’re going to say it. He’s not moving back to shut you up and he’s touching you like you’re holy, so you’re going to say it. “Please, I-“

He rises back to you. Kisses you with a hand cupping your cheek, and grunting your name in a way that makes your whole body melt. “I fucking adore you,” Ben mutters, pulling back to look at you with a devotion on his face that makes nothing else matter. “You know that I adore you.”

You nod, not even mad that he’s telling you, because he’s right. You know that Ben adores you. He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, so you know he adores you. 

But he doesn’t love you. So all you can do is smile at him and make a small sound of affirmation. 

“I know, Ben.” You lean further into his hand. “I know.”

He nods, and his mouth opens. Probably to make you promise that you know, or say something else that both heals you and makes you love him more. Makes you certain you will never be able to tell him that you love him.

The door opens, and you’ve never been more grateful for how noisy, boundary-lacking, and aggressive your team is. 

It’s everyone. You can’t see over Ben’s body, but the clamor as they push in from the hall into your room is impossible to miss. You can hear Hughie’s apologizing as he bumps into people, and Annie’s shout of his name as something falls down near the door. You can hear Frenchie’s snort, and if he’s here Kimiko is as well. That’s MM telling everyone to sanitize their hands, and Butcher’s scoff at the very idea.

That’s Mallory’s voice, raised above the commotion as she snaps at you and Ben.

“I think everyone would appreciate it if Soldier Boy would get off the bed so we can talk.”

You giggle at Ben’s sour expression, and he rolls his eyes at you.

Why the fuck do they all have to be here.

We won’t know unless we ask. You don’t even have to talk, Ben, you just have to get off of me. 

No. 

You can still touch me, but I need to see everyone. Please. 

You pout at him, and his eyes narrow. This is fucking dumb. 

Yep. Move your ass, Benjamin. 

He grunts, and instead of rolling off your body he sits up and pulls you with him. His gaze is focused on your arm with the IV, shifting so that the tube doesn’t keep pulling at your skin and only settling when he’s found an angle that he deems suitable.

When you turn your head, you were right. It is everyone. And they’re all staring at you. Even Butcher’s expression is uncharacteristically careful, no mocking words about how you’d just had Ben pinning you to the bed, or snide comments about you still being folded into his chest, comfortable in his lap.

“Hi,” you mumble, feeling your face heat. “It’s, um, it’s good to see you guys-“

“Are you okay?” Hughie blurts, looking you up and down like bruises and scars might suddenly form on your skin. “We’re really sorry about, um, kind of everything-” 

“I’m fine.” You smile at him, and pinch Ben’s arm when it tightens around you. You are fine. “And none of that was your fault, you don’t need to apologize,“ Ben snorts, and you pinch him again. Harder. “It’s really okay, Hughie. I’m okay.” 

Hughie nods, but still looks unconvinced. “I mean, I’m still sorry. This really fucking sucks, so I’m sorry-“ 

“She don’t want your apologies, Lad.” Butcher drawls, and Hughie turns red. “They ain’t gonna help shit.”

You can’t look up at Ben, because you can picture his that’s what I’ve been fucking saying face in your head. Instead, you give Butcher a dry smile. “Don’t speak for me, dick-face. And why the fuck are you my emergency contact.”

“Well, it was either me or MM,” he shrugs. “And I drew the short straw.”

You look to MM for confirmation, and he gives you an apologetic look. “We didn’t really know you. And then once we did, we had bigger fuckin fish to fry than updating contact info.”

“Well, I’d like to update it now, please.”

MM nods. “I can have the doctor get the papers. We have to put Ryan in the system anyway, we’ve been kicking that can down the road way too fucking long.”

“Is he okay?” You look around the room nervously. “I know you got him out, but-“

“He’s good,” it’s Ben that answers, and when you tilt your head back to look at him he’s watching you with something soft in his eyes. “He’s doing fucking fine.”

You blink at him. You’ve been talking to him?

You asked me to. 

You nod, and smile at him. Thank you. 

Ben frowns. Don’t. 

“We’ll have time for catching up later and doing that later,” Mallory’s voice isn’t cold, but it’s firm, and when you look at her she’s scowling. “We have a few things to go over before I approve your discharge.”

You feel Ben squeeze your waist—you think he’s reminding you he’s here—and you nod at Mallory. “Okay. Go.”

“Later, I’ll want a fully detailed debrief of your time with Vought,” Mallory starts, and you sink a little further into Ben. Let the heat of his body and the smell of Ben roll through you. “Right now I need to know about your escape.” 

“I already told the doctor, I don’t remember-“ 

“Not how you got here,” Mallory shakes her head, and you blink at her in confusion. “I already know that. The whole world is talking about how you got here. What I want to know-“ 

“What do you mean,” you probably shouldn’t have cut Mallory off—not with how she’s glaring at you—but you can’t remember anything and suddenly nobody will meet your eyes.

Annie says your name softly, looking at you with a sad expression. “How much do you actually remember?”

“I, um, I found the V. It was the original formula-“

“That won’t work.” Mallory cuts over you, and your words choke in your throat. “From what we understand, the V in both you and Soldier Boy is completely neutral to Homelander.”

You blink at her, your voice small. “What?”

“She’s right,” MM sighs, rubbing his face with a shake of his head. “The papers in the lab said he'd be immune to and unaffected by it. Would be like injecting the fucker with saline.”

You shake your head. “There wasn’t anything else. He only had the one vial-“

“We’ll keep fucking looking,” Ben grunts, rubbing circles on where you’re gripping his arm. When you glance down you realize smoke has started to rise from your knuckles and palm, but Ben hasn’t even flinched. “We’ll figure it out. You’re fucking staying here.”

“That might not be an option-”

“Shut the fuck up, Mallory.” Ben snaps, his arm pulling you closer, body hunching down like Mallory might try and take you. “She’s not doing your fucking dirty work anymore-“

“I’m not going to send her back to Vought,” Mallory’s arms are crossed, and gaze locked on Ben, above your head. “But she’s made herself important to the whole country. All of Manhattan is in chaos, and Homelander’s on a rampage-“

“What?!” You shake your head, looking around the room frantically. Something happened. Everyone looks nervous and guilty—even Ben has tensed further around you—and the callous, sadistic voice in your head has returned.

Weak. Nobody stays because you’re weak.

“What did I do?” You whisper, and Butcher’s voice isn’t cruel when he answers.

“Vought tower,” he grunts, and you feel something clench at the base of your throat. “Didn’t destroy it, did fuck it up real bloody well. VNN is sayin it was another terrorist attack, but eye witnesses are reporting seein you run away with people droppin like fuckin flies around you. Just passin right out with screams. Most seem fine, but there’s been reports of burnt bodies in the tower itself. Sage ain’t been seen since you returned. Homelander won’t give a direct address, but he’s been seen flying around. Looking for you, lasering anyone in the way.”

“How,” you swallow. “How did I get here without him catching me?” 

“You ran.” Ben mutters in your ear. “You just fucking ran.” 

“But I was across the river, someone would’ve seen me-“ 

“People did see you,” Mallory’s watching you carefully as she speaks, lips in a thin line. “But everyone that got too close collapsed, right up until you got here and passed out.” 

You remember that. You have a vague flash in your head of pushing through the doors of the lobby, of people trying to yell at you and their shouts turning into screams. Of your legs giving out and falling to the floor, of everything around you being cold and painful, but Ben’s Thing in your chest pounding and clawing at you to keep going. Telling you that it was almost safe, that Ben was close, so close, you just had to call for him and he’d come.

There’s another vague echo, of something approaching you and you allowing it to. In the ocean of no and cold and help, someone help, I can’t fucking breathe something had approached you and you’d know it was safe. It was familiar and strong, and it had wrapped around you and cleared your whole body. Sleep had felt easy, your brain had gone Ben. Ben, I love you, and you’d stopped screaming. 

But it hadn’t only been you screaming. 

“Did I,” you push the words out, staring at your fingers on Ben’s arm. Still smoking, fire itching under your skin. “Did I kill anyone?” 

“If you did, they were Vought.” Butcher sighs. “But they ain’t released anything official. All we know is that the whole bleedin country is looking for you.”

“Nobody saw me come here?”

“No,” Annie shakes her head. “You were last seen leaving New York.”

“There’s a lot of theories,” Hughie offers. “But nobody’s actually figured it out.”

You nod slowly, trying to focus wholly on speaking, grounding yourself within Ben’s body around you. “And you need to know what to say to the public. If I’m back here or not.”

“You’re America’s fuckin martyr,” Butcher says your name, and even he sounds tired. “We ain’t got a lot of time until Sage wakes up from whatever you did to her, and she’ll-“

“She’ll spin it,” you sigh, your fingers tapping on Ben’s skin. “She’ll turn this in their favor. We need to be faster.”

“This seemed to be your plan the whole time,” Mallory looks you up and down, and you hold her gaze. You just have to hold yourself together a little longer, then they’ll let you go home and you can fall in Ben’s arms and fully break. “What should our move be.”

You don’t know. You had known, you’d had steps lined out for when everything fell into place. For when the world knew who you were, and had grown attached to you. For how you’d find the proof—something undeniable and obvious—of what Homelander had done to you and leak it from Vought. Turn the world against him and stay at his side, lure him to Ben and give everything left in you to finish it. Burn and burn and burn and hope it was enough to keep Homelander down. Then you’d adjusted, and you’d planned to leak it and get the V they needed, then escape in the dark. Have Homelander come find you and kill him like that.

There had been flaws and holes in both of those plans. Not all the world would’ve condemned Homelander, but a small following of fanatics was better than millions rioting in the streets. There was the chance you wouldn’t have been strong enough to hold Homelander for Ben, but the V had solved that problem. There was a chance Homelander wouldn’t look for you, but it had been slim. He’d have thought you’d just vanished, been taken from him once more. There had been so many possible setbacks, and you’d known how to account and adjust for all of them.

But you’d failed. You hadn’t gotten the right V, and your escape hadn’t been quiet and smooth. It had been horrible and violent, in the broad daylight and for all the world to see. You’d gotten out, but you’d been unable to control yourself and you’d failed. Just like Sage said you would. And you didn’t know what to do.

Weak.

“This can wait,” Ben’s voice is from his chest, deep and rough. “She’s fucking tired. Let us go home, then we’ll do your fucking jobs for you.”

We. Ben won’t really be doing anything, just sitting with you, but he’s right. That’s still we.

“Soldier Boy, she’s my agent. I will decide-“

“You aren’t going to decide fucking shit.” Ben hisses. “She not your agent, she’s fucking dead as far as the government is concerned.” 

“She’s not dead,” Mallory snaps. “That’s the problem. She’s incredibly alive, and the whole world knows. We need to know how to proceed-“

“I’ll figure it out,” you mumble, mostly to yourself. You will figure it out. You always figure it out. You have to figure it out, and you’re not sure what you’ll do if you can’t. “I just need a minute-“

“No.” Ben’s hand moves over yours, and you realize the smoke has started to flicker with light. “You need to fucking rest. This can wait until you’ve rested.” 

“Ben-“ 

“He’s right,” MM mutters, and you turn to gape at him. “You just half-destroyed a building and ran all the way from Manhattan to Newark. Even with the V, you need rest.” 

“I was just asleep for a day-“ 

“Passed out,” MM corrects you with a firm glare. “You were passed out. That’s not sleep, or rest, it’s burnout. You need to get in a bed and really fucking sleep, before it gets worse.”

“Marvin,” Mallory shoots MM a sharp look. “There’s a lot at stake here-“

“Look at her, Grace,” MM doesn’t waver, nodding at how you’re all but buried into Ben’s body. How there’s smoke still rising from between Ben's fingers over yours. “She’s not going to have any good ideas right now. She’s exhausted, let her rest.”

“I’m fine-“

Ben says your name, and you look up to find his flat glare examining your name. “You’re hungry.”

“I said I’m fine-“ Your stomach growls, and Ben smirks at you. He knows what he’s doing, the asshole. “Fuck you, Benjamin.”

He winks. Eat first. You’ll need the energy.

Shut up. You wrinkle your nose at him, and he chuckles.

“There’s still some leftovers from dinner last night,” Hughie glances at Annie for confirmation, and she nods. “We could bring them down for you guys. I know Soldier Boy hasn’t eaten-“ 

“What?” You frown, and Hughie’s eyes widen. “What do you mean Ben hasn’t eaten.” 

Hughie shrugs—words becoming stumbled and unsure—and you can feel Ben’s arms tighten around you. “I, uh, I’m not sure. It’s been a crazy few days. Who knows who’s been eating and who hasn’t-“

“Hughie,” you say slowly, and he looks at you with a pale face. “How long have I been asleep. Don’t lie, you’re bad at it.”

“Um, maybe 36 hours?”

“And has Ben left this room in those 36 hours?”

“Don’t fucking answer that,” Ben’s words to Hughie are an order, and you glare up at him. “And I took at least one piss, Sunshine, so shut the fuck up.”

“Have you eaten, Benjamin?” He just glares at you, and you look back at Hughie. “Has he eaten?” 

Hughie looks around to the rest of the team for help, but nobody seems to be willing to take over. Even Annie just moves a step in front of him, gaze locked on Ben above your head. 

“Hughie-“ 

“I, um.” Hughie’s looking between you and Ben, and you think he’s trying to decide who’s less dangerous to ignore. “I don’t-“

“Bloody Christ,” Butcher rolls his eyes, stepping forward. “You two are gonna give the Lad a heart attack. Soldier Boy ain’t eaten, or left this room. And his piss was in a bloody bottle that I can see in the bin from here. Try not to fuck about it in front of us.”

You pretend not to hear the last comment, and twist to shove at Ben’s chest. “You fucking idiot-“

“I was waiting for you,” he snaps, catching your hands. “Fuck my ass for being worried about you-“

“I’m fine, Ben. You need to eat-“

“I’m not about to goddamn leave you-” 

“You need to eat!” You try to knee his gut, but just manage to shift into straddling him. “You need to eat just as much as I do, you don’t even have to go back upstairs! You could’ve just found a vending machine-“

“I said I’m not fucking leaving you!” His voice is loud, but not a yell, and he tugs you closer. “You were passed the hell out, I can’t just leave you like that-“

“Ben,” you say, voice a little softer. He looks pained, and his hands are holding yours against him, almost crushing your fingers. “I’m home. You never left me. You need to take care of yourself as well.”

His jaw clenches. You were fucking screaming, Sunshine. You didn’t hear you, you didn’t see you. I’m not fucking leaving you to wake up alone after that.

I didn’t wake up alone. And you’re going to have to let me be alone eventually. At some point I’m going to have to shit. 

You can shit in front of me. I don’t give a fuck. 

You give him a flat look. You know what I mean. I’m okay. You should eat. 

You should fucking eat. 

Ben, please. 

He sighs. Fine. 

You don’t bother to try and turn back to your team as Ben lifts his head to address them. 

“We’ll grab the damn leftovers on our way back. Now can we fucking go.” 

“I have to call the doctor,” Mallory says, and you see Ben glare at her. “Her skin attempted to heal around the IV, it needs to be removed carefully.” 

“Then fucking do that.”

“Ben,” you wait for him to look back at you before continuing. “Go get us the food now, and by the time you get it home I’ll be discharged.”

“There’s not a chance in hell-“

“I’ll let you carry me.” You smile at him, and he glowers at you.

Brat. 

Cunt. Go get the food, please. 

“We’ll be watchin her the whole fuckin time, Gov.” Butcher says from behind you, and Ben’s eyes don’t even flick upwards in acknowledgment. “She ain’t gonna go anywhere.” 

He’s right. I won’t. You’ll get back, and I won’t even have gotten off the bed. 

He frowns. Tell me you’re okay. 

Ben’s right here, watching you and handsome and everything, and it’s so easy to smile and blink. I’m okay. 

He nods, and kisses the top of your head before peeling you off his body and laying you back on the bed. He stands slowly, scanning across your body. 

“Ben,” you say softly, and his eyes dart to your face. “I’m fine. I’ll be right here.” 

“If you’re not,” he grumbles, running his hand through your hair and leaning down to press his brow to yours. “I’m killing Butcher.” 

You grin at him. “Deal.” 

“Adorable,” Butcher mutters, and neither you nor Ben move away from each other. “Hughie, help Soldier Boy get the food.” 

“Why me?”

“You started these two horny fuckers on their weird bloody rampage-“ 

“It’s okay,” Annie’s voice is soft, and you can picture her holding Hughie’s arm, still a step in front of him. “Me and Kimiko will go with you. More hands.” 

“That’s a smart lady-“ 

“Shove it up your ass, Butcher.”

This is fucking stupid, Ben blinks at you, and you smile. I could carry all of them and the food my goddamn self and be back in half the time.

I don’t doubt that, but if you try to fight them this will take longer. You run a hand over his jaw, through the hair of his beard. Try not to miss me too much, Pretty Boy.

He looks at you in a way you’ve seen a million times—all reverence, right through you—but it’s deeper. Completely devoid of something you hadn’t even realized was covering it. You don’t know what it means, especially when Ben leans down and kisses you one more time. Long and deep—holding your face where he wants it and pressing you back into the pillow—in a way that clears your head to just Ben. Ben, I love you. He’s trying to pull away, but you make a small sound at the loss and he doesn’t even pretend to try and ignore it. Ben falls right back into you, going and going with a fervor until you have to pull away for air and he rises to kiss the space between your eyes.

“Don’t fucking move an inch until I’m back.” He mutters against your skin, and you nod.

“I won’t.” You catch Ben's wrist as he starts to step away, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”

He snorts. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ben pries your hand off his wrist and raises it to kiss your knuckles—warmth spreading through your body where his lips brush your skin—and you think he’s going to say something. He scans over you one last time and his mouth opens, so you don’t say anything because you’re certain he’s going to. But Ben just frowns at nothing, tugs the fuzzy blanket up your body, and leaves.

You stare where the door closes behind him, and you know he’ll come back but suddenly you’re cold. This wasn’t a good idea, because Ben isn’t here and you can’t feel anything but cold. You’re left in the room with Mallory, Frenchie, Butcher, and MM, and it’s a warm room—the light of the morning is shifting on your knuckles, right where Ben kissed them—but you’re cold and alone.

“Can we please get the IV out now?” You mutter, not really addressing anyone in particular. “Or at least close the flow?”

When you turn to look at them, they’re all exchanging worried, tight looks.

“What?”

MM sighs, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.” He says your name, and you frown. “It might not be safe.”

You blink at him. “Safe?”

“Previously,” Frenchie’s words are slow. Carefully chosen and delicate. “Your powers of empathy were as if a one way alley from others, into you. Now they are acting as a bridge. With cars driving in both directions.”

“Cars?”

Frenchie nods. “The cars are emotions. Crossing the bridge, violently.”

“You went vigilant, Love.” Butcher grunt. “We take you off that IV, ain’t no guarantee you won’t hit us all with a blast of Homelander trauma.”

You shake your head, looking between them. “That’s not how it works.”

Mallory frowns at you. “How are you sure.”

“It only happens when I want it to. Pushing my feelings on others.” You clarify your words, glancing down at your own hands. “I have to focus for it to happen. Or I have to be in a,” you sigh. “Hysterical state.”

“Hysterical.” 

You nod, ignoring how disbelieving Mallory’s tone is. “Freaking the fuck out. Or…” You trail off, because there’s one other way that the empathy turns outwards without you telling it to. When you’re not freezing, falling into a place you can’t pull yourself out of, but when you’re burning. When you’re looking at Ben and he’s touching you and your whole body grows molten.

MM coughs, and you blink at him. “Or what?”

“Or when I’m, um, emotional.” 

Frenchie frowns at you. “Emotional and hysterical are the same, no?” 

“No,” you smile sadly at your fingers, tapping against the blanket Ben had pulled back over you. “They’re not. Hysterical is bad, and emotional is good.”

MM lets out a long, heavy breath, and you know he understands. “So as long as you’re not hysterical or emotional, you don’t think we’ve got shit to be worried about.” 

“Yeah. I’ll be okay.” 

You won’t be okay. This means you can’t touch Ben again, so you won’t be okay. If you touch him, he’ll make everything in you love. It’ll only be eternal, infinite love for Ben and it will make your blood spread from you to him. That will make Ben love you. You can’t make Ben love you. It wouldn’t mean anything if you made Ben love you. Ben would hate you if you did that. If you grabbed him and forced him to do something he didn’t want to for your own, selfish reasons.

Homelander’s voice is sneering in your head, echoing around your body.

Fucking manipulative bitch. Can’t make anyone like you, or anyone stay without tricking them. 

This was a trick. You’d be tricking Ben into loving you. Ben would stay with you, and you already know he likes you, but he doesn’t love you. Not like you love him. So much it hurts, all the way through you and the world, in an ancient and indestructible fervor that will only end with all the universe.

You can’t make him feel the same way. For you. You don’t want to make him love you for you. You want Ben to love you so much that it’s painful—the only thing you want more is Ben, just Ben, at your side and grinning at you all the fucking time—but he had to feel it himself. If Ben doesn’t love you himself, you’ll just never be loved by anything again. And you could be fine with that. With Ben caring about you and staying with you, but not loving you. It might eventually kill you, but you’d rather die that sad, withering death than force Ben to love you. Then lose him.

But you can’t tell him. You should tell him, you trust him—you’d always trust Ben to protect you and make you safe and happy—but you don’t trust you. You don’t trust yourself to hold your blood in your body when Ben touches you, and you don’t trust yourself not to fold when he asks you why. When you say Ben, I know I said you could fuck me, but you can’t anymore, and he responds with, why the fuck not. Are you hurt, did Homelander fucking hurt you, you know you’ll cave. You’ll look at his handsome, angry face and feel stone and fury running through him for you, and you’ll tell him you love him.

You’re really not ready to tell Ben you love him.

And you might die if you can never touch him again.

“Frenchie,” you mumble, and he pauses his fidgeting with the IV. 

“Oui?” 

“You made this stuff, right? The suppressant?” 

“I did.” He frowns. “Why?” 

“How long does it last?” 

Frenchie tilts his head. “It does not. The V in your body rejects anything that is not natural to its system. The moment I remove the IV, the effects will-“ He makes a pfit sound, and gestures away from his body. “Gone.” 

“Oh,” you swallow. “Could you figure out how to make it last?” 

“Why would you want that?” MM grunts, and you turn to see him frowning at you. Confused. “I can’t imagine it feels good now-“ 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone by accident.” You mutter. “And it won’t be forever. Just until Homelander’s dead.” 

When Homelander’s dead, you’ll rest. You’ll still be afraid, but you’ll have all the time in the world to heal that part of you where something was broken. And one day you’d be whole enough to tell Ben you love him and survive him turning you down. But only once Homelander’s dead. 

“I could make it a pill,” Frenchie tilts his head at nothing in the air. “I would need a day, perhaps two-“ 

“But you could.” Your voice is desperate. You don’t care. “You could make it a pill.” 

“Oui, I will just need some time to do so.” 

You nod. “Do it. I can wait a few days.” Just a few days. Just one, maybe two days of not being allowed to kiss Ben. You’ll still be able to touch him—curl into his side and run your hands across his sharp jaw and over his broad shoulders—but nothing more. You just survived almost two months with nothing at all. You can go two days with just hands on skin.

You really, really hope you can go two days with just hands on skin. 

Mallory raises a hand, stopping Frenchie’s hand on the IV. “If you truly feel uncertain of your ability to control yourself, I’m not going to approve the removal of the suppressant before a pill form is provided.” 

It’s important to keep the shake of your head even and not panicked and fearful. You need the IV out now. Your arm hurts, and if Ben can’t pick you up and carry you home—set you down in your bed and sleep at your side—you might start crying. “I’m not going to blow up, I promise. I just won’t touch anyone.”

Just like last time. 

You don’t say it, but it’s implied in the way you swallow and all of their features become tight. Nobody except Ben had touched you before you could influence their emotions. Up until Ben, you hadn’t touched anyone—save for brief, tense moments of contact for healing—in years. Scientists and Homelander had touched you, but you’d never touched them. Not in the magnetic way some part of your body was always finding a way to stay against Ben’s.

There’s a brief theory that flashes in your head—made of hadn’t touched anyone, touched Ben, kept touching Ben, felt Ben, loved Ben, everyone feels you, you keep feeling Ben and it won’t stop—but it’s gone the second MM frowns at you, speaking in a low, careful voice. 

“Even Soldier Boy?” 

“I can touch Ben,” you mutter. There’s not a thing they can threaten you with or tell you that will make you stop touching Ben. “I just can’t, um, you know.” 

Mallory frowns at you, saying your name in a cool voice. “We aren’t mind readers-“ 

“Bloody hell, Grace. She ain’t gonna be able to fuck him.” Butcher’s words are bored, his face lazy. “Seems pretty cut and shit dry from where I’m standin.”

Mallory shoots Butcher a glare. “I am not privy to your sex lives, William. Her relationship with Soldier Boy,” you hate how Mallory says relationship. Like it’s disgusting or wrong, when whatever you have with Ben might be the only good thing left in your life. “Is not my primary concern, nor something I ever spare thought to.”

You have to bite your cheek until there’s a tang of blood, because that’s a lie. Mallory had clearly thought about it enough to use it to blackmail Ben, to keep him in line. You don’t think you’re supposed to know that, and right now isn’t the best time to yell at her about trying to take Ben away from you, but you didn’t forget. You won’t forget. 

So you just glare—firm with a silent fury—at Mallory. “Please,” it’s not a real please, but lined with venom and exhaustion. “Just take out my IV. I won’t explode, and I won’t touch anyone. I just, I,” you sigh. “I want to go home. Can I please go home.” 

Mallory’s scowl doesn’t waver, but she gives Frenchie a sharp nod and he takes out a small knife from his pocket, approaching your arm. 

“I will need to cut the IV out.” Frenchie glances up at you, tone apologetic. “It will hurt. And there will be blood.”

“Okay,” you nod, curling your hand into a fist to still your fingers. “Do it.” 

Frenchie’s arm raises, the blade resting on your skin, and you have to bite your tongue when it goes in. Carving under where the IV had been placed, through skin and muscle until Frenchie can get a good grip to yank it out. You manage not to scream, even when the blood starts to rush out of the hole in your arm. Covering the cot, the blanket, your skin, your hands. Blood. So much blood. Why is there so much blood-

Your skin isn’t even fully healed when you feel it. The cold trying to push out of your body, soothed by Ben’s Thing. Returned in your chest, humming and warm against your ribs. Tight, but growing slack by the second. He’s close. You don’t know how you know, but Ben is almost back. 

Mallory coughs. “Is it-“ 

Your head shoots up before the door fully opens, but when it does Ben is barging into the room. Taking long steps back to your cot, eyes scanning over your body with scowl and fists clenching when he sees the red stained across the sheet. 

“What the fuck did they-“ 

You pull Ben into you, yanking him down with a fist in his shirt and rising on your knees to meet him halfway. He catches you with a grunt, arms wrapping around your waist as he raises you further up his body. You can feel him. You can feel the spark of surprise when you surge up to him, and how it turns into concrete worry and care when you bury your head in his neck and his arms tighten around you. You can feel an ache inside of him, and how it’s dissolving into something focused and wrathful and hot. Filled with blood and ardor, flowing into your body and making breathing easier. The shattered piece of you doesn’t fall and meld back into place, but you sink deeper into Ben—his body and smell and the pure feel of him—and you know you’ll be okay. You can’t be broken, not really, because someone broken wouldn’t have another touch them like this. With hands pressed into their skin and the spaces between their bones, with an adoring care that’s everything.

Ben is everything, and you can feel him again. He speaks, and his deep, rumbling voice isn’t just lips on the top of your head or noise that resonates in your bones. It’s deep in your gut and lungs and head, a sound that makes every divet and nerve of your body go Ben. Ben, I love you. 

“What’s wrong.” 

You shake your head against him, and salt falls onto your tongue. You’re crying, and it’s not choking your words or leaving a lump in your throat. It’s relief, something taut around your head vanishing because you’re safe. You can feel Ben, and there’s not even a sliver of a chance he’s not real. Sage could fake looks and words and smells and touches, fake everything that makes Ben Ben, but she couldn’t fake how you know it’s him. How there’s a soft chorus of Ben that lives in your veins, and it’s only drowned out by his Thing, roaring inside you when you try to pull him closer. 

“I’m okay,” you mumble into his skin, and you can feel his jaw tighten. Something sour darts up his spine, and you sigh. “I’m really okay.” 

“Then why is there fucking blood everywhere.” 

Blood. So much blood. “Frenchie had to cut out the IV. But I’m okay-“ 

Ben doesn’t let go of you—hooking your legs over his arm and moving your hands to hold the base of his neck—as he stands, turning to glare at Mallory with a sneer. “You said it needed to be taken out fucking carefully-“ 

“It was done carefully, Soldier Boy. She had attempted to heal over it, there was no other option aside from surgical removal-“ 

“You cut it out of Her goddamn body!” Ben’s hands tense on you as he shouts over Mallory. “Christ, there’s fucking blood on the floor-“ 

“Ben,” you look up at him with a small, soft smile. “I’m really okay. I just want to go home. Please.” 

He scowls at you, and you can feel how furious he is. It’s burning in his chest, making his breathing sharp and body rigid. They fucking hurt you- 

I healed. You can’t even tell anything happened. 

There were other options. There’s always other goddamn options. 

You give him a small shake of your head. Maybe. But it’s done, and I’m okay. Can we go home now? 

Ben sighs, scanning over your face like he might find a bruise or cut to justify his anger. I’m carrying you. 

That was the deal. 

He rolls his eyes, and that strange look you should understand but just can’t flashes across his face before he turns back to Mallory. “We’re going. If you try to stop me, I’ll shoot you.”

Mallory scoffs. “You don’t have a gun-“

“I gave him one,” Butcher shrugs. “He ain’t gonna use it on us, Grace-“ 

“I will if she tries to fucking stop me.” Ben snaps, and you sigh, tapping on his jaw until he looks back at you. 

What. 

Don’t be honest with Mallory about your violent intentions. She won’t appreciate it like I do. 

Ben snorts. That’s because she’s a fucking bitch, and you’re not. Then says aloud, “But I won’t do a single damn thing, as long as you let us walk out with any more fucking tests or questions. We’ll do a debrief, later and after she’s gotten some damn sleep and a good shower. We clear?” Mallory gives a clipped nod, and Ben pauses, glancing down at you again before he speaks. “And you’re not getting my gun back.” 

Mallory looks like she might argue, but MM stops her with a sigh. 

“Not worth it, Grace.” He turns to Ben, crossing his arms with a frown. “You misuse that gun-“ 

“Yeah, you boring fucking pussies will confiscate it,” Ben’s eyes narrow. “Good thing I won’t.” 

MM just looks Ben up and down, and steps back. You barely have time to process that weirdness before Butcher manages to confuse you further. 

“Happy day, Gov.” Butcher winks, and there’s no malice in his voice. It’s mocking and sarcastic, but not cruel. “Go be fuckin disgusting away from my virgin eyeshole.” 

Ben just grunts, and you flip Butcher off over his shoulder when he starts to walk away.

Butcher winks, and it’s still not mean. It’s a taunt with nothing really hateful behind it. 

“What’s that about?” 

Ben frowns, carrying you through the halls. “What.” 

“MM backed you up. Butcher didn’t ask you if you could go five seconds without me.” You grin at him. “Did you make friends?” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“You made friends, Ben. Maybe I should leave you for playtime more often-“ 

Ben’s hands tense on your body. “Don’t fucking joke about that. And I didn’t make friends, I’m a grown man-“ 

“So is Butcher-“ 

“Butcher doesn’t have friends.” 

“He has you.” You poke Ben’s chest. “You’re best friends-” 

“You’re my best friend,” Ben grunts, and the hot thing in him bubbles over. “And Butcher and I have an understanding. We’re not fucking friends.” 

You frown. “An understanding? About what?” 

“The Kid.” 

“Ryan?” You study Ben’s face as he gives a tight nod. “What about Ryan?” 

“He wants me around.” Ben’s words are short, but you can feel something prideful and loud wrapping around his body. “I’ve been helping him with his dumb as fuck homework,” Ben’s lip curls, as if the very prospect of learning is disgusting. “And I’m going to train him. Help him control his strength so he doesn’t fucking break something. Or someone.”

You love him. You have an infinite list of reasons to love Ben, and one of them is that he keeps finding ways to make the list longer. He’s training Ryan, and he has an understanding with Butcher, and you hadn’t been gone for so long only to return and find half the building destroyed from a dick-measuring contest. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, and Ben’s scowl deepens as he steps into the elevator.

“Shut-“ 

“No.” You smile at him, and his glare drops down to you. Something in him softens when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. For everything.”

“I didn’t fucking do jack shit-“ 

“I know.” You reach up a head, running it down his nose and over his cheek. “And that must have sucked fucking balls. So thank you.”

“For waiting.” His voice is flat, and there’s something sore on his lungs. 

“For waiting,” you whisper. “And listening to me.” 

“Well, you’re usually fucking right about shit.” He mutters, the unreadable look returned. “It’s annoying as goddamn hell.”

“Shut up, you like it.” I love you.

“Maybe,” Ben shrugs, and the elevator opens with a ding. “Good luck proving that.”

“I don’t have to prove it,” your smile turns smug, and you tuck your head back into Ben’s body. “You adore me.” 

You feel Ben start to glow again, and your whole head starts to feel light and high. “I do. You’re goddamn brat, but I do.” 

It’s nothing short of a miracle you survived without this for so long. Without Ben around you, without the certainty that he’ll be right at your side through any hell or apocalypse, then pick you up and carry you somewhere safe. But it’s a miracle that’s painted in shades of green that tell you Ben is how you got through this. That he waited—you’d known he would wait, that he wouldn’t leave you—and now you’ve brought yourself home. 

“Ben?” Your words are hummed against his skin, and his grunt of acknowledgment resonates through your whole body, right into your fingers and resting happily in your head. “You’re my best friend as well.” I love you. Ben, I love you. 

He sighs, and it moves through your body. Lulls everything that had still been frantic or afraid. “I missed you,” he mutters. “I fucking missed you. I’m serious as goddamn cancer and bombs, Sunshine, never try to do that again-“

“I won’t,” you mumble, running a hand up his neck, into his hair to check one last time. Real. “I didn’t really enjoy it either, Benjamin.” 

“Next time you want to get away from this shit-ass supe motel, all you have to do is ask me and we’ll go to the fucking park.” Ben’s words are slightly strained, but he’s trying to joke about it. He’s trying, for you, and you love him.

“Can I take Butcher as well?” You smile against him. “See which one of you fetches the stick faster?”

Ben makes a low sound that’s half annoyance and half a poor attempt to cover a laugh. “I will. I’m a fuck ton faster than that pussy, he’ll get distracted cleaning his own asshole.”

“You’re faster than everyone, Ben. It’s not exactly a fair contest-“ You cut yourself off, pulling your head back to look at Ben with wide eyes. “Oh, shit. A-Train.” 

Ben frowns at you. “What about him?”

“Is he okay? Has he been helpful? Is he safe? I don’t think Sage figured out what happened, but I can never be sure-“ 

“Breathe,” Ben says your name in a sharp, low tone, and your body responds before your brain can even fully register it. “A-Train’s fucking fine. He’s a whining pussy, but we’ve gotten some shit out of him.” 

You swallow. “Have you, um, talked to him? 

Ben’s brow knits, and he looks back ahead. “Not outside of the mission. He’s been moping like a little bitch, and he won’t stop fucking looking at me all damn weird.”

“You did rise from the dead,” you mumble. “Twice.” 

“Yeah, damn months ago. You’d think the asshole didn’t have other shit to worry about.” Ben’s scoff is slightly bitter, and you feel a pang of guilt because you know why A-Train is treating him odd. For some impossible reason, he’s the only one that knows you love Ben. Sage has guessed, and you have a feeling MM, Butcher, or Annie might be catching on, but A-Train knows. You told him. But he hasn’t told Ben.

You’ll have to buy him flowers later. Or very good sneakers. As an apology for throwing him into the fray with such a massive secret and a thank you for putting up with what you’re sure was a very pissy and grumpy Ben for several weeks without cracking. 

“Can I talk to him?” Your question is soft, and you already know what Ben’s answer will be, but you ask anyway. “I have some questions-“ 

“No.” Ben adjusts you in his arms, pulling you a little further up his chest. “No planning or thinking or doing everyone’s goddamn job for them today. You’re going to shower, and sleep, and that’s fucking it.”

“But-“ 

“No.” 

You sigh, and nod into him. You know how to choose your battles, and this isn’t one you’ll win. It’s not really one you want to win—if you could, you'd spend the rest of your life right here, head buried into Ben’s neck and surrounded by him, just Ben—but you had to try. At least attempt to convince yourself that there are things more important than Ben’s skin on yours, than the promise of rest. True, easy rest, without cold or vigilance. 

You feel Ben press a kiss to the top of your head, and the small rush through your body is controllable. He can keep kissing you—in a way that makes his Thing in your chest settle deeper and your whole body relax—but nothing else. You’re going to have to tell him that soon. You can hear the door of your apartment opening, and you’re going to have to look Ben in the eyes and say not yet. I love- You can’t say you love him. You have to rehearse this in your head for that exact reason. You can’t tell Ben you love him. This will have to be Ben, I adore you. I’ve missed you and I still want you, but I’m tired. I can’t do everything right now. I promise I’m okay, but I just need time.

He’ll give you time. You’re saying just for now, so Ben will nod and give you time and your heart will want him to touch you more. Your love for him will become bigger, and it will make this harder. You know this is going to be impossible, but it’s only a day. Maybe two.

You’ve survived a lot worse. Not fucking Ben will, in the grand scheme of things, be simple. You just have to not fuck him. You’ve managed to do it for all your life, you can keep it up for two more days.

Then you see the apartment, peaking around over Ben’s shoulder as he carries you upstairs, and you were wrong. Not fucking Ben is going to kill you.

Your apartment is clean and this is going to kill you. 

You don’t get to see everything—catch every single detail or small change—but you see enough. Everything is clean. There’s a dirty dish in the sink, a cardboard take-out box on the counter, and the coffee pot is half full, but the rest of the kitchen is spotless. There are two new chairs at the dining table, there’s a part of the wall that’s a different color than the rest of it, but nothing’s broken. There’s not even any trash. The remote is on the coffee table, next to your laptop—right where you’d left it, plugged in—and Ben’s empty mug. The couch has a blanket and a pillow—the cushions look more beaten in than you’d last seen them—and you lean back to frown at Ben as you reach the top of the stairs.

“Have you been sleeping on the couch?”

He just nods, and you sigh.

“Ben-“

“No.” Ben gives you a small glare, and his throat and stomach feel sore. “Shut the fuck up.” 

You glare at him. “I didn’t even say anything-“

“You were going to tell me I should’ve slept in the bed, because I’m not a small guy and it couldn’t have been good for my old man back.” You gape at him slightly, because Ben’s impression of you isn’t your teasing, overly-gruff and still too high-toned impression of him. It’s shockingly accurate. “But there wasn’t a chance in damn hell I was sleeping in our bed without you. That’s that, no fucking fighting-“

“Okay,” you say, and Ben pauses at your bedroom door, a hand raised to push it open. “That’s that.” 

He frowns, and for a second you think he’s going to fight with you. Ask why the fuck you’re giving in so easy, even if the answer is simple. You love him, you missed him, and you understand. If the positions had been switched you wouldn’t have been able to sleep in your bed either. You’d have stared at the door at night and spent wasteful hours of the night just hoping Ben would open it and walk out. That he’d only been taking one of his long showers, and was going to come pick you up and carry you to bed like he was now.

Ben drops it, though, and you’re grateful. There’s no real way to explain it that doesn’t end with you slipping and saying you love him. So when Ben nods—he keeps looking at you with that strange expression and you don’t have the guts to ask him what it means—and opens the door to your room, you smile at him. And right before he looks back up to carry you inside, Ben smiles back.

You don’t get to see much of your bedroom, but you catch Ben’s shield—resting near the door—and your scorched and bloody clothes laid on the dresser. The only light is in the bathroom, and Ben doesn’t stop to turn on another before he lowers down onto the bed. Dropping you down his chest, but not removing you from his hold. Dropping his forehead down to yours and staying. Always staying. 

It’s several minutes like that—just Ben holding you, lips brushing as you breathe but nothing more—before he speaks. 

“You need to shower.” 

You nod, lips twitching against his. “I am covered in blood.”

Blood. All this blood, on your hands and under your nails and no shower will make you clean again- 

“You need help.” 

It’s not a question, it’s one of his statements that should be question but comes out like a fact or order. The only thing that stops you from just humming in agreement, letting Ben win this and having him carry you into the shower, is the knowledge of how that ends. You can still feel him, and if he touches you like that he’ll feel you. Ben can’t feel you, or how your love for him is everything in you. Trying to hang off of his Thing in your chest and give it whatever it wants.

“I,” you sigh. You’d practiced. You can do this. “I can’t.” 

Ben frowns, pulling back to examine your face. “You can’t? Can’t what, fucking shower?” 

“No, I can shower.” It’s so hard to look at him right now. To feel all of Ben’s concern and something sore and bitter in his body that’s for you, but not at you and keep searching his eyes for his reaction as you speak. “I can’t, I can’t do more.” 

“More.” 

If he didn’t look so genuinely confused—if you couldn’t feel the fog of befuddlement in his head—you’d be pissed at Ben for making you say it. 

“Sex, Ben.” You swallow. “I can’t have sex with you right now. I’m really tired, and I just, I need time.” He says your name, but words have begun to fall out of you. “Only time. I really, really missed you, and I still want you,” Ben. Ben, I love you. “I do still really want you, a lot, but I need time.” His voice is louder this time, but you can’t stop talking, stop explaining yourself. “Please, just time. I still want you, I just need time, I’m so sorry-“

Ben kisses you, and your words turn into an unsteady, desperate breath. He’s understood. You know Ben’s understood, because his mouth rests against yours until you nudge your tongue between his lips and he takes over. Deepening the kiss with a grunt, squeezing your hips, and not rutting up into you when you moan. He doesn’t flip you over and cage you between his body and the bed, or drop his hands any lower than they’d been when he’d started. Ben just cups your face and traces patterns on your skin until you sigh—light and content—into his mouth, and he slowly pulls back.

“Stop apologizing,” he mutters your name, and you nod. “I think I’ll fucking manage to survive, don’t lose your damn mind.” 

“I still want you,” you mumble, because it’s important Ben understands that. “I promise I still want you. I’m-“ 

He kisses you again, one, small, almost innocent kiss. “You’re home. You trust me.” 

“I do,” you whisper. “More than anything.” 

“Then fucking believe me when I say that’s what matters. You’re fucking home.” He narrows his eyes at you. “Homelander didn’t-“ 

“No,” you shake your head, cold growing near that broken part of you. “He just kissed me.” 

“He what-“ 

“Only once,” you say softly, staring at where your fingers have dug into Ben’s body. “At the end. But I’m okay.” 

Ben glances down at your mouth, and you feel the sore, bitter thing in his muscles before his arms tighten around you and he speaks in clipped words. “I-“ 

“You can still kiss me,” your voice is borderline panicked, because Ben can’t stop touching you. Not while all you can have is the feel of his skin on yours, the feel of Ben invading over your every sensation in the best way possible. “Just not more. Not now.” 

He nods, and you know he doesn’t believe you. He’s right not to, you’re not okay—you’re broken and exhausted and something in you has begun to fray—but if Ben leaves you alone for some stupid, noble reason of letting you be, you’ll fall and not get back up. 

But he, once again, lets it go. Ben’s jaw clenches as his hands grip on you grows a little rougher—before loosening and becoming far too gentle—and you can feel his Thing in you ache, but he drops it. Scanning your features like he might find the truth written somewhere on your face, moving a hand to the back of your head so he can angle your forehead against his lips.

“You’re okay,” he grunts against your skin, and you will be. Ben is staying, so you’ll be okay. 

“I am.” You look up at him, and he’s so handsome. He looks so tired, and his lips are pressed together in a frustration that matches the knit of his brow, but he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He’d hate that you called him beautiful—he’d grumble and scowl about it—and just that thought makes you feel a little less heavy. You’re home, and you have the ability to make fun of Ben and call him beautiful. You get to see his glower, and touch warm lips with yours, and run your fingers through the soft hair of his beard and over the certain strength of his body. Ben is staying, so if you piss him off you can just kiss him as an apology, make him dinner if that doesn’t make him stop being such a bitch, and—if all else fails—watch a documentary or ESPN with him until he smiles again. And that makes everything better. Ben is here, so everything is just a little better.

“Then shower,” Ben’s eyes are softer on yours, his hands on your body are warm. “And we’ll eat, then you’ll get some goddamn sleep.”

“Can you,” you pause, unsure of your own idea, but you trust him. You trust Ben, and you don’t want him to leave you tonight. Tomorrow you can be a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need anyone to help her survive. Right now you need Ben to keep talking to you, keep making things easier, keep crashing into your orbit until you’re just a little more certain this is real. Until Homelander’s voice hissing weak and flashes of blood lining your vision are gone forever. Until you never smell coconut again because all you can smell is Ben. Pine and gunpowder and salt and strawberries and vanilla and coffee and Ben. “Can you please stay here while I shower? I’m not that hungry, we can eat after I sleep, and you’ll just be on the toilet-“

Ben stands up, taking you with him. He doesn’t speak, but his answer isn’t in his words. It’s in how he carries you to the bathroom, closing the door behind you both and letting you slide down his body. Keeping his arms around you until your legs are steady before turning to face the wall.

“Ben, you’re allowed to look. You’ve seen me before.” 

“No.” His back is straight, shoulders tensed, and when you lean around to try and look at him it’s like the wall is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. “I’m a fucking gentleman, Sunshine, and-“

You snort. “Benjamin, you are not a gentleman. You’re an obtuse, vulgar asshole, and that’s why I-“ you swallow, and know you need rest. That was too close, and you barely manage to finish the sentence smoothly. “Trust you. I know you, I don’t think you’re going to do anything. It’s really okay if you look.”

Ben’s eyes drift from the wall, meeting yours. “Fine. But if-“

“If I start to freak out or get uncomfortable, I’ll tell you.” You wrinkle your nose at him. “You know, I don’t always lie about how fucked up I feel.“ 

“Yes, you do.” Ben mutters, still half-facing the wall. “You think it doesn’t matter. But it fucking does. You fucking matter, you matter more than any-“ 

You kiss Ben once, enough for him to shut up, and pull back with a smile. “You’re being an idiot. An honorable, overprotective, gentlemanly fucking dumb dumb. If you look at me, my head won’t fall off my shoulders. Okay?” 

He scowls, but twists to face you. As you take off your clothes you see him scan your body, but it’s an assessment. He’s checking you for marks or scars or visible wounds, even though you both know there wouldn’t ever be any. Ben keeps his hands curled in fists at his sides, his eyes watching your every moment for you to falter or stumble, when you disappear into the steam of the shower you hear him shuffle closer to the door. To stand guard. You can feel his Thing rumbling around, tearing itself apart inside you, and when you speak it’s mostly just to hear Ben’s voice. You know he’s still there, but you just want to hear him. To let him distract you from the way the water’s turning red as it runs over your hands and under your feet.

“This shampoo is full.”

“What.” 

“My shampoo,” you turn the heavy bottle over in your hands, and a large glob of soap falls into your palm. “It’s full. It was almost empty when I…” You still can’t say it. It’s over and you’re home, but you still can’t say it. 

“I bought more.” 

You smile into the steam at his low, short words. You can see him on the other side of the fogged glass, shifting where he’s pressed his back against the door. “All by yourself?” 

“Shut up. I used that Amazon shit, it’s not fucking hard.” 

“It took you three hours to understand what they were selling. You said it was fucking pointless, can’t people these days just walk to a store with their damn legs.” 

Ben’s Thing in your chest hums. “Well, you didn’t tell me I could buy a fucking knife or spend the CIA’s money on pointless shit-“ 

“I definitely did.” You add more shampoo into your hair until there’s soap falling in your face and the smell of shea butter and rose overpowers the tang of metal. “My entire pitch was wasting the CIA’s money on clothing and decorations. You just weren’t listening.” 

There’s a pause, and you see Ben tense before he responds. “I was distracted.”

You hum, the soap covering your mouth, and wait for him to continue.

“You were sitting on me,” Ben mutters. “And you kept fucking moving. Your tits were right in my face.”

The steam of the shower begins to make you a little dizzy. “Oh.”

Ben grunts. “I got your stupid shiny hair shit as well. Should be in there.”

“Stupid shiny…” you trail off, eyes finding an unopened bottle in the shower caddy. “Conditioner?”

“Sure.”

He got you conditioner. Ben got you conditioner, and shampoo, and when you step out of the shower he’s there with two towels. Holding them out for you, grumbling that you always use two when you blink at him. Once you dry off, Ben pulls off his shirt and shoves it into your hands, tells you to wear it and waits for you to tug it over your head before giving you one last kiss on your brow. Guiding you into his arms and holding you against his distractingly bare and warm chest, letting you bury your face into his body, and you can feel him all around you, and this is going to be impossible. You love him so much, and he’s being so good to you, and it’s only two days but you’re not sure you’ll make it. You need him to be closer, or to climb into him, or for him to live against you like this forever. 

But you have to let him lead you out of the bathroom and onto the bed, and tell you he’ll be back in a second, you look like you’re about to fucking collapse, and watch the door close but not shut—left just enough ajar for steam and pine to fill the room around you. 

Your clothes are still on the dresser. Fabric charred and stained red, not worth salvaging but still waiting there.

The V. 

Your steps across the room aren’t silent as you cross the room. Ben would hear them no matter what, and as much as you want him to burst out of the bathroom, pick you up, and throw you back on the bed—laying on top of you so you can’t go anywhere, grumbling about resting until you kiss his cheek and he makes a grunt of affection that means you win—you’ll also cut his balls off if he tries to treat you like glass. The shower keeps running, and if Ben notices your movement he doesn’t react to it, so you stop in front of the dresser and shift through the clothes with tentative hands—blood, dried but still wrong—to pull out the vial. Green V, that’s in your and Ben’s bodies, that’s completely fucking useless.

You should throw it out. Dump it down the toilet or the sink, smash it and let it evaporate with the heat of your fire, sitting easily under your skin once more. At the very least, you should give it Mallory. That’s what you do with illegal paraphernalia, you turn it into the government. But you don’t want to. You can’t destroy it. Your excuse will be it’s a marvel of science and sort of yours—it even says Anomaly on it—but really it’s feeling. A tug in your gut that says useless against Homelander, but not useless period. It’s the same tug that tells you don’t give it to Mallory. She’s your ally. Not your friend. She wants Homelander dead, but a lot of people want Homelander dead. Wanting Homelander dead is not a benchmark of mortality.

It’s so small in your hand. Barely bigger than your ring finger, barely wider either. It fits right in your underwear door—between a bra and some socks—and when you close it your eyes land back on your clothes.

Blood. There’s just so much blood.

You feel like you’re going to vomit. Something is crawling on your skin, sticking to it and seeping into your body. Your steps back to the bed are hesitant, because your vision is lining with red and your head feels like something is flooding you. Choking you and dragging you down, down, down. Blood.

The shower turns off, and you barely hear it. You can feel the pounding of Ben’s Thing—growing louder and starting to become painful—and when Ben opens the door he’s frowning. He’s surrounded in the steam from the shower, covered by only a towel, and the light of the bathroom around his frame makes him look like some sort of furious, vengeful angel.

You’re really tired, and you can never tell Ben you thought for even a second he was an angel. Even now, in your head seconds later, it sounds stupid, and he’d snort and tease and kiss you. Maybe you should tell him, later, when he’s fully dressed and you can touch him properly.

“What’s wrong.” He’s still frowning at you, and his eyes are darting around the room, resting in sharp shadows and deep corners. You blink at him when his gaze finds yours, watching your every movement carefully.

“Nothing’s wrong, are you-“

“I thought you-” his brow furrows, and he’s scanning over your body, curled back into the sheets of the bed. “Nothing.” 

“Are you sure?” 

He nods tightly, moving to stand over you, reaching down to hold your face between his hands. “Fucking positive.” He bends over, giving you one, long kiss before muttering against your lips, “Sleep well, Sunshine.”

You grab his forearm right before he can pull away, the words fully registering. “Wait, I-” you try to pull him back, but he doesn’t even stumble. Just looks down at you with a neutral face, with an overwhelming combination of care and resolve and adoration moving from his body to yours. “Please stay.”

“You said-“

“To sleep. I don’t-” you swallow, trying to fight down tears of exhaustion and desperation and fear. “I don’t want to be alone. Ben, please-“

“Fine,” he grunts, and you feel his Thing stab you somewhere near your heart. “But I’m staying on the floor.” 

“You need sleep as well-“ 

“And I’ll get some.” Ben doesn’t waver, just glaring at you. “On the fucking floor.”

“Why.” Your words are strangled, you just want him here, why won’t he stay here. “It’ll be uncomfortable, and I’m okay with you in the bed. I mean, if you’re not okay with it, you can tell me-“

“It’s not you,” he mutters his name, and it’s so gentle. His voice is low and gentle. “You need sleep, and I’ve been having nightmares again. I’m staying, but there’s not a fucking chance I’m risking waking you up.”

You nod, but you must still look as hollow as you’re starting to feel, because Ben bends down again, tilting your head up between his hands to make you look at him.

“Listen to me. It’s not fucking you. And I’ll be right there,” he jerks his head to the floor beside your bed, eyes never leaving yours.  “I’m not fucking leaving you,” this time your name is firm. Almost an order, trying to make you understand something. “I’m never fucking leaving you, not again. Got it?”

“You didn’t leave me,” you mumble, and Ben’s mouth twitches. 

“Whatever.” He kisses the top of your head one last time, his words against your skin resonating around your skull. “Get some rest, beautiful. I’m not going to a goddamn place without you.”

You nod, and try to. You really, really try to get some rest when Ben pulls on a shirt and sweatpants, trying to move silently around the room and failing massively. You try to calm your body when he grabs a pillow off of his side of the bed and a single, thin, spare sheet before dropping down and sprawling out across the floor. You try to sleep, but your brain won’t rest, echoing screams and taunts into your ears. You try to close your eyes, but when you do they’re restless. Trying to keep watch for something that you know won’t be there, but your body doesn’t. And when you open them the light of day moving through your curtains casts shadows over Ben’s scowl and tight brow, and you want to touch him.

When you drop your hand off the side of the bed, it’s mostly just to hang it there. Closer to Ben, further away from these sheets that are soft and clean and smell like nothing. Not like coconut, but not like pine. Just bland, stale nothing. No concrete proof that thing is real. 

You don’t jerk back in surprise when you feel Ben’s fingers fold between yours. It just feels like something returning. Sliding right back where it belongs, filling your body with an assurance that he’s there. Warm and safe and certain. You keep trying to sleep but your head won’t rest. Your heart is beating too fast, and a small, unhelpful and horrible voice won’t stop telling you blood. This might, somehow, still not be real, or Homelander might find you, and there will be more blood. Can’t rest, you’ll drown in blood if you’re not alert, not careful, not running.

When you open your eyes, Ben’s already watching you. Flat on his back, resting his forearm against the side of the bed as he reaches up. Everything in him is affection and concern, and the expression on his face is that one that’s impossible to understand.

You don’t really care to understand it. Not word for word. You know it’s important, and for you, and good. Whatever Ben’s trying to tell you—even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it—is good. 

His hand tenses in yours when you climb off the bed, pushing away the sheets of nothing and practically rolling down onto the floor. Onto Ben. He catches you, moving your hand—still locked in his—so that it doesn’t get crushed between your bodies, and raising his free arm to hold you against him, even as he glares down at you.

“What the fuck are you-“

“I don’t care about nightmares,” you whisper, even though it’s only you and him, and Ben lets out a long sigh. 

“You need to rest-“ 

“I will.” You scoot a little further up his body, burying your head in his chest, where you can hear his heartbeat. Real. “I want to sleep next to you, Ben. Please.”

There’s a rush through Ben’s body, and it’s loud and hungry and powerful and glowing, but you don’t really care right now. Not as he relents, moving his arm higher up to get a firm hold of your back. Keeping you almost unmoving as he slides his hand up in yours, moving your grip onto his wrist, sitting up and slowly pulling a larger blanket down from the bed. When he lies back down he rolls onto his side, twisting you around carefully so your back is pressed to his chest, wrapping his arms around you with one hand splayed on your stomach and the other sliding back down to hold yours. His head is above yours, and when you bend your knees his legs follow. Tangling between yours, and he squeezes your hand once before muttering words that you feel more than hear.

“Go to sleep.” 

You nod, your eyes suddenly heavy and breathing easier. When you speak, your words are barely a breath. “Thank you.” 

He pulls you a little further against him, and whatever’s been aching inside of him eases. Turns bright and wide and clear. “Welcome home, Sunshine. Sleep.” 

You hum, and you’ll never tell him you missed that. How he could tell you sleep and your body would listen. Trust him to know it’s safe, that you can rest and nothing bad will happen, because Ben says nothing bad will happen and he wouldn’t lie. If he’s decided you’re safe, you are. If he’s here, you can sleep.

Ben’s strong and safe and everything and you love him. And right before you fall under, into easy, sedated darkness, every rational and reasoning part of you that reminds you don’t tell him. You can’t tell Ben you love him, not now, is washed over with pine and warm and Ben, and you’re going to tell him. Your mouth even opens, the words forming in your throat without effort. Ben. Ben, I love you.

If they come out, they’re an incoherent mumble. If Ben hears them, let alone understands them, you don’t get to know. You’re asleep—really, easily, completely asleep—in the next second, and there are no nightmares. Only an easy dream of walking through the forest in the sun, Ben’s hand in yours, safe.

——————

Ben was up before Her. Watching where their hands were still connected, where the lingering light of the day was casting shadows across her perfect, beautiful face.

She was here. She was home, and Ben was holding her while she slept with a slow heartbeat and soft breaths. He could’ve moved them up, off the floor and onto the bed, but every time Ben shifted Her eyelashes would flutter and she’d lean further back into his body. All he managed to do—in the name of comfort—was figure out how to half-roll his body so she was laying more on him than the fucking floor. 

She was home. Ben loved Her, and she was home. She’d need things, things Ben hadn’t managed to remember in her absence. A phone—if Mallory said no he’d buy a shitty burner for himself and give Her his—and some toothpaste. Ben had used about three tubes himself, and there was hardly enough left of the fourth for both of them. He’d gotten shit for her hair, and body wash, and a weird fucking tub of hard gel shit that looked like rocks and smelled like Her. He’d kept a steady flow of groceries—She needed to fucking eat, and the moment she woke up Ben was going to heat up the leftovers—but he wasn’t good at it. There were empty spots in the fridge that had defiantly been filled before, and Ben was pretty fucking sure he was buying the wrong type of apples. They were tangy and hard, and the ones she’d been buying had been crisp and soft. She’d tell him how to fix it—later, once she was rested and Mallory was off their fucking asses—and Ben would so she didn’t lift a single goddamn finger. 

He wouldn’t be able to keep Her from working. She needed to feel useful, and she’d punch him if he tried to tell her what to do. It would be hot—she would glare at him and get that wild look in her eyes that made Ben want to see just how feral he could get her—but Ben wasn’t allowed to fuck Her right now. He was fine with that, because as much as every instinct in his body was roaring at him to pick Her up and tell Her you love her. Hold her perfect face and tell her she’s your whole fucking world, and you love her more than you need goddamn oxygen, this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about Ben loving Her, it was about Her sleeping easily against him. About him being there when she started to look empty and sad and hopeless, when she started to scream and it made his whole body tighten in pain. If Ben told Her he loved her now, she might not be ready to hear it. Not when She wasn’t even ready to fuck him. He needed to tell Her when she could smile at him when he said it, when there wouldn’t be any looming threats or possibilities they could lose each other. If She turned him down, decided that Ben wasn’t worthy of loving Her—he wasn’t—She needed to be safe on her own. If Ben lost Her he needed to be fucking positive she’d be okay.

She said she was okay. But she said that all the fucking time, and it didn’t mean anything. She said she was fine, but she kept crying. She said she was good, but her eyes kept flashing with pain and distress. He’d been certain that when he was in the shower he’d heard her voice, strained and alarmed, saying blood. So much blood, and it had made him feel fucking sick. She said she was fucking okay, but she’d lost her goddamn mind when she’d woken up. It might haunt Ben for the rest of fucking time, how she’d been screaming that he wasn’t real, and her nails had been scratching at him, trying to get him away with rabid, desperate movements. She hadn’t known it was him. She’d trusted him, because once he’d convinced her she’d started crying and fucking apologizing and falling into him, but she’d been so fucking afraid. And She’d, again, said she was okay, and Ben fucking knew it was a lie. He knew Her—he knew how good and selfless she was—and he loved Her more than fucking anything, and there wasn’t a single person in history who was better than she was. And Ben didn’t trust anyone less to honestly tell him they were okay.

She thought she was a burden. Ben was goddamn certain She wasn’t telling him because she didn’t want to make him worry about her, but he already was fucking worried about Her. He’d always fucking worry about Her. If she was happy or safe or needed anything, if She was okay when he was gone, if Ben loving Her could be enough for her to stay with him forever. If it wasn’t, what he could do for Her to make it enough. And it wasn’t a burden, because everything Ben did for Her made her smile at him and nothing in the fucking universe was worth more than that. But he couldn’t tell Her that, because every form of that conversation started or ended with because I fucking love you, Sunshine, and it’s damn killing me that you won’t just admit you’re in pain. I can’t fucking help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong, tell me how I should hold you, or if I should sit with you, or what I can bring you to fucking make you happy again.

And this wasn’t about Ben, or him fixing Her. It was about Her feeling okay, and saying it in a way Ben believed. In a way that wasn’t just a soft smile and words, but actions. Where she’d stop looking so fucking afraid, and Ben could protect her from normal things. He didn’t know what normal things would be—maybe a clogged toilet, or an argument with Butcher, or staying with Her when she eventually met with her family—but it wasn’t fucking this. It wasn’t Her saying Homelander hadn’t touched Her, only kissed her—Ben was going to rip off the pussy’s fucking mouth and shove it up his worthless dickhole—but that She couldn’t touch Ben.

He’d wait. Ben had waited his whole fucking life, over a goddamn century, for Her. He could wait another century, a whole fucking millennia for Her to be ready to touch him. At least this time he was able to look at Her, smile with her, laugh with her, love her and love her and love her in silence until one day she told him she was ready and Ben could say it aloud. Tell Her that he loved her, and he’d never fucking stop loving her, and then fuck her until they broke the bed and cracked the walls and she believed him. Ben would ensure it was worth waiting, that when she was ready he’d blow her perfect fucking mind and make her look at him with nothing but fucked out bliss on her beautiful face.

He just had to wait.

It took another hour before She stirred in his arms. An hour of watching Her look content and peaceful, of Ben savoring the way she fit fucking perfectly against him and listening to the beat of Her heart. At some point his phone—resting on the dresser—buzzed once, twice, three times with news that was probably urgent. Ben couldn’t see who was texting him, but night was creeping into the sky and he guessed they were near dinnertime, and everyone should’ve been able to fucking guess they were busy. If he was getting texts, they were either Mallory being a fucking bitch about something, or MM, Butcher, or Annie trying to tell him something important. Ben didn’t care, because to check his phone he’d have to move. He had no goddamn interest in moving, not until She rolled over with an adorable, disgruntled sound, right into Ben's chest. Their hands became smushed in the little remaining space between their bodies, and Her arm—that had been resting over Ben’s—flew up to his face. Almost slapping him, landing and resting on his jaw with a slack palm and fingers near his ear. 

He loved Her so fucking much. 

She made a sound that might be a mumbled word or just a grunt, and Ben smiled down at Her, squeezing her waist gently. Whispering Her name onto the top of her head. “I know you’re awake.”

Her response was just that same noise, and Ben chuckled. 

“Morning, Sunshine.” 

“It’s fucking nighttime.” 

He shrugged, and hoped She couldn’t hear the skip of his heart when she looked up at him with a pout, Her whole face tired and still so fucking beautiful. “Who gives a fuck. You hungry?”

She nodded, but didn’t move. Just stared up at him with half-open eyes and a slightly parted mouth, and fucking hell She was perfect. She was smiling at him—he didn’t even do anything—and the limits of Ben’s will didn’t extend to not smiling back. To not giving Her a wide grin that made her whole face light up and her eyes turn from glazed with lingering sleep to glossed with something Ben didn’t recognize. She was staring at him with blown out pupils, and a pretty fucking smile, and her knee was dangerously close to Ben’s cock. He knew She could feel him—Her eyes darted down and she swallowed heavily—but she didn’t say anything. Just leaned back into his body, mouth brushing against his neck as she spoke.

“What are the leftovers?” 

“Burritos,” Ben muttered. “They’re not fucking good.” 

He could feel her smile. “You’re still going to eat one, Benjamin. I’ll go on a hunger strike if you don’t.” 

“Brat.” 

“Cunt.” Her words were hummed with breath fanning across Ben’s skin, and still neither of them made any efforts to stand and move. “What time is it?” 

“I don’t fucking know, I’m not a damn clock.” 

She gave a small laugh, and Ben’s heart nearly fucking exploded. “Someone’s grumpy.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Hm,” she leaned back, looking up at him in mock thought. “No.” 

He kissed Her. Ben was allowed to kiss her, and he was going to take every single fucking opportunity to do so. To suck on her lower lip and trace her teeth with his tongue, to hear a happy, breathless sound leave her body when he nipped at her pretty mouth. To roll Her on top of him and let her lead this, because he knew She would have some sort of fucking line and Ben needed to find it. Let Her show it to him, so he could keep walking right up to it and never, ever fucking cross it. 

It wasn’t where he’d have guessed. She was above Ben, falling onto him with sloppy, wet kisses and his hard cock pressing into her thigh, and she still didn’t stop. Then she ground down onto him once, and almost lept off of him. Ben had to shoot out an arm to catch Her, keep her from landing awkwardly on the hardwood floor.

She blinked at him, scanning his face with a look he didn’t understand. It wasn’t guilt, because she wasn’t fighting a pout. It wasn’t anger, there was nothing fierce in her gaze. It wasn’t negative—Her hand was resting easy on his arm around her waist—but it was still making his heart twist. There was something she wasn’t saying, and Ben needed to fucking hear it. To hear her say she was okay again, even if he knew it would still be a lie.

“Your phone is buzzing,” She mumbled, and Ben had to drop it. They were up, and they had shit to do. Ben would have a fucking lifetime with Her to make sure she was okay.

“The burritos are on the counter,” he grunted, keeping an arm around her as he sat up. “I’ll throw them in the microwave-“ 

“I can do that,” she shifted onto her knees, but didn’t stand. Studying Ben’s face with careful eyes. “You check your phone.” 

“No. It’s probably not fucking important-“ 

“Benjamin.” She gave him a flat look. “Who would be texting you about nothing.”

He glowered at Her. “The Kid. Sometimes he asks me questions, and I’m usually at dinner. I’m not a goddamn hermit-“ 

“If it is Ryan,” Her eyes were so bright. Teasing and happy and full of light. “Shouldn’t you answer it.” 

Ben couldn’t fight with Her. Not even about something stupid that didn’t matter. Not when she was looking at him with such adoration, and there were no shadows on her face. “Whatever.” 

Her smile—somehow—got fucking wider. Full and joyful as she leaned forwards, a hand on Ben’s arm to steady herself as she gave him a small kiss and spoke against his mouth. “I’ll meet you downstairs?”

“Be careful-“

“I can walk down some stairs, Ben.” Her voice was dry, but she wasn’t moving away and she was still fucking smiling against him, another hand rising to run fingers through his beard. “I’m a big girl, with legs.” 

“Still,” he muttered. “Go slow.” 

“I will.” She stood up, and Ben’s hand flew to her calf. Still touching Her. He had to keep fucking touching her. “Go check your phone, Pretty Boy. I’ll heat up your burrito for you.”

She didn’t walk out of the bedroom until Ben rose up himself. She even let him give her one last kiss, hanging against him a second longer than she probably needed to, like she couldn’t fucking bear to leave him either. She didn’t close the door behind her, and Ben watched her walk away until she disappeared down the stairs, keeping his attention on Her heartbeat as he walked to the dresser. 

Almost all the texts were from Butcher. There was one from the Kid—he’d convinced Butcher to buy him an old block of metal and buttons that was technically a phone—asking if She was okay. Asking to meet her. She’d want to meet the Kid, so Ben just told him Ask Butcher before opening up the rest of his messages. 

William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible

Tomorrow round noon, team meeting, all hands

Ryan wants to know if you can start training

He also wants to meet her. Answer the boy’s messages you cunt.

Whenever you twats wake up, the shrink’s ready

He’ll come to you

Just gotta fucking wake up and tell me to send him 

All of those could’ve been one fucking text. Ben said as much in his response, along with that he’d train the Kid after the meeting, he could meet Her before they started, and that the shrink could come in an hour before shoving his phone in his pocket and joining Her downstairs. 

She hadn’t started eating without him. Ben’s burrito was waiting for him, placed in front of his usual seat, and her fingers were tapping on the table as she stared at it with a frown. Her face shot up to Ben before he’d even fully exited the bedroom, and he fucking loved Her. He loved how her face relaxed when she saw him, how she’d put three large napkins next to his plate, how when he reached her at the table she smiled at him and leaned her head back to let Ben give her a small kiss before sitting down. He loved how She leaned forwards until their knees were pressed together under the table. He loved how she tilted her head at him, studying his expression before taking a careful bite of her burrito. How she didn’t swallow until Ben rolled his eyes and took a bite from his own. 

He loved the smug look on Her perfect face, and the small, pleased sound she made when Ben swallowed. 

“What were the texts about?” She didn’t look away from him as she took another bite, and Ben shrugged. 

“Butcher’s sending the shrink. The Kid wants to meet you.”

“Ryan?” Her voice was soft, nervous. “Can I?”

Ben snorted. “Of course you fucking can, don’t be fucking stupid.”

“Hey-“

“He’s only here because of you,” Ben said Her name firmly, because it was fucking insane she thought anyone would stop her. That—if anyone tried to—Ben wouldn’t shoot them. “You want to meet him, you will.” 

She nodded, giving Ben a small smile. “Thank you.” 

“Shut up.” 

She giggled, taking a slightly larger bite from her burrito and speaking through a mouthful of food. “Is he okay?” 

He frowned at Her. “What?” 

“Ryan,” she swallowed, watching Ben with soft, pretty eyes. “Is he doing well? Are you, do you really think he’s okay?”

Ben had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from telling Her he loved her. To lean over the table and find a way to pull her into his lap, to hold Her and tell her of course he’s fucking okay. You gave everything, more than you fucking should’ve, and I’ll be fucking damned if it was for nothing. You were right, you’re always fucking right, and he’s good. I started talking to him because you told me to, because I love you, and he’s a good kid. He’s smart like you are, and you’re going to like him. I’m going to watch you talk to him and it’s going to be fucking worth all of this shit, because I love you and you’re going to light up about how this worked out and now the Kid is safe and happy. I’m going to be happy because you’re home and I love you and you’re going to be fucking happy and I fucking love you. I love you, Sunshine, and the Kid is good. 

He managed to hold it in—through sheer, brute will—and only nod. “He’s good. You’ll like him.” 

“I will?” 

“Yeah, you will,” Ben muttered, taking another bite. “He likes you.” 

She frowned at him, and Ben realized a second too late what he’d just said. “He’s never met me.” 

“Well, he knows about you. And he thinks you’re cool-“ 

“But he doesn’t know me,” She protested, and Ben didn’t understand the distress in her voice. As if there was a fucking world where someone would not like Her. “He knows about me, not me. He might hate me-“ 

Ben drawled Her name, and decided his pride wasn’t worth holding onto over the strain of her words and how they were making his heart tighten. “We’ve told him about you. He fucking likes you. Wouldn’t stop asking me every goddamn question about you. Stop being fucking nervous about it, he likes you.” 

“Oh,” She blinked at him, shaking Her head like she was trying to clear a thought. “What, what did you tell him?” 

“Everything.” Ben muttered, unable to look away from Her wide eyed, perfect face, continuing when she just gave him a confused expression. “Your work before this, what you liked, what shit you hated, all the fucking things you do for everyone.” 

“And he likes me?” 

Ben scoffed. “Of course he fucking does.” 

“Even when you told him everything?” 

“Well, almost everything.” Ben smirked at Her, winking. “I didn’t fucking tell him how you taste, or look under me, or how you sound when you moan my name.”

Her face flushed, and her gaze dropped to her plate. “Would be a weird thing to tell him. We’d have to call CPS on you.”

He snorted. “I don’t think CPS gives a fuck, Sunshine. And I don’t tell anyone that shit, it’s fucking mine to know.”

It was. Ben was figuring out how to walk a very careful line with his love. One on side was everyone needed to fucking know. Everyone needed to understand that he loved Her, and that nobody was capable of loving her like he was, and nobody fucking deserved her—Ben himself was sure as shit not worthy—but his whole life was about earning her. About loving Her, and worshipping her, and doing whatever she asked him because Ben fucking loved her and everyone needed to be crystal fucking clear about that. Even if she didn’t want him, Ben wasn’t up for grabs. He was Her’s, and he didn’t have any interest in being anyone else’s. If She said no and left him, Ben would watch her go and fucking live with it because he wasn’t a pussy, but she’d also take his fucking heart with her. People should know that, because Ben didn’t want his time wasted by other women who could never be Her trying to charm him. And if She, by some miracle, decided she did want Ben, he would fucking kill anyone who tried to take him away from Her. If she accepted Ben’s love, nobody was ever going to take it away from Her. Ben was fucking Hers, and every single pussy fucker in the world should know that. 

On the other side of the line was Ben loved Her, and she adored him, and that was fucking sacred. Nobody should be allowed to see the parts of Her she reserved for Ben, because they were given to him and him alone. If She wanted the world to have them, she’d say their names like she said Ben’s and she looked at them with the same ease in Her eyes when she looked at Ben. She’d kiss them like they were everything, and cling to them like she was always touching Ben. But she fucking do any of that, because those were vulnerable, secret parts of Her she’d offered Ben and he’d fucking go back to sleep and be tortured a million goddamn years before he betrayed Her. Before he exposed them or let them shatter, before he let anyone hurt them. Ben was Her’s, but she was also Ben’s. These pieces of Her were Ben’s to care for, and she trusted him to do it right. He was going to fucking do it right, so She never had to worry about him leaving.

Some part of Her must know that—know how fucking serious he was—because she just gives him a small smile and strange, peaceful look from under her eyelashes and changes the topic. 

“Have you seen all the rumors about me?” She grinned at him, and a little bit of sauce fell out of her mouth. Ben wanted to lick it. “Do you think I’m Edgar’s daughter, or Singer’s?” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “Fucking insane dogshit. I’d have thought the world would move on from pointless, hounding fucking gossip. Let people live their goddamn lives.” 

“What a champion of public figures’ right to privacy,” she teased, tongue flicking out to catch the sauce. She was trying to fucking kill him. “Tired of the tabloid lies, Pretty Boy?” 

“If one more pussy says you’re fucking Butcher, I’ll kill him.” 

“I can’t imagine he’s loving that either,” She shrugged. “And Butcher couldn’t handle me.” 

Ben chuckled, but some sort of bell rang in his head. Something familiar, that made him pause and look at Her. Perfect, glaring at the stray beans on her plate. His mouth opened—he wasn’t even fucking sure what he was going to ask—and someone knocked on the door. 

She started to rise, but Ben managed to make his glare firm enough that she dropped back down and stuck her tongue out at him.

“You’re not fucking-“

“I know, you’re going to get the door, I’m going to stay here and rest.” She scoffed, crossing her arms. “I’m not fucking delicate, Benjamin-“

“I don’t think you’re fucking delicate.” He snapped. There wasn’t a less delicate woman on the planet, and he fucking loved that about Her. “I’m being a goddamn gentleman. Stay in your chair.”

“Asshole,” She muttered under her breath, and Ben grinned at her.

“You fucking love it.”

She flipped him off, face flushing a pretty color, and Ben just winked before walking to the door and opening it to find a small, weedy man with the beady, reptilian eyes and the tiniest glasses Ben’s seen in his goddamn life.

“Hello,” Lizard-Eyes looked Ben up and down with tight lips and a twitching nose. “I am here for an evaluation of the Anomaly’s psychological status, at the orders of Director Mallory. I take it you are Soldier Boy?

Ben scowled. “Of course I’m fucking Soldier Boy, who the hell else-“ 

“Ben,” She called from over his shoulder, and Ben shifted his body to block her from the view of Lizard-Eyes. “Just let him in.” 

Ben twisted over his shoulder, shooting Her a glare. He looks like a fucking haughty pussy. This is fucking pointless. 

Maybe, She shrugged. But we still have to do it. Might as well do it now. Please, Ben. 

He sighed, and turned back to Lizard-Eyes, looking him up once and down before stepping to the side. 

Lizard-Eyes walked past Ben without a second glance, his eyes locked on Her. Looking at Her like she was some sort of fucking puzzle or trophy. 

“Lovely to meet you,” Lizard-Eyes said Her name, giving her a smile that made Her flinch. A tiny, easily missable movement that Ben caught with ease and Lizard-Eyes missed entirely as he extended his hand.

“Um, hi.” She glanced up, over Lizard-Eyes, gaze finding Ben’s. What is he doing?

Ben shrugged. Fuck if I know.

Lizard-Eyes turned around, frowning at Ben. “If you, sir, could find leave for us to begin-“

“He stays,” She said quickly, eyes falling to Lizard-Eyes’ still outstretched hand. “And you shouldn’t touch me.” 

Lizard-Eyes’ head whipped back to Her. “Why ever not? Will it trigger a trauma induced reaction-“ 

“She’s an empath supe, you fucking idiot,” Ben muttered, walking around the table to stand behind Her. Placing a hand on her shoulder and savoring the way she leaned back into him. 

“Ah,” Lizard-Eyes nodded, voice far too fucking fasciated. “That must be quite a burden, to feel and shoulder the emotions of others.” 

“I manage,” Her voice was dry, and Ben snorted.

“Will he,” Lizard-Eyes lowered himself into a chair, glancing back up at Ben. “Must he be here for our session?”

“Yeah, he must.” Her voice was firm. Final. Ben was staying, no room for arguing. “Let’s get this over with.” 

Lizard-Eyes pulled a large stack of papers out his goddamn ass, looking at Her over his stupid fucking glasses. “Let’s begin, at, well, the beginning.” He chuckled to himself, and he sounded like a fucking horse. “Why would director Mallory believe you may be in need of an assessment?” 

“Probably because I was just held hostage by my abuser for almost two months,” Her voice was bored, but her fingers had begun to tap on the table. Lizard-Eyes didn’t even fucking notice. “And I didn’t exactly return peacefully.” 

“Your abuser?” 

There wasn’t a fucking chance in hell Lizard-Eyes didn’t know who Her abuser. Even if he’d only just been presented with the case, She’d been all over the goddamn news. And Her face wasn’t forgettable, it was perfect and beautiful and seared itself into your goddamn eyes. 

She sighed, and Ben could hear the resentment in her voice. “Homelander.” 

Lizard-Eyes hummed, writing something down. “And what forms of abuse did you endure under him?” 

“Rape,” Her voice was soft, and Ben’s jaw clenched. “Kidnapping. Emotional abuse. Unethical medical experimentation.” 

Lizard-Eyes’ nod was fucking eager, and Ben was going to break his stupid pencil, then his hands, then rip out his tongue. “And during this second time? Were there repeated offenses?” 

“I,” She swallowed. “I don’t-“ 

“From the first occurrence. During the past two months did you experience,” Lizard-Eyes checked his notes. She’d just fucking told him, and he made a dramatic show of looking over his glasses and frowning at the paper. “Rape? Kidnapping? Emotional-“

“How the fuck is this helping,” Ben snapped, because Her heart had begun to pick up her fingers were tapping faster, in time with the chew of her mouth. “Just do your goddamn job and clear her. Now.” 

“My methods are not for you to understand,” Lizard-Eyes angled his chin up, giving Ben a thin-lipped frown. “But they are proven. I must hear, in her own words, what we are facing. Now,” his eyes returned to Her. “Please continue.” 

There wasn’t a fucking we. This was Her, doing everyone’s work for them and better than they possibly could, and Ben staying at her side until she gave him something to do. Lizard-Eyes wasn’t a goddamn part of this. 

She was full of a lot more fucking grace and forgiveness than Ben was, because she just kept entertaining the fucking idiot, even her whole body tensed under Ben’s hand. “No rape, just, um, one kiss. Emotional abuse, he tried to make me kill someone. This was kind of kidnapping again, and he choked me a few time-“ 

“He fucking what.” Ben hissed, glaring down at her. “You said he didn’t fucking touch you-“ 

“He didn’t, Ben.” She leaned back, giving Ben a tiny, weak smile that was probably meant to fucking reassure him. “Not like that.” 

“Like what?” Lizard-Eyes’ question drew Her eyes away from Ben, but her head remained slightly tipped back. 

“Um, rape. He didn’t rape me this time.” 

“Excellent,” Lizard-Eyes gave a short nod, looking down at his papers. “Who was it you killed? Was there an emotional attachment?” 

“I didn’t kill him, Homelander did. I couldn’t.” She let out a long breath. “And I’d never really talked to him.”

“Interesting. Is that all?” 

“Yeah,” She mumbled. “That’s all.” 

She was fucking downplaying it. Ben knew Her, knew there was probably some other fucked up shit Homelander had done to Her or made her do. Christ, she’d had to stand in front of a camera and lie about her whole fucking life, had to pretend she loved Homelander, and she’d come home screaming. There was more, there was always fucking more She believed didn’t matter. Lizard-Eyes was just nodding, consulting his goddamn notes and looking at Her over his glasses. 

“How have you felt since your return?” 

“Tired,” She mumbled. “I’m just tired. I got some sleep, but I’m just really, really tired.”

“And have you been given, ah, the opportunity to sleep?” Lizard-Eyes glanced up at Ben, and She shook her head. 

“Yes. I took a shower, ate, and slept. It’s just been a day,” She sighed. “I’ll be fine.” 

“Hm.” Lizard-Eyes looked Her over, squinting like she was a goddamn specimen. “Have you had any violent outbursts? Felt any form of bloodlust?” 

“No,” She mumbled, and Lizard-Eyes made another fucking note. 

“Have you had any nightmares, or dreams in which you enacted brutal vengeance on your abuser?” 

“No.” 

“Have you felt as if your actions were outside of your control? Heard any voices that are not usually there, or maybe tell you to do things you may not normally do?”

“Um,” She swallowed, heartbeat skipping as leaned further back into Ben. “No.” 

“Any thoughts of hurting yourself or ending your life?” 

“No, but it wouldn’t work-“ 

Lizard-Eyes smiled at Her, and it was fucking disgusting. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me?” 

“I don’t think so.” She frowned, glancing up at Ben with a confused expression. Is that it? 

Ben looked over Lizard-Eyes—consulting his stupid fucking papers with an over-dramatic expression—before rolling his eyes at Her. Damn seems it. Pussy.

Her mouth tugged up slightly. Do you think those things actually help him see? 

Ben failed to cover his snort. Not a chance in fucking hell. 

Lizard-Eyes, oblivious to their exchange, looked up with another horrible smile. “I am happy to say I feel comfortable clearing you. You’re not displaying any worrying behaviors that would compromise your safety to yourself or others.” 

She blinked. “Oh, okay. Is that-” 

“I will recommend that you take it easy,” Lizard-Eyes continued, attention returning to his notes. “Maybe take up mediation. It’s been a pleasure, and should you need any more aid, know that my door is always open.” 

“Wait,” She reached across the table, not touching Lizard-Eyes but placing a hand on his papers, drawing his gaze to Her. “You work in medical, right? For the agents?”

Lizard-Eyes gave a hum. “Third floor, room twenty-six. If you would like to meet again-“

“No, I’m good.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You don’t happen to have the change of contact forms on you? I kind of forgot them earlier.”

“Ah,” Lizard-Eyes shuffled through the pile, pulling out three poorly-stapled pages. “Will you need time to complete them?” 

She shook her head, taking the paper and looking backward at Ben. “Phone?” 

He frowned. “What.” 

“Your phone, Ben.” She reached a hand up, palm open. “I didn’t memorize your number, I need to see it for the form.” 

Ben tried not feel so fucking smug about it. About Her making him her emergency contact, especially because there weren’t really any other fucking options. It sure as fuck shouldn’t be Butcher, and the only two out of their team Ben would trust to take care of Her properly—listen to Her, not let her do stupid sacrificial shit, and protect her like the goddamn perfect work of art she was—were Kimiko and MM. They’d both drop their shit to take care of Her, they’d both be pissed if she put herself in danger, and neither of them would get all fucking moral about it. MM might lecture Her about it later, but it was better than Annie's goddamn judgmental looks. Kimiko liked Her, and would get her hands bloody to help Her, and Ben could fucking appreciate that. They wouldn’t hesitate to protect Her—MM was all about that no man left behind fuckery, and Kimiko adored Her—but they weren’t as good options as Ben was. For one, MM was always busy and had his own family to worry about, and Kimiko couldn’t fucking talk. But Ben was still better. He’d drop the fucking sky off his back to go to Her, he fucking loved Her and there wasn’t anyone who knew her perfect, insane fucking brain as well as he did. 

Lizard-Eyes certainly fucking didn’t. As She filled out the form with her neat, scrawling handwriting and an adorable focus, Ben just glared at Lizard-Eyes. He didn’t fucking get it. How you could never trust Her to say she was in pain, or that her pain was the worst fucking thing in the world. Lizard-Eyes could clear Her now—in this moment when her voice was clear and steady and her eyes were sharp—but he’d never seen her screaming or crying or trying to escape her own goddamn body, all while insisting she was fine. She wasn’t fucking fine, and it made everything wrong. 

Ben had known that from the start. Before he’d loved Her, before he’d even fucking liked her, Ben had known that Her being small and broken and afraid was just fucking wrong. She was supposed to be happy. Everything was better when she was happy. Men should be going to fucking war to keep her happy. She deserved it. She deserved happiness and light and love and fucking everything, and Ben didn’t care if it took the rest of goddamn time, he’d do whatever she needed to make her happy. If it was things, he’d get her things. He’d buy her all the fucking things in the world. If it was vengeance, he’d walk by her side and do the dirty work for her. If it was for everyone to leave her alone, Ben included, he’d do it. He’d walk away and wait forever for Her to return.

It wouldn’t be that. She stood up, showing Lizard-Eyes to the door and saying kind words the pussy didn’t deserve, and Ben knew she’d just want time. She’d want Ben to stay and hold Her while she’d tried to fix everything wrong in the world, and then she’d want to laugh and talk and tease him. So Ben would stay, and when she asked him to stay he’d remind her that nothing could fucking make him leave her. He’d do what She asked, fix what she told him to, and then kiss Her until she was just happy. Ben just wanted Her to be fucking happy. And he loved Her, so he’d trade the whole fucking world to make that happen. Then give it back, because She wouldn’t want the world. She’d just want Ben.

She was closing the door and walking to Ben, and She was smiling, and this was the whole world. She’d smashed Her face into his chest, and relaxed into his arms, and Ben fucking loved Her. 

“Is it late?”

Ben glanced at his still-open phone on the table. “Past ten.”

She hummed. “I’m not that sleepy.” 

Ben muttered Her name, and she pulled back to glare at him. 

“Don’t tell me I am,” She snapped. “I’m tired, not sleepy. There’s a difference, and I’m not sleepy. So shut up.” 

Ben raised his brows at Her. “I didn’t fucking say anything.” 

“You were going to-“ 

“And those words mean the exact same thing, Sunshine, don’t bullshit me.”

“They don’t,” She scowled. “Tired is exhaustion. Strain and fatigue. Sleepy is heavy eyelids and woozy.” 

“Smartass.” 

“You’re the one who fucking doubted me, I just-“ 

Ben kissed Her, soft and slow and She was home. She was fucking home, in Ben’s arms, and he was never going to lose Her again.

“If you’re not sleepy,” he muttered against Her lips. “Then what do you want to do.”

She sighed into him, and it was a light and breathy sound that made Ben’s whole body relax. “Can we watch TV?”

“Of course we fucking can.” Ben dropped down, just enough to pick Her up, and rose fast enough to swallow her yelp in his mouth. “We can do whatever the hell you want.” 

She smiled at him like he was everything, resting Her head on his shoulder, and Ben wasn’t sure how he’d managed two months without this. Fuck, he didn’t know how he’d gone a hundred years without this. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t.” 

Ben had glared at Her and grunted the words, but she clearly didn’t take him fucking seriously anymore, because she giggled. She goddamn giggled, and buried Her head in his neck, and gave a hum of content that made Ben’s whole world light up. He fucking loved Her. He had to keep gnawing off his tongue through the movie—Her pick, a cartoon about jazz and frogs that Ben allowed because he was a fucking pussy who loved her—because he was hardly able to stop himself from telling Her. She didn’t climb off of him when they sat on the couch, and Ben almost told her. She hummed the words of all the songs—it was goddamn musical—and the whole room filled with lights and smells and Ben almost told Her. She smiled up at him during random scenes, and Ben almost fucking told Her. 

“You look sleepy, beautiful.” Ben murmured into Her ear, halfway through, and she shook Her head, voice slightly slurred when she spoke. 

“Fuck you.” 

Ben chuckled, and adjust Her in his arms so she could have an easier time breathing—and Her lips would brush Ben’s skin more, but who the fuck was going to yell at him about that—and Ben almost told Her. 

The movie had hardly finished when she passed out. Her whole body went loose and her heart fell into an easy rhythm, and Ben carried her upstairs. Carefully, gently, watching Her face, easy and perfect and beautiful in the dark. Setting Her on the bed and pulling the covers over her body, brushing stray hairs from her face and smiling down at Her. Perfect. Still so fucking perfect.

Ben wasn’t strong enough to stop himself from climbing on the bed himself and pulling Her back to his side. He shouldn’t. He might wake up with morning wood and it might freak her out, or he might have a nightmare and disturb her. But She’d begged him to stay, and Ben could watch Her and protect her like this. Keep Her safe, never leave, make Her happy. Fuck Mallory and Homelander and the media and the mission and Sage and the government and Vought. She just needed to be happy, and everything would be right.

Whatever it took, Ben would make Her really, truly happy again.

End Note: For those of you who are mad they didn’t IMMEDIATELY fuck, all I have to say is fair. Yeah, that’s fair. Although you SHOULD know better by now. They WILL fuck, we’re real close to them fucking, but let them get there themselves, their way. (the hardest and most inconvenient way possible).

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

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@generalmoonpolice

[nightfall-kachiniko]

༅ ｡ₓ AOT girls (+hange) reacts to you crying during an argument…

paring: mikasa x reader, annie x reader, pieck x reader, hange x reader, sasha x reader.

˗ˏˋ꒰ ☁️ ꒱

𓏲·˚ ͙ mikasa

- you felt your heart bang with every word that came out of your wife’s mouth. her voice riddled with irritation at your lack of understanding, as you continued to go back and fourth. “I don’t like the idea of you out there for that long!” You shouted, desperately trying to explain. “You’re being dramatic,” she said, “it’s apart of my job, y/n. Theres nothing I can do about it!” It felt like you two had been saying the same thing over and over again. “6 months? Halfway across the world?! And you’re okay with that?!” You shouted angrily. “I have orders, y/n. I don’t have a choice.” She said sternly. “And there is nothing I can do or you can do to change that!” her aggressive words hit you in the heart as you felt your eyes start to water. the air was finally quiet for a few moments as you processed everything. ‘she has to. It’s her job. i need to understand that…’ you thought. But you just couldn’t. you just couldn’t stand the thought of mikasa being gone that long. the silence finally broke in the air as your voice choked up “I just don’t want you to leave me..!” your voice broke, as the tears you’d been holding in did aswell. You choked out sobs, deep, heavy, sobs, as your voice shattered sentences of incoherent. Mikasa froze for a moment, before her gaze went soft as it lied on you. her warm embrace laced hands around your figure as it held you tightly, her eyes filling with sadness. “Oh..don’t cry love..” she whispered as your cries continued, her arms wrapping lovingly around you. “I know darling, I know this is hard.” Mikasa said, as her hand raised your face from your palms to look you in the eyes. her fingers caressed tears off your face as she helped you calm down. “I promise you, I’ll never leave you.. no matter what distance lays between us.”

𓏲·˚ ͙ annie

“You never listen to me! Ever! I mean fuck y/n why do I even bother at this point?!” Annie shouted angrily, her tone filled with more rage than usual. It started off as a dumb couples fight to now a full on argument spurring out angered insults with mindless thinking. “Oh really? You’re one to talk! That’s all you ever do is blame everything on me!” You spat back. Annie’s figure swiftly turned around to face you, “you’re the one that starts shit y/n, not me.” she sternly said. “I put up with your shit every day for the past 5 years. 5 YEARS Y/N! I’ve had to mother you! I’ve had to care for you! IM BASICALLY A GODDAMN BABYSITTER!” Her screams rang in your ears as you closed your eyes, her aggressively packing her bags.“Seriously?” You mutter out, “I’ve sacrificed friendships, I’ve sacrificed LIVES for you! I’ve sacrificed everything just to be with a warrior! I’ve done so much for you!” you screamed back. Annie looked at you, her eyes as stern as ever. “ All you’ve ever done for me is cause me problems,” her voice was serious, her voice was real. i think that’s the part that hurt the most, the fact that her voice said what her mind wanted to. and she was being honest. The anger you once had in your eyes faded to a soft gaze as you felt your heart shatter. Your eyes filled with tears as you stayed silent, trying not to cry. “That’s all you ever do.” Annie sternly said, failing to realize your soft whimpers would soon break into sobs. as you felt your world crashing down on you as tears streamed down your cheeks, your palms held your face in your hands as you cried. Annie turned back around from stuffing a shirt in her suitcase, her eyes landing on you. she stayed silent as you cried, not knowing what to do. But what she did know, that she really fucked up. Annie glanced at your figure, feeling that out of regret and guilt arise in her stomach. She softly came towards you, her arms carefully wrapping around your body as you dug your head into her shoulder, sobbing. “I’m sorry..” she whispered into your hair. “I’m sorry..” she said a bit louder. But you could tell from the tone in her voice, that she was being honest.

𓏲·˚ ͙ pieck

“Please y/n, I’m not in the mood.” Your girlfriend said, tiredness on her face. “But you said you’d stay tonight..” you disappointedly breathed out. “I barley see you enough as it is. You can’t just stay a few hours?” the woman turned around swiftly to look at you, “I don’t know how many times I have to repeat myself. I said no y/n, what part of that do you not understand?!” Her aggressive response caught you off guard, your air feeling more heavy around you. “..you don’t have to yell at me pieck..” you softly muttered out before she cut you off. “Well sometimes you just don’t fucking listen!” She shouted aggressively, taking out her anger on you. “Pieck stop! I don’t want to fight with you!” You called back, trying to calm her down. “Then stop being so needy all the time and let me rest!” She replied. Her words made you feel like a burden as you felt your chest get tighter, confused and saddened as to what you did wrong. “..fine…” you sighed out, turning away to walk upstairs. You heard pieck mutter a “finally” under her breath as your vision became blurred, tears swelling up in your eyes. You turned back around in the doorway to look at pieck. “..I’m sorry If i did something wrong..” your voice wobbled out, catching her attention. Pieck starred at you, tears flowing down your face as you slightly hummed soft cries. She was token aback by your state, clearly now realizing how she acted towards you. “Oh.. dove..” pieck softly said, “no..no no sweetie” the messy haired woman came over to you, her eyes fixated on your own watery orbs. Guilt plastered on her face as she hugged you tightly, making you take in a deep breath to stop your sobs from getting worse. “Honey, I’m so sorry dear.. I don’t know what gotten into me lately.. I’ve just been so stressed.. I shouldn’t of token it out on you love… I’m so sorry sweetheart please don’t cry..” she said, drying your tears with tissues. “I..know you’ve been… stressed.. and I’m sorry I just miss you…” you managed to get out in between breaths. “Im sorry darling..”

𓏲·˚ ͙ hange

The one night that you rarely have with you and hange alone, cancelled all because of some stupid paperwork they could get to in the morning? “Seriously Han?! Do you know how long we’ve been planning this?” You hear hange sigh from their desk as they touch the bridge of their nose. “I’ve told you y/n I have too many things to do! Why do I have to keep repeating myself like a skipping record?!” Hange scolded at you. Apparently this date meant more to you then it did to her. Way more. To the point they’d rather do paperwork than go on it. “You can do that shit in the morning! This is the one night we finally can go out and you’re telling me no?!” You angrily shouted at her. “Fuck hange! I’ve barley seen you in weeks! I wake up and your not there! I go to sleep and your not there! Why is everything about your fucking work?! Why is it never about me?!” You shouted at them, their face filling with more irritation than before. “I’m not saying it again.” They said, picking back up their pen and scribbling down on their paperwork. “Really? You’re really gonna do this to me?” You said, trying to not flip out on them. Hange didn’t reply, but just ignore you. “Gonna ignore me like you always do, huh?” You scoffed. A rage burning up inside you as you ranted. “You know why the hell are you even in a relationship if you’re commander?! You leave me out in the fucking dust! You act like I’m not even there! Is all I am just a fuck to you when you’re too stressed to function?! Huh?! Is that paperwork more important than me-“ “YES! FUCK ANYTHING TO SHUT YOU UP!” they yelled, cutting you off. You felt your heart sink as they screamed, going on about how you never listen, always complain, how they’re always too busy and stressed. Too focused on their rant to notice the tears falling down your eyes and your small shaky breaths. “AND I DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH ENERGY TO DEAL WITH Y-“ they cutt themself as they saw your shattered figure, your eyes filled with tears as they kept streaming like a river down your face, dripping onto the floor. ‘At least now they were quiet, huh hange?’ they thought, realizing how badly they hurt you. You just started at the floor avoiding eye contact as they breathed out a sigh, fixing their glasses. “I..c-come here love.” They said, their hand gesturing for you to come closer as they walked towards you. Hange sighed as they felt you collapse into their arms, not knowing when the last time they held you like this was. She let you sob, rubbing circles onto your back as she occasionally pressed kisses into your hair, relaxing into you. “I know I haven’t been the best partner, y/n. I’m not a good partner at all. I’m sorry.”

𓏲·˚ ͙ sasha

“I am doneee!!! Donee!! No more arguing i cant hear you!!” Sasha plugged her ears as you continued to pour out everything that was in you. From the late nights out, to the not knowing where she was. It was too much. You’d never get a serious answer, all you’d get is your concerns blown off with a ‘ehh you’re dramatic babe’ it was like she took nothing seriously. Not your emotions. Not your concerns. Not even your relationship. “Sasha fucking stop!” You yelled. “I’m trying to talk to you about something that concerns me and all you do is plug your ears and ignore me!” You cry out. “Do you even care about us at all?!” You say, to be greeted with a nonchalant “oh wow and now you think I don’t care?” Sasha scoffed, hopping off the counter. “You’re frustrating me! Ive already told you I’m having fun I’m safe I’m fine I’m not cheating on you!” They blurted out. “Sash that is not even my concern! Maybe you’d know what it is if you’d actually listen!!” You yelled out. “Oh trust me, I listen.” She bit into her Apple. “I have to listen to your insecurities all the time. And I have to deal with ‘em. I’ve gotta put up with ‘em!” She remarked back, making you even more frustrated. “Then why don’t you do anything about it?! Why don’t you care?!” “Damn it y/n I do!” “Then shut up and listen!” She laughed at your remark, confusing you. “Gosh you really don’t quit do you?” Sasha chuckled, making your blood boil. You had enough, you were so filled with rage and hurt. You felt tears start spurring out your eyes as you yelled and cried and sobbed, catching Sasha off guard. “Y/n?” She looked around, lost. “Hey-uh..” Sasha just starred at you and your broken figure, sobbing and crying. “D-did I really make you that upset..?” She questioned, taking in the state you’re in. “Babe..” they came closer to you as you muttered a “go away..” in between sobs. “Hey no nooo babe.. ah gosh..” Sasha said, trying to comfort you. “Ah..please don’t cry pretty, I’m sorry darlin’..” she hugged you tightly, pressing your figure up agaisnt hers. “I’m gonna do better honey, I promise.”

a/n: I AM SO FUCKING TIRED