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godmadeaterribleerror · 24 hours ago

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Chapter 29 - All My Bets On You

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Think of reading things I write like a scavenger hunt where only I know what you're looking for. <3

Chapter Title from Nothing Matters by The Last Dinner Party.

Word Count: 26.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Ben return home, and it's time to work. Usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, fluff, angst, established relationship

Read on A03!

Chapter 28 - Chapter 30

Ben didn’t like having to hide Her.

He didn’t like keeping Her fucking secret. She shouldn’t be secret. Ben should be able to hold Her high to the sun, so she can be in a warm, clear, unwavering light that didn’t flicker or wash out a single feature of her perfect face. The lights of the airplane cabin and airport were too fucking blue, flickering and making everything have a sense of being artificial. None of this shit should be artificial, because this was the realest thing in Ben’s life, and he wanted to tell the sky and stars and every space between about it.

Ben should be able to stand up and fucking roar that She wanted him. That they were going to get married, and there wasn’t a single goddamn thing any pussy fucker could do about it, because She’d chosen him. She was wearing the ring Ben had bought her, and holding his hand, and sleeping against his chest. There was a little drool falling out of her perfect mouth and staining Ben’s shirt, and her arms were wrapped around his torso, and her completely relaxed face was pressed into his body. Because She’d fucking chosen Ben. He kept her safe, and happy, and made her feel loved like she deserved to be, so She’d chosen Ben.

And he wanted to fucking scream that. That the most perfect, beautiful woman to ever grace this stupid fucking planet wanted him. That every fucking way, She wanted Ben. And now Her beauty was everyone’s to see, but only Ben’s to hold. To care for and adore. Only Ben got to see Her wild, glossy eyes and her parted, swollen lips when he fucked her. Only Ben got to touch the softest, most vulnerable and delicate pieces of her heart and mind, because she trusted him to tend to them and sooth them over. And only She got to see the parts of Ben nobody had been ever meant to witness. The storm that she’d coaxed out of him, that would sweep over his body and make him momentarily so fucking weak, and that she’d wait out with him until it passed. She’d let Ben rest his head near Her heart—where he could be a little more certain she was real—and sing to him until there wasn’t a swell in his throat and the world wasn’t blurred around him. Until he stopped making wrathful, pathetic fucking sounds he muffled in Her skin, and then could stay there a long while after.

Forever. She was going to be able to hold Ben like that for fucking ever. She’d have likely done that anyway—Ben was never going to let that piece of Her, alive inside him, wither and crack and shatter—but now he’d be able to walk into a stupid, disgusting gas station and know that everyone could see She’d chosen him. Ben could pick her a million flowers, plant Her a goddamn garden—have MM plant Her a garden, Ben didn’t actually know how to do that—and if people tried so say something he could shout that it was for his wife. He was allowed to do whatever the fuck he wanted for his wife. Whatever She asked of him, Ben would do.

Because She’d still give all Her beauty away to whoever asked for it—She’d cut herself open and offer kindness to assholes who didn’t deserve it and motherfucking pussies who wasted it, wasted Her—but Ben would throw it right back into her. He’d give Her all the good things he had to offer, because he still didn’t really deserve her, but he did fucking love her, and Christ, he had to make that worth something. Make it worth what She was, which was everything. She was fucking perfect, and she was Ben’s, just as he was Her’s. Ben had Her, he’d always have her, and he would never have to be alone and hated again, because She’d looked at him and decided that he was worth loving a little more than she loved everything else.

A lot more. Ben was pretty fucking certain She loved him a lot more than everything else. That when She’d cling to his arm like he might drift away, or kissing over his beard with soft lips and mumbled words of affection that made Ben’s whole fucking body even more of a tool for her to use, it was because she loved him a lot more than anything else.

And now Ben had a hacked and carved out path ahead of them where he could keep loving Her until the world burned out. And everyone should fucking know. Everyone should understand that Ben loved Her, and She loved him, and that was that.

But he had to hide Her. Ben had to keep himself angled to block her from view, keep his own baseball cap tilted down to hide his face from view. To hide from every television in the Airport, all playing the same fucking lie, all with Sage’s eyes seeming to track them through the screens.

The news had broken while they were still in the air. They weren’t even halfway over the Atlantic when She froze at Ben’s side, and he started to feel cold and sick. He’d turned to press for what the fuck was wrong—why her heart was set to a pace that kicked his own up and made blood pound in his ears—and she’d passed him the phone without a word.

On the screen was a photo of Sage standing at a news podium—her expression grim and dramatically pained—and a headline that made Ben’s teeth almost crack.

Sister Sage Accuses the Anomaly of Treason.

The article itself was long and pointlessly detailed. Half of it was just a useless and incorrect timeline of everything about Her, and it took Ben almost two fucking minutes to find what Sage had actually goddamn said.

She was a terrorist. She had been behind the Believe Expo attack, and Tek Knight massacre, and deaths of Black Noir and A-Train. She was responsible for destruction of numerous properties—Vought, Government, and private owned alike—was a Deep state leader, and had been the mastermind behind the assassinations of Victoria Neuman and Grace Mallory in order to clear the path to the White House. She’d been intending to help her stepfather, Secretary Todd Muller—Sage had implied some truly fucking disgusting things about their relationship that made Ben see red—gain the VP slot, and Her next victim would likely have been President Robert Singer himself if Sage hadn’t outsmarted her and blocked Her plan.

But now Secretary Muller was out of the running—and under federal investigation for co-conspiracy—so Homelander was in contention for the position. And the only way to keep America safe was to appoint him to the White House, because She was evil and powerful, and wanted to take away American liberties.

Sage had apologized for keeping this information secret, but claimed that she’d been trying to prevent public distress or panic. That Vought had been working on a private operation to apprehend Her and bring her to justice following her betrayal of America and Homelander, but had decided She was too dangerous to be allowed to roam freely and without fear of consequence.

Ben was mentioned. She’d run away with Soldier Boy, and turned America’s Son and former greatest patriot into a socialist with the same manipulation tactics she’d used on Homelander. Gotten Soldier Boy to fall in love with her when She’d decided Homelander wasn’t enough for her, and was now trying to use him to fuel her fascist overtaking of the government. She’d gotten Soldier Boy to kidnap Ryan, and he was willing to work with the very people who’d betrayed him in the first place because She’d just sunken her claws that deep.

That last part wasn’t entirely a fucking lie. Ben was working with Butcher and MM and Annie, but Christ, he’d accepted that was his life a long fucking time ago. They weren’t going to put him back in the box, they didn’t even really seem to hate him anymore, and Ben didn’t really hate them anymore. They made Her happy, and that was what fucking mattered.

So She did, in a way, have Her claws in him. Ben would fucking burn the world for Her—he’d do anything for her—so he might have spared Sage’s words a moment of thought if they weren’t fucking stupid. Of course Ben would do anything for Her. She’d do anything for Ben. It wasn’t like she’d just smiled at him once and he’d become a pathetic fucking lapdog.

She’d been something angry and wrapped in fire and smoke, all of it turning Her hollowed and scarred and broken inside, and Ben had been atomic and vigilant and wrapped in blood and wrath, serving him like a shield that kept every pussy who’d try to use him out.

And She’d seen the rotten, furious and bitter parts of him, and not walked away. And Ben had touched Her fire and not flinched. Ben wasn’t worried that he’d ever start to burn without Her there, because he was more fucking worried She’d try to burn without him.

Sage hadn’t put that in her fucking speech. Sage hadn’t mentioned that She was kind, and hilarious, and perfect. That She was self-sacrificial and intelligent, and didn’t manipulate people because She loved people. Sage didn’t mention that She hadn’t stolen Ryan so much as offered the kid some fucking care and affection, or that She hadn’t gotten Ben to fall in love with Her so much as existed near Ben, and been too fucking perfect to not fall in love with.

But Sage hadn’t mention most of the truth. Truth didn’t seem to be something Sage was at all fucking concerned with. Sage alleged that She demanded Homelander give her the V, and only grown more power-hungry after. Sage still didn’t fucking admit that She was stronger than Homelander—who hadn’t been seen since Boston—only saying that She was “dangerous, unstable, and if seen in public should not be approached.”

All of which meant Ben couldn’t fucking tell everyone he was marrying Her. They were wanted terrorists—fucking again—so it wouldn’t be the smartest move to tell everyone in this parking lot that Ben loved with Her and was going to make sure everyone knew that forever.

The team would hear about it, when they got home. They’d probably want to talk about the current, pressing disaster, but they’d have to also hear about how She and Ben were getting married. It would take two goddamn seconds, and if Ben didn’t tell someone by the end of the day, he’d explode.

He’d grumbled that to Her in the car, somewhere on the tree-lined highway, and She’d giggled.

“You know we’ll still be engaged after we deal with this? It’s not something that’s going to expire.”

“When we’re finished with this,” Ben had grunted, squeezing Her thigh under his hand. “We’re getting married. Immediately. And I don’t want to deal with Hughie’s fucking bitching about not getting to be a bridesmaid with Annie on the day.”

“Huh,” She’d still been grinning, and titled her head in mock thought. “I thought you were going to take Annie. She looks good in a suit, and I think her best man speech would be really funny. But if you’d prefer Butcher-“

“Butcher is not my best man.” He’d muttered, shooting Her a glare. “I’ll eat a fucking bomb first-“

“Well he has to go somewhere. My personal vote is flower girl, but I think he’d be a little bitch about it-“

Ben had snorted, and tried not to get too fucking lost in this. How She was talking about it like it was real, and they’d actually have to figure out what to do about Butcher at their wedding, because they would. Ben got to live in a world where he’d have to have William fucking Butcher at his wedding, but he’d be getting married to Her, so it was still goddamn worth it.

And when they parked at Edgar’s farm, he’d kept his hold on Her firm, waiting for her to meet his eyes before he spoke.

“I’m going to tell them.”

She sighed. “I mean, I’m not going to stop you, but I promise you’ll still be able to do that when there isn’t a possible government coup to prevent.“

“I don’t care.” He grunted. “We’re getting married, and they should fucking know that.”

“They will know that, Ben, but it’s not the most pressing issue right now-“

“Yes, it is.” Ben scowled, leaning down to hold Her gaze with his, trying to fucking show her how serious this was to him. “I love you, and I’m going to make it everyone’s problem, Sunshine. Right goddamn now.”

She flushed, mouth falling slightly open, and nodded. “Oh. Okay.”

Ben hummed in triumph, pressing a small, soft kiss to her lips. “Good. Now let’s-“

He had to cut himself off with a groan, because Her hands shot into his hair as she began to try and climb onto him, deepening the kiss. Ben reacted immediately—grabbing her waist and hauling her onto his lap—and let her grind onto him as he matching every roll of her hips with a grunt and thrust until they were dry humping like teenagers.

And he didn’t fucking care. Every breathless sound and gasp of his name was more fucking proof that they belonged to each other. This could be sloppy and uncoordinated and made of pure fucking need and want, because it felt fucking good, and every touch of Her skin—in any fucking form—got Ben high and fueled his love into a roar in his chest he never wanted to silence.

Then Ben heard something crunch on the grass outside, and pulled Her tight into his chest. Sat up with her caged safely in his arms, his body blocking fucking anything that might try to hurt them. Ben might not have a gun, but he had himself. He had this strange new feeling of fucking harmony is his body, where the nuke didn’t feel like a parasite, and the drums didn’t pound and invade his head, but it was just a hum and rush of power. White-hot, blinding fucking power that was hanging off his ribs and alight in his veins.

She’d been instant they should train more, back here in Maine. Where if Ben blew something up, it would just be a tree and not a fucking house or city. And he was ready to get started right fucking now, if whatever was coming dared to even look at Her wrong.

There was a rapping sound on the window, Ben’s fury and instinct of care for Her. Protect Her and love Her and keep her safe prepared itself to shatter the glass and grab the threat by the throat, then immediately faded into the background as he saw Kimiko and Frenchie staring down at them. Kimiko waved and Frenchie tried to hide his rocket launcher behind his back, and Ben sighed.

Ben, who-

Kimiko and Frenchie.

She pushed off Ben’s chest with a whack of his arm, and twisted in his hold to sign at Kimiko with an apologetic expression. Kimiko signed back, pausing halfway through a gesture with an open mouth, and began to sign in fast, frantic movements.

Ben heard Her heartbeat pick up as she and Kimono continued their silent conversation—Frenchie mostly just looking between them and Ben—and frowned.

What the fuck is going on.

She didn’t look away from Kimiko’s movements as She responded in Ben’s head. Frenchie set some silent alarms around the property, we set one off and-

No, Ben grunted Her name in the silence, and Her flush deepened. Why the fuck does Kimiko look like she’s just been hit by a damn car.

She might have seen the ring.

The smug, wide grin that crossed Ben’s face—born from how fucking beautiful she was, and how stupidly goddamn alight his whole body was—could’ve powered a fucking country. It was all energy, all fucking love and visceral goddamn joy. It must have been contagious or something as well, because it made Her whole body relax in Ben’s arms, even as her heart picked up and she made a small, airy, needy sound that only Ben got to hear.

He started to stand, keeping Her carefully against his body and pushing the door open slowly enough for Kimiko and Frenchie to step backward, Kimiko’s gestures coming to a halt and her attention turning to Ben.

“Where the fuck is everyone else.” He grunted, stepping out onto the dirt road. “We’ve got news.”

She rolled Her eyes, Kimiko gave Ben an almost dry look, and Frenchie was very fucking obviously trying not to look at Her hand.

“Ah, we are up there by quite a bit.” Frenchie pointed further down the road, frowning at the tree line. “It is a little bit of a walk-“

“We’ve been sitting for like, fourteen hours,” She squirmed out of Ben’s hold, but still pulled his arm over her shoulder, holding him against Her. “I could go for a walk.”

“Bien, and the car, Madame-“

“We’ve got bags in it,” She frowned at their stolen Honda, Her fingers tapping over Ben’s. “And they have some, uh, important stuff. So we probably shouldn’t just leave it-“

Kimiko’s hand shot up, and she made a quick gesture with a bright smile.

Frenchie shook his head, his voice tense and apologetic. “Mon Coeur, you cannot drive-“

“It’s not like there’s anyone else on the road.” She gave Kimiko grin and shrug, reaching into Ben’s pocket to pull out the keys. “She can go five miles per hour for all I care. As long as she doesn’t drive into the river, she’ll be fine.”

Kimiko nodded eagerly, gave Frenchie a smug look, and moved into the driver’s seat.

“I’ve got my fucking clothing in there-“

She cut Ben off with a wrinkle of her nose. “So have I, Benjamin. It’ll be fine, and you can either be a baby about it here, or come with me and tell everyone that we’re engaged.”

Ben scowled down at Her, and all She did was smile up at him, making his mouth twitch and that radiant feeling grow nuclear in his chest. It was golden, and simple, and so raw and natural Ben couldn’t remember what it was like to have it not living in his body. It was like a star that flared a little brighter under Her attention and love, and it was older and more powerful than any pussy fucking star could dream of.

“Brat,” he muttered, and even his voice sounded like it was crafted from pure goddamn adoration. Like Ben had taken every furious and rough part of himself and turned it into something better. Fury that wasn’t born of hatred, but love and a resolve to keep that love. Of a jagged, stone-like feeling in his mouth and throat that had existed from the start, but had been eroded and found an exception. Ben was wrathful and immovable, but he couldn’t be mad at Her. She giggled, leaning into his side, and Ben moved for Her. He took careful, measured steps that She could always keep up with, and never once let her think she needed to be anywhere but here. With Ben, going to tell their friends that they were going to get fucking married.

Ben had been ready for it to be the first words out of his mouth. To push open the screen door to Edgar’s rickety old farmhouse and yell we’re married, you asshole pussies, so come and tell Her you’re happy for her—They weren’t married yet, but that was just fucking semantics—but he hadn’t accounted for Ryan. The kid was bouncing on the stone stairs, his whole face lighting up when She and Ben came into view, and running at a slightly alarming speed to greet them.

“You’re back!” Ryan slammed into Her first, wrapping her in a hug that had to be a little fucking painful, but only made her smile and squeeze Ryan tighter.

This was very fucking dangerous to Ben. Watching Her smile at Ryan—running her hands through the kid’s hair and hum a soft song that made the whole world seem like it was glowing—made it feel like a real option to drop off the V, tell Butcher to get his shit together, grow some fucking balls, and kill Homelander himself so She, Ben, and Ryan could catch the next flight back to Rome. They could fix up the house more, Ryan could get first choice of a bedroom, and Ben could use retirement to fill up the rest of the house with happy kids that She could sing to.

But Butcher had also been trying to kill Homelander for more than a decade, and hadn’t gotten goddamn close until She and Ben came along. Mostly Her, but Ben had gotten pretty fucking close himself. Butcher, really fucking annoyingly, needed them to help, and the pussy wouldn’t even thank them, but Ben didn’t need his thanks. He needed Butcher to do his goddamn job, so Ben’s whole life could be watching Her and Ryan be happy, and giving them more reasons to be happy.

The rest of the team was starting to walk down the old road to join them, with varying levels of welcoming expressions on their faces. Ryan moved to hug Ben—the radiant feeling in Ben’s body flashing and making his skin feel clean and his chest feel prideful—as She moved a few steps forward to meet Annie’s hug, Hughie waiting sheepishly off to the side until She gestured for him to join them.

“How was Rome? MM said the villa wasn’t a trap, but was it, you know,” Annie pulled out of the hug with a tight expression. “Livable?”

“It should have been. Stan kept all his properties in condition, even the one’s he never visited.”

Ben head shot up at the even, cool voice of Victoria Neuman, and felt his arms tense around Ryan as he leaned forward in an attempt to get just a little fucking closer to Her. Neuman wasn’t a real threat anymore, but he still didn’t fucking trust her, and didn’t want her anywhere goddamn near his family. Ben could certainly fucking feel the wired, taut feeling in Her body as she took Neuman in, and hear the stumble of Her heart in her chest.

“Um, hi.” She pried Herself away from Annie, taking a small step back. Closer to Ben. “What are you doing here?”

“They did an evac operation.” Neuman shrugged. “While you were off in Rome getting engaged, we had to deal with the Mallory fallout. You guys never think about the wider consequences of all your various murders, so now everything is compromised, and the safe house isn’t an exception.”

“Meant to tell you before you got back, but shit got-“ MM cut his tired words off, turning to frown at Neuman. “What did you just say?”

“You idiots don’t have the foresight to be in the business of meddling with politics-“

“Nah, Head-Popper.” Butcher snapped, eyes narrowed and back stiff. “I heard that shit too. The bloody fuckin hell did you say about America’s horniest twats.”

Neuman let out a long, labored sigh. “I’ve told you not to call me head-popper, Butcher, it’s not even true anymore-“

“Right then, Vicky. The fuck you mean gettin engaged-“

“I mean that they got engaged. Does engaged have a different meaning in Britain that I’m not aware of? I mean,” Neuman looked around the group with a surprised expression, attention landing on Her. “You’re wearing a ring. You don’t wear jewelry, and that looks expensive, but you’re wearing it anyway.”

It had been expensive. It had cost a small goddamn fortune, and while there was a flash of satisfied, bright pride that Neuman had noticed, Ben was also going to fucking kill her. Neuman was not meant to be the one that told everyone about this. It was either supposed to be Ben or Her, and because Ben knew his wife—more importantly, because he knew that the only place words seemed to ever fail Her was in relation to Ben—it was supposed to be him. Now everyone fucking knew, and they were gaping like idiots, and Neuman was going to fucking die.

“I, um,” She took another step back as she spoke, directly blocking Ben’s warpath and keeping Her attention on Neuman. “I don’t wear jewelry because it will probably melt. And actually,” She looked to Frenchie, and Ben saw the flash of the metal as she pulled the ring off. “Can you work your magic and make this fireproof? I really don’t want to lose it and we might have already had a,” She cleared her throat, and Ben smirked at her pretty flush. “Close call.”

Her voice had been soft, when Frenchie nodded Her heartbeat slowed, and it made something in Ben yield his wrath. He couldn’t kill Neuman. He probably hadn’t actually been going to kill Neuman—mauling or terrifying had still been on the table—but now She seemed mostly just happy, and that’s all that Ben fucking wanted.

Annie’s eyes moved to the ring—now in Frenchie’s hands—and she nodded slowly. “Wow. I mean congratulations, but also-“

“Wow.” Hughie echoed, offering Her a close-lipped, anxious smile. “Good job? Is that something I should say good job to? I don’t, uh, I’m not really sure.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” She said, kicking Ben’s shin as he opened his mouth to say it was a damn good job. Not the time, Benjamin.

They should be saying shit. Why the fuck do they all just look like dumb fucking pussies who’ve never heard of marriage before-

They’re probably just surprised-

Why the hell would they be surprised. Ben glared around the group, speaking with low, gruff words before She had a chance to stop him. “Are any of you fuckers surprised.”

A resounding, annoyed no echoed through the woods and fields around them, and Ben shot the back of Her head a smug grin that She must have felt, because he got flipped off a second later.

Not a word, Benjamin, unless you want to lose my favorite part of you.

Ben chuckled, his grin spreading. I fucking knew it was your favorite-

I was talking about your tongue, Pretty Boy. She took another backwards step, stopping at Ben side and looking up at him with a fake-sweet smile. What were you talking about?

Brat.

Cunt. Her gaze turned back to their friends, and there was a small, pretty frown tugging on her lips. “You guys aren’t surprised at all?”

“Nah, Love,” Butcher shrugged, shooting Her a wink. “I was in the hotel room next to you twats in DC. I’m mostly just fuckin shocked you came back from your sex vacation.”

“It was not a sex vacation, Butcher-“

Frenchie nodded in agreement, cutting Her off with a bright tone. “Oui, Madame, you do not need a vacation for sex. Sex can happen anywhere-“

“Like in my fucking gun range.” MM muttered, and Her face flushed.

“How did you, um, how did you know about that?”

“I told him,” Hughie mumbled, scratching the back of his neck as he gave Her an apologetic look. “I mean, not that you had sex, but that you were in the gun range and being kind of weird.”

“We were not being weird-“

MM scoffed. “I saw the security footage,” he said Her name with a pointed expression, She looked down at the floor, and Ben thought it looked a little like a father scolding his daughter for sneaking out of the house. “You motherfuckers were being incredibly weird. I almost threw up before you even started blowing him, and I had to clean my eyes with goddamn bleach after. And I only saw the first three seconds.”

“That’s,” She sighed, tapping her fingers against her palm. “Fair. Sorry.”

“Well, let’s fuckin hope you got it all fucked and out of your bloody systems,” Butcher’s grin becomes a little colder, more set and tight on his face. “Cause this place ain’t soundproof, and if you wake me up with your disgustin fuckin sex, someone’s gettin shot.”

“It’ll probably be you, Butcher.” She said, voice dry and bored. “I don’t think interrupting my husband while he’s balls deep in me is going to end well for anyone.”

Ben tried not to get lost in how fucking good everything felt. How the radiance in his body felt atomic, and might actually fucking be atomic. It felt in time with the nuke, like everything had a goddamn glow that Ben could reach out and grab and use to serve Her. Shield Her and fight for Her and bleed for Her. Protect his wife with, because at this point it was just a fucking formality that they weren’t married. If She was going to call Ben her fucking husband, he’d call Her his wife and never goddamn apologize for it. He’d fucking glow and burn and explode for Her, and then kiss her stupid and moaning after. Make her burst into flames below him and never flinch because the glow in him was for Her, and couldn’t be deterred by stupid shit like fire-

“Are you,” Ryan was looking between Her and Ben with wide eyes, and Ben almost missed his quiet, nervous tone. “Are you already married?”

“No, but husband is easier than fiancé.” She offered Ryan a smile, the kid’s whole expression relaxed, and Ben was going to fucking die. “Don’t worry, Ry,” Her voice dropped to a mock whisper, and suddenly nobody else was in the world but Her, Ben, and Ryan. “Ben isn’t going to let it be a secret wedding. Expect something very stupid and dramatic.”

Shut the fuck up, Sunshine-

No. She stuck her tongue out at him, Ben felt fucking high on how beautiful She was in front of him, and how bright she was inside him, and if Annie hadn’t started talking right then, he probably would’ve started fucking Her on the grass.

“Do you have plans?” Annie looked between them, her voice a little fucking weak, but still genuine. “For the wedding?“

“It’ll be after all this,” She gave a vague gesture to the air, Her beautiful face falling slightly. “Is done. I don’t want to get in the way of the mission-“

“Are we going to talk about the mission?” Neuman cut in with a dry, flat voice. “Or just keep standing here and talking about sex and weddings?”

MM let out a low, tired huff, and looked at Her with a weary expression. “Neuman’s right, we’ll have time for all the damn marriage talk after. Right now, we’ve got some heavy shit to go over. Let’s,” MM paused, looking around the sprawling farm grounds with a frown. “Where the fuck is your stuff.”

She sighed, looking down the road with a hesitant expression. “In the car, with Kimiko.”

“Kimiko ain’t able to drive, Love-“

“It’ll be fine,” She dismissed Butcher with a wave of Her hand, but Ben could still sense the anxiety around Her throat, constricting over his own lungs. “I can talk without props. Ryan,” Her gaze turned down, growing warm and soft as she reached out, holding Ryan’s face with a gentle hand. “Ben and I will find you after, but you can’t be in the meeting with us.”

Ryan’s eyes fell to the ground as he nodded, and She sighed.

“We trust you,” She whispered, offering Ryan a small smile. “But this isn’t something for you to worry about. If you have questions, I’ll answer them, but after. Okay?”

“Okay.” Ryan mumbled, glancing back to Ben—he gave a firm nod, that always seemed to help the kid’s anxiety—and sighed. “We can talk after.”

“After.” She said, and that was the voice She used when she made promises she intended on keeping. “You can ask whatever you want, and we have some stuff to give you-“

“Some stuff?” Ryan frowned, looking back to Ben with an uncertain gaze. “I don’t need anything-“

“They’re gifts.” Ben grunted, the radiance in him growing at how fucking adoring Her smile was, and how open and bright Ryan’s eyes were. “Go with Frenchie, kid. We’ll find you when we’re done.”

Frenchie nodded at Ben’s implied order, gesturing for Ryan to join him. As they both walked away—Frenchie rambling to a wide-eyed Ryan about fireproof alloy infusion—Ben wrapped his arm around Her waist and pulled her fully against him, kissing the top of her head as he glared around the group.

“Are we going to go the fuck inside, or just stand out here like idiots.”

Butcher snorted. “We been waitin on you, Soldier Boy, and your fucking emotional shit-“

“Inside.” MM cut Butcher off with a glare as Ben’s eyes narrowed, his hand clenching over Her stomach. “Let’s not murder each other before we even get to Homelander.”

Ben could agree with that. He would kill Butcher later—Ben was allowed to be fucking careful and gentle with his family, and Butcher should be real fucking grateful he was even allowed to witness their goddamn happiness, the bitter fucking pussy—but right now, killing Homelander was more important. Killing Homelander meant She and Ryan would be safe and She and Ben could get married without any fucking secrecy, so nothing was more important than killing Homelander.

Ben guided Her into Edgar’s rickety, piece of shit farmhouse, sitting tall at Her side around the well-worn, wooden table, and kept his hand on Her thigh as everyone settled down and the briefing began.

“The villa wasn’t lived in, and it didn’t look touched,” She started, tapping her fingers on the table as she spoke. “But it was clean. You said Edgar kept all his properties clean?”

Neuman nodded. “He might have had a crew come in just to make sure it didn’t fall to ruin.”

“That’s what we saw. A lot of things looked like they’d been dusted, but hadn’t been moved in, well, my lifetime. Most of our lifetimes.”

“Not Soldier Boy’s,” Butcher muttered, and She shot him a glare.

“Or yours, dickfuck.”

“I ain’t the one marryin you-“

“Watch it.” Ben hissed, and the radiant feeling becoming hot. Vigilant and loud, waiting for a reason to launch out of Ben with a boom and spread over the world.

MM sighed, running his hand over his face. “Can you motherfuckers try to keep it civil and not antagonize each other?”

She hummed in agreement, continuing before Butcher had a chance to make another jab or Ben could split Butcher’s head open on the table. “Butcher, I’m a big girl. I’m well aware of the age thing, and it’s probably the least fucked up thing about our relationship. Also, I think it’s hot, so you can shove it up your ass.”

Ben smirked, sitting up a little straighter, and squeezed his hand against her. I fucking knew it-

I already admitted that, Pretty Boy. And I’m mostly trying to shut Butcher up, so don’t get too smug.

Ben didn’t care what She’d been trying to do, because not only was everyone’s reaction more than he could’ve hoped for—red faces, surprised coughs, and picked up heart rates—but her words set off sparks in his gut and made something bloom around his heart. It was his usual, completely fucking unbreakable and wrathfully attentive love for Her, but also a raw and strange glow that was getting harder and harder to ignore. It was hidden under the radiance, and Ben didn’t want to glow—he wasn’t a pathetic fucking pussy who did things like glowing—but it was almost painful to pretend he couldn’t feel it at this point. That it wasn’t created and fed by how She was just as biting and avenging when someone stood against Ben as he was for Her, and She was fucking marrying him, and She adored him, and nothing could take that away from him. No one would ever be able to call Ben worthless again, because She’d kill them. Just like he’d kill people who called Her weak.

She looked like she was about to start talking again, but the door banged open and everyone started in their seats, guns clicking and raising, bodies bracing to fight whoever the fuck had just interrupted their meeting-

“You assholes are paranoid as shit, huh.” A-Train muttered, walking over to the table with a fearful Ashely a few paces behind him. “And thanks for telling us we were having a meeting.”

Annie scoffed at A-Train’s obvious, dripping contempt, crossing her arms as he and Ashley sat down. “We didn’t know where you were, and this is time sensitive. We didn’t have time to look.”

A-Train rolled his eyes, and Hughie cleared his throat with a shaky cough.

“Where, uh,” he swallowed, words sounding forced out of his mouth. “Where were you guys?”

“On a walk.”

Hughie blinked at A-Train’s flat answer. “Oh. Why?”

“None of your business, Hughie-“

“Can we please focus.” Neuman leaned back in her chair with a dramatic sigh, throwing her hands in the air. “We can all do group therapy after Homelander is dead.”

A-Train didn’t stop glaring at Hughie, but nobody pushed anything, so She took the cue to keep talking.

“Right, um,” She shook Her head, the tapping on the table picking up tempo. “The villa was in good shape, and we found Dr. Vought’s old study. Like I told MM, there was a large stash of compound V, which we brought about twenty vials of back-“

Hughie frowned. “How did you get V through security-“

“We didn’t go through security.” She said, looking around the table with a vaguely bored expression. “I mean, there was no world where we’d get through legally, V or no V. We’re walking weapons who don’t have passports. Sneaking onto a plane isn’t even in the top ten crimes we’ve committed, I think it will be fine.”

“But you’ve got it?” Annie asked, leaning forward on the table. “You’ve got the V here?”

“It’s in our bags.”

“Shit.” Annie turned to MM. “Has Frenchie told you when the drill will be ready?”

“What drill-“

“Frenchie’s been working on a needle drill or some shit,” MM told Her, and she nodded slowly. “Get the V into Homelander in one shot. He said a week, but I don’t think we’ve got a whole fucking week-“

“We don’t.” She muttered, and there was a faraway, set on Her face Ben recognized to be an idea. The final moment of Her clever fucking brain turning and clicking things into a pattern Ben never understood, but—usually—fucking worked in their favor. “If Homelander really is being tapped by Singer for the VP spot, from congressional pressure or not, we can’t wait for him to even get a confirmation hearing. But,” She swallowed, and whatever fucking insane thing she was planning settled in Her head, and all Ben could do was wait for Her to say it. “We need that drill. All we have to do is delay Homelander, and buy Frenchie enough time to get it right.”

Ben knew where this was going. Her breathing was falling into a mechanical rhythm, and the tapping of her fingers had started to leave marks on the table as curling smoke rose from her hands, Ben knew where the fuck this was headed.

You don’t fucking have to do that-

I do, my love. She gave him a small, sad smile, dropping Her searing hand over Ben’s. It didn’t fucking hurt at all—even when it might have before—so when She realized what she’d done and tried to pull away, Ben caught Her wrist with a scowl. Ben-

Doesn’t hurt. He searched Her beautiful, impossibly perfect and exhausted face for whatever words he could use to talk Her out of this, and couldn’t find a single goddamn one. Sunshine-

I’ll be okay. And it’s long overdue. She looked back to their slightly watching team, all wearing similar expression of blank confusion. “I need to come out of hiding. For good.”

There was a beat of silence as everyone stared at Her, and before they had a chance to erupt with stupid fucking opinions, She continued.

“I can do it here. We can find a blank, unidentifiable wall to film in front of, and I’ll say all of it. What Annie said, a little more, and what’s happened since. It will be a clear, obvious accusation of assault, abuse, and torture, and it will at least slow everything down.” She took a long, deep breath, her voice dropping to a whisper only Ben could hear. “It has to slow things down.”

MM was frowning, but he seemed mostly concerned. “It’s not a guarantee,” he muttered Her name, scanning over Her face with a firm, slow gaze. “And there will be a massive fallout. Fuck, Annie had a fallout, and that wasn’t a formal story. And Sage literarily just said her shit, people might call bullshit just on that-“

“People were always going to call bullshit.” Everything in Her—in Ben—felt exhausted and sick. Twisting and rotting in Ben’s chest as Her words became slightly choked and he had to just wait. He couldn’t kick everyone out to hold Her and remind Her she was safe, he had to fucking wait. “There was never a time or place I could say my piece, and have a perfect success rate. If there was, none of this would be a problem to begin with. And I can acknowledge Sage. I can admit that I am related to Muller, but also point out that he kicked me out and we hadn’t spoken for thirteen years. I can talk about everything. I don’t have careful moves to make like Sage does, I don’t have anyone I need to lie about or steer public attention away from. But,” She paused, a flash of panic shooting through Ben’s veins and up his spine as Her heartbeat sped up. “I want to get my siblings out. If I’m saying everything, standing in direct opposition of Vought and Singer, they’ll need to hide. Fuck, they probably should’ve already been hidden-“

“We can take care of that.” MM cut off Her spiraling, and Ben shot him a curt, appreciative nod, pulling Her a little close against him and rubbing patterns on her leg as MM continued. “Butcher and I got some contacts we trust with that shit, we can hide them. And Frenchie-“

“Oui?” Frenchie pushed open the door like he’d been fucking summoned, Kimiko right behind him. “What about moi are we discussing?”

“Frenchie,” She said carefully, eyes narrowed. “Where’s Ryan-“

“With the little Neuman.” Frenchie reassured Her, Kimiko nodding behind him with a kind smile. “They get on quite well, do not worry. What news have we missed?”

Butcher said to Her name, his smirk more tense than cruel. “Found a way to buy you time, Mate. Got the V, just need that fuckin drill.”

Frenchie gave Her a grateful nod before turning back to MM. “Is that all?”

“We’re gonna need to get her family out first,” MM grunted, and Frenchie seemed to understand in an immediate fucking second.

“Ah, operation Harrison Ford. Easy as a cakewalk, Madame,” Frenchie said Her name with a grin, and she blinked.

“We have an operation Harrison Ford?” Hughie looked around the table with an almost indignant expression. “Why didn’t anyone tell me we had an operation Harrison Ford?”

“You ain’t ever been a fugitive, Mate. Didn’t need it.”

Hughie gaped at Butcher. “I have definitely been a fugitive! Like, five fucking times! I’m a fugitive right now!“

“It’s for when we haven’t got anyone but each other.” MM explained, his tone slightly apologetic. “Last time we got people into hiding before we were wanted. Operation Harrison Ford is for when there’s no CIA to fall back on.”

Hughie looked almost crestfallen—Annie giving him a pat on the shoulder that was severely fucking undercut by her amused expression—and She cleared Her throat, pushing on.

“Do I need to do anything for operation Harrison Ford?”

MM nodded. “Get them all together and pass them on to me. We want this done sooner rather than later, though, so if you can round them all up-“

“They’ll be at my mom’s.” She muttered. “It’s just past the 4th, they always stay with her in July. We can go tonight-“

“Tomorrow.” Ben snapped, making his words stern and final, because She needed fucking rest. “We’ll go tomorrow.”

She sighed. Ben-

We promised Ryan, he grunted Her name between their heads, and Her tight expression faltered. It’s less than 24 fucking hours, we’ll be fine.

She nodded slowly—for once just letting Ben be right—and returned Her attention to MM. “We’ll go tomorrow afternoon. Anything else we need to deal with?”

MM frowned, his voice slow. “Maybe. You told me there might be the V formula there as well, you manage to confirm it?”

“No,” A brief glint of red appeared and dried on Her lips as she chewed them with her words. “But it would explain what Sage is after. If all she knows is the Cornucopia as an idea, she wouldn’t think it has multiple things. She’s after the formula.”

“Wouldn’t Sage know the formula?” Hughie asked, sounding doubtful his own question. “Her whole thing is smart, she could probably replicate it-“

Frenchie shook his head. “It is not that simple, Petite Hughie. Compound V is remarkably complex. There is a reason it took Vought so long, with so much money and testing, to perfect. My attempt was weak itself, and I am still not sure what I did wrong.”

“Well, no offense Mate, but you ain’t Sage-“

“Non, I am not.” Frenchie shrugged, seemingly unbothered by Butcher’s words. “But Sage is lacking the unethical testing Vought was granted by the Holocaust. And his first batch was, ah, famously unstable.” He shot Her and Ben apologetic expressions, words slowing. “It is not outside the realm of possibility that even Sage can be stumped. She may have hit a wall, or Vought may have done something odd enough to drive her cuckoo-“

“Sage doesn’t go cuckoo.” A-Train muttered. “She’s a vindictive fucking robot-“

“I’ve confused her.” Everyone’s attention turned to Her, and Ben’s could feel the sick feeling returning as she spoke. “She doesn’t follow things that aren’t in logical line. She doesn’t understand, um, love all that well, because it’s irrational.”

Butcher scoffed. “That’s bloody sad for the ice bitch, what’s that got to do with the fuckin V.“

“I’m not sure.” She sighed. “My point is more if there are things Sage doesn’t understand, things she can’t predict, and it’s usually things related to emotions. So,” She paused, frowning into the air, and turned to Ashley. “Who made the V at Vought? I’d imagine they had an NDA, but Sage and Homelander would be able to make them talk-“

“Nobody knew the whole recipe.” Ashely’s voice was unsteady, watching Her like the wrong word might end in blood. “When I got the CEO job they explained that it was manufactured in random patterns and parts, specifically so nobody could duplicate it. I think they even had fake factories and steps, just to throw people off.”

She nodded, fingers sitting suddenly as she turned to Frenchie. “I need the suppressant back. Soon.”

“Of course Madame, but I cannot recommend you, ah,” Frenchie glanced at Ben’s violent glare. “Continue with it-“

“It’s still not for me.” She squeezed Ben’s hand on Her leg in silent reassurance, and he felt his grip on her loosen. “Trust me. Please.”

Those words were mostly for Ben. They were Her asking him not to push back on her with this, pair with an implicit promise that she wouldn’t hurt herself like that again. So Ben slightly pressed his knee against Hers, holding Frenchie’s anxious expression, and gave a curt nod.

Frenchie nodded slowly, looking back to Her. “Oui. I will put it in the room.”

“The room? What room-“

“We’re stuck here indefinitely, Love.” Butcher drawled. “Lucky us, Edgar was a rich prick with a huge fuckin house, but we still gotta fit thirteen cunts in five bedrooms. You twats are bunkin with Ryan and I.”

Ben scowled. “Sleep on the fucking couch, you cockhead-“

“Nah, Gov. But if I wake up to you two humpin near my virgin ears-“

“We’re not going to hump in a shared space. With a child in the room.” She hissed at Butcher, and he shrugged.

“Caught you fuckin the bathroom before, shared bedroom ain’t a stretch-“

“Yes, it fucking is-“

“Hey!” MM hit the table, and her mouth closed with one last glower at Butcher. “Time limit, motherfuckers. You,” MM grunted Her name, glaring between her and Ben. “And your asshole get the day, then we’re driving to go get your family tomorrow morning. Frenchie, work on the drill, and the rest of you.” MM’s jaw tensed, his face somehow growing more fucking grim. “Get ready to fight. Once we’ve got it all out in the open, Homelander’s not going to take it down easy. And if Sage is after the formula, we don’t know why, and we certainly don’t have a goddamn clue how she’ll retaliate. So look alive, we’re going to have some work to do.”

They did. In the fucking morning—and not a moment sooner—She and Ben would have a lot of work to do. But until then they could spend the night however they fucking wanted.

“If we do want to fuck,” Ben lowered down to whisper in Her ear, well aware he could just use their brain connection, but enjoying the slight shiver of her spine and flutter of her heart too much to bother. “I’m sure we could find a spot in all these damn trees to do it.”

“Forests aren’t for sex.” She muttered, giving him a flat glare, and he winked right back.

“I’d fuck you anywhere, beautiful. I’d fuck you in a parking lot, or a shitfuck subway, or in the middle of a goddamn earthquake.”

She hummed, giving it fake thought with a tilt of her head. “I feel like the earthquake would actually help. With the tremors.”

Ben snorted. “How about a dumpster.”

“That’s disgusting, Benjamin.”

“And that’s my damn point.” He kissed the top of Her head, smirking against her hair. “I love you enough to fuck you in a dumpster.”

“Romantic.” She guided them up the stairs, looking up and down the halls with a frown. “As much as I’d love to have forest sex, we do need to find Ryan-“

Ben nodded—he’d find a place for them to fuck later, when everyone else was distracted and Butcher couldn’t be a massive fucking ass about Ben having sex with his goddamn wife—and latched onto the distant sounds of everyone’s moving about the house. It didn’t take long to find Ryan’s—another floor up and a little down the hall—and when Ben started to walk, She let him guide their path without a single step of hesitation. Just watching Ben with wide-eyes and clinging to his arm around Her shoulders, every feature on her perfect face relaxed and fucking adoring. Ben had a feeling they could be walking to goddamn hell and not just a bedroom, and she’d still let him lead the way.

And he had to keep fucking earning that. It wasn’t a task or trial that would ever be done, because Ben had created so many fucking messes that he could throw himself at her feet to be used as weapon and he still wouldn’t have fully earned Her. Worse, She wouldn’t accept that offer. She’d frown at him and ask what the fuck he was doing. Tell him that She didn’t want him to be a weapon, just to be hers.

He already was. There was nothing fucking better than it, than being hers. All She asked of Ben was to stay and listen, and those were the easiest things to do in the goddamn universe. All She wanted from his wasn’t glory or blood, but love and effort. Two things that should have been horrible and trying to give, but weren’t. It wasn’t work, to love Her—it was fucking natural and impossible to remember what anything had been before he’d loved her—and all his effort was poured into figuring out a way to fucking deserve this. Deserve the most beautiful, perfect woman being alive with him, choosing to be near him, choosing to love him, choosing to fucking marry him.

It could come in blood. There would be times where it needed to be blood on Ben’s hands and skin under his nails, brutally clawing and beating and bruising to keep Her safe. But it would more likely be things like this. Like hugging Ryan when the kid jumped up to great them—it was also easy to hug Ryan, it made Ben’s whole goddamn body feel prideful and his heart feel right in his chest—and meeting Her soft, happy gaze with a grin of his own. Listening to Her and Ryan talk about all the history shit in Rome as he sorted through their bags—trying to hide all Her soon to be destroyed lingerie from Ryan, and the semi all his ideas were giving him from both of them—and pulled out their gifts. Stuffed fucking animals, so simple and goddamn stupid, and entirely goddamn worth it from the surprised look of pure goddamn happiest on Ryan’s face as She passed him the lobster and lion. Happiness that somehow grew stronger when She made Ben show him the other lion and Her tiger. It leaked into the air of the room like helium, making everything higher and nothing in danger of coming down.

“Do you,” Ryan looked between them with a nervous expression, his words quiet and uncertain. “Do you think I could come visit you? When you go?”

She froze—her face sad and gentle and soft, full of something that looked like grief and felt like a warm ache in Ben’s body—and Ben answered for Her.

“We’re not going, kid. And if we do, you’re coming with us.”

Ryan’s mouth parted, and he still looked so goddamn nervous. As if Ben would ever fucking lie to him. “I am?”

“If you want.” She offered Ryan a sweet, loving smile, and Ben was in fucking danger again. “And if not, we’ll stay here.”

“With,” Ryan swallowed. “With me?”

“We’re not sticking around for fucking Butcher-“

She threw a pillow at Ben’s head, her attention held on Ryan. “Of course with you. We’re not leaving you.”

“Would I, um, why?” Ryan looked almost confused, like this was a trick. Like She and Ben were measuring his reaction, and this was some sort of fucking test. “You don’t have to, if you want to go to Rome, just for me-“

“We don’t have to. But we want to.”

“You want to.” Ryan repeated Her words slowly, still looking fucking lost and nervous. “That’s it?”

She looked over at Ben, and he nodded. He wasn’t even really fucking certain what he was agreeing with—he was too fucking lost in how beautiful She was and how good this was, how everything in him felt peaceful and content and nothing wanted to explode out of his chest—but She was easy around his head and always fucking right, so Ben trusted her to say what he didn’t have words for. That he wouldn’t say properly, say in a way that really helped Ryan. Ben didn’t know how to explain that this radiance in his body was about not feeling like he had to go. That it wanted—Ben wanted—to stay right here, and keep watching the two people who were goddamn worth anything be happy. Wanted to keep them happy. Wanted to let their happiness crawl into him and keep making him a weak fucking pussy who had a stuffed lion because his wife insisted he should get it for their son.

So when She started talking again, Ben knew she’d understand all that shit, and get Ryan to understand it as well.

“That’s it.” She echoed without any caution or reservations in her voice. “You’re a cool kid, Ry. I like you and so does Ben.” She dropped her voice to a mock whisper, leaning forward to Ryan like her words were a secret. “The lobster was his idea, but don’t tell him I told you.” She gave Ben a sharp, bright and sweet expression, and he rolled his eyes as her voice raised. “We’re staying with you, because we want to, and we like being around you. Simple as that.”

“Around me?” Ryan stared down at the floor even as he leaned a little further forward. Closer to Her. “But I mess up-“

“We all fucking mess up, kid.” Ben grunted. “There’s not a single damn person in this house that hasn’t fucked something up. You never tried to hurt people, Homelander was just a weak fucking pussy who didn’t know how to teach you shit.”

“But I messed up in Boston too-“

“Boston as well,” She gave Ryan a gentle smile with the correction, and somehow it made him look more comfortable. Ben didn’t get that, but it did. “And none of us were perfect that day. You wanted to help, and you couldn’t have been expected to know Homelander would follow you. At least you didn’t take a dangerous, volatile drug, unlike certain people.”

Ben got a pointed glare with no real anger behind it, and rolled his eyes. This wasn’t a real argument, it was meant to distract Ryan, and Ben could play along easily.

“Don’t act like I didn’t save your fucking ass with that, Sunshine. And now I’m fireproof, I should be getting twice the goddamn thanks.”

She gave him a teasing smile. “Why is that, Pretty Boy?”

Ben opened his mouth to snap because now when I fuck you, I can get you to burst into flames and nobody gets hurt but the pussy fucking mattress, realized he couldn’t say that in front of Ryan, and scowled. “Shut the fuck up.”

“You’re fireproof?” Ryan looked at Ben with fucking awe, and Ben felt his body grow a little easier to exisit in. “Is that your new power?”

Ben looked to Her for explanation, and she wrinkled Her nose at him.

Really, Ben-

You’re the brains, he grinned, saying Her name between their heads. Use them.

Cunt. She turned to Ryan, her expression immediately becoming sweet and gentle as she met his curious gaze. “It seems to be one of them. Or at least a higher resistance to the heat and flame. We mostly think it’s the nuke, in here,” She tapped Ben’s chest. “Fusing fully into his body.”

Ryan nodded slowly, looking over to Ben. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” Ben grunted. “Taking the V felt like shit, but I lived. Now it just feels normal.”

He’d probably have to give more detailed answers to MM and Annie later, for stupid fucking team purposes, but that was enough for Ryan, whose expression became eager.

“Are we going to train together? Can I help you with practicing stuff? If you want help, obviously, I just think I could throw targets, and be a target-“

“I’m not making you a fucking target, Ryan.” Ben made his voice stern, because this was the same fucking nuke that wiped out V and Ryan shouldn’t be anywhere goddamn near it. “But we’ll keep training.”

Any crestfallen defeat at the first half of Ben’s words were wiped off Ryan’s face by the second half, and the kids face lit up again. “Really? Even after my dad is gone?”

“As long as you fucking need and want it. Like she said, kid, we’re sticking around.”

Ryan got it. A small, nervous smile crossed his face, the conversation moved on, and Ben knew that—even if they were liars, which they weren’t—they’d keep this promise. Ryan would always have Her and Ben, and that wasn’t any fucking labor either. None of the things Ben had to do for Her or Ryan ever felt like labor. Doing things for them didn’t require thought or work, because it was simple and fucking right. Acts of retribution that were so small and fucking worthless alone, but build up and up and up until Ben was closer to their easy warmth. Never being afraid they’d toss him out or sneer at his offerings, because they weren’t like that. That was what the callous, greedy people Ben had surrounded himself with had done. Had never let it be enough, had made it obvious that acts of care were for the weak, and worth was won from spat words and traded blows.

But this worth—good worth, that was glowing and alight and content along Ben’s ribcage—was born from these small acts of service. From going to the strange, odd dinner with the team and sitting with his hand on Her thigh and his food offered silently to Ryan when they didn’t have enough for seconds. From playing the stupid fucking card game Hughie suggesting, and helping Her cheat because he’d help Her do anything. Taking Her and Ryan’s dishes to the sink and trying not to lose his fucking mind when She followed him without question, just to stay at his side.

Moving to the living room with most everyone else—Ashley and A-Train leaving to go do whatever the fuck they did, and Neuman muttering about getting a headache, but telling Zoe to just be in bed before midnight—and sitting in watchful, easy silence as She and Kimiko had a conversation made of giggles and smiles, and She moved herself into Ben’s lap, holding his arm over her stomach and sighing happily when he kissed Her neck. Listening to Ryan and Zoe tell them about how Neuman had lined up their curriculums, and now Ryan could learn to play the piano.

“I played the piano,” Ben grunted, and was met with shocked gapes he did not fucking appreciate.

“You did?” She leaned back on his chest, looking up at Ben with a sharp amusement dancing in Her pretty eyes . “Did you also play the trumpet?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up-“

“Make me-“

Ben’s own grin grew to something that felt a little feral, and Butcher scowled.

“Don’t you fuckin dare make her, or you horny dumbasses are sleepin outside.”

She stuck Her tongue out, wiggling further into Ben’s hold and not fucking helping him at all. “You’re just bitter you can’t play the piano, Butcher. You can’t even keep a beat.”

“Fuck off, Love, you ain’t better than me-“

“On this I am,” She shrugged, a smug smile on Her face that made Ben’s own body start to flood with pride. “I can’t play the piano, but I can sing.”

“Singin from the V don’t count-“

“I could sing before the V, asshole.”

“You can sing?” Ryan’s face was covered in wonder, and Ben understood that. His face whenever he looked at her likely looked wide and a fucking dumbstruck as well, but also probably a lot less innocent.

She nodded with a soft, slightly tense hum. “Yeah. I don’t a lot, because things will, um, happen. If I do.”

Ben didn’t have to look around at the team to know that they were either flushed or grimacing at the memory of the illusion of Ben, dancing on the stage with Her in a way that friends or coworkers certainly weren’t supposed to. Ben was fond of that memory, because it was the first time he’d been fucking certain that if he tore through the crowd, picked Her up, and slammed his mouth to Her’s in a brutal and demanding kiss, She’d match every single touch and moan until they were fucking on the floor of that stupid club. He could also get that their friends might not have the same almost liberating light painted across their thoughts of it, just because nobody ever seemed to appreciate that She was a lot more of a horny fucking brat than they gave her credit for. Any jabs at Ben’s constant innuendos and hard-ons when She would so much as smiled at him would never really land the way anyone wanted them to, because She was worse.

Even right fucking now, as the conversation continued, She was squirming in Ben’s lap. Her heartbeat had picked up as he kissed a gentle, careful pattern over her jaw and kneaded at the skin of Her thigh, and Ben got a weak slap on his knee as Ryan pressed on with his questions.

“Like what?”

“Illusions, essentially.” She shrugged. “As far as I’ve understood it, I can let off a pheromone that warps everyone’s senses within its radius. It happens when I sing, and, um,” She flushed, fingers starting to tap on Ben’s forearm. “Get excited.”

Fortunately for fucking everyone, Ryan didn’t press about what excited meant. He just swallowed, watching Her with a hesitant, hopeful expression. “Could you sing for us? If you, um, if you want-“

“I could.” She looked around the room, her heart picking up to a nervous, stumbling pattern. “If that’s okay with everyone-“

“Long as nothing happens like last time,” MM mutters. “I don’t give a shit.”

There was a low chorus of agreements, and she cleared Her throat, leaning further into Ben as she began.

It was a slow, sweet song that filled the room with golden light and an overwhelming smell of pine and vanilla and coffee. Her voice was just as beautiful as every other time She’d let Ben hear it—if anything it only grew stronger, steadier and more certain as she eased into the music—and Ben didn’t ever want to fucking leave this place. Didn’t want to stop feeling the perfect warmth she was creating around and inside him, or move from this place where the world was made of illusions, but She was still fucking real. Where Ben could hear Her voice echo and fill the room—sounding like everything good he’d ever known—and feel Her heart fall into a controlled but natural pattern with every breath and note. Where he could bury his face in Her hair and still manage to smell flowers and smoke and apples.

They had to move eventually. When the song finished, Ben could grin at Her and bask in how her own, cautious smile grew full and toothy as everyone offered her the praise and admiration she goddamn deserved. But then he had to carry Her to bed—She let him, resting her head on his shoulder and falling asleep before they’d reached the top of the goddamn stairs—and spend a restless night carefully covering her body like a shield. Keep Her safe from the creaking of the summer breeze and buzz of the night, kissing her brow when she rolled to face him and carefully wrapping his arms around her to hold Her in the dark. Ben knew every threat to Her was nothing but eyes blinking open and lost sleep before a long day, but it still felt right to be here. To keep Her peaceful, relaxed and content body from Butcher’s view, even if the pussy didn’t look at them as he shuffled into the room. To know that when She woke up, the first thing She’d know was that Ben was here, with Her.

At some point the sound of Her heart must have lulled Ben into rest, because when he dragged his eyes open after what felt like only a second there was cool, morning light past the blinds and climbing into the room, and She was watching him with an open, adoring expression.

Hi, Sunshine.

A small smile crept over Her face, and Her voice in Ben’s head was so full of love it was going to goddamn knock him out. Hi, Benjamin, my love.

He leaned down to kiss to space between Her eyes, letting his lips linger against her skin. What time is it.

Early.

What time do we have to go.

I don’t know. She chewed on Her lips, and Ben watched to run his tongue over them to soothe and slow her movements. MM didn’t actually tell us, he just said ‘in the morning’.

What the fuck are we supposed to do, then.

Can you hear him? Is he awake?

Ben paused, moving his attention to the sounds of the house. Slow heartbeats and low breathes, soft shifting sounds as people tossed and turned, and-

Someone’s awake, he looked back to her, raising his brows. Don’t know who.

She sighed, giving Ben almost a pout. We should probably get up, then.

Ben grunted an agreement, and neither of them moved. It was like that for a long while, Her and Ben the only two people in the universe, sitting in each other and not really caring to do much else. Only when Ben heard a second heartbeat pick up to a waking pace, closely followed by a second pair of footsteps beginning to move around the house, did he kiss Her on her brow and guide her out bed. They grabbed their clothing and moved to the bathroom, getting ready in silence and slow, deliberate movement so as to not wake Ryan or Butcher.

When they were dressed and—mostly—awake, Ben reached out his hand and She took it with a smile. Kept it in hers down the stairs and into the paint-peeling, gas oven kitchen, smiling when Ben kissed Her knuckles before rising up to kiss his cheek.

MM re-entered the kitchen, seemed to immediately understand their silent ritual, and gave them both short nods. There were four thermoses on the counter that MM filled with coffee—She frowned at them, then at Ben, and all he could do was shrug—and Ben grabbed two for them each, following Her out to the driveway.

The likely owner of the fourth thermos was waiting for them next to Butcher’s car, greeting Her with a bright smile and wave, and Ben with a nod that didn’t look like an effort.

She signed to Kimiko with a smile of her own, translating their conversation into Ben’s head.

Kimiko’s coming for operation Harrison Ford, as MM’s muscle. Once we get my siblings on board you and I will have to come back here to get the ball rolling against Sage, and she and MM will go through with the operation.

Got it. Ben frowned. What the fuck is the operation.

She gestured to Kimiko, who gestured back with what seemed to be careful, thought-out movements, and She nodded.

She says it’s mostly just hiding them in a really complex way. They’re going to take one of my families cars, swap it halfway, take the bus, change directions in a stolen car, and get them to some people MM trusts. She sighed, leaning Her head onto Ben’s arm. Overall, just get them somewhere safe so I can do my speech.

Ben grunted, looping his arm around Her waist to keep her steady. I’m driving back.

The fuck you are-

I’m driving. Ben smirked down at Her, tracing pattens on her hips. Or I’m not talking to you the whole ride so you can goddamn focus and not get us into a fucking crash.

She snorted. That’s a worse threat than withholding sex, you talk more than I do.

That’s fucking bullshit-

To me. She corrected herself with smile, leaning back to bump her nose against his jaw. You always talk to me. You wouldn’t last two hours without talking to me, or trying to get me to talk to you.

You willing to bet on that, Sunshine?

Feels like a pretty boring bet-

Whoever talks first gets head from the loser.

She gave him a flat look. Where. Because I am not fucking in the house-

Winner gets to choose where. He winked, kissing the corner of Her mouth. Get ready to give a blowjob in the forest, beautiful, I’m going to knock this shit out of the fucking park.

Ben knew that would do it. Her eyes narrowed, determination flashed—wild and sharp—over her pretty face, and she was on board.

Rules. She scanned over Ben’s face with an almost frightening focus, fingers tapping on his arm. Mission stuff doesn’t count. If we’re in a group we can talk, but it has to be relevant. No inside jokes or innuendos, and no nicknames. Nothing we wouldn’t say to each other as co-workers.

He nodded, dropping his mouth to Her neck. Touching?

She shrugged, even as her hand moved to grip at his bicep and Her voice in his head became breath. Long as you don’t talk about it.

What about this. Ben pressed his brow to the side of Her head, and she smirked at him, her voice becoming mock innocence.

What about what? Is there a name for what you’re referring to, Benjamin?

He rolled his eyes. Shut the fuck up-

That’s the idea.

Brat.

Cunt. Say it.

Ben scowled, and grumbled the word between their heads, doing his best to make it sound painful. Ben’o’phone.

She hummed, eyes dancing with a joy Ben could feel behind his eyes and along his spine. No talking on the Ben’o’phone.

Any other shit?

Nope. You’ve got a deal, Pretty Boy. She twisted out of his hold, extending her hand for Ben to shake. Get ready to never speak to me again.

He laughed, because there wasn’t a goddamn chance he’d let that happen. And Ben knew his wife. He knew that as stubborn as he was himself, She was worse, and was more than capable be a spiteful pain in his ass. If they got back to the farm from Boston and She still hadn’t said a word, Ben knew he’d end it. There were damn well worse fates than eating out a perfect woman who he loved, and one of them was never hearing Her voice again.

But this made the four hours stuck in the car with MM and Kimiko a fuck ton more interesting. MM had given the mission orders before they took off—this is a delicate motherfucking operation, so no murder, don’t be idiots, and listen when I tell you shit—and Ben had felt Her start to tug away from him, making a play to grab shotgun and keep herself physically detached from Ben.

Physical shit was Ben’s one fucking advantage. She could outwit and outlast Ben all she damn pleased, but She’d crumble if he touched her right. Turned Her into a soft, hazy-eyed mess in his arms, played with Her perfect fucking body until she caved and started begging him to just plain fuck Her.

So he’d kept Her body firm in his hold, and chuckled when she shoved his chest and stomped to the backseat as Kimiko dropped into shotgun. When Ben followed Her—scooting along the bench until their bodies were pressed together—she plain refused to look at him, and he started to run his hand up and down Her thigh. Rubbing Her skin until her breathing became ragged, but neither of them caved.

Most of the car ride was like that. Ben teasing Her in silence, Her pretending he simply didn’t fucking exist, and both of them pretending they weren’t constant goddamn seconds from caving. Ben knew for a fact that every smile he caught on Her lips and every flutter of her heart sent him barreling closer to asking what the fuck she and Kimiko were talking about and why she’d pointed at him. He wanted to know what the hell She was planning on telling her siblings, what She was planning on telling the fucking world, to drawl to Her about all the ways he wanted to fuck her with his new powers, because he’d been brainstorming, and he has some pretty goddamn amazing ideas.

And he was sure she’d want to hear them. Given that he could almost fucking feel Her own will bending and dissolving—warm in his gut and soft in his head as he teased and squeezed Her skin, moved his hand to just rest at the apex of her thighs—and her heart had reached a rhythm he usually heard during sex, Ben would call it a safe fucking bet that she was just as close to giving in as he was.

But neither of them did. And when MM cleared his throat, they’d made it three whole hours without saying a word.

MM grunted Her name, and she looked over to him with a frown.

“Yeah?’

“I still had Violet’s number from March, and I gave her a call last night.” MM glanced up to Her in the rearview mirror. “Gave her a quick brief, she sounded a little pissed you faked dead again, but understood. She’s bringing one of your brothers, but says the other one and your sister aren’t in Boston with your mom.”

“Where are we meeting them?”

“Coffee shop. Had croissants, and God knows I could use something like that right now.”

“Did she say which brother she’s bringing?”

“Got a name, don’t remember-“

“Henry or Sterling.”

MM paused. “Sterling.”

“Okay.” She sighed, slumping down into Her seat, into Ben. “What did you tell her, exactly?”

“We got you back around late May. Had you since, but couldn’t let anyone outside of our immediate team and contacts know for security. You’ve made a complete physical recovery, and are mentally stable enough for fieldwork. We’ve seen Sage’s propaganda, none of it is true, and we’re making a play against her and Homelander soon, so we’re putting them in hiding until this is done.”

She nodded with a small frown and slow words. “What about, um,” Her eyes flicked to Ben—just enough to make him really fucking regret this bet, because she hadn’t looked at him in hours and Christ, she was beautiful—and she swallowed. “Ben and I? I know Sage has said some stuff-“

“Violet asked. I told her you were together but I didn’t mention the engagement. That shit’s not my place.”

“And um, what did she say about that?”

Ben wanted to grab Her perfect face between his hands and tell her that there wasn’t a goddamn chance this was going to be an issue. If Violet had some sort of fucking opinion about it, Ben would do everything in his power to prove that he was serious about this shit. About Her. There was nothing bitter in him about it—he didn’t deserve Her, and he knew that Violet’s acceptance of this probably meant something to Her—but it still made Ben’s whole body strain. Scratch and twist to give up on this stupid bet and just pull every part of Her back to the ground so he could take care of them. Take care of Her.

It was real fucking lucky MM answered Her quickly, or Ben would’ve lost.

“She just asked when it had been official, I said a few weeks after we got you back, and that was it.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Mentioned that she was surprised it wasn’t before all the shit in April, but that’s it.”

“Surprised-“

MM said Her name in a flat voice, eyes fixed on the road. “I still don’t think you fucking idiots understand that you were the last people to know you were dating. I’d bet Mallory’s agents knew before you did.”

“Oh.” She flushed, her hand wandering to hold Ben’s, and he wasn’t even damn certain she knew she was moving it. “Sorry.”

Ben’s jaw clenched, and MM did his work for him.

“Stupid thing to be sorry for. We’re all adults, we knew how to handle your lovesick bullshit without killing you.”

“I don’t,” She frowned, almost fucking pouting. “I don’t think it was that bad.“

MM scoffed. “You were oblivious. We had to pretend we couldn’t see you eye fucking each other over dinner.”

“But-“

“No but,” MM shook his head, and Ben saw his frown flash in the mirror. “What’s important is that you did figure your shit out, and that no matter what the fuck Violet thinks now or thought before, she’ll come around on it.” He let out a labored, slow breath, his voice dropping to a hushed, pushed-through-teeth tone. “I did.”

Her mouth fell open a little, her hand squeezing tight over Ben’s, and her words became soft as she whispered, “you did? Really?”

“He’s still a fucking dick man-baby, but his old ass heart seems to be beating. You’re not a shell of a person with him,” MM muttered Her name, looking between Her and the road. “It’s good to see. Even when it makes me want to throw up, which is all the goddamn time.”

Her body relaxed with her pretty features, she made a small, happy noise of content, and Ben couldn’t even be mad MM had called him a dick man-baby or old, because She was happy.

Ben tangled Her fingers between his, and—still in complete silence—she fully curled into him as he kissed the top of Her head. Ben didn’t bother with taunting, riling touched for the remainder of the car ride, because She looked so goddamn peaceful at his side and this silence didn’t feel like part of their bet. It felt like sitting half inside of each other, easily and comfortably fused against each other without the need for a single other goddamn thing. It was one of the moments where Ben could really fucking feel Her within him out of just an instinct. Feel Her—just so fucking clearly Her—inside his body. Alive and bright, lining Ben’s skull and burrowed so deeply into his whole goddamn world that She flickered in perfect harmony with everything Ben could see or hear or touch. She hummed inside his blood when Ben trailed patterns on Her skin, settling over his bones when he dropped his head to rest against hers, and grew sharp and colorful behind his eyes when she looked up at him a soft smile.

It wasn’t a smile that said anything expect I love you, but not in their old silent words. It told Ben She loved him because it made every piece of Her in his body sing. Ring like church bells announcing something that didn’t need to be announced, reaching further and further into Ben’s body that he didn’t know where his own joy stopped and Her own—built of a million things jammed and melded together that reflected around Ben’s mind like stained glass—began.

And Ben realized that She may feel him like this all the time. That there might never be a moment where Ben—and however the fuck he felt to Her—wasn’t tangible and natural in Her body.

He hoped She did. As almost fucking mind-numbingly consuming as She was inside of him—making it hard to concentrate on the trees blurring past into brick buildings and sidewalks—Ben hoped She felt him all the goddamn time. It would mean that She really, fully understood that Ben started and stopped with Her. That there wasn’t a single fucking moment where he wasn’t tracking the sound of Her heartbeat, or studying her face to try and figure out her insane, maddening, perfect mind. That he was never angry he couldn’t figure Her out, because it was simply another excuse to keep looking at Her beautiful face.

She knew that Ben loved Her—because apparently fucking everyone did—but he still needed Her to know it more. To understand that when he moved to help Her out of the car it was because he’d dedicated himself to knowing how She moved and paced and shifted so as to best leave small offerings of actions and service for his worth.

That learning Her had been the only thing that had ever come easy. The only thing he’d ever learned and never wanted to stop learning. That Ben picked up every strange, seemingly useless piece of information and trivia that fell from Her pretty mouth and used them to keep building his alter to Her. A large, careful place to worship Her that kept this piece of Her inside him safe, made it feel loved.

And Ben really fucking hoped She could feel that, for Ben, she lived every reflection of sunlight on the puddles, gathered on the pavement near the gutter. That She felt how Ben looked at Her—tucked at his side and tapping on his arm—and knew that his love could never be pried or ripped from him, because it was more important to keep than his own fucking hands.

His hands were already Her’s anyway. Brushing hair from Her face and lingering on her cheek. Holding Her own as they walked after MM, along the street to the coffee shop. Opening the door and guiding her inside. Ben needed Her to fucking feel that too.

Needed Her to feel how something in Ben grew wrathful and bloody when she froze at his side barely a step through the door—Her face washing in fear and her nails digging into his skin—and how everything in him narrowed to Her. What’s making Her cave in with hollow eyes and shallow breaths, and what did he need to do for Her to smile again.

The area was mostly empty. A barista with some of the pinkest hair Ben had ever goddamn seen, an old woman with a dog that was too fucking tiny to be useful, and Violet, near the back with two other people Ben didn’t recognize.

One had to be Her brother. Sitting next to Violet, with Violet’s softer features, a slightly different nose from them both, and Her sharp, infinitely amused eyes. They even widened the same way Her’s did, when she was in true, genuine shock, making their whole faces open and animated, lips parted with a gleam that said they didn’t fully trust what they saw.

But Ben didn’t have a fucking clue who the woman was. There was gray in Her hair—so probably fucking old—and her back to the door was rigid and straight, giving off a feeling that she thought she was better. That whoever the fuck this lady was, she was above everything around her, above everyone. That even the damn chair wasn’t worthy of her sitting on it. The whole fucking air of it reminded Ben of his father. Made him taste cocktails that were still sour because he’d been so young, and hear nothing but a ticking clock in a long, empty hall this father didn’t care to grace with his presence.

The person Ben had ever met who deserved to look down at everything was Her, and She was never fucking like that. Ben had called Her art before—beautiful in a way that extended beyond just what Ben could see, sinking into his skin and stirring his whole body with things only She knew how to pry out—but art wasn’t supposed to be touched. And Ben really fucking loved touching Her, the same way She loved touching everything. Settling in wherever she sat, tapping and running her hands over every surface available to Her, holding Ryan in Her arms and letting Ben hold Her in his. Letting Ben touch Her everywhere, and touching him right back. Fingers in his hair, and brows pressed together, a hand holding his arm over Her shoulder’s and legs tangled together under sheets.

Everything Ben had seen his father touch had been with movements of vague disgust, as if the lesser object or person would infect him. It was the same way this woman was keeping her fingers light and raised off the table, only moving in a rhythm Ben recognized. A rhythm that he’d learned to recognize anywhere, just one off-beat from the pattern being tapped on his hand on Her hips.

The woman turned in her chair as it clicked in Ben’s head, and fucking hell, She looked just like her mother. It was the almost same face Ben loved and could look at for a million years without ever feeling the need to stray his gaze or move, but with something inverted. Something so imperceivable that was altered between them, that made Ben feel like there was bile filling up his lungs and something churning in his gut.

Because the longer Ben looked—the whole room heavy and wired, time seeming to slow as they all stared at each other—the more he realized there was nothing alike about them at all. It might be the same face—a goddamn duplicate, everything from skin to eyes to lips to hair right where it was supposed to be—but there was something fucking off about Her mother’s. It wasn’t something obvious, like the fact that Her’s was trapped in youth and Her mother’s was lined with age. It was deeper. Something fundamental on Her that Ben adored and devoted himself to caring for, that was just wasn’t fucking there on Her mother. Not missing, not a hole or hollow Her mother had never filled. Just not there, something wrong where it was supposed to be.

It lived in their eyes. Ben knew Her face better than he’d ever known fucking anything, and her eyes were sharp but filled with light. When She was being herself and not falling or breaking, there was always something magnetic in them that spread over her every other feature, and made Ben want to get as close to her as he possibly fucking could. Reach out to hold Her, to sit in any warmth and life she offered him, to just fucking love her and love her and hope that, though she shined on everything, in the end she was really just alight for Ben. That for all the love She held, her love for Ben was different, because the light in Her eyes burst and flared and turned to pure flame for him and only him. That she’d never deprive the rest of the world of this kind beauty, but She’d also allow Ben to touch her and serve her, in a way no other pussy fucker got it.

Her mother shouldn’t be touched or cared for. There wasn’t anything in Her mother’s eyes that called Ben forward, because they were like a wasteland. They weren’t sharp, but they were still cutting. Invasive and so fucking horrible to look into. And where She was something strange and sacred, Her mother felt like a statue. Something that had been designed to be elegant, to be perfect and idolized, but hadn’t fucking earned it. It was only cold, too clean stone that had never crawled through mud or remained beautiful through trial and torture. Everything about Her mother seemed to demand everything bend for her will, but Ben had no fucking desire to do anything for this bitch.

The only goddamn thing she’d get from Ben was hatred. Cold, furious loathing while every warm thing he had to offer was pushed into Her. His hand held Her steady, his whole body tensed and half-wrapped over Her’s, fucking ready for whatever the hell came next.

They’d all silently agreed not to make the first move. She seemed frozen in place, Ben wouldn’t fucking leave Her side, and MM had muttered a low shit that told Ben he’d realized what was going on. Violet just looked sad and fucking guilty— eyes locked onto Her’s with shifting expression’s Ben couldn’t understand—and their brother looked just as frozen as She was, everyone seeming to just be fucking waiting for what Her mother would do.

Ben was only seconds from just fucking stomping over the room—keeping his body a pace before Her’s—and getting everything moving so this could be done, but then Her mother said Her name, and it was the worst way Ben had ever heard it. This had a scolding familiarity to it that felt practiced and deliberate. The Bitch said Her name like she was a fucking dog. Even fucking Homelander had mostly said it like She was a person. The wrong person—a hateful and fake idea of Her that held her face but nothing that made Her her—but a person all the same. Her mother said Her name as if She was a doll, and worse, it fucking worked. She folded back into Ben, Her heart racing and her nails digging into his skin, and Ben had to just hold Her.

Until he got the clear to start breaking spines and shedding blood over the tiled floors, Ben had to just hold Her.

The Bitch said Her name again, and Ben was going to rip out the bitch’s tongue and feed it to her. “Come sit down. I’m sure,” The Bitch’s gaze drifted to Ben, MM, and Kimiko, all silent and rigid behind Her. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

Ben squeezed Her hand, and it seemed to spark her into action. She nodded and moved to the table, tugging Ben after Her.

What the fuck is your mother doing here. Ben muttered between their heads, and if She was surprised he’d made the connection himself, she didn’t show it.

Violet says she got tricked. They said they were going out to get lunch, but Mom told them she wanted to come. They agreed with the plan to just drop her off and run, knowing she’d be fine, but then when they all got out Mom moved to the driver’s seat and said she knew they were going to see me. They had to bring her, or they wouldn’t get here themselves. No murder, let me do the talking.

Fine. Ben kept his eyes narrowed on the Bitch as they dropped at the table. But if she fucking tries anything-

I’m serious, Ben. No murder-

They were snapped out of their silent words by the Bitch, clearing her throat as MM and Kimiko joined them.

“It’s good to see you. You look quite healthy for being dead.”

She shook Her head slowly, taking a long breath before speaking soft words that didn’t sound right from her mouth. “What are you doing here, Mom? Why did you make Vi and Sterling bring you.”

“You’re my daughter, of course I wanted to see you-“

“We both know that’s not true.” She muttered, her voice rising slightly. “Please just tell me what I’m supposed to do, so I can get it over with.”

“There’s no need to be rude.” The Bitch sighed Her name like a wounded fucking animal. “We’re in no rush, and you haven’t even introduced us to your, ah, companions.”

“MM, Kimiko,” She pointed to them as she spoke—MM giving a cold, curt nod Ben appreciated, and Kimiko offering a nervous wave—before looking up at Ben with a slightly softer expression, made of something calm. “And Ben. Now can we-“

“Ben.” The Bitch repeated, and Her heart picked up pace. “How exactly did you meet Ben?”

“I kidnapped him. Mom, this is really important-“

“You kidnapped him?” The Bitch laughed, like She was some sort of fucking child. “You can’t kidnap Soldier Boy, sweetie.”

“She did,” Violet mumbled, still shooting them apologetic, anxious looks. “She’s a supe now, Mom. She’s strong.”

“I am well aware of that, Violet, but all she can do is party tricks. That isn’t enough to kidnap the world’s strongest man-“

MM snorted at that. “It’s not just party tricks.”

“Excuse me-“

“Sorry, ma’am.” MM shrugged, not flinching under the Bitch’s glare. “But I’ve seen her blow up buildings and make a whole building of agents collapse. Your daughter can do a hell of a lot more damage than party tricks. And she’s certainly stronger than this asshole.”

The Bitch followed MM’s gesture to Ben, and made another disbelieving sound. “I know my daughter, and it is incredibly unlikely she’d be stronger than Soldier Boy-“

“She is.” Ben snapped, barely thinking about the words as they left his mouth. “She’s stronger than fucking Homelander. So watch it.”

“Watch it.” The Bitch smiled, looking Ben up and down, and he didn’t bother to hide the disgust on his face. “You seem to be quite close with her, Ben-“

“Don’t call him that.” She leaned forward over the table, Her voice finally regaining to hot venom Ben fucking loved, and knew to mean she wouldn’t pull punches or dance around words. “Don’t talk to him, Mom. Just tell me what the fuck you want.”

Something shifted in the Bitch, and any formal, fake fucking niceties vanished. “I am here for answers. I am here for the reason you have put your father and I-“

“He’s not my father-“

“He is your family. And you have put him, put us, through hell these last few months. Media harassment, airing out all our misunderstandings like dirty laundry, painting yourself to be a victim when all you have done is behave like a child. You’ve hurt us,” The Bitch said Her name mock, cold disappointment. “You’ve been incredibly selfish, and I want to know why you’re now trying to take my children away from me.”

She gaped slightly, shaking her head. “I’m not trying to take anything from you, they’re in real danger-“

“Danger you created. There would be nothing to worry about if you could just bite your tongue and keep a good, strong head on your shoulders. But no, you have to turn this into some sort of spectacle-“

“I didn’t fucking do anything-“

“You most certainly did.” The Bitch sneered. “Just in the past month you’ve peddled manipulative lies, murdered that poor woman in cold blood, embarrassed Todd at work, and threatened him with, your loyal little guard dog. You’ve ruined everything, and have seen yourself fit to drag this strong, powerful man down your level. If you had just listened to me, none of this would’ve happened you know. You’d be taken care of, even if you were still just a weak little girl-“

The wooden table splintered as Ben hit it, shutting the Bitch up with a bloodless face.

“Last fucking warning,” he hissed, leaning forward so the Bitch could hopefully fucking feel the wrath and hate starting to bang around Ben’s chest in an even rhythm, trying to get out and protect Her. “I couldn’t give a goddamn fly pig’s ballsack that you’re her mother, if you say another word about my wife, I’ll fucking kill you.”

There was a long moment of silence, and Ben only realized his exact words after he’d said them. When MM muttered fuck, and She stared at him a wide, half adoring and amused, half pissed off expression.

Wife?

What.

Don’t play dumb, Pretty Boy, you’re bad at it-

I’m not going to fucking take it back-

I’m not going to tell you to take it back, but now I have to answer questions-

Almost on perfect fucking cue, Violet coughed.

“Are you, um, did you get married-“

“No. But someone,” She shot Ben a pointed glare, and he winked back. “Is a huge fucking dumb dumb with a big mouth.”

A big mouth you love-

A big mouth that’s going to get punched later-

“So you’re,” Sterling finally fucking spoke, and his voice sounded more like Her’s than Violet’s. With an accent that wasn’t placeable, but just them. Impossibly distinct, with every goddamn word they said sounding smart. “You’re not married to Soldier Boy.”

“Yet.” Ben grunted, and the looks on Her family’s faces were more than worth the heated slap to his leg.

“What exactly,” the Bitch said, her voice weighted and low. “Do you mean by yet.”

She gave Ben one last daggered glare before meeting the Bitch’s eyes, Her perfect face turning into something almost fucking prideful. “He means we’re engaged.”

Something flashed across the Bitch’s face that Ben didn’t understand. “To be wed.”

“That’s what engaged usually does mean, Mom-“

“Hell.” The Bitch shook her head, but she didn’t sound or look angry. She mostly just seemed inconvenienced. “I knew I shouldn’t have listened to that woman.”

She, MM, Ben, and Kimiko exchanged similar what the fuck is she talking about looks, and Her words were careful and slow.

“What woman.”

“That haughty, annoying one with Vought. Sister Sage.” The Bitch waved her hand, frowning into the air. “I didn’t think you’d manage to surprise me and pull this off yourself, but you did, and if I wasn’t going to give her a piece of my mind before-“

“Mom,” She said, leaning across the table with a sharp, silent wrath in her eyes. “What the fuck did you do.”

“It’s what she did, dear. Breaching on our deal, turning against me just because of Homelander gaining what she called sense, but I call temporary cold feet-“

“Deal?” There wasn’t anything fucking hollow or nervous in Her voice. It was urgent, dangerous, and would be fucking hot if Ben wasn’t putting together all the pieces to reach a conclusion She already seemed to have. “What deal did you make with Sage.”

“Well, there’s no need to take that tone. And I didn’t think you’d be able to do this yourself-“

“Mom-“

“And it was a deal. We made a promise, a commitment, and there’s never a valid reason to go back on that. And especially not to throw us under the bus for their mistakes-“

“Ma’am.” MM jumped in, his face holding an equal anger Ben could feel in his body. “It is incredibly important you tell us exactly what Sage promised you, and what you promised her.”

The Bitch rolled her eyes, but huffed, “It was a handshake deal. I’d use Todd to make sure she got what she needed from the defense department and government, provide some chemicals she said were annoying to make or whatever, and she’d ensure your marriage to Homelander, which is all I’ve ever wanted for you! There’s no higher status than Homelander’s wife, but then they backed out, and Todd lost the VP slot! I never wouldn’t made it if I’d known she’d betray us like that, if I’d known your relationship with Solider Boy was real!”

Ben’s vision was lined with red, and he might break his own fists. That golden feeling over his ribs—atomic and wrathful and dedicated to fucking protecting Her all the goddamn time—was beating against him, trying to burst out and reduce the Bitch to just a fucking imprint on the wall.

But Her hand squeezed on Ben’s knee, and Her voice in his head was cold and steady I’ve got this. No murder.

Ben grunted an affirmation—not caring if it was aloud or between their heads—and She took a labored breath Ben could feel the fury of before speaking.

“Are you insane.” She hissed. “You sold your soul to the fucking devil, and all you can think is that, if you’d known I was going to get married anyway, you might not have?”

The Bitch’s eyes narrowed. “I was doing what’s best for you. Even when you’ve been cruel to me, I’ve only wanted what’s best for you-“

“And you think that’s what’s best for me is marrying the man who kidnapped, raped, and experimented on me? And selling out the whole fucking country in the process?”

“Don’t be dramatic-“

“I am not being fucking dramatic. Because of what you did, stopping us from getting the federal supply of V, we had to get creative. Getting creative killed Grace Mallory, which lost Todd the VP slot, and now Singer might give it to fucking Homelander. Who is, in case we’re not clear, a fucking monster.”

“Please,” the Bitch gave Her a pointed look, and Ben wondered why he hadn’t already pulled out her tongue. “It’s not like Soldier Boy is an angel either, I’ve read the official Starlight reports-“

“Do not speak about him like that.” She leaned forward, her words almost spitting out of her mouth. “He makes me happy. He loves me, and takes good care of me, and doesn’t fucking try to lock me up and control me. He likes my temperament, he thinks it’s hot because he’s fucking insane, and I love him, and after I kill Homelander I’m going to marry him, and you’re never going to be part of our lives. You’re going to go with Violet and Sterling, and let MM hide you so the very people you sold your fucking daughter to don’t kill you, and then I’m never going to see your fucking face again. Violet-“

“We’ll go with him,” Violet said quickly, glancing at the Bitch—who looked like a gaping and cruel idiot—before looking back to Her. “But Mom-“

“She agrees to go with you, or she sticks around and dies.” She stood up, and Ben followed without a fucking thought as she continued, looking between her siblings. “I love you, and you’re going to be okay. I promise you’re going to be okay. I’m so, so sorry-“

Her voice cracked slightly, and Violet shot up, rounding the table and pulling Her into a tight hug. Sterling was close behind, and Ben kept a close fucking eye on the Bitch, in case she tried to interrupt this. But she just looked at her children, still in shock, and they pulled apart on their own time.

“You’ll be safe,” She whispered again, and when she took a shaking step back, Ben caught her and held her up. “I swear you’ll be safe. And when this is over, I’ll explain everything. But right now-“

“You have to go,” Sterling nodded, and he didn’t sound angry. “Violet told me what she knows, and we get it. You have to go.”

She nodded, giving them a soft, sad smile, and let Ben guide Her onto the street. MM and Kimiko didn’t need goodbyes—they’d see them again by fucking tomorrow anyway—and the Bitch looked like she wanted to say something, but was smart enough not to.

The Bitch should count herself lucky, that Ben cared about how he was beginning to feel sick and empty and cold—which meant that She was in pain, and needed him—a fuck ton more than he cared about wasting time on vengeance.

Right now, nothing mattered more than Her. Then getting Her into the car, and far, far away from what Ben couldn’t even fully fucking comprehend. Keeping his hand against Her thigh, trying to tide over the cracks he could feel beginning to lines his vision and the horrible sense of dread and wrong living in his blood.

Then, when She made a small, choked sound, pulling Butcher’s car off the highway and helping her climb into his lap. Letting Her bury her head in his chest and shatter there, where she’d be safe. Where Ben could hold Her in silence as she fell apart, then do whatever needed to be done for this to become fucking bearable.

Ben, I- Her words were almost fucking inaudible between their minds, Her gasps and strangled tears muffled against Ben’s body. I don’t know what to do. What do I do.

He didn’t know. Ben didn’t have a goddamn clue what to do with what they’d just learned. But he’d be damned if he just let Her break further than she needed to.

Whatever you have to. Tell Butcher, include it in your address, keep it a secret for the rest of goddamn time. Whatever makes this shit livable.

She sold me, Her sob wracked her whole body, and Ben almost broke his fucking teeth. She fucking sold me to Homelander, and I’m not even sure when she did it. It could’ve been months ago. It could’ve been when I first resurfaced, or right before the tower, or when I first fucking met Sage-

I know. Ben grunted in the silence, drawing circles on Her back. I know, Sunshine. I know.

She nodded against him, and Her breathing, slowly, began to ease. Her heartbeat became what it was supposed to be, and they stayed there until this she let out a soft, breathy laugh, turning the fabric of Ben’s shirt between her fingers.

“I’m not,” She shook Her head in Ben’s chest. “I’m not sure who lost. The bet.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “We could call it even and just fucking start over-“

“No.” Her answer was frantic but hushed, her face shooting up to look at Ben with wide eyes. “I don’t want to not talk to you. Not now. Please.”

He nodded, leaning down to kiss the space between Her eyes. “Okay, Sunshine. It’s off.”

She hummed, her hands moving to hold Ben’s face. “I could, maybe I could still give you a blowjob?”

“Do you want to give me a fucking blowjob?”

“Um.” She swallowed, flushing slightly. “Yes.”

“Do I get to eat you out?”

“Yes, please.”

Ben snorted, muttering an agreement, and he still wasn’t fucking sure how he’d gotten here. Having to pull his perfect fucking wife off his lap—but keeping their hands tangled together and resting on his thigh—so he could drive her home. Bring Her somewhere safer than here, so he could hold her right and clear her head while he still had the time. Whisper promises in Her ear that he’d die to keep, about how he’d give her better than that. About how, whatever came after, Ben would keep holding her and loving her, in a way that felt almost fucking pure.

Twisted and scarred and forged somewhere dark and burning, but still pure. Incapable of ruin, incapable of being tainted or broken, just fucking love. Just a future that was brighter than what was behind them, and a life where She’d always feel safe enough to break, and always be able to get back up after.

A future Ben really damn wanted, where Her and Ryan’s smiles were never in danger of being wiped from their faces.

Where Ben just kept loving them, and they felt it, and that was the whole fucking world.

—————————

There’s only one light, flashing from Hughie’s hand as he begins the recording, but it’s still blinding and cold.

You take five deep breaths, one for every good thing that you want to do this for. Everything you want to hold onto when after comes.

Ryan. Music. Stuffed Lions. Gardens. Ben.

Hughie gives you a thumbs up—a signal to begin—and you look to Ben. A step behind Hughie, watching you carefully with a grim, set expression. Everything between your bodies is straining to make you stand and move to fall against him, but you have to do this alone. Not fully alone, never fully alone again, but standing alone. With Ben inside you—rolling around the top of your chest and rumbling in a rhythm that feels like your name—but still too far to touch. To seek the comfort of him warmth and solid certainty.

But you can still feel his love and devotion. You’re wearing the ring again—twisting it on your finger as you take one last, long, steadying breath—and it’s just another way in millions to know Ben is her, and loves you, and will burn with you. No matter how this goes, Ben will burn with you.

So you can fucking do this. You have the slightly crumpled paper in your hands with everything you need to say, and now all you have to do is talk.

You start with your name, just for clarity and the fuck of it, and begin. “You know me as the Anomaly. And I am, but not by choice. I am the Anomaly because Homelander decided I should be. Because, four years ago, he kidnapped me, faked my death, and held me hostage on, likely, Vought property. I spent first two years in complete isolation, only seeing Homelander when he visited me to rape me.” Something starts to taste vile in the back of your mouth, but you have to keep talking. If you stop now, you won’t get through this, and you’ve barely even started. “I was kept locked up for the intention of breeding, like fucking cattle. Then, after Soldier Boy returned to America, Homelander became obsessed with immortality and I was moved to a Vought lab, and experimented on by Vought scientists in order to recreate the original formula of compound V, which slowed the aging process.

“It was a successful experiment. I was given my super name, the Anomaly, because I was injected with V four times, and developed four completely isolated powers. The pyrokenesis I am known for, which I used to escape captivity, a healing factor that has made me unkillable, empathy, and sensory manipulation. I am stronger than Solider Boy. I am stronger than Homelander. For the past year since my escape, I have been fighting Vought alongside Starlight and William Butcher, but have not stood in direct opposition to Homelander due to the former volatility of my powers. I was afraid of the man who spent four years sexually, emotionally, and medically abusing me. I am not afraid anymore, and I am ready to corroborate every accusation Starlight has made against Homelander, Sage, and Vought, and talk. These are my words. I wrote them, I am saying them, and nobody is making me. So, please, listen.

“I have been working with Butcher, Starlight, and their former CIA funded team, the Boys, since June of last year. In November, after we failed to locate a possible bio-weapon against Homelander, I pitched to then President elect Robert Singer and former Deputy Director of the CIA, Grace Mallory, that Soldier Boy be woken up and used as a weapon. My plan was approved, and he was woken up in early December. Per the plan, was to I live with him in a CIA safe-house and keep him in line until Ryan Butcher was removed from Vought Tower and we had a direct, clean shot at Homelander. Soldier Boy would remove his powers with the V-wiping bomb in his chest, and then be pardoned and sent off American soil to live in exile. Nothing went…” you trail off, glancing at the continually formal speech in your hands, and give up on it. It matters that this sounds real, and none of these words sound real.

Ben is real. You’re real. This pain is real, and so is your love.

So you crumple the paper up, and look back directly into the camera.

“Nothing went as we intended it to. I fell in love with Soldier Boy. He fell in love with me. My original plan to extract Ryan Butcher went to shit, and I had to make another. That one worked, but I ended up back in Homelander’s captivity. My team found a way to safely kill Homleander, but Sage destroyed it all at the Believe Expo, which, for the record, was not a terrorist attack. It might have technically been a robbery, but it became a play to fake A-Train’s death, and help him escape. I remained with Vought to find an alternative location of our weapon, but failed to, and escaped. Once I was safe, I didn’t want to be in the public eye. I was broken, and weak, and too fucking tired to face this myself. I helped Starlight plan and write her address in June, and it was my idea to remain away from the public eye.

But more things kept going wrong. When we found another avenue to get our hands on the weapon, we were blocked by Singer and Secretary Muller, who, As Sage has said, is my step-father. I had not spoken to him in thirteen fucking years, and he has been in direct collaboration with Sage. She has tried to paint him as a villain, and he is a terrible man, but he’s also an idiot. I would never want him in a position as powerful as Vice President of the United States, and neither would Sage, which is why she has turned on him and paved the way for Homelander to take federal office.

“Homelander cannot be allowed to take federal office. He cannot be allowed within a hundred fucking miles of the White House. He is a monster. Since both my and Ryan Butcher’s escapes, he has not stopped trying to take us back, and has been willing to kill everyone we care about to do it. And I have not been fucking innocent in this. I destroyed the rec center at Victoria Neuman’s rally. I killed Firecracker. I did not commit the Tek Night massacre in New Jersey, and I did not kill Black Noir or Grace Mallory, but I was in immediate proximity to both events. Because of Homelander. Because I have been trying to save people from him, but I have cared, and he has not. He wants to control me, control you, and kill everyone who stands in his way. But we can stop him. We found our weapon. So, Vought workers, around the world, this is for you. Get out. Jump shipwhile you still can. If you have anyone you love, anything you care about, run. Now. If you take anything away from my speech, make it this.

“Almost every plan we made got fucked. Almost everything I said I’d never do, I did. And we’ve kept going. It didn’t matter what our public image was, or has been, or will be after this. The world will not be safe until Homelander is dead. And there will be work to do after, but right now, that’s all that matters. That’s what’s coming. And Homelander,” you narrow your eyes at the camera, leaning forward. “Ben and I are ready for you. None of us are martyrs or heroes, but this is it. I’m stronger. Ben’s stronger. And we both have something to live for, and something to die for. You don’t have either. You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me, and this is it.” You raise your chin high, staring Homelander down without seeing him. “You turned me into the Anomaly. You drove Ben and I together. If you weren’t such a narcissistic sociopath, I’d probably be halfway across the world, writing academic papers and dating some foreign, normal guy. But now I’m going to kill you, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.” Your face curls into a twisted smirk, born from something like liberation. Like a million pieces falling into place as you turn your attention to Ben—pounding and rioting in your body—and see your expression mirrored on his face. “I’ll see you soon, Homelander.” You look back to the camera. “We both will.”

The light of the camera turns off, the video finishes, and that’s it. You’d done what you could, said what you needed to, and now all that was to finish it. To actually, really, kill Homelander.

Hughie’s talking about how he’s going to watch the video over and upload it. Butcher’s muttering that it wasn’t half bad, and Annie’s giving you a tentative thumbs up and saying words that are probably reassuring praise.

You can’t hear any of them. All you can hear is an off-key ringing in your ears, and the pounding of your own heart as your eyes start to blur and your head starts to turn faster than you can follow. You’d missed things. You don’t really remember anything you said, but there’s so way you got everything. The speech was too short, because you’d missed things that you probably couldn’t afford to miss. No, it was too long, because you’d spent time on semantics and details that didn’t matter. It was okay to mention A-Train was alive, you’d cleared it with him first, but you hadn’t mentioned Neuman. But Neuman wasn’t a supe, and she couldn’t defend herself. And she has a kid, A-Train doesn’t have a kid. But you also hadn’t mentioned Ashley, but she’s not that importance really, but she could be. She could provide key testimony when this is done, and you need that testimony, but you’ll also need A-Train’s testimony.

You didn’t think long term. None of this had been thought in the long term. You just accused Singer of something, by saying he’d blocked the V, and he’s still going to be president after this. You should’ve mentioned the Boys more, try to exonerate them of some of their crimes, so Singer wouldn’t turn on them as well. On you. You’d just confessed to murder. Multiple murders. There’s blood on your hands and there’s a crack that’s reaching down your spine and now there’s nothing left to stop Homelander from hurting people you love.

You’d confessed to loving Ben. You’d told the world you loved Ben. And you did. And you wouldn’t take it back. Everything is cold and you can’t really breathe, but you won’t take it back. You can fight Homelander now, but it still comes in waves, and you’re still afraid. You’d said you weren’t afraid.

It was a lie. You’re so cold and tired and afraid, and you strong but not strong enough for this, and you’d just said everything and now you can’t control what happens. You’d just strung up your guts and organs and skin for all the world to see, and they may not be as careful with them as Ben is. As you need right now.

Nothing is in focus, and everything feels like it’s being knocked out of and away from you, and there’s no more light here. There’s something good that’s touching you—rubbing circles on your cheeks, holding your face between big, warm hands—and something that sounds right saying your name, but you still can’t hear anything but the blood.

Blood. So much blood on your hands and this ringing is get a key off from something that’s haunting you, and you don’t feel broken but you’re still weak. Weak and covered in blood-

You hear your name in your own head, like a thought that you didn’t create, and things start to come down as it’s repeated. Over and over like a prayer until you begin to down to earth and you’re staring at a green that you know belongs to Ben.

Ben-

You’re going to be fine. You’re going to be fucking fine. It’s an order. He’s telling you that you’re not fine right now, but you will be. That, eventually, you will be fine, because there’s not another option. Ben won’t let there be another option. I’m here. I am right goddamn here, Sunshine, and you’re going fucking fine.

You nod, and drop your brow to Ben’s because it’s the only thing you know how to do. You’re still figuring out how to breathe—it helps to listen to Ben do it, because he does everything in such a firm and certain manner it has to be correct—and you can’t remember how to stand, so all you can do is fall into Ben. Stay here until your chest is falling into a pattern with his, and fold against him as he moves your head to his shoulder—pressing a soft, reverent kiss on your brow as he does—and pulls you into his arms. Let him stand up, cling to him like a lifeline, and listen to the grumbled exchanges around you.

“Is she-“

“She needs a minute.” Ben grumbles, his voice rolling through your body as he cuts Annie off. “You pussies do the plan, and we can hear it after.”

Your hands curl on Ben’s neck as you shake your head, finding to will and strength to move your head and meet his gaze.

I’m okay. You aren’t convinced by your own words, but you push on all the same. I’m really okay. We need to do this.

Ben scowls, and you can feel his ardor concentrate into something that’s coating over his ribs and trying to wrap over your skin. You are not fucking okay. You went fucking catatonic, that’s not goddamn okay-

I was not catatonic, you dramatic cunt. And I can make it through a meeting.

You can. You’re pulling yourself together. Wrinkling your nose at Ben—trading sharp words that have no edge with him—is something that you’ll always know how to do. That, somehow, grounds you just as well as Ben’s own stone resolve. You think it’s because it’s certain. You will always tease and mock each other, and Ben will always roll his eyes and glower, and you will always stick out your tongue and pout at him. And no matter what, he won’t go, and neither will you. There won’t be any lines for what you can and can’t say, because you both know it would probably kill you to hurt each other.

So you’re coming back to yourself, and it’s because Ben is scowling, and alive and loud in your chest.

I could fucking feel you, he growls your name in the heavy silence of the room, his hold on your body tightens. You need to rest-

I’ll rest after the meeting-

Or you could rest right fucking now-

Or I could rest after the meeting. Your hands move to hold his face, running his beard between your fingers as you offer him a sad but easy smile. We’re so close, Ben. We’re really, really close, and I need to do this. You can carry me upstairs and pin me to the bed to make me rest, after, but it has to be after. Please.

Swear it. Swear you’ll rest.

I’ll rest. I promise.

Ben’s jaw is clenched so tightly you’re worried he’ll break it, but you get a stiff nod as he sits down. Keeping you in his lap as he looks up, glaring at something over your head.

“Go get the rest of the fucking dumbass pussies. You get ten minutes before we fucking leave.”

“Ain’t you gonna say please, Gov-“

“No.”

You hear Butcher’s huff, and twist in Ben’s arms just in time to see him stomping away.

It doesn’t take long to gather everyone. Annie, Hughie, and Frenchie are already here, Neuman, Ashley, and A-Train had just been waiting in the kitchen, and MM and Kimiko are still with your family, so within three minutes you’re all settled the living room, watching each other in a weary silence.

You do really want to just go rest with Ben, for all of this to be done, so you speak first.

“I have a plan-“

“Ain’t that a surprise-“

“Shove it up your ass, Butcher.” You flip him off without looking, and continue. “I’ve had a plan. It’s, it has kind of adapted to the cards we have, but it will work all the same. You guys,” your attention turns to Ashley, A-Train, and Neuman. “Need to make me a promise first, though.”

Neuman frowns, sitting up a little straighter. “What kind of promise could you need from us-“

“Mostly one about honor. Keeping your word.”

“That is so fucking vague-“

“It’s meant to be vague, Ashley.” A-Train mutters, glaring at you in a way that feels more cautious than hateful. “She’s trying to feel out how likely we are to agree.”

Ashley looks to you with wide eyes, and you sigh.

“I am.” Your words gaining a more urgent edge, because this is important. “But forgive me for not fully trusting you-“

“You tell us what sort of promise you need,” A-Train snaps over you, foot bouncing in his seat. “And as long as it’s not something really shitty, we’ll make it.”

You examine him, and he seems genuine. He mostly just looks tired. Done with all of this. You understand that, you can feel it in your bones and muscles, so you keep talking.

“I want your word that, when this is over, you’ll stay on our side. Go on the record and say everything you’ve seen and witnessed, about Vought and the government and Homelander and anything else. All the Red River shit, how you,” you nod to Neuman. “Were the Head Popper, and anything Sage ever told you. Say it again, under oath if necessary.”

Neuman’s eyes narrow. “And why would I possibly want to admit to be the Head Popper. Why would any of us want to admit anything-“

“Because this farm is about to be a war zone.” You keep your words casual and bored, but your gaze sharp. “And if you agree to work with us after, we’ll keep you out of danger and make sure your families,” you look to A-Train. “All your families, aren’t caught in the crossfire. We can negotiate your pardons and deals before we bring you out of hiding, or we can testify about all the crimes we know you committed and you just get locked up.”

“That’s not fair!” Ashley’s words are frantic. Panicked. “You’re trying to fucking blackmail us, that’s a fucking crime-“

“All of this is a crime.” You snap, giving Ashley a daggered glare. “But we’re about to be the people that killed Homelander. You can either work with us, or not. It’s up to you.”

There’s a moment of heavy, painful silence, and you’re not sure if they’re trying to call your bluff, but there isn’t one. You’re past bluffs, here. Now it’s just about survival, and knowing if you can trust them with anything.

Finally A-Train coughs, and something like lead dissipates in your blood.

“Fine. Deal.”

His tired, flat voice spurs Neuman and Ashley into action, and you get two more reluctant agreements. There will be more time for details later. What deals you can cut and what you’ll need them to take the stand on can wait, because now you have to talk about the plan. It’s immediate and so fucking fragile, and you finally have your shot. You can’t waste valuable time before you take it.

“Good.” You look around the room, tapping your fingers on Ben’s arm as you calculate every word, every risk, everything that could go wrong and everything that will go wrong, and still know that this is your best bet. This is what has to be done. “We’ll get them to a safe house with Zoe until this is over, and Homelander will come to us. It’s empty up here, and Edgar won’t miss this place if it gets destroyed in the fight. All his livestock died in November, and he’s not getting out of prison anytime soon, so I’m comfortable making this collateral. We’ll lure him, booby-trap the fuck out of the grounds, and disorient him enough for someone to get the drill into him. Frenchie-“

“It will be ready tomorrow. A projectile, and I can make many.” Frenchie looks around the group with a grim expression. “One shot. A single hit, and it will if my work is correct, wedge in his skin, and the V will be shot into his system by a trigger.”

Butcher frowns. “We got enough of this shit for mass production-“

“Oui.” Frenchie gives one, firm nod. “A small amount, a micro-dose, will be more than effective. Just one,” Frenchie makes a sound, miming a syringe. “And the fucker will go down like it is nap time, and he is having a sugar crash.”

“Awesome,” you chew on your tongue, squeezing your hand on Ben. “Then all that we’ll have to do-“

We. Ben grunts in your head, and you can feel something in him grow powerful and bloody. You’re not getting fucking near that Star-caped pussy-

It was the royal we, Benjamin. You twist in his lap, giving him a pointed glare. And I can fight Homelander. I’m stronger-

I fucking know that. I am not worried about how fucking strong you are, I’m worried about you-

“You twats care to involve us in your little fuckin spat?” Butcher drawls, and you turn to see him looking more annoyed than angry. “Cause if it’s ‘bout the bloody mission we’re all riskin our asses for, we should put it up for vote-“

“None of your goddamn business-“

“You don’t want her near the fight, Gov, ain’t that it?” Butcher smirks, but there’s something hollow behind it. “Worried she may get hurt when Homelander decides he ain’t playin nice? That you might lose ‘er because she’ll make some stupid fuckin sacrifice and you ain’t gonna have nothin left to live for?”

You think Ben is going to murder Butcher. And you might have let him, is you couldn’t feel the powerful and bloody thing start to rot. To twist and cave in on itself, and swing back and forth between a fury that’s pushing around his chest and out of his body, and a molding, aching pain that’s climbing up his spine and into his heart.

Ben. Is Butcher, you pause, waiting for Ben’s violet glare to turn to you and soften slightly. Is he right.

He’s tearing himself apart. There’s something like a tornado or hurricane in Ben’s body, and you can almost hear how it’s hurting him in his grunted, Yes.

I’ll be okay, Ben. I can’t die-

I fucking know that. It’s not- His scowl becomes mostly lines on his face, and his whole body is only made of the aching storm. I am not losing you.

You won’t lose me-

And I fucking know, and I don’t fucking care. He’s not yelling between your heads, but his voice is loud, and almost fucking hopeless in a way that breaks your heart. You’re more than damn stronger enough to fight him, and I don’t fucking want you to. You are goddamn capable and brilliant and strong, and I don’t want you anywhere fucking near this shit. You can’t start fucking breaking again and expect me to just be fine with throwing my wife into a goddamn fight with Homelander. A cowardly fucking pussy psychopath who’s not going pull punches, who’s going to try and take away the only two people I give a fuck about, the only people I’ve ever fucking loved, and if I lose them it will be my own goddamn fault for letting them get hurt when I should’ve fucking kept them safe-

You can’t let him keep doing this to himself, because you understand. You and Ryan are all Ben has, and he’s not going allow himself to put you in harm’s way. You can fight him on this, and probably win, and if something does, somehow, go wrong, Ben won’t ever forgive himself. He still hasn’t forgiven himself for the first time, and the second time would destroy him, the same way your second time had broken you.

And you’d stay with him. When you found your way back to Ben, you’d stay with him until the storm passed, even if it took a hundred years. He’d grow paranoid and wake you up with explosions of golden light from his chest, but he’d still be Ben, the same way you’re still you.

But if you can do anything for him, offer him anything that’s truly vital, it’s sparing him that pain. It’s bending, just for this, because you know Ben will fight with a clear, determined, focused wrath if he knows Ryan is safe with you, and you’re both far away from Homelander.

You don’t really want to see Homelander die anyway. There’s nothing sadistic or bloodthirsty in your body, because you’re so tired of pain and sick of blood on your hands. Hearing the words Homelander’s dead, seeing his small husk of a body, and marrying Ben in a world where Homelander will never hurt anyone again will be all you need.

So you kiss Ben in a soft, gentle way that makes his hands on your body relax and the mold in his body start to fade as the glow grows, and look back to your team. Waiting silently for you and Ben to finish.

“I’ll take Ryan. He and I will go with them,” you nod to Neuman, Ashley, and A-Train. “And hide until the mission is done. You’ll get the V into Homelander, Ben will blast him, and Butcher will shoot him. And that will be it.”

There are small, nervous nods, and Hughie clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck.

“What about, um, what about Sage-“

“I’ll take care of it. I just need a day.” You lean back into Ben’s body, looking around the room with your most firm, immovable expression. You might have copied Ben’s—a set jaw, deep lines on your face, and an unspoken glint in your eyes that says I know what the fuck I’m doing—but it does the trick all the same. Nobody pushes you, and that’s it.

You have a fucking plan.

Everyone shuffles off to eat or talk or pretend that Homelander won’t be here in before the week is over. That everything isn’t either going to have crumbled or begin to grow again, and it all rides on getting this right. On not missing, or fucking up, and having each other’s backs.

It would be easy to spiral again. To drown in what’s coming, and every way I could go wrong. But Ben doesn’t waste any time, and before your brain can invite the doubt or panic knocking against your skull to be explored, he’s moving. Carrying you upstairs to your bedroom, kicking the door closed behind you, locking it without a word, and lowering you both carefully onto the stiff mattressed, itchy blanket bed that’s still comfortable, because Ben is here with you. Warm and strong under your touch, muscles flexing whenever he breathes, and the only thing you might ever really need.

Neither of you look to move, or go further. All that feels necessary right now is to have Ben. To feel to drum of his heart when you rest your head on his chest, and the soft hair of his beard when your fingers drift over his face. To smell pine and coffee and strawberries and know that he’s here. That he’s safe and solid, and nothing is going to take this instinct of Ben away from you.

You think it’s all he wants as well. His hands are moving over your body, but the only heat they leave is made of affection and care. Ben’s touch always makes you feel loved, but this makes you feel needed. Like there’s a direct line from Ben’s fingers tracing up your spine and over your hips into your nerves, and it shoots every single piece of his love right into your brain. Assures you that Ben is as natural as breathing, and he loves you, and every beat of his heart belongs to you because every turn of your head belongs to him. That, no matter what comes, you really will be safe, because there’s no other option when you’re loved like this.

It’s silent for a long while—only the sound of bird-song out the window and Ben’s breath near your ear—and you’re not sure how much time has passed when Ben’s low, rough voice sounds in your head.

You find a way to get yourself fucking killed with this, and I’ll leave you, Sunshine.

You let out a soft laugh, propping your chin on Ben’s chest to meet his attentive, wrathful, painfully in love gaze. No, you won’t.

The fuck I won’t-

You won’t. You’ll get all angry and violent and sad and kill a bunch of people about it, and then get even sadder and angrier because you’ll remember I would’ve been pissed at you for doing that, and then you’ll go cry at my grave for the third time that day. You’ll be the mean, old, handsome graveyard coke-snorter, right up until the inevitable heat death of the universe finally gets your ass.

Ben scowls, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Everything in his eyes is made of that bitter feeling, but under it you can still feel the glow. Shining out and rushing through your body, making everything inside you soft and restful, but still alive. More alive than you’ve ever really been before Ben, and as alive as you plan to feel for the rest of time.

Nobody’s given me any fucking coke. He grumbles in your head, and you know he’s trying to change the topic. That the bitter feeling is born from the thought of your death, no matter how impossible that is, and you’re more than willing to abandon that conversation. You’d think for a bunch of goddamn criminals, these pussies would’ve found some coke-

I bet Frenchie has some. You smile at him, kissing a gentle line over his jaw. And if you asked very, very nicely, he might share with you.

Ben grunts, and hand moving to your hair to guide your face up, hovering right over his. “When this shit is over, I’ll get that coke, and we’re doing it together.”

“I love you, Benjamin, but I am not doing cocaine-“

He cuts you off with a soft, long, easy kiss, chuckling at how fast you fall onto him. How easy it is for him to touch your right and make you fold without any struggle, and how you have no desire to fight against that.

“It won’t do a damn thing to you, Sunshine, you’ve got a higher tolerance than I do.” He presses another, almost sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth, muttering against your skin. “And if it does, I’ll get to see you all fucked up again.”

You flush, dropping your face into his neck. Can we please forget that happened-

Not a damn chance. You can feel his smile as he kisses the side of your head, hear his amusement in the silence. Fucked up you was very open with me. She told me I was beautiful.

You are beautiful. You mumble into his head, tangling your fingers into his hair. So shut up.

I’m hot as fuck, darling. He chuckles, tracing patterns on your back. But you’re more beautiful. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever goddamn seen.

Ben-

You are. Don’t get all fucking modest on me-

You rise back up, holding Ben’s face between your hands and studying his face. You already have it memorized, every deep line and rugged feature and bright color, but you’ll never get tired of looking at it. Of looking at him.

I’m not modest. You kiss the tip of his nose, and Ben’s hands on your body still. I get to marry a very grumpy man who’s the most attractive cunt in the universe, and who’s willing to share his cocaine with me. Why would I be modest about that?

A low growl rumbles from Ben’s chest, and he flips you onto your back with a yelp. Caging you between the bed and his body, kissing everywhere he can reach on your face and neck and collarbone, grinning as you let out a high, needy sound and tilts you head back to grant him any access he wants.

Such a fucking brat, beautiful. He moves his knee between your legs, groaning as you start to grind against him. I love you so goddamn much, you drive me fucking insane-

“Ben.” You try to pull his face back to yours, your voice a breathless, pleading gasp. “No sex in the house-“

He crashes back up, his kiss bruising and turning your body into something molten and desperate for more. Singing just for Ben, Ben, Ben, who cares if Butcher walks in because Ben will shield you and you’re unraveling under him and you’ve never felt safer-

“You owe me a blowjob in the forest,” he mutters against you. “And I get to eat you out wherever the fuck you want-“

You gather all your will through your haze of Ben, and shake your head weakly. “Not here. Not now. But later, Ben, please, please fuck me, please-“

He pulls back, grinning down at your likely ruined and lustful expression, his love made of an awe you can see on his face and a devotion you can feel in his chest.

“Christ,” he says your name, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard. “You’re confusing your fucking self. You want me to fuck you, yes or no.”

You whine, and his grin grows, even as his tone becomes stern.

“Words-“

“I,” you pause, reaching up to just touch him, and shake your head. “Not now. After.”

He nods, and catches your wrist, moving your hand to his mouth and kissing over your knuckles. Where.

Can I think about it?

Ben laughs, and drops down to kiss you in an easy, slow way that doesn’t need to be more. You’re fucking going to anyway.

You will. Later, you’ll dedicate a whole hour to figuring out where you want to see Ben’s head between your legs, and where you want to scream his name. You already have some ideas, but it will need your full attention, which is something you can’t quite spare today. Because—once Ben decides you’re fully rested, and removes his weight from over your body—you have work to do.

Your speech hadn’t been a bait for Sage, but it would function as a lure. Something for her to latch onto, and want answers for. And sure enough, when MM and Kimiko return, it’s with news that Sage had called and demanded a meeting. Just you and her, on neutral ground, with terms of no Homelander, no Ben.

“There is not a fucking chance-“

You squeeze Ben’s hand, giving him a sharp but gentle glare. “I can handle this, my love.”

“I’m not worries about you handling it,” he hisses. “Sage is a manipulative bitch, and we don’t know what the hell she wants-“

“It won’t matter what she wants.” You shrug, looking back to MM. “Find somewhere quiet, maybe in Vermont, and tell her to meet me there.”

Ben growls your name, and you ignore him.

“I’m not stupid enough to fully go alone, so I’ll drive, drop you and my very grumpy, overprotective husband off somewhere close but not obvious for backup, and pick you up after.”

Everything in Ben stumbles and bursts into a consuming, bloody glow, and you know you’ve won. The moment you called him your husband you’d felt all of Ben’s will and fight dissolve, and you’re going to have to figure out a way to actually marry him by the end of the month, because his face might be the best one you’ve ever seen, this feeling the best one you’ve ever experienced. All you ever want to experience again.

It only takes a day for MM and Sage to make arrangements. Sage keeps insisting to speak with you directly, MM keeps refusing, and eventually Sage relents with the condition that she gets to choose the location.

A little roadside diner in upstate New York, right off of a postcard and shielded from the sky by a green, overgrown forest that makes your breathing a little easier. The air is warm and a little humid from a storm that had left puddles in the parking lot and glittering drops on water on the windows, and when you park the stolen car—Ben and MM waiting at a gas station about ten minutes away and, hopefully, not killing each other—you take a long breath.

You have everything you need. You know everything you need to say. This will be hard, and then it will be over. All you have to do is move.

When you push the door of the diner open, small bell rings and the diner is mostly empty. You didn’t expected Sage to be here, you arrived an hour early in the very hope she wouldn’t be, so you sit at a corner booth that faces the door, and mostly just wait.

When Sage does arrive, she sees you immediately. A cold smile crosses her face as she drops down across from you, examining the table carefully.

“There’s no trap.” You say, keeping your voice bored and neutral. “It’s just a table.”

Sage looks up, her smile becoming snake-like.

“I’d apologize, but both you yourself and the company you keep hasn’t been known to be honorable. I’d have to be stupid to discount you putting a bomb under a public table, and I’m not stupid.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Big talk about honor, when I know the deal you made with my fucking mother.”

“I won’t apologize for taking an open opportunity-“

“Because you’re a fucking bitch.” You shrug, holding her gaze with your own, tired, flat one, tapping your fingers on the sugar shaker. “We both know you’re not sorry about any of this, and we both know that you’re a heartless cartoon supervillain, so what do you want.”

Sage’s lips curl into what might be the only real grin you’ve ever seen on her hateful face. “I really do like you,” she says your name, and you believe her. “I think, if you’d become a supe when you were a baby, we’d have been friends.”

“I like to think I’d still have a soul if that happened-“

“We all like to think things that like. But we’re just animals. Well, they’re just animals. You’re just an animal.”

You tilt your head, flagging down the waitress for two coffees. “And you’re not? You’re a god, like Homelander?”

“No.” Sage’s sounds almost amused. “Gods are still dependent on humans. To be created, maintained, remembered. I don’t care for that. What I care for is perfection. Something far better than humanity, something free of their selfish ignorance-“

“With the V.” You can’t stop your whisper as you put it together, watching Sage with a sharp, careful attention. “That’s why you want the V formula. To make more, and finish Vought’s plan with it.”

“Not Vought’s exact plan. He was caught in the primitive, pointless ideology of race supremacy. But this is about species supremacy. About human’s being ungrateful for what they’ve been given, and needing to be eradicated like the disease to the world that they are. But nobody is meant to know that yet. You…” she trails off, and her face curls into something that chills your bones. “You found the Cornucopia.”

Your silence is her answer, and she lets out a laugh that makes your skin crawl.

“I must say, you’ve managed to surprise me again. Putting that together yourself, and that video.” She shakes her head, looking you up and down. “That was one of the smarter moves you’ve made. I’m impressed.”

You hum, holding her gaze. “But?”

“But it was still reckless. I’d already planned for it, and although you said things I’d counted out, such as admitting to your affair with Soldier Boy, or to killing Firecracker, but I’ll adapt, and you’ll still lose.”

“I wouldn’t call it an affair,” you hum, frowning at the sugar shaker. “I’d call it falling in love.”

Sage makes a sound of amusement. “Love isn’t permanent. As I’ve tried to tell you, Soldier Boy will be a violent, angry man for the rest of his life. You’re the most powerful supe alive. You have the public in the palm of your hand, and you could spend all eternity making something perfect. You could go play house,” she gives the ring on your finger a pointed look. “With Solider Boy and the son of your rapist, or you could see what you can really do. Create a world without pain, create a world with only pain, fix human’s messes for the rest of time or finally give up on them. I could cleanse you of your little pestilence of a team, hiding like roaches in Maine, and you could fight Homelander one on one. Give him the gruesome death we both know he more than deserves. You could even keep Soldier Boy as a pet, and still be-“

“If you say interesting.” You drawl. “I’ll punch you again. And Ben isn’t my pet, and Ryan isn’t just Homelander’s son.” You lean over the table, narrowing your eyes. “They’re my family. All of them. I don’t really want to see what I can do, Sage. I think I just want this to be done.”

“You truly do believe your love for Soldier Boy is an exception, don’t you. That it’s not just a temporary chemical reaction, that can be manufactured just as easily as a spoon, or diaper?”

You sit a little taller in your seat, staring down the obvious disgust on Sage’s face. “I think that you were right. That by all logical sense, I shouldn’t have ever loved Ben. But I do. And I will, long after this over. So speak very carefully when you talk about him, because I’m very forgiving of things you say about me,” you drop your voice to a hiss, letting a little bit of fire light up in your eyes. “But I will not be forgiving of things you say about him.”

“And that’s the thing, isn’t it.” Sage looks you up and down, and her voice almost sounds disappointed. “In the end you’re still too human. Too emotional. A worthy opponent, but still just a little too weak.”

Love hasn’t made you weak. If anything, love might be the only thing you’re certain makes you strong. Pulls you apart before putting you back together, just a little better and sturdier than you’d been before.

So you don’t break. You take your coffee from the waitress, and look back to Sage with your best, innocently curious expression.

“Can I ask you a question?”

If Sage is surprised by your pivot, she doesn’t show it, only nodding for you to continue.

“How smart do you think you’d have been?” You watch her carefully, leaning back as you add sugar to your mug. “If they hadn’t given you the V?”

Sage only shrugs, taking the sugar as you set it back onto the table. “That doesn’t matter, because we can trade hypotheticals all day, but in the end, I am smarter. Better. In the end, I’ll win. I’ll work out how to get rid of you when you become more of an annoyance than interesting, and you be dirt in the ground with your precious Soldier Boy. Just as love says you should be.”

“Or,” you watch as Sage pours the sugar into her cup, and look up at her with a wide smile. “I could marry him. And like an impossibly long, incredibly interesting life with someone who I love. I’d never be bored, but I would be happy.” You pause, looking Sage over with your best gentle concern. “Are you happy?”

Sage almost scoffs. “I am not concerned about happiness-“

“You should be.” You shrug, stirring a small spoon in your mug. “I’m happy. There are long, horrible moments where I’m afraid and in pain, but then I’m happy again. And I wasn’t ever sure I’d get that. A life where I get love someone like this, and they love me back, and, I mean, have you seen the Princess Bride?”

Sage’s mouth tics, and you know she’s noticed you’re running the conversation. “I don’t watch many movies. They’re pointless, and I have more important issues-“

“It’s a great movie. It was put into failed production several times before 1987, but the key was you couldn’t take it too seriously. It’s a love story, but it’s also an outright ridiculous drama-“

You’re cut off as Sage sneers your name, but you don’t drop your easy, blissful smile. “I know we both enjoy speaking, but I do have a company to get back to. Work to do. So if we could move on to discussing your video-“

“Just one second.” You keep your voice sweet and dreamy as you continue to ramble. “I got Ben to watch the Princess Bride. I think he might have already seen it, because he wasn’t paying attention, but he never pays attention. He mostly just stares at me and tries to pretend he doesn’t have a boner. I love him so much.”

Sage snaps your name, you ignore her, and she dumps half the canister of sugar into her mug.

“See, he thinks the whole pirate thing is cool. He told me that he’d make the best fucking pirate, and come right back to me. There wasn’t a damn reason to stay away for five fucking years.And I’ve told him that I agree. He’s fast and skilled enough to win the duel, and strong enough to beat the giant, and he already has the drug tolerance for iocane powder. He has the drug tolerance for most anything. There are actually only two things he can’t tolerate. Your gas, and my empathy suppressant. Nobody can tolerate my empathy suppressant except for me. Frenchie said it makes brains leak out of ears.”

Sage hums, looking vaguely interested. “An empathy suppressant? Does it severe the limbic system-“

“Bombs it. Entirely.”

“Which you would obviously survive.” She muses, taking a long, slow sip of her coffee. “But I would likely survive as well, given my targeted healing factor.”

“Maybe.” You prop your elbows on the table, your bright smile dropping to a crude grin. “Let’s find out.”

You see the moment it hits her. Just a second after the words leave your mouth, her eyes widen and she starts to cough. To try and push the coffee out of her system, her entire face covered in hatred and angry and fear—real, primal fear like a deer in headlights or a child who’s had a nightmare—and then nothing at all.

Frenchie had been right. It was instant, and something red was leaking out of Sage’s ears as she slumped forward, onto the table.

It hadn’t been fool-proof, your plan. You’d made Ben crushed up the suppressant with a knife—he was good at that, and you liked watching his arms flex as he worked—and filled up one of Edgar’s saltshakers. Swapped it onto the table, and prayed that Sage wouldn’t think you were that stupid. That if she thought you were going to kill her, that’s you’d be more calculated and careful about it. That she didn’t believe you’d do something so obvious and blatant, that you’d want more information out of her, that this whole thing was a genuine meeting and not an assassination.

Her brain shouldn’t regenerate, there’s none of it left, but you’re not going to take any risks. You drag Sage out of the booth—ignoring the silent, petrified attention of every other person in the diner and taking the sugar dispenser with you—and into the parking lot, finding a spot with no cars, no grass, and no wood before dropped her onto the pavement. You spare the sugar dispenser, and the suppressant inside it, only one look before they’re tossed onto Sage’s body, and you send both up into flames.

You can still feel Ben. You won’t be able to soon, you’d drank the suppressant as well, but you can know. He’s silently furious and made of a zealous, focused care that’s been bouncing around your chest since you’d separated.

I’m done. You mutter down your line, letting the flames move to your feet, letting people crowd at the windows and only focusing on how there is one less thing to be afraid of, and how Ben flashes through your blood as you speak. I’ll be there soon.

Did you-

She’s dead.

Good. Ben’s voice grunts in your head, and you can almost feel him. Over the smoke you can smell pine, and feel something warm that isn’t born from you, but still a part of you. Fucking bitch.

You let out a small, easy laugh. She was, wasn’t she.

Damn right she was. There’s a pause, and then, I love you. I really fucking love you, and I am ready for this to be fucking over. We’re going to kill Homelander, and never hear the word Vought again. Deal?

You probably look insane. You’re standing over Sage’s twisted and brunt corpse and letting the flames climb back over your body, sink back into your skin, and turn your clothing to scorched ash as you smile. A wide smile that covers your whole face as you live only inside your body, with Ben. In all his love, and how certain he sounds that, by next week, Homelander will only be a body with empty, cold eyes and you will live a long, happy, perfect life with Ben.

Deal.

End Note: Sage your funeral will be the most pathetic one in history mark my words. Also someone let Ben yell about getting married he's gonna lose it.

Thank you for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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highvern · 4 months ago

Text

When in Rome

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x f!reader

Genre: fluff, smut, angst

warnings: alcohol consumption, cheating, nudity, mentions of drug use, explicit sexual acts (unprotected sex, dirty talk, oral, swallowing)

Length: ~24k

Note: excited to have this for the @svthub world tour collab! thank u to @gyuswhore for helping, @wonuvs for fact checking my shitty italian, @the-boy-meets-evil for making sure i actually finished this fic bc i live to torture her and everyone else who contributed to this over the months it took me to finally write it!

this is from cheol's pov which was a new challenge but i loved it (i will never do it again). i'll be out of town when this goes up but can't wait to read everyone's feed back!!!

Summary: After months of no contact, Seungcheol isn't sure what to expect when he sees you again at Jeonghan's wedding. He's prepared to apologize, to grovel, to bear the weight of a cold shoulder. Whatever it takes to have you back, his best friend since diapers; or whatever will ensure the last third of your trio has the best day of his life. But when he overhears the most recent development in your relationship, he must come to terms with something he was never prepared for, or risk losing you for good.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

There are fewer places Seungcheol hates more than airports. Dentist offices, his grandparents’ house during the holidays when they ask about grandkids, and even the time he ran into his elementary school science teacher the first time he was buying condoms at the pharmacy, all were more favorable than the hustle and bustle of an international airport.

Seungcheol likes to be straightforward and direct. Something that becomes seemingly at odds with the average person traveling because at the one place everyone has somewhere to be, they act as if they have all the time in the world.

But the simple thought that it's all temporary, that his personal ninth circle of hell is the only thing standing between him and a week in Italy is enough to grin and bear it.

On the other side of the terminal, his best friends are waiting for him. It’s not as if they haven’t seen each other for long; Jeonghan and Sofie were at bar trivia last week as their last hurrah before tying the knot. As usual they wiped the floor with everyone, rousing several allegations of cheating that Jeonghan deserved. But Seungcheol is about to watch them get married and it makes him a little misty around the eyes because he loves his friends more than anything.

The only concern, which is less of a concern and more of a titanic size anchor sinking in his gut, is that you’re one of Sofie’s bridesmaids. And you haven’t spoken to him since New Years when you revealed you were moving to New York with your boyfriend, Johnny.

Another place Seungcheol dreads, right next to the airport, is anywhere Johnny happens to be. He’s everything you aren’t: abrasive, arrogant, catty, disorganized. And those are just the traits at the front of the alphabet.

You had a plan. A list of criteria he had to listen to over and over again after each failed date. Even the guys Seungcheol set you up with after carefully vetting didn’t seem to make the mark. It was respectable, commendable. You wouldn’t settle for anything less than “perfect.” Whatever that meant to you.

At a bar, three years ago, Johnny approached you. Seungcheol watched from across the table as you mentally ran over your checklist. Johnny met the physical ones: tall, good hygiene, well kept appearance. The other things would need more investigation. What did he do for work? Was he close with his family? Kids? Opinions on cheating at bar trivia?

The more Seungcheol learned about Johnny after your detailed debrief from a few dates the more confused he became. Johnny worked in banking. You hated finance bros and called them scum of the dating pool. He was an only child and only talked to his parents on holidays and birthdays. You had grand dreams of close grandparents and houses full of cousins. He didn’t want kids. You did. He didn’t think bar trivia was that serious. Seungcheol watched you threaten Jeonghan’s life on more than one occasion over the use of Shazam during the music round. Johnny was everything you said you didn’t want.

And then you followed him across the country after two years of dating cut with three breakups.

It didn’t make sense.

When Seungcheol pulled you aside after you announced you’d be moving, trying to figure why you thought living with the man who once asked if you really needed to wash bath towels if you only use them when you’re already clean, you told him to mind his business. Later that night, after enough drinks to make everything blurry, you two got into a screaming match on the sidewalk with your shared friends attempting to play referee. It was the last time you two spoke.

In over twenty five years of friendship, founded on the backs of elementary school shenanigans under a reign of terror of one Jeonghan Yoon, you and Seungcheol’s real fights can be counted on one hand.

The sixth grade field trip where you and Jeonghan left him out, senior year of highschool when the girl Seungcheol took to prom argued about his parents taking more pictures with you than her, and junior year of college when Seungcheol caught you making out with his frat brother after ditching him under the guise of having a stomach bug. That was it. Three fights, all of which were resolved within a week because as stubborn as you both are, you’re best friends.

Five and a half months of not speaking, except when you called Seungcheol in the middle of the night without leaving a message and when he tried calling you back in the morning you didn’t answer. Not until a month later when he finally swallowed his pride and texted a half hearted apology to which you responded with a quarter of forgiveness. That was it.

But Seungcheol won’t dwell. He refuses to make things awkward for Jeonghan and Sofie during the most special week of their lives. Knowing you, you’ve probably already come to the same resolution. The only person you’re closer to than Seungcheol is Jeonghan with Sofie a close second. If there is anyone you two will agree to put aside an argument for, it's them.

The sun has already begun setting when he makes it through customs and out towards the Arrivals, painting everything in buttery yellow.

“SEUNGCHEOOOOOOOOOLLLLLL!” Sofie screams, hands cupped around her mouth.

She’s half outside the cherry red sports car. An Intermeccanica Italia Spyder because Seungcheol knows three things in life: expensive watches, expensive whiskey, and expensive cars. Sofie’s family happened to have plenty of the last and Seungcheol assumed the first two as well.

When Sofie became his study partner in law school she ended up following him on Instagram. He assumed from the way she carried herself, perfect posture with tailored clothes and an ‘air of society’ as you called it, that she was well off. But then, during a late night gossip session, you and he did a deep dive and found out Sofie wasn’t just well off. Her family had more money than God.

But everything on the surface was a contrast to who Sofie really was. Heiress to a fortune but studied more than anyone in their class just to graduate second. Perfect posture and tailored clothes are a stark contrast to her favorite bar where she’d outdrink anyone, and cheer when the prize for trivia was cheap plastic margarita glasses.

Or right now, where she belts Seungcheol’s name again like some drunk frat boy while sitting in a car worth more than his life.

Seungcheol jogs to where she waits, already smiling.

“I would have brought a ‘Welcome back from rehab’ sign but my mom thought you’d be embarrassed,” Sofie says as she hugs him over the console.

“At least make it ‘welcome home from prison’ so people won’t walk in my way.”

“I’ll make sure Jeonghan remembers you have a preference,” she calls over the wind.

Technically, the house (which is really a mansion) is almost an hour from the airport. With Sofie’s driving it only takes twenty minutes in which Seungcheol thinks he might need to start going to church.

The pebbled driveway crunches underneath the tires as they approach the imposing building he’d call home for the weekend.

In the evening light, the house is more daunting. An imposing stone facade rises from the ground, akin to a small castle than an actual home. Smooth stone with detailed carvings, windows with huge shutters, and on the top floor, a balcony, fenced with wrought iron, juts out.

Even after years of seeing pictures, Seungcheol still can’t believe his friend grew up here. He can’t believe it actually exists and isn’t some set from a historical drama.

Sofie throws the car in park right in front of the door before jumping out.

“By the way, there were some issues with one of the rooms.” Sofie drops her voice, “My aunt and uncle are fighting again, so I hope you don’t mind sharing?”

Seungcheol knows most of the guys coming to the wedding. Worst case scenario he’s stuck in a twin size bunk bed with a weird cousin. And with how busy he’ll be as best man, his room will be for sleep and not much else. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Perfect! Just leave your stuff, everyones out back.” Sofie pushes him as hard as she can manage which isn’t much at all given she’s five foot nothing.

The garden is filled with bodies upon bodies crowded together, some old, some young. Seungcheol recognizes a few faces in the mix: Soonyoung, Joshua, Seungkwan. More friends from law school. Jeonghan’s sister waves from across the way. Everyone seems to be paying attention to whatever is happening at the iron garden table.

And then, like a scene in a movie, everyone parts for a second and time freezes.

Seungcheol would recognize you anywhere. Even if he can’t see your face, he knows it's you. The curve of your shoulders, the tilt of your head. The bark of laughter as your chin drops forward. He knows it's you and the weight in his stomach lightens and leadens in an odd cycle.

He missed you.

Then everything comes back into real time. Wine and cards. Then he sees the chips on the table, your stack to the side significantly higher than anyone else's.

Months of ruminating over what he’d do when reunited fly out the window. Seungcheol doesn’t waste a minute as he approaches, hand on the back of your chair as he peeks over your head to sneak a glance at your hand.

“Who let you talk them into poker?”

You’re already smiling when you tilt back to look at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oh, how he missed you.

“She said she didn’t know how to play,” an old man grumbles from the side.

Seungcheol doesn’t recognize him but he’s got the same expression as all the people you’ve sharked before: mildly impressed and slightly murderous. Two other guys sit at the table, one old enough to be his grandfather looks almost proud. Seokmin fills that last seat, head in his hands at being swindled so easily.

“I said,” you start, throwing your gaze to him. “I hadn’t played in a while.”

You look back up at Seungcheol for some kind of support. Eyes round and innocent in a way you both know you’re not. Pool, cards, darts, any game a man a few drinks in could beat you at was easy fodder for your con. Usually it ended with free drinks, sometimes money, but mostly it’s Seungcheol playing referee for the disillusioned guys you swindled while wearing a bright grin.

Tossing a few chips towards the three men at table with a smart ‘don’t spend it all in one place,’ you rise and throw your arms around Seungcheol like everything is normal.

“Hi,” you whisper into his neck.

Seungcheol’s hands are already curled around your waist, pulling you in tight. “Hi.”

“I missed you.”

Seungcheol doesn’t think to question the sudden rush of familiarity after months of silence. Every fight in your long friendship ended this way; you both stew and stew until one day things snap back to normal. It’s how it’s always been.

“I see that you can’t even greet your best friend.” Jeonghan coughs from the side.

Seungcheol squeezes you tighter at the jab. It’s Jeonghan’s wedding but Seungcheol saw him last week when dropping the couple off at the airport to come here. He’s far more interested in dragging out his reunion with you as long as possible. “I’m in the middle of that actually.”

He scoffs in response, walking away. “Whatever, I see too much of you anyway.”

There’s glasses of wine waiting when you break apart. Seungcheol keeps closeby, not that you seem eager to go anywhere. His staring is obvious but he doesn’t care. You’re really here and the cold shoulder he expected to find is nowhere to be found.

Another two hours of celebrating, filled with drunken toasts and more card games with Sofie’s family that only end with you digging into their pockets even deeper, fly by before the exhaustion of a day starting in one continent and ending in another catches up to him. You’re too busy arguing over if Jeonghan cheated in the last round to notice Seungcheol slipping away from the table and towards the door leading inside.

Sofie is in the kitchen just beyond, another bottle of wine sloshing in hand as she talks animatedly on the phone. “Okay, look. I am on vacation. I’m about to get married. I literally left notes for everything I'm not working on during my wedding week. Figure it out. Bye.”

She hangs up without response, tossing her phone on the counter before taking a swig straight from the bottle.

“Good?” Seungcheol asks.

“Oh, you know, just the usual. I leave and suddenly no one knows how to do their job.” Sofie rolls her eyes. “What’s up? Need another glass?”

She raises the same bottle and the thought of more wine nearly turns his stomach.

Seungcheol brushes her off, moving to the sink and rinsing his glass with finality. “I think I’m gonna crash for the night.”

“Really?” she asks. “But the party just started!”

“For you maybe, some of us have been cramped on a plane all day.” He feels it. In his back and knees. The cramp in his neck from passing out halfway through and waking up bent at ninety degrees. And the hours he spent agonizing through emails with the inflight WiFi because even on vacation he can’t sit still for more than one minute. But now it’s a ticking time bomb before he curls up in a chair and passes out until morning.

Sofie snatches his glass before shooing him away from the sink and taking his place. “I forgot you’re an old man now.”

“You’re the same age as me?”

“Anyway,” she sings. “I know we promised you’d have your own room but—”

“That’s fine. I really don’t mind rooming with one of the guys.”

“Well… you and Y/N were the only ones not sharing and she said she wouldn’t mind for the weekend.”

“Huh?”

“I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal! Seokmin and Kwan agreed to share and room with Josh so things are pretty tight but I can see if we can switch things around and—”

“No, if she’s okay with it then it's fine.” Seungcheol says. “We just haven’t talked since, you know?”

Sofie seems to soften at that. “I know. But it looked like everything was fine outside.”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol sighs. “I missed her.”

“I know she missed you too.”

“She said that?”

“Oh please, neither of you have to say anything, you’re both pathetic,” she says while pouring another glass. “But I think this weekend will be good for you guys! Like old times.”

Old times. Before the fight. Before you moved away.

“Yeah, just like old times… At least we aren’t sharing a bed, right?” He jokes.

“Actually,” Sofie grimaces.

The one solace Seungcheol is gifted is the bed is massive. Almost the entire room is dominated by the plush mattress, a dresser, and a chair in the corner. He considers sleeping in that instead for all of a minute before realizing you probably wouldn’t let him and the absolute torture it’ll do to his neck.

At least the forced proximity won’t be awkward since you’ve silently agreed to leave the past behind you. He can’t imagine Sofie would consider this solution if you were still mad at him, even if it was her wedding week. The realization lightens the weight on his shoulders an ounce more.

Seungcheol throws his bag down at the foot of the bed. It’s no big deal; sharing a room with you. Childhood sleepovers had been the norm, a few nights in college you’d shared a clunky old twin bed when you both were too drunk to find your ways home separately. Your first apartment together, when you two had to share a mattress on the floor for the first weeks because all your money went into paying rent, flash in his head. Old times.

Thirty minutes later, freshly showered and in clean clothes, Seungcheol heads back downstairs for a glass of water before bed.

He remembers where the kitchen is after Sofie’s short tour, trapezing through the huge house easily. Behind different closed doors he catches glimpses of pre-sleep conversations: couples spitting harsh whispers to each other, a few cartoonish voices reading bedtime stories to an audience of childish giggles. But when he reaches the threshold of his destination Seungcheol stumbles into an entirely different atmosphere.

“You haven’t told him yet?”

“No. I didn’t feel like the kind of thing to say over text,” you whisper.

“Well you could have called him!”

“And say what? ‘Hey Cheol, I know we haven’t talked in months because we got into a huge fight about my boyfriend but Johnny and I–’”

Seungcheol strains his ears to hear the rest of your sentence but fails to decipher anything before Jeonghan’s voice cuts in. Whatever ‘it’ is, you seem keen on keeping it a secret.

“Just tell him.” Jeonghan says through a mouthful of something. “I’m sure he’ll be happy.”

His mind races with a million possibilities, all related to Johnny, all things you wouldn’t have told your best friend of over twenty years because of some stupid fight. Something you don’t know how to tell him over the phone, something you need to tell in person.

The realization strikes like lightning.

You and Johnny are engaged.

Thirst forgotten, Seungcheol turns back the way he came. He thinks through the new information as he stumbles up the stairs.

How could you not tell him? How could he make you feel like you couldn’t tell him? How long have you been hiding this? And why did Jeonghan and Sofie know before he did? Was everyone in on the secret and he was the odd man out?

You and Johnny weren’t even that serious when you moved away; or, that's what Seungcheol thought. In all honesty he fully believed it was some joke when you told him. A drunken practical joke taken too far but you didn’t laugh when he did. There was no punchline to share. The boxes were packed away and then the moving truck came and you left with it.

Everything else hits him in the seclusion of the bedroom. Your shared room. He doesn’t even have the luxury of coming to terms with your latest surprise in private.

Seungcheol isn’t happy. He is, but because you’re you, argument aside. The past few months are the longest you’ve ever gone without each other and seeing you again lifted a weight off his chest he’d come accustomed to in months of silence.

It’s an easy decision. If Johnny makes you happy enough to tie your lives together then Seungcheol can bite his tongue. You’re his best friend and by default he’d never think anyone was good enough for you but if you loved Johnny, if you were this serious about him, then Seungcheol would support you.

Even if it meant there would always be a Johnny sized ravine between you.

Seungcheol wakes far before the sun breaches the horizon. The room still washed in the shadows of early dawn grants him some peace to think over his own conflicts with the news, your quiet snores a backing track from across the bed.

On your side facing him, Seungcheol gets the first good look at you in what feels like forever. Even with the size of the bed barely a foot of space separates your bodies. You hand twisted in the hem of his shirt like even in your sleep you can’t stand to be apart more than necessary.

You look ridiculous; hair a mess and limbs splayed. But your face is soft in sleep, eyelashes fanned on your cheeks and lips in a pout.

There’s an odd flutter in his stomach. He wasn't lying when he said he missed you. But now things are complicated.

He hadn’t slept at all last night; mind constantly replaying the conversation he heard in the kitchen, formulating his reaction when you finally let him in on the ‘surprise.’

Perhaps under different circumstances he wouldn’t struggle with news. Seungcheol wants you to be happy. Johnny is the problem in the scenario. They never got along, barely spoke outside of the few times forced circumstances required them to. Seungcheol was polite. Johnny was polite.

Seungcheol wanted to kill him and he’s certain Johnny felt the same.

Relationships naturally take priority over time but Johnny seemed to creep in and choke Seungcheol out of all the places he’d been firmly planted for years. Another reason he isn’t happy.

Monday night Bachelor? Canceled, because Johnny plays beer league softball with his friends and you started going to that.

No more sleepovers at Seungcheol’s after a night out because ‘it makes Johnny uncomfortable.’ Fair complaint. Seungcheol wouldn’t appreciate his girlfriend sleeping over at a guy's house after drinking if the roles were reversed. But Seungcheol isn’t some guy and you were his best friend before you were Johnny’s girlfriend.

Traditions at Christmas felt hollow without you. The first one you spent meeting Johnny’s family in Minnesota you texted Seungcheol the entire time about how cold it was, how they were a 5k on a holiday type family despite the fact there was three feet of snow outside.

All small details that mean everything to Seungcheol, never meant as much to you.

And that’s why he doesn’t like Johnny. Because he made Seungcheol realize that.

It’s not that you and Johnny didn’t work. Seungcheol just couldn’t wrap his head around why you wanted to overlook all the glaring differences to make it work.

But pointing that out left him with a cold shoulder lasting six months so he plans to keep his mouth shut.

You tried talking to him before bed but gave up when he pretended to be asleep. It took everything he had not to give in and talk into the early morning. Six months was more than enough ground to cover for you two to catch up; he was promoted, you had an entirely new life in another city that he wanted to hear all about. His insane neighbor from across the hall, who you both are sure sells drugs, is actually a preschool teacher (mysteries of the universe). And he knows you probably have kooky neighbors of your own in New York.

But, in all honesty, he didn’t want to hear stories with Johnny’s name attached. Wasn’t ready to hear you say you’re engaged. It’s one thing to know it. But the second the words leave your lips then it’s real. Then Johnny is here to stay and it's only a matter of time before you two are arguing again.

Especially when everything said months ago was still fresh in his mind. Words he’d stand by no matter what. But Seungcheol has figured out that there are conversations he’s allowed to have with you and ones that should never see the light of day if your friendship is to survive. Johnny is one, the other is a memory from college that remains vivid no matter how hard he tries to forget.

But this weekend wasn’t about you and him, it's about Sofie and Jeonghan. If Seungcheol can dive into focusing on them, maybe he’ll survive.

Today is the one day reserved for sightseeing before ‘the inevitably disorganized shit show of an Italian wedding’ as Sofie puts it.

Seungcheol has already seen some of the big things thanks to his study abroad in undergrad: the Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon. So for today, he'll stick by whatever you want to do. You’re the building nerd architect.

When he finally finds the willpower to roll away, carefully extracting your grip on him before ducking from the sheets, you stir enough to release a sleepy whine in protest before burying back under the blanket.

It’s odd but he notices you’re not wearing a ring. Seungcheol looked closely if you took it off before bed but nothing stands out in the bathroom or on the dresser. He assumes you took it off to make the weekend about Sofie and Jeonghan rather than yourself. It’s something you would do. Or maybe it’s at the jeweler’s for repairs. Maybe Johnny had gaudy taste and bought a ring so flashy you refused to wear it.

Seungcheol doesn’t know but it strikes him as strange.

The kitchen is already bustling with life even at such an early hour. Family and friends trickle in one by one, joining Seungcheol at the table with cups of coffee and munching on fruit and biscuits as their hangovers ebb. Quickly, the peace he preserved in the early quiet melts into loud laughter and a million buzzing conversations.

You melt into the chair beside him, eyes barely open as you snag his cup and scowl after finding it already drained.

“Coffee?” you mumble.

Seungcheol pushes his plate of unfinished fruit and a half finished pastry you way. “Sofie’s mom is brewing more. But it’s strong.”

“Oh trust me, I know,” you say around a mouthful of jam and dough. “I drank a full cup the first day I got here and felt like Sonic.”

“That’s how you know it’s good.”

“You’re insane.”

“What are your plans for today?”

“So there's this church, the Santa Maria Sopra della Minerva. It’s near the Pantheon!” you ramble, peeling another orange. “It’s just beautiful and it's got a statue by Michelangelo next to the altar and the design is incredible.”

Seungcheol can’t help but laugh at your enthusiasm. A city filled with ancient buildings and history is right up your alley.

He remembers how you pouted when he came back from his trip in college after yours to Venice was canceled due to ‘not enough student interest.’ The only thing that managed to quell your anger was all the pictures Seungcheol took with you in mind. Close ups of the tiniest details about ancient designs tour guides pointed out to disinterested business majors but he knew you’d care if you’d been there. If you were there then you’d probably be leading the tour yourself whether the guide liked it or not.

“Mind if I come with?” he asks over his fresh cup of coffee.

“Duh,” you roll your eyes with a smile. “I waited for you to get here to go.”

Sofie’s uncle, the one not under threat of murder by his wife, agrees to drive you both out. He drives at full speed from the second he hits the gas pedal. With the windows down. The breeze is as nice as a wind tunnel and cuts off everything Zio Berto tries to point out except for his screams at other drivers.

On the other side of the back seat, you’re turning green. Seungcheol is glad the window is already down because if you get sick, he will too. And Sofie would refuse any payment for the cleaning fee, Seungcheol is morally opposed to ruining such a nice car with vomit.

The city whips past outside the windows, cobblestone streets slowly growing more crowded as the car edges closer to the center city. Berto finally slows down to avoid pedestrians and mopeds but only by a fraction. He doesn’t seem to share Seungcheol’s concern about body fluids clashing with the car design.

Finally, after what feels like a century, the car jerks to a stop. You don’t even pretend to be polite and exit immediately, hands on your knees while dry heaving for air.

“I’ll be around. Have fun!” Berto calls from the driver's seat. “Call me when you’re ready to head back.”

Seungcheol waves him off and when he turns back where you were standing, you’re already gone; circling the elephant obelisk in the center of the cobblestone courtyard.

“Isn’t it so cool?” You gush, snapping photos.

The exterior of the building is unassuming. Flat sandstone brick without much detail but you see the things that are important. In a few minutes you’ll be in tour guide mode, pointing out the smallest crack no one would see unless they already studied the church's history in depth.

“Soooo cool,” he jests. He appraises the statue with you, turning his head this way and that.

You slap his shoulder, “Don’t be a jerk!”

“Okay, okay. Give me the tour.”

“It was built on the ruins of a temple of Isis.”

“Okay, and why the elephant?”

“The obelisk was taken from the Church of San Stefano del Cacco down that way,” you point. “It's originally from Sais in Egypt but got moved all the way here. The elephant was commissioned by the pope to display it based on a book that was popular at the time.”

“Interesting.”

You point at the inscription on the plinth before continuing, “that’s from the book.”

Sapientis Aegypti insculptas obelisco figuras ab elephanto, belluarum fortissima, gestari quisquis hic vides, documentum intellege robustae mentis esse solidam sapientiam sustinere.

“Whoever you are, who sees here the figures of the Egyptian wise man carved on the obelisk carried by the elephant, the strongest of wild animals, understand the symbolism to be that a strong mind supports firm wisdom,” you translate.

“I didn’t know you read latin.”

“I don’t. It’s in English on the other side,” you laugh. “But I do know, the guy who designed the statue made it look like it's farting because the pope told him to change the design from what he originally wanted.”

“Really?”

“Yep. He said having it stand on four legs was dangerous so the sculptor added the saddle and a cube at the base, but he also made its butt face the convent so the friars would have to see its ass every time they came out.”

“Wow.”

Seungcheol circles the statue and sure enough the tail is angled to look like it's blowing wind.

“I’m pretty sure it’s a lie but I’d like to think people were that petty hundreds of years ago. Now all people do is subtweet and post vague Instagram stories. I want someone to hate me so much they design an entire statue just to minorly inconvenience me each morning.”

You’re fully of facts Seungcheol would never know. It’s one of the best parts of visiting places with you. It’s not just some building or some random statue. You give the architecture a new life.

Seungcheol’s mind flashes back to the first time he accompanied you and Johnny to a monument back home. In the five minutes you’d been there, he realized Johnny truly did not care about your interests.

The look on your face that day told him you realized Johnny didn’t care either.

It’s the same pact everyone that moves to D.C. makes to visit all the museums and monuments and landmarks. Good intentions with zero realistic goals. Except you’re stubborn and the drive to say you did something means Seungcheol has tagged along to thirty out of the one hundred and fifteen on your list. Johnny missed most either from work trips or some other excuse and the one Seungcheol missed had been the only one Johnny came to because of the flu.

Safe to say the first time visiting together was a shit show. Johnny didn’t pretend to evaluate the ‘important’ parts, didn’t ask questions or bother reading the placards detailing events of significance, raced through the entire thing to leave you and Seungcheol behind. It’s not like you or Seungcheol were overwhelmed with beauty and needed hours but Johnny finished his round after less than thirty minutes and told you to text him when you were done.

So Seungcheol did the only thing he could to get back at Johnny without upsetting you: walked as slow as possible, pointing out things he knew you’d know more about, and dragging things out so Johnny was stuck waiting in the frigid winter wind outside to suffer.

You knew what he was doing, obvious from the way you hook your arm through his and give an affection squeeze. Your smile didn’t reach your eyes but you both pushed through.

Thank whatever powers be that Johnny wasn’t here now.

“See the windows?” you ask, pointing to the three different sized circular windows hanging over the main doorways.

“Yeah,” he nods.

“Well you can’t tell from here but they’re rose tinted.”

Seungcheol tries to see what you’re talking about but the windows are dark and covered in some kind of lacquer that makes them look gray and dusty rather than pink.

“And why is that important, Professor Y/L/N?”

“Because it’s the only medieval church in Rome like that!”

You continue rambling off facts, talking a mile a minute as your point at different things and walk Seungcheol around the exterior. A few other people's ears perk up as you go on about how the details had been done over and over; first Romanesque, then Gothic then, some guy named Carlo Maderno added Baroque designs inside, and friars who put in stained glass windows.

By the time you take a breath, the crowd has taken a closer interest in the windows and the elephant statue due to your brief history. A few look at the flood plaques which are some of the best preserved records the city has.

Seungcheol hangs onto every word. He doesn’t care about the old church, it’s an interesting bit of history sure but he could be outside any church in Rome and have the same reaction. He cares about the church because you care. And your passion about old windows and flood markers make it the most interesting place in the world right now.

“Go stand on the steps so I can take your picture,” you demand.

“Do I have to?” Seungcheol jokingly complains.

“Just go.”

Seungcheol poses as you direct, flashing a few silly poses you laugh at. He manages to wrangle you into taking a few photos as well. Ones that will probably be sent to your mom and never see the light of day other than her Facebook. Your Instagram is reserved for, in order: buildings, animals, food, and the rare picture of you with friends at some sort of occasion (wedding, graduation, the time Jeonghan broke his leg drunk on a city scooter and ended up in the ER).

You’re in the middle of pretending to hold the Leaning Tower of Pisa when someone approaches Seungcheol.

“Would you like us to take your photo?” an elderly woman asks. She is a quintessential tourist: fanny pack, camera around her neck, sun burnt around the ears. A man in a matching shirt approaches with her, donning the same gear and pink tinge. Seungcheol recognizes them from a few minutes prior when you gave your lecture about elephant butts and petty sculptors.

“Sure, thank you.”

He hands over his phone and joins you on the steps. You both pose like normal adults, smiles plastered on your face while Seungcheol gives you bunny ears and you pull his hair.

“Beautiful couple!”

“Oh, we’re not…” You both object.

“We’re on our second honeymoon.” The man croons at his wife, chuffed when she rolls her eyes and focuses on the camera screen. “You two?”

“We’re here for a wedding.”

“Wow! Married in Rome,” the wife gasps. “How romantic.”

It isn’t the first time you two have been mistaken for a couple. Anytime you’re with him or Jeonghan someone assumes you’re dating. Occasionally, you’d play it up, make an entire story about how you met, how long you’ve been together, biting your tongues the entire time as each detail is more ludicrous than the last.

Jeonghan takes the cake as the most ridiculous. Two tornado chasers that ran into each other ten years ago and never let go. Him and Seungcheol, not you. Which really threw the waitress off. Never mind the fact you all were sophomores in college, high as kites and stuffing yourselves full of hashbrowns in a greasy spoon diner for Seungcheol’s birthday.

“Did you two meet here?” the husband asks.

“Oh no, we actually met in a competitive bowling league,” you fib, wrapping your arm through Seungcheol’s.

What the hell?

“Romantic!” The wife belts like she actually believes nothing could inspire love like sharing shoes with countless strangers and cheap beer.

Seungcheol would take the piss under any other circumstances. Except this time you’re actually engaged and the last time you two pretend to be a couple was when you fake proposed to him in a fancy restaurant to score free champagne and dessert to celebrate the end of law school.

“Would you mind taking a few of us?” the man asks.

You snap a few pictures on the wife’s phone and after more coos of ‘romantic!’ and a few thank yous they melt into the crowd.

“Alright, let's go inside.”

“Lead the way.” Seungcheol feels more awkward than before, cheeks red but not from the sun beating down

Upon entering the church, he discovers the inside is much more interesting than the outside. Holy water stoups are held up by marble. Two statues flank the entrance. There’s more things to see than Seungcheol’s brain can handle but he follows behind you, mind lingering on the scene outside.

“‘My husband’?” Seungcheol asks.

“What? We won’t see them again. Who cares?”

Probably your own fiancé but just as Seungcheol opens his mouth a priest silences him with a sharp, “SHH!”

Passing through a high stone archway, you enter the nave. The ceiling, cobalt and gold with motifs of biblical figures and cherubs, rises high above.

“Look!” you whisper. “Isn’t it cool?”

Your point at a marble Jesus wearing a bronze loin cloth.

Cool isn’t the word he’d choose but he goes with it.

“Michelangelo started it but two other people had to finish it for him.”

“Oh.”

“But people still call it Michelangelo’s statue because it’s more impressive. Besides, he did most of it before his apprentice took over.”

He observes the paintings and statues, the stone work that bulges from the walls like they’re trying to come alive and escape their immortal capture. There’s even a tomb and shrine with incredible detail.

It takes two hours to see everything and another thirty minutes to make your way out of the church because you both keep catching missed signs or there's some tiny piece of the ceiling with an odd detail.

He missed this.

Outside, you open your phone and look at the message from Sofie. She made the recommendation to come down here and gave an extensive list of everything else to be done in the area. There’s so many options it would take at least a week to see half of them.

“This hotel has a rooftop restaurant that’s supposed to have a good view of St. Peters,” you say.

The restaurant would have a great view of the city, if it wasn’t shut down for renovations. The staff don’t even let you near the elevator before you’re both swept outside and back on the street.

“Well…” Seungcheol starts.

“Should we call Berto?”

He doesn’t want to. Partially because Berto’s driving might kill him and also because he doesn’t want to end his time with you just yet. One of the things he missed about you living in the same city was weekends in museums for hours. Now that he has it again, he hesitates to cut the time short.

“Wait, I think we’re near one of the parks we visited when I came in college.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp sarcastically. “Did you study abroad? I never knew!”

“Shut up.”

Seungcheol pulls out his phone and dials Berto’s number. “Hey, Berto. No, we're good, everything is fine. But I was wondering how far away is Villa Borghese from us? Oh really? Would you be able to come drop us off? Awesome. Thanks man.”

“Well?”

“He’ll be here in five.”

Five minutes turns into fifteen and in that time Seungcheol burns out. Jetlag and the dull thrums of city streets make him sleepy. You sit in front of him on a bench outside the church. He thought he was better at hiding it but he’s pretty sure if he sits down, he’ll fall asleep.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask once Berto arrives. “We can go back to the house if you want.”

There’s an unofficial official itinerary for today.

Anything before four is fair game. After that there is a welcome cocktail party at a fancy restaurant in the city one of the De Luca’s family friends own.

If Seungcheol doesn’t go home now then it’ll be a close call to nap and shower in time. Not that Sofie is exceptionally punctual about things like that but Seungcheol is.

“I don’t want you not to see stuff just because I’m tired.”

“Cheol, I’ve been here all week with Sofie and Han. I promise this was the only thing left on my list of stuff to do. Anything else would have been a bonus.”

“Only if you're sure.”

“We can always come back again. I’m pretty sure Sofie’s mom is decorating a room for me.”

Yeah, because most men are fine with their fiancée taking international trips with another man. Not that you’d listen or Johnny has the balls to say something about it. But Seungcheol knows the chances of coming back here together, like this, are slim to nonexistent.

“Alright. But you can’t bring it up in an argument.”

“I can and I will.” The corner of you mouth twitches as your head shakes before opening the back seat for him. “Now get in the car, old-timer.”

Seungcheol falls asleep on your shoulder in a blink. Berto is quiet (or the open windows drown him out enough that Seungcheol can pretend) and the heat of your body next to his lulls his heart. It’s not a peaceful rest and his neck is killing him by the time Berto pulls into the driveway, but it’s nice.

Seungcheol beelines for the bathroom while you slip into the kitchen. Something about centerpieces or napkins or tablecloths; he isn’t really sure but Sofie’s mom says it's urgent so he goes upstairs alone, showers in record time, and dives under the covers.

His dreams are filled with blue and gold elephants, He wakes to the sound of your voice blended with the sound of water.

You’re singing. More so humming some off key melody that bounces off the shower tiles and echoes straight into his brain. It drags him in that liminal space between waking and dreaming where anything is possible. Maybe he’s still dreaming. Of you and him, back when you shared an apartment and things weren’t so complicated. When there weren’t secrets and omissions and he didn’t have to bite his tongue.

His eyes stay closed, refusing to budge until the last minute.

The shower turns off but the humming continues, louder now that you’re out of the bathroom and collecting your things.

You must think Seungcheol is still asleep because when his eyes slit open, only enough to decipher your hazy silhouette, you’re in nothing but a towel. A very very tiny towel that hides nothing but the necessary bits and even then only barely.

He can’t wake up now. Not when you bend over to look in your suitcase for Seungcheol closed his eyes just in time. But it doesn’t stop his brain from latching on to every sound in the quiet of the room; the humming tickling across your lips, the wet thump! of your towel on the ground. Oh god, now you’re not even wearing a towel.

Seungcheol won’t be that friend. He never has. Or has always tried not to be. But teenage hormones make a young boy’s brain untamable so it’d be a lie to say he’s never thought of you like that. But despite his feelings, Seungcheol has made sure they never became a factor in your friendship.

Even though there is a peace of his soul that will always belong to you.

So he pretends to be asleep, forcibly controlling his breathing while you shuffle around the room none the wiser to his rising predicament.

Finally, you disappear back into the bathroom to change and Seungcheol’s lungs stretch with air until they burn.

You look pretty. Objectively. You glow in the late afternoon sun pouring in from the window, a ditsy floral print dress of orange and cream that hugging your figure; delicate collar bones on display under the flimsy straps and the column of your neck bare save for the necklace you’ve worn everyday since your parents bought it for your sixteenth birthday.

“C’mon sleepy head,” you whisper.

Seungcheol is thrilled his gawking is easily disguised as jetlag.

He changes in the bathroom. Taking a moment to grip the sink, his reflection stares back in the mirror. It’s the exhaustion and dehydration making his brain muddle. Nothing to do with you or him.

It’s fine. Everything is perfectly fine.

The downstairs foyer is in complete chaos but Sofie commands the room like she always does from the top of the stairway.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen. Are you ready?” She yells like a WWE announcer.

Cheers rise up from the gaggle of adults. Cousins, friends, parents, aunts and uncles. Most of them Seungcheol has never seen before and is pretty sure neither have Jeonghan or Sofie but it’s fine. The more the merrier.

Except when different cars end up filled to the brim and you end up sitting on Seungcheol’s lap instead of a seat.

His heart leaps with every bump, yo

ur hair flying into his face and leaving the sweet smell of perfume to flood his senses. Seungcheol can’t even think about that because Sofie’s Zia Linda puts her husband's driving to shame.

At some point you nearly fly out the open window–Why does no one believe in keeping the windows up?– and Seungcheol is forced to wrap an arm around your waist to keep you from ending up a part of the cobblestone road.

“Sorry,” you say. The squeeze at his arm tells him your thankful at least something is stopping you from becoming roadkill.

“It’s fine.”

If you notice his strained breath, you don’t say anything.

The rooftop restaurant is gigantic but with everyone it feels small and crowded. Below, all of Rome spreads out. Lights twinkle in the distance and the moon is heavy overhead, ready for a night of revelry. It’s a welcome party so things are casual, finger foods and drinks flow heavily while everyone mingles.

Sofie and Jeonghan laugh at their own table, holding court with family and friends that flood in and out with congratulations. They’re good at it. Jeonghan ventures on the more introverted side but Sofie could have a meaningful conversation with a pile of rocks.

You're off at another table, talking with Soonyoung and Seungkwan, a second glass of wine in hand. Laughter rings out and he feels drawn to it like a siren call. It was foolish to worry that the scar from Johnny wouldn’t heal over eventually. All you two needed was time.

Seungcheol barely leaves your side during the party. You dance and drink and dance some more until you’re both left in a heap at the same table by the dance floor. Soonyoung and Seokmin provide ample distraction, taking to the floor to do…something Seungcheol hesitates to call dancing because it resembles a child's idea of a circus.

Dancing, food, and wine leave him feeling loose and sleepy. You’re not much better, head on his shoulder and hand tangled with his across your knees.

“Cheol?”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

His shirt is unbuttoned, sleeves rolled high. In the back of the car on the ride home, you trace the muscle of his forearms draped over your waist until it lulls him to sleep.

Back at the house, you, Sofie, Jeonghan, and Seungcheol throw out sleepy goodnights and I love you’s before retreating to your separate corners of the house. Jeonghan is technically staying in a room in the same wing as you two (Sofie’s house is big enough to have an east and west wing which still shocks him). Something about family tradition and bad luck for the wedding but Jeonghan follows his fiancée like a shadow to her room at the opposite end of the house without theatrics.

And then there’s just you two.

You lean on each other the entire walk up, like you need the other support or you’ll crumble to the floor and sleep there. Honestly, it’s not a bad idea. Seungcheol has slept in worse places.

The stairs present their own challenges. You go first, Seungcheol right behind in case you fall backwards which has happened enough times that it’s become a habit to walk this way when alcohol is involved. But it doesn’t solve the issue of you tripping up.

Which you do with an effortless lack of grace on the last step.

“Oh, shit!” you giggle.

Seungcheol laughs so hard his knees buckle and he flops on the floor next to you like a dying fish.

“Shhh!” you slur, finger pressed to his lips. “People are sleeping.”

But you're cackling now and he can’t breathe from the painful quaking laughter rooting in his belly. He’s on his back, and you prop up on your arm to loom over him. Twin smiles breaking your faces, eyes watering with drunken mirth.

You go silent first, tracing his features silently like they must be committed to memory. Seungcheol does the same. You’re exactly the same as the day you left. Except for the vacation glow from being here for the past week. He recognizes all the parts of you he’s known for a lifetime. The silver scar on your chin from learning to ride a bike and crashing into a tree. The color of your eyes. The blush of your mouth.

The finger pressed to his lips traces along the plump flesh, then his chin, then it circles the back of his head and you’re ducking down.

Alarms go off in Seungcheol’s head screaming:

DANGER! DANGER! THIS IS NOT WHAT FRIENDS DO! DANGER!

“Wow, it’s late,” he laughs horsley as he rolls away and to his feet.

You jump away, dazed for a second before laughing as well. “Yeah, let’s um…let’s go to bed.”

He can’t quite read your expression. Several emotions swirl across your face but Seungcheol can barely look at you without feeling his face heat so he doesn’t linger.

Seungcheol takes the bathroom after you finish, rushing through his night time routine in sober silence.

You're drunk. That’s the only reason you’re trying to kiss him. Or he had something on his mouth and you can’t find the words to tell him. It was a mistake. A momentary lapse of judgment that didn’t mean anything.

It wasn’t even a fraction of an almost kiss. Your noses barely touched, it doesn’t count.

When he comes back into the room, you’re curled up on the bed in your pajamas asleep.

Seungcheol circles to the other side, slipping under the covers and getting comfortable. The room feels smaller after what just happened. But it wasn’t a big deal. Nothing happened. You both were drunk and missed each other. You never would have kissed him.

Despite the fact the first, and only, time you two kissed was in very similar circumstances.

Rolling over, you find him and cuddle into his chest. Seungcheol opens his arms for you on instinct.

“Did you have fun today?” you ask into his collarbone. The vibration of your voice tickles but it’s dulled from Seungcheol’s heart thudding wildly.

“Yeah.”

His hand smooths the back of your hair, down your back. You readjust, throwing a leg over his own and pulling him in tight.

“Good,” you say around a yawn. “Me too.”

Seungcheol tamps down the piece of him that wants to indulge in this. Just holding you, pretending things outside the door don’t exist and it’s just you and him and no one else.

But he can’t do that.

“You know,” he starts. “I’m happy for you no matter what, right? You and Johnny…I’m happy for you.”

Seungcheol waits for a response that will never come because you’re out cold, snoring against his chest.

You’re still asleep when Seungcheol wakes around noon. Sometime in the night you shifted to the far side of the bed, taking the blanket with you. He doesn’t try to wake you, still confused at exactly what happened last night.

Seungcheol isn’t naive. He knows what women look like when they want to be kissed, when they're thinking about how his mouth will feel against theirs. Usually he revels in it; loves the flare to his ego, the chance to tease before giving in.

But to see the expression on your face sent him into a panic. He’s seen it once before, indulged in it, and it ruined his life for the better part of college. Lips parted, eyes glassy as you stared. All the telltale signs were there: the lift of your chin, hands twisted in his shirt, eyes drooped low.

And the worst part was you did all that despite having a fiance waiting back home none the wiser. Even if Seungcheol couldn’t stand Johnny, he’d never do that. Never allow you to do that.

Even if he wanted nothing more than to feel your lips on his.

He heads as far away as he can. Turns out it’s down stairs for breakfast. Sofie is at the kitchen table, typing on her laptop.

“Morning,” Seungcheol croaks.

“You look like shit. Wild night?”

“Just some old timers thinking they’re twenty one again.”

“What assholes.” She laughs. “How's Y/N?”

Seungcheol freezes like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. Sofie couldn’t know what almost but certainly didn’t happen in the hallway last night. “She’ll probably need an exorcism but she’ll survive.”

“By the way, I meant to give her this last night but everything was crazy. Can you pass it off? Jeonghan and I have to take my grandma to lunch and she’s already called twice sooooo…”

“Yeah, go. Have fun.”

Sofie is up and out before he can blink, a tiny piece of cardstock left in her place.

Kira Long

Artisan Jeweler

Her social media and number are at the bottom but Seungcheol doesn’t need more information.

He hides around the villa most of the day. Catching up with the guys around the pool, feigning fatigue when you come out to join. The gardens are big enough for him to disappear into for a few hours before he needs to go and get ready.

Unfortunately, that also means you are getting ready.

A leg.

That’s all Seungcheol sees when he opens the door.

Your leg specifically, propped on the dresser while you apply lotion in nothing but that damn skimpy towel designed to torture him.

“AH!” you shriek, shocked by his sudden entrance.

“I’m sorry!” he shouts.

The fabric unravels around your chest and suddenly you're naked and Seungcheol is not looking.

“What the fuck? Have you ever heard of knocking?”

He’s not.

“Why are you naked?”

The ceiling is very interesting.

“Because I wanted to scare you.” you scream sarcastically. The door to the hallway is still open. Seungcheol either stays in with you or goes back out because it can’t stay open much longer. He makes the fatal mistake of locking himself inside with you. “Because I thought you’d knock, you fucker! Jesus fucking Christ, turn around.”

Seungcheol saw you naked.

He hides in the bathroom like a wimp until it’s time to leave.

—

It’s a short walk to the church down the street for the rehearsal ceremony. It’s all a blur given the million and one things flying through his brain; most of them you. You in your towel. The fact you’re engaged. You looking at him like you’re dying to be kissed. The fact you’re engaged. How everyone has assumed you’re a couple this entire weekend and you’ve played along. The fact you are engaged to a man that isn’t him and Seungcheol can’t help but feel bitter about it for a completely different reason than he ever thought he would be.

Luckily, the ceremony is only planned to last less than an hour. He knows he isn’t subtle but he tries to grin and bear it for his friends. He can see the same sentiment in you. Your smile doesn’t quite fit but Seungcheol can’t think about what it could be about.

“Do you take this man…”

Was it his rejection? It wouldn’t make sense if it was. You’re his best friend but not even that dictates cheating. You weren’t the type; in your own words cheating was more pathetic than ghosting someone as a form of break up.

He doesn’t get it.

“I always love you even though you sleep like a princess, my love,” Sofie gushes.

“And I’ll forgive you for snoring like an old man, love of my life.” Jeonghan fires back.

They’re saving their real vows, the one Seungcheol helped Jeonghan with, for the ceremony. Even with all the confusion swirling in his head, he can’t wait for Sofie to hear what Jeonghan has in store.

The priest is less than impressed but moves forward like he can’t wait to have them out of his congregation as fast as possible.

“Okay, and you two leave and the wedding party follows…”

Seungcheol offers his arm to the Maid of Honor, Maria, guiding her back down the aisle where Jeonghan and Sofie bicker. You follow with Seokmin, break away the second it's polite with some excuse about needing the bathroom before you dissolve into the crowd.

The dinner is back at the house. The outside is lined with chairs crowded around tables covered in exploding bouquets and candles. Family members and friends weave to and fro, drinks and food flowing heavily.

You’re talking to Seokmin in the corner of the courtyard, a glass of wine already in your hand as you laugh along to whatever the other man said.

“So Sofie said you’re a lawyer?” Maria asks.

“Yeah, that’s how we became friends. I actually was the one who introduced her and Jeonghan.”

“Wow, so you’re a lawyer and a matchmaker.”

Seungcheol laughs at the compliment. Introducing Sofie and Jeonghan had been a complete accident with unintended consequences. “I wouldn’t say that. I thought Sofie would strangle him the first time they met.”

“Oh, I heard all about that. When Sofie told me they started dating I thought she must’ve meant a different Jeonghan.”

Maria makes good company through the first rounds of drinks before dinner is served. She takes his focus away from you, how your leg presses against his under the table. She grew up down the road, went to school with Sofie all the way through undergrad. Her boyfriend, Jihoon, is a surgeon back in Seattle while she works in marketing. Unfortunately getting time off for a second year resident verges on impossible so he couldn’t come to the wedding.

“You two are so cute together, how long have you been dating?” Maria asks before taking a swig of her drink.

“Oh we’re not together,” Seungcheol corrects swiftly.

You give a tense nod of agreement.

“Really?”

“Yep. We grew up together. She’s like my sister.”

He sounds like an asshole. The words are bile but there can be no room for incorrect interpretations. This weekend had been nothing but confusing so far. Seungcheol needs to set himself straight on where he stands with you.

“Oh,” Maria nods. “Okay. So Y/N, are you dating anyone?”

“Actually I—”

Your response fizzles out because Jeonghan’s dad rises from his seat for a speech.

“I want to take a moment to express my deepest appreciation to everyone here this weekend to celebrate Sofie and Jeonghan. I remember the first time he told us about her, how happy he was and thought ‘oh this poor girl doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into’.” There’s a smatter of laughter throughout the room. Sofie leans into Jeonghan’s shoulder and he places a kiss on her temple. “But then I met Sofie and I can say, without a doubt, there are very few people more perfect for each other than those two. Sofie, welcome to our family.”

Dinner passes, course after course and more wine until Seungcheol physically can’t have any more. You and Maria hit it off, rambling about Jihoon’s two cats and the abandoned kitten that hangs out around his work he’s trying to bribe into coming home. You barely look at him during the conversation but he prefers it.

Dessert comes with coffee and then everyone dissolves. Some stay around the tables to chat and drink and laugh, others help clean up. But Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and the groom's party head for the back gardens, Seungkwan already queueing up the song for one last practice.

It’s tradition, in southern Italy at least, for the groom to serenade his bride-to-be the night before their wedding. Seungcheol couldn’t believe Jeonghan was planning to go through with such tradition but he’s seen the man do more for Sofie than he thought he was capable of so it shouldn’t come as a shock.

The warm summer air does good for his mood, as does laughing with the guys when Soonyoung and Seungkwan get into a wrestling match after debating if they step-shuffle for three or four counts. But they all agree with four because it’s easier to remember.

The top floor balcony at the front of the house turns out to be Sofie’s room. The light floods out of the open doors, and two sets of giggles pour down to where they stand.

Jeonghan cups his hands around his mouth and calls, “Juliet, Juliet! Let down your hair!”

“That’s not the saying.” Seungcheol corrects.

“Shut up, I’m talking to my wife.”

“That’s not the saying!” Sofie laughs from above.

You and Sofie peek over the side of the iron terrace, grins already splitting your faces. You knew what was happening. It’s why you whisked Sofie away with whatever distraction you could think of while the men gathered outside for a quick last minute dry run. Something about broken heels and needing to borrow a pair of shoes.

“Sofie Cosima De Luca, you are the love of my life.” Jeonghan yells. He’s drunk on love (and a lot of champagne). “I can’t wait to marry you tomorrow. I just hope after this you still want to marry me. Hit it!”

The obscenely large speaker Seungcheol carried out starts humming the instrumental to Sofie and Jeonghan’s song. The very one Jeonghan drunkenly serenaded her with in a dingy bar, back when she didn’t believe he could handle a serious relationship and he was hopelessly wrapped around her finger.

“I’ve got sunshineeeeeeee on a cloudy day…” Jeonghan croons.

“Oh my god,” Sofie cackles.

Everyone else joins in, harmonizing in the back along with the choreo Seungkwan and Soonyoung came up with. A simple side step with occasional jazz hands (much to Soonyoung’s tipsy dismay). “I guess you’d say what can make me feel this way?”

“MY GIRL,” Jeonghan belts his line, smiling dumbly.

You’re watching the shenanigans unfold, smiling as well. But while you're looking at everyone else, the only person Seungcheol can look at is you; the way your eyes gleam in the moonlight, your chin tipping back to laugh when Jeonghan’s voice cracks. You’re breathtaking. For a brief moment, barely a passing thought in the roaring river of his brain focused on his cue to sing and side step when needed, Seungcheol imagines what it would be like if you two were the only ones around.

Chalking it up to the moment, Seungcheol thinks about anything else as they finish the performance.

The music dwindles away and all that's left is Jeonghan staring up at his future wife as the rest of the group takes exaggerated bows. Other guest peek from windows or the edge of the drive way, cheering loudly.

“Bravi! Bravissimi!” Sofie cries as you both clap. “Can I make a request?”

Jeonghan nods like an eager puppy in response.

“Sing the Thong Song!” you both request through giggles.

“That's for after the wedding.” Jeonghan winks.

Time for Seungcheol to do his best man duties and prevent Jeonghan from making a complete ass of himself. "Alright Casanova, let’s go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Jeonghan calls over his shoulder, fighting against everyone ushering him away.

“Don’t be late!” Sofie demands.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

After returning Jeonghan to his room for the night, Seungcheol heads back to his completely unprepared to see you again. Too many feelings swirl in his head. Feelings he thought he finally left back in college.

He remembers only a few key events of his early childhood. When he lost his first tooth, when he broke his arm for the first time, and his soccer game at four years old when Jeonghan and he rubbed dirt in each other's faces and rolled in the grass instead of playing. But other than that, his life has been distinctly divided into two parts: before you, and after you. He remembers when you marched into the first day of second grade with a sparkly blue bookbag much too big for your little body. You went to the front of the class, introduced yourself loud and proud, and then looked around the room like you were daring anyone to say something back.

And like any other childhood friendship is made, you sat at Seungcheol and Jeonghan’s table and asked if they wanted to be your friend. Without even considering the options, they both agreed. From then on out you’d always been Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and YN. Friends in elementary school, all through middle school, and even into the far reaches of highschool when Seungcheol played sports all year while you and Jeonghan did theater. It never occurred to any of you to be apart. Until Jeonghan stayed home to attend university in your hometown. And then it was Seungcheol and YN. Jeonghan came to visit when he could and vice versa. But at university it was you two against the world.

The first time Seungcheol realized he liked you was in third grade after you dumped chocolate milk on Jeonghan’s head because he put a bug in your lunchbox. He married you on the playground and made mud pies to celebrate. And then in high school when Seungcheol realized you weren’t just a girl but a pretty girl and the hormones of his teenage body latched onto that fact and plagued his dreams with the information.

And he never did anything about that crush because he knew it wasn’t worth losing you to act on those silly notions. They passed just like he thought, melted away as time went on and you both dated other people.

But that night freshman year of college…

It doesn’t matter.

Because you have a fiancé and Seungcheol is happy for you.

The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom as Seungcheol enters your shared room. At least it delays the inevitable awkwardness.

Or he thought it would.

“Hey, Cheol?” you call from the door.

“Yeah?”

“I forgot my clothes. Can you bring them to me?”

“Ugh, yeah.” Seungcheol scrambles for the pile of clean pajamas at the corner of the bed, snatching them up and stepping closer to the door that separates you. “Here.”

Mind caught on other things – like not remember that he caught a glimpse of you make last night, barely a second, no real detail except creamy skin and details his brained filled in on its own accord to his own chagrin – Seungcheol trips over his own feet and slams into the piece of wood head first.

The only thing stopping the door from flying straight into the wall is you.

“Shit!” you exclaim following a ricocheting ‘thump.’ “What the fuck, Cheol?”

Clutching his forehead, Seungcheol is oblivious to the tangle of limbs you’ve both collapsed into.

“Fuck, sorry.” He blinks against the stark brightness of the overhead light. You’re clutching at your face, hands cupped around your nose and eyes filled with tears. “Here let me see.”

Your eyes crack open enough to glare at him, narrow and rimmed red. As if he didn’t feel awful enough.

Without a second thought, he strokes across the curve of your knee soothingly. “I won’t touch it, I just wanna make sure it isn’t broken.”

A hand shakenly falls away to unveil your perfectly fine nose. Seungcheol tips your chin up, moving in for a closer look just in case. But everything is fine. You’re not even bleeding, just a runny nose that definitely hurts worse than it looks.

The initial rush of panic ebbs only to be replaced with awareness. Seungcheol is kneeling between your legs, your towel is definitely too short, and the beads of water caught on your collarbone are down right taunting him. He needs to get away.

Now.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, moving back.

Your face morphs into horror at his tone. “What?”

“You’ve got a huge bat in the cave.” Seungcheol rises to his feet, offering you a hand up while ignoring the way your chest struggles against the tie of the towel as you come to your feet as well.

“Fuck you,” you laugh, pushing him away. “Give me my clothes and get the fuck out.”

Seungcheol does just that. As the lock latches back he’s left alone with nothing but thoughts of you.

He remembers. That night you two have never spoken about. And probably would never discuss even under the threat of life and limb. A drunk kiss, in the stuffy bar that didn’t care if your IDs were fake as long as you had money.

Seungcheol remembers the way you felt in his lap, the taste of your mouth, the breathy whine against his lips when he first pulled away from the kiss. Maybe that last detail was a hallucination but it felt real. The heat of your body haunted Seungcheol for the week after it happened.

Not even Jeonghan knew about it.

And he’d rather die than open that can of worms. The first time Seungcheol had a crush on you in high school, he swallowed those feelings and never let them see the light of day. Because you’re his best friend, his longest friend, and if it was between the risk of losing you from his feelings (that he was certain would fade eventually despite the fact they never have) or keeping you in his life, then he’d stay silent if it killed him.

It’s your turn to disappear the next morning. You’re side of the bed is long cooled by the time Seungcheol’s alarm goes off, a piece of him gone with it.

His dreams hadn’t helped. A faceless woman, not even sounds or sights or tangible things he could identify. But he knows the feeling. That alluring warmth of a body firm against his own, the kind that leaves him aching when he wants up. Seungcheol knows it's you. It’s the same images that have plagued his subconscious since adolescence when he’d wake up to messy boxers and the inability to look you in the face for days after.

Feelings he’s long suppressed came out last night. Seeing you in the window, in the bathroom, it’s all too much. And now it chases him into sleep; the one place he thought he might have peace.

Luckily your absence means there's no awkward explanation of why he’s hard. The trip to the bathroom is more of dejected desperation than eager need. Seungcheol hops into the shower and takes care of it, careful to keep his thought as abstract as possible or risk you popping up in his fantasy. Dreaming about you is damning enough. He doesn’t need to add to the guilt weighing on his conscience.

The rhythm of the water lulls his brain into a cycle. He can’t do this. He can’t go another minute

He can’t even survive Jeonghan’s wedding. How he will sit through yours with a grin will be a true test of his acting ability.

But that is future Seungcheol’s problem. Right now he needs to get through today and then tomorrow and after that he’ll be on a plane back home where he can ruminate in the isolated confines of his apartment.

He just needs to focus on one thing at a time.

Right now, it’s getting downstairs in the next ten minutes or risk losing tee time with Jeonghan and the other groomsmen.

There’s only two people he’d ever turn to in a time like this, except he can’t talk to either of them because one is the problem and the other is getting married in a few hours. The last thing Jeonghan needs is to hear about an issue between his two best friends.

Which is why he’s the first to pick up Seungcheol’s mood.

“You look like shit,” Jeonghan greets.

The other mill about the kitchen, snagging leftover pastries and fruit. Usually Seungcheol is the first to show up, not the last. But Soonyoung still seems to be missing.

“Thanks.”

“Rough night?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Well if you’re tired you can always join the girls at the spa.” Jeonghan offers. “Sofie said they’re doing mud baths.”

The wedding isn’t until this afternoon leaving the entire morning free. So the boys play golf while the girls go soak in mud.

“That sounds…horrible.”

“I know,” Jeonghan nods. “Alright gentlemen, let's head out.”

Seungcheol eats shit the entire morning. He usually scores around seventy five but he’s destined to break well over a hundred today and even Jeonghan pretends he doesn’t notice.

“Do you ever think about why nothing happened between you and Y/N?” Jeonghan asks right as Seungcheol prepares to swing.

Kicking a man when he’s down is more of a guideline for his best friend rather than something to avoid.

Seungcheol’s shot flies wide, straight into a fairway bunker a good thirty yards behind everyone else’s ball. He watches for another solid minute, deflating. “No.”

“If you’re gonna lie, at least make it believable.” Jeonghan chides, setting up his own tee.

“I’m not lying.”

“Humor me. It’s my wedding day and I’m trying not to freak out.”

“You’re freaked out?”

“Dude, of course I’m freaked out. We’ve never gone more than a few hours without talking since we started dating and I haven’t seen her since last night. So just let me focus on something else,” Jeonghan sighs.

Seungcheol thinks about his next words wisely. Jeonghan can smell bullshit a thousand miles away, and playing mind games right now feels a little unfair. “I don’t wonder why nothing happened anymore.”

“Lying again but whatever.” Jeonghan grabs for his drive and lines up the shot.

“Why are you asking?”

“I don’t know. Everyone thought you two would end up together eventually and then you didn’t. I’ve got a lot of people asking and I wanted an official response because you’re not exactly subtle and she isn’t stupid.”

Jeonghan’s shot lands square on the first cut, fifty yards ahead of Seungcheol’s ball.

“Yeah, well.” Seungcheol huffs. “If she noticed, she never said anything.”

“Okay but did you ever say anything?”

Jeonghan hands his club over to his catty before they start towards their respective zones. Seungcheol and his friend trailing behind.

Seungcheol argues. “You just said I wasn’t subtle?”

“You aren’t,” Jeonghan snorts. “But Y/N is about as impressionable as rock.”

“Did you think something was gonna happen?”

Seungcheol reaches his ball first. All the other guys are further ahead but Jeonghan sticks by.

“No.” Jeonghan says. “But I know you kissed her.”

Seungcheol turns to the other man, mouth gaped in shock. “How the fuck did you know that? Did she tell you?”

“I KNEW IT.” Jeonghan points at him like a little kid tattling on his friend. “ I fucking knew it! Sofie owes me fifty bucks.”

“What?”

“Y/N is a better liar than you, I’ll give her that but I knew something was off that first week I came to visit. I knew you didn’t have the balls to sleep with her so I must have been something else.”

Jeonghan asked you if you remember the kiss. Jeonghan and Sofie know you kissed. You remember the kiss. But you never said anything. If that doesn’t solidify Seungcheol firmly in the friendzone then nothing else would.

“You made a bet with your fiancée on whether your best friends kissed or not?” Seungcheol shakes his head in disbelief.

“You’ll understand when you have a successful relationship.” Jeonghan touts.

The catty hands over Seungcheol’s driver. He looks about Seungcheol’s age, maybe younger, and by the look on his face he’s trying very hard to pretend he isn’t listening to the unfolding drama.

Another person to witness how hopeless he is. Great.

“It doesn’t matter. It was a mistake.”

“You never know,” Jeonghan shrugs, following his catty further up the fairway and ending the conversation.

Back at the house, you’re nowhere to be seen while Seungcheol showers and changes. It’s for the best. No sleep, a horrible golf game, and now all the feelings that returned over the weekend have left him with nothing but a foul mood.

Every step is dragged out so he doesn’t have to pretend you two are fine. He can’t afford another blow out right now because today is meant to be for Jeonghan and Sofie. Even if Jeonghan thought he should talk about it, Seungcheol couldn’t do it anymore. He wouldn’t do it anymore. But the time it takes leaves his head spinning out of control.

You’re pretending nothing is wrong. Cuddling up to him, calling him your husband. You nearly kissed him. You would’ve if he didn’t stop you. You always said cheating was worse than heartbreak but now here you are, capitalizing on his feelings for whatever satisfaction you selfishly crave; using Seungcheol to hurt your fiancé in secret. Who you seem dedicated to pretending doesn’t exist.

It’s a nasty cycle. Feeling used, disbelief of who you’ve turned into in months away, that piece of him that always craved something more with you flowering only to wilt because it’s not real.

You don’t want Seungcheol.

You never have.

The wedding party gathers outside the church. Sofie is tucked away in a private room until her grand entrance. She wanted everyone to be surprised, leaving her bridesmaids to mingle with the groomsmen until it was time to for the ceremony to start.

The lavender bridesmaid dress is nothing special. A tie at the top keeps the entire thing up, the front void of any details. The open back adds a flash of skin but other than that there isn’t much to it. But you’re wearing it and Seungcheol can feel his heart jerk as the fabric flows around your curves. The universe is taunting him with what he’ll never have.

He doesn’t stare despite the fact that every time he blinks his gaze automatically searches for you. It’s hard to ignore the only person he sees in a crowded room. Even if he’s pissed at you.

You excuse yourself from Seokmin, creeping over to where Seungcheol stands with a grin. “You clean up nice.”

“Thanks,” he nods.

“Is something wrong?’

A shot of annoyance flashes through him. Now is not the place. Last time he felt like this, you two got in a screaming match on a snowy sidewalk. “No.”

You shake your head, hand coming to rest on his arm in an act of comfort. “Are you sure? Because you’ve been acting weird.”

Betrayed by his own body. Half of him wants to get on the next flight home and block your number so he can forget all of this. It wouldn’t work. The times tried anything remotely of the sort only leave him in circling thoughts day and night.

The other half of him wants to wrap you in his arms and take whatever you're willing to give him. The half that could act like Johnny didn’t exist, at least not in this little bubble where nothing else exists but you and him. Because he's selfish and he’s been in love with you for years and he would never expect something in return for his feelings but he can’t take it any more.

But he can’t pretend anymore.

Pretending he’s never been jealous of your boyfriends, and that the night in college when you kissed meant nothing. That it didn’t flood his brain everytime he looked at you; that it didn’t leave more questions than answers. He’s been pretending everything has been fine, that seeing you asleep on his chest doesn’t make his heart hurt, and that he was stronger than the temptation to kiss you last night.

He remembers that night with clarity despite how drunk he was. Thought it meant you felt the same way he had for years.

“Cheers to finally being adults!” you scream, tequila shot raised over head.

Seungcheol laughs. Nothing is that funny but he’s nineteen and drunk in a dingy college bar with his best friend . “Adults!”

Someone passes by and knocks you forward, straight into Seungcheol's chest where you keep laughing as you look up at him.

You’re close. Closer than ever before. He could count all your eyelashes if there weren’t four of you floating in his vision. But Seungcheol doesn’t need to see clearly. Not when you’re already kissing him.

He’s kissing you.

It’s sloppy and drunk but his brain doesn’t think in big picture. It’s all feeling. Your hand in his shirt, a sweet sigh against his chin when you break away for a second just to come right back. Your mouth tastes like alcohol and lime and he’s never had anything better sweep across his tongue.

Thank god for the booth because you’re in his lap now, grinding against the seam of his jeans until he’s hard and when you finally realize you say his name.

And then Seungcheol pulls away, turns his head, and vomits before blacking out.

He hates that he thinks about it. He thinks about it all the time. What if? But there’s no more what ifs. There's only right now. Just you and him and the widening space in between that's become unnavigable.

“I’m acting weird? I’m not the one rubbing herself all over me, calling me her husband to strangers, and trying to kiss me.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I can’t believe you would do something like this. Why would you put me in this position? Do you think it’s funny?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m happy for you, really. I just think it’s best if we don’t talk for a while. I think you need to sort things out with your fiance.”

Now that seems to get your attention. “Seungcheol, what—”

The music swells from the organ inside, cueing the ceremony and effectively silencing your questions.

Good. It’s better that way. Seungcheol is weak for you in all the ways that matter and he knows if he had to stand there for another minute then your hurt expression is all it would take for him to fold and pretend he never said anything.

You join the other bridesmaids and Seungcheol ducks inside the church after the wedding planner opens the doors. One by one the other groomsmen walk in: Joshua, Seungkwan, Soonyoung, and finally Seokmin. Each line up further down Jeonghan’s side. Then the bridesmaids follow.

Sofie’s cousin, who Seungcheol met once, glides down the aisle followed by another taller cousin who looks nearly identical. Then it’s Sofie’s roommate from college, Mona who Josh had been trying to get with all weekend.

You walk up the aisle, a smile plastered on your face but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You won’t look in his direction.

Everything is slipping through his fingers and you both have to pretend they aren’t.

Everyone turns to watch Maria, and then Sofie. But the only person Seungcheol is paying attention to is you.

The ceremony flies by. Sofie cries, Jeonghan cries.

Sofie cries even harder when Jeonghan recites his vows in Italian. It’s odd, watching his two friends who usually are the couple laughing in the corner, be so vulnerable. Declaring their love for each other in front of a few hundred people.

“Sofie, sin dal primo momento in cui ti ho incontrata, sapevo che ti avrei voluta nella mia vita per sempre. Che tu mi amassi o odiassi, per me andava bene, perché significava che avresti pensato a me tanto quanto io pensavo a te. Mi hai dato il privilegio di chiamarti mia, e non posso aspettare di farlo per il resto delle nostre vite.”

Six months of using Seungcheol as practice, along with Sofie’s cousin, and he sounds decent. Jeonghan wouldn’t win any awards for his language skills but everyone’s faces melt around the room. Even the people that don’t know a word of what he’s say can feel the earnest dedication he has to Sofie. Even Seungcheol gets misty eyed.

“Io, Jeonghan, prendo te, Sofie, come mia sposa e prometto di esserti fedele sempre, nella gioia e nel dolore, nella salute e nella malattia, e di amarti e onorarti tutti i giorni della mia vita.”

“I, Sofie, take you, Jeonghan, as my husband and promise to be faithful to you always, in joy and in pain, in health and in sickness, and to love you and every day honor you, for the rest of my life.”

Then they kiss and Sofie screams something along the lines of “we’re married, bitches!” much to the priest demise before exiting the church.

From there it’s chaos.

The entire wedding party is corralled for endless pictures while everyone else heads back to the villa for the reception. You don’t look at him and Seungcheol refuses to acknowledge you until your parents are forcing you two together for awkward pictures like its high school prom.

By the time it’s over and he gets to the reception, the party is in full swing and the sun is setting.

Dinner is a blur. He makes his toast, short and sweet like Jeonghan told him to. The night progresses and people flood the cleared area serving as a makeshift dance floor in the center of the courtyard.

Seungcheol sips his wine. Three glasses in an hour because he isn’t sure what to do with his hands when his obligatory dance with Maria is over and he’s avoided being dragged on the floor by one of Sofie’s more zealous aunts because she herself demands a dance.

“How does it feel to be Mrs. Yoon?”

Sofie turns to watch Jeonghan twirls her great grandmother. Or more like Nonna Cosima leads him. She’s surprisingly spry for someone pushing triple digits. “I think he’s gonna be a great first husband.”

His gaze settles on you, Seokmin leading you across the floor in a ridiculous fashion. The younger man is trying hard to make you laugh and it seems to be working.

“She thinks you’re mad at her,” Sofie says.

“Maybe I am.”

“Care to share with the class?” She prods but Seungcheol doesn’t break, using the ending of the song to find a table at the edge of the makeshift dance floor. “Fine, but I feel like if you’re gonna pout at my wedding I should at least know why. Especially because I owe Han fifty bucks because you can’t lie to save your life.”

Seungcheol is mad. But mostly at himself. For tricking himself into thinking maybe, just maybe, there could be something more. That in all the improbable universes you returned his feelings, this would be one.

And he did all that knowing you’re dedicated to someone else who is so entirely wrong for you.

“What did she tell you?” Seungcheol asks.

“That’s not how this works. No pay, no play.”

He studies Sofie for a minute. She’s good at keeping her cards close but she knows about you and Johnny. It wouldn’t be a far leep to assume she knows about everything else.

“God, you sound like Jeonghan.”

“Have you and Y/N talked? Like, really talked, since you got here?” There's a weight at the end of that sentence but Sofie doesn’t elaborate.

“Care to be more specific?” he asks, grabbing for another glass.

“I’ll take that as a no then.” Sofie takes the seat beside him.

His chest tightens. This is it.

“About her and Johnny?”

“So she did say something…” Sofie fishes.

“No she didn’t. But I heard you guys in the kitchen the night I got in.”

“You did?” she gasps. “And you didn’t say anything to her about it?”

His jaw ticks in annoyance. “What’s there to say? ‘Congrats on your engagement, you’re too good for him’? I don’t think that's what she’d wa—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Sofie throws her hands up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. All around the party continues. “You think Y/N is engaged? To who?”

“Johnny! Who else?”

Her drink sloshes over the sides of her wine glass, narrowly missing the white gown and falling to the cobblestone. “Oh my god, you’re an idiot!”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s not engaged, you dipshit,” she goes on. “Oh my god, you’re both so stupid. I told Han, I told him we should’ve said something.”

“What?” he says quietly.

Sofie continues as if Seungcheol hasn’t spoken at all, “I can’t believe she hasn’t told you.”

“Told me what?”

“She broke up with him!”

She broke up with him. She (you) broke up with him (Johnny). You and Johnny are done. It’s like he’s hearing the news from underwater.

“She broke up with him.” He repeats dumbly.

Someone cheers and then applause follows but Seungcheol is lost in his mind. You and Johnny aren’t engaged. You two aren’t even dating. Haven’t been.

“When?”

Sofie’s face softens. She knows. The first time he introduced you to Sofie she assumed you two were dating. She didn’t like Johnny for a lot of the same reasons Seungcheol did, but also because she thought you two were meant to be together. “A week after she moved.”

That phone call the week after you moved. It must’ve been something to do with you and Johnny. But why didn’t you answer messages the next morning? Why would you break up with Johnny and then refuse to tell him? Why would you let Seungcheol think he was being used as the other man?

“So this entire week…”

“She was supposed to tell you. I told her to tell you months ago but does she listen to me? Nope.”

“Do you know why?”

“Now that is something she needs to tell you.” Seungcheol looks where you're dancing with Seokmin. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes but you laugh when the man dips you almost to the floor and struggles to lift you back up. “But first you need to apologize.”

“Is it that bad?”

“When I imagined someone crying at my wedding it wasn’t because of you.”

Seungcheol winces, “She cried?”

“Yep. You owe me a nice ass wedding gift for that one.”

“Sofie, I’m sorry I—” he tries to apologize.

“Cheol, don’t worry about it.” She pats his arm. “It was actually a nice distraction from the insanity this week.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“It really is.” Sofie rises from the table, snagging a glass of champagne from a passing tray. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my husband owes me a dance. And Cheol?”

“Yeah?”

“You should tell her how you feel.”

Seungcheol takes his chance at Sofie’s departure. With the change in music Seokmin bows out and you're left on the dance floor alone. Cast in the soft glow of garden lights and candles, you’re tragically beautiful. Soft around the edges in a dreamy haze. Seungcheol feels like he’s intruding by approaching you but he needs to apologize before you both return to your separate corners of the country tomorrow night.

“Hey,” he greets.

You look at him apprehensively, eyes dark, before speaking. “Hi.”

You’re just as petty as Seungcheol so he knows if you’re speaking to him then there's some kind of hope he hasn’t completely ruined your friendship. But it could also mean you’re about to rip him a new one in front of everyone for not the first time in his life.

Hopefully, it’s the former.

“Mind a walk?”

“We’re at a wedding.”

Jeonghan and Sofie curl tightly around each other at the center of the courtyard. It’s clear from the way both their faces soften, lax grins reaching their ears, that the world has stopped spinning just for them.

“I’m pretty sure we could light them on fire right now and they wouldn’t notice. Besides, Sofie gave me her blessing,” he jokes but you don’t laugh.

“Fine,” you say before stalking towards one of the paths leading to more secluded parts of the house.

People drape across different parts of the villa as you two walk in silence to find some privacy. The gardens are full of chatting elders, kids running around in the dark or falling asleep in some adults' holds. After ten minutes with no luck at seclusion, Seungcheol has half a mind to go back to your room and talk it out but he doesn’t. The idea itself freezes his blood.

It’s not until you're deeper into the maze of shrubs and bushes that the voices and music fade. The silence is so tense he might shatter under the pressure.

You whip around to face him, still five paces ahead.

“What did you want to talk about?” you deadpan.

Seungcheol thought through every thing he wanted to say, all the questions and whys and what ifs he’d collected during this trip but they abandoned him now that they have the chance to be answered. Instead, all that comes out of him is a shaky, “I’m sorry.”

You wait for him to elaborate but he doesn’t. He’s apologizing for more than he could put in words and he’d list them off until the sun comes up if he starts now.

“Okay. Is that all?” you ask.

“Sofie told me about Johnny.”

You blanche. “She did?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“What did she tell you?” your arms draw tightly around your center. Like you’re holding your heart from spilling out your chest.

Seungcheol regurgitates the limited facts Sofie shared, which is that Johnny hasn’t been in the picture for months and you never deemed him worthy of that information.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I tried. But you didn’t answer your phone and I felt so stupid afterwards and… I just couldn’t do it.”

It hits a nerve deep in his heart. How could it have been easier to spend months pretending he didn’t exist then tell him your relationship ended? More anger slips through. The nasty kind that makes him say things he doesn’t mean but Seungcheol tries to reign it in.

“So you just ignored me and thought that’d solve all our problems?”

“No!’

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I moved cities for a guy I didn’t even like that much! I changed my entire life for him just to prove a point. Because you were right about him and I was wrong and only took a fucking week to realize that after I screwed everything up. I should have listened to you but—”

“So you lied to me because you didn't want me to say ‘I told you so’?” Seungcheol fumes. “Are you serious?”

“I didn’t lie to you!” you object.

“Yes you did! You stopped talking to me for months! Months. I can’t even remember we went a week without talking but you dropped off the face of the planet,” he rants. “I thought you were happy in New York with Johnny but apparently I’m the last to know anything. If you had just told me I wouldn’t have said anything. I would have gone up there and moved you back home myself.”

“I don’t want you to fix my mistakes!”

“Then what do you want? Because from where I’m standing I have no idea. All week you’ve been acting weird and because you didn’t tell me I thought you were using me to cheat on your boyfriend. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I didn’t mean to. Things just kept happening and I got swept up before I could tell you.”

Seungcheol was nothing more than a meaningless distraction, a rebound.

“So it didn’t mean anything to you?” he asks.

“No!” you cry. “I was just distracted.”

“Distracted? Are you serious?”

“You know what? Forget it. You don’t want to listen to me, you just want to be mad and yell.”

You’re right. Seungcheol does want to be mad and yell and pull his own hair out because what you’re saying isn’t helping untangle the knotted mess of his brain. It’s making it worse. Your confessions are watering that seed of hope in his chest despite the fact he knows nothing will ever happen. Even with Johnny out of the picture.

“Why did you break up with Johnny?”

“I—” Your eyes close. Pulled tight like you’re finding the courage to tell Seungcheol some dark secret. “He…” you swallow. “I broke up with him because…”

Seungcheol tenses, prepared for the absolute worst. You moved your entire life for the guy and broke up with him a handful of days later. There had to be a reason. “Because why? Did he do something?”

“No!” you correct. “I wish he did, I probably wouldn’t have felt like such a bitch but he didn’t do anything at all. I just realized we didn’t work.”

“You didn’t ‘work’?”

I told you so, indeed.

“Yeah. It’s kinda difficult to be with someone when you're in love with someone else,” you reply.

Suddenly, Seungcheol wishes he never brought it up. Another guy. One that isn’t him. Again. He’s the other man. Those gut feelings, the nagging voice at the back of his head that reminded him time and time again you couldn’t feel the same has its own ‘I told you so’ moment.

But that’s not what makes him feel horrible. He’d suffer from overthinking as long as needed just so you wouldn’t look so ashamed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Seugncheol waits for you to elaborate. More silence except for the crunch of your shoes across the stone walkway. A bench comes into view and you slip into one of the spots before speaking again.

“I…I always wondered why those dates never worked out. Like, I would like someone but then they didn’t want the same things or they’d want the same things but I didn’t want them. And I guess Johnny was my last ditch effort because maybe if I knew from the beginning things weren’t gonna work out then I’d never be disappointed.”

Seungcheol isn’t sure what to say so he stays quiet.

“And I thought I could just live with it. Knowing I didn’t have what Jeonghan and Sofie have. Like who actually gets that in their life? But…”

“But?”

“But then I realized that there was only one guy my whole life that’s actually been everything I wanted and I was comparing everyone to him.”

“Who?”

“You.”

Him. You’ve compared every guy you’ve dated to him. He’s the person you want, the man you’ve measured everyone up to and found them wanting.

You’re in love with Seungcheol. You broke up with your boyfriend for Seungcheol.

You love him back.

“It’s fine, if you don’t feel that way about me. I’m okay with it. I wasn’t planning to tell you because I expected anything. I just… part of the reason I didn’t say anything is I know you don’t think about me like that but this week I thought— I don’t know what I thought. But I didn’t want to lie to you anymore.”

“You…what?”

“Let’s just agree to pretend this never happened, okay? We should get back to the party.” You move to rush past him but Seungcheol hooks an arm around your torso, light enough you could break through if you really wanted to but you stop all the same.

There is no way in hell you drop that bomb on him and leave him to deal with the aftermath alone.

His voice is unrecognizable to his own ears. “You broke up with Johnny because of me?”

“Yeah,” you swallow. You refuse to look at him, focusing on the neatly clipped grass your heels sink into.

“Because you’re in love with me.”

You flounder. It isn’t a question. It’s a fact.

“How long?” Seungcheol presses.

“What?”

“How long have you been in love with me?”

“It's always been you.”

Seungcheol’s heart detonates into a million pieces.

“You?” His pulse is sprinting. You’re in love with him. Have been. Maybe as long as he’s been in love with. Impossible for it to be longer because there's no moment in time when Seungcheol didn’t carry his feelings for you like an old friend. “You didn’t say anything.”

Your eyes are wet again, more tears he wants to brush away but he can’t do anything but stare. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“You wouldn’t have,” he whispers back.

“What's supposed to mean?”

Your nose brushes along his, eyes soft as you glance at his mouth.

Seungcheol won’t let himself kiss you yet. He can’t. The first time he feels your lips on his in years has to be in private because he shakes at the idea of it, a part of him chips away from just imagining even the most chaste brush. But mostly because he’s terrified that once he starts, he knows he won’t be able to stop.

“Do you remember that night in college?” he asks. You’re stunned speechless by the abrupt shift in topic but the words fall out of his mouth before he can think of a better way to say what needs to be said. He continues, “when we did a million shots and you kissed me?”

You snap back, slapping a hand on his chest and nearly teetering to the ground. “You bitch! You kissed me!”

“So you do remember!”

“Of course I remember,” you declare. “I thought you didn’t remember.”

You remember. You remember how his mouth tasted, how you ground into his lap, the feeling of his hands on your ass. All of it sticks with you like it stuck to him.

“Trust me, I remember.”

“Well, why didn’t you say anything?” you huff.

“I was going to but you told me you started dating whatever-his-name before I could.”

“Because I thought you didn’t like me back!”

“I’ve liked you since the first day I met you.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“You should’ve said something.” The admonishment means nothing. Not with the way you smile at him. It makes his heart soar, hope bursting at the seams.

“I didn’t even know you realized I was a dude until college, why would I say something?”

“Trust me, I knew you were a guy way before college.”

“And we’re back to the original question: why didn’t you say anything?”

It's ridiculous. Utterly comical and unimportant of who said what when because they’re being said now and Seungcheol never has to pretend he isn’t hopelessly in love with you ever again.

You cozy up into his chest, fingers tracing the collar of his shirt. “Wow, barely five minutes we’re already fighting.”

“We’re not fighting.” His lips burn the word into your hairline, arms wrapping around your frame so his fingers can finally, finally, trace the bared skin of your back.

“Oh really?” You laugh. “Then what are we doing, oh wise one?”

“We’re having a spirited conversation over the fact you kissed me and never said anything.”

“And now we’re fighting over whether or not we’re fighting.”

“We’re not fighting.”

“You’re exhausting.” Your eyes roll. He can’t see it, not with how you duck into his neck, but he knows you did it. Because Seungcheol knows you better than anyone else.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“And you kissed me.”

“Well then there's only one way to settle this.”

“Which is?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer. If Jeonghan could be lit on fire and not think of anyone but his wife, then the world could fall to dust and the only thing on Seungcheol’s mind is the way your mouth feels against his.

It’s light at first. Airy because you’re both still laughing over arguing if you’re fighting or not. But then Seungcheol loses his balance and you help by curling a hand around his shoulder but refuse to stop kissing him and the world blinks out of existence for a second.

All the cliches start making sense. Two halves of a whole, puzzle pieces slipping together, all the things poets could say in a million more eloquent ways than him.

But Seungcheol feels at home for the first time in his life.

It’s not easy maneuvering a full grown woman up and into his lap. It’s especially not easy because you’re you and you’re more stubborn than anyone he’s met in his life which means you object to every step, huff and puff at a brief second of broken contact, but the second he spins you around and drags over his lap you melt.

Your tongue glides along his, sending a tsunami of want through his bones. You whimper. Or maybe he does. Seungcheol can’t tell what's up and what's down right now. He finds the open back of your dress and relishes in the arch of your spine, the choppy breath he can feel beneath his palms.

The silk bow holding your dress up teases his hand as Seungcheol traces the notches of your spine. No one would see. No one except him and the moon and the stars who’ve all stopped to watch. He wants to. God, he wants to but he doesn’t.

You tug at his hair and your name floods his tongue like a curse.

Draped across his lap in nothing but thin satin, you can feel all of him. How his cock hardens against the back of your thighs, shaky breathes in his lungs wrecking into your own chest. You're not wearing a bra. None of that tape or the sticky thing you’d leave hanging in the bathroom when you lived together. Seungcheol knows because he thumbs over the soft swell of your chest and you respond with a rock of hips that leaves his mouth watering.

The last time he kissed you, that fateful night freshman year of college, Seungcheol thought about it every night for months. He thought about it in the shower, in his bed. His mind would wander towards the memory during class and when he walked around campus.

Now he’ll think about this for the rest of his life.

A shrieking laugh almost sends you to the ground in haste to break away, but Seungcheol catches you in time.

“Um…” you choke. Your lips are swollen, eyes a little dazed.

“We should go back inside.”

“Yeah.”

“Just, give me a minute.”

“Why?” Your smile grows steadily as you press more firmly into his predicament.

“I have an issue right now.”

“What kind of issue, Cheolie?” you stare at him through your lashes, finger tracing down the front of his shirt until you reach the button of his pants.

“Oh God,” he grunts as the heel of your hand rocks into him. “You’re actually evil.”

Your lips trace over his jaw, sucking and nipping at the lobe of his ear until he shudders. “Don’t you want me?”

“I do,” he breaths. “Shit.”

His hand squeezes across your ass, your breasts, mindful of how much freedom you’re giving him. To feel you like this, to touch you the way he’s wanted to for years.

“Then have me,” you moan.

“Don’t say stuff like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to fuck you right here.”

“But I do want you to fuck me.” Your hand is in his pants. “Right.” A tight squeeze on his cock. “Here.” He ruts into the next one.

His insides spark with a hot kind of electricity at the idea of you jerking him off where anyone could see. But he wants to touch you. And that he doesn’t want anyone else to even imagine. He’s shared you enough with the world.

Seungcheol wants a piece of you that's just for him right now.

“Fuck, okay. Stop.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We’re going back inside.”

“Oh?”

Seungcheol doesn’t give into your obvious goading. It’ll just waste more time. Give you another chance to wring him out to dry and he knows if you get his pants down far enough it’s game over for the both of you.

He rushes you through the garden, all but dragging you behind him in his haste to get you somewhere secluded. He’d settle for a broom closet at this point. Anywhere he can have you alone.

But you won’t go down without a fight.

You slow to a near stop, whining, “My feet hurt.”

Seungcheol leads you back over another stone bench, immediately kneeling and grabbing your ankle. The pebbles of the path dig into his knee but the slit of silk revealing your bare legs is a good distraction.

“Alright, Cinderella. Let’s get these off,” he jokes. The buckle is delicate and keeps slipping from between his fingers no thanks to your help.

“I can do it myself!”

You try to kick him off but Seungcheol catches your calf easily. Instead of focusing on the teasing stretch of skin, he watches the way your nose wrinkles indignantly after thwarting your attempt to catch him off guard. You’re cute. Probably because he’s in love with you and the rush from knowing you love him back has him feeling a million miles tall.

“Cheol?”

“Yeah?”

Pulling your foot into his lap, Seungcheol brushed his fingers against the knob of your ankle. The tiny buckle that refuses to come undone. Your shaking doesn’t help much.

“Cold?” he asks.

You nod furiously. Warmth hangs in the air but Seungcheol won’t assume your comfort; the silk you're wrapped in doesn’t provide much coverage against the elements. It doesn’t provide him any protection from a wild imagination fueled from years of pining. Without a thought, he shakes off his jacket and hands it to you before moving back to your shoe.

Looming over him, Seungcheol feels your breath hit his forehead. He wants to look up but you’re too close. Too tempting.

He finally undoes one shoe, then the other. But you don’t say anything and neither does he from his spot between your legs. It’d be easy. So easy to bunch your skirt around your waist, part your legs, and make you cum on his finger. Then his mouth. Then his cock.

You’re thinking the same thing. A hiccup of breath rustling the hair on his forehead, your hands stroking the muscles of his neck give you away.

But when he starts, he knows he won’t be able to start. He’ll want nothing less than all of you. Give all of himself to you. If you’ll have him.

But a hard stone bench isn’t the place to worship your body the way you deserve. He’d be a gentleman. Even if it killed him to wait any longer. You were worth waiting for. Seungcheol would wait a million more lifetimes if he got to feel like this again.

No shoes means he’s carrying you the rest of the way. He’s done it before and you’re not that heavy but he’s been drinking. And then there's the matter of all the blood in his body heading south, so he struggles more than usual.

“You’re sure you’ve got it?” you cling on for dear life when he nearly stumbles under the first step.

“Sorry, I haven’t been carrying a lot of full grown women around lately.”

“I thought you were looking a little small,” you goad.

“Small?” he objects.

“Yeah, small.” You squeeze over his biceps and his chest like you two aren’t sneaking around a packed mansion where anyone could stumble by. His resolve slips further out of reach at the dig of your nails. “Been skipping the gym lately?”

He feigns dropping you, laughing when you scramble for hold under threat of falling flat on your ass.

“Asshole!” you laugh.

Things fizzle back to comfortable silence. Your companions are far off laughs and the loud music from the courtyard. The garden is all but abandoned, not a single soul in sight. It makes it all too tempting to find another bench and take up what was interrupted earlier. The heat of your breath against his ear with each giggled whisper didn’t help. Neither did the warm weight of your thighs in his hold or the firm press of your chest against his back.

It’s a mistake to look over his shoulder. Your eyes shine in the moonlight as you stare back, a smile lifting the corner of your lips.

Seungcheol focuses back on the hallway, double checking for any passersby. There’s nothing indecent about a man giving a woman a tipsy piggy back ride.

But there is something entirely inappropriate about how hard he is while doing so.

And Seungcheol knows you know. Or if you don’t then the universe has a personal investment in his suffering. Every step is more difficult than the last because your thighs squeeze around his torso, and your hands find their way down his chest, and then there’s the giggling every time he back tracks because a drunken guest stumbles by on the way to their own room.

You’re sneaking around like two idiot teenagers and it might kill him from lack of blood to his brain.

But Seungcheol wouldn’t have it any other way.

He pauses at the last staircase to catch his breath. There’s no reason you’re still on his back other than the fact he doesn’t want to let you go and the position is the only reason he hasn’t found a dark corner to do whatever you please yet.

“Awww poor Seungcheol, tired already,” you coo.

Your teasing tone makes his blood boil, worse how you readjust your hold with more squeeze and stretching that leaves him with nothing but horribly inappropriate thoughts of what you’ll do after he gets up the stairs.

Finally, the hallway housing your room appears and he can’t get through the door fast enough.

You're pressed flat between the door and his body in a blink, fully at Seungcheol’s mercy as he kisses you again.

“Wait,” you mutter.

Seungcheol sucks along your bottom lip. You pull him closer, arching into his chest. Your stomach is soft against the gentle grinds of his cock. He doesn’t want to wait anymore.

“We—hmmm,” you sigh. “Need to talk about this.”

Seungcheol pulls away from your mouth, trailing scorching kisses down your neck that leave you shivering. “What about it? I love you, you love me. Feels like that's all there is to it.”

The second he says it, Seungcheol knows he’s wrong. But he doesn’t want to think about the fine details. He’s never done long distance but you’re only a train ride away.

“Cheol.” You prod a finger into his collarbone until he dips back.

“I mean it’ll suck being in different cities but it’s not forever right? We’ll figure it out.”

You dip your chin. “I’m not staying in New York.”

“Oh. That’s—” he cups your cheek, pulling your gaze to his. “I’ll go wherever you need me.”

You smile up at him and everything goes blank. In that moment, he vows to do anything you ever ask if it means you’ll keep looking at him like that.

“I’m moving back to D.C.” You kiss the words into his palm, eyes never leaving his.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You smile. “Sofie’s friend needed a roommate and my job agreed to let me go remote so…”

“When do you move back?”

“Two months. They want to wait until the busy season is over.”

“But then you’re back. For good?”

“For good.”

It feels like you're promising a whole lot more..

You have Seungcheol for good too. As long as you want him, he’s yours. Probably for long after too.

He’s so happy, it burns across his skin. It can’t be contained. This is all real. He fights the urge to pinch himself because not even in the wildest of his dreams did he think this was possible.

"When you come back home.” Home he thinks. Home with him. Where you belong. “We're going on a date. And you're going to let me pay, and woo you, and take care of you because I love you. Okay?”

Your hands twine around his shoulders before you respond with a nod, “Okay.”

In the privacy of your room, you’re the one that tugs the knot holding your dress up. The silk slips down your chest revealing inch after inch of what he’s only dreamed off. When it pools around your waist, Seungcheol almost falls to his knees.

You shiver in the cool bedroom air. His eyes drink in the way your nipples peek under his gaze. Every inhale shakes in your lungs and he thinks this might just be enough for him to die peacefully. The silk trickles like water down your figure until you're left standing in nothing but skimpy panties.

“Fuck,” he curses.

Your hands flash to cover your chest, “What?”

“No, don’t,” Seungcheol reassures. His hands find yours, tracing along your thumb. “You’re just…”

“Just?” you ask.

“Wow.”

“I’m wow?” you laugh.

Seungcheol takes another step into your space. And then another and another, your dress crumbling to the floor and leaving behind nothing but the thin band of your underwear for him to remove. Your knees hit the mattress and he follows you down into the cushion.

You're soft and warm like afternoon sunlight on a winter day under his wandering hands.

“You’re wow,” he responds, angling your chin so your mouth can meet his, noses grazing against one another.

You don’t have the patience to hear Seungcheol ramble about how perfect you are. Instead, you drag him into a desperate kiss, tongue teasing his. He’ll wax poetically later. Right now he wants to give you whatever you demand.

More kissing, the prickle of your teeth along his lip, and Seungcheol is pretty sure he’s never been harder in his life. It’s humbling and exhilarating all at once. Ready to crumble into nothing from some light petting.

He takes his revenge on the curve of your shoulder and it turns out to be extra sensitive. Every nip and suck along your collarbone leaves you panting, hands scratching up his back for some relief. He wonders what else is sensitive.

He laves against your nipple in maddening slowness. You torture him as well, ankles locking at the base of his spine while you grind against him and make more noises he’ll commit to memory forever.

“God,” you whine when Seungcheol finally breaks and rocks down into the tempting heat of your core.

He needs more.

“Do you think about this?” he grunts with another torturous press. He could come like this. You could come from this. Two adults, reduced to dry humping like horny teenagers.

“I think about you all the time,” you gasp.

“What do you think about?”

“You.”

Seungcheol snickers, “More specific.”

“Touching me, kissing me. Anywhere. Everywhere.”

A swell of neanderthal pride blooms in his heart. The image of you, touching yourself with his name on your lips breaks another piece of his self control that wants to savor this.

“Here?” he kisses the swell of your breast, waiting for a nod to move on.

“Here?” A suck on your nipple again until the bed sheets threaten to rip from your hold.

“Here?” A bite at your hip bone.

His fingers part your core, wet at first contact even over your panties. “What about here?”

“Everywhere. I’ve thought about you touching me everywhere.” You sound like you might start crying if he doesn’t fulfill that fantasy soon.

But he’s dying to know every little thought you’ve ever had about him. If you think about him a fraction as much as he thinks about you. Not just like this, but when he sees a building he’d never think twice about and know you’d have something to say about the construction of the window arches, or when he walks through the park and sees two dogs meeting for the first time and can hear your voice whisper ‘best friends!’ like you’re right beside him. You’re in everything. Every part of who he is.

Your panties come off and he licks between your legs slowly, savoring every part he can while you twitch and curl beneath him.

“Cheol,” you whine.

There's no need to elaborate. He feels it too.

Your back bows under his touch, and Seungcheol watches you touch yourself with rapt attention. You grab your breasts and squeeze, nipples visible between fingers.

He sucks your clit, tongue lashing at the sensitive nub. A million times Seungcheol thought about doing this and never did his brain imagine the sounds you’d make, the way you taste, the rough tub at his hair. You're hot and wet under his mouth and all Seungcheol wants is more, more, more.

“Tell me how it feels.”

“So good—fuck—it’s so good,” you gasps as he fucks your opening with his tongue, collection your flavor.

His finger wedges inside your tight walls. You angle your hips, sinking them deeper. Seungcheol pauses for only a moment before giving you a second one. The sting across his scalp from your frantic tugging leaves him straining against the zipper of his slacks.

He cups your ass, dragging you closer to the edge of the bed where he kneels. Your legs spread wider to grant him the space to savor the pink of your folds under his tongue without obstruction.

Your pitch rises, moaning through a third finger joining the mix and a rough lap of his tongue that has you kicking the sheets.. He can feel it; your end just over the hill. A few vulgar flicks of his tongue and its release in long waves that make you keen his name horsley.

You melt into a boneless heap. Occasional twitches of muscles flooding with pleasure the only sign of life.

Seungcheol mouths up your stomach, sucking a nipple between his teeth for a second before moving on to your mouth. If all you want to do tonight is kiss and let Seungcheol worship your pussy, then he’ll oblige. But the way pull at his clothes hints at what you want. He draws you back into his lap, your body hot against his, mouth coaxing yours open.

“Good?”

You giggle against his mouth. “I can’t feel my toes.”

He can’t stop touching you. Probably won’t ever stop now that he knows what it means to call you his. To know your body. You’re no better. Your hands rake through his hair, goosebumps erupting as you tug him exactly where you want.

The soft lines of your throat, the intoxicating taste of sweat and perfume flooding his tongue. It’s better than anything his sorry excuse for an imagination could come up with.

You tug at his shirt, up and up until it’s forgotten on the floor. Your bare chest against his lights an inferno of want. Seungcheol pushes apart your limp thighs, making space for himself to grind against your sensitive core through his own trousers.

Seungcheol remembers a crucial fact as you slip a hand in his pants and tease his leaking cock.

“Wait,” he mutters into your jaw.

You don’t stop, slowly jerking him off, teeth cutting into the vein on his neck. “What?’

Seungcheol savors your touch before responding, thrusting through your first with blind want. “I don’t have condoms.”

“Oh.”

“I can go and try to find some but I—” he rambles.

“Cheol.”

“—everyone is probably still at the party so—”

You shut him up with a hand over his mouth, “I’m on birth control and I’m clean.”

“Oh.”

Oh. Seungcheol’s brain swims with lewd imagination; you stuffed with his cum, pussy stretched and worn from his cock. Feeling you raw, again and again until your helpless sweaty messes.

“Unless you want to use them then that's fine!” you hastily supply.

He cups your face, smiling as you ramble about how okay you are with using condoms. Your face is warm, eyes avoidant while you enthusiastically declare you want to do whatever makes him comfortable. Which is an entirely new problem because if your goal is to make him comfortable, then neither of you will be leaving this bed for the foreseeable future and at some point people will start looking for you.

Seungcheol rolls over. You take advantage of the opportunity for free command of his lap, forcing his pants down until he’s as bare as you. He preens under your wide eye stare, ego flaring under your wide eye stare. Leaning back on his palms, he grows cocky from your silence.

“Like what you see?” Seungcheol goads.

Your gaze cuts to his, eyebrows arched in your own challenge. A flare of fear zaps up his spine.

He loves it.

Seungcheol is accustomed to taking the lead in bed. Some girls want him to be domineering, others prefer to sit back while he naturally takes the reins.

But you’ve butt heads with him in every aspect of life, hopefully this would be no different. He’s hoping you might even try telling him exactly how you want him.

“You’re so hard for me,” you whisper. Your hand reaches out, thumbing at the leaking head of his cock with seductive confidence.

Seungcheol nods in agreement at a loss of words under your touch.

Your head cocks to the side curiously, empty hand slipping between your thighs, making space for the head of his cock to nudge against your clit. “Do you wanna fuck me?”

He nods again.

“Good,” you smile. You hide in his neck, nosing along the tense muscles straining to break out from his skin. “I thought about you fucking me like this. When we were in high school. I thought—I wanted you to be the first.”

“Really?” he asked dazedly.

Your first. Not Stoner Ricky from Calculus. But him. You wanted Seungcheol to have you first, possible be the only one for each other. It’s a lie if he didn’t think of you in the back of his mom’s car while Tiffany Something took his virginity. Your lips, your voice instead of her nasally pornographic sounds, when he came it was only because he closed his eyes and thought of you.

He tells you that and earns a deep bite on his shoulder.

You continue, “I’d watch porn or read those smut books, and I always pictured it was you.”

“God.”

You sink on his cock, pussy stretched on his length, stars flaring across your vision. There's not enough air in the room to breathe through the tight squeeze wrecking your guts. You’re in the position of control but Seungcheol can already see submission gaining control. You won’t admit you can handle his cock but pride warms his veins at how much energy it takes for your stunted rhythm.

“Fuck,” you curse.

“Yeah? Feels good having your pussy stuff with my cock?” Your nails bite into his chest in response. Pink lines flare in their wake, one he hopes are still there tomorrow.

Seungcheol drags you into a kiss, a dirty culmination of teeth and tongue and your satisfied sighs and his needy grunts. You suck at his lips, focused on that rather than riding him.

“Taping out already?”

You ignore the dig. It takes the barest twinge of his arm and you’re rolling on your back, legs spread in invitation. He sinks into the space reserved just for him, sliding deeper than before. Now he’s the one that needs a moment. Squeezed to death between your walls is the sweet torture he’s ever experienced, the wet sloppy drag of your cunt, bare for him and him alone.

It’s an act of bravery to pull out for the sake of thrusting back in. If he was confident enough you could get off without his hips sinking deeper then he’d never do it, content to keep his cock wedge inside you and play with your clit and tits until you cry from the pleasure. But he really wants to fuck you.

“God, feels so good.” You break. He keeps his pace steady, building you up until you muster a way to squeeze him tighter and his skins on fire.

He hoists your leg up, a deeper stretch that leaves him muttering about how good you feel. The wet slap of your cunt grows louder, sloppy clashes of his pelvis against yours.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, stomach caving. The urge to cum is nipping at his heels but Seungcheol is better than that. Better than a quick fuck, at least for this first time. He wants to hear more of your sounds, fold you in every position he can imagine.

“More,” you grunt. “Fuck me harder, baby.”

He gives you what you ask for; plowing you into the mattress until the headboard slaps against the wall. “You like that?”

“Love it—shit. I love it.” You prop yourself up, shoving a hand between your bodies to swipe messy strokes across your clit. Seungcheol collects more sounds from the back of your throat, rough growls and stuttered squeaks. His cock is heavy in your guts, soaked with your arousal and his cum.

Your mouth finds his. Panting breath and loose tangles of lips. It’s a race against time with his vision bleached white. Your stomach caves with effort to meet each stroke with one of your own.

“I love you,” he groans.

You clench at his words, growing wetter if possible. Flailing against the bed, he hooks your other knee under his elbow and presses flat, pinning you down under his mercy. “I love you,” you whine back. “I-I—”

Your orgasm floods your veins, brain fuzzy and disconnected from anything beyond Seungcheol. He takes over the circles around your clit. Calloused fingers providing sick friction until you can’t take anymore.

“Wanna feel you come, Cheolie. Please,” you beg.

Something snaps and he’s rushing to pull out, jerking off over your stomach with your hand to help.

Rope after rope shines in the dim moonlight. He can’t even try to pretend the thrill of cumming inside isn’t on the forefront of his mind as the drips of his spend stare back at him. But you look like a fantasy come true cover in his cum, skinned flushed, eyes glazed and chest heaving. His own Venus come to life.

He pushes back in, spent cock sensitive to the squeeze of your cunt. Seungcheol doesn't want to be anywhere else. Now that he has you, he can't imagine a moment without you.

Sinking the weight of his hips, your legs lock him in. A combination of cum, sweat, arousal, and a few tears sticks between your sweltering bodies. Neither of you care, too enamored with cataloguing every bare inch of skin with in reach of your mouths.

‘Ugh,'' you groan. “I need a shower.”

In the bathroom, where so many horrible dangerous thoughts have plagued Seungcheol since the start of this trip, it’s peaceful. The thrum of the shower drowns out any sound beyond your sleepy huffs and his hums of content.

As the water heats you press him into the edge of the sink, kissing him as if there's all the time in the world to do just that. That seed of need that has been growing steadily in his gut since he kissed you in the garden comes alive again. You seem to ignore the prod at your thigh though so Seungcheol ignores it too and shepherds you into the stall.

He washes your back with soapy hands and you coif his hair into a shampoo mohawk and it’s feel right no matter how ridiculous he probably looks. You twist every time he touches your waist, shrieking in laughter because you hate being tickled.

Seungcheol is happy. It floods his veins, shoots through the tips of his fingers tracing your hip, forcing a content grin on his lips despite the fatigue of the day. He rests his forehead against your own and takes his first deep breath since New Years.

“I don’t want this to change anything."

“What?” you pull away.

“No!” Seugncehol shouts, wincing at the voluming. “Not—I didn’t mean that I just meant…I-I want you to feel like you can tell me anything. No more secrets. Okay? No matter what changes between us you're still my best friend. If I'm acting like an ass I want you to tell me. If you change your mind then-"

You watch him, features softening. “I won't."

You distract him with your own touches; it’s nice at first. Then it’s nothing short of blissful agony. Teasing nails across his stomach and sides, firm against his body in a way that leaves him weak and wanting. His heart thuds sporadically under your lips as his cock swells against your stomach.

“Y/N,” he sighs.

You kneel in front of him, smirking at how easy he is. You rub his cock with a slick grip. Your mouth comes into play slowly; kissing his hip, then his thigh, your tongue drags up the side until you suck the head between your lips and Seungcheol almost collapses.

You hold his thighs, guiding him further down your throat until there's no more space and you gag. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands but it doesn’t matter because he’s cumming. Fast.

Without missing a beat, you swallow everything he gives you.

“Oh god—fuck.”

“Good?” you ask, still licking against the head of his cock.

Rather than answer the obvious, he pulls you to your feet with a gentle kiss to your forehead. He’ll make it up to you back in bed. For right now, you curl into his chest, tracing shapes into his collarbone as the water slowly turns cold.

He pats you dry, ruffling your hair in the humid bathroom with all the time in the world before dragging you back to bed. You snuggle under the covers, still naked. Seungcheol joins immediately, rolling on top of you and caging his arms on either side of your head.

“Hi,” you smile from underneath him.

He can’t help but grin back. “Hi.”

You make love slowly this time. Your back to his chest, Seungcheol curled around you like a second skin, whispering his adoration in your ear until you lurch and cum with a cry. Then he does it again. And one more time because nothing is better than the taste of his name on your tongue.

This time, when Seungcheol finishes, it’s inside you. And when he tries to pull out, you protest with a sleepy threat before slipping into the land of dreams.

“Well, well, well,” Jeonghan tsks from the foot of the bed. “What do we have here?”

You’re still curled in Seungcheol’s arms, bare skin on bare skin only obscured by the blanket he had half a mind to drag over your two in the early hours of the morning. He’s still inside you for Christ Sake.

And yet Jeonghan and Sofie stand like two cats who caught the canary; unperturbed by the state of things. More like they’re delighted.

It might go down as the shortest honeymoon in history because Seungcheol is going to murder them.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a boat in Greece somewhere?” Seungcheol croaks, pulling you closer and forcing the blanket overhead. Maybe if he ignores them long enough they’ll go away.

“We were just leaving and wanted to say goodbye since some people decided to ditch our wedding. Now I see why.”

“Jeonghan,” you croak.

Jeonghan preens smugly. “Yes, whore?”

“Get out or I’ll show Sofie that video of you from Halloween.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“What video from Halloween?” Sofie asks.

“Jeonghan,” you warn. You’ll do it. The video of Jeonghan sobbing in a party city wig about how much he liked Sofie before they started dating is one of the few pieces of blackmail against him.

“Fine. But when I’m back next month I want an explanation.”

“What video from Halloween?” She asks again as Jeonghan pushes her out the door.

“I hate him,” you say.

Seungcheol hums his agreement against your shoulder, tracing the skin with his lips until you shiver. “Me too.”

“Now, are you gonna do something about that,” you rock back into his pelvis, a tight squeeze around his cock he bucks into. “Or can I get up?”

“Roll over.”

Seungcheol fucks you for the nth time in so few hours. You whine and whimper and melt into the mattress under his weight, face buried in the pillows in an effort to stay quiet. He doesn’t care that the sun is heavy in the sky and half the house must be able to hear the way he groans around the syllables of your name.

He doesn’t care one bit.

Seungcheol has seen you in plenty of relationships, been in several of his own, but he’s never been in a relationship with you.

Turns out all the daydreaming and what-ifs couldn't come close to reality.

It’s better.

Most things are still the same. You two still bicker about everything. He finds your hair all over his apartment. His clothes magically disappear from his closet only to turn up at your place. You call him a stubborn jackass and he calls you a drama queen (both in regards to how he loads the dishwasher).

And he loves that even while dating you two refuse to change.

But Seungcheol also loves all the new things. The firsts you get to share.

The first time you visit home as a couple, your mom spots him kissing along your knuckles as you approach the house and she starts crying. Loudly. He spots his dad hand his mom twenty bucks but not before your dad hands over another ten.

Apparently, everyone was waiting for this to happen.

His dad claps him on the shoulder and your dad shakes his hand and suddenly he’s no longer Seungcheol, childhood best friend who lived down the street. He is Seungcheol, boyfriend. He’s known your parents since he was in elementary school and his mom texts you more frequently than her own son.

But none that matters because, at the ripe age of thirty, you two are banned from sleeping over during the visit for the first time in your lives.

He’s got a suspicion it’s because none of them know how to handle their kids finally dating. You and Seungcheol have never been normal but they’re trying.

Even if he sneaks out like he’s a teenager and climbs into your window in the dead of night. Now that's a fantasy come to life.

Back in the city Seungcheol discovers more ways things have changed.

You spend almost every night at Seungcheol’s apartment. When your sublease ends after four months there isn’t a big production about moving in with him. You had a key since he moved into the place years ago. Your stuff ends up in his spare room, which becomes ‘your’ room but you both call it the guest room and it's a new level of domesticity he’s never had.

In the mornings, you find him in the bathroom if he forgot to drop a good morning kiss on your forehead (something he’s started doing on purpose because you totter in with your eyes still closed and pajamas wrinkled, diving straight into his chest and grumbling incoherently until he gives in). It’s enough to make his heart squeeze even after the hundredth time).

Or how you constantly find a reason to touch him. Curled around his back while he makes dinner, shimmying under his arm when he’s reading case files on the couch. A hand through his hair while you cuddle in bed. Your shared bed, in your shared apartment. Which he is embarrassingly giddy about but you are too and that makes him feel better. You meet for lunch, at either of your offices, and he can see the instinct to drop into his lap making your fingers twitch but only because his own flex with the urge to pull you in first.

The first time you go to a baseball game together and end up on the kiss cam and he doesn’t have to pretend to not notice or awkwardly wait for the cameraman to catch the hint, because you’re kissing him until his ears grow hot and the crowd hoots wildly.

In the best way possible it’s weird. He doesn’t know how to date someone he’s been in love with for as long as he can remember. A lot of it feels like being friends. Like whatever was there before is the bones and all the new things filled in the empty space between.

There isn’t really a guide or set timeline but you’re figuring it out.

And Jeonghan helps. In his own Jeonghan way.

“You guys have been softcore dating since highschool. Just think of it like dogs. You’ve dated for a year now, right? That's like seven years for your guys.”

Seungcheol will tell you later tonight, after you’ve said yes, how the last part of your trio gave his blessing. How Sofie helped him pick the ring (which was really Seungcheol picking the ring and her providing moral support via muzzling her husband).

But for right now, he watches you across the table, laughing at something the waiter said, the weight of the velvet box burning a hole in his pocket.

And he knows the next first you have together will be the best one yet.

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