#I LIKE THE WAY YOU DRAW BEN WHAT CAN I SAY

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Well, I was tagged in this reblog (linked for context because that post is wayyyy too long already and I’m prone to run on sentences) so I am going to respond to the part of this that @doublel27 quoted me on. 

I want to make some things clear before I start: 

Critiquing shows does not mean I always hate those shows, few shows are perfect, and for me it is worth discussing what a show did and did not do well. 

I do not care if people like the shows I do not like, and I do not care if people do not like the shows I like. It is extremely rare that people agree on everything in the same piece of media. Everyone is entitled to their own enjoyment of their preferred media and I guarantee you that Shan, Turtles, Ben, Twig, etc. etc. will say the same. Also, since you mentioned Twig’s post about We Are, please let me direct you to the episode of The Conversation where Twig, Ben, and NiNi talk together about their differing opinions on that very show. And in case you were genuinely concerned about Ben and Twig’s feelings on the quality of Thai BLs this year, you can stick around for the second half where they talk about Knock, Knock Boys! Hopefully that will assuage your fears.

Some of the issues I have with vague posting are (a) it can lead to confusion, especially in a case like this where, according to you, maybe boys do love posted a response to eight different people’s commentary simultaneously without attributing which op’s thoughts he was responding to at any point. (b) By bundling eight responses in to one post without @ ing people, it makes it seem like he has misinterpreted other people’s commentary or taken something in intentionally bad faith (c) other tumblr users in a fandom will let people know when an “unrelated post” makes commentary specific enough to be recognized as a response to someone else’s statements thus drawing them in to the conversation. It’s why I prefer to be tagged in responses to the thoughts I share. This is a public forum, whatever I post in here is able to be reblogged, tagged, or commented on. If I didn’t want people to interact with my posts…I wouldn’t post them. If you don’t feel comfortable tagging people who you are responding to, then at least acknowledge them in your writing. We love a cited source.

I don’t love policing language, but since you were more than happy doing it in your post, then I’ll say one thing here: the tone of maybe boys do love’s post does not read, to me, like it is intended to welcome people who appreciate that there is “not a single stance about what qualifies BL as good work.” It reads like it is “reminding” the supposedly eight people he is vague-posting about that they are being unreasonable in their expressed opinions. It especially does not read with the primary intention of welcoming others when Maybe Boys Do Love’s response to Turtle’s initial reblog was to comment on her “respectfulness” and Shan and Ben’s lack thereof simply because they blocked him on Tumblr. A thing which people do every day for any number of reasons. But I digress.

As for my part in your response, you referenced a statement from my tumblr post A Pause for Reflection: Part 2- Only Friends, Racism, and the Commodification of Queer Asians: 

“We all need to, but white Westerners especially, be extremely careful and introspective with the ways we are engaging with queer Asian media”

On the seriousness of this statement, doublel27, you and I are agreed. I think it is valid to state that this should apply to the decisions of writers, directors, etc. of BLs. And I also agree that preventing infantilization and removal of agency from writers, directors, actors, and audiences is a good addition. That said, I do not think critiquing media is in any way shape or form an infantilizing or agency-removing act. 

I do, however, think you are falling victim to the western paternalism/white saviorism you are so upset about by going on to a South East Asian woman’s post and chastising her about not speaking for a South East Asian audience when you are a white westerner?

Also, I think there I might be missing a step in your logical progression when you say “I’m of the opinion that what’s good for queer Thai television is not for foreign audiences to decide, ultimately. That’s for queer Thai people to decide.” It would amaze me greatly if this hypothetical monolith of queer people in Thailand were to be 100% in agreement about what constitutes good queer television. Personally I see your belief that no one outside of queer Thai people is allowed to critique queer Thai shows as actually undermining the legitimacy of this genre as a source of entertainment for audiences outside of just queer (in this case) Thai people. Media is frequently made with an intended audience in mind, but that does not mean people outside that target audience are barred from engaging with it. No one is saying “this is a bad queer Thai show and I am deciding that for all queer people” they are saying “here is what or why I did not like the decision they made about x,y,z."

If you are going to quote me, then I hope you also read the first half of my Pause for Reflection posts Taking Pause for Reflection- Part 1: Respectable Promiscuity and Only Friends where I talk about respectable promiscuity and discuss the ways in which respectability politics have resulted in “current LGBTQ+ political movements shifting away from highlighting sexual liberation as an aspect of queer culture, in order to make queer people more palatable to the overarching heterosexual society. And how that bleeds through in to the kinds of media that exist, the types of queer people portrayed within that media, as well as how often gay sex is shown, the type of gay sex shown, and the number of gay sex partners depicted. (Read: generally infrequently, generally vanilla, generally one).” Just so you are aware of where I stand in all of this and what people like Shan and myself are talking about when we critique the decision to remove sexual content from queer stories for the sake of storytelling or viewership.  

I haven’t mentioned this one in awhile but I used to talk a lot about my perception of queer content being able to be categorized in By, For, and About Queers formatting. For example, a film like Pariah (2011) is a story about a queer person created by a queer person with a narrative that feels like it is made for the enjoyment of queer people above all others (but of course anyone can watch).

^I think this was made by abl, who I am not tagging because I do not want to drag them in to this conversation, but whose image I still want to cite.

This is obviously subjective, and I’m not saying it should always be used, but I know some people can find it nice to organize things by categories. 

Again, this is subjective but I’ll give a short list of a couple of BLs that I personally would categorize as being For queer people- by which I mean it feels like a love letter to queer people, I can see something of myself and my experiences in it, and I would not be surprised if the primary intended audience was queer people:

I Told Sunset About You

The Miracle of Teddy Bear

What Did You Eat Yesterday

Koisenu Futari

Here is a short list of some BLs I would personally categorize under About queer people- that is, queer people are the main characters but the piece feels like the primary intended audience is not queer people:

Kiseki: Dear to Me

KinnPorsche

My School President

Spare Me Your Mercy

That does not mean the shows about queer people aren’t queer stories, but it does mean the intention behind the work is different. Which brings me all the way back to Spare Me Your Mercy since that’s what started all of this in the first place: 

Lux Sirilux in an interview before the show came out stated:

“Having NC would steal the attention of the story because what we were going to talk about was dark drama and euthanasia.”

She also says: 

“The characters are gay, but we don’t offer [fan]service in every episode or include NC (explicit) scenes."

(I got these statements above from this post by clariredaring who I am not tagging in this because I do not want to pull them in to this whole ordeal any more than they already have been).

Lux is absolutely allowed to make the decision to remove NC scenes from SMYM if she believes that it will detract from the vibe and the overarching theme. Sammon is absolutely allowed to approve and accept the removal of NC content from the Spare Me Your Mercy television show. No one is arguing that. (And I feel comfortable speaking for Shan here at the very least because we talk about shows a lot and I know what her post was actually saying as it relates to viewership). I already wrote a post about my feelings on this matter where I discussed why I feel that choice went wrong in this case. That does not mean anyone else has to feel that way, and I’m not forcing anyone to agree with me. And if people disagree with me, fine, they are welcome to discuss with me why they feel like the story worked as is if they want to and ignore me if they don't. (And literally as I was writing this a great example of someone disagreeing with me came through in this post by elimstillnotgarak who I will not be tagging in this simply because I don't want to drag someone who is not involved in this in to a very different discussion). But there is a level of disingenuousness that comes with the statement 'you should not say anything negative ever about the stories you have watched from cultures outside of your own.' I'm not saying this is the belief you hold, but I am saying that is how I interpret your statements about not speaking for a queer Thai audience.

And, as someone who has written multiple essays breaking down sex scenes in BLs, let me just say that I believe there is a fundamental difference between NC scenes and fanservice. I think there are instances where fanservice can result in positive changes (The Magnus Archives, for example, updated their ending after seeing how much fans were shipping Jon and Martin together and I think the ending was better for it) but I think there are a lot of times when fanservice actually does undermine the narrative. As for NC scenes, there are definitely ones that detract from the story at hand, and there are ones that I think people throw in as a bandaid in the hopes that they can get higher viewership (Playboyy and Battle of the Writers are examples of that imo) but I think there are a lot of times when NC scenes actually improve the narratives they are a part of expressly because they can tell you a whole hell of a lot about a character’s relationship and feelings to another person in a very short period of time. 

For me, I think Sammon and Lux here engaged in respectability politics operating under a belief that NC scenes between these queer characters would take away from the larger story they were trying to tell. And I think that the believability of the romantic relationship between Kan and Tew suffered for it. This is a show that already was written for a larger general audience because most of Sammon’s work places some medical mystery narrative at the front and center (which makes sense because she’s a doctor). 

And personally doublel27 I feel you are drawing a false equivalency between critique and infantilization and I would appreciate it if next time you quote me, you make sure you read the entirety of the post so that you can better understand that I will continue to be critical of people who submit to respectable promiscuity and make the choice to tone down the queerness in their story because they are worried it will distract the audience at large.

[beast-feast]

HEX?????????????

HEX??????????????

HIIII YEAS THAT'S ME :3c

[nadiajustbe]

@jutenium @violecov @entanglementbroke @your-queen-shuri @deadpiano

justiman enjoyers please accept my humble offering. inspired by @nadiajustbe's post about ben's guitar

putting this under the cut because i don't want the caption to get too long.

i Do Not know why justin looks like oscar wilde, i swear it was an accident. i Did draw the green carnation on purpose, and only later realised that green carnations being a symbol of homosexuality is a thing of our world and wouldn't be known in ingary. ....which means ben grew the flowers and gave that to justin Knowing the symbolism. dork.

most of the descriptions in the book are super vague so i just made up the designs. while ben canonically has ginger hair, i don't remember if justin's hair colour was ever mentioned in the books (his blue eyes Were mentioned in cita) but the strangian soldier had grey hair so i was going for dark grey. but the markers i used make everything too dark so it looks black now. not that i'm complaining.

justin's uniform is my design with some inspiration from these. all that was mentioned in hmc were green uniform and long shiny boots, and the green uniform was his disguise according to lettie so ??? i have no idea what he wears when he's not in disguise so have this i guess.

the guitar is mostly based on this. for ben's outfit i went for a cloak-ish thing to make him look wizardly but kept the shirt and pants casual since ben seems to me like the type to wear practical clothes in contrast with howl's flamboyance.

[messylustt]

౨ৎ ‧˚

𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 4.8k words

fic masterlist previous part pt four next part

violence + mentions of blood and injuries (this is quite visual ha); angry + kinda ‘blood lust’ miguel; someone gets electrocuted, reader kinda does (small amount—I’ll be honest I don’t know how getting electrocuted exactly works, so for the purpose of the story ignore if the way it happens isn’t realistic, thank you!) — when you’re left alone in the tech room, many spiders out on missions, something unexpected happens. when miguel finds out his face falls and his claws twitch in anger. after the incident, you find miguel walking down the hall, calling to him he asks you questions, and you offer your help with something.

It was silent. For what felt like too long. Besides the tap of your fingers on the keyboard—which had begun to slow.

Usually you’d hear distant conversations or the sound of web shooting, but instead only silence greeted you. Unease began to make your body turn, your chair spinning with you.

You weren’t sure if you were just being paranoid. You were alone in the office. Which wasn’t anything strange, but it meant that your growing paranoia festered a little stronger.

You edged closer to the door, finally hearing what sounds to be rumbling. Low and too vague for you to decipher. Your hand reaches out to the door handle, but just as your fingers brush the smooth metal, you’re forced back.

Your body flies, coming to a bruising hit on your hip, making you hiss in pain. But you’re quick to get up, rushing to a clear wall, and away from the explosion. You breathe heavy as you slump against it, your ears slightly ringing, while your gaze stays blurry against the random scraps of metal and dust.

You look to the communal intercom, quickly rushing towards it. Someone or something that isn’t supposed to be here is. You have to warn the spider-people who are out on missions.

But where are the others?

Just as you reach the com, the sound of quick scuffling boots can be heard to your left. You snatch up the intercom, slipping under your desk, tucking your feet into the dark just as multiple pairs of unwelcome boots come into view.

Your shrink further into yourself. You couldn’t speak in warning to the spider variants or these guys would hear you. Your eyes narrow on the bottom of their legs. All black, but so far appearing humanised rather then some large monster. An anomaly?—you think to yourself—multiple?

You clutch the intercom mic tighter, your finger grazing the on button. And that’s when they begin to speak.

“Get the tech.” A gruff voice says. “Now! We can’t waste our time!”

You can hear more scuffling of boots as the sound of unplugging, or more so ripping follows.

“Boss, they’ll be back.” One of them said. You try to get a good look at them, but your movements will cause too much attention, so you grind your teeth and listen harder.

“If you pick up that damn monitor we might have a chance to get out quick enough.” What you assume to be the gruff voice of ‘boss’ says.

“Who even made you in charge?” One grumbles out.

“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”

“Not all of them, though.” One adds. You try again to peak out. You manage to scale the bodies of three, all in black, with…masks. Damn it. They looked worn out—handmade.

“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.” Boss agitatedly says.

And as if luck is still on your back-burner, your foot slips, only a fraction, but enough to knock a piece of stray metal across the floor.

“What was that?” One of the masked men asks.

The silence now following sounds threatening. You place your hand over your mouth, to quieten your breathing, as the scuffs of boots draws closer.

;;

“Ben!” Exclaimed Miguel, just as static breaks through his ear. He hisses, not expecting it, as he holds the earpiece, brows furrowed. Then the static grows clearer.

“Get the tech. Now! We can’t waste our time!”

“Boss, they’ll be back.”

Miguel narrows his eyes as he listens, confused at first. When he looks to the other spider-people they’re are all holding their own earpieces, trying to comprehend what they’re listening to.

“Who even made you in charge?”

“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”

“Lyla, what is this?” Miguel asks. She appears by him, tapping away at screens.

“It appears to be coming from a communal intercom.” She says.

“At HQ?” He asks, already flexing his claws. “Which one.”

“I’m just finding out. The connection is muffled.” More tapping.

“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.”

The voices still infiltrate Miguel’s ear. “Lyla.” He sounds impatient. “Which one?”

Then she stops tapping. “Y/n y/l/n’s.”

Miguel freezes, looking at Lyla as if she would be one to crack a joke. Then he hears the knock of something metal through his ear piece, followed by a ‘“What was that?”’. He can now hear your heavy breathes, slightly muffled, as heavy boots hit the floor.

Then all sound is gone.

He doesn’t wait for anyone, pressing his wristband to open the portal to HQ. But Jess stops him. “Miguel, think about this. What if it’s them?”

Miguel glances at her, shrugging her grip off his arm, as he taps at his wristband again, the portal opening up. His expression is downcast, one could easily say terrifying.

“Miguel! You have to think this through.” Jess persists. “We have spider-men and woman back at HQ—”

“Who are clearly too distracted to do anything.” Miguel grunts out, webbing towards the portal. But Ben intercepts this time.

“She’s right, Miguel. Don’t worry about the tech, we can get it back, or even get new ones—“

“The tech?” Miguel actually sounds in disbelief. “You think I’m fucking worried about the tech?!” His red eyes gleam, and Ben gulps.

“Then what are you worried about, Miguel?” Jess asks, exasperated. “Because I don’t see anything else that needs urgent attention. The tech is the main—“

“¿Tú no? The tech is the last of my worries, Jess.” Miguel interrupts. But this time he isn’t yelling. This time it’s toned down, and somehow that makes him appear much, much scarier.

“Miguel.” Jess tries to calm him down, not understanding what he could find more worrying. Data had been saved on that tech, important data. She places one hand on his wrist, but he immediately shrugs her off, glaring.

“Get out of my way.” He snarls. She doesn’t move, crossing her arms. “The reason why you aren’t hurt against that wall is because you earned my respect. That’s slipping, Jess.”

“Miguel you’re frantic.” She says.

“Call it what you want. I’m getting to HQ.” He webs past her, and Jess finally has the mind to let him go. Though she still stands there worried, and confused about what could have made Miguel so urgent to get to the scene.

;;

You tighten your hold on the intercom, now switching to use it as a possible weapon, as the boots near. You prepare yourself by silent deep breaths and a focused gaze.

The boots stop in front of you, pausing for only a moment. Then the desk is being flung to the side. You choke a gasp, managing to slam the intercom down into the guys shin, the harsh metal side bruising and buckling his leg.

He exclaims in pain as you scramble to your feet. You can finally see the detail on the three mens’ outfits. A dark green weaved into the fabric. Then you see the claws for hands, and all three of their masks turned to you. Shit.

“Who are you guys?” You manage to get out, as you reach behind you for a keyboard.

One looks at the other before looking back at you. “Were you here the whole time?”

You say nothing, edging closer to the exit. It’s silent from them for a moment then “…kill her.” The gruff voice of ‘boss’ says. And they’re quick.

You try to rush away but one yanks you back by your hair. You angrily swing around and knock the metal keyboard across one of their heads. Some of the pieces shatter against his mask.

But then one is grabbing your neck, pushing you against the wall. “Sorry—boss says no tattle tales.” The guy tightens his hold, and your hands scramble against his in an effort to intake air.

There’s a moment where your vision blurs. But there’s also a moment where his knee shifts letting your leg harshly kick out. You’re glad to find him humanised in his pants as he doubles over.

You rush away from the wall, heaving. One of the masked men is already trying to grab you and as his clawed hand wraps around your arm, he’s pulled back, a shining orange web yanking him straight into a monitor, his head smashing against glass.

The speed makes his claws cut across your flesh but your adrenaline is far too prominent for you to care. You notice the other guy stalking towards you, making you swiftly gaze around at your environment, Weapon. Weapon. Weapon. You stop on a machine, wires poking out, sparking with electricity. Holding a certain point you pull two out, ripping the electric wires, before stabbing them into his stomach, the electric current making his body shake and twitch.

You soon have to let go as they grow unbearably hot, leaving scolding burns on your fingertips and palms. That’s when you notice the owner of the orange web. Miguel has ruined the guy he originally threw into a monitor, his body now a bloody pulp.

You have to quickly look away to the second guy who had obviously gotten up from your kick and landed straight into Miguel’s palm. Miguel is retracting his claws from the masked man’s body, blood tainting the tips of his fingers, as he breaths harshly but somehow still controlled.

Miguel looks to the guy knocked out in front of you, still occasionally twitching from the strong current of electricity. You feel light headed, placing your hands on your knees as you try to slow your breathing.

But then you feel a hand. And not a friendly one as the masked man passes on some of the electricity moving through his body into your thigh. You scream, the half electrocuted guy—his hair frizzed and slightly cinched—stumbling to a stance, just as you fall to the floor.

Then you hear a crash and a curdling scream—not from you.

Miguel inserts his claws into the guys neck, practically ripping his throat out, as the guy chokes on his own blood. The blood sprays across Miguel’s face, leaving slight speckles as he rips the rest of the man with his teeth, letting him drop to the floor.

It was animalistic in way, as his tongue licked his fangs, his breathing now harsher—angrier.

But then he sees you drifting from consciousness on the floor.

Miguel doesn’t know what breathing is, or the meaning of the word slow, as he reaches your side in a millisecond, his hand coming to grab your face between his fingers—maybe a little harshly but his entire being was still on overdrive.

Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks as he slightly shakes your head. “Y/l/n.” He hisses. “Wake up.“

He’s gentle now, realising that you’re a human and not some villain he needs to hurt, as he checks your pulse not wanting his claws to cut you. “Y/n!” He finally exclaims, as you get roused awake.

Your leg feels painfully numb, as your eyes flutter open. A thin layer of tears is making your eyes sparkle as you finally meet Miguel’s gaze. You try to slow your breathing, shutting your eyes to reassess.

Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks. “No, no. Open them.”

You do, though they stay hooded. “I’m just…tired. No need to sound so harsh—shit.” The lasting electricity still spasms up your leg, as the hold of Miguel’s hand makes the tears fall.

You begin to shake your head, partially trying to get out of his hold. “Stop.” You say.

“Stop what?” Miguel instantly replies, his gaze shooting to your thigh.

“Just—“ you breathe. Then Miguel finds the deep scratch mark on your arm, his hand grabbing it as his eyes dart. “It’s fine. Just a cut.”

“Y/n, you just got attacked. You’re a weak human, don’t try to sound so tough.”

“You’re not helping.” You hiss, tilting your head back as you try to keep the tears in, not wanting them to fall. “And that was kind of mean.” You mutter the last part just for the sake of it. Using your pain induced state as an excuse to blurt out your annoyed feelings with Miguel.

Miguel grabs your chin, trying to pull your gaze back to his, but you resist, keeping it tilted away. “Stop.” You say again.

“No.” He answers, successfully pulling your chin back, and holding it there. “Why aren’t you looking me?”

Your eyes are darting around, before you choose to close them. “Y/n.” Miguel is stern, but underlying that he sounds almost desperate—almost.

You can feel him move closer to you and you place your hand out to stop him, your palm ending up against his chest. “Can you not—“

“What—not help you?” He asks harshly.

“Can you look away.” You say, finally opening your eyes. “Please.”

“Why?” Miguel isn’t budging, staying close to you. He’s already dialled in medical on his wristwatch.

“Jeezus Christ, Miguel! I don’t like fucking crying in front of people. It’s a weird thing I can’t get rid of. I hate it. It makes me feel embarrassed—“

“Embarrassed?” Miguel interrupts.

“Yes. Embarrassed.” You hiss harshly. You couldn’t find your filter, your tone far more aggressive then usual with the throbbing pain in your arm and the spasm of your thigh.

“Well, that stupid.” He says.

“Yeah, it is. But it’s not going away. So if you could just look away and let me…I dunno…recompose myself.”

“Recompose yourself?”

“Yes! Stop repeating what I’m saying!” You exclaim, only to follow with a groan of pain as you try to sit up.

Miguel knows your mind is frazzled and your body is reactive. He pushes you back down, grabbing your cheeks again.

“You got partially electrocuted and cut—deep, I’d think you’re a psychopath If you didn’t cry.” Miguel says, his volume dropped to one almost soothing—almost.

“Doesn’t make me hate it any less.” You mutter.

“Wow…I’ve never seen you this annoyed before.”

You narrow your eyes on him. His hand that was gingerly inspecting your thigh had slipped over your waist, partially caging you in.

You try again to sit up. But Miguel yet again, keeps you pressed to the floor. “O’hara.”

He leans closer to you, narrowing his eyes. “Stop moving.”

“I’m fine.”

“No your not.” He easily answers, which earns him a half hearted scoff. “You know I think I prefer you trying to suck up instead.”

You meet his gaze glaring. “I have not been sucking up, I just like—“

“This job. Yeah I’ve heard you.” He interrupts.

He can hear commotion behind him, but the voices of rushing spider-people makes his shoulders relax. The medical have arrived, and as you notice the new people you quickly wipe your cheeks, brushing against Miguel’s hand, as you get up.

Miguel finally let’s you, by slipping his arm around the back of your waist. You try to swat it away—any physical touch usually induces the waterworks you desperately wanted to keep at bay—but he tightens his hold, resulting in your side being flush against him.

The medical spiders inspect your bruised body. “It’s her thigh and upper arm…” Miguel begins telling the spiders. Then he grabs your hands holding your palms out. “And hands.” The burnt marks look raw, and you hiss as Miguel had to slightly stretch the skin to show.

He immediately lets go upon hearing the sound of pain. “Thanks Miguel, we’ll take it from here.” A medical spider says, already at your side checking your cut.

Miguel narrows his eyes on the spider variant, watching as you bite your lip as they inspect your wound. He sighs, finally getting up and letting your waist go. At the sudden shift your hand flies out to his leg, or more specifically his thigh.

Your quick, tight grip has Miguel stopping. You change your position, not having realised how much you were using Miguel as physical support, before you’re quickly taking your hand away and coughing.

You give him a brief nod. “Thanks for the help.”

Miguel scoffs. “Help? I did a bit more than help.”

You’re praying to get some anaesthetic soon so that your pain won’t make you loose your job. You press your lips together harshly. “Of course. You did spectacular.” You say.

The sarcasm isn’t lost on him. He eyes you once more before he’s walking out the exit.

You sat there, finally taking a proper breath. You don’t know why you were holding it for so long. …maybe you did have a clue. The image of Miguel ripping the guys neck out, blood staining his face is still fresh in your mind.

You’ll be honest, it scared you. He kind of scared you. But not in way you’d think he’d hurt you, just one that made him seem unpredictable. I mean what happened just then, with his touching and softer tone was something completely unforeseen.

If someone told you he would be do that today you’d actually laugh. Miguel was unpredictable and intimidating in general, sure, but what seemed to scare you more was the way he looked when his eyes shone with blood lust. His eye colour seemed fitting now.

You also happened to be scared of the way the sight made you feel. Something that settled far too low in your stomach.

;;

Miguel went straight to the lobby where a spider variant he kept high up in the ranks resided. “You. Get up. Now.”

The spider variant immediately stood, as he nervously followed Miguel to his office. The orange tech screens were the main thing lighting the place.

And as Spider-Man took a breath he lost it as soon as Miguel slowly turned to him. Blood still stained his skin and claws and suit, and the spider-man felt the urge to run.

“Where were you today?” Miguel asked, leaning back against a table and crossing his arms almost too casually.

“I was…here, Miguel.” He said steeling his spine. He knew where this was going.

“Were you?” Miguel asked, his eyes trained on the spider.

Spider man gulped. “I’m really sorry, Miguel. I didn’t hear any sort of explosion. I didn’t get any awareness. Which…shouldn’t happen.”

“You know what ‘shouldn’t happen’?” Miguel asks, now twirling an empty glass on the table. “Spider men and woman shouldn’t only rely on that “tingle thing”.”

The spider hangs his head lower in apology. “Someone could have died today.” Miguel continued. “And you would have what—been too busy playing poker?”

The spider variant winces at his words. Miguel knew of his addiction, always using his free time to gamble.

“Do you get that?” Miguel asks.

“I do. I’m sorry.”

“Sadly that’s not gonna cut it.” Miguel says, making spider man look up. “I left you in charge while I was gone. You failed miserably.”

“Miguel. I didn’t mean to only rely on my usual awareness, it’s a force of habit. That’s never happened before. I can always sense when danger is close.”

“But you didn’t.” Miguel says. “There’s someone in medical right now who got injured—badly. And she was all alone.” Miguel has stood up, stalking towards him.

“Now for personal reasons I may find her annoying.” He quickly mutters out. “But that certainly doesn’t mean you can let her die. Do you hear me?”

Spider man quickly nods. “Of course. This’ll never happen again.”

“No it won’t.” Miguel turns away, and the finality in his voice makes spider man’s eyes widen.

“Miguel—“

“Go home.” Miguel cuts in, stepping up to his screens. Anger still seeped from every pore.

;;

You woke up, feeling a dull ache in your body, but for the most part you felt alright. Better, a lot better. You swing your feet off the medical bed, realising that the lights were out.

Your feet hit the cold floor, before you quietly step towards the exit door.

Making it out to the hallway you were grateful you were already on the high level, no need for a long travel up the stairs.

You needed to rest. Alone. Not surrounded my medical items. You slowly headed to your room, but stop upon seeing a familiar body walking away.

“O’hara.” You say, making the figure freeze.

You quicken your steps, reaching him. He turns and you have to stop the intake of breathe at the reminded visual of the now dried blood.

“You didn’t want a shower?” You joked, forcing a chuckle.

Miguel just scans your body, narrowing his eyes, his expression is it’s typical, solemn and moody. “You should get back to bed.”

“I was actually heading to my room. But I just wanted to…thank you.” You say, finally making Miguel meet your gaze.

“You really did help me back there.” You spare him a small smile and a nod. Then your gaze gets caught back up in the blood stains, as you gulp.

“You saw, didn’t you?” Miguel suddenly asks.

You look up. “Mm?”

“The reason I’m covered in blood.”

“Oh.” You say. “It was…quite impressive.”

“No it wasn’t.” Miguel says making your brows furrow. He steps a fraction closer. “You didn’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

Another step. “You thought I looked animalistic. Scary.”

You dart your gaze down to his slowly moving feet before quickly looking back up. You shake your head. And in return Miguel nods.

“You think I’m scary.” Everything he’s saying is statements. He knows, but you keep shaking your head.

“Don’t do that. Don’t lie.” He says, much, much closer now. “You’re terrible at it.”

You stop the shake of your head, blinking a few times. “O’hara—“

“Just be honest.”

“I am.” You say, straightening your spine. And as your eyes dart you notice a deep cut running across his thigh. The dried blood, his.

You step closer. “Why didn’t you get that checked out?”

He glances down at his wound. “It’s fine.”

“Oh come on, don’t do that. Don’t act like your above it all, including pain, and infection.” Your blatancy makes Miguel raise a brow.

You pause for a moment, mulling over potential decisions in your head. Then before it could get later and before you could back down you speak. “Follow me. Let me help.”

Miguel stares at you. “It’s fine—“ he goes to monotonously repeat.

You just grab his wrist, pulling him towards your room. Miguel grabs your wrist in turn, preparing to pull your hand off.

“Hey. You made me go to your room, now I’m just returning the favour.” You say.

Miguel stares at you, scoffing. You let go of his wrist, knowing you don’t have the strength to pull him. “If you’re scared I don’t know what I’m doing, then know that I studied to be a nurse before I found out about…all this.”

“Why?” Miguel asks. “Why help?” He elaborates.

“I just told you.” You say, beginning to head to your room. “I feel weird if I’ve seen your room when you haven’t yet seen mine.”

“That’s not a good reason at all.”

“But your walking my way aren’t you?”

Miguel hadn’t realised that he’d moved to your door without the permission of his mind. He curses under his breath as your scent floods his senses, your room making it ten times worse. This is the last thing he needed.

But you’re already shutting the door and ushering him further in. “You can um…” you look around. “You can just sit on the bed.”

No—Miguel thought. God, no. But you were already getting out an older looking kit from under textbooks—your stuff having been brought to you from your universe.

He slowly sits, trying not to get one bit comfortable. You reach his side placing the kit on the bed, as you drop to your knees.

Miguel’s breathing stops at the visual. You’re directly by his thigh…kneeling. No, no.

Miguel clicks his jaw, looking away. He looks back down, to see your hand is midway from touching his cut thigh. “Why are you doing this?” He can’t fathom why you would actually want to help him.

You sigh. “I just feel kinda bad.”

“Bad?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“For any particular reason?” Miguel pushes.

“No.” You sarcastically scoff. “You’re just generally a person everyone feels bad for.”

Miguel narrows his eyes as you chuckle. He shifts on your bed. “Stop doing that.”

Your hand stops by his cut, thinking it’s the touching of his wound, when in actual fact it was the way your ‘chuckle’ had sent a strange vibration through him to somewhere he desperately didn’t want you to notice. He was right. This was a terrible idea.

Then you’re touching him. Delicate and gentle, as you pull away his ripped suit. You begin to dab what looks to be an alcohol cloth onto his wound, and in response Miguel snarls, his grip tightening around your sheets.

“Sorry.” You mutter.

“Dios.” He mutters, closing his eyes a moment. “Stop being nice.”

You look up at him. “I have to say, I’ve never heard someone say that. Usually it’s ‘stop being mean’.”

His face is tight as you continue to clean his cut. “Someone said that to you?”

You pause. “No actually. But I just mean in general. And I’m not being ‘nice’ to you. I’m returning a favour.”

“Ah.” He hums, before all his muscles tense. “Can you hurry up.”

“You’ve never let anyone touch you up before, have you?” Catching onto the fact that he’s clearly cleaned his past wounds himself.

Miguel glares at you. “So, you can stop.” He reaches to take the cloth from you, but you lean away resting your hand on his knee for support.

“You can just sit on the bed.” Miguel grits out. He couldn’t watch you being on your knees for him any longer. Not unless he’d do something he’d end up regretting.

“That’s okay, it’s an easier angle here.”

God. You had to stop. ‘Easier angel’? Yeah, Miguel definitely wasn’t thinking about you cleaning his cut. He runs his hand through his hair.

You quickly reach out grabbing his wrist. He looks at you, expectantly. “You have uh…blood on your fingertips…claws.”

Miguel darts his gaze across your face. “And you’re worried about it getting my…hair dirty?”

You shrug. “Well, now you’re making me sound stupid.”

“I don’t need to do that.” He quips, and you shoot him a glare. “But um…” he drifts off, as you look up at him, now waiting expectantly.

“Did you find me…scary, or whatever?” He asks, and surprisingly there’s a hint of…vulnerability hidden in his tone? No—you think to yourself—that can’t be right. “Before. With the anomalies.”

You dab a fraction harder, making Miguel hiss a groan. You ignore the way it vibrates through your body. You shake your head.

“Why do you keep lying?” He asks.

You sigh. “I just—“

“Just?” Miguel seemed to really want to get an answer out of you. He shifts closer. And when you don’t answer, continuing to focus on his wound, he grabs your jaw, pulling you up to meet his gaze. You gulp, his large hand nearly reaching to wrap around your neck.

“Do I scare you?”

Your chest picks up a quicker beat. He leans closer, pulling you towards him, your chest hitting his leg. “Do I—“

“Yes. Alright.” You quickly say. “A little bit…yes.”

His grip tightens around your chin a fraction. “Because of what you saw?”

“And the way you talk to people.” You mutter out. Why were saying this? This isn’t something you say to your boss.

You hadn’t noticed at first but one of his claws had begun to brush back and forth against the skin of your jaw, his eyes not leaving yours. You were utterly frozen. And there’s a moment that you just catch where his gaze darts down to your lips, his breath feeling extremely close.

But then he’s leaning away, his jaw clenching as he looks to the door. “Are you done?”

You quickly look down to his cut, rushing to get out a bandage. “Uh, almost.” Your entire body was buzzing.

While you stayed focused on finishing him up, Miguel’s gaze went back to staring at you. He almost gave in—almost. He wouldn’t, though.

You were scared of him. He knew you were somewhat so, but now hearing you say it confirmed that you’d never see him how he had gradually started seeing you. He had to stop. Now, before he dove in far too deep.

He couldn’t let himself go any deeper. Because at this rate he’d certainly drown, and if he was going to die, it wouldn’t be from some silly little crush.

okay, I’m sorry, I lied. there is nothing sexual in here. but I didn’t think adding anything like that yet would work. since a lot of you guys asked for a slow burn

again, I hope this is up to a good standard for you guys to continue reading. I wanted to add something a little different then the usual Spanish lesson then Miguel’s end of the deal. I needed some action of some sort.

and ofc, part five will come soon x love you all MWAH

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taglist #2 taglist #3

[thesilmarillionblog]

𓏲 𓂃 L o s i n g Y o u

Part: 10

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: Everything was good as a member of Payback and Soldier Boy's secret girlfriend until the team and your relationship with him began to fall apart due to a new member and her developing relationship with Ben right in front of your eyes.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: heavy angst, hurt, language, Soldier Boy gets hurt, PTSD, mention of drugs, mention of torture, reader gets hurt

Word Count: 4245

A/N: English is not my first language.

♩ This is the song of the chapter, 'Alone and Together' by No Clear Mind.

When Ben sat down on the bed and waited, neither of you said anything or did anything for a while. You hated how he still treated you, so you turned your back on him while closing your eyes and avoiding the heavy feeling in your heart. You wanted to let things go, but you also felt like you had a lot to say to him about how deeply his actions had wounded you and how much you still suffered. You stayed mute because you knew that talking about it would only make things worse and give him the impression that you still cared.

All you longed for was for him to see how much his acts had hurt and pained you and to realize just how selfish he was. But you eventually realized that Ben wasn't someone who would actually listen to you, even for a brief moment. Even if you decided to give him another chance and let him get close to you again, he would still hurt you without considering the consequences or your feelings; therefore, it was best to let the past die in the past and leave memories of both joy and sorrow behind. These blissful days would never return.

You were ruminating so much that you shifted on the bed until your chest reached the edge, making it obvious that you didn't want to come into contact with him. Ben seemed to pause due to your behavior. 

“I don't bite,” he said, annoyed that you were making every effort to avoid him. This ended the quiet that lingered between you. “You can come a little closer. Sleep comfortable.” 

“I am comfortable.”

He sighed with annoyance as he made his way to the bed. Ben considered drawing a little closer to you, but he quickly dismissed this idea. You would become upset based on your response to his touch and your fragile attitude. Even though he didn't know you were in his thoughts at all times, he felt extremely hungry and affectionate toward you ever since he woke up. And though every cell in his body was screaming to be near you, to touch you, and to hold you close to him, the realization that you didn't feel the same way made him feel a little insecure—a feeling he wasn't used to experiencing in his connection with you.

He whispered, “You'll fall there,” in an attempt to persuade you.” I'm not going to touch you.” Again.

“It won't hurt if I fall, though.” In an attempt to find some solace, you took the entire blanket from him and placed it between your thighs. “I'm a supe too, remember?” you exclaimed. 

Ben leaned down at the head of the bed, his veiny and powerful arms supporting his head while he stared at his bare chest and tried not to smile when you took the blanket away from him a little too firmly. 

He abruptly muttered, “I'm sorry,” in a dry voice, trying to start a conversation while he continued to glance at your back and listen to your quiet, gentle heartbeats. 

“For what?”

How should he respond? For shoving you into the bed, sucking your nipples, kissing you out of the blue, and attempting to fuck you like a wolf in heat? Taking a big breath, he folded his arms across his chest and scowled, not knowing quite what to say. He didn't used to talk to you like this since you weren't that far away from him before he screwed things up. 

You attempted to contain your rage and kept your eyes closed because you didn't want to get into another fight with Ben, and you knew how sensitive his nerves were. You were also feeling a little anxious about his new, unpredictable abilities.

“Just don't do it again,” you simply said, trying to sound calm but firm. “I am serious, Ben.”

He wanted to argue, but he was at a loss for words. He answered, “Of course,” in a low voice, knowing that he shouldn't have behaved in that manner before speaking with you in an appropriate way.

Ben knew you moved too much when you slept, so even though he wanted to be near you, he went to the edge of the bed to give you enough room to make you feel comfortable and sleep in peace. While he listened to your calm breathing and watched as you swiftly fell off to sleep, he reminisced on your shared memories and felt sorrow for all that had happened between you, including how much he had messed up. He realized it would be difficult to win back your trust, but he knew he would do everything in his power to do so. He just didn't know how.

This morning, just after changing into your new clothes in the restroom, you ate breakfast quietly as Butcher and his buddies talked about Vought and the Seven. When Annie began to dispute with Butcher and Hughie, you did not interrupt them—in contrast to Ben, who was also having arguments with Butcher—and instead concentrated on your meal. 

“I'm just saying consuming those Temp-V's doesn't sound safe, and you're forcing Hughie to inject it in himself too,” Annie pointed to Hughie's face as he attempted to eat breakfast quietly.

Hughie stated, “He's not pressuring me. I'm taking Temp-V on my own initiative, and I find it to be really helpful,” he said quietly. Annie shot him a cold stare, which instantly caused him to stop talking. 

“Why the fuck are you all attacking me?” Butcher spoke while lifting his arms. “Temp-V is absolutely secure. It only grants us superpowers for a full day. Is there any damage in this” 

“Oh my god,” Annie muttered, irritated with Butcher's impetuous behavior. “Don't you think it's a bit atypical to play with your DNA that fluently?” 

“So what?” Annie was cut off by Ben's stern voice. “Even if it harms their biology, it's not wrong to use it since it's better to die than to live like a weak pussy.”

Butcher instantly agreed with Ben: “Soldier Boy's got a point,” and he gave Hughie a tight squeeze. “Besides, we are just a bunch of annoying losers against the Seven and Vought. You have to find them more for us because we need to use all of this trash. I don't want to shatter your little heart, love, but all you do is consume up my electricity, and right now we are outnumbered against them.”

Annie's jaw tightened as she glanced at Butcher, her eyes suddenly brightening with a deep shade of yellow. 

“Maybe your electricity can be useful at some points; what do you say?”

“Hey,” Butcher grinned at her and added, “Let's not spoil our family meeting. Stay calm. That's not how you keep your man, right?”

Hughie put his hand Annie's and softly said, “Can we talk about this later?”

Annie sighed angrily, shoving Hughie's hand away from her and getting to her feet, adding, “You know, I need to go, and we'll definitely talk about this again.”

As Butcher said Annie farewell before leaving the house after their argument, you and Ben were observing their facial expressions. Hughie looked at Ben, irritated, as he took his phone from him and began to play with it. You weren't asking anything, but you were occasionally peering in,om him even though you were rather interested in what he was doing with the phone. 

“We need two phones just like this one.” Ben abruptly said, “One for her, one for me,” holding up the device to Butcher's face. 

“Are you a teenager obsessed with technology?” He was instantly teased by Butcher, who gave him one of his nasty smiles. 

Ben looked at Hughie, who was kindly asking for his phone back, and said, “If you are not going to give us two phones, I'm going to take this,” but Ben wasn't even paying attention to Hughie at all. 

“Alright, we'll get your phones. Could you please return mine to me?” 

With a quick motion, you grabbed the phone out of Ben's hand and delivered it to Hughie while smiling. With a look of graditude on his face, he returned your shy smile. 

Ben said, glaring at Butcher's face, “Today,” giving Hughie no attention. 

“Alright,” Butcher agreed. “We'll buy your phones today and make sure you two watch the best porn and make yourself busy, alright?”

“Ben is a man of actions; he likes to screw every kind of woman in real life,” you sarcastically remarked, grimaced at Butcher's remarks and folding your arms over your chest. 

Ben immediately asserted, “I don't,” and you asked Butcher, “Can we already move to the place we're going to stay in?” without giving him the chance to respond to you. 

“Sure, sweetie, but let me have my breakfast in peace, and then we can leave.”

You watched the TV and the news until Butcher and the others finished their meal, which was less than an hour ago. You looked for any updates regarding Earving, but there was nothing at all. Everything on every channel was Homelander and political crap. 

You could tell he was a dangerous man by the way he used language, his professionalism in interviews, and his controlled facial expression. It appeared that Vought had discovered the ideal obedient superhero that fit their preferences.

Ben quietly murmured, “Hey, we're leaving,” as you were lost in idleness. 

You nodded to him, got up, and watched him pick up his shield from where he'd put it yesterday on the corner. That was the moment you realized you had never really used your powers. Since you weren't safe at all and you weren't sure whether you were experiencing any hidden side effects like Ben, you realized you wanted to exercise as soon as possible.

After leaving Kimiko and Frenchie at home, Butcher and Hughie took you to the place where you and Ben will be living for a while. Hughie kindly assisted you in learning how to use the phones that Butcher had purchased for you and Ben. You learned how to make calls easily, at least. Ben had complained that you just required his number and that no one else's was needed, but you disregarded him and asked Hughie to record everyone's number on your phone.

While you were looking over the house, Ben placed his shield in a corner. Despite its small size, you felt safer there than you would in the city since it was isolated. The smell of this place, which was like a forest, finally helped you to relax after the sickeningly heavy and dirty air of the city center.

Butcher put his hand in his pocket and stated, “You're just going to stay here for a while until me and my boys sort things out with the Vought and until you are a bit forgotten by the angry people of America. I'm telling you, though, don't leave the house. If you do, I'll know. I will occasionally check on you.”

“Go suck a friend's balls and make sure he puts his jizz in your empty mouth.” Ben scowled in frustration, set down the closest coach, and put his hands behind his head. “All you do is talk for fucks sake.”

Cursing him back in a mocking manner, Butcher dragged you into a corner and said, “You seem like a more reasonable supe than him, don't you? You should

stay inside the house, dear. I mean it. You have all you need here, and it's a pretty safe location. I will come see how you're doing.”

“Alright, alright.” You nodded to him after glancing at Ben, who had already begun watching TV, but you knew that he was keeping his ears on Butcher and you. “But what will happen afterwards?”

“You hand that off to your teammate and me. There are a lot of things to do here, and you'll have time to think about your future.”

“I just don't want to get sucked into something dangerous; I'm not a bad person, and I've already gone through a lot.” It felt uncomfortable to share your anxieties with him, but you knew you had to be clear from the beginning and that they needed to understand you.

“I don't even know how to fix things between myself and this country,” you added, crossing your arms over your chest. “And no offense, but I don't trust you and your friends at all.”

Ben grimaced as he heard your intimate conversation with Butcher, during which you confided your anxieties to him. Given that you had known one another for a long time, had an extensive amount of memories, and experienced similar experiences, he ought to have been the one with whom you opened up about everything. The idea that you would trust a complete stranger—someone you had just met—irritated Ben. He should have been to one you opened yourself. It was something else Ben needed to solve with you. 

Ben also knew that, as long as you were with him, nobody could hurt you. He would never be tricked again, and that is the sole reason he was captured. He would ensure that no one, not even himself, could ever hurt you again. 

“You have no other chance but to trust me and my boys though, right? Why being so ungrateful? I'm taking of you two well enough,” said Butcher with a sly smirk and gave you squeeze to your shoulder shortly just before he left the house.

None of you spoke as Butcher left the house, but after a while, you felt his heavy eyes on you as he shifted postures on the couch and watched the TV in silence.

Ben listened to you while you were taking a shower when he grew tired of watching television. Although he wasn't intentionally focusing on you, his supe hearing was drawn to you while you were around. He was compelled to listen to every sound you made. He couldn't deny that your presence soothed him either. Ben didn't care what the reason was as long as you were with him at that particular moment, which might have been anything different, something deeper, or the fact that you were the only person he actually trusted. He knew what you had was special.

You returned to the room after a long shower, changed into clean, gratefully new clothes, and saw him pour whiskey into his glass. You wondered whether his body could withstand a day without drugs or alcohol. 

“Why are you looking in such a way?” Ben took a sip of his drink and asked in a lighthearted manner. “I'm curious about what you're thinking right now.”

“I was wondering if you could just give up drinking or using drugs for a single day,” you asked, getting annoyed that he seemed okay with everything. happening. 

“I survived for decades without using them, sweetie,” he murmured, instantly putting an evil grin on his face. 

You changed the topic and said in a low voice, “Do you think they'll trick us? They can easily fill this house with the same gas that made us sleep for ages.”

Ben instantly stiffened up and felt aggressive as he considered the idea of being betrayed by teammates once more and returning to the lab in Russia. When he considered the years he wasted and the treachery he had experienced—years without you—it was difficult to contain his rage. 

He filled his glass once more and remarked, “They might try.” His eyes remained fixed on yours. “I doubt they would dare do such a thing. They really want that Homelander guy dead and are most likely attempting to kill that man for a very long period, but it seems that they ultimately fall unsuccessful.”

You shivered and felt uneasy when he brought about Homelander, and you whispered, “There has to be a reason why they can't handle a single supe, Ben.”

“Of course,” he said without hesitation. “They are just some weak, useless piece of shitbags, that's it, and that's why they need me.” 

“I watched Homelander, that man, on TV. He is undoubtedly skilled at manipulating the public and the media, and in today's society, power seems to be much more significant.”

“Remember what Butcher said: People easily forget, and they'll forget him as well when they realize he's not the strongest supe at all.” 

You scowled in annoyance at seeing Ben had no longer cared about the world or how things were working at all. You didn't know if he was up to something or whether he simply didn't give a damn other than killing Homelander. 

“Ben, I don't believe that getting rid of Homelander will resolve anything from our side. Can't you see how everyone hates me and you at the moment? If you attack Homelander and Vought, things will only become worse.” You replied angrily, annoyed by Ben's careless demeanor, “Butcher and his crew just want to use you against him.”

As he argued with you, Ben let go of the empty glass he was holding and sighed as he observed your annoyance growing. He trusted your strength, but at some point, he became uneasy about your vulnerability.

Ben vowed to destroy Vought and all Seven members when he was set free that day and began searching for you. He understood that the only way to get things going right would be to resolve the issue between you, him, and Vought. He would take over the whole company and form his own new team, proving to the world that he was the strongest supe and that nobody could stop him. In that way, he would be protecting you most importantly. For the time being, though, it was better the less you knew.

Ben said in a determined voice, “I won't let anything happen to you,” as he came nearer to you. Despite being too close and yearning to touch you, he refrained from doing so. “I would never let someone hurt you ever again.”

With a heavy heart, you whispered, “The only one who hurt me was you, Ben,” stepping back and creating some distance. Everything you wanted to say to his face was eating you alive, and you felt like you would blow out at any moment. “It seems like you didn't take any lessons from your mistakes, and you're going to make me drown with you again.”

He said, “I made a deal with Butcher,” ignoring your comments as he saw the sorrowful, icy look on your face. “I promised him that I would help him kill Homelander, and he would help me save you. A deal is a deal.”

Ben wanted you to know that he wasn't just going to break his word; in fact, what he was doing was for you. He was so desperate to find you that day that he was willing to kill Vought's top supe and everyone in a heartbeat. 

“Since when are you so keen on keeping your word?” You asked in a bitter voice. 

Ben was ready to tell you not to think about the past, but he stopped himself because he knew it would hurt and infuriate you even more. Instead, he whispered, “Since right now,” softly, and he slowly stepped forward to confront you. He simply knew it was time to have some conversation. “Look, I know what happened between us in the past wasn't just right, and I wasn't fair to you, but let me fix things.”

Perplexed by his words, you said, “Let you fix things?” Remembering every horrible thing he had done to you, your heart began to rush with hurt and despair, and he was still unable to truly apologize. “Ben, you abandoned me after cheating on me with Crimson. How can you fix something like that? Talking things out can help clear up misunderstandings, but not that.” 

He muttered, “I was wrong about everything and about you,” not knowing how to express how he felt. He found it much more difficult to open up when he saw the disappointed and cold expression in your eyes. “I cared about you a lot; I've always had, and now too. I didn’t know back then, but now I do.”

Ben didn't make a single effort to even slightly touch you, but he was too close to touch you again. For an instant, Ben's gaze lingered on your hands, his heart shattered by the longing to embrace and caress you. He never imagined you would be this different, but here you were. 

This time, you spoke gently, understanding that Ben was simply too blind to really see the damage that he had caused. “I don't think you'll even understand your actions, Ben,” you murmured. 

He opened his lips to say something, but you cut him off right away. “I gave you everything I could, Ben: loyalty, friendship, love, innocence, understanding... I never asked for anything in return. I accepted and loved you as you were.” 

You spoke softly, focusing your attention on his deep emerald eyes and hoping he could understand you. “I gave you everything I had, but you kept what we had concealed from everyone, made me feel like I was a rat, and I never once complained—you already know that I supported the choice you made from the start. When you proposed that our connection be kept secret, I mistakenly assumed that you were protecting me from Vought and everyone else. This was foolish of me, and I held onto this belief all the way to the end.”

Ben listened to you with a pained expression as you talked about the things that hurt you the most, finally.

You continued after a little period of silence between you, stating, “You acted as though you cared for me when we first met, when we were by ourselves. You threw me aside when Countess showed up, kicked me from the squad, and then you tried to bring me back. I attempted to make amends for whatever I had done, despite the harm you had done to me, believing that my actions were the cause of your behavior. However, you continued to ignore me, failing to recognize the true colors of her.”

The image of Crimson's face struck Ben's heart with rage. If he had simply killed her on the first day, none of this would have happened.

He whispered, “I know I should have listened to you, I wish I could turn back time,” cutting you off. “But you must know I never loved her.”

Ben was unsure of his feelings for you, but he knew he had never loved Crimson and never felt anything at all for her. All he knew was that he needed you by his side and that he cared passionately for you. Your presence filled his body and soul with warmth and comfort. It didn't matter the name of whatever he felt about you and what you shared; it was something deeper and more special than anything someone could share with another. At least he knew that for sure.

You gently answered in an understanding tone, “I know, Ben,” knowing that he would never cease to love anyone including you.

You came to the realization after all those years that nothing, not even giving your life for him, could win his affection. You used to think that if you gave him everything you had, there would be a way to win his heart. Nevertheless, nothing would be sufficient to win his love.

His gloved fingers, a tiny glimmer of hope in his heart, only lightly touched yours to gauge how comfortable you were with it. “I know I caused you so much pain you never ever deserved, and I'm sorry for everything I have done to you,” in a sincere voice. “But give me a chance to fix everything. All I want is you and your trust.”

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

“And I forgive you, Ben. For everything you have done,” you sincerely said, giving a nod to him, understanding that there was no going back and that what was done was done. “But my love is gone.”

Next Chapter

A/N: I don’t know how this is even going, but here we are. Kind of feeling insecure and hate writing nowadays to be honest. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated. They keep me going. Take care. “-“

*Losing You series masterlist is here.

Taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl @xmariakx @spnfamily-j2 @suspicious-stain-in-spain @atomicsoulcollecto @yvonneeeee @starryperson @mfnqueen1 @chaand-sitara @boywivlove @stilinskisthings @brynanna @delaynew @yoyoanaria @n-o-p-e-never @ghostslillady @certifiedhaters @deans-spinster-witch @demodemo909 @stoneyggirl2 @cheynovak @libby99hb @moneyburner @jenn-777q @hey-there0-0

Let me know if you want to be tagged for this series. -`♡´-

[gloomskulls]

LIMERENCE [tasm!peter parker]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

part 2

warning(s): obessive peter, creep peter, stalking, masturbation, panty sniffing, dirty thoughts, breaking in, just peter being hopelessly in love. If any of this finds you uncomfortable, please click out do yourself (and me also) a favor. lemme know if I missed any! MINORS DO NOT READ

summary: For Peter Parker, the deepest secret is not being Spider-Man. It's that he likes you, no he loves you, wants you in any imaginable way possible. After years of quietly admiring you from a distance, everything changes after a biology project that partners you two together. Peter sees a glimpse of chance to get nearer to you, but the line of affection and obsession begins to blur

If you don't want to see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

A/n: my first ever fic posted on Tumblr, yippee! This is also my first ever smut so it probs be equivalent to horse poo but anyways, this also takes place in tasm 2. don't steal any of the shit I've written or else i'm gonna turn you into Vicky from Terrifier/srs

Peter didn't understand what was so special about you, you were just a crush. Or that's what he convinced himself. Every single place you were in, Peter would carefully trail behind you, like there was a magnet strapped onto you, and Peter was the metal, he would always find himself drawing next to you. Peter Parker was no stranger to keeping secrets. It was, after all, the epitome of his double life. A mask, a costume, a name that wasn't his at all. There was one secret, however, that even the Spider-Man's mask couldn't cover—his growing infatuation towards you.

It started out really simple. You decided to give back the nerdy boy's pencil in sophomore year and defended him from Flash Thompson in his junior year, it was all simple really, something a person with decency and was taught with proper manners would do. But Peter took it as more than that.

Candid photos here and there, purposefully falling of his skateboard so you would help him, cryptic notes in your locker, sometimes a random flower if Peter was lucky to find any.

Limerence, as some might say

The first people who would ever notice Peter's strange behavior where the people who raised him. Uncle Ben would notice this girl in the screen of his nephew's computer, so did Aunt May when she saw many polaroid photos of the same face underneath Peter's bed. Peter shrugged it off, saying the same exact words to the both of them.

'she's just a crush'

Peter Parker was very good at being hidden in the open. Sure, he didn't want to be invisible, but it is what it is. One of the self-working "losers" with horrible punchlines and pretty much the face screaming "nerd". Well, it didn't bother Peter much. He had many other more important things to think about. You

It's been years now. It was already the last year of senior year, graduation was already nearing, still, he hasn't mustered up the courage to do speak to you, afraid that you won't reciprocate the same feelings he has. His been watching you from a distance, stealing glances in class and making mental notes on all the little things you did, like doodling on the corners of your notebooks or, how you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were concentrating. He knew that it was weird, creepy even, but Peter couldn't stop himself.

So, when Mr. Warren announced a paired project for biology, Peter's internal monologue kicked into overdrive.

"Pair work begins today," Mr. Warren said, his smile a gruff overture that still Peter thought unnecessary. "Choose your partners wisely, just choose somebody you will along with. You can really screw up over this project if you don't!"

The room broke out into a low buzz as students shuffled their chairs and moved toward their friends. Peter didn't move. He never did. Choosing a partner was like finding a needle in a haystack type of task for him

Alright, Pete, it is not such a big deal. You are not going to end up with her or anything. Just relax, find someone cool, and—

"Peter!"

Your voice broke through his thoughts, and he looked up to see you in front of his desk, clutching a notebook to your chest

"By any chance do you have a partner? My friends kind of made their own pairs" you asked, your lips curving into an easy smile.

Peter blinked. His brain short-circuited.

"N-nope. I'm totally solo. Flying solo. A lone wolf. A…"

"Awesome! Then let's team up."

Peter turned to you, his mind racing, he blinked, trying to absorb this. You were choosing him? He nodded frantically; his heart was hammering at a top speed that he was convinced you could hear it

You smiled at him, you fucking smiled at him

For the rest of the class Mr. Warren instructed everyone to plan for the project for the rest of the class. You kept bouncing ideas back and forth, and Peter felt a strange, thrilling sensation of in his heart. You were funny, clever, and surprisingly very easy to communicate with. Every time you laughed at one of his jokes, he felt like he was soaring.

When the bell rang, you packed your things and turned to him. "We should work on this at my place. Tomorrow after school?"

Peter nearly dropped his notebook. "Uh, yeah. Totally. I mean, yes. That works. Perfect. So super normal."

You laughed again. "Cool. Here's my address."

And with that, you scribbled it on a scrap of paper and handed it to him before walking away, leaving Peter frozen in his seat.

That night, Peter was sitting in his room staring at the address. To most people, that was just a little detail, probably not even worth a second thought. But to Peter, it was an invitation, or perhaps a key, even just for a second to get into your life. To know every little thing about you

Unfortunately, though, that's not enough.

He felt his hands shaking as he opened the drawer in his desk to reveal a small trove of hidden treasures; poorly taken pictures of you from a distance, bits of paper that you had thrown away during math class, and a small stash of hair strands that he meticulously collected from your hair comb when you weren't looking

This was love, wasn't it? The desperate consuming desire to be around her, to know everything about you.

And tomorrow, he shall get his chance.

You invited him, but Peter just knew it was really more than what you would ever willingly give.

His love was a web, and you were stepping into it, one delicate thread at a time.

Peter stood outside your house with a crumpled piece of paper clutched in his rather sweaty hand. The address on it was correct, but doubt clouded him. What if she had forgotten about this meeting? What if this was simply a joke? No, she would never do that, he tried to convince himself

Peter Parker was standing at your porch. Each thump of his heart sounded like one of the drums in the music club. He raised his hand to knock, hesitating for a moment. Maybe it was a terrible idea to come here after all; he could fake being sick, sending her an apology while rescheduling. Just then, the door swung open before he even had the chance to run.

"Hey, you found my house, I actually thought you would get lost cause I wrote the wrong color of the rooftop on the note" you said while stepping aside to let him enter.

"I was actually hesitant to knock, because it didn't look like the description" He quietly said. You actually got everything right, I was just being a huge pussy so I didn't come immediately, he thought to himself.

"Come in. I have started working on the diagram."

Peter plasted a grin and forced his legs down inside. "Well, look at you. Overachieving already. I guess I'll just sit back and let you do all the hard work."

You rolled your eyes and laughed, your voice making him feel that the world wasn't so bad after all. "Nice try, Parker. Grab a marker. You're on label duty."

"Come on, we can work in the dining area," you said, leading him across the house.

The dining table was already loaded with supplies, with textbooks scattered everywhere, colored pencils, sheets of poster paper, you name it. You positioned herself and gestured to him to join you.

You fell into a rhythm, your hand sketching the parts of the circulatory system while Peter scrawled out the labels in his neatest handwriting. He cracked jokes every few minutes, drawing out your laughter like a lifeline. It would be so easy to lose himself in the moment, pretend that you both were just two friends hanging out and not a guy hopelessly infatuated with someone who didn't even know half the truth about him.

Both of you had a relatively smooth first hour of working, few questions were asked here and there on the project. Peter kept his answers short, being extra cautious with what to share, but it seemed you did not mind. You sketched diagrams, jotting down notes with an ease that made Peter's hands tremble every time he made an attempt to help.

"So Peter," you suddenly announced after the silence, "why is it that you don't talk very much? At school I mean"

The question staggered him, rendering him blank while the colored pencil just hovered above the page.

Peter jerked up his head and looked surprised. "What do you mean? Talking is what I do. I mean, there's even people begging me to stop."

You smirked but didn't let it down. "I mean really, you're funny but I know nothing about you. What's your thing, Peter Parker?"

He didn't answer immediately but fiddled with the marker. "I'm just… some guy. Pretty boring, honestly. Not much to tell."

Your expression softened, "I don't buy that. You're not boring".

Your words made Peter's chest tighter. He wanted to believe you, yet the voice at the back of his mind reminded how wrong youwere. If you only knew the real him, the guy who had spent countless nights staring at your window, memorizing your every move, you wouldn't be smiling and sitting here before him.

"Hey, don't overthink it. You're cool. Let's just finish this masterpiece, okay?" you said, flicking his arm before he could answer.

Peter smiled forcedly

And when they finished the day's work, you walk him to the door once more, your smile as warm as ever.

"Thanks for coming over," you said. "You're actually a pretty decent partner, Parker."

"Decent?!" Peter gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "Wow. Don't hold back; tell me how you really feel."

And you laughed, shaking your head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Peter waved. You waved back at him, as he strolled down the street, but he did not go very far. Instead, he found himself across the street in the same place, hidden under the shadow of the oak tree.

you were in your living room again, curled around a blanket and a pillow as you watched whatever was on your screen, your face glowing softly from the light of the television. Peter leaned against the tree with both hands shoved in his jacket pockets and simply watched.

How long he'd been there, he couldn't tell, but he didn't want to leave. This was the closest he ever felt with you, even if you didn't know he was here.

He knew this was crossing the line, but he couldn't help himself. He found himself sneaking into your house. Now he really felt like a robber trying to intrude a home, expect he wasn't really going to steal anything, or so he thought.

It was late at night, you and your family were already asleep at this point

Peter knew that the right thing to do was to head home. He knew for sure that this crossed a line even he wasn't sure he could come back from. But before he could stop himself, he was moving, slipping across the street and into the shadows of your yard.

His palms were slick with sweat as he scanned the side of the house. The metal trellis leading up to your window wasn't very solid, but it would hold him if he was careful.

He carefully climbed the trellis, not putting too much weight on it. And his heart was pounding as he got to your window, his fingers brushing against the cool glass.

It wasn't locked.

At that moment, his body froze. The rational part of him screamed to stop, to climb back down and pretend this never happened. But then his hand was on the window. And that soft sound of it sliding open seemed to be deafeningly loud in the stillness of the night.

He slipped into his feet and landed silently on the carpeted floor. Your room smelled of lavender and something warm and sweet like vanilla. A little bit of moonlight filtered through the curtains and brightened the room in pale silver.

There she was

You laid curled up in your bed, the blankets pulled up to your shoulders, your face peaceful in sleep. Peter’s breath caught in his throat. You looked so serene, so utterly perfect, that it made his chest ache.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity, just watching you. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to feel—satisfaction, maybe, or relief. But all he felt was a strange mix of awe and guilt.

This was wrong.

He knew it.

But he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

He looked around your room, it was full of polaroids of either you or your friends.

He started walking around your room quietly, careful to not wake you up in your slumber, because God knows what will happen if you saw him in your room with all its glory, he couldn't even imagine the disgust on your face.

But one thing caught his eye

Your bathroom was open, and in your bathroom was a basket with what he assumed inside were dirty laundry.

He knew it was disgusting, heck, over the top creep award would probably go to him, but he found himself walking towards the bathroom. It was wrong, but he still did it, he needs to get help, he thought to himself.

One second ago he was walking towards your bathroom, next thing you knew he was rummaging through your dirty laundry, occasionally smelling some of your shirts. He cherished the way your scent overwhelmed his nose, he was in Cloud 9.

While he was rummaging, a little piece of clothing caught his eye. With shaky hands he picked up the piece of clothing, it was your pink underwear with little cherries scattered everywhere as design.

He brought it near to his nose. He suddenly sat down in the neat cold tiles of the bathroom floor, he smelt it as if it was his oxygen.

He let out a small moan. He didn't know if it was an invisible force making him do such things, but he found his hands unbuttoning his pants

Peter Parker sat in the rest room; hand clasped tight around the lacy edge of the pink panty. He took out his hardened length of his boxers. The scent of dirty panties wafted his nose.

He imagined you wrapped around his throbbing cock, he thought of the feeling of your tight little pussy riding his cock, he wanted the sweet nectar from your lips, while having a feast on your quivering hole. His cock throbbed in his palms, his hands were much faster now, stroking his hardened cock. He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from moaning

Why was he doing this? You were literally there, outside the bathroom, sleeping. And Peter was here, out in the open, jerking off to the smell of your used panties

He was drenched in sweat as his hairs stuck to his wet forehead. He fantasized about your perky tits; perfect little nipples erect in anticipation. Pumping the shaft rapidly, imagining you on all fours begging for more, the bounce of your tits while riding him moaning his name like a mantra, Peter, fuck Peter, Peter, oh my God!

Peter was breathing heavily, his release was near, he profusely pumped his manhood, his hands and cock covered in his sticky pre-cum.

He wanted to feel you inside him, want you to quiver in pleasure as he fucks you over and over again.

He felt a sudden wave of pleasure hitting him, before he knew it, he released a flooded torrent of jizz into sticky cum as it scattered all over the floor. He slumped against the wall, heaving as he tried to steady his racing heart. He looked outside the door, finding you in the same spot as you were. You were sleeping oh so peacefully

He gazed at you, his heart full of unfulfilled yearning. He desperately wanted to be part of your world, to be someone you chose to let in. Yet no matter how many jokes he made or how close you seemed; he knew deep in his heart that he was not enough.

A soft sound broke the silence.

Peter's eyes snap to the bed, and his stomach lurch at the realization that you were stirring. Your brows knitted, your breathing started shifting, just as if you were going to wake up.

He immediately threw your panties back into the basket as he stood up and fixed his underwear and pants

He felt panic surging him, he immediately sprinted near the window. It made a loud a thud, now he was fucked

He moved quickly and quietly without thinking as he quietly ran towards the window. Just as you were about to opene your eyes, he slipped stealthily past the fluttering of curtains.

He tried scrambling down the trellis and found the ground, shivering and shaking as he did so.

He was hidden in a shadow corner, looking up towards your window. You were sitting up now, rubbing your eyes and looking around your room with a sleepy confusion.

Peter's chest tightened.

What's the matter with him?

He hurried as he turned away, his footsteps quiet against the pavement

The cool night air wrapped around Peter Parker like a cold, suffocating blanket as he walked back toward his house. Each step seemed to slant further and further as if his sneakers were scuffing wet against the cracked pavement in a slow and deliberate rhythm.

It was as if the world had gone still—entirely quiet. No cars were heard, no distant chatter, no hum of the city. Just Peter, the quiet whistle of wind through leaves, and the pounding thuds of his thoughts.

With that, he shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, his fingers curling into tight fists. Replaying the scene, he heard the soft sound of your breathing, the warmth of your room, and the way you stirred in your bed as if you had felt him there.

What the heck are you doing, Parker? He hadn't intended to climb into your room. He hadn't intended for it to get this far. Watching from the shadows was one thing, but tonight… tonight he had crossed a line.

He stopped moving and leaned against the lamppost, his breath escaping him in short, sharp gasps. Above him, the light flickered, shining unevenly across his shadow on the ground.

"This isn't me," he whispered to himself, the voice trembling.

But wasn't it?

Hadn't he been staring at you for years, taking notes while you weren't looking, memorizing all of your movements, laughter, and smiles? He had told himself that it was just harmless admiration from a distance, but now it was clear.

What would you think if you knew?

He sighed, Peter threw back his head and gazed up at the sky. Above him the stars, though cold and distant, seemed on to him— judging him in silence.

With the words of Uncle Ben echoing in his mind, With great power comes great responsibility, Peter winced.

Peter's jaw clamped down. Not great power; not yet. But wasn't all this part of it? Taking responsibility for his actions, owning up to his mistakes before they spiraled uncontrollably out of hand?

It hit him like a gut punch.

He wouldn't ever be able to take it back. Nor would he ever be able to wipe away the fact that he'd violated your space, your privacy, in a way you might never forgive. But he could stop it from going any further. He could ensure that you never found out.

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

[glossykissies]

that scene where soldier boy tells hughie he made up the word bluetooth got me thinking how funny it would be when he hears newer slang 😭😭 i wanna tell him we’d have good bed chem and watch literal question marks form in his eyes

“well fuck me, you new-generation girls are really something.” ben chuckles to himself like it’s nothing as he rolls off you, instantly reaching for a cigar, a hand leisurely coming up to rest behind his head. “fuck of a lifetime, i’ll tell you that much. you alright there?” he’s cocky, glancing over at where you’re laying in fetal position with his hot seed still leaking from your quivering folds. he just put you through the mattress (very nearly literally) and now he’s cracking jokes. you needed a minute.

“mhm.” it comes out breathy, jolting a little from sensitivity when he gives your ass a rewarding pat.

“mm. well catch your breath and then roll over. i may be super-human, but i still like guy stuff just like everyone else. i want cuddles and shit.” it sounded comedic coming from his ultra deep voice, the older man taking a drag of his cigar thoughtfully in a way that told you he was dead serious.

you do as your told, a dumb smile on your face as you do so, snuggling up to his side happily. he presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head as praise.

“i like this. we just work.” he comments to the ceiling and your tummy fizzes up. you felt special.

“yeah. we have good bed chem.” you slur, still coming down, biting your lip in amusement when you see his eyebrow raise.

“we have good who-now what?” he turns his head a little to gaze into your hazy eyes and you burst into a fit of giggles.

“bed chem!” you lilt, poking his rib cage. he takes another drag with a frown, eyeing you over.

“you do know that saying it twice isn’t gonna make me understand, right?” he deadpans, but you can tell he’s humouring you. you sigh good-naturedly.

“bed chemistry. bed chem. like we just work. we fit together well.” you explain to the best of your ability, distracted by drawing shapes on his broad chest. he continues to stare.

“and that’s a real thing that people say?”

“well girls do.” you shrug, glancing up into his confused eyes. he shakes his head dismissively.

“i don’t get all this slang shit.” he complains, before his eyes drift back over to you. “its only cute when you do it. don’t tell anyone i said that.”

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: As we begin our first 5-digit word count chapter (I can’t be stopped, someone take away my keyboard) and I find a stride of about two chapters per week, I want to say that: A) I fully intend on finishing this story. I plotted out the whole thing before I started, have made a few adjustments given the pacing I’ve done so far, and with how it’s broken down right now we’ll reach the end in 2-3 months. B) Thank y’all from the bottom of my heart for reading! If you have theories or thoughts or feedback please don’t hesitate to share them! I love hearing what you think of the plot and the characters, and every interaction means the world to me. Whether you’re only reading or leaving comments as well, thank you so damn much. I’ll see you next chapter (it’s gonna be a doozy) <3

Chapter Title from Bells in Santa Fe by Halsey.

Word Count: 11.2k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You throw a punch, and Phase One: Operation Quick and Bald goes. Not well, but it goes. Contains usual warnings.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 5 - Chapter 7

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

Ben dodged the third punch in a row, grinning widely right up until the fourth one landed on his face.

“Ha!” She yelled, drawing back to shake her first out. “Take that, you weirdly fast man.”

Ben rolled his eyes, rubbing his face lightly. It hadn’t hurt—he’d barely even felt it—but She was being real fucking smug for someone who’d only just landed a hit after a damn week of attempting to do so.

“Yeah, sure, Sunshine. Keep it the fuck up, and at this rate it’ll only take you another couple thousand years to surpass Muhammad Ali.”

She raised her brows at Ben, pausing with a tilt of her head. “You were a fan of Muhammad Ali?”

He nodded, giving her a scrunched look of annoyance. “I’m a fucking American, and there ain’t nothing more red-blooded American than punching commies like that son of a bitch did.”

“What?”

“When he fought the Russian, and won. That’s fucking American.”

“Ben, you’re thinking of the plot of Rocky IV.”

“No, Muhammad Ali fought that Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass.”

“No, Sylvester Stallone fought the Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass. In a movie.” She laughed to herself. “I’m shocked you even saw Rocky IV, let alone were so impacted by it to let the plot override your knowledge of a real life person.”

“Shut up,” Ben grunted, moving his hands back to a defensive stance. She fucking always won these stupid arguments, and Ben couldn’t actually prove it, but he knew She was changing the fucking internet she loved so damn much to match her claims. “Go again.”

“Someone missed nap time.” She muttered under her breath, even though she knew Ben could fucking hear her, but put her fists up anyways. “Can this be the last one? I’m hungry.”

Instead of answering, Ben just launched himself at her, and She jumped to the side with a yelp.

“What the fuck, Ben!”

He turned and threw another punch, feeling pleased at the smooth way she ducked away and met it with a punch of her own. Her face had lost the pissy shock, laser-sharp concentration replacing it. Her eyes were narrowed, darting across Ben as he moved, her bobbing and weaving wasn’t entirely shit, and her heart was controlled with her breathing. She landed her second punch, this one on his shoulder, and Ben laughed, delivering one of his own.

“Christ, Sunshine, you’re fucking weak.” He laughed, examining Her carefully for any loss of control.

“I’ll kill you with my bare hands, Bitch.” She growled, lunging forward and grunting in frustration as Ben dodged with ease.

“That’s my line.” He taunted. “And you couldn’t even kill a man with an assault rifle if he was a fucking foot away from you.”

“Blow me.”

“I’ve been fucking trying- Fuck!” She landed her third punch, and it burned. Ben reached to touch where she’d hit and felt the skin mending across his jaw.

She was grinning in a wide, toothy, satisfied way. “Suck on that, cunt.”

“Bitch,” he muttered, looking down at his hand to see it raw and red from the contact with his face, with some of his fucking hair stuck to it.

“Did you burn off my fucking beard!” His head shot up to see a half-sheepish, half-amused look on her face, lips curled and eyes wide.

“Oops.”

He yelled her name, and she had the fucking nerve to giggle. “We said no fucking powers!”

“I forgot.” She said lamely, her face less and less apologetic by the second, giggling again as she offered some of the most insincere comfort Ben had ever heard. “It’s not even that noticeable! You look just as good as before!”

His anger faded, and he gave Her a cocky smirk, raising his brows. “You think I look good, Sunshine?”

“I’m being nice. Don’t ruin it.” She muttered, her face adorably flushed, and Ben didn’t miss the skip of her heart.

“Whatever keeps you up at night.”

“That’s not the phrase.”

He winked. “I know.”

She scoffed and turned away, but not before Ben could see the slight smile on her lips. “I’m going to shower, I’ll meet you in the living room in fifteen. If you’re not there, with food, I’m eating the TV.”

Ben frowned, calling after Her figure moving down the hall. “Has the TV been edible this whole fucking time and you didn’t fucking tell me?!”

Her laughter echoed back down the hall. "You're real fucking gullible, grampa!"

“You know I can’t fucking tell when you’re joking about that shit, you bitch!”

“Fourteen minutes, cunt!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to make food in fourteen minutes?!”

“You’re a big boy, you’ll figure it out!”

Grumbling a string of cusses Ben hoped She could fucking feel, Ben grabbed a cup of instant noodles and threw them in the microwave, wondering if She would notice if he spit in hers. After pulling them out, grabbing two spoons from the counter that he almost immediately bent, spilling one of the cups as he noticed the damaged utensils, spilling the other when he noticed the first spill, and having to start the whole damned fucking thing over, Ben made his way to drop on the couch next to where She sat, wet hair clinging to her pretty face.

“Heard a lot of swearing, Pretty Boy, everything ok?”

He grunted, shoving Her noodles against her chest and letting go, not giving a fuck if she had a grip on them. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Just asking a question,” he could hear her shit-eating grin. “Thought it was a free country. Thought a patriot like you would appreciate me exercising my first amendment right.”

“That protects you from the government, not me.” Ben parroted back the words She had yelled at him after he’d made the apparently fucking fatal mistake of saying “first amendment right” in her presence.

She chuckled, her voice teasing. “Didn’t know you were capable of retaining information about something other than yourself.”

“Well, your tits were looking great while you were bitching. It helped.” He grabbed the remote, raising it to the TV. “I made food. I’m picking what we watch.”

“If you pick Game of Thrones so you can watch the sex scenes again, I’m figuring out a way to kill myself and doing it on your bed.”

“Whatever gets you in my bed, Sunshine.” He winked. “And I’m invested in the fucking plot, it’s not just the sex scenes.”

“It’s mostly the sex scenes.” She said, not even flinching at his flirtation. “Just go watch porn. See how fast you can break the fleshlights. If you do all three in ten minutes, Butcher owes me twenty dollars.”

Ben scowled, not enjoying that She’d apparently been making fucking bets with Butcher about his masturbation. “I can last longer than ten fucking minutes, I’m not a fucking pussy.”

“Prove it.”

He grinned widely at Her as her face flushed adorably, her own phrasing catching up with her head. “I’d be honored, Sunshine.”

“You’re like a fucking rabbit in heat.” She muttered. “And if you do last longer than ten, Hughie gets the money, so keep that in mind when you’re jerking it to dragon boobs after I go to bed.”

“The dragons don’t have any fucking boobs, dumbass, the fucking hot lady queens do.” Ben said smugly, ignoring her eye roll. “And I would ‘jerk it’ in the privacy of my room, but someone won’t give me a fucking phone.”

“Yeah, the CIA. I’d actually back you up with Mallory, Pretty Boy. I think giving you a phone would be really entertaining.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.” He snapped, and she laughed.

“Can’t rely on just a handsome face to convince her that you somehow deserve the internet.”

“Handsome face?” He grinned at her, and only the slight stutter of her heart told Ben she heard him.

She made a mock face of thought. “Maybe if we suggested parental controls…”

“I’ll kill you, bitch.”

“I’ll make you the most useless and sad eunuch to ever grace this sorry planet, cunt.”

Ben glared at Her, and she reached over his arm to press play on the remote.

Most of the days since the failed Sister Sage mission had been like this. She and Ben got up, trained, ate, trained more, and then watched TV with dinner until She retreated to her room and Ben fought sleep for the rest of the night, alone. Neither of them mentioned how he’d saved her, or how She had started a habit of slapping Ben awake—he was pretty fucking certain that at this point she had figured out another way to break through the nightmares but was purposely choosing to fucking hit him instead—before she’d sit next to him for an hour or two after. Ben liked this unspoken arrangement, and liked even more how She had silently agreed to it. Just because he didn’t actively hate Her right now didn’t mean he was about become a sniveling pussy mess about feelings. Even if the lack of active hatred had morphed into something pulsing in his chest that he didn’t understand, and didn't fucking want to. Making Her instant noodles and not killing her when she lied to him for fun or called him “Pretty Boy” was as far as Ben would bend.

It had been mostly radio silence from the Boys, though Butcher and Cocksucker had visited two days after they’d dropped Her and Ben back at the safe house, as Cocksucker had managed to break his arm. There had been a long, incredibly boring and poorly told story as to how the injury had occurred, involving a supe, Nikola Tesla and something called a Cybertruck, but Ben had pretty much tuned out the entire fucking conversation once he realized they weren’t here for him at all. The only thing that had kept him from retreating to his room for the duration of the visit was the small falter in Her heart when she touched Cocksucker, her jaw clenched as Ben and Butcher watched Cocksucker’s arm heal into place in a fucking disgusting manner.

When She’d let go, she’d given Ben a weird fucking look with tight lips and sad eyes that he'd only seen before on Cocksucker. It had passed quickly, her face returning to apathetic and bored, her eyes regaining the sharp amusement they usually held, but fuck it had confused him. She and Butcher had started talking about missions and planning and other mind-numbing shit, Cocksucker shaking out his arm as if he didn’t trust that it was healed, and Ben had needed to piss and gone to do just that. Before he’d left, he’d caught Her a look of where the hell are you’d going, he’d grinned back with a wink of why, you want to join me?, and she’d rolled her eyes and returned her attention to Butcher. When he’d returned, Butcher and Cocksucker had left and She was glaring at him, arms across her chest.

“Are you an idiot, or just a dick?” She’d snapped.

He’d frowned at Her, trying to figure out what had made her all fucking bitchy. As far as Ben was concerned, he’d been fucking amazing, only calling Butcher a pussy twice and managing to refrain from talking to Cocksucker at all. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Butcher told me we’re moving on operation Quick and Bald soon. He told me you knew. Why didn’t you fucking tell me?!”

“Oh,” Ben had rolled his eyes. “I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

He’d shrugged. “Well, you fucking know now, so get over it. And what kind of fucking shit codename is Quick and Bald?”

“Fuck you, it’s an accurate and descriptive name.”

“How the fuck could that be ‘accurate and descriptive’?”

“Because two key factors of this phase of my plan are the quick and the bald.”

“Your plan?”

“Yeah, my fucking plan. That I fucking deserved to know the status of.” She’d scowled. “Butcher says it’s almost ready. He’ll get us in two days once it’s in place.”

That had been five days ago. Starlight and Cocksucker had dropped in after two days, full of apologies and updates that Ben didn’t give a fuck about, and when he’d asked Her for more information about the plan, she’d told him to “suck her dick and shove his questions up his ass until they reached his brain.”

So Ben still had no fucking clue what Quick and Bald was about.

Aside from Her lingering anger at him for apparently having the fucking nerve to ask questions about the jobs he had to do—an opinion he had made the mistake of voicing, leading the unwelcome lesson on the first amendment—She was being impossibly easy to talk to, and Ben was getting dangerously close to not only enjoying her company, but finding her comfortable. Part of him was hoping she’d say something very, very soon that would allow him to grip onto hatred, or at least indifference, for the rest of his time in this stupid fucking situation.

Instead, in a way that made Ben think God himself was out to fucking get him, he’d started to tell her things. Fucking voluntarily.

One of those nights where sleep had gripped his head and pulled him under, struggling and roaring, he’d woken up once more from only the force and sting of her hand across his face. She’d sat next to him again, and he’d asked her more questions about before, all of which she’d answered with a faraway, insufferably sad look in her eyes.

“How many siblings did you fucking have again?” He’d pressed once.

“Four,” She’d responded, a wistful smile on her face. “Two brothers, two sisters. All younger.”

“Your parents had four more kids after you? What, were you that fucking annoying they needed to try again four fucking times?”

“No, I was just so adorable they needed to try and recreate my perfection. Once they realized that was impossible, they gave up.” She’d smirked, and Ben hated that somehow he didn’t doubt her words. “Well,” she’d mused to herself. “That and they fell violently out of love with each other.”

“Violently?” He’d made a face, and she’d nodded solemnly.

“I shielded my siblings from a lot of flying plates.”

Ben found another thing to hate. Her parents, and how fucking sad she looked. “You miss them?”

“My parents?” She’d snorted. “I miss my dad. I hope my mom gets her head popped.”

He’d coughed to cover a laugh. “No, you fucking smartass. Your siblings.”

Her answer was quick and soft. “Every fucking day.”

Ben had grunted, watching the distance return to her face, and before he could stop himself, he was talking. “I didn’t have any siblings.”

Before he could curse himself out and try to distract Her with something else, she had been looking back at him with wide, focused eyes. “Do you wish you did?”

“I never thought about it,” he’d muttered. “My father was such a fucking dick I’m surprised he even got my mother to marry him, let alone fucking have one kid. I think he hated me enough to never fucking risk it again.”

“Risk it?” She’d kept her voice impossibly gentle as she’d asked, and it made his skin crawl all weird.

“I was the biggest fucking regret of his life. If he could go back and stop me from happening in the first place, make my mother flush me out, he wouldn’t have fucking hesitated.”

She’d paused, and a very fucking stupid part of Ben had thought she was going to let the conversation go. Of course, he should’ve fucking known by now that She damn well wouldn’t.

“What was your mom like?”

He hadn’t fucking expected that, and it had shocked him enough to answer. “Kind. Too kind for my father, he saw it as fucking weakness and told her all the fucking time. But she was so fucking kind.” He took a heavy breath. “She was full of love, and I have no fucking clue how. It was fucking stupid, all her love, even for my piece of shit father. He’d yell at her and threaten her and mock her, but she still fucking loved him. She fucking loved everything.”

Her voice was still gentle from beside him. “Like what?”

“Animals. Cats specifically. My father had all these fucking hunting dogs he loved more than anything, certainly more than me, and the only good thing he ever fucking did was trade one to get her a cat. It was massive, fluffy and gray, and it was a fucking asshole to everyone but her. It ate like a fucking elephant, shed like a whore in summer, but she loved it so fucking much.” At this point Ben had really wished he would shut the fuck up, but he couldn’t, and he was going to have to figure out a way to blame Her for that later. “She loved art. Painting. She tried to get me to love it too, even though I could barely draw a fucking worm. But I’d try, and she’d frame all my stupid, shitty drawings and hang them around the house until my father saw them and threw them in the trash. She loved music but couldn’t carry a tune if her life fucking depended on it. They’d go to the opera because my father would donate a ton for the publicity, and she’d come back all damn giddy. I’d wait up, just because she was fucking contagious when she was that happy. Even my father felt it, enough to just go straight to bed and not kick my ass for still being awake. She was fucking smart, too. Real fucking smart. My father would joke he wished she was a man, because then her brain would be useful. She would’ve fucking jumped for joy if she saw the world now. Met a fucking woman doctor.” He paused, looking back down at Her beside him. She hadn’t looked away from him, and there was none of the pity he’d expected to see on her face. It was just open, listening intently to his words with no malice or trickery behind her eyes.

“She sounds amazing.” She’d said softly, a small smile he didn’t understand on her face. “And your dad sounds like a fucking cunt.”

Ben had chuckled in surprise. “Fucking understatement of the damn year, Sunshine. That pussy would’ve tried to pry your degree from your fucking hands.”

“Let him try, I’d burn his fucking face off and laugh while I did it.”

“What were you even going to fucking do with a PhD in archeology?" He’d asked, and she’d huffed a small laugh.

“Anthropology, Pretty Boy. But nice guess.” She corrected. “And I’m honestly not sure. I’d quite literarily only just actually received the degree before everything… changed.” She’d sighed. “I had a few job offers, but mostly in academia and business. What I wanted was to work with nonprofits to help people.”

“Help people?” He’d given her a disbelieving stare. “With a prissy fucking degree?”

“Yeah, dickwad. Help people. I was a cultural anthropologist. I specialized in the evolution of cultures and ways to combat systemic cultural oppression.”

He’d stared at Her blankly. “You’re going to have to take down the fucking fancy talk by seven, Sunshine.”

“I studied how the government and culture is mean to people on purpose, and how to make them stop being mean.” She’d said flatly.

“Oh.” He’d rolled his eyes at the dirty look she was giving him. “Oh, fuck off. It wasn’t that painful to say.”

“Yes, it was.” She’d mumbled, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re not going to argue with me?”

“What’s there to fucking argue about?”

“I just called your beloved country an ‘oppressive system’.” She’d watched him wearily, but her heart remained steady. “Doesn’t it mar your refined American nationalism?”

“Do you fucking want me to be mad?” Ben had asked, raising his brows at her. “I can definitely find it in me, that’s not a fucking issue. But usually when we fight about this shit, you get all bitchy and don’t talk to me for way too fucking long.”

“I mean, no, I don’t want you to get mad…” She’d frowned, examining him with yet another fucking confusing look. “Does it really bother you when I ignore you?”

“No.” He’d snapped quickly. “It’s just annoying, and I don’t like having to fucking deal with it.”

She’d hummed with an amused smile on her face, and the conversation had moved on to something else. Ben had shoved down the way it had been so easy to talk about his mother with her, until it was somewhere in his gut and he didn’t have to think about the way the feeling rolled around inside him.

And he refused to even acknowledge how when She would smile now, he’d have to fight himself to not do the same.

———-

It had been a week since the Sage incident, a week since Ben had saved your life—you'd locked everything about that particular action from what you thought of it to how it made you feel somewhere deep in your chest—and you were starting to lose your mind a little bit. When Annie and Hughie had stopped by with nervous words about delays in your meticulously prepared and incredibly well-detailed plan, you’d been willing to wait another day, maybe two, before executing operation Quick and Bald. Now it had been three days, burgeoning on four, and you were worryingly close to leaving the safe house just to yell at Butcher. Ben could stay here, or follow you and help you beat Butcher up for all you cared. Which was, admittedly, worrying within itself. Especially because the whole point of operation Quick and Bald was to take preventative measures against Ben’s needless brutality.

Over a month ago, right after you’d moved into the safe house and when you had been ready to throttle Ben’s neck every waking moment—an urge that hadn’t entirely waned, but was now undercut with a weirder, stronger urge to be near him without any murderous intent—you’d spent the hours quarantined in your room perfecting your plan to get Ryan Butcher the fuck out of dodge. When they’d come to pick you and Ben up for the whole Neuman test, you’d left it in the van for Butcher to find, and had been waiting since for him to set up the dominoes so you could knock them over.

At this point, you’d be happy with not even “dominos to knock over” and just “one singular domino to throw at someone." You had begun to develop a habit of staring down the hall from the living room, trying to will someone to appear with at least a fucking update. So far this strategy was not working, and had apparently started to garner attention.

Sitting on the couch, the TV white noise in the background and noodles in your hand cold and forgotten, you felt a foreign rush of oddly tight concern run through your body. You frowned, heard your name from next to you, and turned to find that Ben had been poking your arm.

“Are you fucking alive?” He grunted, watching you with a frown.

“Literally? Yes.” You answered with a tight smile. “You have noodles on your face.”

He reached up to feel for them, not looking away from you. “What the fuck do you mean literally? How can you be fucking metaphorically alive?”

“Mind-body problem, Pretty Boy. And it’s not metaphorically, it’s philosophically.” You lean back, grinning.

“You’re a real fucking pretentious bitch sometimes.” He grumbled, still trying to find the food stuck to his beard.

“If you made me a shirt that said that, I’d wear it.”

“I’m not going to fucking make you a shirt, Sunshine. You couldn’t make me learn to fucking sow with a gun to my head.”

“Because the gun wouldn’t affect you at all?” You pointed to your own chin, mirroring where the noodle was caught.

He sneered. “Because I’m not a pussy.” His hand found the stray piece of his dinner, and he pulled it from his jaw.

“Big words from the man who took two tries to make me instant ramen- hey!” A wet noodle hits you in the face.

“Ramen your ungrateful ass didn’t even fucking eat.” Ben gave a pointed look at the abandoned cup in your hands, the food inside having long lost any heat. “Don’t fucking test me, or I’ll actually spit in your food next time.”

“Drama queen,” you muttered, peeking back at the door. “Like you don’t already do that.”

“I fight the urge to be a fucking bitch, unlike certain women.”

You nod absentmindedly. “Butcher.”

Ben snorted behind you, and a smile you hoped he didn’t see crept onto your face.

“Yeah, sure Sunshine.” His attention returned to the TV, and you did your best to not stare down the hall, trying to ignore the hope that the door now shrouded in darkness would open.

A successful effort that made you jump out of your seat when it did just that with an aggressive bang.

Ben was faster than you, practically launching himself over the sofa and bolting down the hall, a dangerous look of alarm the last thing you saw on his face before he was gone from the room.

“Shit, no! It’s me!” You heard a high-pitched shout from the shadows of the entrance. “It’s Hughie!”

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You heard Ben’s growl of a response.

Butcher’s voice drawled from the shadows. “Oi, take a deep fucking breath and put the bloody kid down.” 

“Someone fucking answer me first.”

“Put him down, Soldier Boy, before we knock your ancient ass the fuck out.” The impatient, clipped words of MM responded, almost drowned out by Frenchie's shout.

“Can someone turn on the fucking lights? It is as dark as Monsieur Butcher’s heart and asshole!” 

“I- I don’t feel good.” Hughie’s voice stuttered.

“Ben!” You flicked on the hallway sconces, illuminating a scene of Ben’s full body weight pressing Hughie to the wall, Butcher and MM trying with practically negative success to pry him off, and Kimiko gripping one of Frenchie’s arms as his other groped around for direction. You let out a very long, very loud sigh. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s fucking late,” he snapped, not letting Hughie go. “They shouldn’t be here so fucking late.”

“This ain’t your real house, Mate.” Butcher grunted, still trying to move Ben. “We can be here whenever we bloody well please.”

Hughie wheezed out your name in a pleading tone. “Your plan is ready. We’re here to- fuck- we’re here to get you.”

That got you moving, crossing to the end of the hall in quick, frantic steps. “It’s ready? Are you sure?” Hughie gave a weak nod, and you rolled your eyes, shoving Ben shoulder. “Put him down, dumbass. He’s not a threat, and honestly, probably the worst one to have gone after. Just, like, strategically.”

Ben glared at you, but let go. He glanced at where MM and Butcher were still grabbing him, and gave them a venomous look that got them both to let go and take hasty steps back. He shot a glowering look of they could’ve fucking waited until the morning in your direction.

You wrinkled your nose at him. No. Shut the fuck up. You turned to Hughie, not even bothering to hide the desperation you felt in your imploring stare. “It’s all ready? All of it? A-Train agreed to help? We’re sure Ashley has the information? We’re sure neither one is going to tell Homelander, and we’re not about to walk into a fucking trap?”

“Yes, yes, yes, kind of, and yes.” Butcher counted off on his fingers as he answered. “But we’ve got to go right fucking now.”

“Kind of?” Anxious energy rushed through you—that still-strange feeling lighting under your skin—and you ignored the weird look Ben shot you as it did. “What do you mean, kind of? If you fucked this up, Butcher, I swear to God-"

“Calm the fuck down, Love.” Butcher snapped. “It’s going to be fine, we’ll explain on the way. But we need to go fucking now if you want this to work.”

You gave a sharp nod, starting to pull on your boot, glancing up with a pause when you heard Hughie say your name behind you.

“Do you, uh, do you want to get dressed first?” His voice was still slightly weak as he recovered from Ben’s force.

You glanced down at your body, and decided that the oversized shirt and cloth shorts would be fine. They were from the CIA spring fire-proof collection, and that was more than enough. “Nope. Let’s fucking move.”

You were halfway to the door when a crash sounded behind you, and you whirled around to see MM firmly blocking Ben’s path, the crash seeming to have been Hughie stumbling into the wall in an attempt to get away from the standoff.

“You’re not coming, Soldier Boy. This is a goddamn delicate operation, and you’re the fucking reason we have to do it in the first place. We can’t afford you throwing a tantrum and screwing us.”

“I’m fucking coming, and it’s not up for fucking debate.”

Off to the side, Frenchie snickered as Kimiko signed how many times do you think he’s said that before?

Ben shot them an annoyed look, his fists clenching. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“Nothing,” Frenchie snickered, and his tone was so remarkably unconvincing that even if you hadn’t understood Kimiko, you wouldn’t have believed him.

Ben grunted and tried to move past MM, again to no avail.

He glared down at the firmly planted man, a familiar violent glint in his eyes. “You better fucking move now, before I make you.”

“Do your fucking worst, we’ll put you right back in the box. You’re not coming with us.”

“MM,” you said firmly, watching Ben's fists clench as the dangerous glint returns to his eyes. “We need to go.”

MM looks back at you, but remains in his place. “Are you fucking serious? You’re siding with him?”

“I’m not siding with him.” You keep your voice level, ignoring Ben’s smug face and grin. “We can’t leave him. The I go where he goes thing unfortunately goes both ways.”

“The safe house will hold him for five hours.” MM pushed, and before you could even shake your head, Ben cut in.=

"No, it won’t.”

You shoot him a look that says you’re being unhelpful, and he just returns it with his own of fuck off, you know you fucking want me there.

“Please, MM. He’ll stay quiet in the background, or I’ll burn his dick off. Right?” You direct your last words at Ben, giving him a pointed agree with me or I’m knocking you out and leaving you here look.

“Yeah, whatever. But I’m not staying in the fucking van like a pussy. And you’d better explain what the fuck is happening on the way, Sunshine.”

“Deal. But first they,” You narrowed your eyes at Butcher. “Have some explaining of their own to do.”

“Don’t lose your bloody mind, Love, it’s all in order.” Butcher said breezily, shoving past you to open the door. He gave a dramatic wave of his arm for you to exit, and with a look of doubt, you did.

The car ride was already poised to be uncomfortable. Butcher’s car was not equipped for seven people, let alone seven people where three were very large men, three were supes, and nobody wanted to have physical contact with two. As such, Butcher drove, MM sat in the front, you found yourself squished against one window with Ben between you and a remarkably uncomfortable Hughie, as Kimiko sat, slightly elevated onto their laps, between Frenchie at the other window, and Hughie. It was overall an unideal situation, made worse as your own frustration was amplified by Ben’s, and by Hughie revealing that it was, in fact, not all in order.

Your phase one, the original operation Quick and Bald had called for Ashley Barrett’s complete cooperation. You’d even painstakingly outlined all the potential ways to flip her—most involving something along the lines of hey, wouldn’t a job that didn’t make you so stressed you rip out all your hair and have to buy a bunch of wigs be nice?—and different ways to keep Homelander from finding out about her betrayal—Spain was lovely this time of year, and had a thriving BDSM community Ashley would love. While MM had managed to take care of your instructions for A-Train, the half of the plan you’d incorrectly anticipated to be more difficult, the Ashley situation was, in Butcher’s words, very fucking delicate, but we’ve adapted and everything will be bloody fine, so trust me and don’t be a fucking cunt about it.

You did not trust him. I didn’t help that you’d asked for any other possible details, and he’d pretended he couldn’t hear you. This suspicion was confirmed when, despite your incredible clarity that you would never step foot there again, Butcher seemed to be driving right to Vought Tower.

Your eyes had been steadily widening, panic starting to run through you the closer and closer you got, and you flinched when you felt Ben’s roughly shoulder nudge your own.

“What’s fucking wrong with you?” He’d asked in a low voice, barely audible over Hughie’s rambling explanation.

“You should listen,” you mutter back, trying to shut out the confusing concern he always seemed to feel at you, how it felt remarkably genuine, but was laced with anger that felt like it was trying to push out of your body. “Hughie’s explaining the plan.”

“Yeah, but all I have to fucking do is stay quiet, and I get to keep my dick. You’re being fucking twitchy and silent, and your heart is beating faster than it has all damn day, so don’t even try to fucking lie and tell me it’s fine.”

“It is fine, I’m fine-“ You paused as his words sank in. “Wait, what do you mean my heart-“

“Alright, here we go.” Butcher cut off both you and Hughie with a clap of his hands. “Everyone bloody out, let’s get this shitshow on the road.”

“Butcher,” you said, looking around to see you’d parked directly across from the tower entrance. “What the fuck are we doing here?”

“We’re meeting them right there.” MM answered for Butcher, pointing out of his window to something you couldn’t see. “It’s almost midnight, and Annie’s been making sure nobody gets inside but us.”

“But why?” You protest, even as MM leaves the car. “This,” you give a wide, general wave that hits Ben in the nose. “Cannot be the only option.”

“Both of them still have their trackers,” Hughie leans forward with an apologetic look as Frenchie and Kimiko exit the car. “This will look like they’re just getting a midnight snack, and hopefully Homelander won’t get suspicious.”

“Hopefully?!” You feel a rush of anger—not yours—and a twist of fear deep within your gut—absolutely yours. “Hopefully fucking Homelander won’t get suspicious?!”

Hughie gave an uncertain nod before very quickly scrambling to get out of the car. You take a long, deep breath, trying to steel yourself. A rush of what was becoming a familiar fuming and brittle concern ran through you. You look at Ben, to find his eyes locked firmly onto yours.

“Sorry about hitting-“

“I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You blink at him, taken aback by the firmness of his voice. “What?”

His hand moved to grip your thigh, his gaze not wavering. “I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You give him a flat look. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. Why are you telling me that?”

His frustration leaked into you. “Because say the word, I’ll steal Butcher’s car, and we’ll fucking leave.”

“What? Are you insane?”

“You look like you’re either going to start fucking crying or burst into flames, and this is a stupid fucking idea.”

“This was my plan.” You snap. “And I’m not stealing Butcher’s car. Why do you even know how to hot-wire a car anyway?”

Ben’s grip tightened. “No, your plan was stupidly well fucking thought out.”

“That’s an oxymoron.” You mutter, and he ignores you.

“And even if they haven’t completely fucking blown the execution, they completely squashed any chance of safety.”

“It’ll be fine,” you say, the words sounding fake even as you say them. “It’s late. He’s probably asleep.”

“What if he’s not?” His concern was starting to move to your throat, and there was something else, something sitting far deeper in your chest, beating and beating against you. Against you.

“Ben.” You place your hand over his. “I’ve worked too hard on this. This is the only way, and it will be fine.” You say the last words firmly and clearly, trying to make them sink into you. “Now take your fucking hand off of me, and get out of the damn car.”

He pulls himself from you, and even as his touch leaves, the concern and beat linger until he’s gone from the car. You drag yourself across the seats and ignore Hughie’s offer of a hand as you duck out of the car and onto the curb. You notice the 24 hour diner MM must have been pointing out almost immediately, half because—aside from an incredibly sketchy looking deli a few doors down—it’s the only building with its lights still on, and half because two very flustered teenagers are sulking away from the entrance, where Annie stands with her arms crossed. She’s already spotted your group, and has angeled her head in a signal to join her.

“You’re late.” She chides as you approach.

“Well, Starlight, I’d apologize, but it was those two fuckheads,” Ben and MM both receive a jabbed thumb over Butcher’s shoulder. “Who decided to draw out the bloody carpool process.”

“I told you not to call me Starlight anymore, Butcher.” Annie snaps, not giving him a chance to respond before she turns to you. “A-Train is, somehow, running behind as well. Hopefully Ashley’s just being resistant to getting food with him, but they’ll be here.”

“Isn’t running that pussy’s whole fucking thing?” Ben muttered, quiet enough for only you to hear. You step as hard as you can on his foot.

“Shut it, Pretty Boy.” You whisper over his grunt of what probably is more emotional pain than physical.

“Bitch.” He hisses back.

“Cunt.” You raise your voice so the others can hear you. “We should go inside, it’s risky to just… stand here.”

With nervous looks around and stuttered agreements, you all make your way into the diner. The lights are flickering, and it’s eerily empty with only a very nervous-looking blonde waitress at the counter. She makes a very big show of asking how many are in your party, leading you to a large, round table, and laying out the menus with shaky hands. Kimiko, Hughie, Annie, and MM try and offer her comforting smiles, though MM’s is strained as he keeps a vigilant glare on Ben. The waitress is staring at Ben herself, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, glacing back as she leaves to get your and Butcher’s coffee, Annie and MM’s tea, Kimiko and Hughie’s milkshakes, and Ben and Frenchie’s orders of “the strongest alcohol you’ve fucking got.” Your personal bet was it was going to just be very old beer.

“Why is she fucking staring at me?” Ben muttered to you, watching the waitress as she walked away. “Did you fuck up my beard that bad?”

“Your beard looks literally the same.” You dismiss. “And it’s because, as far as the public knows, Maeve killed you in a heroic act of self-sacrifice to stop your evil, anti-American attacks. That, or she wants to fuck you.”

“Hm,” he looks back at you, settling down into his seat. “Am I allowed to bring guests into the safe house?”

“No.” You say, a little more curtly than you intended. Seeing his wide, cocky grin, you clairfy. “It’s a breach of security. She would need to pass a CIA vetting and be approved by, like, twenty people. I don’t think she’d do that just to fuck you.”

Ben shrugs, his smirk only growing. “You did.”

“I’m going to cut off your balls and feed them to you-“

“Hey,” MM cuts you off, saying your name in a brisk, hard tone from across the table. “They’re here.”

You snap your head to the door, where A-Train is practically pushing Ashley into the diner.

You hear her voice clearly over the recession pop humming from the speakers. “Why can’t we just go to the fucking deli? They make these amazing meatball subs and supes eat free, so you could order for both of us- oh fuck no.”

“Oh, shit.” MM mutters, jumping to his feet with Butcher and Annie as Ashley notices them, and promptly tries to dash for the exit.

You don’t entirely blame her. You’d probably do the same. You had done the same, an unhelpful voice reminds you.

“I- Am- Not-“ Ashley is trying to get past A-Train, who hasn’t given up trying to herd her further into the diner. “Fuck- this-“

“Ashley, just listen to them, I fucking swear-“

“Why should I trust you?!” Ashley doubles over, out of breath. “You fucking tricked me! Midnight snack my fucking ass- Fuck no!” She raises a crooked finger at Annie, who has stopped in front of her. “Get the fuck away from me, you bitch.”

“Ashley, please listen to A-Train-“

“No! Just leave me the fuck alone! I don’t want to be a part of your weird fucking eye for an eye justice shit-“

“You kind of already are.” MM says as he locks the door behind her. “You work for Vought, your it’s motherfucking CEO. That makes you a part of this, like it or not.”

“Not!” Ashley shouts. “I don’t care what you have to say! Homelander’s going to fucking kill me, oh my god.” She starts to hyperventilate. “If he finds out I was here, he’ll kill you-“ She points a shaky finger at A-Train. “And then make me go on fucking TV to explain why you’re missing, and then fucking kill me-“

Butcher scoffs. “Bloody hell, lady. Calm the fuck down, Homelander ain’t gonna find out.”

“You don’t know that!” She shrieked. “He knows fucking everything! Especially since fucking Sage joined!” She spins around frantically, and her wild eyes lock onto yours. “He knows about them!” A shaking finger jumps between you and Ben. “Fuck! He’s supposed to be fucking asleep and now he’s fucking not! And he was so fucking angry about her, I’ve never seen him so fucking angry-“

Whatever else Ashley stutters about Homelander’s anger is lost to you as the world freezes. The feeling isn’t just under your skin, it’s up your spine, in your blood, circling around your brain. It’s fucking everywhere and you can’t fucking breathe, her words looping around you.

He knows. He’s angry. He fucking knows. He’s fucking angry. He fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and he fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and-

A white hot, impossibly calm feeling crashes over you. It’s angry, hungry and angry, but it’s grounding, sharpening everything around you. Suddenly the world is back in complete focus, Ashley’s shrill rambling scraping at your ears, and in the distance that weird fucking rhythm is sounding. As the feeling in your body returns fully, you realize Ben’s hand is back on your thigh. You bounce it, looking up to give him a glare, and find he’s not even looking at you. Instead, his eyes are trained on Ashley, narrowed and cold. You give a small cough, and when he glances down at you, the feeling of anger stutters with something lighter, though only for a second.

You give another bounce of your leg, a look of move your damn hand or lose it taking over your face.

No, not until you calm the fuck down his scowl responds.

You huff, standing abruptly, and his hand falls off at the force of your movement. Suddenly you feel a lot less solid, but reason that your legs are shaky from the Homelander of it all, and if any situation calls for fractured nerves, it’s this one.

“Ashley.” You call across the diner, trying not to stutter or chew off your lip as her protests falters and attention turns to you. “If you know who I am, you know I wouldn’t be anywhere near here if we weren’t certain it was safe. Just have some food with us, listen, and then you can go.”

Ashley gives you a scowl that might surpass Ben’s but nods tightly, yanking her arm from where A-Train had been trying to hold her in place. You sit back down as the group at the door returns to their seats, the poor waitress pressing herself against the bar as they pass. Letting out a shaky, unsteady breath, you try and still yourself as you look out the diner window. City lights. Music.

City lights.

Music.

It was safe. He knows and he’s angry but was safe and there were city lights and music.

Your breathing was no longer coming in short, distressed bursts, but getting air in and out of yourself still felt like an act of labor, and you needed to get it the fuck together before Ashley sat down.

City lights. Music.

You can’t hear the song the diner is playing, instead letting your whole mind turn inward, allowing the ghost of music you can no longer sing to wash over you.

Ashley sits across from you right when you regain control, and from the corner of your eye, you see Ben pulling his hand from where it had been inching towards yours.

Her eyes flit, nerves poorly hidden, from you to Ben to Butcher to Annie and back to you, and her voice is high and shaky when she speaks. “Well?”

“Ashley, we need your help.” Annie leans forward, palms flat on the table.

“Well, then we’re done. I can’t help you. They don’t tell me anything, not really.” Ashley tries to stand, but her arm is caught by A-Train. “Really?” A-Train hisses as he pulls her back into her seat beside him. “They don’t tell you anything my ass, we sit in on all the same meetings. And I pulled these files-“ He pulls out a thumb drive from absolutely nowhere and drops it on the table. “Using your name, so you clearly have access to them.”

“What?!” Ashley looks at the thumb drive like it’s going to either explode or start jizzing on her blouse. “Why would you fucking do that?”

“Insurance.” A-Train answers smugly, the thumbdrive clearly having his intended. “I can’t open it, so you’re going to tell them how, and then I’ll erase the records of you taking the files from the system.”

Ashley looks around at your group, shaking her head. “No.”

“Sorry, Mate. We ain’t really asking.” Butcher leans across A-Train, shoving the thumb drive closer to Ashley. “Do us this solid, and A-Train won’t go right up to Homelander and tell him about how he saw you also cuddly and tight with me, Soldier Boy, and his favorite missing person.”

Your heart jumps right into your throat. City lights. Music.

Suddenly, Ben’s elbow is planted against yours, and you’re pulled back down to earth just in time to hear Ashley yell, “This is fucking blackmail! I’ll fucking sue!”

“You cannot sue government officials, madame.” Frenchie says smugly, and Hughie shakes his head.

“That’s- Frenchie, that’s not even kind of true.”

“You’re also not a government official.” Annie adds.

Frenchie looks genuinely perplexed at this and gives Kimiko a confused frown, receiving a shrug in return.

“But,” you pipe up, your voice somehow bored and casual. “I’m legally dead. He’s-“ You jab Ben in the chest, and Ashley’s eyes widen. “Legally dead and an enemy of the state. You can’t sue either of us, not without admitting some Vought secrets that will be very bad PR.” You give her a twisted smile, leering across the table. “Help us, or, even if Homelander believes you, which we both know he won’t, you’ll get fired. And I’m sure they’ll be very understanding and normal about how they do it.”

You feel a flash of weird pride and realize you can see Ben fighting a smile in your periphery.

Ashley has a fearful expression, looking at where your elbow is still connected with Ben’s. “What- what's even on it?”

“Becca Butcher files.” You say, not taking your gaze from her, but you didn’t need to look around to see the sudden, rigidness with which everyone sat. You even felt Ben’s own shock run through you.

You’d be lying if you said hiding the exact contents of the file hadn’t been a very purposeful choice that you and Butcher had made. He’d cornered you, demanding to know what you planned on doing should Soldier Boy go after Ryan, and you’d told him that it wouldn’t be an issue. Ryan looked up to Homelander, that was why he stayed. He’d lost his mother, he didn’t trust Butcher, all the poor kid had was his insane, sociopathic father. Some part of you—small and sad and tired, still sitting on a staircase in Boston—understood that. But with Becca gone, gone forever, Ryan didn’t have a place to run like you’d had. Homelander was the default, and just kind enough to his son that Ryan could force himself to forgive Homelander again and again. Homelander was safe for Ryan.

You were going to make sure Ryan never saw Homelander as safe again. And that started with Becca Butcher and would end with you. So you and Butcher had agreed with a tight handshaked that he'd ripped his hand from right after, everyone was only going to know what they needed to. That was the only way it would work.

“Becca Butcher files?” MM repeats in a slow, incredulous tone. “You,” he turns with a look of shock to Butcher. “You knew about this? You’re fuckin okay with this?”

“I’m doing what has to be done, Mate.” Butcher answers flatly, then says your name. “Tell ‘em the plan, Love.”

“We need to get Ryan away from Homelander. Ryan needs to know about his mother.”

“No,” Ashley was emerging from the shock to try and stand from the table, but A-Train’s arm shot out, pulling her back down once more. “No,” she says again, looking around desperately. “Ryan, Ryan is all he has. All he cares about. You take Ryan he’ll lose his mind-“

“He’s already lost his mind.” Something snaps in your chest—a cruel feeling waking up as you watch Ashley fret about Homelander. “And I couldn’t give less fucks about what he cares about.” The feeling is crawling across your skin. “If this hurts him, good. It could never hurt him enough to make it right.” You hear drums and still can’t place where they’re coming from. “Now listen to the last fucking strand of your morality on your scalp and fucking help us.”

Ashley shakes her head again, this time with less certainty. “It’s- no- He-“ she pulls in a deep, unsteady breath. “He won’t stop until he gets Ryan back. He already is going insane about you and him and how he needs to get you back safe and put him back down, and if Ryan goes to then nothing will stop him-“

The drums are loud now, and something that’s usually there on Ben’s face is missing. Your own body doesn’t feel entirely normal anymore, but it’s not paralyzed or running. You can feel something in Ben caving, falling inward in a growing rhythm, moving in time as something in you grows. It's not in you now, it’s across you, coating your skin and singing with glee.

“Ashley,” the sound of your voice is a little far away, but you can hear it echo through you. It’s wired, hot, a warning.

“I- I can’t.”

“Yes, you fucking can.” You sneer. “You’re just too much of a pussy to do it.” Ben coughs in the way that you know means he wants to laugh, just as the drums stutter and move farther away.

“Please, I don’t-“

“Do not make me stab you.”

Ashley falters, looking you up and down. “You won’t.”

“Trust me, she will.” Ben smirks, giving you a nudge. “She’s surprisingly violent.”

“I, I won’t. I can’t. He’ll kill me-“

“You think we won’t?” Ben growls, any amusement in him gone as you feel something unbreakable and resolved through your body.

Ashley tries to run again, this time actually managing to get up from the table, but is knocked flat on her ass by A-Train before she can take two steps. You stand and give the itch, now under your tongue and your nails, a small scratch.

“Oh, fuck no.” You hear scrambling as you walk around the table and stop, staring down at Ashley.

She’s crawling back from you, back from the fire curling from your whole body, and disgust curls in your gut. For the first time you feel anger—insatiable and gory anger—all of your own. No city lights flash around you, no hollow music dances around your head. You don’t fear Ashley. She’s weak and spineless. She’s willing to cover her hands in Ryan’s blood, in your blood, to keep herself safe from Homelander. She’s staring at you, terrified, and you don’t need to touch her to know it isn’t even a fraction of all the fear you felt in that white room. That white room she knows about, may have seen, and is still trying to keep Homelander happy.

You bend down, letting all your hatred for Vought, for her, cover your features. When you speak, your words are clear and low.

“You are going to tell Butcher how to access the thumbdrive. A-Train and you are going to take some food with you, and walk back to the tower. You aren’t going to tell Homelander about this, and if he asks, offer him some leftovers. A-Train will erase your activity from the files, and you’re going to pretend the whole night never happened. If you tell Homelander about either me or Be-“ You correct yourself smoothly. “Soldier Boy, the last thing I will do before he locks me away again is kill you. Do I make myself clear?”

Ashley nods frantically, flinching when you raise your hand.

“Say it. Say that I made myself clear.”

“You-“ Ashley stutters, hiccuping. “You made yourself clear.”

You draw yourself back up. “Good. Butcher, I’m leaving. You can drive me and come back, or Ben can steal your car, but I’m leaving.”

When you turn, when you see the looks on your team’s face, all the anger is gone, and suddenly there is a crushing, painful weight of shame on your chest. They’re looking at you like Ashley had been, like you’re no better than Homelander. Like maybe you should go back in the room, it would be safer for them, it would be safer for everyone if you were far, far away-

“You heard the lady.” Ben is standing, walking around to your side. “It’s late. We’re leaving. Sunshine?” He offers you his arm, and you stare between it and your own, still covered in flame. Looking up, his face looks bored, as if this is just another Tuesday, and he offers his arm to women who are actively ablaze on a regular basis.

Your face feels slack, and all you can manage is to blink at him. I’ll burn you, Pretty Boy. It’ll hurt.

His brows subtly knit, and he doesn’t move. I’ll live, Sunshine. Don’t let them see you break. We’re going home.

You look back at your team, a wide circle of berth having formed around you and Ben. Butcher is looking between the two of you, and you recognize that glint in his eyes. You’d seen it before, but it’s only been really, truly directed at you once. In a graveyard in Boston, gravestones and bushes around you burning in the dead of winter, holding a bucket of ice that steamed off your skin. Under it, fear begins to creep back into you, exhaustion pushing it forward. Butcher reaches behind him, and your knees feel weak.

But you don’t fall. Zealous anger, strong and raw, spreads through you and Butcher’s movements still. You look down and find Ben’s arm unflinchingly looped through yours, his body at its full height as his eyes rake coldly over Butcher.

The silence hangs in the air, cut through only by Ashley’s quick, sobbed breaths. For a second you think the smoke seeping from you will overtake the room before anyone moves, but Butcher slowly reaches into his pockets, eyes not leaving Ben’s, and throws the keys at Hughie.

“Drop them off, Mate, then come right back. No bloody detours.”

Hughie stares at the keys, looking like he’s going to protest, but Kimiko grabs them before he can.

She turns to you, completely composed, no fear wavering as she locks your eyes with hers. I’ll take you.

Before you can thank her, Frenchie steps forward, signing as he speaks. “Mon Coeur, you cannot drive.”

She frowns. Yes I can.

“No, Mon Coeur, not legally.” Frenchie says, exasperated, and you have a feeling this is not first time they've had this debate.

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you. Fine. She signs back at Frenchie, throwing the keys at him. You’ll do it.

Frenchie stumbles as he catches them, giving Kimiko a shocked look, which she pretends not to see as she walks to the door, signing at you as she passes.

Let’s go before Butcher’s brain starts working.

A small smile threatens your face, and you move, tugging Ben’s arm only once before he falls into pace with you, Frenchie scrambling behind you both.

The car ride back feels longer. The moment you’d stepped out of the diner, your body had extinguished, and you had a worrying sense that the only thing keeping you from collapsing on the sidewalk was Ben’s arm firm through yours. No words were said for the entirety of the drive, you and Ben in the backseat as Frenchie drove and Kimiko lounged in shotgun, and your brain raced. Ben hadn’t let go, and the drums were fading in and out of your chest as he stared ahead into the night.

You arrived at the safe house, only a street lamp casting a dull glow across the street. The chill of the wind cutting against you as Kimiko walked you to the door, Frenchie mumbling something about keeping the car safe from Hooligans. Ben made to step inside, but halted, still not releasing your arm, as you stayed at the doorstep.

At his questioning glare, you tried to wiggle his arm from yours. “Go inside, Ben. I’ll be right there.”

He looked down at where he was still connected with you, and you felt reluctance in time with the drums, but he let go with a scowl. “Be fast,” he grunted, and stomped into the house.

You watched until he’d disappeared fully down the hall, turning to Kimiko only once his back was shrouded in the darkness of the house.

“Thank you,” you give her a soft smile, signing as you speak. “I- I don’t know what happened, I just-“

She shakes her head, and you trail off. I understand. I get angry too. She pauses, hands hovering for only a second. We are not like them. She points down the street, in the direction of the tower, and then past you, into the house. We get to be angry.

“I don’t want to be angry.” You say softly. “He wins when I get angry.”

Kimiko gives you a sad look, placing a hand on your arm. Her own frustration, her fear of Homelander, all the anger at the world, sinks into you. She holds your gaze for a second before drawing back to sign once more. He doesn’t win when you’re angry. He wins when you’re scared. You’re not Soldier Boy. Your anger is good.

You glance back into the house. “I think he- Ben- Soldier Boy- is scared. Or something. His emotions are really fucking confusing.”

You let him touch you. She signs. Does he know?

“He said he didn’t care, because he’s, and I quote, ‘not a pussy with something to hide’.”

But he’s scared? She gives you a questioning frown. Do you think it’s because of Russia? Could you fix it, like you offered for me?

“I’m not sure, but-“ you’re cut off as Frenchie honks the horn, leaning out the window.

“Mon Coeur!” His odd position makes his signing almost unintelligible, which he seems to realize, and raises his voice. “Monsieur Butcher says to get back ‘like a hare with a bomb up it’s arse'.”

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you, but signs a goodbye, giving your hand a small squeeze before returning to the car. As the engine rumbles, Frenchie pulling out the driveway, Kimiko’s calm faith lingers in you, and you walk back into the house, shutting the door behind you.

Almost all the lamps and ceiling lights of the house are off, the TV glowing from where you had abandoned it several hours ago. From the bottom of the stairs, you can see the upstairs hall is washed in a soft yellow, and when you reach the top Ben’s door is open, the light from within filling the hall. You stop at the entrance to his room, his back to you as he pulls a cotton shirt over his head.

You let out a small cough in a weak attempt to alert him to your presence.

“You’re allowed to just come in, Sunshine.” He grunts, still facing away. “I’m not a shy little virgin you need to pussyfoot around.”

You let out a small hum, walking over the threshold and stopping a few feet behind him. “Thank you.” You say softly, and he turns around to look at you.

His eyes are tired. Pained. Something looks like it’s pulling at him and it scares you. You’ve seen that expression before, when you’d woken him up that first day, at the Neuman mission, when you pulled him from nightmares with sharp hits, but never just there. It was always with something. This was like an island, just him and you, nothing pulling it out of him.

“Don’t thank me.” He says gruffly. Even his voice is drained. “You mostly held your own.”

“But-“

“And stop feeling bad about that Ashley bitch. She fucking deserved it.”

You stare at him. “You really believe that?”

He lets out a hollow laugh. “She was fucking pathetic. A fucking pussy. Fucking eating out Homelander’s fucking hand, brown-nosing him until he fucking cums and pays her, letting him take you-“ His jaw clenches. “I fucking meant it when I said we’re not going back Sunshine. I’m not a goddamn pussy liar.”

“I didn’t think you were. But, you…” Your voice fades as you try to find the words. “I could feel you. At the diner.”

“I fucking know, that was the goddamn point. I wasn’t going to let you start crying in front of those self-righteous pussies.”

“No, Ben.” You shake your head. “I could feel you. I could feel it.” You place a hand over your chest. “It was building. There was something beating against you, inside you. And you looked…” You watch him carefully. “Scared.”

“Fucking watch it.” He growls. “I don’t get fucking scared. I’m not-“

“A fucking pussy. I know.” You sigh. “I don’t want to, I can’t, fight right now. I’m so fucking tired. You can scream at me in the morning, but not right now, please.”

He stares at you, and just when you think he’s going to start yelling, he nods. “You’re…” He sounds strange. “You’re ok.”

Just like the last time he said it, the words aren’t phrased like a question. They don’t feel like a question. It feels like he’s just telling you again. But there’s something under it this time, something that makes his words almost unsure. Something that makes up your mind faster than you thought you would.

“Are you?” You ask quietly.

“Of course I fucking am.”

“Ben.” You tilt your head at him. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to respond now.”

“You’re being fucking weird, Sunshine.”

“Please.”

He relents with a grunt. “Fucking fine. What.”

“I can fix it.” It’s so hard to keep his gaze as you speak. “It will take time, but I can fix it.”

“Fix what.” He scowls. “There’s nothing to fucking fix.”

“Your PTSD.”

“I don’t fucking have-“

“Ben, I could feel it. It’s dangerous. I could fix it.” You take a deep breath. “I can fix internal injuries as well. I offered to fix Kimiko’s muteness, but she didn’t want me to do it.”

“Then what fucking makes you think-“

“Muteness isn’t dangerous. And it would’ve been harder for me, I might have ended up mute myself. You’re dangerous like this. You can’t fucking control it, and don’t try and lie and say it’s under control. Ashley mentioned putting you back under, and you looked like someone was drowning you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sunshine.” He leers at you. “You don’t fucking know me, know what it was like-“

“I do. You know I do.” You whisper, and the anger on his face breaks. “More than anyone else, I know. I can fix it, but you’ll have to let me. Just-“ You search his eyes, not sure what you’re looking for. “Just think about it. I won’t mention it again, I won’t even touch you, but my offer will stay on the table. Please, just think about it.”

Before you can leave, he grabs your hand. A rush of painful exhaustion runs through you, and there’s anger, but it’s not full of the fervor you’ve come to expect from him. It’s not even at you. It’s wide and almost consuming, leaving room for only a small kernel of something fragile and warm.

“I don’t care if you keep touching me, Sunshine. I've go nothing to hide from you, and that’s not going to change. But there’s nothing in me you need to fucking fix, so don’t fucking bother.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Ben,” You murmur. "But remember, you burn, I burn. Please don't burn." Your last words are soft, and the kernel pulses.

“Good,” he grunts, releasing your arm. A small smirk crawls onto his face. “Now I don’t care if it’s here or in your room, Sunshine, but you need to go the fuck to bed. You look like shit.”

Just as he says it, the full weight of your fatigue hits you. You give a mumbled acknowledgement of his words, and try to leave the room, but all the adrenaline is gone from your system and nothing is left to stop the failure of your legs or droop of your eyes. The last thing you feel is something pulling you up before your knees hit the carpet, the last thing you see is green eyes on your own, and you hear an amused snort from above you.

“Goodnight, Sunshine. Try not to dream about me.”

You try to object, but sleep pulls you under before you can even remember why you need to.

[holylulusworld]

A birthday dream (4)

Summary: It's your birthday and your harem gets bigger...

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Soldier Boy x Reader, Jensen Ackles x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Russell Shaw x Reader

Side-Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader (same reader)

Warnings: language, implied smut, mentions of smut (oral/fingering/anal), fangirling, RPF

Catch up here: Another dream (3)

Dream a little dream… masterlist

“Shit…oh fuck,” you moan loud enough to draw attention toward your bedroom. Ben, Dean, and Jensen silently sneak toward the door, huffing as you are going at it with Beau again. “Harder…yes…right there.”

“She’s fucking that cowboy cop again,” Dean grumbles. He’s not a fan of your new addition.

While you, Sam, and Beau try to find a way to send Beau back into his world, Dean and Ben try to stay in your world, with you.

“Calm down,” Jensen shrugs. “It’s a phase. He’s new, and she didn’t ride his dick as often as mine.”

“Shut up!” Dean and Ben grunt in unison. “We hate sharing our woman. If you like sharing her with another dick, it’s your problem, not ours.”

Dean and Ben flinch when the headboard of your bed slams against the wall. Your moans and your lover’s groans grow louder with every thrust of his cock.

“She’s close, huh?” Beau asks while casually walking inside the living room with Sam. “Who’s the lucky one this time?”

Jensen, Dean, and Ben turn around like in slow motion to look at Beau and Sam. They gape at the two men and furrow their brows. 

“What?” Sam asks. 

“What are you doing out here?” Dean cocks his head to look Beau up and down. “Shouldn’t you be in there and press orgasm after orgasm out of Y/N?”

“I’d like that, but Sam asked me to help him with the books.” Beau looks at the books in his hands. “I licked her pussy this morning, though.”

Dean’s features darken. He squares his jaw and huffs. “I made her cum in the showers this morning. The first of many birthday gifts for our girl.”

“I fingered her until she squired while actor boy ruined her cute ass,” Ben smirks at Dean. They are still at each other’s throats most of the time. 

“Uh—I got cake and flowers for her,” Sam awkwardly looks at the cake and flowers in his hands. “A thank you for helping me leave the apartment.”

“You mean you fucked,” Soldier Boy cackles, but his smirk vanishes when you cry out a name they never heard before. Well, not all of them. Jensen ducks his head and averts Dean and Ben’s gaze.

“Wait…if Beau and Sam are here too…” Dean turns his head to look at Jensen, “Who’s in there fucking our girl?”

“Ahem…you see,” Jensen clears his throat. “I—I had this guest role in a series and… I’m afraid Y/N watched the episode last night and…things got out of hand…”

“You are telling me that you played another dude and now she’s fucking him?” Ben glares at Jensen. “We told you to inform us if you take a new role, Ackles.”

“Fuck, yes…Russell!” You cry out your newest lover’s name. “There…harder…fuck. You’re so thick.”

“I’m thick too,” Ben is done listening. He kicks the door open only to watch Russell slip out of your well-fucked cunt. “You!” He points at Russell. “Out of the room.” 

“Dude, relax. She wanted to have some fun,” Russell smirks, looking so much like Soldier Boy in that moment. You whimper, already imagining getting double-teamed by them. “How can I deny her?”

Ben ignores Russell completely. He squares his jaw and exhales sharply. “And you!” He points at you. “Down on your knees, mouth open. You will spend your birthday filled with cock. Preferable with mine.”

“Hey, she’s not yours only!” Dean storms into the room, already tugging at his flannel. “I will join the party.”

“Me too!” Jensen stumbles inside the room. 

“Oh, no!” Ben shakes his head. “You are the reason for the new guy.” He grins at Jensen. “You won’t get any for the time being.”

“Can I join?” Beau pokes his head inside the room. “Maybe just…watch or take care of her after you ruined her.”

“Mr. Cuddles his back. Great,” Dean sarcastically says. “Fine, get in here. You can have her after we are done punishing our slutty girl for dreaming of another man.”

You fake a sob. “But…but…Jensen wanted me to watch the episode. I tried so hard to focus on Colter, but Russell was right there. He looked so good, and I got…horny.”

“Look at our whore,” Ben taunts. “She can never have enough cock, huh?”

“So…if you are all done…” Russell walks back inside the room, a beer in his hands. He's still stark-naked but doesn't really care. He leans in the doorframe and sips his beer. “Can I have another round?”

“No!” All men grunt in unison. 

“Newbies wait for their turn,” Sam clarifies. “You can help me with the books…” He whispers. “Wait for your chance. She gets needy after a nap…”

“Sammy,” you pout. “That’s our secret!”

Dean quirks a brow. “Ya know, Sammy. For a man pretending to not wanting to fuck Y/N you are sniffing around her pussy all the time.”

“Dean! Don’t be so… crude!”

“Sammy,” you purr. “We both know you can get very crude when we are alone.” You smirk at the former hunter. “How about you all come inside, close the door and we celebrate my birthday the best way possible…”

“Fuck…yes…” They all say in unison. All men will be a lot to handle, but you will be damned if you don’t take the chance and have a piece of all of them.

It’s your birthday after all…

Tags in reblog.

[thewertsearch]

Anonymous asked: i really love how all the ancestors have 8 letter titles which is so clearly just because our Primary Source on them is mindfang. like she absolutely did that on purpose. you know already that homestuck plays around with metanarrative and stuff, and i just love how many characters in homestuck we can learn about through the way they tell stories/serve as an author, either in small ways or large ways. like… vriska trying to Retroactively Make Herself More Important by Inserting Herself Into Various Important Moments is a way of trying to "be the author of her own story" right? but at the same time, she's largely trying to follow imitate mindfang, who she only knows about through the way SHE told stories, so she can't try to imitate what mindfang was really LIKE in life even if she wanted to, she can only imitate the way she AUTHORED that. and because vriska (unlike us) doesn't have the luxury of experiencing her own life as a story, i think thats part of what makes her so prone to Bad decisions, because things that seem The Most Dramatic in stories (like how mindfang wrote her own story down, likely embellishing for flair) aren't actually great decisions in real life.

Marquise

Orphaner

Summoner

Redglare

Sufferer

Expatri8 (Expatriate)

Looking at the Ancestors who've been namedropped so far, it really does feel like Mindfang deliberately twisted Zahhak's title into an eight-letter word. If she did have some sort of system, though, it seems to have fallen apart when naming the highbloods. Neither the Empress nor the Grand Highblood have any known eight-letter titles.

Edit, because I can't count: The Condesce does, in fact, have an eight-letter title. The Highblood, I believe, does not.

Also, that's such an interesting take on why Vriska's Like That. She's modelling herself off an embellished version of Mindfang - in other words, a completely fictional character.

And here she is, looking down on Tavros for trying to imitate Rufio. Glass houses, Vriska!

@manorinthewoods asked: On the subject of the Radio Troll… Communer, Conveyor, Observer, and on the names front, Hermitia or Voxcraft? Can't come up with any more, sorry. ~LOSS (10/9/24) Anonymous asked: The hostess is such a cool name :0 There's so many doc scratch parallels you could do with it. Well, like, anti-parallels. Perpendiculars? We'll workshop that one. You get what I mean

Right - in light of the eight-letter Ancestor titles, should the Hostess have a different name? It seems like more of a general trend than a hard rule. Maybe I'll come up with one later.

I am fond of the Reporter, but I'm not sure if I prefer it to the Hostess. I didn't even think about drawing parallels between her and Scratch, but that's an idea with real potential.

@ben-guy asked: Very exciting to finally see you reach the ancestor introductions! Fun fact: The English VA for Deku was once well known in the HS voice acting community if I'm remembering correctly. His most well known contributions are still spoilers as of me writing this, but I will say it involves the ancestors!

Wait, really? It's always wild when I hear about any real-life celebrities who are in any way involved in Homestuck. I'm still reeling about the fact that Zuko's voice actor is a fan.

[grayskies2525]

A Sneezy Little Christmas

This is just an incredibly self-indulgent 2,500 word one-shot about one of my OC's who has a cold on Christmas (well, Christmas Eve) and can't stop sneezing. That's it -- that's the whole story. I can't emphasize that enough. This is literally just sneezing 😅 Warning for a tiny bit of mess toward the end.

***

Felix isn’t going to sneeze. He isn’t going to sneeze because he’s already sneezed what must be one hundred times today, alone, and surely that should be enough to satisfy his body. There’s no rational  reason he should continue having to endure sneeze after sneeze. So, he makes the decision that he is done.  With his lips slightly parted, he pushes out a slow, steady breath and then slowly inhales the same way. He smiles at the victory. One whole breath and no sneeze! He deserves a medal, or trophy, or a bench dedicated to him, or— 

“HEP-NkxxT!”

“Bless you,” Connor says, his voice low, from his spot next to him at the dining table, as he rubs Felix’s back soothingly.

Felix narrows his eyes at his boyfriend. His annoyance isn’t from being blessed, but is instead from the simple fact that now he’s going to have to open his mouth to speak. Here he is, fighting for his life desperately trying to keep breathing from triggering a sneeze — and now he has to try speaking.

“Connor heh! Hhhhh hehhhh HEN-NKT’choooo!” Felix pitches forward, capturing the sneeze in his pitifully used tissue. “I think may-maybe we should hhh hhhh  put a moratorium on blessings during this dinner be-because —” Felix can’t finish the sentence. He just can’t. His nose is brimming with itchy, burning sneezes that are begging to topple out of him. His eyelids flutter as he focuses on the Santa Clause painting hung on the dining room wall. He stares at it as he continues letting out little gasps of air. “Heehhhh hhhhh Hhhhhh!”

“Oh dear,” he hears his mother say from her spot at the table across from him. “Okay, well, Felix is obviously too occupied by his cold right now to offer much to our conversations. So, Ben, why don’t you tell us how things have been with your jobs?”

Felix is thankful for attention being redirected to his best friend. Ben is, for all intents and purposes, his brother and is one of the closest people he has in his life. Ben also has a propensity to talk a lot about nothing, which is exactly what Felix needs right now because all Felix is capable of doing — all he’s been capable of since he woke up on this horrible Christmas Eve — is sneeze. Felix sits, fork in hand, in a futile attempt to maintain the pretense of actually being able to eat the dinner his parents cooked. 

He takes a shockingly deep breath — a breath that seems to draw in as much air as his lungs can physically hold— and continues staring at the picture on the wall. This time, there’s no gasping or hitching. He’s trapped in this one single breath while his eyes prickle with tears and his nostrils flare as his body prepares for the inevitable. He clenches one fist at his side. He uses his other hand to frantically wave his tissue —  a tissue that is, admittedly, strikingly damp and likely useless at the moment — in front of his face. He silently begs for the release to finally just come — to please, please just come already.

And it does.

“EEHHHHH-ETzz’SCHIEWWWW!” 

As prepared as he was for the sneeze, he’s still shocked by the force at which his entire body snaps forward. The way Ben suddenly jerks away from him —  putting an almost comical amount of distance between them — and his subsequent exclamation of “Christ, Felix!”  gives Felix the impression that he may not have captured as much of the spray with his tissue as he had intended. He supposes it would have been better to have had the tissues actually covering his nose and face instead of held out a foot in front of him. In his defense, he can normally stifle with ease, so he wasn’t exactly prepared for the harsh release of spray.

“Sorry,” Felix mumbles, sheepishly. He looks around as his father, mother, boyfriend, and best friend all stare at him. “I, uh… I think I must have picked up an especially bad cold from somewhere because I just can’t stop heehhh I can’t-can’t stop hep-NKT! HEH-NxxT! AH’NKT-chooo! At’NKT! HEP-nkt! I can’t stop sneezing hhhh hhh no matter h-h-how how hard I HEP-N’GKT! Holy shit,” he mumbles, blinking hard, keeping his harm pressed to his face. “Uh pardon my language, Mom. I just really can’t stop, oh my god.” His chest is heaving and more sneezes quickly begin tumbling out of him. “Eh-NKt’chooo! NKT’choooo! HmpKT’choooo! EH-TCHOOO! NKT’shooo! HMP’tshoooo!”

“Damn,” Ben says, sounding awed. “You know he’s really sick when he stops holding them in like he normally does.”

“Okay, um, excuse me. I need to uh st-step away MMpt’shhhhhhh! MPPT’SHOOO! HMPT’ShOOOOO!” Felix continues muffling sneezes into his arm as he makes his way to the bathroom. 

__________

Felix stands in the bathroom for a couple of minutes and still doesn’t think he’s ready to come out. His breaths are coming out erratically and there’s still such a sharp tickle buried deep inside his sinuses. He has already sneezed an astonishing amount, and he’s not proud of how many germs he’s sure he’s released into this small room. He’s just helplessly under control of this cold. He’s lost all autonomy when it comes to choosing to sneeze or not to sneeze. 

He hears a knock on the door and a “Felix, are you all right in there? Is it okay if I come in?” 

Felix sniffles. “Y-yes you can come in HET-NgT’CHOO!” The failed stifle bursts free in what Felix thinks to be a rather dramatic fashion with droplets of various sizes glistening on the bathroom mirror’s reflective glass. 

Connor opens the unlocked door and steps in, wearing a sympathetic smile. “Hey there. How are you feeling?” he asks as he places his hand comfortingly on Felix’s back. 

“Uh…” Felix says, then sniffles deeply. “Babe, I think I’m, like, super sick,” he says before sneezing down at the floor. 

“Really?” Connor asks, letting out a light chuckle. “I think we may need further evidence before we can draw a definitive conclusion.”

Felix tries to glare, but only succeeds in sneezing. “This is no time for jokes. I’m dying, Connor. I know people joke about dying when they have colds but I’m — I’m — I’m? HeeEEHHH’NGT’CHUUUHH!” 

And with that, the air becomes tainted with yet another contagious, germ-filled cloud. “Connor, I — I can’t even fucking cover anymore. They just — they won’t stop. To catch all of them, I’d have to have a perpetual arm held up or a ti-tissue heh-it’shhoooooo!" Felix lets out an exasperated sigh. "And, quite frankly, I’m too exhausted for that. Why? Why why why do they just keep coming?”  he asks, mostly rhetorically. 

Connor hums in thought next to him. “I think it’s your body’s way of banishing the cold from your body.”

“I know. I teach biology. I understand viruses, but — but why so — so many heh-m’KTshoooo!”

“Well, uh, something tells me you have a lot of that cold virus in you and your immune system is kind of… well, it’s freaking the fuck out. I think it’s trying to expel all those little viral demons out of you all at once,” Connor says with a gentle smile

“Well, personally, I find this to be an overly aggressive reaction and — EH-mpfft’shuuuh! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, I’m going to tear this whole thing off my face!” Felix exclaims in anguish, throwing back his head and groaning. 

“Oh, don’t do that. I love your little nose,” Connor says, smiling fondly at him. 

“You wouldn’t love it if it were yours, Connor,” Felix says, voiced laced with annoyance as he  rubs his nose. Feeling fatigue settle deep in his bones, he wanders over to the toilet to shut the lid and sit down. He rests his head against the wall, keeping his eyes shut.

He feels Connor’s cool hand against his forehead. Felix hums in contentment at the soothing touch. 

“You don’t feel like you have a fever,” Connor says.

“No,” Felix agrees. “No fever, but I feel like I could sleep for 20,000 years,” he says, not having the strength to open his eyes.

“Aw, don’t do that. I’m afraid I would miss you.”

“You’d be better off,” Felix says, hating how it comes out as a whine. “I’m useless now.”

“Aww, Felix. You look so pitiful,” Connor says, though Felix doesn’t miss the small laugh Connor lets out.  “We’ll get you feeling better soon, okay? Do you want to go ahead and leave? So you can get some rest?” Connor asks.

Felix contemplates this, but his nostrils are flaring and his breath is hitching and he’s about to — 

He feels something clasp around his nose and opens his eyes to see Connor pressing tissues against Felix’s face. “You look like you’re about to sneeze, and I don’t mean to offend you, but your sniffles sound… well, let’s just say that your next sneeze doesn’t sound like it’ll be a pretty sight if you leave it uncovered.”

Felix can’t process the words. He’s preoccupied with more pressing matters.

“HEFF-mph’ssshhhhttttt! MMg’shuuuhhhh! Eck’fshhuuuhhh! Aff’shhhtt! K’SHUUUH!”

Connor was certainly correct in his assessment of the current state of Felix’s nose. It is not a pretty situation. Even with the tissues, he can still feel steady trickle of warm wetness seeping past his nostrils and down his lips. He sees Connor’s wide-eyed, shocked expression and has a single millisecond to feel shame course through him before his body’s lost to another violent paroxysm. 

“HEP’NKxxxT’SHOOO!”

Felix truly did attempt a stifle out of courtesy, considering Connor’s hand had still been firmly pressing tissues over his nose. It seems, though, that the attempt created even more of a mess. 

“Sorry,” Felix says, voice mangled by an obscene amount of congestion and the tissues still clasped against his nose. 

Connor clearly attempts a smile, but it resembles more of a wince. “Bless you…. Uh, I’m going to be honest, I don’t think I thought this decision through entirely. I guess I thought you’d just have one sneeze? You kind of just kept going, though.... But, that was totally my bad. Nothing about today has indicated that your nose would be happy with one single sneeze. Do you… do you mind taking over now, sweetie?” Connor asks and Felix realizes he’s still sitting there while his nose drips with Connor holding Felix’s soaked tissues.

Felix slowly brings up his own hand to take over. Connor hands Felix over several more tissues. Felix blows his nose, feeling its contents pour into the tissue. It's a gurgling, long-lasting blow that easily drenches his tissues. He’s vaguely aware of Connor washing his hands. He winces slightly as he realizes that Connor had surely gotten some of Felix’s mess on his fingers.

Felix finishes blowing his nose, dropping the used tissues into the wastebasket. He scrunches up his nose at the itch he still feels present. 

“Oh, your poor nose,” Connor says, frowning.

“I know,” Felix says with a sniffle. “I’m one step away from Santa asking me to guide his sleigh tonight.”

Connor laughs, then cards his hand through Felix’s mess of wavy hair. He lowers his head, placing a gentle kiss on Felix’s forehead. When Connor draws back, he smiles and locks his gaze with Felix’s. “You know,” Connor starts. “I do recall someone warning you to be careful at the mall the other day. When there were… oh, I don’t know, dozens of people coughing and sneezing literally everywhere. In fact, if my memory serves correct, you seemed to completely ignore these suggestions, choosing instead to walk directly into the path someone openly coughed in.”

Felix cringes at the memory. “That may have been a mistake.”

Connor smiles, and Felix appreciates how it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. As annoyed as he is at Connor’s taunting — though truthful —  words, when Connor smiles like that, Felix will melt every single time.

“You’re cute when you wiggle your nose like that,” Connor says. Then, to Felix’s horror, he touches Felix’s nose. It’s only the tip of it and Connor is quick to pull his finger away, but the touch is firm and with Felix’s nose full of a cold, that’s all it takes.

He shakes his head violently and holds his hand out in front of him. He feels his warm, hitching breaths hitting the palm of his hand. 

Felix sits on the toilet seat, his chest heaving and eyes streaming tears. “HEHHHH Hhhhhh HHH HHHHH hhhhhhhh HHHHH!” 

He sees, through watery eyes, Connor roll his eyes and huff out a laugh. “I think I’m going to do us  both a favor and hurry this along.” With that ominous statement, Connor hands Felix several tissues. Felix, breath still hitching, gives Connor a questioning look.

Connor brings his long, slender finger up to Felix’s nose and begins to lightly trace over the bridge. Feeling the vibrations radiate throughout his entire sinus cavity, Felix throws his head back, using one hand fiercely to grip the side of the toilet seat and his other to clutch the tissues over his nose, while his breaths come out in desperate gasps until sneeze after sneeze begins to explode out of him..

“AAHHHHHH N’GXXT! N’GXXT! G’NXXT! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T!” Felix’s shoulders shake and his head pounds with the force of the stifled sneezes, but he instinctively continues stifling because that’s always been his natural response. “NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! NG’T! HAAHHHHHH NGT’choooo! NGT’chooooooo! NGxT’choooooo! HEP’NKt! HEP-NKT! NKT’SHOOOOO! EP’nkt’choooo! ET’SCHIEWWWW! ET’SCHIEWWWWW! ET-SCHOOOOO! ECK-SHOOOO! ”

Though many of the sneezes were stifled, he still manages to flood the tissues. He blows, sneezes some more, then looks up at Connor.

“Babe, I’m literally dying,” Felix says, his eyes still pouring tears and his nose is dripping like a faucet.

Connor is looking at Felix the way one typically looks at a swarm of ants feasting upon a rotten piece of food — as though Felix is disgusting but too interesting to look away from. 

“You’re not dying,” Connor says, rolling his eyes, though still smiling fondly in that way he often does. “You just have a really bad head cold. Like, really bad — to a truly impressive degree."

Felix feels another itch burrowing out from the depths up his sinuses, slowly crawling along to the surface. Felix can’t hold back a whimper as his shoulders sag and his expression crumples in defeat. 

“More?” Connor asks, sounding incredulous. 

“More,” Felix confirms, breath already hitching.

“Maybe you are dying,” Connor says with an expression mixed with concern and amusement.

Felix can’t roll his eyes, or shoot Connor the glare he deserves, or respond in any way other than to sneeze. So he does.

Then, he sneezes again. And again. And again.

Felix hears Connor muttering something about Felix needing rest and maybe some Benadryl, but Felix is helpless to respond. He’s at complete and total mercy of this cold. Felix resigns himself to the fact that this is simply going to be how he spends Christmas this year.

[knyontop]

alr so I know you said platonic bowers gang, so I have a idea, basically them w a reader who isn’t in their school — like they met reader at the arcade or smth and the gang drags them around to hang out; their all touchy w reader cause that’s pratically their baby now !!

though the gang doesn’t want reader to know of what their actually like (which are bullies) .. to protect them of course, but maybe reader ends up finding out through accidentally stumbling upon where the gang (henry) was trying to carve his name into bens stomach ? the gang sees and then runs after reader to try and explain … I’ll leave the ending up to you honestly.

₊˚ ‿︵‿୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿ ˚₊

Let me explain…

THIS IS SO SMART I LOVE IT???

Yandere!platonic!Bowers gang x reader

Ft: Henry bowers, Patrick Hocksetter, Victor Criss, Belch Huggins, Ben (I forgot his last name), and our amazing, handsome, beautiful reader.

Tw: yandere stuff, possessive behavior, patrick, violence, remember this is yandere BOWERS GANG so bewareeeee!!

Y/N ran into the arcade excited to play, they were trying to beat there high score. They were so focused on getting there they weren’t aware of there surroundings and accidentally bumped into someone. Y/N muttered out a sorry but the person grabbed there wrist, “What the hell is wrong with you?” He said turning Y/N around to face him.

Y/N is meet face to face with Henry bowers, Y/N has heard about him but never really cared to look into it. He had an angered look on his face and Y/N quickly thought of a way to diffuse the situation. “Uh, im so sorry! I really didn’t mean to..” they said looking at the ground in shame.

Henry raised an eyebrow and let go of there wrist. “Oh. Its- Its fine.” He said, after he said that his eyes widened what did he just say? He wasn’t actually letting the kid off the hook? Really? That wasn’t like him at all! Something in him just felt bad for lashing out at the kid… he didn’t know why he felt this.

Y/N perked up and then smiled “Alright then! Well buh bye.” They said before scurrying off to find there favorite arcade game.

Belch put his hand on Henrys shoulder, “What the hell was that?” He asked his friend that was now staring in shock. “I dont even fucking know.” He said before getting himself together with a huff. “What a weird kid.” He said before turning back to his friends.

“We gonna do anything about em’? Ive never seen that twerp around here.” Patrick said crossing his arms. Victor then chimed in, “Yeah I mean im pretty sure we would know them if they were around here.” Henry groaned. “Can you all shut up? Why do we care about them?” Belch then looked at the kid that was far away from them playing an arcade game. “I dont know, they seem interesting.” Belch said. There was like something drawing him towards them, it was strange feeling of wanting to protect.

Y/N was to focused on there game to notice the four teenagers staring into the back of there head, poor child not knowing what was to come.

There fate was already sealed with the bowers gang.

Y/N had officially beat there high score, they smirked and exclaimed under there breath. “Yes!” They whispered to themselfs. They were feeling pretty hungry so they were going to ask there parents if they could go eat or something.

Y/N started walking to the exit but they tripped over something, they fell onto the floor but caught themselves with there hands. They gasped and turned to see what happened, they couldn’t have just tripped on air! They say a tall boy with black hair and a mischievous grin on his face.

“Heyyyy~ I ain’t seen you around here before, you new here?” He asked staring down at the kid, there were three other boys with him including the one boy they bumped into.

Y/N awkwardly rubbing the back of there neck embarrassed, “Im not new ive been here before…” they said before a boy with blonde platinum hair spoke up. “Oh, never seen you around school ether what school you go to?” He asked with genuine curiosity.

Y/N stood up brushing themselves off and fixing there ruffled clothes. “I uh go to [school name].” Then he spoke again. “Oh.” He said looking at the kid feeling some weird attachment to them.

“Well I must get going now, uh later?” They said before trying to walk away but the boy they bumped into earlier grabbed there wrist tightly. “Do you think you can just turn your back on us? Show some respect and look at us.” He said with a glare and the kid looked surprised at his hostility.

“Oh- im sorry?” They said unsure of what was going on, Patrick noticed they obviously had no idea who they were so they might as well have fun with it.

A bigger boy walked up to Y/N, “Dont worry about Henry, hes just being a bit of a dick right now.” He said nudging Henrys shoulder to tell him to knock it off not wanting Henry to scare the them away. “Im Belch, nice to meet you.” He said holding his hand out feigning innocence as if he wasn’t one of the local bullies.

Y/N chuckled nervously and took his hand shaking it before quickly re-tracing there hand. “Uh huh.” They said before the skinnier boy with platinum hair stepped forward. “Im Victor, and behind me is Patrick sorry if he didn’t make the best first impression.” He said glancing at his tall friend annoyed.

Y/N hummed nodding there head. “Its fine, totally not going to see him in my dreams tonight.” They said sarcastically making Patricks smirk grow.

“So uhm nice to meet you guys and ta tah now!” They said making an attempt to leave again before one of them would stop them, again.

Victor quickly blurted out a “Wait!” And stepped in front of them. “Hey, we just meet. It would be a shame if you left so soon.” He said as a grin pulled at his lips. “Okay is this what were doing?” They said before Patrick took there wrist and started dragging them with the group. “Were going to have a great time kid.” He said while poor Y/N just followed after them so confused of what they were getting themselves into.

These boys were strange, but Y/N couldn’t lie they had some fun hanging out with these reckless teenagers eventually getting comfortable with them but still having this gut feeling something was wrong so they pushed down away and continued hanging with the odd boys.

How naive you are Y/N.

Y/N was walking home from school, just skipping along listening to the birds chirp and feeling a sense of peace and freedom they haven’t felt in a while soon it was all interrupted by a screams that sounded to be a boy Y/N looked around to find out where the sound was coming from and immediately started running towards it trying to play hero.

They saw the four boys they were starting to call there friends surrounding a boy a tormenting him Y/N was to stunned to speak, they felt betrayed and stupid. They should have listened to there gut feeling, what was wrong with these boys!?

Victor out of the corner of his eye saw a familiar kid with H/C hair staring at the scene in shock and he immediately stopped what he was doing to look at them.

Patrick looked at Victors face and raised an eyebrow, he was annoyed that he stopped so he turned around to see what all the fuss was about and muttered “Shit.”

Belch looked at his friends and then saw Y/N, he let go of the kid he was holding down and hit Henrys shoulder.

Henry was pissed and turned around angrily to see the familiar face of Y/N, he froze and clenched his jaw.

Patrick started to approach them with a chuckle, “Dont be so surprised, everyone tried to tell you.” He said in an almost mocking tone taunting the kid for there stupidity of trusting them.

Y/N turned on there heel and started to run out of anger and sadness, they felt tears prick in there eyes at Patricks taunt. Why were they surprised?

Henry dropped his knife and took off after Y/N before any of the boys could think, he felt sweat start to drip down his forehead. Soon the other boys followed behind leaving the kid Ben to run for it.

Henry was able to catch up to Y/N quickly, he harshly turned them around and pushed them to the ground so they couldn’t start running again. This gave him a moment to catch his breathe, Victor then stepped forward speaking up. “Look, just let- let us explain.” He said putting his hands up in surrender.

“Explain? Explain what!? That you guys are horrible people? That you guys have lied to me? What is there to explain!” Y/N snapped not even making an effort to get up.

Victor winced and Patrick yawned, “I mean, I dont know what you were expecting kid. You were just to naive.” He said with a slight laugh, Belch punched his shoulder.

“Look Y/N we were just teasing! We weren’t actually going to hurt him.” Blech said trying to defuse the situation.

“Thats not teasing, Belch! Thats bullying!” They said getting up and glaring harshly at the boys.

“Its fun! Cmon Y/N, live a little.” Patrick said smirking, Henry then spoke up. “Y/N why do you even care about him? We didn’t even do anything to you!” Henry said getting up into there face. “You lied!” They said back, backing away from him.

“Yeah well, its not our fault your so naive and gullible.” He said harshly, ouch. Y/N raised there eyebrows. “What is wrong with you!” They raised there voice, Henry gripped there chin firmly. “What? What was that Y/N?” He said daring them to say it again.

Patrick watched this go on with satisfaction, they did need to be put in there place.

Belch didn’t stop Henry because he felt this was far, they needed to learn anyway.

Victor watched feeling justified, he felt hurt by there words so this was deserved in his eyes.

“Ever raise your voice at me, ever and there will be consequences, understood?” Henry said speaking to Y/N as if they were a kid who was in trouble.

Y/N, not wanting to upset Henry any further obeyed. “Understood Henry.” They said before Henry pushed them away. “Now, are you going to stop being a brat?” He asked crossing his arms, Y/N felt frustrated at this but who were they to defy him? “Yeah.” They said gulping down the anger they felt.

“Good.” Henry smiled satisfied with there answer.

“Your never getting away Y/N.”

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I hope you liked it! :33 i feel rly nervous about this onedibhuibhdj



[spider-stark]

notes regarding the blackwood x bracken bullshit below - definite spoilers for season 2 episode 3 below the cut, as well as screenshots from the episode

for starters - what the fuck

okay, now that we have that out of the way: I don't care if his Davos, Benjicot, or Blackwood #3 -- it needs to be discussed how terrified that Bracken boy looked to even be in his presence. from the jump, he looks noticeably off-put and by the time he draws his sword, he looks like he's shaking in his goddamn boots, ok?

additionally, you cannot tell me it's not Bloody Ben behavior for this Blackwood to quite literally decide AGAINST drawing his own weapon before approaching this boy with a GRIN ON HIS MOTHER-FUCKING FACE only for it to then cut scene and we see the Bracken laying dead on the ground with his own sword jutting out of his throat.

I mean, they made a point of showing the pommel of the Bracken's sword prior to this scene. they wanted it to be clear he was slain with his own weapon, which - as I just said - would be such textbook BLOODY FUCKING BEN BEHAVIOR.

but, then, I propose this:

I think there is a good 99.9% chance that this is our boy. I would love to say I'm banking on the 00.1% that it's not, but I'll be honest guys - I'm not hopeful in the slightest. every aspect of the outfit that can be seen is practically identical to what the Blackwood (Benji/Davos/Whatever) was wearing previously.

with that being said, I feel like this scene was poorly executed if that's the case, considering we then go to the scene of Aegon's council so soon after and make it a point to say Samwell Blackwood was slain in battle -- that would have been more impactful to me if we had just seen the aftermath of Bloody Ben and, essentially, been formally introduced to the new Lord of Raventree Hall and Head of House Blackwood.

any and all opinions/comments/theories welcome because I am dying to discuss. additionally --- what the actual fuck do we do about the fan fiction

[supercap2319]

"Y/N. I promised him that. I promised your father, that I would keep away from you. And now l'm gonna come and eat dinner with your family? How can l do this? What does this make me?" Peter asked. He had been wrestling with us for a while now. Just before Captain Stacey died, he made Peter promise that he would stay away from his son, Y/N Stacey. And Peter tried his best, but, God, Y/N was so stubborn.

Drawing his coat closer to his body, Y/N looks at Peter. "I don't know, what does that make you?" He asked. Peter's voice was shaking as he moved his hands around for emphasis. "It makes me not able to live with myself." Peter sighed and walked a few feet away from Y/N.

"I thought that it meant you loved me."

I do love you. I love you.

"Then why isn't that enough? Hm? Y/N asked. "I don't understand how that can't be enough." Y/N turns Peter towards him, looking into his eyes. "Because what if something happens to you...just like it happened to him because of me?"

No, wait." Peter started when he saw Y/N was going to say something. "Listen. No, n—" Y/N began, trying to get Peter to see his side, but the hero was persistent on making himself heard first. "Wait. Wait!" Peter takes a pause. "I cannot let that happen."

"Listen to me. You're Spider-Man...and I love that. But l love Peter Parker more. That's worth it to me." Y/N confessed.

"I can't lose you too. I've already lost so much already." Peter said.

"If because you can't lose me, we can't be together...who does that work out for, Peter?"

"I can't. l'm sorry, Y/N."

"I'm sorry too because I'm not going to give up on us. Because every time you save someone or do something good, I'll be right." Y/N said.

"Ugh! You have not been listening to me. You can't be with me, Y/N! People around me die! My Uncle Ben is dead because of me. Your father is dead because of me!" Peter was hysterical now. He was trying to protect Y/N. Keep him from making the biggest mistake of his life.

Peter had expected Y/N to be hurt or something at the way Peter was yelling at him, but the only thing Peter saw in his eyes was determination and defiance. "This is my choice, Peter. Mine! Not yours. Not my dad's. Mine! What makes life so precious, so beautiful...is that it ends."

"Then you're stupid." Peter said.

"Then I'm stupid. I don't care. I'm fighting for the life I want, and I want you, Peter. I-I-I belong with you." Y/N pushed.

"But I don't belong with you." Peter said, before he heads down the road. Y/N watched him go, tears in his eyes. "Peter!"

[greenlikethesea]

@sparklyslug and I commissioned the incredible @mardyart to draw a pivotal scene from our fic, Three Weddings and a Funeral, a part in our currently sprawling universe Let us Dwell in Fair Ithilien and There Make a Garden. For those who have read, you might recognize this as a scene from the third chapter, post [redacted] funeral, where Steve and Eddie have a conversation in the Byers-Hopper kitchen about what is deserved.

Thank you so much for this beautiful art, Mardy. We’re so unbelievably thrilled with the finished product, and we couldn’t be happier. You’re the best!

Referenced fic excerpt under the cut, for context!

 “Oh Joyce, love of my life,” Eddie says to himself, removing several pints of Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer and lining them up on the kitchen counter. Without even asking Steve for his preference, he wordlessly hands Steve the almost full pint of Cherry Garcia. He just knows which one is his favorite, apparently, which shouldn’t surprise Steve as much as it does. “Do you think it’s too soon to propose to her?”

 “I see your stance on asking people out at funerals has changed,” Steve remarks, ignoring the swoop in his stomach at Eddie’s (playful, completely not serious, Joyce is their mom) suggestion.

 “First of all, post-funeral is fair game,” Eddie says as he gets out two bowls and two spoons; he, like Steve, knows this kitchen like the back of his hand. Even knows where to find a jar of apparently unopened maraschino cherries, theatrically blowing the dust off the lid into Steve’s face, who in return theatrically coughs and gags. After a slight pause, he takes the pint of Cherry Garcia out of Steve’s hand and sets to making a little sundae for him. Steve can only dumbly watch as Eddie gives him two scoops and presses down on them so they’re a little softer, just how Steve likes it, adding a brusquely effective swirl of whipped cream, cherries on top, before handing it back to him. In Steve’s professional opinion, it’s a Scoops Ahoy-worthy performance. Makes him kind of wish the outfit was involved, mmm.

 “Secondly,” Eddie says, Steve doing a quick mental scramble away from the vision of Eddie in blue striped shorts and back towards whatever the hell they had been talking about, “I’m pretty sure a sexless marriage is out of the question for her, so it would be a swift no.” He’s less formal with his own ice cream prep, simply jamming a spoon into his own tub (Phish Food, which is just so typically him), whipped cream and cherries apparently forgotten.

 “She deserves better than that,” Steve says now, years later, chasing a stray cherry around the side of his bowl with his spoon. “And so do you.”

 Eddie gives Steve a look, a little bit of humor and a little bit of apprehension and a bit of evaluation. And something so unsurprised, too, a kind of fond      Jesus H Christ, of course smile manifesting just through the shadow of a dimple, not quite making itself entirely seen.

 “I know,” Eddie says simply. The quiet confidence of a man who does know what he deserves, does know that he can and should be desired. Treasured. And get what he wants. And who is, maybe, a little surprised that Steve knows that too.

 Steve pops the maraschino cherry between his teeth, flavor exploding at the back of his tongue, just this shy of too syrupy-sweet, as he looks at Eddie’s face. He can feel it coming in, then. The way he’s heard that the water pulls all the way back far as the eye can see, before a tsunami comes rushing back in. Has a sense of what’s heading his way, in the time that it takes for Eddie to shake his head ruefully and continue, taking his eyes off Steve’s face in an uncharacteristically indirect move. One of only a handful of times Steve can think of, when Eddie hasn’t looked frank and fearless into Steve’s eyes.

 “You do too,” Eddie says to his bowl with quiet ferocity, and follows it with a spoonful of ice cream so quickly that it’s like he’s trying to stuff the words back in. Cover up the evidence with Ben&Jerry’s finest.

I love him, Steve thinks, the hundred-foot high wave coming in. Less devastating of a natural disaster, but sure as shit knocking him off his feet and sending him spinning. Hey, Eddie. I love you.  

[chrrychills]

hi ‼️‼️ can i request the sbg characs with a high achiever s/o?? hope you're doing alright, and you get out of the slump soon 💯💯💗 also, i absolutely LOVE LOVE your wirting stylee, and the headcanons are rlly accurate ‼️

if i only could, i'd make a deal with God .

main six « academic weapon s/o!

ashlyn banner:

•while she doesn't strive for academic excellence the way you do, she understands your thought process and supports you in how hard you work.

•she likes the concept of a study date— except you're the only one actually studying because she gives up about fifteen minutes in and ends up laying down somewhere while you study. she won't interrupt you though!

•while she doesn't show it outwardly, ashlyn's really proud of you. she knows how hard you work and loves watching it pay off.

•she's also the first to reassure you after you don't get the results you want. if you're upset about a test grade, she'll suggest grabbing some food and taking a nap to get your mind off of things.

•ashlyn's big on making sure you're taking care of yourself. if you get too caught up in studying for her liking, she'll force you to take a break to eat, drink, shower or just rest.

aiden clark:

•aiden is naturally smart so studying was never really a necessity for him, so he doesn't understand why you're bent over a desk for hours on end. i mean he gets it, but he doesn't get it. y'know?

•unlike ashlyn, he does not like the idea of study dates. if you invite him over to study, he won't even bring his school stuff. and if you try to get an ounce of studying in he'll pester you until you eventually give up and pay attention to him.

•you don't know it, but he does this because he wants to make sure you're taking breaks and not overworking yourself. also because he likes to annoy you, but it's mainly concern.

•like i said before, the little fucker is naturally gifted, so he'll usually end up with a low A or something along those lines. you always end up getting better scores than him, though. the studying really does pay off.

•he lowkey boasts about how smart you are as if it's his own achievement... but it's just because he's proud of you and likes to show you off. he'll stop if you tell him to. maybe.

ben clark:

•ben can't really get himself to lock in and study unless it's a topic that interests him, so needless to say he's impressed by how immersed you seem in the most boring of topics.

•instead of studying together, you guys will take a day or two of the week to just be together and enjoy the other's presence. sometimes you'll be studying and he'll be drawing, sometimes you two will be taking a nap or getting food. it just depends on how you feel that day.

•another one that's adamant that you take proper breaks. especially when midterms/finals roll around, ben gets worried that you won't give yourself a break and get burnt out.

•he makes sure that you understand how proud he is of you. he sees how hard you work to get to where you are, and he wants you to know that it's impressive. he's actually so whipped it's crazy.

•overall, ben's very attentive and he just wants the best for you.

tyler hernandez:

•another academic weapon. tyler's naturally smart, but the difference between him and aiden is that he actually studies. best believe you two are top of your class and you're constantly competing one-up each other on grades and test scores and whatnot.

•study dates are a must. they're not an everyday thing, but once or twice a week you two will spend hours cooped up in one of y'all's rooms with food, drinks and homework.

•we all know it's difficult for tyler to recognize when he's pushing himself to hard, and taking breaks is the bane of his existence. if you want him to take a break from homework/studying, it'll have to take a lot of convincing.

•on the flipside, he'll force you to drop everything and eat/drink/nap if he sees that you're overworking yourself. what a hypocrite.

•he's the first one to pull you out of a burnout or slump. he knows you're smart, and he knows you know it too. sometimes a bit of motivation is just what you need and he knows it.

taylor hernandez:

•while taylor is smarter than the average person, she's much more of a hands-on learner. there's a lot of times where she'll be tinkering with parts or welding some types of metal and you'll be doing homework at a desk a couple feet away. it's a way for you guys to stay close while still getting things done.

•when she gets bored, though, taylor isn't above pulling you away from your schoolwork to come hangout/cuddle with her.

•another one who is loudly proud of you and your accomplishments. taylor is and will forever be your #1 fan, and you're hers too.

•she trusts you to not push yourself or burn yourself out, but she'll step in if she has too. she doesn't want to see you crash and burn because you worked too hard.

•she rambles to tyler about how cool & smart you are, and he doesn't have the heart to tell her that he doesn't gaf.

lacey's notes:

thank you for requesting, i sorta combined it w another similar request bc i didn't wanna write 2 separate posts about basically the same thing...

#notedited

tdy's my birthday guys isn't that crazy i'm lowkey reaching unc status

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