#Only for you to be launched right back to where you started. With your old name and old reputation.

[thevoidstaredback]

Danny was not having a Good Time™ but he also wasn’t having a Bad Time™. He was stuck in an idle limbo between the two where he was both numb and not. It didn’t really make sense to him, either.

Somewhere between stumbling upon the Justice League Dark and coming to live in the House of Mysteries full time, Danny found himself seeing the group as something akin to family. He was starting to see them as part of his Fraid and it scared him because good things don’t happen to his Fraid. Sure, nothing inherently dangerous happens, but nothing really good happens, either.

He didn’t like that the House had picked up on his feelings because that meant that it was now making sure he was encountering the rest of the JLD whenever any of them were visiting. Constantine and Deadman were the two he saw the most, but that’s only because they, like him, are almost permanent residents.

Constantine ripping into the Justice League did not help his feelings on the matter of his Fraid. The same man now knowing what happened to his family as well as what he looks like in both forms isn’t helping, either. He doesn’t regret letting John see him as Danny, though.

“Have you seen the security footage from the last League Meeting?” Billy asked around his sandwich.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Danny sipped his coffee. It still needs vodka. “And, no, I haven’t. Anything I should worry about?”

Billy swallowed his food, grabbed his League communicator from his jacket’s inner pocket, and pulled up the footage. “It’s actually really funny,” He handed the device over so Danny could watch. “Much funnier on a halo screen, but it’s funny like this, too.”

He had to admit that watching Constantine rip the heroes a new one was really funny. “I have never seen any of them look so cowed before.”

“Right?” He stashed the communicator away again, drinking his lemonade at the same time. “I think Batsy-boy actually took home the powerpoint to study. Do you think he took notes?”

Danny hummed, “I don’t know Batsy-babe all that well, but I wouldn’t doubt that he’s taking notes. From what I do know about him, he’s probably gonna make everyone that operates in Gotham memorize the thing.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they’re looking at information sensitive to you and your home and people. They could find something to use against you. We all know what Bat-dad is like.”

He shrugged. “There isn’t any way into the Realms that I’m not monitoring. And any information that Batman thinks he can use against me can’t be used against me.”

“How do ya mean?”

“I’ve seen what I can become and I know what happens if I ever become him. I already have so many plans in place to prevent the worst- Bat-mad will be Bat-sad to figure out that nothing he could try and use against me would work, no matter what he tries.”

“Do I, um, even want to know?”

“No, probably not.”

“Okay.” A beat. “Hey, you can’t just tack on a word after ‘bat’ to describe him! That’s not how this game works!”

Danny smirked. “Aw, are you bat-mad? Are you gonna throw a bat-fit?”

Bill glared, getting ready to lunge. “I’ll show you a bat-fit! Get over here, asshole!”

Bill launched himself across the picnic table they were sitting at. Danny caught him, letting the both of them fall backwards, though he used a bit of flight to catch them before hitting the ground. In the same move, the two rolled over each other for a few feet.

After a few minutes, Danny had Billy pinned to the grass, his knee on his chest. “You gonna raise the white bat-flag?”

“As if B-man would surrender with a bat-flag.” Bill scoffed.

“Oh? What’re you gonna do about it, adoption bait?”

“This, old hag!”

Billy drew his knee back, hitting Danny’s back and sending him off balance. Once free, Billy pushed himself from the ground, spun to face his faux opponent, then relaunched himself at him.

Once again, Danny caught Billy, but he didn’t let them fall. Instead, with the young boy’s hands on his shoulders, he lifted him by his waist effortlessly and carried him back to where they had been eating.

Billy huffed when he was set back down, crossing his arms and looking away. “Coward.”

Danny raised an eyebrow as he retook his own seat. “You wouldn’t’ve beaten me anyway.”

“I totally would’ve won!”

“Big words coming from a toddler.”

“Yeah, maybe from you, old man. You’re older than time itself!”

“Hey! I’ve met Time, and I’ll have you know that he is not old.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You must be ancient if even a concept is younger than you!”

“Oh, you little brat! You’re gonna eat your words, ya hear me?”

“Threatening a child?” Billy put his hand on his chest, his expression offended. “I could have you arrested for that!”

Danny scoffed. “How’re you gonna call? The Ghostbusters?”

Billy shrugged. “I was thinking more along the lines of Young Justice.”

Danny closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “They’re coming up behind me, aren’t they?” It was less of a question and more of a resigned statement.

“Yep!”

“At least they don’t know who we are?”

“I speak only for myself, man.”

Danny groaned and bit into what was left of his sandwich. He’d much rather delay the inevitable if ignoring the teen hero team didn’t make them go away. Unfortunately, luck was not on his side.

“Daniel Fenton?” Red Robin, dressed in civilian clothing, asked.

Danny didn’t react. Instead, he washed down his food with some more spiked coffee. It needed more vodka.

Superboy - Danny would know a Kryptonian’s strength anywhere - put his hand on his shoulder. “Hey, you Daniel Fenton?”

He turned with the hand, swinging his legs over the bench and leaning against the table to face the group. “Depends on who’s asking.”

Red Robin stuck his hand out for a handshake as Superboy stepped back to join Impulse and Wonder Girl. “Tim Drake, it’s nice to meet you.”

“No it’s not.” Danny didn’t even try to hide his appraising expression as he looked the four up and down, his gaze jumping between them all for a few seconds before he flipped back around, ignoring Tim’s handshake. “Be careful how you share your name with,” he patted the seat next to him, “Red Robin.” He sensed the four behind him stiffen as he shared a look with Billy who nodded slightly at him.

The four heroes sat on benches, Red Robin and Superboy beside Danny while Wonder Girl and Impulse sat beside Billy. “How did you..?”

“I’m not an idiot. Your disguises may work on everyone else, but I - as I’m sure you know - can see your souls. And, as much as I’m sure it pains Bat-lad, your soul is the one thing that can never be changed.”

“Really?” Impulse asked.

“No, that’s all bullshit,” he admitted with a shrug, “Thanks for confirming it, though!” He only knew because Billy knows them all because of a string of unfortunate identity reveals. They don’t know who he is, though.

Tim shared a look with his teammates. “So we were right, then. You’re Phantom.”

Billy, ever the drama queen, gasped with his entire body, his right hand slapping against his chest. “You lied to me? A child? You said you weren’t a superhero!”

Danny snorted at the shocked looks from the four teenagers. He kicked Billy. “Come off it, kid, you knew already. Don’t give them another reason to keel over.”

“You told him who we are!” Wonder Girl accused.

“No, he told me who you are,” Danny corrected, “I just rolled with the punches.” He finished off his coffee. “Honestly, you guys make it too easy.”

The group spluttered. Finally, Tim cleared his throat. “I, um, just wanted to apologize-”

“Okay.”

“I- ‘okay’?”

“Yep. ‘Okay’.”

Tim blinked. “Cool, um…Sorry for being insensitive-”

“And that’s where I’m taking my cue to leave.” Danny said, standing up.

“What?” Superboy asked, “Why? He hasn’t even said anything yet.”

“Because I know how the rest of this is gonna play out, and frankly, I want no part of it.” He picked up his trash, Billy doing the same. “You’re gonna apologize and think everythings perfectly fine and you’re going to ask even more invasive questions under the assumption that forgiveness means you can do it all over again. I hate to break it to you, but that’s not how this works.”

“I wasn’t-”

“If you were really honest in your apology,” He took a piece of chalk from his pocket. “-then you wouldn’t’ve sought me out as a civilian.” He was quick to draw a door on the grass, the chalk somehow sticking. “Thank you, Tim, for blowing my cover. If I find out that any of you four have told anyone, I will reign hell upon you all. Now, if you’ll excuse us.” He reached down and grasped the now 3D door handle, twisting it and pulling the door open. Before he and Billy jumped through it, he looked over his shoulder at the four. “You’re not forgiven, if that wasn’t obvious. Try again after you’ve looked through Constantine’s powerpoint; he’s much more knowledgeable than you.” The door closed with a click behind him, the chalk dust absorbing into the dirt.

Part 10 Part 12

[heyhollow]

"Do you find Micheal been acting..strange?"

click for better quality

I've been rereading the comic by @pixlokita again

You can partially blame them for me hopping back into fnaf lol

Here's some art lightly inspired by their Into The Ballpit AU...you DO NOT wanna know how long I scrolled to find the colors for Henry's house or the design of Micheal's shoes...

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Disney princess Danny

It’s known that animals can sense death. Instances where pets gravitate to someone on their death bed and dogs barking at ghosts. Danny already knew this from before he half died, so he was expecting animals to rat him out with their sixth sense or become aggressive or cower from him. Instead, they all behaved the complete opposite than he anticipated.

Stray cats come running to rub against his legs, dogs nearly pull arms out of their owners sockets to get close to him, birds bring him trinkets, raccoons lead him to trash cans full of food, and even squirrels and rats get close to just sit on his shoulders. It’s… weird, but not unwelcome. He always loved animals.

Danny had come to semi-trust the animals that come to him. They know where the good food is and drinking water, they know when to steer away from a certain area right before something happens, and they always know when a person is bad or okay. So when an animal leads him somewhere, he follows. Sometimes they need help and he’s the one they go to. He’s helped plenty of raccoons out of garbage bins and cats out of gutters to have a good relationship with the animals of the streets.

What he isn’t expecting is to be led to Robin again and again.

The first time it was a cat. A mangy old Tom cat that rubbed against his torn up jeans and looked back with - Danny swears- a raised eyebrow. Danny follows and soon enough he finds himself standing a few paces away from Robin who is kneeling down to give clean water to the momma cat and her three kittens.

Robin freezes and so does Danny. They stare at each other.

“Um, hi?”

Robin straightens immediately, leaving the water on the ground where the cats can drink. Tom cat swaggers over to guard them.

“Civilian. Is there something I can assist you with?”

The dude is probably a year or two younger than Danny himself and he has to suppress a smile at the formal tone.

“Oh, uh, no? The cat just led me here.”

He can see Robin glance at the Tom cat who was now licking himself.

“Is that so?”

“Yea. Sorry to interrupt. Animals just like me for some reason.”

The three kittens one by one all totter over to him on unsteady legs after they had their fill. The orange one starts trying to climb his pant leg with its short and sharp claws digging into the jean material.

“They really like me.”

He carefully sits down crossed legged so the others could also climb all over him. Robin watches for a moment silently and when he sees Danny react well to the little pricks from tiny claws, he seems it safe enough to return to patrol.

The second time it’s a couple of rats that lure him away to find Robin fighting off more thugs than he probably should by himself. So taking the rats’ movements as encouragement, he takes the closest thing, a piece of plywood, and hit the nearest guy over the head with it. The guy crumbles like a wet sock and Danny is moving on to the next thug.

They sweep the floor with these guys with only a few splinters and a twisted ankle.

“It was dangerous to intervene,” Robin tells him. “I had it handled.”

“Yea, I know.”

The vigilante didn’t seem to be expecting that response from his stunned silence. He straightens as much as he can with bruised ribs.

“Well, I’m glad you know your mistake. Don’t let it happen again.”

Danny neither agrees nor disagrees, just shrugs and allow the rats to climb up his leg to his shoulder. Robin looks at them curiously. Danny gives a salute before leaving. Robin gives him a nod.

The third time it happened the roles are reversed.

Some people from the local gang are bullying the lonely, homeless teen to run drugs for them. They don’t seem to understand the word ‘no’. It gets to the point where Danny finds himself with his back against the wall and all his exits blocked with a guy shoving him again and again.

“Stop it!”

“I’ll stop if you agree.”

“I’m not doing it!”

Frank the raccoon and his buddy Bobby launch themselves at the guy’s ankles. The guy shrieks and pulls a gun.

“No!”

Before Danny can dive for it, a projectile comes out of nowhere to knock it out of his hands. He can’t even process what happened before the three are running away, two raccoons chattering at their heels before coming back to crowd him in worry.

Danny looks up to see Robin with a sword out threateningly, staring at where the three fled. He sheaths the sword after a few seconds.

“Are you okay?”

Danny realizes he’s breathing a little heavy and slows down a bit as he leans over to pet the top of the two heads.

“I’m- yea, I’m okay. Thanks for the save. Those guys were jerks.”

“I’m inclined to agree.”

Robin is staring at the raccoons and it takes Danny a long moment to piece things together.

“Did- did they lead you to me?”

Robin doesn’t answer right away.

“You have loyal friends.”

Danny smiles at the weird compliment. Looking down at the two heroes of the evening Danny is also inclined to agree.

The fourth time is funny in a way Danny doesn’t know how to describe.

It was the pigeons. They were at fault of course for how Robin’s secret identity was outed. By pigeons.

The grey birds swarmed Danny and settled in a cloud of feathers. One holding something in its beak before plopping it down in his lap like a golden retriever. It flaps off as Danny picks up the obvious wallet clip holding quite a bit of cash and a student ID. The card says Damian Wayne from Gotham Academy. Just then Robin comes skidding around the corner, clearly out of breath and freezes.

Danny looks down at the clip in his hand and back up at the vigilante. He looks at the crazy amount of birds around him and again at the vigilante.

Said vigilante straightens and approaches like he called Danny there.

“If I could have that so I could return it to its proper owner.”

He holds out a hand with false arrogance, but Danny can see the nervousness in his stance. Danny looks down one last time before putting the clip in the outstretched hand without a word.

Robin nods once, pockets the ID and money, and immediately leaves.

The fifth time just cements what Danny had already figured out.

He was at the park. Not Ivy’s park of course, the one where people actually like to go. He was helping the squirrels find and hide acorns when he’s nearly knocked over by a massive black dog.

“Titus!”

The end of the Great Dane’s leash is a familiar face. Damian Wayne’s eyes widen in recognition as he finally sees who Titus was so excited to get to.

“Uh-“

Danny has to close his mouth quickly or else the massive tongue on his face would have turned into a French kiss.

“Titus! Heel!”

Danny laughs at the embarrassed blush on the other’s face, obviously not used to his companion going off the rails like this.

“It’s alright. We both know how animals like me.”

Damian narrows his eyes to analyze the teen. Danny wasn’t about to pretend and Damian looked like he was debating whether to follow his lead or not. There was literally no one within hearing distance.

“Have you told anyone?”

Danny thought about redirecting, but thought better of it. He actually liked Robin and what he did.

“Nope. I haven’t and I won’t. I swear.”

Damian tilts his head and then looks down at Titus. He seems to come to a decision before looking back at Danny.

“You’re homeless, are you not?”

Didn’t think they were being that direct but sure.

“Yea?”

“I will pay you in food and shelter to take care of my animals.”

Danny blinks. Then actually considers the offer.

“What kind of animals? How many we talking?”

Damian grins.

The family finds out pretty quickly when a teen they’ve never seen before walks into the Batcave with two pails of food for the bats, Titus at his heels and Alfred the cat perched contently on his shoulders.

Duke stares and Bruce short circuits.

“Um, who are you?”

“Hi! I’m Danny. Damian employed me to take care of the animals.”

“O…kay?”

“And where is Damian?” Bruce sounds like it physically hurts to ask and Danny does not envy Damian’s position right now.

“Upstairs. I think he said he was going to his art studio.”

Bruce marches past the boy to the stairs before stopping abruptly and turning to Danny and Duke.

“Don’t touch anything. Watch him.”

Duke and Danny blink at each other for a moment as Bruce disappears up the stairs.

“I’m Duke by the way.”

Danny grins.

[nosyrobin]

My sibling, my rules….

Damian Wayne x BabyBat!reader

Summary: baby bat is going to go on a play date, but a certain bird wants to keep playing with their dear sibling.

“Damian…” dick had said in a weary tone. He wasn’t sure how to approach his younger brother holding the newest and youngest addition to the family. Damian held that feral rage in his eyes just like when he first attacked dick when he had came into Gotham.

“You have to let them go, they have a scheduled play date. It’s for the best..” Damian’s eyes slimmed as he took a step back from dick. Dick was trying to be patient with the smaller boy, only for Damian to book it. Sliding under dick’s legs and running out the door.

“Damnit….” Dick says, running a hand down his face. He started to chase after the 10 year old boy holding the 4 year old child. You babbled against Damian’s chest, your mushy baby brain hadn’t picked up on Damian’s mischievous behavior on how he is basically gate keeping his halfblood brother.

Damian looked down as he also watched where he was going. “Don’t worry brother, your big brother is gonna watch and take care of you. You don’t need unnecessary play dates with those disease filled rodents.” He seethes as he looks behind him to see dick catching up. He smirks as he takes a sharp left turn around the corner.

As dick hit the corner, Damian was gone in sight of you. But still being cautious, dick took steady steps. Each step felt like something might as well launch at him. Which was right when he felt a crashing pain in his knee. Dick yelled with pain, clutching it as Damian came out of no where holding you with one hand while the other held a bat. He dropped the bat as dick just hisses in pain.

Damian smirked in triumph as he raised you up like the movie lion king where Simba is introduced. Dick just groans at his knee as he looks at Damian in rage.

“My sibling, my rules.”

[lxclerc]

𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ─ 𝐨𝐛𝟑𝟖

summary: when max verstappen’s adopted little sister starts soft launching, the whole grid launches an investigation on who it might be

pairing: ollie bearman x f2 driver! max verstappen’s adopted sister! reader

faceclaim: no one in particular

note: i accidentally published this before it was finish so now i’ve completely lost the request but anyways the request really was just about max being reader’s grid dad but i ran with it a little

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ twitter

.ೃ࿐ yourusername posted on her story!

landonorris replied to your story: it’s like you have a death wish

yourusername: shut up

landonorris: rest in peace to the unlucky guy 🫡

arthur_leclerc replied to your story: soft launching knowing mad max is your warden is insaneee

yourusername: i just got that dog in me ig

arthur_leclerc: never ever say that again

paularon_ replied to your story: so long, ollie. it was good knowing you, mate ✊

yourusername: so dramatic for no reason

maxverstappen1 replied to your story: that better be just be some stranger you picked up on the side of the road to tie your shoelaces and not a boy you went around japan with when you told me you were only going out with your team

yourusername: remember that you love and adore me and i am 17 years old and can make my own decisions

maxverstappen1: nice try. who is he?

yourusername: no ❤️

ੈ✩‧₊˚ messages

ੈ✩‧₊˚ instagram

liked by olliebearman, maxverstappen1, paularon_ and others

yourusername suzuka, youve been very nice to me 🫶

view all comments…

user1 the way she ran to max’s arms after the podium 🥹

user2 a red bull girl with her red bull dad

user3 so we’re not going to talk about the 3rd pic?

maxverstappen1 who is he and why are you going on dates without telling anyone? what if something happens to you and no one knows where you are or who you’re with?

↳ yourusername calm down, we were with the team 🙄

↳ user4 overprotective dad max is so adorable i cant lie

↳ user5 if they were with the team, does that mean the guy’s also part of the team? another driver maybe?

↳ user6 user5 youre onto something

victoriaverstappen je bent geweldig, mijn meisje. blijf stralen ❤️ (you are amazing, my girl. keep on shining.)

↳ yourusername ik hou zielsveel van je, v 💕 (i love and adore you to bits, v)

paularon_ congrats or whatever

↳ yourusername jealousy doesnt suit you

↳ paularon_ nvm fck u 💕

arthur_leclerc stop winning

↳ yourusername get a seat first ❤️

olliebearman congratulations, yn! another trophy to bring home ❤️

↳ yourusername thank you, ollie!

use7 the difference between paul and arthur then ollie bye i love their friendship 😭

landonorris girlll who is heeeee

↳ yourusername no ❤️

↳ charles_leclerc come on, at least give us a clue

↳ carlossainz55 is he also a driver? what team does he driver for?

↳ yourusername yall are grown ass men way too interested in a teenager’s love life. absorb some sunlight

↳ user8 she gagged yall im afraid 😭

ੈ✩‧₊˚ messages

ੈ✩‧₊˚ instagram

liked by olliebearman, paularon_, arthur_leclerc and others

yourusername hello, lover ❤️

view all comments…

olliebearman my girl ❤️❤️

olliebearman love you to the moon and to saturn 💫

↳ yourusername buzz lightyear’s got nothing on us frfr

↳ arthur_leclerc why can’t you be normal?

↳ yourusername ollie loves me with all the weirdness and shit

↳ olliebearman yeah that’s about right

↳ arthur_leclerc 🤮🤮

↳ user1 arthur is your regular third wheel bff

paularon_ ollie’s trying to keep his cool in the comments but he’s red as a tomato

↳ olliebearman shut the hell up no im not

↳ yourusername youre not? 🥹

↳ olliebearman i mean of course i am got me giggling and shit too

↳ paularon_ you’re both disgusting

user2 arthur and paul are so over them 😭

user3 i fucking knew the back of that head was familiar!!!!

user4 oh? OH!

user5 idk what hurts more. the fact that i no longer have a chance with ollie or the fact that i no longer have a chance with yn

user6 waiting for max’s comment

maxverstappen1 you better watch it the next time you step in for either carlos or charles, bearman 🙂

↳ yourusername you promised

↳ maxverstappen1 i promise i’ll carve charles’ appendix out myself so ollie and i can face each other on track man to man

↳ olliebearman i- sir?

↳ charles_leclerc mate, what the fuck did i do to you

↳ yourusername maxie come on. you promised me you’d be nice

↳ maxverstappen1 fine 🙄

maxverstappen1 dinner’s at 8 on tuesday. don’t be late

↳ olliebearman yes, sir 🫡

user7 not charles getting dragged into it 😭😭

↳ user8 max is just completely unable to go through a conversation without mentioning charles ♡ liked by yourusername

liked by victoriaverstappen, olliebearman and others

yourusername it was truly unfortunate for max to find out that his cat is also now in love with ollie

view all comments…

user1 omg sophie and victoria also joined the dinner 😭

↳ user2 girlie really introduced her to the whole family

↳ yourusername well actually max invited them along to try and intimidate ollie but jokes on him, they loved him

↳ user3 yn and ollie to max when vic and sophie ended up loving ollie: oh how the turntables

maxverstappen1 sassy is NOT in love with a ferrari driver

↳ yourusername one thing you, sassy and i have in common with

↳ user4 yn truly is just a lestappen truther

olliebearman sassy 🫶

↳ yourusername oh i guess ill just die then

↳ olliebearman my love beautiful angel girlfriend yn ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

↳ yourusername better

↳ arthur_leclerc did you just get jealous over a cat?

↳ yourusername did you really just lose your seat?

↳ yourusername it’ll get old when you get your seat back

↳ arthur_leclerc that’s getting old 🙄

user5 each and every day, arthur tries to come for yn’s neck and each and every day, yn gags him

paularon_ olliebearman in a scale of 1-10, how scary is it to face mad max head on?

↳ olliebearman just peachy 👍 (i nearly shat my pants)

charles_leclerc does this mean that max’s promise is null and void?

↳ maxverstappen1 none of you figured out who it is 🤷

↳ yourusername what promise?

↳ maxverstappen1 ….nothing

landonorris i can’t believe we didn’t figure out it’d be bearman

↳ george_russell it seems so obvious now

↳ alex_albon i asked him straight on and he lied to my face

↳ olliebearman i was terrified max would find a way to run me over with his rocketship if i even dare utter it

↳ alex_albon yk what absolutely valid

also this turned out wayy longer than i meant it to which is why it took so long.

[livinghalfway]

Younger Years Pt. 3

Part 2

Summary: Damian gets temp de-aged to 6yrs old; cue him asking where his twin is. This is how everyone finds out about Danny's existence Word Count: 1664

The next morning when Damian woke up everyone was much more prepared to deal with his inevitable attack. The restraint on his ankle and Alfred the cat still napping on him helped deal with most of the initall anger that radiated off him though. The goal right now was to convince Damian that he had been de-aged, and all he needed to do was stay with them until the magic wore off. 

The topic of Danyal would come later, for now they needed to focus on Damian. 

Everyone had also prepared an item to show Damian to prove to him that they were telling the truth about his current situation. Alfred was first and had brought him a cup of tea the exact way the young boy preferred when he had first joined them at the manor. Duke showed Damian his school yearbook, and had marked which pages had an older Damian in them. Jason rummaged through the art room and pulled out a few old sketchbooks. 

Those had done well enough to calm the baby assassin down so that Bruce was able to explain the details to the young Damian. Which only served to make him think that instead of this being a test from his grandfather it was actually a scheme to draw him away from his birthright as one of the heirs to the demon head. 

To help further convince him Tim printed out the first DNA test they had done with Damian; making sure to note that the dates on these can’t be altered. Then Dick had showed him photos of him dressed in his Robin costume. What was strange though is that Damian didn’t look pridefully at the photos, only confused. 

Finally it was Bruce’s turn and no one was surprised when it turned out to be a family photo album. It was filled with photos of everyone from the last few years. Pictures of both big and small moments that the family had gone through. What was surprising though is when Damian practically exploded with rage with every page he turned. 

“Chum, is something wro-” Bruce tries to start once he sees how affected the photo album is making him. Only for said book to be launched at his head before he can finish speaking. 

“Get out!” Damian snarls as his eyes dart to everyone around the room as he repeats his words, “Get out!” 

“I told you this wasn’t going to work.” 

“Not now, Jason.” 

Dick makes an obvious move of wanting to comfort Damian, but is clearly holding himself back knowing that his succor would only make things worse. “Dami…” 

“You do not have the right to call me that,” Damian's breath starts to speed up with tears threatening to spill from his eyes. “The only one that will ever be allowed to use that name has apparently been long absent from my life. So I will repeat myself only once more; get out.” 

No one makes any move to leave at first and it isn’t until Tim clears his throat as well as putting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder does the others finally move. It takes both Duke and Tim to get Bruce out of the room, and Jason ends up having to practically drag Dick out. 

“Why did you pull me away from him! He was clearly on the verge of a breakdown based around the fact that Danyal, his twin, never came here with him! Damian needs someone to be with him right now!” Dick angrily breaks out of Jason's hold on him. 

Jason, immediately matching Dick’s tone retorts, “Since when has that kid ever liked having family much less strangers comfort him? Cause newsflash Dickiebird that what we are to him right now, nothing but strangers who are trying to act way too familiar with him. The only thing your sympathy will do right now is just make things worse!” 

“I’m not going to let my currently 6 year old baby brother mourn a death by himself!”

“We don’t actually know if Danyal is dead or not right now. Just that he didn’t arrive with Damian at the manor 4 years ago.” Tim interjects before any more arguing between the two can continue. “For all we know Ra’s could have sent one twin away to here while keeping the other involved with the league.” 

“Wouldn’t have Damian said something by now if that was the case? He obviously cared a lot for Danyal.” Duke honestly doesn’t know what the right decision is right now, but he’s more inclined to agree with Jason right now. 

Tim runs a hand through his hair in thought, “14 year old Damian, maybe. The Damian that first arrived at the manor four years ago, no way. Especially if he was told explicitly not to say anything. That little brat was still deep in the league mindset, and would have done anything Talia or Ra’s said.”

“Wouldn’t have Ra’s already used Danyal against Bruce though? He’s had plenty of opportunities to use the knowledge of a second child to get B to do practically anything for him. What possible scenario would he be saving that information for?” Dick at this point seems to have calmed down. He’s still obviously wanting to be with Damian, but also knows that Jason is right about how his presence wouldn’t be appreciated at the moment. 

Jason instead of offering any answers to Dick’s questions turns to direct his lingering anger at Bruce, “You’re being awfully fucking quiet right now B, what do you have to say about all this?”

“... I think it’s time to call Talia. I wanted to wait and give Damian the chance to explain himself before doing so, but if the league does still have Danyal we need to start planning his rescue as soon as possible.” 

After asking the boys to keep an eye on Damian, and to check in on him every once in a while without distressing him more Bruce headed upstairs towards his office. Once there he silently stares at the phone in his hand. 

It had been devastating to learn that he had a son, and missed out on so much of his life. Bruce had been angry at Talia, furious even, especially when she had raised Damian to be a child assassin. To learn that she had done this not once but twice shattered him. Even more so when he thinks about how his second son might still be a part of that life when he could have been living here with him instead. 

The alternative to that thought though, the unfortunate more likely option, is that Danyal is dead. 

That he had failed yet another child. 

Bruce presses the number and puts the phone to ear. With each unanswered ring he sees flashes of what could have been if both boys had arrived that day. What was Danyal even like? Was he similar to Damian, or was he the complete opposite? 

“Beloved, what a pleasant surprise hearing from you.”

“I know about Danyal.” Bruce leans back in his chair with his eyes closed. Today has already been exhausting, and he knows that it’s not going to get any better anytime soon. “What happened to him?” 

The amount of silence that follows tells him that for maybe the first time he has truly shocked Talia with his words. Eventually though she answered, sorrow clear as day in her voice, “How much do you know?” 

“I’d rather you tell me what you know right now.” 

“Danyal died two weeks before Damian was sent to live with you.”

There it was, the hard truth. A child that he was never given the chance to hold, to meet, and to love was dead. Bruce had nothing to hold onto from a child that died way too young. 

“My Father and Damian are the only ones that truly know what happened in that room; I didn’t even know at the time that he had pulled the two of them from their afternoon studies.” She continues softly, “By the time I reached them Danyal was gone. I imagine Ra’s wanted to make an example out of him because he had put his body into the pits … only he never came back out. The pits had even taken his body with them.” 

“Did you never question what happened to him?” 

“Ra’s told me it was none of my concern when I questioned him, and he forbade Damian from telling me himself. He had all evidence of Danyal erased after that; he only exists now in the memory of those who knew him.” 

“Would you have ever told me about him?”

“No.” 

“Hm.” Bruce doesn’t do anything more than acknowledging her response before hanging up, and putting the phone down. He wasn’t going to get any more information out of her, and he had more important things to focus on right than interrogating Talia. It seems they’re all just going to have to wait for Damian to learn what happened to Danyal anyway. 

For now though he needs to go back downstairs and make sure they haven’t exploded into chaos due to his absence, but as he exits his office he makes a quiet promise to himself and Danyal. “Even in death you will be a part of this family; I’m so sorry you will never get the chance to know just how much they already love you.” 

Once he reaches the batcave once more he sees Tim and Duke at the computer, Jason laid back with his feet on the center table, and Dick leaning by the med bay door. All of them though stop what they’re doing and look towards him as he enters; waiting for him to tell them what has become of the brother they’ve never met. 

“Danyal is dead.” It hurts to watch his sons lose what little hope they had that maybe by the end of this their brother would be coming home. 

[notlongtolove]

time present and time past

spencer tried to explain einstein’s theory of relativity once. and now, with spencer beside you in bed, you think you finally understand what he was on about. because time is relative. and if he doesn’t wake up, this moment will never end, and maybe you can slow down time itself. this work is part of the burnt norton series

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst

content: situationship core. they argue. avoidant!-ish.

word count: 3.4k

note: i have a final in 3 days and thought now would be the perfect time to write and post my first fic. yay! anyways this is inspired by an old literature text i studied, einstein's theory of relativity and what not. a line: I’ll come to you before you call—Just to prove that I don’t come to you every time you call.

time present and time past are both perhaps present in time future, and time future contained in time past. if all time is eternally present all time is unredeemable. - t.s. eliot

You've never been one for physics, the numbers, the theories, the science of it all. But that’s never stopped Spencer from launching into explanations like a rocket whenever the chance presents itself. You would nod along, a smile on your face though whatever he's saying might as well be in a foreign language. 

He tried to explain Einstein’s theory of relativity once. Something about clocks, something about a kind of gravitational field. 

"Think of it like this," he started, and you could almost picture him gesturing animatedly on the other end of the line. "I’m on the jet, and I run down the aisle in five seconds. From my perspective, that’s it—five seconds, straight forward, simple."

"Hotch would kill you," you cut in, biting back a grin at the thought.

"Just imagine it," Spencer laughed.

"Okay, okay."

"So, if you time me, and I make it down the aisle in five seconds—"

"Highly unlikely, but sure."

"Angel," he warned, but there was no real bite in it. He waited for your giggles to subside before pressing on, "But for you, watching me from outside as the jet moves, it’s not so simple. You’d see me running, sure, but you’d also have to factor in the jet’s movement. To you, I’m covering more distance because the jet is moving too, right?"

“If you say so...”

"Just focus," he laughed. "Now, here’s where it gets interesting. The faster the jet goes, the bigger this effect becomes. If it were moving close to the speed of light, something wild happens—time for me, inside the jet, starts to move at a slower rate compared to your time outside."

“Ah.”

“You don’t get it.”

“No, I do. I do.”

“Okay, so explain it.”

You paused, your lips twitching with suppressed laughter. “Uh… You can run faster than a jet?”

Spencer groaned, but he was laughing too. "Time moves slower for those in the jet because space and time are connected," he said, his voice warming with excitement. "They stretch and bend depending on speed. It’s called time dilation. The faster you move through space, the slower time moves for you relative to someone standing still."

"...I think I get it?"

"Not yet, but you will."

He promised to explain it more when he got back. But he never did. And so you never really understood it—at least, not until now.

Not until he’s lying in your bed again, your sheets tangled around him like they’ve claimed him as their own.

Einstein says that time is relative. He says that the rate at which time passes depends on an observer's frame of reference. 

The observer in this case—You. 

And if one observer moves at the speed of light, time will slow down for them. 

Spencer’s asleep beside you. His face is soft in the flickers of streetlight creeping through the blinds. They give you just enough visibility to watch the rise and fall of his chest and you wonder if he's dreaming. The sound of his breathing, steady, is the only thing keeping you tethered.

If you squint hard enough, there’s almost something domestic about the scene. You ignore the fact that this is the nth time you’ve done this because ignoring is easier. It’s easier to think about how he smells like his shampoo, and how his shirt is thrown haphazardly over your nightstand. A sight you missed more than you would admit. You think about reaching for it, but your hand stays where it is. You stay where you are—just watching, observing. Because Einstein said the rate at which time passes depends on the observer’s frame of reference. And if you stay still enough, maybe you can slow down time itself. 

You like moments like these. The simplicity of it. You tell your friends the same thing when they ask, their voices thick with judgment, their eyes too knowing. “We don’t do anything” you insist to the room of raised eyebrows. “We’re just hanging out, you know, as friends” you say, as if saying it enough times will make it true.

“Just hanging out?” “Yup.” 

“As friends?” “Yup.”

You know you’ve hit a new low when you have to pull the ‘hanging out’ card, but you take a sort of comfort in that fact. Because at least he’s not like those other guys, right? That’s your silver lining. That it’s not like that. He’s not like that. But in the quiet after, when his breathing is the only sound and you feel walls closing in you, you can't help but wonder which is worse: the thing that he is, or the thing you’re letting yourself become.

You reached out first this time. A small victory in the game you’ve been playing against yourself. There’s some semblance of control in it, you rationalize. If you’re bound to fall, tethered to this fate of always crawling back, at least let it be on your terms.

I’ll come to you before you call—Just to prove that I don’t come to you every time you call.

Come over. Made too much pasta. You texted. It’s an olive branch, a peace offering after a fight that had left you both frayed at the edges. A throw of the same old ball back to his side of the court where the game has dragged on far too long. Proof to him that you didn’t mean what you’d said, that you’re not done yet. That you’re still okay with this.

You can take it. 

The fight had been about work—or at least, that’s how it started. He’d mentioned a new trainee in passing, his voice light, almost too casual, as he spooned rice out of the takeout box. “She’s new,” he said, with a shrug. “Eager, maybe too eager. Emily says she’s a bit of a people pleaser.”

She. You watched him carefully, trying to read between the lines. 

“Oh?” you replied, keeping your voice as even as you could manage. Muscle memory. You’ve been here before. Just because Spencer wasn't one of those guys didn't mean you haven't had your fair share of them. 

You smile as you meet his eyes asking all the right questions. Where’s she from? How’s she doing?

He glanced up at you, surprised by your interest. Light work you thought. “Somewhere out West, I think. She’s doing fine—rookie mistakes, you know. She had a bad day last week, though. Got rattled on a case. Garcia said Hotch was too hard on her.”

“Poor thing,” you murmured, “Hope she’s feeling better.”

“Garcia thought I… thought she was pretty,” he added laughing, the words tumbling out like an afterthought. Like the words don’t hold the weight that he knows it does. 

Ah. There it is.

“Well, did you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, casual.

“She’s… alright,” he said, his tone too high, too quick. You didn’t miss the way he swallowed hard afterward.

“You’re avoiding the question,” you teased lightly, smiling even though your stomach was beginning to twist itself into knots.

“I’m not,” he countered, shoving another bite of food into his mouth. “You asked if she’s pretty, and I said she’s alright.”

“You’re totally avoiding it,” you said, laughing to keep the air light even as the knot pulled tighter. “Spence, you can just say it.”

“Say what?” he asked, eyes darting up to meet yours, then back to his plate.

“Just say it.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Admit that she’s pretty.”

“Okay.” He exhaled sharply, like the word had been dragged out of him. “I think she’s pretty.”

Oh.

There was something in the way he said that made your chest constrict. 

I think she’s pretty.

He thinks she’s pretty. Not like it was some objective fact, not something calculated or reasoned. Not that she was statistically pretty, backed up by some symmetry or math behind it. He just… thought so—No, he thinks so. Thinks. Present tense. Meaning as he’s sitting here, across from you, eating the takeout you suspected he’d purposefully ordered too much of, he thinks she’s pretty.

You stared down at your plate, your appetite long gone. The silence stretched between you, heavy and uncomfortable. You could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator, the distant murmur of voices from the apartment next door.

“You’re quiet,” he said finally, his voice softer now, hesitant.

“I’m fine,” you replied too quickly, a smile pasted on your face as you looked up. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “Nothing. Pass the soy sauce?” He passed it without another word, but you could feel his eyes lingering on you. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you finally said, your voice sharper than you intended.

“I’m not,” Spencer replied, his tone defensive, though his eyes stayed trained on you. “You’re just… quiet. It’s not like you.”

You laughed, a hollow sound. “Yeah, well, maybe I’ve run out of things to say.”

“Is this because I said she’s pretty?” he asked after a beat, his voice cautious, careful. “Because I didn’t want—”

“Spencer stop,” you interrupted, setting your fork down with a deliberate clink against your plate.

“I wasn’t going to say it. You asked me to say it.” he countered. “And the term pretty is subjective anyway, I think you’re pretty too.” You stayed silent, not meeting his eyes. “Don’t be like that. You know I care about you.”

“It sure doesn’t feel like it,” you shot back, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to steady it. You knew you were being petty. Acting like a child who didn’t get their way, grasping at anything to make the hurt feel justified. But you couldn’t help it.

“You just—you talk about work, about—god, about pretty girls and I—”, You stopped, swallowing hard, trying to tamp down the words you weren’t ready to say. “I feel like I’m just… here. Someone you call when you’re bored or when you’ve ordered too much food or when—”

“That’s not true,” he argued, his tone sharp now, defensive. “You’re twisting it—”

“Am I?” you snapped, your eyes finally meeting his. They were wide, startled, but it didn’t stop you. “Because I’m starting to think this is exactly what it is.”

“Well, what do you think this is?” he asked, his jaw tightening as his hands gripped the edge of the table.

“I don’t know,” you said bitterly. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“We’ve talked about this,” Spencer said, his voice low and deliberate, each word cutting deeper than the last. “You said you wanted to be friends. Friends do this. Friends have dinner. Friends don’t force someone to admit someone else is pretty and then make it all—I don't know, all weird after.”

You winced, his phrasing like a mirror reflecting every misstep, every conversation where you’d backed yourself into this corner. He’s not wrong—you had said you wanted to be friends. But he didn’t know the weight behind that concession.

You’d thought back to those late-night conversations. The ones where he’d laid out his reasons like a clinical diagnosis: I don’t have the time. It wouldn’t be fair to you. I’m not ready. So, you’d waited, convincing yourself that 'not now' meant 'not yet'. But eventually, you’d called it yourself, told him you should just be friends. A sad attempt at controlling a situation you were only ever destined to be hurt by. Because your own destruction should only ever be yours to wield—and you have to claim it before it can claim you.

He’d agreed it was better this way and you’d nodded along. Not because you believed it, but because it was a way to keep him in your life. A lifeline you clung to no matter how much it cut into your hands. But labels don’t erase what’s already happened. They don’t undo the stolen glances, the kisses in the quiet moments, the nights where you felt like the only two people in the world. They just build a fragile scaffold over it all, a flimsy way of holding up what’s already crumbling. Dating. On a break. Dating again. Friends. They pile on top of one another like a pathetic plaster over the hurt of what you wished things could be. 

“Right,” you said finally, the word brittle and sharp as it escapes your lips. Your voice was hollow as your eyes met his, daring him to flinch. “So I guess that means I can’t expect anything from you, right? No decency, no consideration, no… nothing. Because we’re not in a relationship. We’ve never been in a relationship. Right?”

“Don’t,” Spencer said quietly, almost pleading now. “That’s not fair. Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”

“You’ve made it perfectly clear what this is,” you said, standing from the table, your hands trembling as you gathered your things. 

“Wait,” he said, standing too, “You don’t have to—”

“And by the way, Spence,” you cut him off, reaching into your bag and slamming the extra key he’d given you months ago onto the table. It clattered louder than you expected, echoing in the tense silence between you. “You can have this back. Because last I checked, friends don’t have keys to each other’s apartments.” You were acutely aware of the venom dripping in your voice but you pressed on, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “And thanks for the flowers, but I don’t think friends go out of their way to buy a bouquet to make up for every friendly dinner they miss.” You didn’t wait for a response. You didn’t look at his face, didn’t want to see whatever expression he was wearing. 

But the satisfaction of that slam felt distant now. You think back fondly of the girl who had made her point so clear, so definitive. A line drawn in the sand. But winds blow and sand moves. That girl seems like a lifetime away from the girl you are now—the one lying here, beside him, again.

Spencer stirs beside you, a quiet sigh escaping his lips, and your breath hitches. You don’t want him to wake up. Because if—when he does, you know he’ll leave. But until then, in this moment of temporary serenity, you can pretend it doesn’t matter. You can pretend it’s okay. You can pretend you’re okay. 

After all, Einstein said that time is relative. If he doesn’t wake up, the moment will never end, and maybe—just maybe—you can slow down time itself. You stare at the ceiling, letting the minutes tick past, each one stretching longer than the last.

Your thoughts drift back to what Spencer had said. Time moves slower for those in the jet.

Well, if your apartment is the sky, then this bed is the jet. In the quiet of this moment, his warmth beside you, the faint smell of him lingering on the pillow—this is where time bends. The rate at which time passes depends on the observer’s frame of reference. Maybe you can trick the universe, make these seconds stretch into hours. Maybe, if you stay still enough, think hard enough, the world outside won’t come knocking. You can freeze this bubble of peace.

But the illusion is tenuous, and reality looms like turbulence on the horizon. Time doesn’t truly stop, you know that, we’re all forced to move on along with it. They say time waits for no man—least of all a broken-hearted girl. The clock keeps ticking, indifferent to your longing. Sooner or later, he’ll wake, and the bubble will burst.

You wonder how long you can keep this up. You’d just been talking earlier tonight, telling each other what had happened in the days you hadn’t spoken since the argument. The words had come easier than you expected, though none of them seemed to solve anything. Spencer had fallen asleep mid-sentence, right as you were recounting something trivial about your day. His exhaustion was written all over his face—the heavy pull of his eyelids, the way his head tilted slightly toward you before finally giving in. You’d paused, watching him, and the words you were about to say dissolved into silence. You hadn’t wanted to wake him.

The old you would’ve been angry, the frustration bubbling up into sharp words and accusations. The fight was always the same, well-rehearsed and raw: You always do this. I’m sorry. When are you not? I missed you. Then why won’t you stay? You know I can’t. You can. I can’t. It was less of a conversation and more of a script. It had long since stopped being about what either of you said; it was about how you said it and where it always led. It would’ve ended in a fight, Spencer’s guilt countered by your hurt, spiralling into a familiar standoff with no real resolution. 

But that was the old you. She’d had more fight in her, more fire to demand the things she felt she deserved. That fire has dimmed now, not extinguished, but banked low and steady, like you’ve learned to ration it. It’s not that the frustration has disappeared—it lingers, an ache beneath the surface—but you’ve stopped letting it boil over. Deep down, you know the real reason you didn’t start a fight tonight. It’s not just that you’re tired of fighting, though you are. It’s that you don’t know how much fight he still has in him. You don’t know if one more argument, one more crack in this fragile thing between you, will be the thing that makes him walk away for good.

And you’re not ready to find out.

So you let it slide. Not because you want to, but because you can. You’ve told yourself you’re strong enough to carry it—to make up the weight of his distance, his exhaustion, his inability to give you what you need. You let him sleep, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, and you tell yourself it’s enough. 

But Spencer shifts again, and this time his eyes flutter open. You freeze, your body tense, as if staying perfectly still might undo his wakefulness. 

“Hey,” he murmurs groggily, his voice thick with sleep. His arm snakes over your waist, pulling you closer. For a brief, fleeting second, you allow yourself to relish the warmth of his touch, the illusion of intimacy.

Then his hand moves. He’s reaching—not for you, but for his watch on the bedside table.

He checks the time, squinting in the dim light filtering through the blinds. And you know. You know what’s coming next. 

“I should go.” he says softly, his arm already retreating from where it had rested over your waist. He pushes himself up, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.

You sit up slightly, the sheets pooling around you, and force a small smile. “Okay” you murmur, the words feeling hollow even as they leave your lips.

Spencer’s already out of bed, reaching for his shirt and bag. The routine feels mechanical, practiced—a series of motions he’s repeated so many times it barely registers as something that could hurt you. He pulls the shirt over his head, adjusts the strap on his bag, and leans down to kiss your forehead. Friends, as if. You think.

It’s a fleeting gesture, a touch that’s supposed to mean something but feels more like a formality now. More perfunctory than tender.

“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” he says as he straightens, glancing at his watch like he’s late for something more important. “You should’ve woken me up.”

You shake your head silently, not trusting that your thoughts won’t betray you. Don’t wake up. Don’t leave me. Don’t go. Instead you settle for, “You were tired. You should get some rest.” The weight in your chest feels unbearable but you press your lips into a tight, strained smile anyways. A silent permission for him to leave.

He doesn’t hesitate.

“Drive safe,” you say quietly as you walk him to the door.

“I’ll text you?” he offers, already halfway out.

“Okay,” you reply, the word barely audible.

And then he’s gone.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoes in the quiet of your apartment, final and unrelenting. You stand there for a moment, staring at the door as if willing it to open again, as if hoping he might turn around and come back. You know he won’t. 

You turn and lean against the wall, the cool surface grounding you, a poor substitute for the warmth that was just beside you. The apartment feels colder, emptier now, the silence deafening. The clock on the wall ticks forward, oblivious to your grief, dragging you further away from the moment he was just here. You feel stuck in place, a reluctant passenger watching the world rush forward while you’re left behind, stranded.

You think back to what Einstein had said and you think he’s got it all wrong. How if one observer moves at the speed of light, time will slow down for them. Because no matter how tightly you try to hold on, the jet doesn’t slow down. It won’t wait for you. The jet will keep moving forward, unrelenting, and him along with it. With or without you.

And as you stand alone in the stillness he’s left behind, you realize it’s always been without you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[doromoni]

Not Over the Papaya | OP81

⊹ ｡•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Ships : Oscar Piastri x Popstar! Reader , Ex!Lando Norris x Popstar! Reader

Genre : Fluff Smau

A/N : I missed you all 🥺. Again I’m sorry this update took way too long~ Thank you for the people who wished me better (really, ily) . I’m devastated with the news about Logan 😭 poor boy just needed his confidence back I swear.

Face claim : Jennie Kim

Warnings : Cursing, Grammatical Errors

Summary : Y/N and Oscar cope with their own breakups by making the Heartbreak Club.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

< Previous | Part 8 | Next >

f1wags

f1wags Y/N in the paddock! Welcome back Queen 👑

user1 She’s finally here 😭 We missed you Y/N!!

user2 She’s literally glowing , Oscar’s so lucky!

user3 Are they dating? I thought she was with Lando??

user4 Girl were where you? A LOT has gone down 🙂‍↕️.

user5 Honey let me catch u up. Lando cheated on Y/N with her friend during the winter break. Lando then posted a breakup post stating that the breakup was on both sides and they parted on good terms which Y/N has denied (it was MESSY). Then Oscar and Lily was rumored to have split (they did, Oscar later posted a shady breakup post; Lily was allegedly cheating). Then Y/N and Oscar started hanging out (sometimes with Logan). + After Oscar’s win in Hungary — He was then spotted in America for Y/N’s show the day after. Then they were spotted several times together after and they are now allegedly dating (not yet confirmed).

user3 WHAT.

user4 MESSY RIGHT?!!

user3 Is Lando still with Y/N’s friend??

user5 She’s also in the paddock rn 🤡

user3 wtf?? the audacity??

user6 lando FUMBLED so bad. SO BAD.

user7 Literally not thinking straight. I swear Lando.

oscarpiastri 5 min

story replies

Y/N. I guess soft launches aren’t our thing , Ok understood 🙂‍↕️

oscarpiastri Its not launching if we aren’t officially a thing yet, dear 🫶

Y/N. Oh right!! were only friends babe 🥰

oscarpiastri best of friends, Luv 😘.

Y/N. Ur so annoying , I love you 🙄. Have fun w/ ur interviews

oscarpiastri Thanks dear, Love you more!

charles_leclerc is this a hard launch 👀

oscarpiastri I don’t know, is it??😇

charles_leclerc don’t be smart with me boy . I didnt raise you like this

oscarpiastri you didn’t raise me at all! you were too busy flirting with the dutch boi .

charles_leclerc I—

oscarpiastri you are silenced old man

danielricciardo oi seat stealer, please tell Y/N to answer my messages. She keeps inboxing my messages! I need my cowboy hats 😩

oscarpiastri i prefer to call myself a mental health saver. I guided you back to Red Bull 🤓☝️

danielricciardo And got me my contract money 🤑. Back to the topic! come on pls tell Y/N! she promised me a cowboy hat from florida. pls pls pls

oscarpiastri Its in our luggage, calm down.

danielricciardo Damn “OUR” luggage. I still can’t believe you pulled Y/N from him. Cheers to you mate

oscarpiastri boi you still hold grudges with Lando huh.

danielricciardo him and the entire team can burnn 😀. Im saying this again, mate… watch your back.

oscarpiastri I know danny, you’ve warned me hundreds of times.

landonorris You little shit. You really brought Y/N here. You have the fucking balls huh

oscarpiastri I did, I do . What’s it to you?

landonorris You’ll regret this Oscar.

oscarpiastri Try me.

landonorris I’ll get her back.

oscarpiastri lmao sure you do.

Y/N. 3 min

story replies

oscarpiastri oh hello self! nice seeing you here

Y/N. He’s cute right? Such a pookie

oscarpiastri I’ve seen better 🤷‍♂️

Y/N. Really?? I haven’t. He’s the cutest to me 🥰🥰🥰

oscarpiastri So i assume that we’re ok with posting each other then 🫣

Y/N. Hell yeah! I ain’t hiding you boi. Ur mine.

oscarpiastri Possessive… i like it

Y/N. oh you’re FREAKY.

Y/bf. And Oscar has made the public ig 🥳

Y/N. I assume u approve of Osc then

Y/bf. Out of everyone you’ve dated he’s the most decent

Y/N. Decent 😖

Y/bf. That’s a COMPLIMENT

danielricciardo OI Y/N! don’t ignore my messages!

danielricciardo MY HAT WOMAN! MY HAT

Y/N. OK CHILL! I have it you crazy aussie. Osc will give it to you tomorrow before FP1.

danielricciardo Thank you 😇.

*Incoming call from Norris

Pick up or Decline

Pick up

“Hello?”

“We need to talk. Now”

“I didn’t unblock your number so you could disrespect me”

“I’m sorry… Can we talk in person?”

landonorris 1 min

*messages are disabled

Series Taglist : @champagneproblems17 @itsjustfranzi @cheriwritesig @forza-charles @awritingtree @sltwins @gr1mes-cc @hwalllllllelujah @btsfluffsworld @tillyt04 @landotd @booksandflowrs @czennieszn @thatsouthernblondewiththeass @tellybearryyyy @wobblymug @alittlechaotics-blog @bingussthirdtoe @mirrorball-6 @demandealalune @heartsforleclerc @yoongi-holland @maneskin-slave @alenix @forensicheart @bloodyymaryyy @stereading @hahahjej @youre-on-your-ownkid : closed

Maintaglist : @myescapefromthislife @peterholland04 @charlottef1 @fangirl125reader @mel164 @gnarlycore @chloelovesln4 @vickykazuya @merchelsea @ln4author @qzmef @nxk1309 @styl1shl1v @lottalove4evelyn @gr3yhues : closed for now

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me

dbf!Joel x f!reader

The first TLOU fic I ever read was a dbf!Joel story and it left an indelible mark on my soul. Unfortunately, I never bookmarked it so I have no idea which one it was. It's only natural that I had to try my hand at one at some point. So, here we are.

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 4.1k

Series Warnings: Mature to start, but will ultimately be Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. There will be angst, drama, fluff, humor, romance, smut... basically, the works. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname from her dad, which will be explained at some point.

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Chapter One: The Day That I Met You

If you asked him over a decade ago where he’d be now, Joel Miller would not have placed himself as a single father to a tenacious pre-teen desperately trying to keep things afloat. He spent too many hours in the week working to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. He would be lost without the help of his brother and the few friends he had. He had no social life to speak of and could not for the life of him remember the last time he went on an actual date.

No, back then, Joel thought he’d be living the good life in ten years’ time – traveling, going out with the boys, maybe have a girlfriend or wife. Basically, just getting to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Don’t get him wrong, though. He was still living a good life; it just was a different sort of good than what he hoped for back in the day.

He loved his daughter with every fiber of his being. Sarah was the best damn thing that ever happened to him, his entire world, and he wouldn’t change the past ten years for anything. He bent over backwards doing whatever it took to make his little girl feel cared for, happy, and loved. He just wished there was a little energy left for something for himself at the end of the day.

Joel Miller was drained. Mentally, physically, and emotionally.

He awoke with a groan as the bright sunlight broke through the gap in his curtains. It was Saturday – his birthday – and he hoped to sleep in, at least a little. Between the brightness of the morning and the stifled sounds of clanging pans and voices carrying up the stairs from his kitchen, sleeping in was not happening.

He hauled himself out of bed with a groan worthy of a man twenty years his senior and stretched out his limbs to ease the achiness in his bare back and chest from too much manual labor. Throwing on a pair of well-worn sleep pants and a faded tee shirt, Joel slipped from his bedroom and down the stairs. He moved rather quietly for a man of his size, stealing a moment to lean against the entryway into the kitchen and watch as Sarah and Tommy worked together making breakfast.

The counters were a mess of spilled pancake mix, eggshells, and… was that coffee dripping over the edge and onto the floor? It was a toss-up on who made the bigger mess, his ten-year-old daughter, or his grown ass brother. Still, Joel could not stop the smile spreading across his face as he watched them laughing and teasing each other. That, right there, was the reason he worked so hard, why the loneliness was worth it.

When Tommy flipped the stovetop off, Sarah turned to find her dad smiling goofily at them. “Happy Birthday, Dad!” she exclaimed, launching herself at his chest. Her lanky arms wrapped around his neck as he lifted her off the ground in a big bear hug.

“Thanks, baby girl,” Joel replied, pressing his lips to her forehead in a quick kiss before he settled her feet on the ground.

“We made you breakfast!” Sarah declared, gesturing toward the disaster zone formerly known as his kitchen.

“I see that,” he chuckled, voice still slightly rough with sleep.

Tommy turned with a smirk, hands grasping two plates filled with bacon, eggs, and pancakes. “Take a seat, brother. Let us take care of you on your birthday.” Placing the food on the small dining table, Tommy roughly patted his brother’s shoulders. “Don’t worry ‘bout the mess, I’m on cleanup duty after we eat.”

“We expectin’ company? That’s a helluva lot of food,” Joel grumbled. He needed coffee, stat.

“Yeah, JB is comin’ over to see ya before heading to the airport. His daughter finished grad school over the summer and is moving back home.” Tommy set more food and a full mug of dark roast coffee in front of his brother. The scent alone made Joel perk up a little.

The Millers hadn’t met you yet, having only become friends with your dad through work after you’d already left for college on the east coast. Your dad had a good decade on Joel, but he and the Miller brothers got on like a forest fire from what he told you. With visits home always short and rushed, busy catching up with family and your own friends, there was never time for your dad to introduce you all. Now you were coming home for good and would have plentiful opportunities for spending time with your dad and his friends.

“Speak of the devil,” Tommy muttered as the doorbell rang. Sarah bounded to the door to greet your dad with a hug. In many ways, the girl reminded him of you when you were young, and it always brought a smile to his face.

“There he is! The man of the hour. Happy Birthday, buddy!” Your dad, John, or JB as the Millers called him, ruffled Joel’s already mussed hair, leaving a few locks standing straight up in further disarray. Pulling a 12-pack of beer from behind his back, your dad set it on the table in front of Joel, topped with a little red bow. “I gotcha a lil’ something to celebrate.”

“Good man,” Joel replied with a chuckle. “Have a seat and help me eat all this. Tommy just told me your lil’ girl is coming home, finally.”

Your dad’s face lit up even more at the mention of you coming home. “She’s not so little anymore, but I sure am glad she’s moving back here. Said she had enough of the east coast, but I think she just missed her ol’ man.” After wolfing down some food, he added, “Think we could host a small barbecue here this coming weekend to celebrate? Your backyard is way nicer than mine and you got the pool and all.”

“Not to mention that fancy ass grill,” Tommy chimed in.

Swallowing a long sip of his morning go juice, Joel nodded. “Of course. Invite whoever you want. I’m looking forward to finally meeting your daughter.”

“Me too!” Sarah added. She heard a lot about you from your dad and hoped you were as cool in person as he made you out to be.

Joel’s mind started spinning upon hearing his daughter’s excitement. With her school hours being so different from his typical work hours, he was spending a small fortune on after school care for Sarah. She was still too young for him to leave home alone, especially on those days where he’s stuck late at a job. He was barely scraping by as it was and couldn’t really afford the cost of after school programs. Perhaps…

“JB, ya think your daughter would mind watching Sarah during the week while she’s home. Drop off and pick up from school and keeping her company ‘til I get home from work? I could pay her – it wouldn’t be much, but better than nothin’, I imagine.” He watched Sarah’s eyes light up at the suggestion and knew it was a good choice.

“I’m sure she’d love to. She wasn’t planning on finding a real job until after the holidays, so I know she’ll be free during the day,” your dad replied. “I’ll talk to her about it on the ride back from the airport and let you know.”

Three suitcases and a carry-on bag. That’s all you had left from six and a half years of pursuing higher education in North Carolina. You sold or gave away anything that did not fit into your luggage or hold sentimental value of your time away. Now, you were moving back home to save some money before you had to start chipping away at the mountain of student loan debt you accrued.

You loved learning, always have, but you were relieved to be done with school. Equipped with a bachelor’s degree in earth sciences and a master’s in education, you felt like a real adult ready to take the world of middle school by storm… well, starting after the new year, maybe. For now, you needed several months of limited to no responsibility to recoup your mental and physical energy. That last couple years of school really burned you out. Not to mention the last-minute rejection of a teaching position you thought was in the bag…

Anyway, you were better off leaving North Carolina behind and returning to Austin. You missed your dad something fierce and his particular brand of caring for you was exactly what your weary soul needed. It was you and him against the world, just like when you were a kid.

You flight was smooth and uneventful, yet you were relieved to deboard the plane. Something about being stuck in a tin can at the mercy of someone else’s ability to keep the thing from plummeting to the ground really aggravated your anxiety. Flying was something you would never enjoy; it was merely a means to an end when you wanted to travel long distances.

The journey to baggage claim was a slog with the crowd of passengers all heading to the same place. You were wondering how you’d wrangle three large suitcases by yourself when you caught sight of your dad. His broad smile took over his face when he spotted you, rushing over to sweep you up in a big bear hug.

“Hey Spud, how was the flight?” he asked as you waited for the baggage carousel to begin moving. “Looks like it was a full plane.”

“It was, but the flight was good. I’m really glad to be home.”

“Me, too, kid.”

You settled into a comfortable silence, watching various pieces of luggage pass by on the carousel. Your bags were scattered, and you had to wait several cycles to get all of them. Your dad lugged the final suitcase over the carousel with a grunt. “Jesus, what you got in this one? Bricks? A body?”

“That one has my gaming system and half a closet full of clothes,” you replied with a laugh.

Before long, everything was loaded into your dad’s truck, and you were heading back towards town. The radio hummed at a low volume as you both chatted about everything and nothing all at once.

“Hey, so I know you said you weren’t looking for full-time work until after the new year, but I have a proposition for you.” Your dad’s eyes stayed focused on the road, and you merely quirked a brow waiting for him to continue. “My buddy Joel – you know the one I told you about? Well, his daughter is ten and he needs some help with the school run and after school care. Our work hours aren’t exactly the same as elementary school, you know?”

You nodded, remembering all the times your dad spoke to you about Joel, as well as his daughter and brother. Despite never meeting them, you felt like you already knew their whole life story. “So, he’s looking for a nanny or something? I could do that. It would keep me from getting lazy while I navigate getting my Texas teaching certificate.”

Your dad grinned, one hand patting your leg. “I was hoping you’d say that. Joel will pay you, of course, but just… don’t expect much. It ain’t easy for him being a single dad trying to keep everything afloat.”

Again, you nodded, a soft smile creasing your lips. You knew all too well how challenging it could be for single parents, having grown up with just you and your dad. Much like what your dad told you about Joel’s experience with the mother of his child, your mom split when you were barely a toddler. Things weren’t always sunshine and roses, but your dad sure did his best to make sure you had a great life. Honestly, you wouldn’t trade it for the world, that life with your dad. You had a feeling it was much the same for Joel and his daughter.

“I’m happy to help, even if he doesn’t pay me. I’m sure his daughter will enjoy having a female influence in her life if nothing else. What’s her name again? Sarah?”

Your dad’s eyes twinkled with pride. “Yup, that’s it. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become, Spud.”

A mist of tears prickled your eyes as you mumbled out a “Thanks, dad.” After a beat, you added, “Must you keep up with that nickname?”

“Of course. You’ll always be my little Spud,” he laughed as you rolled your eyes. “Oh, by the way, we’re going to the Millers on Saturday for your welcome home party.”

“What’s all this?” Joel questioned as Tommy and Sarah placed a heavy, wrapped package on the table before him along with a few smaller presents. The remains of a birthday cake sat nearby, having been delightfully devoured by the Millers while celebrating Joel’s birthday.

“Just a little somethin’ from me and Sarah,” Tommy replied, a boyish grin alighting his handsome features.

Joel gazed between them with curiosity. Not big on celebrating his own aging, he rarely got big gifts. “You wanna help me open this, nugget?” Sarah’s eyes lit up, small hands reaching to tear the wrapping paper into shreds. It only took a few moments for the contents to be revealed, leaving Joel confused at the modern contraption sitting in front of him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You play video games on it, dumbass.” Tommy harumphed as he began a diatribe on the features of the gaming system – he had one just like it at his place and it provided hours of entertainment when he didn’t feel like going out. “I figured it would be a good hobby for you since you never want to join me in going out.”

“Huh,” Joel grunted in return, brows furrowed as he read the instructions on how to setup up the machine. His attention was diverted by Sarah shoving the smaller parcels into his lap.

“Here, dad! These go with it.” Together, they tore into the wrapping paper to find several video games, a few of which were family friendly. The final gift was a spare controller for the gaming system so he and Sarah could play together.

Despite still being unsure that the gift was a good fit for him, Joel was grateful to Tommy for the effort. “This is too much, man. You shouldn’t spend this kind of money on me, Tommy.”

His brother waved him off. “I found a great deal and you never get anything for yourself, brother. You deserve something to indulge in. Believe me, you’ll have fun with this.”

The rest of the evening was spent with Tommy setting up the system and showing the father-daughter duo how to play some of the games he picked out. The living room filled with lots of laughter and teasing, and Joel found himself really getting into the fun of the video games.

After tucking Sarah into bed, Tommy showed Joel a game that was too violent for the little girl but entertaining for the men. The game was set in Washington DC which had been ravaged by a brutal pandemic and the main character was part of a group of agents fighting off nefarious gangs trying to take over the city. Joel caught onto the gameplay quickly and the two men found themselves building the loadout for Joel’s character, taking out bad guys, and chatting well into the night.

At two in the morning, the pair looked at each other with bleary, red-rimmed eyes and finally called it a night. Joel directed Tommy to crash in the spare room as he shuffled off to bed upstairs.

It didn’t take you long to get settled into your dad’s house. It wasn’t the home you grew up in and you only visited a few times after he bought it. After years living away on your own, you thought it would be an adjustment being under his roof again, but it wasn’t. He understood the need for personal space and never hovered unless you were hurt or sick. He gave you the downstairs bedroom – it was the largest in the house, with an ensuite bath and huge walk-in closet.

“Dad, no! Why in the world is this not your room?” you questioned when he placed your bags on the brand-new, king size bed he had delivered the week prior.

“Hell no, Spud. What do I need all this space for? I like the upstairs rooms better – the light is all wrong in this one anyway.”

You looked around, holding in a giggle. The room faced south, giving you just the right amount of natural light all day. That’s what your dad didn’t like. He preferred to live like a bat in a cave with blackout curtains and limited lighting.

“Alright, well, I love it. The natural light is perfect for me. I can actually put some plants on the windowsills. Thank you!” You kissed his cheek as he left you to get settled.

You spent the week rearranging the bedroom how you wanted it, setting up your gaming system, and putting all your clothes into the walk-in closet. Your dad hadn’t done much with the room other than furnish it, so you made a few trips to the store to get a bathroom set, floor lamps, and wall décor to make the room your own.

Before you knew it, Saturday morning dawned bright and warm. The day of your welcome home gathering arrived, and you would finally get to meet the Millers. An excited energy had you moving about your space in a flurry, tidying up and getting ready early. You’d seen some photos of the Millers that your dad sent you – Sarah was adorable with her dark, springy curls, and Joel… Joel was handsome, in a broody, overworked kind of way, with dark, riotous curls and big, warm chocolate eyes. Kind eyes, you called them.

“Hey Spud, you ready?” your dad called from the kitchen as you put the finishing touches on your hair. It was pinned up, leaving the smooth skin of your neck bare. The sundress you picked hugged your curves in just the right way, falling just at your knees in a flow of lightweight material. In early October, Austin was still hot, and you hoped the Millers’ yard was shaded.

“Bring a swimsuit! They have a pool!” he yelled as you grabbed the last of your things. Turning back to your closet, you grabbed a dark green one-piece suitable for family-friendly swimming and tucked it into your bag.

“I’m ready!”

Your dad smiled at the sight of you. “Let’s go then. We’re heading over early so you can officially meet the Millers and we’ll help them setup before everyone else arrives.”

“Sounds good. Who all’s coming anyway?” Your eyes widened as your dad rattled off a list of people he invited, including his work buddies and some of his and Joel’s neighbors. He would have invited some of your old friends from high school, but you all lost touch over the years. The party was turning out bigger than you thought. Your heart swelled with how happy your dad was to have you home for good.

The Millers lived in the same neighborhood, only a few blocks away, so close you could have walked if not for the scorching sun. The drive took only a few minutes before your dad pulled into the driveway of a two-story home similar to your dad’s, with simple landscaping and two wooden rocking chairs on the wide porch. Lovely and quaint, the house made you more curious about the people who lived there.

“Dayum! Get a load a JB’s daughter, Joel,” Tommy called from the living room, leaning over the couch to look out the front window. “She’s smokin’ hot!”

“Dammit, Tommy. Stop spying on ‘em,” Joel growled, sneaking a peek over his brother’s shoulder to do a little hypocritical spying of his own. Breath caught in his throat at the sight of you and he couldn’t break his gaze away, even as JB led you toward the front door.

“What was that about spyin’, brother?” Tommy teased, practically dragging Joel away from the window as a knock sounded against the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”

Tommy opened the heavy wooden door revealing the pair of you standing there, matching bright eyes and wide grins greeting him. “Well, hello there, beautiful. I’m Tommy.” Reaching a hand toward you, Tommy completely ignored JB, who just scowled at him.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” you replied, offering him your hand and name in return. Joel’s scowl matched your dad’s expression as Tommy held your hand for several beats too long.

“Back off, Tommy,” your dad grunted, swatting at the younger Miller brother. “This here is Tommy’s brother, Joel. The one who actually owns this house and the better Miller, if you ask me.”

“Ain’t no one askin’ you, old man,” Tommy’s smart mouth shot back at your dad.

Joel ignored both men, eyes like dark pools as he gazed at you, awed at how small and delicate your hand felt in his. “Howdy, darlin’,” his voice rumbled from his chest. “Come on in. There’s someone else lookin’ forward to meeting you.”

Leading the way through the kitchen into the backyard, Joel felt the heat of your gaze burning his back. Were you checking him out? There was no way. You were beautiful and likely in your early twenties. He felt ancient, though he was only in his early thirties, the hard labor of construction work having taken its toll on him.

“Hi Dad!” a young, sweet voice called from a small swing set where a precious little girl entertained herself. “Who’s this?”

Joel introduced you to his daughter, leaving the two of you to get acquainted as your dad called him away.

“You were away at college?” Sarah questioned, motioning for you to take a seat on the swing next to hers.

“I was,” you replied. “But I’m back for good now.”

“That’s good. What grade did you get to? I’m in fourth grade.”

You thought about it a moment. “I guess it would be 18th grade. But you stop counting grade numbers after 12th and start using different words to describe what year you’re in during college.”

Sarah listened raptly while you explained the different terms, what you studied in school, and what kind of job you were hoping to get.

“You want to be a teacher?” she asked, awed.

“I do! I want to teach middle grade science.”

“I love science! Maybe you could be my teacher when I get to sixth grade!”

Joel returned with your dad and Tommy in tow to find you and Sarah having a blast. The little girl sat in your lap as you kicked your feet out, swinging as high as you could, singing some camp song you remembered from your youth.

“See? Told ya she’d love to spend time with Sarah,” your dad said to Joel. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, staring at the two of you with a glazed look in his dark eyes.

Shaking himself off, Joel turned to your dad. “Guess I better work out some details with her.” He stepped over to the swing set, taking a seat on the empty swing and hoping to the heavens above that it held his weight. He struggled internally on how to start the conversation and was just about to blurt something out when his amazing daughter saved the day.

“Dad! She wants to be a teacher! A science teacher! Isn’t that cool? Did you ask her about watching me yet? I think she’d love to.” Sarah rambled on excitedly, amusing you and Joel. Turning to you before Joel could chime in, Sarah turned to you with baby cow eyes, adding, “You would love to, right?”

How could you ever resist that look? No one could. Both you and Joel were powerless as you nodded, and the offer became official. Cell numbers were exchanged and before you knew it, you had a job starting Monday.

Hours later, slightly drunk on spiked fruit punch and buzzing with energy, you thanked Joel for hosting the barbecue and giving you a job. You kissed his stubbled cheek, forcing thoughts of how attractive he was as far down as they could go. You could not develop a crush on your boss. “I’ll see you Monday morning, bright and early!” you declared before following your dad through the front door.

TBC

[crying-fantasies]

Monsterfucking

Masterlist

Featuring Merformers! Rodimus Prime, smut/fluff/humor, CW: you fuck the fish, that's it, Roddy doesn't know about kissing, licking (sexy and lovingly), handjob, penetration, mention of a knot, barrier language, nesting, light gore (in a fight), mention of Rodimus’ creators, mer pups/cubs (I love these fictional babies so much), long fic.

Days in Cybertron tend to be regulated in cycles, the days are longer than average back on Earth, and it has been years but you still get problems waking up at the start of the day cycle, a new day to work, and a new day to try and not mess all up as a snake-like tail gets clingy, not letting go of your leg and purring when his claws get a hold of your torso again, hardly letting you hold on the data pad and give your boss a message of your more than sure tardiness just to get a thumbs up from her, almost hearing her say “work hard!”

Anything to help an endangered species.

Rodimus tends to be quite the hyper-energy kind of person, well, fish, he stands up more than the rest of the marine wildlife on this planet, and that's saying a lot given the unique metallic nature displayed, it’s a miracle that whatever kind of liquid filling most of the planet's oceans isn't cooking your meat out of your bones; Rodimus stands up, a lot, you've seen the others around, most are friendly, more inclined to curiosity when they touch your legs or look at you from some reef like structures, believing those as the better spot to hide but forgetting to low the light in their optics, first time it happened you were in for a shock as the rest of the team laughed at your spooked reaction to more than 20 pairs of optics shining bright under the liquid, all with overflowing attention to the new organic putting feet on the floating laboratory.

Rodimus would always be more noticeable to you, as he was the first pair of blue optics reaching out to you the same day your work put you there, so far away from your real home, all to preserve the mechanical nature of this planet and it's creatures, Rodimus escaped from his group, servos trying to catch onto his fins, all for nothing as the mech came up to a side of the lab where your official in charge was giving you the tour of the facility.

With shiny red-colored scales and flimsy paper-like metallic membranes, he was just like in the books, something from far away yet seemed organic, it was something so intricate no one could ever think of, the pads in his digits patted your right foot, feeling the texture of skin and thin body hair before giving a high pitched trill when he launched himself back to the liquid.

One of the scientists laughed, “Rodimus likes you”, almost catching on to his designation he emerged back, just to be dragged under by the rest of his group in a hissing feat, especially by a very mad hunter mech.

Mechs they call them, as in mechanical individuals, some skip over formalities and call them mers because the mers call themselves that way; and no, it’s not a joke as you see Chief Medical Darcy act as a referee when Optimus and Megatron are about to rip the fins of one another again as the doctor only sips on his instant chemical coffee, watching them both quarrel like an old couple, using sounds on a piano-like artifact to tell them to, in the mers own language, “frag off already, Optimus, you left him” while pointing at the blue mer, then to the almost smiling big-like ancient shark, playing his piano like a pro, moving pieces and volumes to say: "Megs, you shouldn't have acted like that, you started it”.

They are ancient, going way back to when Earth was still galactic powder, sentient in every way, they have language, culture, arts, and everything in between, the planet was under colonization until someone noticed the fishes could communicate, it all burned down from it, now considered a protected system the priority was to increase their number, as they could tell tales from bygone times, cures and methods never told before; the mer called Alpha Trion knew of a treatment for decayed fins, which somehow also worked on humans, it was incorporated to treat many skin diseases back on Earth, and the pros of keeping them alive overwhelmed the ones trying to sell them in pieces like it was done at first.

Rodimus is part of the reproduction program, more like one of the offspring resulting from it, but you've seen the program, it looks more like a dating event to this point, and then a nursery program, once the mers get good results, keeping the babies is high maintenance even for the most experienced ones, Cory tells you so once he catches on Rodimus going to you more times than ordinary, cuddling your side like an over-affective cat while purring, “he was just a small baby when I handled him, seems like it was yesterday”, he has a very worn-off expression, and the bags under his eyes tell you of unending nights while he has a new baby in his arms, you see a few mers in the pool connected to the nursery, passed out on the floor in uncomfortable positions over beds of wire-like kelp, some with their young sleeping like angels over them, and Rodimus, who is now shining and swimming in circles for some reason around you two as you also hold a baby, is very focused in how the little guppy holds the neck of your t-shirt, even using one of the sleepy carriers as some platform to show off his pretty red and orange scales, “never expected to live enough to see the day he would dance for a human”, you take a moment to think over it, process it, Rodimus has little time to do something when one moment you're standing there and the next you're running like you heard Megatron is coming with a bad temper.

Rodimus hasn't seen you since that day and makes it everyone else's problem while wailing on the shore closest to your room, and you, so shocked you almost dropped the baby back into the water, only hide in the sudden realization that an alien, mechanic, sentient fish wants to have something with you.

It was too much for a Saturday night, excusing yourself and leaving the baby with Cory who shouted something along the lines of it being normal, “Have you seen this fellow here?” he pointed at the red and silver mer in the pool, a new sire taking a rest while his babies were being rocked back and forth by you just a few seconds ago, the silver and white baby, now in Cory’s arms next to his red and white sibling, “have you meet Miss Astoria yet? The co-owner of this preservation program? These are her boys”

How can it be normal? How did it even happen between two different species on two different planets? How come the babies don't even look human? How?

And why is he trying so hard to find you? There is hardly time to even eat next to the shore before he appears once again, at least his blue optics peaking over the liquid before he goes back down, leaving you in a moment of solitude, raising your hopes, that maybe he finally settled for a partner of his species, but no, Rodimus only went back to the ocean and took out some kind of alien mechanical fish, still moving and trying to return from where it came, only to be gutted right there and then in front of you, Rodimus looks at you, expectantly, how can his optics shine so much?

“You know what? Fuck it”

Next thing everyone knows you're sunbathing in your free time on the beach, Rodimus making a donut-shaped nest at your side with his body, thrilling happily while doing so before you are called back, making him look at you, then at the nest, and back at you, big optics pleading and almost whimpering, “what is-? No, no! It's not that I don't like it! You shouldn't even be doing that here!”

Mers hardly do nests everywhere, as it is only recommended to do it near calm waters, safe to raise their young, close to the waters to ensure the moisture of the nest, with enough light to keep the iron sand warm and cozy for the growing protoforms.

Rodimus makes them where he likes or where you stay for a time long enough for him to get back at his job.

Cory tells you that's normal, since you said yes to Rodimus is normal for any newly paired couple to create their own nest, and also the fact that Rodimus is a recently matured young adult makes him more eager over the idea.

Maybe not exactly at the prospect of having a baby, more like the idea of banging.

Rodimus makes a lot of nests around the iron sand, he has one outside your shared habsuit, another out of your side of the laboratory, one in the sunbathing grounds like the other mers, but not one in the nesting grounds or the nursery, being extremely on edge if an unpaired mer looks at you or his nests, Rodimus is snarling at them when he notices, fins flaring with violent intent and only stopping when the other mer is at a distance he considered respectful before going to you as if he was the victim and not the curious young mech, chattering inconsolable until you let him snuggle in your lap, holding to you and whistling happily.

Mers, while being highly intelligent and sentient still go by their traditions, quite animalistic traditions as they fight over themselves to get a partner, and catch the attention of another; a group is wrestling in the iron sand in one of the little islands while you sunbathe with Rodimus, cleaning his fins of parasites or dead scales, taking samples while at it before a road and a snarl catches on your attention, jumping on your spot over the sand and looking at the island, two mers soon to kill each other while some others look, expectantly, waiting for the winner, the mers waiting to make a display and show their scales, show their array once the loser is bleeding energon in the sand and the winner takes the prize, you feel bad for the med, dragging his massive metal body back to the ocean, maybe soon to arrive at the medic area for medical aid, Rodimus calls your attention back at him, his servos holding your hands and pressing them back at his chest which rumbles, then holding onto your face to look him directly at his optics once you notice the healed scars under his scales or the growing pity on the injured mer just meters away.

Doesn't take much to know why he is always so clingy, or the reason for him to have so many scars when you look at his multiple medical reports, all gained after several mating seasons, losing every single one, being dragged back by Cory to patch him up even in a fainted state.

You look at him now, different, both resting in the bed inside your habsuit, still too early in the morning, Rodimus is curled next to you, his arms holding you, tail heavy over your legs, tangled within your legs, a remarkable subject that pointed out what he was and what you are, impossible to miss, still, you know about it now.

Nesting season is still a long way to come but the mating one is ever present once the fights for lovers have ended, Rodimus seems to not be moved by it, or he tries to appear as much as he grooms you with his hands and his glossa, it is more like an affectionate display but it still far from any sex, still, while he tries to rule over your hair with his oral solvents you catch on the puffy look his slit shows; most paired mates had long since gone to more private zones to let their needs and urges free, you are with the rest of the team as everyone gives their farewell to the newly paired young mechs, hoping for the best in the nesting season.

He tries to deny it, trying to keep up with the older mers who choose not to join the younger ones and the ones without pairs, all just doing their usual routines, Rodimus comes back much earlier than usual and becomes more anxious, just yesterday you finally noticed the reason why he didn't like to enter the nursery lagoon, using the piano-like artifact, asking him if he didn't like to come near the nursery even when you or Cory, his partner and his sire, were inside, his answer was simple “you don't like pups”.

Take a moment to let that sink and the misunderstanding born from the moment you realized his intent in courting you, Rodimus was, in reality, giving you much praise while snuggling next to you, presenting how nice you were with the young pup in your arms in front of his sire, happy by the way you two seemed to be getting along and then thinking in how happy his carrier was going to be when he came back with the hunting group, but his sire said something, making you jump and run, leaving the pup behind with his sire.

Rodimus believed you didn't like babies.

Which, in truth, wasn't exactly like that or different, “it may be impossible”, your words translated with the machine made his optics go big, soon pointing at himself, “Well, hard to happen”, Rodimus looked at you with barely closed optics, a little mad and hurt, “how can we be prepared? Or in any case, why now?” of course, it had to be soon, as the days progressed, and as every grooming session got heavier, sometimes you would nap while Rodimus cleaned you, soon feeling the way his servos were touching, massaging, his glossa looming over your neck, denta nipping at the skin.

He has been so strong so far, but it only takes a movement of your leg to make his tail recoil over it, rubbing his dilated slit over your hip, moaning during his recharge, optics opening just slightly when your fingers started to move along the opening, he squeaked, then rumbled out a groan, hissing while letting his slit open, you've seen the books, but it never said anything of it being soft, like rubber, Rodimus moves his hips, his massive tail pumping against your fingers as his arms go to your neck, anchoring himself to you while crying out in ecstasy, your fingers push a little more and you find a protrusion, pushing your fingers out for a moment to show his spike, letting you touch him more, lavish him more, his servos were frantically holding to the meat in your ass, trying to make you move against his spike in a rutted haze, barely giving your time or space to get the pajama pants off, “Okay, if only we could- could you keep it down?”, your laugh is nervous as he seems to be ripped apart on putting you over or under him, groping where he can while doing so, being careful to not catch your skin or hair with his frantic moving seams, finally deciding to put you down in the mattress, rocking his spike in between your open legs, knowing well the differences, but also the coincidences, between your bodies.

Where the slit of his tail was is also the point in which your legs connected.

“Come here”, your instructions are hard to follow as he is overthinking, full of joy while nipping at your neck, eager to couple but too excited to put it in, the little fighting you both do, one to put his spike inside of you and the other showering you with affection, finally ends when your hand catches on the pointy head of his spike, pumping at it while dragging him over, making him curl a little to be able and still be face to face plate.

Of course, you should've expected the unfamiliar sensation, impossible to compare to anything you've ever had, there was desperation in it, and his movements were too fast, too eager, still, Rodimus kept showing what you liked about him, smiling like a dork and holding to you, letting your legs brace to his tail, said tail rocking fast against you like he was swimming, putting your arms around his helm as he snuggled against your chest and neck, leaving bite marks just to show off, never to give you real damage, moving just enough, in that specific part to make you see starts with your breathless indications, easing your worry with forehead nudges that you changed for kisses, taking him for a surprise before he just let you continue, imitating you, when you felt his spike grow, inflaming, he was sure to make you come at least once before he started to pump faster, wilder, until the base was all in, pushing to a point never had before, looking at you with barely open optics as he started to coo and chatter, you didn't know what he was saying without aid, but Rodimus was singing you praises once again, “I love you, we are mates, mates for life, you're mine, I’m yours”, every short break in between his thrilled gibberish were supposed to be words, but you didn't have much to think straight as he kept on leaking into you, overflowing, keeping it all inside while relishing over your limp body as he still moved to let you get all of him, cleaning you once again to let you rest.

Once you slept well, he was back from wherever he went, coming back with food for the day for you both, once you ended your rations he would give you one of those glances, holding one of your legs, smoothly putting it over the beginning of his tail as you let him, seating you over his already wet and dilated slit.

Mating season wasn't a long period, but it was a delightful one, soon comprehended why so many people on base were missing for all of its duration, now being part of them and even learning why some told you to keep your clothes off most of the time except for a night coat easy to open, Rodimus was a good lover, as he barely left your side, and if he did, it was only to get rations from the cafeteria before leaving them to you and expanding the nest he was making outside your habsuit, using his body, curling it over the sand to make it compact at the base, then making a hole in the middle to keep water inside while you rested inside, not worrying about you leaving to do your science as he was sure the other humans just let you rest.

Months later, Cory found Chandler hissing at the ocean, just to stop, startled, like him at the sight of Rodimus, soon making direct eye contact with them, holding a still closed-eyed little black and silver hissing pup between his servos, presenting his own young and beaming with pride as they both heard you screaming Rodimus’ designation with two more pups in your arms from your habsuit, more than likely enraged and worried out of your mind by the lack of your firstborn in the nest where you left him with his siblings, then being startled by the potent cry of the pup that could only be comparable to a dying animal asking for mercy as he was soaked, cold and scared out of his young mind by the emotion of Rodimus’ to show off his offspring, and this was the fourth stop he made so far.

Rodimus’ carrier, Chandler, didn't give his own pup time to ponder what made you so mad before he was trying to knock some sense with violence into his adult pup like he was still a youngling after snatching protectively the pup against his chest to try and comfort him, Cory runs to them to try and save his son from the fury of his partner and his heavy servo, you appeared with your other two babies to see Rodimus being smacked by his carrier without mercy, “Have I not taught you well?! What in the PIT were you THINKING?! What are you DOING with a NEW FORGED PUP OUT OF THE SLAGING NEST?!”

Rodimus was a great lover, he was still learning to be a sire.

.

Inspired by the work of @tinydefector and @shyspider, love your guys’ work so much, totally lost Mermay but I can try it again with some good monsterfucking.

And if you realized, yeah, that hissing baby is Sunset.

@tf-kinktober2024

[foreingersgod]

Kate and reader accidentally coming out on Jada’s live with Jada’s response being “well that’s one way to hard launch a relationship” while the rest of the team that was there start laughing while Kate and reader try and melt into the floor. Then now that they’re public they become the most sickeningly cute couple always posting each other and gushing about eachother in interviews and not shying away from being affectionate in front of cameras now that they are public

Hard Launch . KM

pairing: kate martin x reader

synopsis: kate accidentally makes your relationship public

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

you were all cooped up in jada’s apartment, hanging out after an incredibly long practice. everyone was exhausted and just wanted to spend the night relaxing and catching up. so you had all opted to go to jada’s place for the evening, maybe watch a movie or something.

to be completely transparent, you had just wanted to go home. drag kate into a nice hot shower with you and spend the night intertwined in your shared bed. but when jada had offered to have everyone over, kate was quick to announce your plans of attendance. you couldn’t blame her, you had all been working very hard this season with very little breaks in between to casually spend time together. you could share your girlfriend for one night, you supposed.

you didn’t get to spend a lot of time with kate outside the safety of your apartment walls. both of you had agreed to keep things private for a while, only the team and your families knew of your relationship. so you concluded that a night with the team couldn’t hurt anyone.

the room filled with laughter, excitement buzzing off the walls. the team was sat in jada’s living room going back and forth about old stories and favorite memories of the season. it was nice to see all of you together like this, no pressure or stress weighing down on you.

a few drinks and several embarrassing stories later, jada had suggested you all go live. it had been a while since the team had been active on social media and in everyone’s tipsy opinion, going live to all the fans was a perfect idea for the night. jada had her phone out immediately, starting the stream as she watched viewers join left and right.

you honestly didn’t care for it much, off in your own world as caitlin and jada laughed next to you. they were messing around and talking to fans on the live. meanwhile, you were observing from afar, offering a small comment here and there. chatter started to die down as the night went on and you were beginning to grown tired. kate, from the other side of the room where she was goofing around with hannah, noticed your heavy eyelids and small yawns. she knew it was time to call it quits for the night and let everyone know you guys were about to head out.

she walked over to you, completely unaware of jada and caitlin still cackling about something said in the livestream. you were barely keeping your eyes open as she knelt in front of you, taking the half empty cup from your hands.

“hey, baby” she said, shaking you awake “ready to head home, you seem tired”

you yawned again and nodded, about to hoist yourself off of the couch until you realized the silence that filled the room. everyone was staring at you, jada’s hand covered her mouth as she held back another laugh. kate, like you, looked extremely confused.

“well that’s one way to hard launch a relationship” jada broke the silence.

“what?” kate asked. and suddenly it dawned on you, your hand also flying to your mouth in disbelief.

“the live is still going” caitlin said, double checking and watching the comments flood with people asking about you and kate.

“oh my god” you said mortified “i completely forgot, kate”

kate just stood in shock as you peered over the phone to see the damage. sure enough, you were the topic of discussion. so many people were asking about your supposed ‘secret relationship’ and freaking out over the accidental reveal.

the team began to laugh, seeing the looks on your faces as the comments kept flooding in. you and kate just looked at each other with wide eyes. you were always so careful when it came to keeping your relationship quiet. it had become a skill at this point, but now all your efforts had seemed to be for nothing.

“ok i think we’re gonna head out,” kate announced slowly, cheeks a bright crimson “i’m too mortified to stay at this point”

everyone was still laughing at your slip up, ending the live before things could go any further. they all offered their goodbyes as you headed out the door, sneaking in a few ‘good luck’ s for when the announcement of your relationship was all over the internet.

the car ride to your apartment was near silent. both of you were too caught up in your own disbelief to say anything. you weren’t really sure how to feel. mad? nervous? relived?

the warmth of your apartment was a welcoming sensation as you stepped through the door. keys gently hit the hallway table, shoes clunking against hard wood floor. you could see through the still dimly lit room that kate was troubled, hands rubbing at her temples. you turned on the lights as she hunched over the kitchen counter with her head in her hands.

you approached her from behind. front your your chest meeting with her sweater clad back and hands snaking their way around her waist. you let yourself mold into her, head dropping to rest between her shoulder blades. she sighed as you spoke up.

“don’t be too hard on yourself, babe”

“i just can’t believe i wasn’t paying attention” she muttered through her hands “i’m sorry, i know we were gonna wait until-”

“hey” you shushed her, standing up while taking her with you, forcing her to look you in the eyes “i know it’s not what we had planned, but it’s ok! it was an accident and you didn’t mean to, it’s not the end of the world”

she frowned slightly, perfect lips pulling tight together as she nodded in agreement.

“and who knows? maybe this’ll work out better anyways! now we won’t have to hide it anymore!” you continued your attempt to reassure her.

“yea i guess so,” she cracked a smile “i just wish we could’ve done it on our own terms”

“maybe we still can” you pecked her on the lips.

“what do you mean?”

“well it’s only been like an hour” you said “what if we made a post on instagram or something, then that way it can still come from us?”

she thought for a moment before obliging, “yea ok, i like that idea”

so you sat down on the couch, shoulder to shoulder, phones in hand. you made sure to keep the posts simple, but sweet and meaningful to get the point across.

after posting your relationship officially, you and kate finally decided to settle into bed and let the situation play out over night. after changing and shutting down the house for the evening, you dove into the comforter next to your girlfriend. her arms instinctively found you and pulled you into her chest, kissing you goodnight before you both drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

when you awoke the next morning, you got exactly what you had expected. instagram notifications on both of your phones were out of control. 

katemartin03

♡ liked by its.yn, caitlinclark22, and 737,575 others

katemartin03 my other half <3 @its.yn

view all 13,445 comments

its.yn i love you !

iowafan44 no way

caitlinclark22 proud of you guys :)

⤷ katemartin03 thanks cait

user53 anyone else here after jada’s live?

⤷ iloveyn13 guilty

moneymartin4ever totally called it

its.yn

♡ liked by katemartin03, ur.sis, and 553,449 others

its.yn love you to the moon and back @katemartin03

view all 11,862 comments

katemartin03 my soulmate <3

ynsbiggestfan ok this is going to be my new obsession

⤷ user55 no cause same

ur.sis i’m going to tear up :’)

caitlinismygf the new it couple fr

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

weeks passed and you couldn’t be happier. being able to finally be out to the public about your relationship was like a breathe of fresh air. and no doubt about it, you and kate were taking full advantage of being officially ‘out’ girlfriends.

the media was all over you two, trying to capture sweet moments of the cute couple. and really, you didn’t mind. any chance you got to flaunt your girlfriend, you leaped at with no hesitation. there were probably dozens of pictures of you guys holding hands, kissing, and leaving practice together by now.

even in post game interviews, both you and kate found ways to bring each other up. you were absolutely obsessed with one another and could never get tired of displaying your love to the public.

jada’s livestream was a blessing in disguise.

[13uswntimagines]

Spiral (Alessia Russo X MMA!R)

Request: Could you maybe do something where less isn’t around to help r through something and r is spiraling more and more while needing someone to bring her back. One of Alessia's teammates has to kind of shout at r and tell her to kneel or something for her to be grounded featuring Mary (and Lucy slightly)

Part of The come Down universe

Warming: D/s elements. Blood and violence (mentioned but nothing graphic- R punches a wall several times).

It was easy for people to believe that you had an easy life, filled with nothing more than champagne problems and affluenza. 

All they saw were the press conferences and interviews after fights where you were riding high on your success. They didn’t see the weeks where you trained upwards of 18 hours a day and ate so strictly that even your water content was measured. 

They didn’t see how difficult it was to balance your career and Alessia’s, and the weeks you sometimes went apart. 

They didn’t see the nagging injuries that followed you like old ghosts. 

And they thought the 1% of your life they saw was enough context for them to make assumptions about the rest of your life, including your relationship with your girlfriend. 

You had never been big on social media, but that didn’t mean you were entirely shielded from it. 

Especially not when the date for your title fight against Justin Gathje was announced. 

Dana wanted you to hype the fight, to make a comment about how wild Justin was in the cage, and how your far more technical style would be a good match. 

And you thought the spare moments you had sitting in Alessia’s national team cubby while she did her final lap around Wembley for the fans was the perfect moment. 

But as you flicked through your Twitter app, you, realized very quickly that it was a terrible idea. 

Justin had already commented on the fight and accompanied his post with pictures of you in the stands a Wembley dressed in your girlfriend's jersey and one of him sweating in the gym. 

I think a championship contender should at least be putting in the work instead of fucking off with a bitch who deserves better. #gonnasilencethegolddigger

You knew that it was a stupid post. It made no sense because the fight was 20 weeks away, and starting training camp now, three days post-fight, would only lead to burnout and injuries. 

You knew that it was completely untrue considering you had met Alessia at UNC where you had a nice wrestling scholarship and she had a soccer one. There had been no gold to dig. 

But that didn’t stop the general public from hopping on the hate train. 

There were thousands of replies, and mentions and posts clogging your feed about how undeserving you were. 

About how awful of a fighter you were. 

About how Alessia deserved someone who could support her. 

But it wasn’t the comments from the general public that bothered you. 

It was the ones from her former teammates that dug into your brain and stuck. 

Her own family didn’t want her so much they shipped her off to America, so it’s sad she’s dragged a stand-up baller like Lessie into her mess. She didn’t deserve her state championship either. #alwaysridingcoattails.

Her own family didn’t want her

Dragged Lessie into her mess

The words burned into your mind, so you saw them every time you closed your eyes, getting more and more bold each time the number of interactions went up. 

1000

15,000

300,000

2,000,000

You launched your phone across the room, uncaring how it smashed into a million pieces on the stone like it would smash the image on the screen. 

Like it would shatter the tweet and the shots coming from people who had never met you. 

Like it would change how right they were. 

You breathed in deeply, trying to quell the growing ache in your chest and soothe the feelings bubbling in your stomach. 

Alessia’s scent surrounded you, filling your lungs and coating all of your senses. It was normally like a balm on an open wound or ice for a burn, the remedy to your anxiety and a promise that she was there for you. 

That she would always be there. 

That promise was part of the reason your relationship took the dynamic it did. 

Except this time, her scent didn’t loosen the knot in your chest. 

It just reminded you how much you took from her. How much better off she would have been if you had never run into her at UNC. 

You shoved yourself out of Alessia’s locker, you didn’t deserve to sit in it and paced the small room. 

The walls felt like they were getting closer together, and the air felt too heavy. 

You couldn’t breathe.

You needed release. 

You paused at the far end of the room, staring at the white concrete. 

Your fist hit the cold concrete before you even thought about it, and you relished in the pressure of the hard surface on your exposed knuckles. It was more than when you hit pads, more than when you hit someone else. 

It was perfect. 

You did it again. 

You weren’t enough. You hadn’t been for your parents. You wouldn’t be enough for Alessia either. 

Your fist hit the wall again. 

That’s what everyone had been saying for months. That’s what your father told you when you tried to make amends. 

You could see how right they were. 

Stupid worthless 

You hit the wall again. 

How much better off they would be without you. 

“Y/n?”

You didn’t even blink at Ella’s voice. 

You weren’t good enough. How could you ever be?

You had been birthed by two drug addicts more interested in their own highs than in raising a child. Your neighborhood MMA gym was the only place you had ever found food and safety. How could you ever be enough for Alessia who had been raised by loving parents? Who didn’t have to scrape and claw for food scraps? 

Who didn’t crave the freedom you found in total violence. In the destruction of a human. 

In the destruction of herself. 

“Y/n stop,” 

Hands gripped your shoulder, trying to prevent your arm from moving as you launched it again at the slightly pink wall. 

It didn’t work. 

Your hand slammed into the wall again. 

It wasn’t enough. It didn’t hurt enough to ease the volcano in your chest. 

You needed more. 

“Y/n please,” 

Ella’s voice sounded very close to your ear and stinger arms wrapped around your stomach, trying to force you away.

A guttural sound left your lips as the arms were finally able to pull you away, and Lucy stepped between you and your only solace. 

You needed it. 

“Calm down,” Mary hissed, her arms tugging you again. 

You were too out of it to wonder when she had gotten there. 

“Go get Alessia,” Lucy said, looking over your shoulder towards who you assumed was Ella. “Now,” 

You fought against the arms restraining you. 

Keeping you from the only thing that would make the ripping feeling in your brain go quiet. 

The door slammed shut and you were forced back another step by strong arms. 

“Y/n you need to relax, you’re going to hurt yourself,” Lucy held her hands up as she took a step towards you like you were a wild animal. 

And you supposed you were. 

Wild and out of control. Spiraling into oblivion. 

Lucy Met Mary’s eyes when you fought harder in the keeper's hold, your eyes wildly flickering as your limbs flailed. 

This was well out of their ability to fix. 

“We have to do it,” Lucy said, and Mary instantly knew what she meant. 

Mary nodded once. 

She knew you better than Lucy did, so she knew it had to be her if they wanted it to work. 

It was the only thing she could think of to help you. 

The thing that Alessia would do for you 

They had only seen it happen once. 

It was the only time the keeper had seen your dynamic's heavier side. The only time Alessia looked truly dominant, and you looked submissive. 

Mary squared her shoulders, drawing up to her full height, picturing in her mind the way Alessia had touched you and the tone that she had used. Soft, but dripping in authority that had shocked Mary. 

She tried to remember the words your girlfriend had used, the way her fingers pressed perfectly into your skin to make you melt. 

She pulled away from you slightly, drawing her hand from your stomach to land heavily on the space where your shoulder met your neck. 

“Y/n,” She said mimicking the sheer dominance that Alessia’s voice held that night. “I think that’s enough darling. Kneel for me,” 

You froze. 

A shiver ran the full length of your spine at the familiar words, and your shoulders rolled like a physical weight had been added to them. 

You blinked as the order filtered through the fog in your brain, registering that though it was familiar, the voice that had given it was not. 

Her arm loosened around your middle as all of the fight left you, but she kept the grounding hand on your neck. 

You leaned into it, breathing in through your nose and very slowly releasing it through your clenched teeth. 

You sagged with each exhale, sinking very slowly until you were kneeling at Mary’s feet. 

Your head bowed, and you rested your hands palm up on your knees as another rattling breath left you, pressing back into the hand still on your neck like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away into oblivion.

Mary stood frozen, staring at you as you fixed your posture (Alessia hated it when you slouched) and all of the tension, her eyes darting up to meet Lucy’s. 

She hadn’t been sure that it would work. That you would listen to it because she wasn’t Alessia. But now that it had, she wasn’t sure what to do. 

She didn’t know what came next, or how to navigate it without crossing your boundaries. 

“Good job Y/n,” Lucy said, keeping her voice as soft as Mary’s. “We’re just going to stay here and calm down, alright?”

You let out another shuddering breath, more ripples quaking down your spine, and Mary very gently ran her thumb in circles at the back of your neck, hoping it would help to keep you settled. 

She knew it was the touch Alessia always took when you were anxious or nervous, but she was also very much aware that she was not Alessia. 

“And then we’ll get one of the trainers to look at your hand after Lessie gets here,” The defender continued, her eyes trained on where your jeans were slowly turning red with the blood from your hand. 

“But for now, we’re going to just stay right here,” Mary repeated, letting her thumb graze the nape of your neck. 

*******

“Less,” Ella’s voice cut through the sounds of the fans calling for Alessia’s attention, the panic in it drawing the strikers eyes before the midfielder skidded to a stop beside her. 

“What’s happened?” Alessia asked, passing the shirt she was signing back to the young girl who had handed it to her. 

“Y/n,” Ella panted, her eyes wide, afraid despite the cameras pointed their way. “I’ve never seen her like that,” 

Alessia frowned, turning away from the fans and wrapping an arm around Ella’s shoulder to give them some semblance of privacy. 

“Seen her like what?” She asked, her tone low with something… darker lingering under the surface. 

Ella shook her head, unable to describe it with words. “I need you to come, quickly,” 

“Ok,” Alessia agreed, following after the midfielder with little question. 

She knew that whatever had happened had to be bad to cause that look. To have Ella say it in front of the fans. 

Ella sprinted back towards the tunnel with Alessia on her heels, weaving between equipment people, and players until they reached the locker room. 

Leah stood outside the door, directing players to the other showers. 

Alessia’s frown deepened. “What’s going on?”

“We thought a smaller audience would be better,” Leah murmured, stepping aside for them. “Looks pretty brutal mate,” 

Ella patted her back and she stepped towards the door, steeling herself for whatever was inside as she pressed it open. 

Her breath caught in her chest as she took in the scene in front of her. 

It looked like something out of a slasher film. 

Red covered one of the white stone walls, dripping onto the gray floor in dime-sized circles to where you were sitting. No kneeling between Mary and Lucy, a dark patch forming from where it had soaked into your jeans. 

Her jaw clenched at your position. 

It was hard for people to understand but kneeling was something… intimate between the two of you. It was a show of the trust that you had for her to take care of you. A way to reinforce the power dynamic in your relationship. 

It had taken you a long time to feel comfortable enough to let yourself be vulnerable enough to kneel for her, and she treasured how willing you were now. How you seemed to… crave the position. 

For someone else to put you there didn’t sit well with her. 

Neither did the way Mary’s hand was holding the back of your neck. 

“What happened?” She grit out, her eyes flitting between your form and the two women on your either side. 

“we’re not entirely sure. We just caught the tail end,” Mary murmured, her thumb rubbing soothing circles onto your skin. 

Your eyes were closed, but Alessia could see the tension in your posture. She could see how on edge you were. 

How close you were to subspace. 

She snooker her head. “And you thought that this was the solution?”

She wanted to scream at her friends. To give them a lecture about consent and safety and trust (even though you wouldn’t be kneeling for them if you didn’t trust them). 

They didn’t know your boundaries. This hadn’t been discussed. What if it went wrong and they didn’t recognize the signs of you passing the point of consent? 

She knew you often leaned into the dynamic you shared to calm down. To let go, but she knew your limits. She knew your safe word. 

She knew all of the signs to look for, because you craved pain when you felt unstable (a habit that had lingered from your childhood), and you wouldn’t always vocalize your limits. 

She worried how far backward you would slip after this. 

“It was the only way I could think of to get her to calm down. She wasn’t responding to anything else Less,” Mary explained, her voice very soft and gentle. “I tried to do exactly what you do,” 

“We also stayed away from honorifics,” Lucy added. “We knew we were overstepping a bit as it was and didn’t want to push further than we had to,” 

Alessia wanted to snort that overstepping was an understatement, but she didn’t. 

That wouldn’t help you. 

Avoiding honorifics had been a very thoughtful touch. 

That would have sent you careening into sub-space, and she doubted either of them could have handled that. 

“Alright,” She said, taking a deep breath. 

She would need to talk to them later, but right now, her priority was you. 

And getting to the bottom of what happened. 

Of what changed in the 10 minutes you had been left alone. 

She settled herself on the bench, placing her sweatshirt on the ground near her feet to act as a cushion for you, and taking a deep calming breath before she let her eyes fall on you. 

“Babygirl,” Her voice came out stern, but not angry, and for the first time, you raised your gaze from the floor to meet hers. “Come here,” 

She gestured towards the spot at her feet, and without hesitating, you carefully pulled out of Mary’s grasp and crawled to her. 

Her fingers weaved through your hair, and she guided you to rest your cheek on her thigh once you settled on the sweatshirt. “What’s going on sweet one? Talk to me,”

You nuzzled into the soft skin of her leg as her nails dragged against your scalp, trying to remember how to speak. 

How to form words that would accurately describe the tearing feeling in your chest. 

“Not enough,”

The words were horse as they left your lips, heavy and wet like they had been pulled from the depths of your soul. 

Alessia hummed, her nails digging more deeply into your hair. “What’s not enough?”

Your breath rattled in your chest, shaking through you to your core. 

At the depths of it, you were not enough. 

You would never be enough. 

“I’ll go get a doc,” Lucy murmured before you heard the sound of the door. 

“What is not enough,” Alessia asked again, more insistent. 

“I’m not enough, Miss,” You said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Alessia tutted. “We both know that’s not true,” 

You groaned. 

It was true. The whole internet believed it. 

“It is,” You insisted, pulling away from her warm hold to meet her eyes. “Everyone believes it,” 

“Who is everyone?” Alessia pressed, staying calm and even. Being your stability. 

“I think this has something to do with it,” Mary said, and your eyes snapped to her, where she was holding your demolished phone, the tweets still lighting up the screen. 

You had forgotten she was still here. 

“What is it?” 

Alessia held her free hand out for it, using the other to settle you back against her thigh. 

“Bullshit,” Mary answered, passing the phone to your dominant, moving slowly around you, like she was afraid to spook you. 

Alessia hummed, flicking through the images on your cracked screen. 

The room was silent as she read the words that had set you off, and you let your eyes slide closed, enjoying her closeness. 

Enjoying the ability to let go, and trust that she would take care of it. 

You ignored the sound of the door opening again, and feet approaching you and Alessia. You didn’t care if people saw you. You knew that she would defend you if you needed it. 

“Sweet girl,” Alessia said, fingers tightening in your hair, and you opened your eyes to meet hers over the phone. “Let them look at your hands,” 

Your eyes flickered towards the medics, kneeling in front of you, Lucy standing protectively behind them with Mary. 

You hummed, slowly lifting your dominant hand and holding it out towards the medic. 

He took it gently between his own and began to examine it with a frown. 

“I think she needs x-rays,” He said, looking over you towards Alessia who was still scrolling through your feed. “And I can wrap it after that,” 

“Alright,” She said, putting your phone down. “We’ll meet you in the training room in just a moment. Can you three give us a second?”

The medic nodded, retreating with Mary and Lucy.

“Take your time,” Mary paused in the doorway. “Me and Luce will get cleaned up and meet you,” 

Alessia let out a sound of agreement. 

She waited for the door to close before she very gently pulled you up from your knees and into her lap. 

You rested your cheek on her chest, tucking your nose into her still-sweaty jersey. 

This time her scent didn’t set you on edge. It joined the feeling of her warm arms wrapped around you and her chin on your head, making you feel safe and warm and cared for, even when you didn’t think you deserved it. 

“You know all of those tweets are bullshit right?” She asked after your breathing had evened out. “They’re just trying to get under your skin,”

You made a low noise, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. 

“You are deserving because you are amazing. You are an incredible fighter, and a good human despite the shit hand you were dealt,” She continued. “I love you, and I will always be here for you. Whether you are the world champion, or we’re eating spam and crackers on my bedroom floor,” 

Your eyes slid closed and you buried your face in her chest, your lips lifting just a bit at the mention of your favorite snack from college. 

From when you were too broke to afford dinner on the weekends. 

It didn’t entirely fix the crumbling feeling that accompanied each beat of your heart, but her words were like a tether holding you to reality. 

She had loved you before you were a UFC star and she was England's Star Girl, and she would love you after. 

That was all that mattered. 

She squeezed you tightly and kissed your head. “Let’s go get your hands fixed and then we can go back to the hotel and watch Love Island before bed, alright?”

You hummed again. 

You knew a talk about your coping mechanism, about the wall you had destroyed, would also be included after you had come down. 

But you didn’t mind. 

You and Alessia would get through it. Together. 

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Summary: After you attend Harris's birthday party, Eddie's forced to confront some big feelings, and a Valentine's date has the two of you navigating a much different type of big feeling.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), oral (f! receiving), fingering, protected p in v, slight breeding kink, very fluffy smut, brief mention of parental abandonment

WC: 8.6k

Chapter 12/20

Eddie's card credit to @girlwiththerubyslippers Mixtape credit to @lofaewrites Divider credit to @saradika

The mingled scents of wood polisher, stale cigarette smoke, and old frying oil invade your nostrils the second you step into Hawkins Lanes. Bowling balls thud as they make contact with the fiberglass lanes, subsequently crashing into the waiting pins. You offer a smile at the exasperated teenager clearly nursing a hangover, holding back a dry heave as he sprays a pair of red and blue shoes with a can of deodorizer that, given the undertones of pungent sweat permeating the air, is likely well past expired.

“I’m here for Harris Munson’s birthday party?” It comes out like a question rather than a definitive statement, and you hold up the gift bag in your hand like it’s some kind of evidence.

The teenager jerks a thumb towards the back left of the building, not bothering to look up. “Party room’s down there,” he mumbles, and you thank him as you walk along the pink and purple carpet.

You’ve arrived a little early, hoping to steal a few moments with Eddie before the chaos of the day begins. Wayne is the only one in the small room, stretching to hang up a sign proudly declaring ‘Happy Birthday,’ each letter a different color of the rainbow. He grins when he sees you approaching, and you hold one end of the sign in place as he adheres it to the door frame with Scotch tape.

“Good to see y’again, darlin’.” Wayne greets you with a grin, taping your side of the banner. 

You put your arm down and return his smile. “You, too!” you chirp, glancing around the room. “Where can I put Harris’s present?”

The older man points to an empty table off to the side. “Right over there should be good,” he figures aloud. “Ed just took Harris to the little boys’ room, but they’ll letcha know otherwise.”

You nod, gently placing the bright yellow bag atop a table covered with a Hot Wheels-themed cloth. Amusement dances on your lips at the realization that Eddie must have splurged on decorations; it’s far better quality than one from the local 99-cent store. 

“Ms. Sweetheart! You’re at my birthday party!” Harris’s enthusiastic voice captures your attention, and you spin around just as he’s launching himself into your arms. A tiny human rocketship. 

“I am!” You laugh, motioning towards the gift table, “and I left your present over there.” 

Harris’s face lights up and he starts towards it, arms outstretched and ready to tear through the tissue paper, but the sound of his dad clearing his throat stops him in his tracks. 

“Remember,” Eddie says, keeping his tone calm but firm, “we’re gonna open everything once all your friends are here, after we eat cake.”

Harris juts out his lower lip in a pout. “But Daddy,” he protests, “I wanna open it now!” He stomps his foot indignantly, and you have to suppress a laugh at how silly it looks with the clown-esque bowling shoe on. 

“Harris, can you wait until you open the ones from your friends?” You phrase it like a favor, hoping to appeal to him that way. “I’m really excited about what I got you and I want them to see you open it, too.” Of course, you couldn’t care less about what a bunch of random four- and five-year-olds think about your gift, but you had to think quickly before the whine escalated to a tantrum. 

He releases a sigh of exasperation but ultimately concedes. “Okay, I guess I can wait.”

Eddie mouths thank you and winks as the four of you walk out to the lanes to wait for Harris’s friends. You feel a hand slip into yours, too small to be Eddie’s, and beam when Harris looks up at you with pure joy.

“Daddy! Grampa Wayne! I’m holding Ms. Sweetheart’s hand!” he exclaims, baby teeth on full display

Eddie ruffles Harris's hair. “I’m jealous.” If prompted, he’ll claim that he’s envious that his son chose to hold your hand instead of his. But you and him–and Wayne, let’s be real–know the real meaning behind his statement.

As Harris’s friends arrive and the birthday boy greets each of them with a hug, you and Eddie spring into action and line them up to get fitted for shoes. There are five kids, three boys and two girls, and though you recognize them as Ms. Marion’s students, you don’t know any of them by name. The bowling shoe laces are flimsy, and a few of them struggle with the fine motor skills necessary to tie them.

“Can I help you with that?” you ask one boy, who nods and extends his leg towards you. You crouch down and rest his foot on your knee as you double-knot the laces. When you finish, you look up to see that the rest of the kids have formed a line for your shoe-tying expertise.

Eddie returns from dropping off the guests’ gifts in the party room, laughing when he stumbles upon the queue of children. “You don’t have to do all that, Sweetheart,” he tells you, using his hands to assess the weight of different bowling balls before distributing them to the kids.

You shrug as you finish tying the last shoes. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie has reserved two lanes for the party, and before anyone can figure out who will be bowling where, Harris is tugging on his Black Sabbath t-shirt.

“We wanna play in teams,” he reports matter-of-factly. You’re not sure who ‘we’ refers to, since you didn’t see him corroborating with any of his friends, but you don’t question it aloud. “Team Harris and Team Daddy.”

Eddie gasps with feigned offense, bringing his palm to his heart. “What? You don’t want me on your team?”

“Nope.” Harris shakes his head, curls swaying back and forth. “I want Ms. Sweetheart on my team.” He pauses as he glances around the group, eyes brightening when his gaze lands on the eldest Munson. “You can have Grampa Wayne.”

“Old man’s probably gonna break a hip.” Eddie grumbles teasingly, picking up a red marbled bowling ball and hoisting it up to his chest.

Wayne scratches the top of his head. “And yet I can still kick your ass.” He keeps his voice low so that little ears can’t hear, but you and Eddie can, and you tuck your lips into your mouth so none of the kids catch on.

Harris is up first, squatting down and using two hands to roll the ball down the lane. His method proves to be somewhat effective when he knocks down a few pins, and the scoreboard screen flashes a giant number 5. 

“That’s how many years I am!” Harris proudly announces, skipping back to where the rest of his team is standing. He cocks his head at the ball return’s open mouth for the neon green ball that Eddie had handed him earlier, eagerly scooping it up when he spots it. Assuming the same stance, he once again rolls the ball and successfully topples two more pins.

Eddie raises his brows incredulously. “Hmm, let me try that strategy.”

“I don’t think there’s enough pins for all of your years,” you quip, and Eddie sticks out his tongue in your direction before mimicking Harris’s approach, knees aligned with his toes. He draws the ball back between his legs and releases it a few inches ahead of him, smirking as it cascades down the lane.

His cockiness is apparently earned, since he gets a strike. He attempts a victory moonwalk, clumsily dragging one foot behind the other in a manner that would make Michael Jackson regret ever making the move popular. The heel of his shoe catches on the floor and he stumbles backwards, landing on his ass.

The kids burst out into peals of laughter, and you and Wayne join in once it is evident that Eddie’s not hurt, only embarrassed. You stoop down, clutching your ball between your palms as you grin. “That’s what you get for gloating,” you whisper in his ear, a joking lilt in your voice. “Try setting a good example for the kids next time.”

Unbeknownst to you, one of the kids, Kelly, strikes up a conversation with Harris while you’re up to bowl. “Is that your mommy?” she asks him, strawberry blonde pigtails softly swishing as she looks over at you.

“No, but she’s gonna be my mommy soon!” Harris replies happily. “She and my daddy are gonna fall in love and then she’ll be my mommy.” His voice lowers as concern mars his words. “But don’t tell anyone, okay? Because it’s my birthday cake wish and I need it to come true.”

Kelly nods, taking this obligation seriously, and she averts her gaze when she spots you walking back to the ball return. Since you’d only knocked down eight pins, you take another turn, slipping your thumb, middle, and ring fingers into the holes, frowning when you don’t get the spare you’d hoped for. 

Harris’s chipperness brings a smile back to your face. “Ms. Sweetheart, can you teach me how to bowl like a grown-up?” He blinks a few times, hammering in his naturally docile nature.

“Of course!”

When it’s Harris’s turn again, Eddie watches you go up with him. It’s noisy, but he zeros in on your sweet tone among the clattering of bowling pins and cacophonous conversations.

“See, you put your middle finger and ring finger here, and your thumb here,” you’re gently explaining. “And then you lift the ball back just a bit, bring it forward, and let it go.” You go through all of the motions without actually letting go of the ball, Harris’s eyes glued to your every move. “You try.”

Harris follows your instructions, pink tongue poking from his mouth in sheer concentration, and knocks down a single pin. Eddie braces himself for his disappointment, maybe even escalation to a tantrum, so he’s pleased when his son spins back with a wide, toothy smile.

“I did it! I knocked it down!”

“You’re amazing! I’m so proud of you, Harris.” Eddie’s posture softens as Harris runs into your arms and gives you a giant hug, tiny fingers digging into your biceps as he squishes the side of his face just below your collarbones. When he does this, Eddie notices that Harris’s cheeks have lost some of their chubbiness; his son’s baby-like features subtly disappearing to make way for attributes of the older child he’s growing into. It brings a slight pang to his heart, and he swallows the emotion and focuses instead on the bonding moment between you and the not-so-little boy.

There’s a shared love; more than that, there’s trust. Harris knows he can rely on you to teach him with kindness and patience, that you won’t berate him or yell at him for doing something incorrectly. You’re his Ms. Sweetheart.

Wayne takes note of the goofy smile adorning his nephew’s face, nudging him before he drops the bowling ball on his foot. “I know you’re in love with her, but she ain’t worth losing your toes over.”

Eddie’s face flushes pink, the tips of his ears burning now that he's been caught. “I’m not in love with her, Wayne.” At least, I didn’t think I was yet, but now I might be.

“Whatever you say,” Wayne mutters under his breath, taking careful steps towards the lane. “You, uh, might wanna wipe the drool from your chin before you take your turn, though.”

Team Harris ultimately wins, mostly because Wayne throws the game so the birthday boy can have a victorious moment. You, Eddie, and Wayne quickly corral the kids into the party room, seating them at a large rectangular table for cake and presents before anyone can take offense over the game results. The three of you breathe silent sighs of relief when you easily shift their focus to the next activity.

Eddie pulls his lighter from his back pocket, flicking it on and lighting the five thin blue and white striped candles unevenly jabbed through the chocolate frosted homemade cake. He picks up the plate, supporting it from the bottom as he leads the group in a hilariously off-key rendition of Happy Birthday.

Harris squeezes his eyes shut before blowing out the flames with gusto, a big grin on his face when he opens them again.

Feeling a hand clap on his shoulder, Eddie swivels his body to see his uncle armed with a disposable Kodak camera. “Let me get a picture of you and the birthday boy,” Wayne insists, peering through the little viewfinder and snapping a photo. Eddie’s crouched down, right arm slung over Harris’s shoulders. Both of them wear matching smiles; the only difference is that Harris is still sporting his baby teeth. 

“Now Ms. Sweetheart!” the little Munson declares. Eddie goes to leave, pressing his palms to his knees and standing up, but Harris grabs his wrist and pulls him back. “No, Daddy. You and me and Ms. Sweetheart together!”

You shuffle over to stand on Harris’s other side. When you place your hand on his upper back, Eddie’s slides over yours, the two of you and Harris chiming “cheese!” in enthusiastic unison. 

Blinking from the brightness of the flash, you extend your arm and make a ‘gimme’ motion with your hand. “Let me get one of the three of you,” you say to Wayne, who begrudgingly places the camera in your outstretched palm. 

Eddie pulls him in closer. “Alright, Munson men. Flex those muscles!” You giggle as the three of them bend their arms to show off whatever biceps they have. 

“Ms. Sweetheart, who’s got the biggest muscles?” Harris asks as you lower the camera. 

You scrunch up your nose as though seriously contemplating the question. “Um, me, obviously!” You smack your own bicep, sending Harris into hysterics.

“That’s so silly!” he cackles, glancing up at Eddie. “Daddy, isn’t Ms. Sweetheart so silly?”

You expect him to agree with his son, but he just puts his hands on his shoulders and gives a quick squeeze as he says, “Nah, she’s the strongest person I know.” Your stomach flip-flops when he peers at you through his impossibly long lashes. He picks up the plate and brings it over to the smaller, empty table. “Let’s cut this cake before the kids start revolting.”

The two of you use plastic knives and forks to divide the cake into slivers and toss them onto paper plates. Once all of the kids have their slices, Eddie licks the excess frosting from his fingers and hands you a plate. 

“Havin’ fun?” He carefully wraps the question in a joking tone, but you can tell that he’s genuinely curious about whether you’re enjoying yourself. 

You spear a piece of your slice with the plastic fork. “I am, actually.” The chocolate melts in your mouth, and your tongue glides over your lips to catch any crumbs. “I haven’t been bowling since I was a kid.”

“And it shows,” he teases, wincing when you flick his cheek. “Hey, now—violence is never the answer. What values are you instilling in these impressionable young minds?”

Harris pops up from his seat, waving an empty plate. Whatever cake bits were left on it have tumbled to the floor. “Daddy, I’m done! Can I open my presents now?”

“Jesus, did you inhale that thing?” Eddie wonders aloud, but ultimately agrees. He grabs a bunch of thin napkins and wipes Harris’s hands and face, laughing when the boy sputters as the paper presses against his lips. “Har Bear, you don’t wanna get your presents all messy.”

Once he’s all cleaned up, Harris grabs each of the gifts and brings them to his seat at the head of the table. He tears through brightly colored wrapping paper at lightning speed. Eddie tries to keep track of who gave what as his son unveils a Hot Wheels track from Charlie and his brother Brendan, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure from Kelly, a G.I. Joe from Emma, and—regrettably—a tub of Gak from Zachary. He makes a mental note to pick up a harmonica or a kazoo or something else noisy when that kid’s birthday rolls around. 

The last gift left is from you, and you twiddle your thumbs as you await Harris’s reaction. Should I have gotten him a toy?

“It’s a stencil kit,” you feel the need to explain, as though you wouldn’t be able to handle the embarrassment of him asking what it is. “So you can trace shapes for your art. It’s got all different ones: food, animals, holidays…” You clamp your mouth shut, willing yourself to stop talking. 

Your panic is short-lived; Harris’s brown eyes light up as he runs to you and wraps his arms around your legs in another giant hug. “I’m gonna draw you so much things!” he promises, gazing up at you excitedly. 

“I can’t wait to see what you make me.” A drawing from Harris holds a deeper meaning than you ever realized. It’s more than a simple display of creativity; it’s a symbol of love and acceptance into his life. 

He looks at his dad now with pleading eyes. “Can Ms. Sweetheart come to our house after the party so I can draw her a picture? Please?” He stretches out the last word so that it has at least five syllables. 

Eddie looks at you expectantly, a timid smile on his lips. “Well?”

“I think that’s a great idea.” Your response earns you another quick squeeze from Harris before he darts back to his seat to further inspect his gifts. 

Eddie’s warm voice is low in your ear, his fingertips ghosting the small of your back in a manner that lets you—and only you—know how starved he is for touch. “And you can help me get rid of that slime thing, too.”

Once the party has ended and you, Eddie, and Harris are back at their apartment, the cherubic boy takes the stenciling kit into his room. 

“I’m gonna do art in here so you can’t peek,” he declares, clutching the kit to his chest as though there’s already something to hide. 

Eddie chuckles, raking a hand through his curls. “Okay, bud. We’ll be out here, watching TV. You go be a little artíst.”

Once he hears the bedroom door click shut, Eddie puts the TV on a random channel and plops on the couch with a soft oof. You sit down next to him and he puts his arm around you, allowing you to snuggle in closer. The shirt fabric against his underarms is slightly damp with the day’s sweat, but you’re far too comfortable to even consider it an issue. 

Your unsuccessful attempt at stifling a yawn has Eddie grinning. “Can’t hang with the kids anymore?” he goads, lips flush against your scalp. 

“It’s exhausting being on the winning team,” you playfully retort, adding in an over-the -top fake yawn to drive home your point. “Not that you would know.”

“Oh, yeah?” He pulls you closer to pepper kisses across your neck and cheek until you’re a giggling mess. Satisfied with his handiwork, he allows himself to sink deeper into the cushions and lets out a yawn of his own. 

You rest your head on his shoulder, gently brushing his curls back so they’re not in your eyes. A hum of contentment escapes you as you fully relax for the first time today. 

You feel a slight nudge on your chin as Eddie tilts it upwards and kisses your lips. The gloss you’d applied before the party is long gone, a casualty of conversation and cake consumption, but he has no complaints. 

“Been wanting to do this all day,” he murmurs, shooting shivers down your spine. “And when I saw you helping Harris? Baby, I just…” he searches for accurate words. Nothing he can think of seems to fully convey the depth of his feelings, but he tries his best. “I’m so fucking lucky. We’re so fucking lucky.”

The feeling of your body against his relaxes him further; a marvelous white noise replaces the plethora of overanalyzed problems constantly buzzing through his brain. The heaviness of sleep falls over both of you, and you shift your body even closer to his in a primitive quest for the safety his presence brings. Whatever show is on the fuzzy TV set is now a dull hum until it’s muted by the dreams your subconscious brings.

Eddie only stirs fifteen minutes later when the bedroom door hinges give a soft squeak, ears trained to pick up on Harris’s innocuous noises that often precede chaos. Grogginess overpowers attentiveness, so he misses the smile on his son’s face and the way he whispers, “my birthday wish is coming true.”

Gray clouds cover Hawkins the next day, drenching the small town in cold rain. And while Eddie is certainly grateful that it’s not snowing, this means that he has to find indoor activities to keep his endlessly energetic son occupied. 

Luckily, Harris is still enamored with his birthday gifts, particularly the stenciling kit you’d given him. He sits at the kitchen table now, tracing an outline of a cow on a Valentine for his classmate. Eddie’s not quite sure of the correlation between the animal and the holiday, but he’s learned that some battles are best left unfought.

 “That looks great, Har Bear.”

“I know.” Harris agrees, not looking up from his drawing as he says, “Daddy, you should make a Valentime for Ms. Sweetheart.” Before Eddie can answer, Harris slides over a piece of red paper and a black marker.

“I should, huh?” Remembering a trick he learned back in elementary school, Eddie folds the paper and draws half of a heart against the crease. He has to use Harris’s blunted safety scissors, much too small for his fingers, to cut the paper. Pleased when he sees that it actually resembles a heart, Eddie taps the marker against his dimpled chin as he contemplates what to write. “You really like Ms. Sweetheart, don’t you?”

Harris nods, putting down the blue marker he’s using and reaching for an orange one. “Mhm. I love her, Daddy.”

Eddie’s heart soars at the confirmation of Harris’s adoration of you, but he tries not to make it obvious. “That’s, uh, that’s good.” He finally decides on a simple message: Be Mine, and he signs his name underneath with a dash. It feels a little less impersonal than “from,” but isn’t as strong as “love.” Do I love her? He wonders. No, it’s only been one date. He can’t fall in love this quickly. It’s not possible. “How’s this? Be mine,” he reads aloud, underlining each word with his finger.

“Oh, I like that.” Harris picks up a green marker and writes the same two words on a pink sheet of paper. The letters are a little too big for the paper’s limited space, and he ends up squishing the “e” in “mine” very close to the edge. “How do you spell ‘mommy’?”

Eddie’s throat goes bone-dry. “You wanna make a card for your mom?” Harris has never wanted to make anything for his mom before; never brought her up, really, but maybe that was changing now that he was in school and surrounded by children with present mothers.

But Harris shakes his head. “No, it’s for Ms. Sweetheart. I wanna write ‘Be Mine Mommy.’”

It takes Eddie a second to realize that Harris means “be my mommy,” and he massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Um, Har, you can’t just ask her to be your mom.”

“Why not?”

He doesn’t want to tell Harris that wants to make sure you’ll stick around, nor does he want to make a promise neither one of you can keep. “Because you…you just can’t, okay?” It comes out harshly, and he sputters to fix his tone when he sees Harris’s lower lip quiver.

“But it’s not fair! You didn’t have a daddy, so you got Grampa Wayne as your daddy. I don’t have a mommy, so I want Ms. Sweetheart as my mommy!”

Eddie flash backs to their zoo trip, when Harris had innocently asked him if Wayne had taken him out on father-son days. There’s no child-friendly way to articulate that Wayne had initially been legally obligated to act as his guardian. “I know, bud. I know you do–”

“Then why can’t I ask her?” His expression shifts from anger to confusion, brows pinching together.

Because she could say no, Eddie thinks. Because the responsibility of being a mommy was too much for your biological mother to handle; why would Ms. Sweetheart take it on? What if she doesn’t have a problem being your mommy, but she finds issue with the idea of being connected to me?

He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Look, Har. I know you want her to be your mommy. And between you and me, I’d love for her to be your mommy, too.”

“But–”

“But, grown up feelings are weird sometimes,” he presses on, borrowing your verbiage from Thanksgiving, “and feelings like love take time. But I’m gonna make you a promise right now.” He sticks out his pinky finger. “I promise that if me and Ms. Sweetheart fall in love, I’ll tell you, and I’ll let you ask her to be your mommy. Is that a deal?”

Harris looks dubious, but ultimately hooks his pinky around his dad’s. Eddie breathes a sigh of relief that the crisis has been averted for now.

“Before we can ask her to be your mommy,” Eddie continues, “I need to figure out the perfect Valentine’s Day date to impress her. Wanna help?”

Harris purses his lips in concentration, resting his chin in his hand. “How about McDonald’s? They have a ball pit!”

Eddie has to tuck his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “A definite contender,” he finally manages. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Friday night. Valentine’s Day. 

You had been unsure whether Eddie wanted to do anything for the holiday; your relationship was still so fresh, and you didn’t want him to feel pressured. When he crept into your classroom Monday morning with a coffee and a heart-shaped note—far more conspicuous than he’d intended to be—you couldn’t hide the excitement on your face. 

The card reads Be Mine and currently resides under a magnet on your fridge, finding a home among the plethora of drawings from Harris. It’s got some creases in it that Eddie had explained were the result of Harris shoving it into his backpack that morning. You thought it was perfect as is. 

“Are you free on Friday? For Valentine’s Day?” he’d asked, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. When you answered in the affirmative, he visibly relaxed. “Great. I’m taking you out.” His smile lights up his face. “Wear something that you don’t mind getting messy, and I’ll pick you up at 6.”

You’d wanted to try and pry more information from him, but Carol Perkins and her son Frankie walked in just then, and you’d put away the heart as quickly as you could as Eddie scrambles from the classroom. 

You stand in your bedroom now in your Levis 501s and a fuzzy red sweater, taking one last look at your makeup in the mirror reflection. You scrape your fingernail along the bottom of your lip to wipe off any excess gloss. Underneath your outfit is a special surprise, wishful thinking if the night goes well.

At 5:55, you sling your pocketbook over your shoulder and make your way down to the lobby. You spot Eddie the moment you step out from the elevator. He’s pacing, hands shoved in his dark wash denim pockets and lower lip pinched between his teeth.

Your voice draws him from his thoughts. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him so your stomachs touch. “You look really, really handsome.”

“You’re…you’re beautiful.” He’s almost breathless as he says it, eyes roaming down your body and taking in the view. The way your sweater drapes the slope of your breasts has his heart leaping into his throat. He kisses you slowly before proclaiming, “My beautiful Valentine.”

You reach into your purse and pull out a tiny red gift bag, letting it sway and dangle from your fingertips. “I got you a little something.”

The tissue paper crinkles as Eddie rifles through it to pull out a silver lighter, much heavier in his palm than the usual plastic Bic he uses. “Sweetheart, this is…” He takes a closer look and reads aloud the engraved words etched on the front. “Fill my heart with song…”

“It’s from Fly Me to the Moon. Because of Thanksgiving, when you played the record, and Grandma…” you trail off, not wanting to get choked up, “and because you’re a rockstar. My rockstar.” You kiss his lips again, feeling his palm softly cup your cheek.

“I have something for you, too. Um, I didn’t get to wrap it, but I hope you like it.” He unzips his jacket, exposing the gray t-shirt clinging to his pecs. He digs into the inner pocket and clutches a cassette tape, handwritten label stating,“Ms. Sweetheart’s Mix.”

“‘S nothin’ crazy, just some songs that remind me of you.” There’s an array of genres and artists on there. Guns ‘N Roses, of course, as well as Frank Sinatra. There’s Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me, Un-Break My Heart by Toni Braxton, and a plethora of songs with ‘sweetheart’ in the title: Bob Dylan’s Sweetheart Like You, Bing Crosby’s Let Me Call You Sweetheart, The Spaniels’ Goodnight Sweetheart Goodnight. 

Tears prickle along your lash line, and you blink them away before you smudge your mascara. “Thank you, Eddie. I love it.” You hold the gift in two hands, giving it a small shake to emphasize your excitement.

A small pang in his chest has Eddie realizing that he wishes you’d ended that statement with you instead of it, but he tries to shove the thought down by kissing you, tongue parting your lips, hand traveling up your side. His hands aren’t even touching skin, only your sweater, yet it’s so electrifying that you feel your thighs clench in wanting.

“C’mon,” you urge him gently, “let’s go on this date before we end up making out in the lobby all night.”

Eddie cocks his head. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“Eddie…” Truthfully, you’re thinking the same thing, but your desire for a romantic Valentine’s Day date with him propels you towards the door. You take his hand so he dutifully follows.

“Fine,” he relents with an exaggerated sigh, smile showing off the soft dimples in his cheeks. “But only because you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, y’know that?”

“Oh, I know.”

Twenty minutes later, Eddie’s car pulls up to The Novice Chef. You’ve never been–taking care of Grandma didn’t allot you much time for hobbies–but Jess has told you about their incredible cooking classes. She and Robin went to one right before Thanksgiving and insisted that they’d perfected the art of turkey basting.

“Figured we could learn how to make pizza since we’re basically funding the local Surfer Boy,” Eddie grins, turning the key in the ignition. The car stills and the two of you unbuckle your seatbelts, pushing open the car doors. “Just, uh, no olives on my half.”

You find an unoccupied cooking station with two aprons on it, the venue’s cursive logo displayed on the front in an eager advertisement. You slip one over your head and Eddie does the same, twirling his finger in a turn around motion. You feel the brush of his fingers on the small of your back as he ties the strings in a bow. After returning the favor for him, you squeeze his waist, giggling when he yelps in surprise.

“What was that for?”

“I dunno; you’re just really squeezable.”

Eddie just shakes his head, already missing your touch after that brief moment. He slides a rubber band down his wrist and ties his hair in a bun at the nape of his neck before slipping his rings off of his fingers. He flexes his hands, almost taken aback by their nakedness, and you suppress a heaving sigh when you catch sight of the protruding veins, dark purple snakes that disappear amongst soft arm hair.

“All right everyone, let’s get started.” The unfamiliar voice brings your attention to the front of the room, where the instructor is standing behind his own station. “My name’s Argyle, and I’ll be your tour guide on our journey through Flavortown.” He claps his hands and rubs them together. “First thing we’re gonna do is knead the dough.” He gives a demonstration and then invites the class to try on their own.

“Damn, that dude has some badass hair,” Eddie muses, noting the man’s long raven locks that are pulled back into a waist-length ponytail. He nods approvingly and flips the silver bowl of dough onto the table. A small puff of flour rises as it hits the surface with a thwack, and you’re very glad you’d heeded his warning not to wear something new.

Eddie presses the heel of his palm into the dough, kneading it with precision. Flatten, stretch, flatten, stretch, until he’s satisfied with the consistency. He shapes it into a thin circle, fingertips digging into the edges to form the crust. The movements are hypnotizing, and it’s not until he clears his throat that you bashfully realize you’ve been staring.

“Y’good, Sweetheart?” A sly, knowing grin stretches from one cheek to the other; now you’re certain that he’s caught you.

“Y-Yeah.”

The next step is to spread the sauce onto the dough, Argyle explains, and Eddie places the crust onto the pan and steps aside so you can take over. You dip the ladle into the pot, filling it to the brim. Bits of dried basil and oregano swim in a red tomato sea as you use the ladle’s base to evenly distribute it across the crust. 

“Y’got a little somethin’ on your face.” Eddie whispers in your ear, making you stop mid-swirl. 

“Huh? Where?” You use the back of your free hand to wipe at your cheeks and chin for any sauce that may have splattered, but a close inspection shows nothing. 

Eddie leans over you, his chest flush against your back. You fight the urge to press the curve of your ass to the seam of his jeans, wiping a sweat-slick palm on your apron. “Right…” he swipes his finger down the ladle’s curved side, catching some sauce and dotting it on the tip of your nose, “here.”

“Eddie!”

“Don’t worry; I’ve got it.” He leans over and licks the sauce off, a quick lap of his tongue on your skin. The unexpected sensation makes you giggle louder than you’d intended. You clap a hand over your mouth, surely smudging the gloss, but you’ve already drawn the instructor’s unwanted attention.

“Lovebirds, are we here to flirt or to make pizza?” Argyle punctuates his rhetorical question with an exasperated sigh. You duck your head in shame and Eddie just coughs to stifle his own mischievous laughter.

“All right, now for the cheese,” Argyle continues, dipping a hand into a glass bowl and retrieving the ingredient. “Some people think that ya just pile it on; the more cheese, the better, but there’s an art to–hey, not cool, man!” He’s looking right at Eddie, and you glance over to see your date drop a handful of shredded mozzarella into his open mouth.

“Sorry,” he mumbles through a mouthful of cheese, but you’re willing to bet that his apology is anything but sincere.

Argyle rolls his eyes, not even attempting to hide his irritation. “You got one more strike, and then you’re out.” He points one finger at Eddie and then jerks his thumb backwards to emphasize his point.

“Yes, sir,” Eddie salutes, and you elbow him in the ribs.

Once the cheese has been sprinkled across the sauce–whatever remains after Eddie’s impromptu snack, anyway–you reach for the mushrooms. Eddie’s sharp gasp makes you freeze up before you can grasp any.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, placing his flour-coated hands on his hips.

You flick your gaze from the bowl of mushrooms to his impatient face. “Um, putting toppings on the pizza?”

“Not that one, you’re not,” he argues with a disapproving shake of his head. “Vegetables don’t belong on pizza.” He picks up the bowl of pepperoni and starts layering the slices on top, either unaware or indifferent to the fact that some of them stick together in a double layer of cured meat. “This is more like it.”

You nudge him, triumphantly layering mushrooms around where he’s placed the pepperoni slices. “It’s called compromise, Eddie. It’s how relationships work.”

His jaw drops and he places his hand over his heart like a southern belle who’s just been presented with extraordinary gossip. “Oh, this is a relationship?” He snickers when you give him a small shove. “I had no idea. I just thought we were two friends who make out sometimes.”

“God, I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.”

An hour later, stomachs filled with pizza that might rival Surfer Boy’s, you and Eddie return to your apartment. A tense stillness fills the air when he walks you to your door, daring either of you to speak your mutual desire into existence.

You’re the one to break the silence. “I had an amazing time tonight, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” he asks almost incredulously, as though he doubts the truthfulness behind your words. He pushes the insecurity aside with a joke. “Even though I almost got us kicked out?”

The memory brings a smile to your face, though you would imagine that the annoyed instructor would not share the same sentiment. “I still need to get you back for that.” You lick his nose and giggle, knocking his hand away when he lifts it to his face. “Don’t wipe it off!”

“And what if I do?” Eddie takes a step closer, resting one hand on the small of your back and putting the other on your cheek. He kisses you and you lean into it, pressing your body against his. His tongue parts your lips, and you hook a finger into his belt loop as you melt into each other.

“Do you wanna come in? Or do you have to get back home to Harris?” You’ve pulled the trigger. There’s no turning back now, and though you’re certainly in a healthier place than the last time you’d made this suggestion, the fear of a similar reaction has your heart in your chest.

He shakes his head, nose rubbing against yours. “Wayne’s staying with him tonight.” He omits the fact that his uncle was the one who’d offered to babysit overnight, a not-so-subtle hint at his expectations of Eddie’s evening plans.

“All night?”

“All,” he kisses you again, “night.”

You fumble with your keys and unlock the door, Eddie wrapping his arms around your waist from the back as though he never wants to let go. As soon as you get it open, its grimacing creak mere background noise to the pounding in your ears, you’re kicking off your shoes and pulling Eddie into the bedroom.

Your hands on his shoulders pin him against the door, only moving them to the hem of his shirt to begin tugging it over his head. It proves to be a difficult task as you try keeping your lips on his neck, but he wraps his fingers around your wrists and stops you.

“Been dreamin’ about worshiping this body…you,” he clarifies, pupils blown so wide that they overtake his chocolate irises. “Please,” he adds, a slight break in his voice. His begging starkly contrasts the bravado that dominated his personality the night you’d met. There was no patience or tenderness, just teeth clashing and hands searching for the fastest and easiest way to bring pleasure.

You nod. “I have a surprise for you first.” You take off your sweater, drawing it slowly up your torso to build up the anticipation, and toss it to the side.

Eddie goes slack jawed at the sheer mesh bra that leaves nothing to the imagination, just as you’d expected him to. He quickly snaps his mouth shut and swallows, a last-ditch attempt to salvage his machismo before he fully loses his mind.

“It’s a matching set, if you wanna see.” 

“Uh-huh.” Eddie walks over, pressing kisses to your collarbones that leave your knees weak. His thumbs graze your breasts, slipping the bra straps down and unhooking the clasp. It falls to the ground and he stoops a bit, bringing his mouth to one hardening nipple and sucking it before moving onto the other. “Perfect.” He trails kisses down your stomach, dropping to his knees as he does. “Perfect.” He lifts one hand, kissing each individual finger right on the first knuckle. “So perfect.”

He remains on his knees as his nimble fingers, still cold from the brief walk to your building, unbutton your jeans, and you shimmy out of them eagerly. His eyes widen when he sees that your panties do, in fact, match your bra: a red-tinted mesh thong that has everything on display.

“Baby,” he moans, grabbing one ass cheek in each of his big hands and pressing soft kisses to your clothed pussy. “Baby…f’me?”

“All for you, Eddie.” Your breath hitches when you feel his lips graze your most sensitive spot. He’s not intentionally teasing you, but logic has no place in your current state.

He kisses down your thighs. “Lay down f’me, yeah?” You do as he asks, laying your head down on the pillow as your body sinks into the mattress. Eddie climbs on top of you, slotting one knee between your slightly open legs. He brings his lips to your ear, gently biting your earlobe and singing in a low murmur, “got it bad, got it bad, got it bad…”

You giggle, the breath from his whisper tickling the shell of your ear, and you tilt your head slightly so you can see his face. “Can I undress you now?” He nods, and you wrestle with his shirt to expose the pale expanse of skin. There’s a dusting of curls across his chest, thicker in the middle and thinner around his nipples. You plant a kiss on his left bicep and drag your palm down his tummy, practically concave during his teenage years but now has a slight softness to it, stopping when you reach the bulge in his pants. He groans at your touch, and you feel his cock twitch slightly. Eager to alleviate his pent-up energy, you undo the button and tug down his zipper, cupping his erection through his navy blue boxers.

“Not yet,” Eddie mumbles, “not done showing you how much I l–care about you. How much you mean to me.” With a burning in his cheeks from what he’d nearly admitted, he drags your thong, a wet patch formed on it, down your thighs and past your calves until it drops to the ground unceremoniously. He balances your legs on top of his shoulders and pulls himself in closer, nudging your clit with his nose as he licks a stripe up your folds. His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, brushing it with his tongue. Soft brown eyes peer up at you, desperately seeking your approval.

“F-Feels good,” you manage, words caught in your throat as pleasure seeps into your body. “Please keep going.”

Eddie needs no further convincing, reveling in your growing wetness against his face while slipping his middle finger into your pussy. You whimper at the feeling of him inside you, bracing yourself for a comment about how needy you are, but he just continues to draw you closer to your orgasm. His finger glides in and out, in and out, rhythmic but not too slow. The bed shifts ever-so-slightly, and you realize he’s rutting his hips against the mattress, desperate for relief.

Your hand finds purchase in the curls adorning his scalp, digging your fingers into them and giving a small tug. Eddie lets a second finger into your tight hole, curling them upwards and hitting your sweet spot over and over.

“Right there, th-that’s it, please, Eddie,” you beg, your moans barely audible over the sounds of him fervently fingering you and lapping at your cunt. “Fuck, Eddie, ‘m gonna cum!”

Eddie just lets out an “mmm,” in acknowledgment, the vibrations shooting through your core and bringing you right to the edge. Your release overtakes you and your thighs instinctively squeeze against either side of his head. He makes a mental note to ask you not to do that because he absolutely needs to hear every noise you make while you cum.

“Y’good?” he asks as you drift down from the high, still perched between your legs. He wipes his slick-glistened lips with the back of his hand before licking the taste of you from his fingers. “I can keep going, trust me.”

“Need you closer.” You try to sit up, but your legs fail you, and you flop back onto the bed. “I have condoms in the top drawer–”

“Brought my own,” he grins, reaching into his back pocket–now positioned just under his ass from the way he’d dry humped the bed–and pulls out three connected foil packages. “Ribbed, for her pleasure.”

“Such a gentleman,” you tease, but it’s the truth. The way he took care of you, made sure you were okay after, offered to continue eating you out despite the raging hard-on he’s sporting…his chivalry isn't lost on you. You watch as he strips down until his body is rid of any clothing, tearing one wrapper and rolling the rubber down his cock, and you bite your lip in anticipation of its delicious stretch. 

There’s an unspoken disappointment at the addition of the barrier, regardless of its practicality. You want to be as close as you possibly can without anything in the way, but neither of you are in any rush to give Harris a sibling.

Imagine it, though, Eddie can’t stop himself from thinking. Imagine the intimacy of filling her up every night until she’s carrying my baby. Taking any little bit that drips out and stuffing it back inside to make sure it takes. Imagine kissing her growing bump every morning to greet her and our unborn child.

He puts one thigh on either side of yours, looking into your eyes as he asks, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

Eddie lines up with your entrance, pushing in gently and keeping his gaze trained on the way you take him in. Inch by inch, he disappears into your wanting hole until he bottoms out. He holds your hips while he finds a steady pace, and as soon as you arch your back, he’s slipping his hands around your waist just above the curve of your ass. “I can’t believe you’re mine,” he whispers. “You make me so fucking happy.”

Your hands grasp at his shoulder blades and you kiss him, tongues intertwining while you moan into each other’s mouths. “I’m always yours, if that’s what you want,” you promise, wrapping your legs around his.

“Of course, that’s what I want. Most beautiful girl in the world, asking me if I want her to be mine.” He grins cheekily, burying his head in the crook of your neck and sucking on it lightly before asking, “do you want me to be yours?”

“Yeah,” you exhale as his cock presses against your walls. “Yeah, I want you to be mine.” You smile, moving your hands to the nape of his neck and deepening the kiss. You want to be the only one he touches like this, the one who goes to bed next to him every night and wakes up next to him every morning. The one who celebrates his wins with him and brings comfort during the losses. You want everything that comes with belonging to each other.

Eddie thrusts into you, pulling wanton moans from your lips. “Say my name,” he pleads. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Eddie,” you pant, not able to fathom a single thought beyond the pleasure you’re feeling and who’s bringing it to you. “Eddie, ‘m so close. You feel too…too good.” Good is an understatement; perhaps a more accurate adjective would be euphoric, but finding a more elaborate term is low on your priority list.

Eddie’s peak is not far behind, with the feeling of your warmth around him bringing him closer every second. “Always wanna make y’feel good, baby,” he says. His face hovers just above yours, a bead of sweat sliding down the bridge of his nose onto the tip of yours. “I gotta–”

“Cum for me, Eddie,” you tell him, and with your permission, he pistons his hips a final time and spills into the condom. Your walls contract around his length as you finish with him.

Eddie stays inside you as the two of you catch your breath, smiling and stealing kisses from each other. He’s never felt anything like this before; for him, the thrill of sex is typically fueled purely by the primal instinct to get laid, but he’s in no rush to let you go. His cock begins to soften and he slowly pulls out, chuckling when you whine at the loss of fullness.

“Gotta toss this,” he says, removing the condom with a soft hiss and tying a knot. “Then I’m gonna hold you, mmkay?” Part of him is waiting for the post-sex adrenaline to wear off and the inevitable crash down when he realizes he’s mistaken lust for passion, urgency for belonging, but that doesn’t happen. As much as he’d love to be inside you again, hearing and feeling your satisfaction as you unravel for him, what he wants more than anything is to lay next to you and keep you safe. Safe from what, exactly, he’s not sure, but something compels him to protect you.

He takes you in his arms, the two of you a tangled, sweaty mess of naked limbs. Perspiration mats his sparse chest hair to his skin, but you press your cheek to it anyway and breathe in his scent. Your body grows heavier as sleep overtakes you, but Eddie’s low voice pulls you back for just a second.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?”

I love you. The words want to flow freely but come to a screeching halt on the tip of his tongue. It’s only your second date, and his mind is clouded with the sappiness of Valentine’s Day and oxytocin; what if he just thinks he loves you? Or what if he truly does, but you don’t feel the same way? Would you tell him, or would you pretend to reciprocate to spare him the hurt? Which is worse?

I love you. But it’s too soon to feel that, to know it for certain. And if he rushes things, he’ll get Harris’s hopes up–get his own hopes up–only to be met with heartbreak and disappointment.

I love you. And what would that admission accomplish, anyway? Where would you go from there? What would it change?

“Get some rest,” is what he settles on, biting the inside of his lower lip in shame. He kisses your forehead and watches you drift off, grateful when the exhaustion of the evening hits him and he follows suit.

I love you, is his last thought before he falls asleep, but he convinces himself that he’s not ready to speak it into existence. 

--

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[archangeldyke-all]

Domestic!Sevika having possessive and very horny sex with Reader because she’s the mother of her children and she just loves her to death and is so happy they have a family together?🫶🏽

as much as i don't want kids i'm such a sucker for sweet domestic girldad sevika requests <3

men and minors dni

it's jinx's birthday. born smack dab in the middle of summer, it's been tradition for her birthday to be celebrated with a huge barbecue party in silco's backyard-- slip n slides and inflatable pools out for the kids, and cold drinks out for the adults. it's always a great time.

little fucker, only four years old, is jinx's favorite thing in the world. the feeling is mutual-- your daughter adores jinx, always asking when she can see the pre-teen next.

right now jinx is running around the back yard, your daughter hanging on her back, both of them armed with water guns as they scream and laugh and dodge water balloons the boys are lobbing at them.

jinx is pretty slowed down with little fucker clinging to her, but violet's taken it upon herself to defend her sister and her god-sister, escorting them behind the pool before throwing a bucket of water on claggor, mylo and ekko. they all squeal.

all the kids are laughing, but you can hear your daughter's loudest of all, and your heart swells.

beside you, sevika nudges you. you look over at her, sprawled out in the lawn chair beside yours, and she grins.

"what're you smiling about?" she asks, handing you another drink.

"our kid." you say, gesturing to your daughter where she's trying to throw a waterballoon at violet.

she's still too small to put much force behind her throw, and it bounces off of violet's stomach and onto the concrete where it pops. violet laughs, and your daughter pouts, then turns to look at you and sevika, tears in her eyes. you both coo.

she comes running over, a worried violet following after her, and she launches herself into your arms, muffling her cries into your shoulder. you start stroking her back.

"i'm sorry!" violet says, cringing. you laugh and wave at her.

"not your fault, right baby?" you ask your daughter. she cries but nods into your shoulder. "she's not upset at you. she just gets frustrated."

"wanna be strong!" she cries. "'s no fair!"

beside you, sevika snorts a laugh, reaching over to ruffle her hair.

"you will be!" violet promises your kid. "you're only four!"

"i wanna be twelve!" she whines.

"w-why twelve?"

"it's when sevika promised she'll start training her."

"in boxing? but aunt sev-- you started training me when i was--" you both glare at violet and she trails off, blinking. "uh. i mean. they didn't let me start until i was twelve, too." she says. you nod and mouth a 'thank you' to violet.

sevika had violet in the ring by the time she was ten. but now that it's her own kid-- sevika gets nauseous at the thought of her baby maybe, someday, potentially getting hit.

"see kid? rules are rules." sevika says. your daughter huffs.

"c'mon, i'll teach you some moves right now, kid." she promises, holding her hand out for your daughter. she gasps.

"really?!" she asks. violet laughs and sevika groans.

"yeah, hurry up though, or your mom's gonna try 'n tackle me." she says, giggling at sevika's angry expression. your daughter squeals, her tears forgotten as she launches herself out of your lap and takes violet's hand, before the two of them take off across the yard.

"if you hurt my fucking kid vi--"

"i got it aunt sev, relax!" she laughs.

sevika huffs and you reach out to hold her hand. she looks over at you, her worry melting as she clinks her glass against yours. you both take a sip, sighing as you relax in your chairs.

"do you know how fucking hot you are?" she asks.

"you've been a lightweight since we had a kid." you say, chuckling.

"fuck off, i'm serious." sevika says. you giggle.

"i didn't say you weren't!" you say. "i'm just saying you usually don't tell me those kinds of things in public unless you're drunk."

sevika pouts. "i guess i need to change that, huh?" you giggle.

"no, please don't, we'll never be able to get anything done if you're constantly letting your mouth run."

"oh, so this is doing something for you?" she teases, squeezing your hand. you shrug, biting back your smile.

"what if it was?"

"if it was, then i'd tell you that i felt my dick twitch a bit when you came out of the bedroom wearing this today." she murmurs her fingers playing with the flouncy hem of your sundress. you bite your lip even harder-- you wore it for her.

"yeah?"

"i'd tell you that i've had a half chub since we got here, and that watching you bein' such a good mom just makes me wanna give you more kids." she whispers, her breath tickling your ear.

you shiver in your seat, clenching your thighs together. sevika smirks at the obvious sign of your arousal, and you take a big sip of your drink, licking your lips and trying to collect yourself as she eyes you.

for a moment, you just look at one another, locked in a lust-fueled staring competition.

the kids are laughing and splashing in the pool, benzo and vander are arguing over the grill, silco's talking to some of his neighbors across the fence, dogs are barking down the street and crickets are chirping-- but you can barely hear them over the sound of your heart pounding in your chest.

sevika's hand is slowly creeping up your thigh, the hem of your skirt rising higher and higher. you bite your lip and spread your thighs just an inch, and sevika grins.

a scream brings you both back to reality. you pull away from each other, looking over at the kids where jinx is being thrown into the pool. you sigh, and sevika huffs, and before you know what's happening she's tugging you out of your chair by the wrist and dragging you inside the house.

you're giggling and squealing as sevika runs in front of you, pulling you through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the spare bedroom where she slams the door shut behind her.

"s-sevika!" you screech as she slams your body onto the bed. she grins as she crawls on top of you.

"god i love you." she says. "can't believe you're mine. fuck i'm so lucky."

you're tearing at her clothes, tugging on her khaki shorts and shoving her muscle tee up her abdomen. she laughs as she helps you strip her, throwing her clothes behind her shoulder until she's naked on top of you.

well, naked except her tented boxers, already stained with a wet spot. you lick your lips.

"your turn." she says. you smirk and shake your head no, grabbing her hands. "no?" she asks.

"flip over." you demand. sevika grins.

"yeah?"

you nod. sevika tumbles off of you, laying flat on the bed beside you, tugging at your hips as you straddle her waist. you grin. "keep your hands here." you say, squeezing her hands with yours. she nods.

first, you slide the straps of your dress off, pulling it down over your tits, and sevika groans as they're revealed to her.

then, you reach under your skirt, pulling sevika's dick out of her boxers, and sinking down until you're grinding against it.

sevika's eyes bug out her head and she groans.

"f-fuck!" she cries. "you're not--"

"i'm not what?" you tease her, continuing to grind against her. your cunt is hot and wet, your lips parted on either side of her cock, your clit nudging her head with each of your thrusts.

"where're your panties?" she whines. you smile.

"didn't wanna wear any today." you say, shrugging. sevika gulps.

"oh my god-- this was a set up! y-you've been trying to get me fuck you all day!" sevika accuses. you laugh.

"are you mad?"

"i'm honored." she sighs. you giggle.

"remember when jinx turned five? before we had the rugrat?" you ask. sevika nods.

"wonder if this is the same bedspread." sevika giggles, one of her hands coming down to claw at the blanket beneath her. you grin.

"it's not, that one was green. you had my face pressed to that thing for forty minutes-- i remember it very well." you say. sevika laughs.

sevika's head catches on your hole, and you both whine. she tries to buck up into you and you reach down between your legs to help guide her inside of you.

"oh fuck, baby!" she whines. you giggle.

"feels good?" you ask, planting your hands on her tits as you start to slowly rock back and forth on top of her. she shudders.

"oh my god i'm gonna give you twins." sevika mumbles, staring at the ceiling in awe. you giggle, then lean forward to plant your lips on hers. she hums against you. with each rock of your hips, she lets out a sweet 'mm, mm, mm' sound in her throat.

you pull away from her mouth, gasping for air, and she stares up at you with stars in her eyes.

"i love you so fucking much." you say, stroking her cheek. sevika's hands claw at your hips as she tries to thrust up into you, your pace quickening.

"i love you too." she whines as she leans up, sucking your swaying tits into her mouth. you shudder.

the sound of slapping with each of your thrusts start to echo in the room. sevika's sucking on your tits while she bounces you on her cock, and you whimper.

"w-wore this just for you." you admit. sevika groans. "glad you like it."

"love it. love anything you wear. fuck-- but your tits sit so pretty in this one."

"'s your favorite color." sevika whines.

"fuck, fuck, yeah it is."

"you know why?" you ask. sevika's close, you can tell. her abs are twitching, her thighs are shaking, and her feet keep slipping out beneath her where she tries to get some traction on the sheets to thrust up into you.

"w-why?"

"'cause i'm yours baby. i'm all yours."

"fuck-- mine." she grunts. you nod down at her, your noses bumping. you reach back, tapping her hands still clutching at your hips.

"touch me. however you want-- whatever you need-- just cum deep inside this pussy 'n claim it, honey."

sevika growls, and with your permission, she shoves your shoulders, pins you to the bed beneath her, and spreads your legs out wide. your dress is bunched around your waist now, tits and cunt both on full display, and sevika smirks, spits on your clit, then starts hammering you.

each thrust is accompanied with a 'mine' from between her lips. sometimes, it's a 'my love', sometimes it's a 'my wife,' and when you tug her hair it's a howl and a 'the mother of my fucking children.'

when she bites your shoulder, you squeal, shakily trying to cover your mouth with your hands. sevika beats you to the punch, leaning down and shoving her tongue down your throat to muffle your cries.

you claw at her ass, and sevika pulls away from your mouth with a low, husky moan as her hips still, pressed right against you.

you never get tired of the way it feels for sevika to cum inside of you. the way she fills you so with warmth-- the way her dick twitches and jumps, the way she tries to grind closer and closer against you, until she collapses on top of you and her cum slowly trickles out of you.

oh fuck. you think as sevika grunts and slumps on top of you. you shove her shoulder. "shit-- sev." you say. she hums against you. "sev, you can't-- i don't wanna stain this dress but i don't have any panties, you gotta get up so i can--" sevika cuts you off with a kiss.

"lemme clean you up." she says. you whine.

"f-fuck, yes please."

sevika grins, her hand coming up to gently toy with your clit as she looks between your bodies. you groan.

"quit it! the second you pull out it's gonna be a mess and--"

you gasp as all at once sevika pulls out and ducks down between your legs, shoving her tongue back inside of your clenching hole. you groan.

"oh fuck!" you laugh. sevika grins at you, her eyes sparkling as she looks up at you.

she eagerly eats her cum out of you, moaning at the taste of her and the taste of you combined. she's not being effective in cleaning her mess-- if anything she's making it worse-- but with the way her tongue is pushing against your g-spot, you can't find it in you to care.

"fuck, i love you." you sigh. sevika whimpers. "i love you so much baby. you take such good fucking care of me-- you're so good with our girl-- you're perfect, honey." you say.

sevika's eyes are closed shut, a furrow between her brows. if her mouth wasn't busy, she'd be scoffing at your praises. but you've found that she's better at taking compliments when she's got her mouth full.

you reach down to trace the little wrinkle and she relaxes, blinking her eyes back open to look up at you. you smile at her.

"you're perfect." you repeat. sevika nods, her nose grinding against your clit. you shudder. "so perfect baby. gonna make me cum-- fuck, keep going." you cry. sevika reaches up to grope your tits, sinking her fingernails in the tender flesh. you groan. "my perfect wife." you sigh. sevika shivers beneath you, and you smirk, tugging on her hair.

"mine, huh?" you ask. sevika nods against you.

"mmhm." she moans.

"my wife. my baby. my lover." you whine. your thighs start to tremble and sevika's eyes are hopeful sparkling as she blinks up at you. "all mine-- a-all mine."

sevika moans again, and the vibration of her voice against your clit is what ends up tipping you over the edge.

you gasp, and before you can scream in pleasure, sevika's smacking her hand over your mouth, muffling your cries.

she doesn't let up on your cunt until you're shivering and pushing her away from you, and when she finially rises to hover above you, she's grinning.

her face is covered in a mixture of yours and her cum and her spit. her hair is a mess. you're no better-- you've got claw marks on the tops of your tits and a bite mark in your shoulder. sevika laughs down at you as you smile up at her.

"i love you." she sighs. you smile.

"i love you too." you say. she presses her lips to yours and then rises, pulling a wad of tissues out of a box on the bedside table before she gently cleans your thighs and cunt for you.

you help her redress and she helps you-- tucking your tits back into your dress and straightening your straps for you.

as you straighten out the bed spread, sevika smacks your ass.

as she leaves the bedroom, you smack hers in revenge.

you're both giggling, hand in hand as you leave the house and enter the heat of the summer again.

nobody seems to have noticed you were missing. the kids are having blast-- splashing in the pool. little fucker's sitting on claggor's shoulders, controlling him with her hands gripped in his hair.

you settle back into your lawn chairs, your abandoned drinks are warm now but still refreshing after the little work out you've just had.

sevika wraps her arm around your shoulder, and you sink into her side. the smell of cooking meat is floating across the yard, laughter and music and chatter surrounding you. you sigh in satisfaction against your wife, and she presses a kiss to your head.

(later in the night, when the kids have all slumped to sleep in the living room and the adults are gathered around table reminiscing and smoking and drinking, silco calls you out about the new bite mark you've acquired since the party started. you just shrug, smiling as sevika tries to hide her embarrassed face against your shoulder.)

taglist!

@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 9 - Can't Cover It Up

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Alternate title for this chapter is : “I need him in a way that’s concerning to feminism”. Enjoy!! Chapter Title is from I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 20.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You start to work of Ben's PTSD. Everyone takes a little break. Usual warnings

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 8 - Chapter 10

“Ben.” Her voice dragged through Ben’s head, pulling him from a strange, dark peace. “Ben, wake up.”

He groaned, and She started poking him. “Fuck off,” he muttered, unwilling to entertain even the fucking idea of opening his eyes.

“Ben,” Her voice was muffled, and she was squirming against him in a way that made the Thing start to rise into his head. “Ben, you’re really fucking big.”

The Thing was fully awake now, and if She kept moving around like that Ben might have to throw her across the room. The world began to creep into attention, lifting him further from the mindless, perfectly fucking numb state he’d been under as it did. There was light pushing under his eyes, a linen blanket lying across his back, something soft against his face, and Her heartbeat below his.

“I can’t fucking breathe, Ben. If I die from asphyxiation it’s going to mean a lot of paperwork for you.”

Something that wasn’t the mattress, with a lot more lumps and sharp points, was under him. And She was still fucking rolling around against his chest, making it harder to focus on whatever the hell else was going on.

“I’m giving you five seconds before I’m no longer accountable for my actions.” Her voice rolled through him, and he grunted.

This was comfortable. Ben hadn’t been comfortable in far too fucking long. His brain wasn’t alert, the world was undisturbing against his chest, and everything was warm. Really fucking warm. More like hot, actually. Fucking burning.

By the time Ben realized what was happening, it was too late.

“Fuck!” He launched himself upwards, off the bed, away from the furnace beneath him. “Goddamn it, woman! I was sleeping!”

“Sorry!” She was already out of the bed herself, the apology called over her shoulder as she sprinted to the bathroom, door slamming in her wake.

Ben rubbed his chest, the warmth of where She’d burned him already fading. “You don’t sound fucking sorry,” he grumbled, glaring at the door as the toilet flushed.

She opened the door, walking back into the room with her tongue stuck out mockingly. “You were on top of me. You’re not a small guy, Pretty Boy, and I really needed to pee.” “You should’ve just fucking shook me awake-“

“I tried! For like, ten minutes!”

“Could’ve tried harder.” Ben snapped, and She rolled her eyes.

“You were out like a damn baby, Benjamin. It was either I piss on the bed and we both lie in it until your majesty deemed us fit to move, or I wake you up and we don’t have to do laundry a week early.”

She was—as She always fucking was because the universe hated him—right. And by the smug look on her stupid fucking perfect face, she knew it. The Thing was enjoying her pleased little smirk, transfixed on the way she was looking at Ben with small spark of satisfaction in her eyes, and it was making it really fucking difficult to fight with her.

“Next time you need someone to stop you from burning the damn house down, don’t expect me to fucking be there.” Ben’s low words sounded hollow to his own ears, and she just laughed. It was a damn unhelpful reaction, only making the Thing roll around inside him.

“But if I get locked up for arson, who will heat up your chicken tenders and oatmeal for you?” She teased. “Butcher will have to send you an old folks’ home, and it probably won’t be a nice one.”

“I can heat up my own fucking chicken tenders.” Ben scowled, and She giggled. 

“How very manly of you.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

She hummed, ignoring him. “You can’t do oatmeal, huh?”

“Oatmeal is for orphans, widows, and pussies.”

She smirked. “And old men.”

“I’m not fucking old, Sunshine.” He snapped, and Her smile grew.

“You’re over a hundred. The fact that you’re not on viagra is a straight act of God.”

Ben scoffed, even as the Thing stared roaring to just fucking grab her and wipe that taunting grin off her face as he proved how little fucking help he needed.

“Not an act of any fucking pussy god, brat, just me.” He winked, and the Thing rumbled, pushing against him as Her heart fluttered and she wrinkled her nose.

“Sure, cunt.” She rolled her eyes. “You and all the scientists who thought you’d use immortality for more than just sex.”

Ben shrugged. “You’re benefiting from it.”

“What?” She looked back at him quickly, and her heart picked up in time with the flush of her face.

Feeling his mouth curl into a smirk of his own as Her’s dropped, Ben winked. “If those pussy scientists didn’t make me immortal, I’d be long dead. And there would be nobody to save your ass all the time.”

“Oh,” She blinked, her heart slowing as she tilted her head. “Well. If they didn’t make you immortal, I probably wouldn’t need saving.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

She looked Ben up and down, her face scrunched in the way that he could fucking see her brain moving. 

But she only met his eyes, giving him a small smile paired with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it.”

He said Her name firmly, narrowing his eyes, but she just rolled her own and moved to the dresser. 

“Go get changed, Ben. And shower, you smell like shit.”

“Sunshine, what the hell were you-“

“Dining room in fifteen. I want to get training done early so we can get started.” She began rummaging through the drawers, a small crease between her eyes.

Ben frowned. “Get started?”

“Yep,” She looked up, giving him a teasing grin. “You made a big mistake, Pretty Boy. You agreed, out loud, to let me work on that fucked up little brain of yours. We’re starting today, before you pussy out.”

“I’m not going to ‘pussy out’.” He grunted. “I’m a man of my fucking word. Which means we don’t have to start right damn now.”

“Maybe.” She pulled out a pair of leggings, bundling them under her arms as she moved to a different drawer. “But we’re going to anyways.”

“Why? No one’s fucking forcing us-” 

“I am.” She turned to face Ben fully, crossing her arms against her chest with a glare. “So haul your fucking ass, Benjamin, before I make you.”

“I’d like to see you try, brat.”

She stuck her tongue out at him as her heart stuttered on cue. “Eat me, cunt.”

The Thing went damn feral, coming up with a lot of creative ways to eat her, many involving her tongue and her cunt and his tongue and her tits, and through the lingering haze of sleep Ben was finding painfully fucking hard to ignore its suggestions. 

Fucking literally, the Thing taunted, and Ben—through an impressive amount of sheer will—ignored it.

“Sunshine, we just fucking woke up-“

“You just woke up,” she shrugged. “I’ve been up for hours.”

“Hours?” Ben blinked. “What the fuck do you mean hours?”

“Well, you see time is measured in sixty-second increments, which are made into minutes. Those minutes are added up, also in-“

“No, you fucking brat.” He rolled his eyes, fighting the small smile threatening his lips. “You know goddamn well I’m asking-“

“I’d never seen you really sleep, okay?” She muttered. “I didn’t want to stop it just because I had to pee.”

Ben started a Her, probably looking like a slack-jawed pussy as the Thing started to buck around inside him. It wanted to touch her and feel her and hold her and keep her right next to him all the fucking time-

His voice felt like sandpaper as he spoke. “Sunshine-“

She cut him off, pointing sharply at the door. “Nope. Go get changed.” When Ben only stared at her, she gave him a soft smile. “Don’t get soft on me now, Pretty Boy.”

“I’m not fucking soft,” he grunted, the Thing still fucking pushing at him. She let out a small laugh, her whole fucking face so light and happy, and Ben smirked at her. “I could always prove it to you by-“

“Nope, no time.” She gestured at the door again. “Out.”

“No time?” Ben taunted, very quickly deciding that getting changed was now the least important thing in the world. “So after?”

She wrinkled her nose at him, taking a few steps forward with clothes still tucked under her arm to open the door for him. “Out, Ben. Now.”

Ben didn’t move, grinning widely at Her. “We’re having a fucking conversation. Don’t you know it’s not polite-“

He cut himself off as She hurled herself at him, underwear and leggings falling and abandoned on the floor. Ben watched in amusement as she grabbed his arm and started to pull him, only to immediately think better of it and move behind him in an equally vain attempt to push his body towards the door. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, what are you made of, bricks?” Ben felt Her slam her full body weight against his back, and grinned widely.

“I’ve been hit by a train and lived, Sunshine. I don’t think you’re going to have any more damn luck than it did.”

She paused, breathing heavily. “Steam engine or bullet train?”

“What the fuck is a bullet train?”

Apparently that was an answer to Her, because she started throwing herself back into Ben, strained noises sounding from behind him. “Goddamn-“ Her knee hit his thigh. “Fucking-“ Elbow into his side. “Bigfoot-“ Head pushing his back. “Ass-“ Two flat palms against his shoulders. “Man-” She paused for a second, catching her breath as Ben laughed. “You’re a dick.”

He chuckled. “I’m aware.” There was suspicious silence from behind him, and Ben turned—a little concerned that She’d passed out—right in time to be hit by the full force of Her body as she took a running start. Her arms wrapped around his torso, face pressed into his chest as she planted her feet firmly into the ground. 

Ben didn’t even feel himself fucking stumble, but She was nothing if not dedicated. 

“I fucking hate you, stupid fucking V’ed up asshole, built like a fucking mammoth-“ Ben snorted as She descended into bitter muttering, not budging from her hold.

“This is becoming really fucking sad, Sunshine.” 

“I’ll show you fucking sad, Ben, I’ll make you fucking cry-“

He said Her name in huffed amusement, rolling his eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I’m just as immortal as you, you fucking cunt-“ She paused, taking a deep breath through her nose as her brow rested against him. He looked down at her, and She raised her head to meet his gaze.

Her eyes were wide, dilated, and she was breathing heavily through puffed lips. The Thing started to riot inside him, and suddenly Ben was incredibly aware of how Her body was pressed into his, how her hands rested against his back and her chin was perched against his chest. How She was fucking leaning into him and he could feel the speed of her heartbeat, the warmth that radiated from her skin. The image of Her body, still smoking, utterly fucking bare, and just as insufferably perfect as the rest of Her flashed in his head, making the Thing start to bellow. Her hair was pressed against her forehead by sweat, and he wanted to run his hands through it. He wanted to move his hands to where Her neck was craning up a him, and pull her closer-

“That’s enough,” Ben grunted, and as he pulled Her off of his body she made a little yelp that the growing strain in his pants really fucking enjoyed. 

“Ben-“ She let little gasp as he tossed her back onto the bed, and the Thing fucking whined like a fucking pussy. “What the fuck-“

Turning roughly, Ben stomped to the door, picked up Her clothes from the floor, and threw them to her side. Ignoring the Thing scrapping against him to stay—because just fucking look at her, so fucking perfect, sitting on the bed with pretty eyes and soft lips and she just made another little sound when she caught the clothes—Ben forced himself to walk in controlled and even steps down the hall to his room. He closed the door firmly but without a slam, locked it like any fucker who was about to get changed probably would, and fucking caved.

The Thing was getting a lot more fucking specific about its fantasies. Before it had been flashes of images, blurry hypotheticals. Now, as Ben threw his pants to some unimportant corners of the room and chased some sort of goddamn relief in his hand, everything was clear.

She was pressed against him again, looking up at him with blown out pupils and her mouth just barely open. This time he let his hand move up, holding the back of her neck as his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her so tightly against his body she might as well be just another part of him. He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers, and She opened for him. Easily, like she’d done it a thousand times before. His tongue moved into her mouth and she fucking moaned, hands gripping his shirt in fists as she tried to tug him impossibly closer. He dropped the hand at her hips lower, pressing his palm against her ass before dragging it forward to rest right between her thighs.

She whined, starting to grind against him, and he pulled back, smirking down at her as she moved to frantically pull the front of his shirt, trying to bring his mouth back to hers. He just moved to cup her jaw, running his thumb over her swollen lower lip. 

“Ben,” she whimpered, breath heavy against his fingers as her hand gripped his wrist against her center, trying to make him move.

“What’s the matter, Sunshine? Need something?” 

“You fucking dick-“

“You want my fucking dick, don’t you?” She moaned, head falling forward into his chest. “Tell me you want my fucking dick, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Ben,” she keened again. “You cunt-“

“Your cunt, brat. That’s what we’re talking about.” She fucking whined again, and he chuckled. “You know what you have to do if you want this.”

“Fuck-“ She let out a small, desperate sound. “Fuck you-“

“You will. All you have to say is-“

“Please! Ben, please. Please fuck me, you fucking asshole-“

Ben felt the metal taste of blood in his mouth, and realized not only had he covered the whole room in white, he’d bitten clean through his tongue as he came. By the time he had changed and cleaned his room—he was getting really fucking efficient—it had almost entirely healed, and Ben decided to just fucking hope She wouldn’t notice any lisp or slur in his words.

He should’ve fucking know a lot damn better by now. 

When Ben entered the dining room, She was sitting cross-legged on one of the long abandoned chairs, holding a completely destroyed apple in one hand and her phone in the other. Her gaze was sharp as her eyes moved across the screen, a small frown on Her face. It took Ben clearing his throat loudly for Her to look up at him, and the Thing tensed at the drawn caution still lingering on her face.

“Took you long enough.” She paused, and her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t shower.”

“You don’t fucking know that-“

“Your hair is dry.” She said flatly.

“Maybe I just don’t want to shower two goddamn times in one morning?” Ben snapped. “You think of that, smartass?”

He’d expected Her to glare at him, or bite back with her usual snark, but her head only tilted at him, brow furrowing. “What happened to your voice?”

“What are you talking about,” Ben snapped, cursing himself for not just waiting the one extra fucking minute for his tongue to heal.

“Your words sound weird. Open your mouth.” She took a step closer, eyeing his mouth as if she expected a fucking snake to jump out of it and turning the apple core over in her hands.

“I’m not going to fucking ‘open my mouth’, Sunshine.” Ben angled his chin higher, trying to hide his tongue as he spoke. 

“Why?” She glared at him. “Got something to hide?”

Just a few more damn seconds. “I don’t have to do everything you fucking tell me to, brat.”

Heart-flutter. Scowl. Her arms crossing in front of her. “Are you pleading the fucking fifth, Ben?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, because I’m not damn guilty of any fucking shit.”

“That’s not how the fifth works.”

“Yes, it fucking is.” Ben turned his face down fully, feeling his tongue healed completely. “And I’m not hiding anything. My voice is fucking normal.”

She blinked, a surprised frown flashing across Her features. “You’re fucking impossible,” she mumbled, and Ben winked at Her.

“Can I hear an apology-“ Ben was cut off by the apple core hitting him square in the fucking face.

“No.” She looked him up and down. “It’s not my fault you were being weird.” She met his eyes again, a smirk playing on her lips. “And you were wrong about the fifth. Which is shocking given you were alive when it was written.”

He glared at her. “You know goddamn well I wasn’t.”

“Do I?” She said, fake innocence coating her voice as she gave him a wide-eyed stare. “You’d bet money on that Pretty Boy?”

“You think you’re fucking funny, huh?” 

“I’m a goddamn riot.” She moved to her defensive stance. “And I’m going to fucking kick your ass for whatever it is you’re hiding.”

Ben scoffed. “I’m not hiding anything, Sunshine.” He reached his arm out. “You can always just fucking check for yourself.”

“I can’t read minds, Ben. Unless you’re feeling guilty, doing that won’t help me at fucking all.”

“I’ve never felt guilty in my goddamn life.” The Thing started spinning around in Ben’s chest, tight against him. Suddenly Her touching him felt like a bad fucking idea.

“Yeah,” She rolled her eyes. “I fucking know. It’s an issue.”

He frowned. “I get shit done, Sunshine. I said I won’t fucking apologize for doing my goddamn job-“

“Not asking you to. That’s a battle I know I won’t win.” She said, flexing her fists. “Now let me beat you to a pulp, Ben.”

“You’re real mouthy this morning, brat.” He sneered, and She glared up at him. “You really think you’re laying one fucking hand on me?”

“Oh,” she gave a dry laugh. “This is going be so goddamn cathartic, cunt, you have no fucking idea.”

Ben decided he had at least some fucking idea, because the first punch She threw landed square across the jaw, and the second slammed right into his gut. It didn’t hurt, he barely even felt it, but the crazed focus in Her eyes, the fact that he could hear the grinding of her teeth, and the way Her heart had taken on a heavy and uncontrolled rhythm was telling him at least a little about what She was feeling.

“Christ on a fucking cross,” Ben grunted as her fifth punch connected with his nose. “I thought we weren’t fighting anymore.”

“We’re not,” she grunted, kicking his chest.

“Sure feels like we goddamn are.” He managed to block her fist from his neck, and She stumbled slightly. “If you’re still mad at me, just fucking tell me.”

“I’m not,” She snapped, and Ben rolled his eyes. “I’m fucking not!”

“Don’t lie to me, Sunshine, you’re better than that.”

“Oh piss off,” She scowled, and Ben didn’t like the shadow that flitted across her face. “I’m not fucking mad at you, I’m just stressed, ok?”

“About what?” Ben frowned, dodging another punch. The Thing started to scrape at him again, desperate to reach out and smooth the crease in Her brow. “Nothing’s fucking happening.”

She just grunted, not meeting his eyes. This time, when her fist flew to his face, Ben grabbed it, holding it firmly as he glared down at Her.

“What’s wrong with you.” He demanded, and She just blinked, looking between his glower and his hold on her hand.

“Nothing,” She said, though her voice wavered, and the Thing started rising to Ben’s throat. 

“Liar.” He lowered his hand, pulling Her arm with him. “What’s wrong.”

She rolled her eyes. “Nothing’s fucking wrong, Benjamin. I don’t need a single reason to be stressed, everything about our lives is fucking nightmare.”

“You’re being sloppy.” He watched Her carefully, listening for any change in her heart. “Our lives are nightmares every goddamn day. You’re never fucking sloppy.”

“I’m not sloppy, Pretty Boy.” She sneered. “I’ve landed almost every fucking punch.”

“In poor form.” Ben countered, not wavering. Something was fucking wrong with Her. The Thing was so damn loud in him, it needed to know, it need to make it better, make Her smile or laugh and just look less fucking tense. “If you’re still pissed at me, fucking spit it out.”

“Not everything is fucking about you, Ben!” She spat, trying to pry Her fist from his. “I’m just fucking stressed!”

“There’s nothing-“

“Are you stupid, or insane? Of course there’s shit to be stressed about! You met with Homelander and you didn’t even tell me what happened! We keep fucking fighting about stupid shit and I’m tired! We keep saying we won’t keep secrets but we both know we’re lying! Butcher is apparently watching us on cameras, and being just a fucking dick about-“ She took a deep, strained breath. “I just want to fucking have some sort of goddamn control over my fucking life, and sometimes that means punching someone I-“ She took a ragged breath. “I know can take it. Is that too much to fucking ask?”

He felt Her hand grow slack in his, her eyes growing cloudy. The Thing was pushing into him, and Ben wasn’t fucking strong enough to fight it. Not when She looked so goddamn exhausted, still somehow fucking perfect, and hollow in a way that made the Thing bloodthirsty.

He pulled Her hand forward, and as she stumbled into his chest, a small gasp escaping her, Ben wrapped his arms around her back and shoulders. He held Her tight against him, stroking her hair until her breathing steadied, and her body relaxed against his. Once it had, Her head resting against his chest and her heartbeat moving in time with his own, Ben pulled back slightly to look down at Her.

Fucking perfect.

“Go shower,” he said Her name firmly, and she blinked at him in surprise.

“But-“

“We don’t have to go for two hours every damn day, Sunshine. You’re going to go shower, we’re going to sit on the couch, and you’re going to get your fucking show on the road.”

“My show?” She frowned. “Do you mean-“

“The shell shock.” Ben grunted. “You’re going to try your little magic trick, I’ll tell you about the meeting, and we won’t fight.”

She sighed, watching him sadly. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” Ben tightened his grip on her body. “I fucking swear on it.”

For a long second, it looks like She might push him on it. Ben fucking meant it, they weren’t going to fight, even if it meant talking about stupid, vapid shit for the entire afternoon. She looked too goddamn exhausted, it would be like kicking a puppy. A perfect, sad, exhausted puppy that got on his every fucking nerve, but he would bite his tongue for. Part of Ben just wanted to pick Her up, carry her to bed, and hold her until she slept off the strain and anguish on Her face.

“Promise?” She breathed, and Ben didn’t feel any hesitation as he responded.

“Promise.”

She nodded slowly, and pried herself from his grip. “You better shower as well. I meant it when I said you smelled like shit.”

Ben snorted. “You’re not much better, Sunshine.” It was a fucking lie, she smelled like flower shampoo and salt and smoke, but the small smile on Her lips was more than worth the taunt. 

“Don’t make me force you to bathe, because I’ll fucking do it. Don’t test me.”

“I’m sure you will,” he muttered under his breath, trailing after Her as they moved up the stairs. She laughed, looking over Her shoulder at him with a wide, perfect smile covering Her face, and the Thing ached.

“See you in thirty, Ben.” She closed the door behind Her, and he was left in the hallway alone.

Ben did shower. Not because She fucking told him to, or because he realized she was right—he smelled like sweat and charcoal and grime—but because he had thirty minutes to kill and nothing to do except shower.

It didn’t fucking hurt that he got to imagine Her in the shower with him, that same perfect smile on Her face as the Thing created an image of her kneeling before him. Of Her mouth around him, of Ben’s hand in her hair as it had been only minutes ago, of Her moans running through his body as he thrusted his cock between her lips.

This time, it was a lot easier to clean up after himself.

She was already on the couch when he got back downstairs, hair damp and knees folded into Her chest as she tapped on her phone. Ben dropped down at Her side, and nudged her shoulder.

“Feeling better, brat?”

She stuck her tongue out as she dropped Her phone into her lap, and the Thing rumbled. “I’m gonna heal your brain so fucking hard, cunt, you won’t know what hit you.”

“Or nothing will happen, because I’m not a fucking shell shocked pussy, and the world’s going to owe me a big fucking apology.”

“You still don’t think you have PTSD?” She frowned. 

“No, because I fucking don’t.”

“Why are you letting me do this, then?” 

Ben shrugged. “Who am I to deprive you of a chance to touch me?”

She scoffed, face flushing slightly. “We touch all the time, Ben. Try again.”

The Thing was loud in his ears, both grumbling about how She was right—they did touch all the time—but it still wasn’t fucking enough, and trying to grab his tongue and force the words because you said I couldn’t fix you if you couldn’t fix me, and if you had kept fucking screaming and crying and breaking right in front of me it might have fucking killed me.

The Thing needed to shut the hell up.

“You wanted some control, Sunshine. Here it is.” When She didn’t look entirely convinced at his words, Ben leaned down to hold Her gaze at eye level and said Her name firmly. “No fighting, remember?”

She narrowed her eyes, and nodded. “Fine. You’re telling me about the meeting, though. No fucking take backs.”

“Deal.” He said, a smile pulling at his mouth. “What do you-“

He cut himself off as She reached up, dropping one leg down to carpet as she folded the other beneath her, and placed her hands against his head. The Thing made a lot of satisfied sounds, and Ben had to bite down a groan and Her fingers tangled slightly in his hair. 

“What the hell are you doing.” His voice was strained, a lot of fucking effort going into ignoring how She’d pulled him down further, so that her face was practically inches from his.

She wasn’t even fucking looking a him as she answered, attention trained on where she held him. “Can’t touch your brain. This is the closest I can get.”

“Should I be fucking feeling something?”

“Dunno,” She shrugged. “Never done this to myself, dummy.”

Ben grunted, and watched Her nose start to wrinkle, brows drawing into concentration. She somehow looked more perfect than before, when he could see glimpses of Her teeth as she chewed her lower lip, could look at every small movement of her eyes, could feel Her hot breath fan across his face. “Have you started-“

“Yeah.” She glanced down to meet his gaze, and something hot flashed across her face. “You can talk whenever.”

“Does it feel like anything?”

She shook her head, but Ben heard her foot start to tap on the carpet. “Do you feel anything?”

“No.”

Her eyes ran across his face, searching for something Ben didn’t have a clue about. She seemed to find Her answer though, and her focus returned to his forehead. “The meeting?” She prompted, and Ben sighed.

“What do you want to know?”

“All of it.” Her voice was firm. “Start from when you left, end when you got back.”

Ben frowned. “We took the van.”

“I figured.” She snarked, and he rolled his eyes.

“Do you want to hear about it or not?” She shot him a quick glare, and he continued. “The French Prick had gas. Fucking mustard and sleeping gas with agent orange.”

“Agent orange is illegal, it hasn’t been in production since, like, the 70s.” She said, and Ben scoffed.

“Asshole made his own. Carried it fucking everywhere like a pussy.”

She let out a huff of amusement. “Of course he did. You’re a scary guy.”

“I know.” He muttered, and something pulled at his lungs. Before he could think better of it, he was asking, “You scared of me, Sunshine?”

“Me?” She still didn’t look back at him, and Ben couldn’t fucking stand the seconds before she answered. “No.” She said it as if it was fucking obvious, and Ben wanted to know more, the Thing needed to know more, but before he could demand it She was looking into his eyes. “What else?”

“We went to the FSIB.” She frowned, and Ben knew his guess had been wrong. “Supe Bureau.” He said, before she could ask.

“Ah,” a small smile crossed her lips, gaze leaving his once more. “FBSA.”

“Sure, that.” He muttered, raising his voice after to continue. “Sage and Homelander were there,” Her grip on his head tightened slightly, and he had to fight the Thing trying to reach for Her. “Neuman too.” She opened her mouth, and Ben rolled his eyes. “Neuman as well. Butcher was pissed about it.”

She snorted. “Butcher’s always pissed about something. What did they want?”

“To know our plans. Sage fucking asked outright what they were.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep. Goddamn waste of time.”

“Hm.” She shook her head slightly, lips drawing in as she chewed at them. “You said Sage asked?”

Ben nodded. “Specifically about us. What Butcher was intending to use us for.”

“Sage asked that?” She glanced down at him again, frowning. “That sounds like something Homelander would ask, not Sage.”

“Maybe that pussy made her ask for him.”

She shook her head, voice slightly quieter. “Even if that’s true, Sage would have to see benefit in it. I don’t trust her to just give in to Homelander over something so plainly stupid. There’s something else. What-” She swallowed slightly, and Ben’s attention caught on the bob of Her throat. “What else was discussed?”

Feeling that She already knew the answer, Ben watched her carefully as he spoke. “You. A lot about you. Sage said you were a liability, which is fucking bullshit, and Homelander whined like a fucking pussy about you leaving him, about the food, about the V shot that didn’t take and how you wasted it, offered to trade you for Ryan-“

“He what?” Her eyes darted down, voice high.

“Asshole said he’d be willing to give Butcher his wife’s brat if Butcher gave you over.” Ben heard Her heart stumble. “We didn’t damn agree to it, Sunshine. If Butcher had even fucking considered it I’d have thrown him out the window.”

“But he offered it? To Butcher?”

Ben said Her name slowly. “I don’t think Butcher took it fucking seriously. Even that pussy knows Homelander would’ve just fucking taken you and kept Ryan.” He frowned as She nodded, blinking nervously before looking back up. “Sunshine.”

“Hm?” Her grip tightened again. 

“You’re hiding something.” 

“No, I’m not.” Her words were clipped, and Ben scoffed. 

“Yes, you fucking are. Are you really fucking worried that Butcher will take his offer? Because I was being fucking serious-”

“I’m not worried about the offer, Ben. I promise.”

Ben examined Her face. She was still looking intently at his forehead, but Her heart was controlled with her breathing again, and the tapping was gone. “Are you upset about the kid? Brian?”

“Ryan,” she corrected. “And no. He’s going to be fine.”

“Because of your plan.”

“Because of my plan.”

Ben said her name slowly. “What is your fucking plan?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s something fucking stupid, isn’t it.”

She frowned. “No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is.” He glared at Her perfect face, trying to find any sort of tell for whatever insane thing was running through Her goddamn head.

“Fuck off, Benjamin. How the hell would you know if it’s stupid.”

He glared at Her. “Because all your plans are fucking stupid and insane.”

“And they all fucking work, Pretty Boy.” Her voice was smug. “You’ve said so yourself.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re not goddamn terrible. All of them involve you throwing yourself in front of a train and just fucking hoping you survive.”

“Only one of us has thrown themselves in front of a train, cunt, and it’s not me.”

“A fucking metaphorical train, brat. And I know your plan is fucking stupid because you and Butcher don’t seem too concerned about how it might not work.”

She rolled her eyes. “If anything that’s a sign that it’s an amazing plan.”

“No, it means it’s fucking insane and probably going to blow up in your fucking face.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m being fucking serious, Sunshine.” Ben reached, grabbing one of Her wrists. “If you’re planning something insane, you need to fucking tell me.”

She glowered at him, her words firm. “Good thing it’s not insane.”

“Then just tell me the damn plan.”

“No.”

“I’m trying to help you, brat.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Fucking hell,” Ben snapped Her name. “Can you just trust me about one goddamn thing-“

“No fighting, Ben.” She cut him off, voice rising. “And I’m not telling you, not because I don’t trust you, or because it’s stupid and insane.” She was talking faster and faster, with less breaths between words. “I’m not telling you because nobody knows but Butcher and I, and it needs to stay that way because it’s really fucking precarious, and it needs to go perfectly because if it doesn’t you won’t get the fucking shot at Homelander and this will have been for fucking nothing because you’ll go back under-“ Her grip was like iron around his head. “And we fucking promised we wouldn’t let each other go back so I can’t-“ 

Ben yanked Her hands from his head just before they began to smoke. “Sunshine-“

“I can’t, I can’t tell you, I fucking can’t-“

He raised his voice using Her name as he grabbed her face in his hands. “Fucking breathe.”

She stared at him, her own hands flying up to his arms. 

He repeated himself, lowering his volume, but keeping his words forceful. “Breathe.”

She nodded slowly, and Ben watched Her chest rise and fall, slowing in speed as her heart steadied. She was still watching him, eyes wide and lips parted, and Ben was suddenly incredibly fucking aware of how close they were. Closer than before. Her hands were still warm around him, keeping his hold on her face firm, a hold that had his fingers tangled in her hair and his thumbs so fucking close to her mouth. Her knee was pushed against his hips, dangerously close to the tightness in his pants, and he could fucking swear Her eyes had just fallen to his lips, her tongue running over her own-

Something buzzed, and Her head dropped down as she moved one hand to grab Her phone. 

“It’s Hughie.” Her brow wrinkled as she read the screen.

“Cocksucker?” 

“Hughie.” She corrected without missing a beat. “He says Annie is about to call, and not to say no to her, because it’ll be his ass if I do and she’s been trying to do this for a month.”

On perfect fucking cue, the phone started buzzing again, displaying a grainy photo what looked to be Starlight gloating over the French Prick’s body. Ben tried to read the words, which was harder than usual given that they were upside down, but his attention was pulled back to Her as she poked his leg with Her foot.

“Ben, I need to answer.” When he just raised his brows at Her—about to ask why the hell she was telling him instead of just fucking doing it—she looked pointedly at his hands, which were still gripping Her face. 

He rolled his eyes, but released her.

“Thanks,” She mumbled, raising the phone to her ear. “What’s wrong, Annie?”

Ben kept his face passive as he listened to Starlight’s voice, muffled through the static of the phone. “We’re going out.”

She raised Her brows, frowning at Ben as she spoke. “What?”

“We need a break,” Starlight’s voice was firm. “So we’re going out.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“Everyone. You, me, Hughie, Frenchie, Kimiko, MM, Butcher even if I have to physically drag him, and Soldier Boy because we can’t leave him alone.”

Ben scowled, and She rolled her eyes at him, giving him a glare of I know you’re listening Ben, but she doesn’t, so keep fucking quiet.

“Is this part of a plan?” She asked carefully. “Like a club full of supes that might have information-“

“No,” Starlight said Her name with a sigh. “We’re just going out, because if we don’t let off some steam we might explode.”

“Why do Ben and I have to come?” She said, and Ben could hear the gnawing of Her lip. “I mean, he’s still a fugitive, and everyone is going to think he��s kidnapped me-“

“Frenchie’s taking care of it.”

“Annie,” Her voice was flat. “I have no interest in going anywhere sponsored or endorsed by Frenchie.”

“Please,” Starlight said Her name in a desperate tone. “It’ll be safe, I promise. We all need this, and that includes you.”

“You don’t want me there, Annie.” The plain, factual way She says the words makes the Thing want to snap every member of Her team in half. “I might blow, it’s really not safe-“

“It’ll be fine, I promise.”

She sighed, and Ben could fucking visably see will begin to crumble “Annie, I don’t even have anything to wear-“

“Are your measurements the same from when we found you?”

“I mean, yeah, but-“

“I’ll buy you something this afternoon.”

“This after- Annie are we going today?”

“Yep. We’ll pick you up in a few hours.”

“Hours?” Her eyes were wide. “A few fucking hours?”

“Like three or four.”

“Annie-“

“See you then!” The hum of the line went dead, and She looked up at Ben with wide eyes. 

“You heard her, right?”

Ben frowned. “You didn’t tell her to get me clothes.”

She blinked at him. “That’s what you’re worried about? What are you going to wear?”

He shrugged. “I mean, there’s not fucking much else to worry about-“

“What about the fact that you are a wanted criminal? Or that I am technically your hostage?”

“Starlight said the French Prick would take care of it.”

“Ben-“

“The lady is right, Sunshine.” He said firmly. “You need a break. I need a break. She sounded like she needed a break.”

“But-“

Ben said Her name, nudging her leg with his own. “Even Butcher is going,” his tone was teasing, trying to pull the goddamn worry from Her face. “Are going to be more of a stick in the mud than fucking Butcher?”

She scowled. “I’m not a stick in the mud.”

He gave her a cocky grin. “Prove it.”

Her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward. No anger, no stress, just pure focus on his challenge. “Prove it?”

“Fucking prove it. Let go. Have some fun for once in your damn life.”

“I’ve had fun. I’ve had a shit ton of fun.” Her lips were slightly pouted. And so fucking close.

“Like I said, brat. Prove it.”

She stood abruptly, and the Thing start fucking pussying about inside Ben that Her body was gone. She moved around the couch, marching to the stairs, before pausing to look back at Ben once. 

“I’m going have so much fucking fun, Pretty Boy. It’s going to blow your fucking mind.”

————

The thing about living in a CIA safe-house to babysit an allegedly dead hundred-year-old man—who you entirely and incorrectly anticipated hating with every fiber of your being for the duration of your time together—was that you didn’t spend a lot of time trying to look nice. Not for yourself, and certainly not for anyone else. 

Every member of your team had fully supported this blatant lack of effort. You brushed your teeth, showered, and combed out your hair enough that MM wouldn’t start yelling at you about basic hygiene, but nobody was about to start telling you that self-presentation was important to self-respect. You, like all of them, didn’t have the luxury of self-respect. You hardly had the luxury of respect. 

It was because of this that—looking back on it—hindsight was indeed a powerful thing. Hindsight would’ve been unbelievably helpful when Mallory’s bi-weekly grocery delivery had come a few nights ago, delivered with a grotesquely large box of makeup and hair products from Annie. You’d moved them into your bathroom—thankful that Ben was taking one of his long showers after training and wasn’t going to barge in asking questions—and read the note buried between hairspray and color corrector.

For later! I wasn’t sure what colors you liked, so I got all of them. - Annie.

A little heart had been drawn next to her name, and looking back at the box you realized she had, as promised, gotten all of them. The box was filled with a rainbow fortune of lipsticks, glosses, eyeshadow palettes, mascaras, liners—liquid, pencil and gel—highlighters, blushes, bronzers, contours, and at least at least twenty foundations and concealer in what you imagined was Annie’s best guess of your shade. That wasn’t even touching the sprays and gels and body glitter. 

You’d thought she’d lost it. Or gotten sick of her blood money from Vought and decided to buy you an entire makeup store. You’d pulled out your phone, found Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion, and been about to call her and ask if she was ok and what “for later” could have possibly meant when Ben had started banging on your door. You’d left your phone in the bathroom, shoving the box under the sink, and ran to answer him. You don’t really remember most of the conversation, because Ben’s hair had been damp and looked soft and you’d wanted to touch it, there had been ice cream stuck to his lower lip and you’d wanted to lick it, and the Feeling had been incredibly focus on the slight rasp in his voice but apparently not enough to really hear him. You remember how it had ended though. You putting away the groceries as Ben watched unhelpfully at the doorway, save for a whole tub of malt vanilla ice cream that Ben had decided was too close to melting and felt personally responsible to take matters into his own hands. You’d told him it had been out for less than an hour, and if it was really about his commitment to lowering food waste he wouldn’t have let the caramel ice cream just die like he had. He’d said caramel was a shitty flavor for pussies and the senile, you’d told him that malt vanilla wasn’t really the ice cream of the youth either, he’d called you “brat” again, and Annie’s box of insanity had been completely forgotten.

Hughie’s text had said that Annie had been planning this for a month. If it wasn’t for the box, you’d have thought she was being blackmailed, tricked, or at the very least mind-controlled. Annie wasn’t someone who “went out”, let alone enlisted Frenchie for aid in finding terrorist-appropriate nightlife. You stared at the box as you pulled it out from under the sink—it was more daunting than you remembered—unsure if you should just fully lean into Ben’s prove you’re not a stick in the mud challenge, or be genuinely concerned for Annie and her sudden personality switch. The Feeling was in strong favor of the first option, replaying every single second on the couch over and over, reminding you that Ben had never seen you actually try to have fun—or at least what he considered fun—and maybe if you proved you could he’d touch your face again. Maybe he’d look at you with that hungry glint in his eyes and actually mean it the way the Feeling wanted him to. 

He’d lose his mind. The Feeling protested. You’d prove you’re not a stick in the mud, and as a fun reward you’d get to see him lose his mind.

It was that exact train of thought that made you choose the second option, even as the Feeling whined about it. 

You pulled out your phone—pushing the Feeling deep into the back of your head where it couldn’t influence your decisions—and forced yourself to call Hughie.

“What’s up?” Hughie sounded tired, more tired than normal. 

“Is Annie okay?” You dove into the question headfirst, the words pushing the Feeling back further. This wasn’t about Ben, and how the Feeling hated the idea that he saw you as boring. This was about Annie, and if you needed to be worried about her.

“Yeah, um, I mean-“ Hughie stumbled over his words, and you could practically see the anxiety on his face. “She’s fine. Good. She’s good. Everything is fine and she’s good-“

“Hughie.” You said firmly. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I, uh, I didn’t say you were-“

“Do I need to be worried? Because you know just well, scratch that, you know better than I do that ‘going out’ is not regular Annie behavior.”

“I mean, it could be. Maybe it wasn’t regular Starlight behavior but it is regular Annie behavior. We don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me. You’re not good at it.”

Hughie mumbled your name. “It’s really not that much to be worried about.”

“Okay.” You sigh, glancing involuntarily towards the door to make sure Ben hasn’t suddenly appeared to ruin your bluff. “Then I guess it’s ok if Ben and I don’t go.”

“No!” You move the phone from your ear with a wince as Hughie yells the words. “You need to come, please, Annie will kill me-“

“Why, Hughie. Why will she kill you if it’s not something to be worried about?” Hughie was silent for a second, so you continued. “This is risky, you know this is risky. If you say it’s important to Annie I’ll do it, but I need to know that it’s actually important to her, and not something to be concerned about.”

“It is important to Annie,” Hughie’s voice was hushed. “You’re right, it’s not like her, but she’s still fighting with her mom, and Firecracker did a lot of damage-“ you wince at the mention of Firecracker, but remain silent. “And she just wants to do something kind of normal with the team. Something stupid that isn’t fucking life or death.”

“Okay.” You say, and you mean it. “Three hours?”

“Uh, yeah. Three hours.”

“See you then.” You hang up, and sigh at nothing.

Three hours. Three hours to remember how to look and act like the carefree, normal person you’d been three years ago. The person who had friends, and went out with those friends, and had simple, wild fun with those friends. You could do it again, even if those friends were now revenge fueled mercenaries. But you could have fun. You would have fun. For yourself. Not because the Feeling was starting to come up with all the ways in which you could prove that you weren’t a stick in the mud, and all the ways Ben’s jaw would drop when he was forced to eat his words.

You dump out the contents of Annie’s box—an immediate mistake, there was somehow more than there looked to be—and set to work. You tried all ten of the different perfumes, settled on a flowery one with an Italian label that you certainly butcher the pronunciation of, and took a shower. A long shower, that drowned out the Feeling reminding you of your last shower, where Ben’s sweat from training had been stuck to your body, and his touch had still been lingering on your skin, and his face was imprinted onto your eyes, and the sound of his voice was ringing in your ears-

You turned the shower knob until the water was freezing, and cursed slightly as the chill hit your body. 

After you’d dried yourself off—two hours left—you set to work. Makeup first, a full face of powders and shadows and colors. You started over three times—muscle memory was not your friend and the more you sorted through the pile of products the less satisfied you were with your previous choices—and by the time you were done and semi-pleased with your handiwork, you were down to an hour. Hair was faster—there were less choices to be made—and by the time you looked in the mirror ten minutes remained. Ten minutes to not dwell on Ben. Ten minutes to remind yourself that this wasn’t about him, because this was about Annie. Ten minutes for the Feeling to work up from where you’d buried it, and provide unhelpful fantasies of Ben smudging your lipstick and messing up your hair and looking at you with the same hooded gaze from earlier-

Your phone buzzed, a text from Butcher flashing across the screen. 

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever

We’ll talk tonight. 

Cold ran through your body, steeling you as your breathing became controlled. Tonight. Butcher was ready, he’d texted you this morning about “all the bloody pieces in place”, and you were going to talk tonight. This wasn’t about the Feeling, because the Feeling didn’t matter. It was gripping onto Ben for safety, a luxury it would soon no longer have. This was about having fun, before everything went to hell. This was about the fact that all of this was so close to over, you might as well enjoy doing something stupid for your friend. You gave the mirror a glare, the foreign woman in it glaring right back. This was the last time she’d make an appearance, because Butcher was ready tonight.

You heard a light knock on your door, took a deep breath, and went to answer it. Annie stood on the other side, holding a plastic bag with a white-knuckled grip.

��Oh good, you’re ready.” She held out the bag, and you took it tentatively as she continued. “I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got a few different styles. Once you get changed, we’ll get going.”

You glance down, scanning Annie’s options. “Uh, where exactly are we going?” 

“Some sort of underground speak-easy type club.” Annie frowned slightly. “I don’t remember the name, Frenchie was talking really fast when he said it.”

You nod nervously, fighting the lump in your throat. “Okay, give me, like, five and I’ll be ready.” 

You were about to retreat into your room, starting to close the door, when Annie stopped you with a quick, nervous touch. You blink at her, trying to ignore the rush of anxiety and stress that buzzed through your body.

Annie said your name softly. “Thank you for doing this.”

You shrug. “Don’t.”

“I know you’d rather not leave-“

“Annie, seriously. It’s fine. You’re right, we all need a break.” You clear your throat, chasing off the grip that Butcher’s text had left on your lungs. “This will be fun.”

“You look nice,” Annie offers a smile. “Hot.”

You give her a half-forced, toothy grin. “You look hot as well. Hughie’s gonna lose his mind.” Maybe Ben will lose his for you, the Feeling said dreamily in your ear. You pushed it back into the corners of your brain, forcing yourself to focus on Annie.

“This will be fun.” Annie echo’s your sentiment, her voice firm. “I’ll see you when you’re ready?”

“In five.” You restate, nodding. This time, when you go to close the door, Annie doesn’t stop you.

Changing takes a little over five minutes, because even though you try to pick something fast, it’s impossible to ignore the Feeling as it tries to invent different scenarios about how that option will highlight one feature, but that option will highlight another, and Ben would probably like the third option because it’s green-

You pick the green option, because it shuts the Feeling up the easiest. 

When you get to the living room, MM and Butcher are standing stiffly at the door, Kimiko is rummaging through the bookshelf as Frenchie watches with an adorably affectionate expression, and Hughie and Annie are huddled on the couch, exchanging low words. You clear your throat, and hold yourself steady as attentions turn to where you stand at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m ready.” You mumble, giving the room another quick sweep. “Where’s Ben?”

“Asshole was in the shower when we got here.” MM grumbled. “Still hasn’t come down.”

You snort. “In that case we might be here all night. That man takes long showers, he might not be half-way done.”

“Fucking rude, Sunshine.” You jump, spinning on your heels to see Ben coming down the stairs, a crooked grin on his face. “I care about my hygiene, is that a goddamn crime?” “When it takes up all the hot water? Yeah, it is.” You avert your gaze as you snap at him, because the Feeling is starting to push up and up in your brain, almost consumes your thoughts about the fact that Ben looks good, really good, and he’s stopped right next to you, and you can feel the heat from his body-

Butcher’s voice snaps you away from the Feeling’s grip. “Well, don’t you two clean up well?” His tone is mocking, and when you look at his twisted smile and cold eyes, your whole body tenses.

“Wish I could say the same for you, you fucking pussy.” Ben drawls, seemingly unbothered. “You own any clothes that aren’t those ugly fucking Hawaiian shirts?”

“Nah,” Butcher winks. “Nothing else matches my thongs, Gov.”

Ben’s fists curl in your periphery, and you take a step forward. “Frenchie,” your voice is a little louder than probably needed, but it gets the job done. “How far is the club?”

Frenchie doesn’t look up from watching Kimiko as he responds. “An hour, Madame Anom-“ He cuts himself off, head shooting up to look nervously at Ben, and says your name instead. 

“Then let’s get a move on,” MM grunts from the door, and you barely here his mutter of, “Fucking hell, Frenchie, couldn’t chose a place in a reasonable distance, could you?” because you’re blinking at Frenchie, trying to figure out why he’s still looking at Ben in not quite fear, but certainly not comfort. 

Everyone filters out of the room—the air a little more tense than it probably should be for a group of people going clubbing—and you grab Ben’s arm before he can follow.

Mistake. Big mistake. The Feeling claws its way to the surface, because you’re fully looking at him and he’s fully looking at you, and everything is suddenly very sharp and very warm. Because, even if he was being a sardonic ass, Butcher was right. Ben cleaned up well. Really well. Unfairly well. The Feeling couldn’t pick a place to settle, because his hair was slightly mussed, and he’d shaved just enough for you to really see his lips, and his shirt was clinging to his chest in a way that you could see his muscles ripple as he breathed, and you were thirsty again, because your heart was rolling around inside your chest. Because he was looking you up and down, and the Feeling was so focused on trying to see if there was anything in the way he looked at you that you didn’t think you remembered how to breathe.

“You look good,” Ben’s voice is low and gruff, and does not help silence the Feeling at all. 

“Thanks.” You mumble, and hope you sound a little less pathetic and breathless than you feel. You manage to blink a few times, pulling your head into the game and ignoring the pounding in your chest and head. “Uh, what was that about?”

He frowns. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Frenchie looked at you like you were going to rip his head off.”

“They always look at me like that,” Ben shrugs. “So?”

“He didn’t call me ‘Madame Anomaly’, he used my name.”

“Yeah, maybe the prick finally realized that you’re no Madame,” his tone is mocking, but you can’t feel any malice or cruelty. Only the resolved protection wrapping around you. 

It made the Feeling feral. It made you struggle to focus. 

You must be looking as lost as you feel, because Ben’s eyes narrow, and he looks you up and down again. “Are you sure you want to do this, Sunshine?”

The Feeling wants to touch the lines of tension on his brow, run your fingers over them until they vanish, and you overpower it just enough to say, “What?” 

“If you really don’t, I can tell them you’re sick and to go without us.”

“I can’t get sick, Ben.” You say flatly, pulling yourself forcefully from the Feeling’s grasp.

“Then come up with a better lie. And we’ll stay here.”

You glare at him. “I said I was going to have fun, Benjamin, and I fucking meant it. We’re going, I’m going to blow your fucking brains out with how fun I am, and you’re going to admit that I’m no a stick in the mud.”

He coughs something that’s either a laugh or a choke, and your heart squeezes. “Fuck me for trying to be helpful, brat.”

“After you, cunt.” You make a sweeping gesture forward, releasing his arm. 

Ben rolls his eyes at you, grinning widely. “Ladies first, Sunshine.”

“I thought I was ‘no Madame’- hey!”

Ben loops his arm through yours, and before you know what’s happening he’s pulling you through the door and towards the van. The Feeling is dazed, crawling through you as everything becomes a very hazy cloud of warm and safe and Ben. He grumbles “don’t these pussies own any other goddamn cars,” and you can feel it hum through you.

You managed to detangle yourself from Ben long enough to haul yourself through the back doors alone, stumbling to sit down at Kimiko’s side as Ben follows you.

“Where’s Frenchie?” You ask her, signing as you nod at the empty spot where he’s usually found.

Butcher hates MapQuest Kimiko signs back with an eye roll. Frenchie has to give him manual directions.

You laugh, and feel the Feeling keen inside you as Ben drops next to you, his knee pushed into yours. 

“What’s funny?” He grunts, and when you turn to look at him, you feel your heart buck in your chest. His face is a lot closer than you expected, and his lips are very pink.

“Butcher’s being an ass,” you manage to say plainly, and Ben snorts. 

“I can fucking hear you, Love,” Butcher calls from the front, and you scoff. “We work for the bloody CIA, you should know better than to trust something with a GPS.”

“The phone has a GPS anyway, dumbass, you’re not combating a surveillance state by getting us lost.” 

Butcher is silent for a second after you respond, and you can see his scowl in the rearview mirror. “That true Hughie?” 

“Uh,” Hughie looks up, startled, from his place at Annie’s side. “Yeah? Most modern tech has some sort of GPS.”

“Huh.” Butcher grunts. “When we get back from this shit, you’re removing mine from my phone, got it?”

Hughie pales. “What?”

Before you can marvel at Butcher’s shockingly inept knowledge of how phones worked, the Feeling returns in a full, electric force, and you realize Ben is leaning into you. 

His voice is a grumble near your ear, and it makes the Feeling burn. “What the fuck is a GPS.”

“Wha-“ you turn to face him, and cut yourself off when you find his face only inches from yours, his eyes watching you with a intensity that makes the Feeling painful.

“GPS,” he grunts, his breath fanning your face. “Cocksucker mention it last time, but nobody will actually fucking explain it.”

You blink. “It’s like a compass? Or a tracker? It tells you where you are on a map with satellites or something.”

Ben smirks. “Did I finally find something you don’t have the answer to, Sunshine?”

“No,” you scowl. “It’s just hard to explain.”

“Sure,” his smile is so wide, so teasing and light, the Feeling wants to make him do that again, just for you, and it takes strained effort to really listen to him. “You’re not scared to admit you’re wrong, are you, brat?”

“I’m never fucking wrong, cunt.” You scowl. “You should know that by now.”

An almost painful craving feeling runs through your heart, and Ben winks. “Of course, Sunshine. I’m not in the business of disagreeing with terrifyingly beautiful women.”

This time, you’re certain you’ve forgotten how to breathe. It really doesn’t feel that vital right now, not when the Feeling is everything and everywhere and writhing around and consuming you, because what does that mean and why did he say it like that and why is he looking at you like that and would he please stop looking at you because it’s very distracting and actually, if he looks away from you your heart might stop working so he needs to stay right there-

Someone says your name, a few times, and you’re forced to find a way to look away from Ben and live with it.

Annie is watching you with a strange look as Hughie stands to talk to Butcher in the front—the GPS argument apparently nowhere close to settled—but she clears her throat and says your name one more time, likely trying to verify your attention.

“What’s up?” Your voice is a lot more hoarse than you’d like, and you chalk it up to not drinking enough water. 

“Butcher told us you could sing?” Annie’s voice is curious, and she doesn’t seem to notice how you tense at her words. “I mean, he seemed really mad about it for some reason, but he said you had a nice voice.”

You cough—feeling Ben’s protective, stone-like resolve run through you—and manage to answer in a steady voice. “I- I can. Kind of. It’s not a big deal-“

“She has the voice of the angels,” Frenchie calls from the front, and the fire starts to itch. “Like a bird song.”

“It’s really not-“

“Do not feel modesty,” oblivious to the edge of anxiety in your voice, Frenchie continues. “It is a rare gift, when we heard it-“

“We?” You cut him off, the itch running into your blood. “How many of you heard it, exactly?”

“Myself, Kimiko, Monsieur Butcher, and Soldier Boy.”

“You weren’t being quiet, Love.” Butcher says over Hughie’s low, exasperated explanation of how hardware works. “Not our fault we heard.”

“Not your fault?” You say incredulously. “Not your fault that you heard me over the cameras you didn’t tell me about?” The van is silent for a second as you glare around at your team, everyone avoiding your gaze. “Did you all know about them?”

“They’re just a precaution,” MM says your name tightly. “For your safety-“

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“It ain’t like we put them in the bloody bathrooms or bedrooms, Love,” Butcher snaps. “We use them to check on you and Soldier Boy once a week, make sure you haven’t bashed each other’s brains in, and that fuckin it.”

“It’s an invasion of fucking privacy!” 

“It’s a CIA safe house,” Butcher sneers. “You expect privacy? Go to a Holiday Inn.”

Ben’s hand finds your thigh right before you can stand from your seat and throw Butcher into oncoming traffic. When you turn to look at him, his own anger moving into yours, he’s giving you a small frown of I’m not fucking happy about it either Sunshine, but you can’t kill Butcher right now.

You glare back at him. Since when are you anti-murder in any circumstance?

He rolls his eyes. Since it would result in you being locked up for murder and me going back in the box. He nudges his leg against yours once more and you realize you can feel the anger, but no drums. Get through all this, and I’ll kill Butcher however you want.

You huff a small laugh, and realize everyone is still silent around you, watching you and Ben with varying looks of confusion. You clear your throat nervously, and make an attempt to divert the conversation. “Frenchie, what’s the name of the place?”

“The Renegade Room,” Frenchie says smugly. “It is a hidden establishment, for those of our discrete nature.”

MM frowns, his voice exasperated. “I keep asking you what ‘discreet nature’ fucking means, and you haven’t given me a straight answer yet.”

“Those who have just as much to lose as their neighbor,” though Frenchie’s tone implies that his answer is simple—obvious even—everyone’s matching expression of confusion tells you they’re as lost as you are.

“Frenchie,” Hughie voices everyone’s concerns with a slow voice. “That doesn’t sound safe.”

Butcher’s voice is stern, angry. “Am I going to have to turn this bloody car ‘round? Because someone going to be made to pay all the fucking gas-“

“Not a car,” Ben mutters from your side, and you roll your eyes. 

“Well, Gov.” Butcher sneers from the front. “Next time we’ll take the real car, and you can ride in the bloody trunk.”

“You try and shove me in a trunk, I’ll rip your fucking face off.”

You sigh. “Can someone figure out what Frenchie means before these two Alpha male each other to death?”

Kimiko nudges your side, and you stick your tongue out at Ben’s scowl before you turn to her.

He told me it’s other supes who have left Vought, other citizens who were burned by them, anyone in hiding. She glares over her shoulder at Frenchie as she signs. Don’t feel bad, he’s not good at explaining it.

You laugh, signing thank you to her before repeating her words aloud.

“Oh,” Hughie is the first to react. “That’s, that’s smart Frenchie.”

“Oui, Petite Hughie. Teach all you imbeciles to doubt me.”

Everyone slowly returns to their conversations, Hughie giving up on his argument with Butcher and joining Annie and MM’s discussion about acceptable club music, and Ben hanging over your shoulder as you turn back to Kimiko.

What did Annie do to get you here? You sign, and she gives you a smile.

She bought me a dress. She gestures proudly to her outfit. And makeup. With lots of glitter.

You laugh. I got a similar treatment. And you look very nice.

So do you. Kimiko glances at Ben, who’s attempting to both sit pressed against you—as if you might vanish into thin air—and look completely disinterested in you and Kimiko’s silent conversation. Did he tell you look nice?

You feel heat on your face, and you blink at her. No. I mean, kind of? Why?

Kimiko shrugs. Just curious.

For a second you consider mentioning the “terrifyingly beautiful” thing, but the van jerks to a stop, the engine shutting off as Butcher stands. 

“Alright, ground rules Boys. No one gets drunk enough to cause a scene. Everyone stays close in case we need to make a quick exit. Frenchie, no drug dealing, this ain’t a business trip. MM, no cleaning the space, it’s a bloody futile effort. Hughie, try and let loose, or at least pretend you enjoy this. Starlight, keep your head down, we don’t need your celebrity status bitin us in the arse again.” Butcher says your name, giving you a glare the others didn’t receive. “No touching people, no going postal, either you or Frenchie are with the Female all the time, and keep your fucking boy toy in line. Soldier Boy, stick with her, and no explosions. Actually,” Butcher gives everyone a sharp glare. “That goes for all you cunts.”

You can feel Ben tensing at your side, his tight anger pounding with your heart, and the Feeling proves once more to be unhelpful as it decides to focus purely on how close he is to you.

“Does he always give such stupid fucking pep talks before everything these pussies do?” Ben mutters in your ear, and you kick his shin, failing to suppress your snort.

“Yeah, he does.” You look up in surprise at MM, who had stood to exit the van and apparently heard Ben’s comment. He doesn’t spare either of you a look, grumbling something about the Spice Girls as he continues on his way.

“Let us get the show on the road, non?” Frenchie stops before you and Kimiko, offering a hand down. “Mon Coeur?”

Kimiko smiles at him as she takes his hand, looping her arm through his, and they follow MM out of the van. 

“Are they fucking?” Ben asks, watching them as they leave.

You frown. “I honestly don’t know.”

He snorts, standing up. “They look like they’re fucking.” You roll your eyes, ignoring the Feeling sulking at the loss of his touch. You’re about to give him a snarky comment—probably about how his perception skills don’t have a very high success rate, because for the first month you lived together he refused to hear that Hughie and Butcher weren’t married—but your words die in your throat when Ben extends his hand down, holding right before you.

You look up at him, blinking as Hughie stumbles past Ben in the background. What are you doing?

He glares at you. Don’t make a damn scene, Sunshine. Just fucking take my hand before Butcher yells at us for being too slow.

You wrinkle your nose at him, but take Ben’s hand slowly, yelping in surprise as he grips you firmly, pulling you to your feet. You fall right into his chest, and the Feeling is thirsty again, restless inside you, making everything feel very solid and secure and he smells good and his hand is rough around you and would it feel this nice against other parts of your body? What would you need to say to get him to touch other parts of your body? He looks hungry again, maybe if you just asked-

“Oi, we ain’t got all night!” Butcher calls from outside. “Some of us have shit we want to do.”

Even the Feeling, still desperate inside of you, falls silent at that. You have things to do. Butcher’s almost ready. 

“We’re coming!” You call out, and don’t bother to remove yourself fully from Ben—you’re not sure the Feeling would allow you to—choosing to just tug him after you. The night air is cold, the wind is biting, and Ben’s warmth at your back makes it a lot harder to get the Feeling to calm down. There’s a harsh, putrid smell in the air that is completely covered by pine trees and coffee and Ben, and you’re so consumed by it, by the Feeling, you almost don’t realize the van is parked at the edge of a junkyard.

At first glance, the “club” looks suspiciously like an abandoned Blockbuster. There’s yellow caution tape all over the building, the windows are boarded up, and a Danger! Biohazard: Infectious Waste sign is hung on the doors. Frenchie ignores it, pushing right into the building, and everyone follows with apprehensive steps. 

The inside doesn’t improve anyone’s faith. There’s dust, grime, mold, and cobwebs at every corner and turn, you hear a scratching sound beneath your feet, those are definitely cracks on the walls, and something smells like dead fish.

“Frenchie, you fucker,” MM looks like he’s about to vomit, and you don’t think you’re faring much better. “If this is a prank I with beat your ass so goddamn hard-“

“Have a little faith, mon amie,” Frenchie cuts MM off, ignoring the daggers MM continues to glare at his head. “It is just right-“ You jump as Frenchie topples one of the empty shelves to the ground with a loud thud. “Here. Mon Coeur?”

Kimiko rolls her eyes, but moves to pick up the shelf with ease and pulls it aside as Frenchie pushes at the wall, which swings open to reveal a staircase.

“This is some James Bond bullshit.” MM grunts.

“Take it or leave it, Mate.” Butcher peers down the staircase, where you can hear the deep sounds of a bass and see occasional flashes of light. “I, for one, am thrilled. Bloody good work, Frenchie.”

As you descend the poorly lit, steep staircase, you and Ben trail at the back, and it occurs to you around half-way down that he still has an iron-like grip on your hand, that the stone-like resolve hasn’t left him—left you—and may be the only thing keeping you upright at this point. You glance up at him, elbowing him lightly until he returns your gaze.

You raise your eyebrows at him, hoping he can still read your expression in the darkness. No drums?

He frowns slightly. No. How the fuck did you know about that?

Felt it. You squeeze his hand in reminder. I think that means my experiment is working.

He rolls his eyes. Or maybe I just don’t have shell shock, brat.

Or maybe I’m never fucking wrong, cunt. You stick your tongue out, and swear the shadows play a cruel trick where his eyes fall and linger on your mouth. 

He winks at you, and your heart flails in its usual perfect rhythm with the Feeling. Before you can read his face is trying to tell you, he tugs you back slightly—right into his side—and you realize you’d been about to run head-first into Hughie’s back.

“Welcome, my friends, to The Renegade Room.” Frenchie does a wide sweeping gesture to the scene before you and you step a little further back, caught only by Ben’s arm around you.

If someone had asked you in the van to describe your expectations, you would have been dead on the money. Colorful, strobing lights, casting a neon glow. Sweaty, bouncing bodies crowded in the center of the room. The beat of the music carving deep, deep into your chest and running across your bones. Your’e clinging to Ben, half because he’s making no effort to remove himself from you, and half because if he does decide to let go you’re pretty sure you’ll freeze in a very inconvenient place. The Feeling tries to pull your body closer to him, even though his arm is slung around your shoulders and you’re still gripping his hand where it rests near your neck. 

Frenchie leads the group to one of the velvet-seated booths, wrapped in a smoky haze and completed with a round table that has a few stains that cause MM to clasp his hand firmly in his lap, scowling at the surface. 

You scoot in after Hughie, Ben following right behind you, never letting go. Annie remains standing, looking around the club before shouting over the music.

“Frenchie! Drinks?!”

Frenchie gestures to follow him, disappearing with Annie and Kimiko into the crowd.

“None of those fuckers listened to my ’stay close’ shit?” Butcher grumbles, and you sneer at him.

“We’re not fucking gazelle, Butcher, we’re people. People are going to wander.”

He glares at you, eyes narrowing as he looks you over, Ben’s arm still around you. Butcher snorts, shaking his head, and whatever cruel comment had been about to escape his mouth is cut off by Hughie’s nervous shouting.

“Are all these people fugitives from Vaught?” He’s leaning up, scanning the crowd. “Even, like, the bartenders?”

MM shrugs. “Probably. It works in our favor, kid, don’t worry.”

Hughie gives a reluctant nod, but doesn’t stop eyeing the patrons wearily.  

“I’m getting a bloody drink.” Butcher stands, giving you own last scowl. “I'll see you lot later. MM?”

MM grunts, standing as well, and they disappear in the same direction the others went, leaving you, Ben, and Hughie alone at the table.

“Um,” Hughie looks between you nervously. “Thank you for doing this, I know it’s weird, but-“

“Hello. there” Hughie is cut off by a bright eyed woman appearing before you, smiling down sweetly. “You three are new. We don’t get a lot of new people.”

“Well, doll, let’s just say we know a guy.” Ben drawls, and the Feeling becomes tight and bitter. 

She laughs, and the sound is sweet like a bell and grinds in your brain. “How did we all get here, hm?” She leans down, giving everyone a perfect, white-toothed smile. “What’s our story?”

Ben looks at you, Hughie follows his lead, and—you’re not sure why—apparently you’ve been volunteered to answer.

“Supes,” you point between you and Ben. “That Vought doesn’t like very much. Dude,” you point at Hughie. “Whose girlfriend got collaterally-damaged.”

“Hm,” she tilts her head, hair falling in perfect waves. “What kind of supes? Would I have heard of you?”

You answer before Ben can, sensing his wave of indigence wash through you. “Nope. Vought didn’t really have interest in making us public. I’m not very charismatic and I can’t lie.” Ben snorts, and you jab an elbow into his gut. “And this guy pees when he gets attention. Side-effect of the V, not very marketable.”

The woman blinks, and Ben gives you a fucking really, Sunshine? glower.

You give him a fake, wide-eyed look of innocence. What’s wrong, Pretty Boy? Did I say something?

He rolls his eyes. Brat.

Before you can give him a sickly-sweet smile of cunt, the woman is speaking again.

“I can deal with a little golden shower. You only fuck supes, Handsome? Or do mortals like me get a chance?” Ben blinks at her, and she leans forward, a sultry smile that feels like toxins in your body playing on her lips. “How about drugs? You do drugs?” 

Ben gives her a wide grin, something vile runs through your blood, and Hughie coughs.

“That’s my cue. I’m going to find Annie.” All but running from the table, Hughie vanishes into the fray as well, and it’s just you and Ben.

You, Ben, and the woman looking at Ben like he’s meat and she’s hungry.

“What’s on the menu?” Ben is smiling, and though it’s a colder smile than you’ve seen on his face in a while, it still makes the Feeling hiss inside you. 

The woman pulls out small bags from the top of her dress. “Whatever you want, darling.” The Feeling hates that more than handsome. Ben is handsome, that was just a factual statement. It haunted you how handsome he was, because it made it harder to dismiss the Feeling as just Ben is safe. It made the Feeling thirsty, and you violent. Her calling him darling was like a grip around your head, hot and brutal and constricting.

“Fucking hell, finally.” Ben grabs the bag with his free hand, and starts to examine it. “Coke?”

“Cut with a little something special,” the woman winks, and gives you a once over. “Your arm candy want some too?”

“As well,” Ben grunts, still looking at the baggie, and you feel a rush of amusement run through him. “And she’ll probably want to answer that herself.”

The woman looks at you fully, and you give a half-hearted shrug. 

“I think I’m good, thanks.” You shout, voice still hardly audible over the club. “I, uh, I’m not a huge coke person.”

She scoffs, turning her attention back to Ben. “You want some less uptight company, pretty boy?”

It’s not just the Feeling that hates that. Your teeth are clenched, you can feel your nails digging into your skin, you’re not sure if the smoke surrounding you is from you or just general club smoke. The Feeling is chanting something about throwing the woman across the room, punching out all her perfect teeth, and burning out her shining eyes. You’re on board with it.

“I’m good, doll.” Ben’s voice cuts through your gory fantasies, and his smile has returned down to you. “She’s plenty fun, aren’t you Sunshine?”

You blink stupidly, and make a weak sound of acknowledgment. The Feeling is still loud in your head, you can feel something shockingly strong running in your heart, and Ben is telling the woman he’s good but you can feel a hunger that doesn’t belong to the Feeling, a hunger you’ve only felt when the thirst had been unbearably strong. Lust. Ben was telling the woman he was good but he was feeling lust.

The woman just gives a simpering smile in your direction. “Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

Only Ben’s arm, still around your shoulder as he dumps out the contents of the bag, stops you from leaping over the table and killing her.

You look back at Ben, still the lust still lingering as the woman disappears, and watch his frustratingly attractive side-profile as he examines the white powder on the table. 

“Looks legit?” He grunts, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s a question.

“I mean, it looks like cocaine. But it could just be, like, drywall.” Ben snorts, and unwelcome pride rushes through you. “I don’t know why you’re asking me, I’m not exactly a drug expert, Pretty Boy.” You say the last words firmer than you mean to, likely because the Feeling needs to make sure he hears them.

He hums, glancing back at you. “You sure you don’t want some? I’m willing to share.”

“Aren’t you just a pillar of charity?” You mumble, and he gives you a flat look. “No, Ben, I don’t want cocaine that was given to me in a shady club by a random woman who was keeping it in her boobs.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “You always call it cocaine, Sunshine?”

“What else am I supposed to call it?” You frown, and Ben chuckles.

“Coke. Like every other fucker on the planet. Do you call meth “methamphetamine’?”

“So what if I do?” You snapped, and he just laughs, giving you a wink before removing his arm from around you and diving nose-first into the white pile. The Feeling whines from the loss of his touch, and your nails would probably have scarred your skin if you were still human.

He comes up, wiping the drugs from his face. “Shit, that’s good. You fucking sure you don’t want a hit, Sunshine? It won’t affect you now, not like any normal human pussy.”

“I like to keep a firm rule about the boob-drug thing. I’m good.”

Ben just shrugs, and you feel him press his thigh fully against yours. The Feeling is calmed by the action, and makes you watch him in a trance-like state as he leans back against the booth cushions. There’s still a little powder caught in his beard, and the Feeling wants to wipe it off and offer it to him on your fingers-

“I didn’t think of Starlight as a boob-drug club type.” He raises his brows at you. “What made her decide to be less of a prudish bitch?”

“She’s just stressed,” you answer nonchalantly. “There’s slim-pickings for venues we can all attend, and I’d hazard a guess that almost all of them would be clubs of the boob-drug variety.”

Ben laughs loudly, the one that always lingers in your chest and that the Feeling drinks like fuel. He takes another snort—thigh still firmly against yours—and looks like he’s going to say something when he comes back up, but his attention gets caught in front of you. 

You follow his gaze and find Annie, a lot more smiley than you’ve ever seen her, watching you with wide-eyes.

“Annie are you-“

She says your name, her voice a bright and bubbly tone you’ve ever heard on TV. “Come dance!”

You frown. “I’m not supposed to leave Ben.”

“Oh, come onnn.” Annie’s words are slightly slurred, her smile too bright. “Everyone’s breaking Butcher’s stupid rules, if MM can start organizing the bar and Frenchie can hand out bathroom-pills, you can leave Soldier Boy for one dance.”

Ben nudges your shoulder, looking at you in mock hurt. “One dance, Sunshine. Do you not think I can behave myself for one dance?” 

You wrinkle your nose at him. Unhelpful.

He gives you a teasing, lop-sided smile. You said you’d have so much fun it would blow my mind. 

So? You scowl.

Dance, Sunshine. Have some fun. He looks back at Annie. “She’s coming.”

Annie squeals, and—giving Ben a dirty look as you do—you shuffle out of the booth. “This is peer pressure.” You mutter under your breath, and catch Ben’s huff of amusement.

You look at him as you stand, just long enough to see his wink of have fun, brat before Annie is pulling you into the throes of the crowd. 

Everything turns into a flash of furious and lustful and mournful and guilty and elation as you’re rammed through the dance floor, and your skin becomes coated in stress, starting from where Annie grips your wrist.

She releases you when you stop at the bar, leaning over the counter to wave someone down. You rub where she’d been holding you, the anxiety still humming through you.

“Annie, if you need to talk-“

“What's going on with you and Soldier Boy?” She shouts over your attempt, giving you a dizzy smile. “Is Butcher right? Are you fucking?”

You stare at her. “Jesus Christ, no, Annie, we’re not fucking.”

“Do you want to fuck him?”

“No!” Your voice is high, and you ignore the Feeling spinning resentfully inside of you. “Annie, what is going on with you-“

“Hughie told me that you two keep making ‘heart-eyes’ at each other,” she pokes your shoulder, and the stress jolts through you. “And he was right! You totally make heart-eyes!”

“No, we don’t. Annie, you have to stop touching me, I think you keep forgetting-“

“I don’t keep ‘forgetting’,” her voice is exasperated as she says your name. “I just don’t care!” She giggles, and your concern grows. “And you’re trying to change the subject!”

“I’m not, I’m just worried-“

“Did he Stockholm synonym you? Is that it?”

“Stockholm syndrome,” you correct with a small frown. “And I think technically I Stockholmed Ben-“

“See!” Annie grabs your hands between hers. “You call him Ben. Like he’s a person!”

The Feeling doesn’t like that, and you tense defensively. “He is a person, Annie.”

She nods. “And you’re fucking him.”

“I’m not fucking him!” Your protests are growing weaker, and you chalk it up to Annie’s persistence. 

“You let him touch you!” She squeezed your hands. “Like, all the time.”

“Because he doesn’t care.” You say firmly. “If you weren’t seven-plus shots into the night, you wouldn’t be touching me, Annie. Because I can feel that there’s something wrong with you. Please just talk to me-“

“No!” She shouts, her grip on you becoming slightly painful. “I just want to have fun! I’ve never gotten to have fun! I’ve never had normal friends and had normal fun so can we please just dance?!” She says your name in a pleading tone. “I just want to dance with my friend.”

You blink. “I, um, I didn’t know we were friends.” You glance back at her hands, still around yours. “You’re kind of, you act like you’re afraid of me usually.”

Annie’s face falters for a second, and you feel her guilt rush through her. She says your name a little sadly, looking at you with big eyes. “Your powers are scary. Really, really scary. You’re kind of scary. But I still want to be your friend.”

Your chest squeezes. “I don’t think most of the others agree with that sentiment, Annie. I don’t want to ostracize you any more.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “You mean fucking Butcher? That asshole will get over it.”

“But-“

Annie says your name in the strongest tone you’ve heard her use since you arrived. “Everyone else is scared of you, because you’re scary.”

“Calling me scary isn’t a great way to tell me you want to be my friend-“

“But they don’t hate you. Kimiko loves you, Frenchie likes that Kimiko loves you, MM isn’t a huge fan of you and Soldier Boy fucking-“

“We’re not-“

She presses a finger to your lip. “But he still respects you. He thinks you’re okay. Hughie’s nervous because that man is always nervous-“ She sighs dreamily at nothing, words becoming slightly more slurred. “But he thinks you’re cool.”

You hum an acknowledgment through your lips, and Annie pulls back.

“Now can we please dance? Like normal people?”

You give her a smile, and it’s not forced. “Yeah, we can dance like normal people.”

Annie pulls you from the bar, right to the center of the dance floor, and starts dancing a little off-beat. Laughing, you grab her arms, moving her onto the rhythm of the song rolling through the club. Time turns into a blur, and you feel light. Everything is just the music and bubbly laughter and dancing in a way you haven’t in three years. You can’t sing, but you can move. Swaying and bouncing in time with the music, lost in the bass and the lights. You’re sweaty, and your hard work from the afternoon is probably ruined, and you’re a little breathless, but it feels just stupid and easy and fun. You’re not drunk—you can’t be anymore—but everything feels easy. The Feeling sneaks up on you, and suddenly you’re missing him again. You’re having fun, and the Feeling is suddenly painfully insistent that he be at your side, having fun with you.

You stumble away from Annie, stopping at the edge of the crowd as you look for Ben. It’s a little worrying how easy you find where he’s still sat, the white pile almost entirely gone from the table. Your brain is so full of the Feeling, repeating his name in a harmony of Ben, Ben, Ben, that you almost miss that he’s not alone. 

The lady with the sweet smile and bright eyes is next to him, where you had been. You can see the pearl of her smile from where you’re standing, imagine the honey-like drip of her voice. Ben’s arms aren’t around her, rested on the table as he speaks, but you can’t see his legs, and the Feeling is kicking at your gut.

You’re frozen for a second, and you hear a voice from somewhere to your side. 

“Ready for our chat, Love?"

You turn sharply, and see Butcher’s humorless, cold smile for only a second before he’s grabbing your arm, tugging you roughly away from Ben, past the crowd, and into a broom closet. He lets go like you’ve burned him—you’re certain you didn’t—and toss the rag he’d been using to the side.

“What the fuck, Butcher?!” You hiss as he shakes out his hand. “You couldn’t have just asked me to follow you?!”

“You were mooning over Soldier Boy like a damn puppy. Couldn’t risk him seeing us and asking stupid fucking questions.” Butcher gives you a smirk. “You two kiss and make up about your little lie?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Boy, he was bloody pissed.” Butcher laughs mockingly. “Was real fucking worried about you, Love. Made us put on the cam audio cause he was so fuckin worried.” He sneers the last words, and you cross your arms across your chest, violating shutting down how Butcher’s words make the Feeling warm with images of Ben and the woman with the perfect smile.

“Our conversation about cameras isn’t fucking over, you asshole.” You snap, and Butcher scoffs.

“Please, it ain’t going to even fucking matter soon, is it now?” He meets your glare with another crude grin. “And you’re the forgiving type, Love, aren’t you. You forgave Soldier Boy for his little lie about the meeting.”

You grit your teeth. “Yeah, I did.”

“And he forgave you about the singing shit?”

“Yep.” You hold his gaze, the itch of heat under your skin starting to build.

Butcher smile is all teeth and cold mockery and bored hatred. “He doesn’t know what he was really forgiving you for, does he?”

You can see smoke curling around you. “Shut the fuck up, Butcher. Let’s just get this over with.”

He rolls his eyes, but his face falls into seriousness. “Fine, Love, suck all the fuckin fun out of it. It’ll be ready in nine days.”

“Nine days?” You take a deep, jagged breath and the fire crawls around your head. “And you’re sure it will work. We only get one fucking chance, Butcher, you have to be certain—“

“I am certain,” he hisses. “Everything is lined up perfectly. The opening is in nine days, I’ll take the Boys on a wild goose chase, and this will fucking work.”

You nod slowly, and the air feels like poison in your lungs. “What about Ben?”

“Well,” Butcher jeers. “It looks like the little bloody bond you two formed is going to work in our favor. And if it doesn’t we’ll lock him in the safe house and figure out some sort of gas-gun. It won’t be your fucking problem either way.”

“What if Ryan doesn’t listen?” You whisper in a futile attmept to keep the fear from your voice. “What it doesn’t work-“ “That boy loved his mother.” Butcher’s voice is firm, and there’s something distant in his glare. “He’ll listen.”

“He doesn’t know me-“

“You getting fucking cold feet? On your own fucking plan?”

“No,” you snap. “I just want to prepare for every fucking hurdle so I’m not throwing myself in front of a train just for you to fuck me, Butcher.”

“It’s going to fucking work.” Butcher says, jaw clenched. “Nine days.”

You pull yourself together with a too-long, too-heavy breath. “Nine days.”

Butcher exits the closet before you do, leaving the fire clawing through you, blurring the world. You close your eyes, desperate to regain some semblance of control. 

City lights. Music. City lights. Music. City lights. Music.

Ben.

Your eyes shoot open, and the Feeling starts the chew through the fire. City lights, music, Ben. The itch starts to wane, so you let the Feeling take over.

City lights, music, Ben. City lights, and music, and Ben.

Ben.

You’re grounded. Everything is clear, the fire is gone—you’ll deal with the implications of what did those things later—and so you exit the closet. You can’t go back to the booth—not if Ben and the woman are still there, because it might make something rotten wake up inside you—so you wander, looking for Annie. You find her clinging to Hughie in a corner, arms around him with her head in his chest, and decide to leave them be. A few minutes later you see Kimiko, standing vigilantly outside the toilets, and a relieved breath escapes you. You start to duck and weave through the crowd, making a beeline for the bathrooms, and are intercepted by Ben as you run head-first into his chest.

“Ow!” You try to push back from him, but he grabs your arm with a firm look. You peer at the expression on his face, a lot more stoic than you anticipated, and you feel that concrete concern of his, along with something hard in your chest. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been looking for you for fifteen goddamn minutes, Sunshine.” He snaps, ignoring your question. “Where the fuck did you go?”

You give a loose shrug, trying not to let the Feeling and it’s need for Ben to keep holding your arm distract you. “Bathroom.” You say lamely.

“Bullshit, you’re going towards the bathroom right now.”

“They were out of tampons, there was a girl who needed some.” 

He narrows his eyes at you as he scans your body, and it makes the Feeling feral. “Where are they then?”

“Huh?” The Feeling is starting to be a cognitive issue, because your brain feels fuzzy from Ben’s touch. “Where’s what.”

“The fucking tampons.”

“They were out. I’m going to tell her to do the toilet paper method.” You take a gamble that Ben’s prevalent disinterest in what he calls women shit will work in your favor. And it does.

Ben grunts, and though you feel the thing in your chest loosen, the concern prevails and he doesn’t release you. “Once you do that, we’re leaving.”

You blink at him in surprise. “What about boob-drugs?” Your voice is a little louder than it needs to be, and Ben just frowns with a shrug.

“Wasn’t interested,” he says gruffly, looking down at you. The intensity of his gaze, combined with this information, was not helpful to controlling the Feeling, which started to move in time with your heart once more. 

“Okay,” you sound breathless. “I’ll just, um, bathroom.” 

He nods sternly, and you clear your throat.

“Benjamin.”

“What.”

“You’re welcome to join me on my endeavor, but if you’re not interested in talking about the toilet-paper method with some random girl-“ You gesture pointedly to his hold on your arm. 

He gives you a blank look for a moment, and you watch the pieces fall into place in his head. He releases your arms mechanically, and gives you a tense nod. As you walk to the bathroom Ben trails at your side, posture more rigid than you’ve ever seen it. Kimiko smiles when she sees you approaching, signing a greeting. You smile back, offering one of your own.

Do you need to pee? She glanced up at Ben beside you. Does he need to pee? 

No, you glance at Ben watching you both intently. I just need to go in for like two minutes. I told Ben I was helping a girl that doesn’t exist.

She frowns. Why? 

He lost me in the crowd when he was doing drugs. Got weird about it. A half-truth, you reason, it better than an outright lie. I’ll just be in and out.

“What are you saying?” Ben grumbles, glaring between you. 

“Don’t worry about it, Pretty Boy.” You say aloud, signing damn man-baby to Kimiko, who giggles.

He scowls. “Is she going to let you go in or do I need to fucking move her?”

Kimiko flips him off, telling you just say I’m telling you it’s fine. You don’t want to go in there anyways, Frenchie’s doing drugs.She frowns. Or dealing drugs. Or both.

“Apparently someone already helped the girl, Kimiko saw her leave.” You give her a grateful nod, turning back to Ben. “We can go wait at the booth until everyone is ready-“

“No.” He snaps, and you blink in surprise. “We’re leaving now.”

“We all came here together, there’s only one car-“

“I don’t give a shit, Sunshine, we’re leaving. Even if we have to steal the shitty fucking pussy-Mobile to do it.”

You feel Kimiko whack your arm, signing when you turn to her. Do you want me to tell Frenchie to drive you home again? 

You shake your head. No, it’s fine. 

You can’t call a taxi, she signs your name with a frown. And he looks angry.

He’s being a child, he’ll be fine. As you sign to Kimiko, you say aloud to Ben, “we’re not stealing the van, Ben.”

“What about boob-drugs’ car?”

You look at him with a frown. “What?”

“She told me she had a blue Lexmus. We can take that.”

“Lexmus?” You tilt your head. “Do you mean a Lexus?”

“Is that a car?” You nod, and he shrugs. “Then fucking sure.”

“We’re not stealing a random ladies car either!” You protest. “And we can’t just leave-“

Kimiko grabs your attention again, signing I could cover for you, and I don’t think Butcher would care if you stole a car.

You wave her off, but Ben catches on. “She’s agreeing with me, isn’t she?”

“No, she isn’t.” Your insistence is immediately undermined by Kimiko nodding vigorously. What the hell? You sign, and she shrugs.

You look tired, and we might be a few more hours. Let Soldier Boy take you home. 

You sigh, rubbing your face as you look back at Ben. “If I agree to this, if, I’m driving.”

He nods. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Sunshine.” He extends his hand, you shake it reluctantly, and before you can pull back he’s pulling you through the crowd and up the stairs. 

It takes you shockingly little time to find boob-drugs’ Lexus, partially because it’s an electric-blue luxury car parked in a sea of sketchy vans and beaten down Honda Civics, partially because Ben says she parked it towards the back of the yard and is able to make a direct path to it. His hand is in yours the entirety of the walk, a fact that manages to push down the bitterness the Feeling has about him knowing where the car is parked. Ben removes his hand from yours only when you reach the car itself, and smashes through the glass on the window in one clean punch.

“Fucking christ, Ben, warn a lady!” You jump back as the glass flies through the air, the car alarm blaring through the night.

Ben leans through the window, gashes on his face and hands quickly healing as he unlocks the car. “Don’t be dramatic, brat.” He dismisses. “You heal just as fast as I do.”

You frown as he kneels down below the dashboard. “Are you sure you know how to do this? This isn’t some dogshit muscle car, this has like, actual security.”

“Looks the damn same,” he grunts. “I’ll figure it out, Sunshine. Don’t fucking worry.”

You rub your shoulders, looking around the junkyard anxiously. “Why do you know how to do this again?”

He just shrugs. “I’m from Philly.”

“That’s not a real explanation, Pretty Boy.”

“Wasn’t much to do for fun when I was a kid. We didn’t have all the shitty modern toys kids have today.”

“So you stole cars? Weren’t you rich?”

“That doesn’t fucking matter.”

“I mean, you could’ve just bought one-“

Ben looks up at you with a scowl. “You think my father would’ve given me money to buy a car?”

“No,” you mumble. “Sorry.”

He sighs. “Stop fucking apologizing all the damn time, Sunshine. Remember, you’re never wrong.” Though his voice is teasing, it’s not covered in a cold sarcasm, making the Feeling buzz. You’re about to push him for more answers when the engine hums to life, and Ben sits up, giving you a cocky wink. “Fucking told you. Never doubt me again, brat.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, cunt. Get out of my seat.”

“No,” Ben settles into the driver’s seat, looking up at you smugly. “I think I’ll drive.”

“You dick, you fucking shook on it-“

“You’re tired,” Ben says your name with a bored voice, and very suddenly exhaustion hits you through your body. He really needs to stop doing that.

“No, I’m not.” You manage to fight the urge to yawn as you protest. “And you can’t drive.”

He glares at you. “Yes, I fucking can.”

“Not legally.”

“Nothing about this is fucking ‘legal’.”

“Benjamin, the last time you drove was the fucking 80s.”

“So?”

“Cars aren’t the same.”

He gives the interior of the car a frown. “Looks the fucking same to me.” He turns back to you. “And I’m not letting you behind the wheel, you look like you’re about to damn collapse.”

“Oh, fuck off Ben, you don’t give a shit about safe-driving.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “You’re still not fucking driving.”

“You’re just being an ass-“ You cut yourself off, the yawn fighting its way to the surface. At Ben’s smug look, you scowl. “Shut up.”

“Get in the car before I have to make you.”

The Feeling likes that idea, and in your exhaustion it’s harder to resist it. “You don’t even know how to get home.”

“You’ll help me.” Ben’s tone lacks any doubt, and you hate that he’s right. “Get in the fucking car.”

You glare at him, but stumble around to the passenger’s side, practically falling into the seat. It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open long enough to pull up directions—especially as Ben’s hand finds your thigh as you fumble with your phone—and almost the second after you explain that all Ben has to do it listen to the robot lady’s voice, sleep starts to tug at the corners of your eyes. 

You hear a soft chuckle from Ben. “Sleep well, Sunshine.” And something soft runs through your body as his voice falls through your head.

Everything is covered in the smoking haze of the club, but there’s no music, no blinding lights, no one else in the area but you. You and Ben.

He’s grinning down at you, arm around you again, and you feel light-headed. Because all his attention is on you, and though there’s no one else in the club, you have a feeling it wouldn’t matter. He’d just keep looking at you.

“Terrifyingly beautiful.” His voice has an odd echo to it as he speaks. “Aren’t you, Sunshine.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Pretty Boy.” Your voice is confident, silky, and his smile widens.

“Not so bad, huh? Not frustratingly handsome?”

“Maybe. Not sure yet.”

Ben’s mouth is suddenly hovering right over your own, and it looks soft, curving into a smirk. “Anything I can do to convince you?”

“What do you have in mind?”

His mouth crashes into yours, and it’s perfect. It fits like it was made to be there, it moves like it’s been there a thousand times. You moan his name, and he just pushes deeper in, pulling you onto his lap like you’re made of nothing.

“Perfect,” Ben groans against your lip. “Fucking perfect.”

You whimper, and he chuckles as you start to grind against his thigh. “Ben-“

“Needy thing, aren’t you?” He moves from your mouth, starting to kiss sloppily down your neck. “Gonna beg, Sunshine? Ask nicely for me to fuck you?”

“I hate you-“

“No you don’t,” he nips at your skin.

“Ben-“

“Say please, beautiful. Tell me you want me.”

“Fuck you-“

“That doesn’t sound like please.”

You gasp, because his hands are everywhere. Tangled in your hair, tracing along your skin, running over your ass. His thigh is pushed fully into your core, but he’s gripping you too firmly, stopping you from chasing release. “Please,” the words are choked with desire. “Please, Ben, please.”

He laughs, a deep, satisfied sound that echoes everywhere. “A little more.”

You moan, clinging to his arms desperately. “Ben, please. Fuck me, please fuck me.”

He pulls back from your neck, grinning widely down at you for only a second before crashing his mouth back into yours. “Good girl,” Ben grunts against your lips, and suddenly you’re not in the booth anymore. You’re at home, in your bed, and he’s fully naked above you, smirking down at your body as he takes it in.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, and you’re flying. Ben is everywhere, everything. Nothing has felt like this, nothing will feel like this ever again. It’s so painfully hazy, like a cloud is over the world and every single touch along your skin and kiss against your lips or neck or cunt is wiped away, but you’re so high. It’s just Ben, Ben, Ben, with groans and hands and safe and warm and Ben. His face is above yours, watching you with hooded, hungry eyes as you feel full, and holding so gently in contrast with every other movement of his body. He kisses you again, and it’s deep and heavy and Ben.

Ben. Ben. You’re not thirsty anymore, you’ll never be thirsty for the rest of your life, because this is everything. Ben.

Ben.

Light leaks into your vision, chasing away the haze. You don’t really know how, but you’ve woken in your own bed, sheets clinging to the sweat of your body and sleep running away from your brain. You feel Ben before you see him. He’s asleep at your side, arm hanging loosely across your body. His head is pressed into the pillow, hair falling across his face, and you want to run your hands through it. The remnants of your dream linger, pushing to the front of your head, and you feel your face flush as you fail to pull your gaze from him. The Feeling felt so peaceful, Ben smells good, and he’s right here. With you. And you can’t bring yourself to move.

You simply lay in bed for an immeasurable amount of time, and realize that both you and Ben are in the same clothes from last night. You manage to grope around your bedside table for your phone without disturbing Ben, and sighing wearily as you see a barrage of texts and missed calls. 

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever (4) missed calls. Marvin Milk: Holder of Incorrect Dr. Dre Opinions (2) missed calls. Hughie Campbell: Not Allowed to Speak On Fall Out Boy (3) missed calls.

Kimiko: Second Hottest Person on the Team

Told Frenchie

Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion

Frenchie said you and Soldier Boy left in a stolen car?

Are you safe?

Hughie Campbell: Not Allowed to Speak On Fall Out Boy

Can you tell Annie you’re home?

She’s losing her mind.

Also Butcher.

He’s mad.

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever 

You and Soldier Boy have a fun joyride?

Fucking call me.

MM and Hughie are heading over to the safe house. Someone’s looking for you.

You blink at the last message. Someone’s looking for you. You swipe the screen, trying to see the time Butcher sent the text, and panic runs through you as you read 9:45 AM.

It’s nearly noon. 

You poke Ben, and he grunts, arm around you tightening. 

“Ben.” You hiss, shaking him. “Wake up.”

“Fuck off, Sunshine.” He mumbles, and the Feeling is comfortable in your chest.

You push through it. “Benjamin, wake the fuck up.” Nothing. You raise your voice from a hushed whisper. “I’ll burn you again, Pretty Boy, I swear to God.” 

That gets him to open his eyes. “Will you never just fucking let me sleep?”

“I think MM and Hughie are downstairs.”

Ben frowns. “Why?”

“Because Butcher texted that they were coming over two hours ago.” You poke him with your foot, and it occurs to you that your legs are a little more tangled than you’d originally noticed. “Can you listen for them?”

“It’s too fucking early, Sunshine.”

“It’s noon.” When Ben only huffs, you give him a pleading look. “Please?”

He groans, closing his eyes. For a second you think he’s just going back to sleep, but he mutters, “Two people downstairs. Can’t tell who.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, and he makes a low sound from his chest that doesn’t aid your motivation to get up. “Ben, I need to move.”

“Why.” His voice is rough, and makes the Feeling flutter.

“I need to talk to Hughie and MM. They’ve probably been waiting a while.”

“Then they can wait a little fucking longer.”

“Please.” He doesn’t move, holding you tighter. “Ben, you don’t have to up get yourself. You can stay here.”

You feel something run through you—him—that’s taut and almost bitter. Your heart rumbles, and the Feeling wants to sooth the sleepy frown that flashes across Ben’s face, but before you can he’s rolling over, detaching his body from yours.

You hesitate to move, but your phone buzzes with another text that forces your body to roll off the bed.

Marvin Milk: Holder of Incorrect Dr. Dre Opinions

Get your ass up so me and Hughie can fucking leave.

You shuffle unsteadily out of your bedroom and down the stairs, and rubbing your sleep-puffed face in a desperate attempt to pull any lingering sleep from your head. MM and Hughie are sitting stiffly on the couch, looking remarkably uncomfortable as they wait. You clear your throat, and they shoot to their feet in attention.

“Finally,” MM glared at you. “We’ve been waiting for fucking hours.”

You give a guilty cringe, still wiping sleep from your eyes. “Sorry guys, I didn’t know you were here.”

“How did you get home?” Hughie asks tentatively, and you blink at him.

“Ben stole a car. I know I shouldn’t have let him, but-“

Hughie interrupts your apology. “A car?”

“Um. Yeah. Blue Lexus.” You look between their confused expressions. “Is it not outside?”

“No,” Hughie frowns. “Are you sure-“

“Kid, we don’t have time for this.” MM gives Hughie a firm look. “They both got home, no one died, how it happened ain’t our fucking concern right now.” Hughie gives a small nod, and the quiet anxiety on his face sparks concern in your chest.

“What’s going on?” You ask nervously. “Is everyone ok?”

MM sighs. “Everyone’s fine. And we were hoping you could tell us what’s going on.” 

You frown, but nod for him to continue. MM takes a large breath, looking at his phone as he speaks.

“Frenchie got a security alert at the Starlight Fund building early this morning. A lady had broken in, and was shouting at the security cams, demanding to speak to someone. We watched her on the cameras for a bit and it sounded like-“ MM clears his throat. “It sounded like she was looking for you.”

The fire starts in your throat, and you barely manage to whisper. “Me?”

“She called you by your name. Your full, legal name. Even got the last name right, not the bullshit one Vought’s been using for press about you and Homelander.”

The fire is against your teeth and under your nails as MM pushes on.

“Said she knew you. You you, not the Anomaly or your Vought persona. Wanted to talk to Starlight about it. Mentioned that Vought wouldn’t give her a straight answer, they kept insisting she had the wrong person, but she knew it had been you at the Firecracker rally.”

Hughie steps in, giving you a pitiful look. “She was really, um, aggressive.” He mumbles. “Made a lot of graphic threats.”

“Kind of sounded like you,” MM adds tightly, watching you carefully. “Looked like you too.”

Your voice is hoarse when you speak. “Do you- do you have a photo?”

MM nods, turning the screen of his phone to you. Your blood is white-hot as you stare at the photo on display. You knew that face. The last time you’d seen it there had been more baby-fat clinging to its cheeks, more light in its eyes, and the hair that had framed it had been longer, but you’d recognize it anywhere. It haunted you.

“Violet,” you breathe out. Your baby sister is frozen in the screen capture MM’s showing you, a crazed, furious expression on her features, teeth bared mid-shout.

MM coughs, and you tear your eyes from the screen. “So you know her?”

You nod heavily. “She’s my sister. Younger. I- I haven’t seen her since before.”

“She said you were dead.” Hughie said softly. “Said everyone thought you’d killed yourself, that they’d found a note but no body. That everyone thought she was going insane, but she knew it was you.”

“Homelander faked my death,” your voice is hoarse, the world is fuzzy and lined with cold something pushing into you. “I even have- Had a grave.”

MM catches your self-correction. “Had?”

“Butcher threw me into it the first night we all met.” You say flatly. “I don’t know if it ever got fixed.”

Both MM and Hughie look apologetic, but you don’t really care. Everything is painful, and you can’t breathe. “You-“ the words struggle out of you, driven by fear for Violet. “You said she talked to Vought?”

“Yeah, but they seemed to either screen her calls or insist she was just grief-stricken and looking for answers where there weren’t any.”

You nod to yourself at Hughie’s words, though they do little to alleviate the fire spreading into your bones and starting to curl in smoke around you. “What did- did you tell her anything?”

“Tell who anything.” Ben’s voice rumbles from behind you, and everything comes into a sharper focus as his arm is pushed into yours. “What the fuck’s going on.”

“This isn’t your problem, motherfucker,” MM snaps. “Piss right the hell off.”

Ben stiffens, and the stone-like protection runs through you.

“I- MM I need-“ You give a tight, strangled cough, not strong enough to fight the Feelings need to lean further into Ben. “Please let him stay.”

MM gives you a disbelieving look, like he might start to argue, but Hughie interjects.

“We haven’t talked to her yet. We wanted to see if you knew her.”

“Will someone tell me who the goddamn hell we’re talking about?” Ben snaps.

MM glowers at him. “Her sister,” he answers coldly. “Lady recognized her from the Firecracker incident. Want to make sure she’s safe.” The last words are sneered, and Ben’s arm wraps around you. 

“She is safe-“

MM ignores Ben, looking back at you. “Well?” He says your name in a firm, impatient tone. “What are we telling her?”

You take a deep, heavy breath. “Tell her I’m dead.”

“What?” Hughie stares at you. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am completely fucking serious.” You force your tone to be strong, devoid of emotion. “I’m dead. She should stop looking for me, because I killed myself three years ago.”

“But you didn’t-“

“Hughie.” You snap. “I’m dead. That’s it.”

Ben’s hold on you is almost painful. He’s silent, fingers digging into your side, and you feel his stare piercing through you, feel something strained running through him. 

Hughie says your name with forced gentleness, but MM cuts him off.

“You’re sure.”

You nod firmly. “Positive. I’m dead, MM. Please.” Your voice cracks at the end, and your heart starts to claw at your ribs.

“Fine, you’re dead. Let’s go, Hughie.”

“MM, you can’t be fucking serious.”

“Let’s go.” MM gives you one last, unreadable look before he walks into the hall.

Hughie stares at you, looking reluctant to leave, but MM shouts from the exit. 

“Hughie, if you don’t haul ass right fucking now, I’m leaving you here.”

Then they’re both gone, and Ben’s hold is the only thing keeping you upright. You stand in silence for a second, your heart roaring in pain, before you pry yourself from Ben and try to move back up the stairs.

You barely make it five steps before he’s grabbing your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“What the fuck was that.”

His voice is too cold, too angry. You’re so tired. “Please, Ben-“

“You’re not fucking dead, Sunshine. Your sister’s fucking looking for you, and you’re going to make those pussies tell her you’re dead?!”

“It’s for the best,” you say weakly, and he scoffs.

“Is this about your stupid fucking ‘protecting them’ shit? That why you’re fucking lying to them?”

“I can’t-”

“They need to know you’re fucking alive,” he says your name with fury lining his voice. “If they care so goddamn much to go looking for you, they fucking deserve it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I fucking do, Sunshine. You did your goddamn hero bullshit, tried to keep your family safe,” Ben’s words are stabbing through your chest. “But it’s too fucking late, so just tell them-“

“No!” You scream, yanking your wrist from his grip. “Shut the fuck up, Ben! You have no fucking clue what I’m trying to do. I’m not on a goddamn fucking high horse about saving them, or any other hero shit! Just shut the fuck up!”

He’s yelling too now, and something is fracturing in your body. “They need to fucking know!” He takes a step forwards. “They fucking deserve-“

“Why do you care so fucking much about this? They’re not your fucking family! You don’t even fucking know them.”

“Because I would fucking want to know!” He roars. “I would go fucking insane and they probably are too!”

The thing isn’t fracturing in your body. It’s split apart, into a million bits and pieces, and your legs give out as all the air leaves your body. It’s too much, it’s all too much, and it’s too late to stop it. You hear Ben shout your name, feel his arms wrap around your body, and all your fury is just pain because you’re so angry at him, but as he carries you up the stairs, no part of you wants to fight him. 

Ben sits on the bed, making no attempt to let go. You hold onto him, clinging to his shirt, his smell, the feel of him, the sound of his voice as it hums a familiar tune, and breathing finds a way to no longer be an act of labor.

“I’m-“ you take a shaking breath. “I’m sorry-“

“Stop apologizing.” He snaps, before taking a heavy breath. “It’s me that should be-“ He coughs, and you pull your head from his chest. 

“I’m-“

“Stop, just-“ Ben frowns at nothing. “I need to-“ His jaw clenches, gaze falling to yours for only seconds before he’s glaring at the space above your head again. 

“Ben-“

“I’m sorry.” The words sound as if they’re falling out of him, and he's not looking at you. “I’m fucking sorry.”

You watch him glance back down at you, and you try and offer him a small smile. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s fucking not-“

“Please,” you whisper. “I don’t, I can’t fight. Please.”

He just grunts, but his hold on you tightens, and you decide that it’s victory.

“What-“ you take another, slower breath. “What happened to the car?”

You watch his lips turn down, and he looks at you from under his eyelashes. “The car?”

“The one we stole.”

Ben gives a dry laugh. “You didn’t do much stealing Sunshine, you just stood there looking pretty.”

You roll your eyes, pushing down the warmth running through you from Ben calling you pretty. “Don’t dodge the question, Benjamin. What did you do with the car.”

He shrugged. “Ditched it a few blocks away. Carried you to the house.”

“How-” you frown at him. “How did you get in the house by yourself?”

“I pay attention, brat. I’m not as fucking stupid as all you pussies think I am. I just damn copied what everyone else does.”

“Oh.” You know that you should probably tell MM or Butcher or Mallory that Ben knows how to work the safe-house entrance—and likely the exit as well—but you don’t want to. Some very stupid part of you, that’s not just the Feeling, trusts him.

“You were really fucking out of it, Sunshine,” he teases. “Clinging to me like a damn baby.”

You feel your face heat. “It was cold.”

“You have fire powers.” He snorts. “Try to lie a little better.”

You pinch him, and he shoots you a fake look of hurt. “Cunt.”

“Brat.” His voice is lighter, and as the room falls back into silence, neither of you make an attempt to let go over each other. He just holds you and when you lean your head onto his chest, you’re soothed by its steady rise and fall, the rhythmic thumping of his heart.

I would fucking want to know. His words echo in your ears. I would go fucking insane.

Guilt is eating you, because ringing over Ben’s shouts are Butcher’s cold words from last night. Nine days.

I would go fucking insane.

Nine days.

This is the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do. But your sister’s face is etched against your eyes when you close them, and think the sound of Ben’s heart might start to haunt your dreams. 

Nine days. Butcher’s voice doesn’t stop there this time. He doesn’t know what he was really forgiving you for, does he?

I would go fucking insane.

The right thing. The only thing.

You hold Ben a little tighter, and if he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just holds you tighter back. As you listen to his breathing, feeling the gentle, satisfied hum in your heart, you pray to someone, something, anything at all, that his heart will stay with you the whole way through. That Ben will forgive you when this is over. You don’t think it’s just the Feeling that won’t survive if he doesn’t.

End Note: Me, writing this chapter: god these two really need to fuck (I am completely in charge of when they do and don’t fuck)

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

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

@fghj18

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[sheeple]

Puck you!

Genre(s): Modern!au / Ice hockey!au Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Ice hockey player!Mattheo Riddle x Reader Summary: You decide to go to an ice hockey game on your own and end up with a broken nose, a round trip to the ER, and a boyfriend. Warning(s): Broken nose (obvs) / kinda rushed A/n: Is it kinda inspired by a Saturday evening of mine? Who knows? [Masterlist]

It was stupid. Who goes to their very first ice hockey game all alone? Well... apparently you. You've tried to ask your friends and even your parents. But your friends were all busy and your father said, "I'm not going to spend my Saturday evening anywhere else except at home, on the couch." Spoiler alert: he and your mother went to a dinner with their friends that evening. Hypocrite.

So here you are, all alone and being very cold. You're having a great time nonetheless — even preferring ice hockey above soccer (don't tell your manager) — but even though you went with a sweater and one of your thicker winter coats, you are so damn cold! And seeing people pass by with steaming coffee you decide to get a hot beverage for yourself once the second break starts.

As soon as the buzzer sounds, you're out of your seat and off to the coffee corner. Smiling at the lady, you order a hot cocoa with whipped cream on top.

"How are you liking the game so far, dearie?", she asks with a kind smile.

Swallowing a big gulp of whipped cream, you wipe your mouth. "It's great! It's my very first one and way more brutal than I thought but it's so awesome. The cold's something I have to get used to", you laugh.

"Well then", she reaches behind the counter and pulls out a bright green beanie, "take this, love. Think of it as a welcome-to-the-sport present." She winks and you thank her profusely.

Seeing as the fifteen minutes are almost over, you quickly hurry back to your seat. But once you approach you see someone else sitting in it. No big deal, enough space. Moving further down, you spot an empty seat between two families and decide it's good enough for you.

Thanking the people who get up from their seats to let you pass, you quickly take place and put on the beanie. To your surprise the combo of beanie and hot chocolate does wonders.

The players skate back on the rink and the game starts again. Your hometown team the Green Snakes stand with 7 to 2 points before the Godrick's Lions and the crowd is electric. You know there's some age-old rivalry between the two teams — two cities really — that you never really understood. But hey, people need something to be competitive about.

For the so many-ith time, the game stops and number 86 is sent to the penalty box. Again. He's been playing rough all game, really firing his pucks at the opposite goal and knocking other players to the side. You pull up his profile on your phone to see who's behind the mask.

Number 86. Riddle, Mattheo. Hmm... he's rather handsome with his dark curly hair and, if you dare say, adorable smile. According to the Green Snakes' website, he's known for playing rough and getting up just as hard as he's knocking people down.

While you're distracted by your phone, you don't see how said player misfires a puck at the goal. It bounces off the sides before launching over the rink walls and into the stands. Straight at you.

With full speed, the black mini-missile lands right in your face. It bounces off your nose to be more precise. You feel it crack under the speed and pass out almost exactly directly.

Meanwhile, on the ice, Mattheo winces as the puck he shot hits the very cute girl straight in her face. He's been eyeing you the whole game that's also why he's getting so much time in the penalty box — to look at you but he won't admit that.

He wants to immediately rush off the ice and run over to the stands where paramedics are loading you on a stretcher. But the hand of his captain stops him and he shakes his head. "We can visit her after the game. It's only ten minutes left and then you can make sure she's fine."

Mattheo knows his captain is right but he can't focus on the game anymore. His coach switches him out for Malfoy and he sends the remainder of the time on the bench. As soon as the buzzer sounds the game is over, and he's off to the dressing room to have a quick shower before sprinting towards the medical bay.

When you came by, you were lying in a slightly warmer room than you remember. Wait... what do you remember? Hot chocolate, the beanie, 86, the puck. THE PUCK!

You shoot up and immediately regret it. The room spins around you and your head throbs. Your nose hurts like a bitch and you have an unrelenting runny nose. A nurse rushes over to you with gauze in her hands and presses it to your nose.

"Oh dear. Try to breathe slowly and through your mouth. I'm afraid your nose is broken. I've already called the doctor to set it straight for you".

"It's broken?", you say softly, not believing what you're hearing. Reaching up with a hand, you touch the tender flesh and hiss as pain flashes through your body. And now your head throbs, amazing...

As the nurse cleans up the bloody rags he turns towards you with a soft smile. "I'll tell your boyfriend that you're awake so he can come in."

"Boyfriend?", you echo perplexed.

That makes the nurse frown deeply and scribble something on the chard she's holding before exiting the room.

Since when do you have a boyfriend? You've surely hit your head pretty hard. How else could you forget a whole-ass boyfriend?

The door opens and a head with dark curls peeks around, scanning the room until his eyes fall upon you. As he closes the door behind him you recognise the guy. The one and only number 86 standing before you with a guilty look on his face. That puck for sure did a number on you.

"How are you feeling?"

"Considering I've gotten a puck against my noggin? It hurts and my nose is broken. And apparently, I've got a boyfriend in the time I was KO."

He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the edge of the hospital bed pretty harshly. "Yeah... Sorry about that. They wouldn't let me stay if I wasn't family or involved with you." You can see him cringe with the way he phrased that. "I'm really sorry about the whole puck incident. Coach always says I play too roughly and this just proves it..."

Before you can answer, there's a knock on the door and in walks a doctor followed by the same nurse. "Good evening Miss, how are you feeling?", asks the doctor as she shines a light into your eyes.

You throw number 86 a glance. "Despite that my nose is crooked and my head hurts, pretty okay."

The doctor hums. "So no dizziness, vagueness, or forgetfulness?"

You shake your head, slightly regretting the motion.

"Good. Good. I'll grab a colleague from ENT to put your nose back how it belongs and then you are free to go home. Sounds good?"

You nod and soon you're left alone with number 86 again. Breaking the silence, you hold out your hand and introduce your name. Even though he broke your nose, you still have manners.

He's quick to take your hand to shake it. "Matt. Is there any way to make it up to you?"

"You could let me break your nose in return?", you joke, but quickly backpaddle as Matt legitly seems to consider it. "No, you're crazy! It was a joke!"

Matt chuckles awkwardly and scratches the back of his head. "Can I take you out to drink once your nose is fine again?"

A small smile grows on your face and you nod. "Yeah... I would like that."

Around an hour later you let yourself fall on your bed; your nose bandaged and yourself still a little woozy because of the anaesthesia they gave you. You hold your phone dangerously above you as you stare at the text that has come in.

Hey! Looking forward towards our date next week! I promise you we'll stay off the ice (for now) This is Matt btw :) Goodnight