#but it seems the fears have been in that world for way longer so i'm assuming there were already malevolent entities in that world before

[gouinisme]

what i'm most curious for now about is what's listening in. is it freddie? is it jonah or jon (or just some of them) still clinging on to their role of watcher? and how the fuck did it listen to them all the way to the pub??? this might already be obvious by people who kept up with the ARG but i'm so excited to know more

[heritageposts]

What does life in North Korea look like outside of Pyongyang? 🇰🇵

Hey, I'm back again with a very scary "tankie" post that asks you to think of North Koreans as people, and to consider their country not as a cartoonish dystopia, but as a nation that, like any other place on earth, has culture, traditions, and history.

Below is a collection of pictures from various cities and places in North Korea, along with a brief dive into some of the historical events that informs life in the so-called "hermit kingdom."

Warning: very long post

Kaesong, the historic city

Beginning this post with Kaesong, one of the oldest cities in Korea. It's also one of the few major cities in the DPRK (i.e. "North Korea") that was not completely destroyed during the Korean war.

Every single city you'll see from this point on were victims of intense aerial bombardments from the U.S. and its allies, and had to be either partially or completely rebuilt after the war.

From 1951 to 1953, during what has now become known as the "forgotten war" in the West, the U.S. dropped 635,000 tons of bombs over Korea — most of it in the North, and on civilian population centers. An additional 32,000 tons of napalm was also deployed, engulfing whole cities in fire and inflicting people with horrific burns:

For such a simple thing to make, napalm had horrific human consequences. A bit of liquid fire, a sort of jellied gasoline, napalm clung to human skin on contact and melted off the flesh. Witnesses to napalm's impact described eyelids so burned they could not be shut and flesh that looked like "swollen, raw meat." - PBS

Ever wondered why North Koreans seem to hate the U.S so much? Well...

Keep in mind that only a few years prior to this, the U.S. had, as the first and only country in the world, used the atomic bomb as a weapon of war. Consider, too, the proximity between Japan and Korea — both geographically and as an "Other" in the Western imagination.

As the war dragged on, and it became clear the U.S. and its allies would not "win" in any conventional sense, the fear that the U.S. would resort to nuclear weapons again loomed large, adding another frightening dimension to the war that can probably go a long way in explaining the DPRK's later obsession with acquiring their own nuclear bomb.

But even without the use of nuclear weapons, the indiscriminate attack on civilians, particularly from U.S. saturation bombings, was still horrific:

"The number of Korean dead, injured or missing by war’s end approached three million, ten percent of the overall population. The majority of those killed were in the North, which had half of the population of the South; although the DPRK does not have official figures, possibly twelve to fifteen percent of the population was killed in the war, a figure close to or surpassing the proportion of Soviet citizens killed in World War II" - Charles K. Armstrong

On top of the loss of life, there's also the material damage. By the end of the war, the U.S. Air Force had, by its own estimations, destroyed somewhere around 85% of all buildings in the DPRK, leaving most cities in complete ruin. There are even stories of U.S. bombers dropping their loads into the ocean because they couldn't find any visible targets to bomb.

What you'll see below of Kaesong, then, provides both a rare glimpse of what life in North Korea looked like before the war, and a reminder of what was destroyed.

Kaesong's main street, pictured below.

Due the stifling sanctions imposed on the DPRK—which has, in various forms and intensities, been in effect since the 1950s—car ownership is still low throughout the country, with most people getting around either by walking or biking, or by bus or train for longer distances.

Kaesong, which is regarded as an educational center, is also notable for its many Koryŏ-era monuments. A group of twelve such sites were granted UNESCO world heritage status in 2013.

Included is the Hyonjongnung Royal Tomb, a 14th-century mausoleum located just outside the city of Kaesong.

One of the statues guarding the tomb.

Before moving on the other cities, I also wanted to showcase one more of the DPRK's historical sites: Pohyonsa, a thousand-year-old Buddhist temple complex located in the Myohyang Mountains.

Like many of DPRK's historic sites, the temple complex suffered extensive damage during the Korean war, with the U.S. led bombings destroying over half of its 24 pre-war buildings.

The complex has since been restored and is in use today both as a residence for Buddhist monks, and as a historic site open to visitors.

Hamhung, the second largest city in the DPRK.

A coastal city located in the South Hamgyŏng Province. It has long served as a major industrial hub in the DPRK, and has one of the largest and busiest ports in the country.

Hamhung, like most of the coastal cities in the DPRK, was hit particularly hard during the war. Through relentless aerial bombardments, the US and its allies destroyed somewhere around 80-90% percent of all buildings, roads, and other infrastructure in the city.

Now, more than seventy years later, unexploded bombs, mortars and pieces of live ammunition are still being unearthed by the thousands in the area. As recently as 2016, one of North Korea's bomb squads—there's one in every province, faced with the same cleanup task—retrieved 370 unexploded mortar rounds... from an elementary school playground.

Experts in the DPRK estimate it will probably take over a hundred years to clean up all the unexploded ordnance—and that's just in and around Hamhung.

Hamhung's fertilizer plant, the biggest in North Korea.

When the war broke out, Hamhung was home to the largest nitrogen fertilizer plant in Asia. Since its product could be used in the creation of explosives, the existence of the plant is considered to have made Hamhung a target for U.S. aggression (though it's worth repeating that the U.S. carried out saturation bombings of most population centers in the country, irrespective of any so-called 'military value').

The plant was immediately rebuilt after the war, and—beyond its practical use—serves now as a monument of resistance to U.S. imperialism, and as a functional and symbolic site of self-reliance.

Chongjin, the third largest city in the DPRK.

Another coastal city and industrial hub. It underwent a massive development prior to the Korean war, housing around 300,000 people by the time the war broke out.

By 1953, the U.S. had destroyed most of Chongjin's industry, bombed its harbors, and killed one third of the population.

Wonsan, a rebuilt seaside city.

The city of Wonsan is a vital link between the DPRK's east and west coasts, and acts today as both a popular holiday destination for North Koreans, and as a central location for the country's growing tourism industry.

Considered a strategically important location during the war, Wonsan is notable for having endured one of the longest naval blockades in modern history, lasting a total of 861 days.

By the end of the war, the U.S. estimated that they had destroyed around 80% of the city.

Masikryong Ski Resort, located close to Wonsan. It opened to the public in 2014 and is the first, I believe, that was built with foreign tourists in mind.

Sariwon, another rebuilt city

One of the worst hit cities during the Korean War, with an estimated destruction level of 95%.

I've written about its Wikipedia page here before, which used to mockingly describe its 'folk customs street'—a project built to preserve old Korean traditions and customs—as an "inaccurate romanticized recreation of an ancient Korean street."

No mention, of course, of the destruction caused by the US-led aerial bombings, or any historical context at all that could possibly even hint at why the preservation of old traditions might be particularly important for the city.

Life outside of the towns and cities

In the rural parts of the DPRK, life primarily revolves around agriculture. As the sanctions they're under make it difficult to acquire fuel, farming in the DPRK relies heavily on manual labour, which again, to avoid food shortages, requires that a large portion of the labour force resides in the countryside.

Unlike what many may think, the reliance on manual labour in farming is a relatively "new" development. Up until the crisis of the 1990s, the DPRK was a highly industrialized nation, with a modernized agricultural system and a high urbanization rate. But, as the access to cheap fuel from the USSR and China disappeared, and the sanctions placed upon them by Western nations heavily restricted their ability to import fuel from other sources, having a fuel-dependent agricultural industry became a recipe for disaster, and required an immediate and brutal restructuring.

For a more detailed breakdown of what lead to the crisis in the 90s, and how it reshaped the DPRKs approach to agriculture, check out this article by Zhun Xu.

Some typical newly built rural housing, surrounded by farmland.

Tumblr only allows 20 pictures per post, but if you want to see more pictures of life outside Pyongyang, check out this imgur album.

[chosok-amo]

SLIPPING THROUGH MY FINGERS: GOJO SATORU, GETO SUGURU

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic. gojo satoru is a pathetic man when it comes to you. “ . . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay.

warning : age-up! satosugu, depressed! fem x reader, drug mention, trauma mention, suicide, self-harm, death mention, drowning, blood, heavy angst.

w/c : 6,2k | [☆] MASTERLIST

𝜗𝜚 . . . . i had to stop so often writing this because i can't stop crying and think that i shouldn't continue because it hurts me so bad that i have to take a cold shower and think about my life. and honestly, i wasn't supposed to write the last part but yeah..

A MINUTES AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

it was too quiet. . .

gojo satoru never screams so loud in his entire life, so loud. . . the world shaking beneath his feet, ready to swallow him whole and rotten. so loud . . . he sure he can no longer hear. he ran, slipping on his way until he broke his knee on the puddle of the red, transparent liquid that spill from the bath-up.

the starling sigh, you were there. . .

“no, no, no, baby— no.”

the water, tinged with a haunting crimson, surged and overflowed, cascading into the bathroom with relentless force. it climbed steadily up gojo's legs, as if the liquid itself sought to ensnare him, to drag him down into its suffocating embrace, or just. . . mock him.

a dark mockery that seemed to whisper that it alone held the power to drown him, to swallow your trembling breaths and the last echoes of your voice. it wasn’t him, or geto suguru who was to be your executioner, but the merciless water, eager to claim your final, stutter breath.

“i-i —sorry, i’m sorry..” you stammered.

your voice stammered between choke, barely a murmur beneath the frothy waves, struggled to be heard amidst the tumult. your eyes, devoid of warmth, reflected a chilling detachment. the coldness in your gaze was almost tangible, a stark contrast to the chaotic, drowning world around you.

“suguru, help!” he sounds, pathetic.

gojo, even on the verge of your death is still so gentle, as if he's afraid you are going to die than you already are. dropping on his knees as he tries to pull your warm bodies out of the bath-up.

gojo shook his head, a soft whisper escaping from his trembling lips, “shhh, it's alright baby, it's alright, you're alright,” his mumble, each word a fragile promise against the storm of his own emotions— words and voice shaking, his bones and soul shivering. his strong arm wraps around your body, pulling you closer to his chest, feeling everything, even as his flesh trembling.

tears cascaded from the corner of your eyes, tracing silken paths down your skin, while his embrace, though trembling, sought to cradle and calm you, a sanctuary against the turbulence of your anguish.

“suguru, please help!” again, this time he shouted.

geto runs upon hearing the horror howling, and his purple irises about to peel from his face and his lungs lose air— ragged gasps, as if each inhale were stolen from him. the scene before him struck with a painful clarity: you nestled within gojo’s embrace, your body wracked with distress.

foaming at the mouth, you appeared trapped in a tormenting grip of anguish, while the open scars on your wrist bled stories of suffering and desperation. in that moment, the sight was both heart-wrenching and surreal, a vivid tableau of fear and pain, painted across the canvas of his deepest fears.

“i'm sorry— i-i'm so sorry,” you whisper between choking gasps as geto kneels beside you and your body shaking. tears cascade uncontrollably, each dropping a shimmering testament to a sudden, overwhelming regret. it is as though a profound realization has swept over you, too late to mend the wounds that have been inflicted.

the regret feels like a bitter aftertaste of the sorrow you can no longer escape. the eyes of those around you, trembling with the weight of their own anguish, are bloodshot and haunting, mirroring the crimson that flows from your wrist. in that agonizing moment, the world feels irrevocably broken, and the fleeting desire to be alive seems like a distant, unreachable dream.

they burst from the bathroom, gojo's arms wrapped tightly around you as he dashes through the chaos. your lifeless feet and hands dangle, a heavy, haunting reminder of the blood seeping steadily onto the floor. each drop forms a macabre trail, like the relentless shadow of death that clings to you, a grim companion refusing to let go.

the crimson stains splatter and pool in your wake, an anguished testament to the finality that now seems inevitable— each red stain on the ground is a haunting reminder, a stark declaration. as they run, the blood's mournful descent weaves a sorrowful narrative of moments slipping away, each drop a poignant echo of what might have been, a stark and unyielding declaration that time has run out, that it is too late.

and suddenly, everything feels like a slow motion.

6 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

the doctor spoke with a grave tone, his words laced with concern. “it appears,” he began, looking at gojo who's just sitting there with his eyes focusing on the floor, meanwhile geto standing beside him. “that she intentionally tried to overdose. we've had to act swiftly to pump the substances from her body, working to counteract the severe effects of her actions.”

geto's hand gently gripping on gojo's shoulder as they listen. his expression was one of solemn seriousness, reflecting the urgency and gravity of the situation. “we've done everything we can to stabilize her, but it's crucial that you two understand the seriousness of what she has done. this was a life-threatening situation, and we're only beginning to address the underlying issues that led to this crisis.”

the doctor continued, his voice carrying a mix of relief and concern. “fortunately, the cut on her wrist wasn't too deep,” he said, his eyes scanning the notes before them. “it seems that the severity of the injury was somewhat mitigated by her weakened state from the drugs. if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different.”

his tone softened, acknowledging the fragile balance between the danger of the overdose and the mitigating effects of your physical condition. “we've managed to address the immediate threats, but it's crucial to understand that this is a serious wake-up call. we need to work on her recovery and the emotional struggles that led to this moment.”

if she had been stronger, the outcome might have been different,’ the words echoed repeatedly, hauntingly through the air, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. once, twice, three times, they reverberated through their minds, each repetition a stark reminder of how close they came to losing you, how dangerously close the edge of despair was.

even the notion of ‘almost’ carried a weight too immense to bear, a heavy presence that pressed down on their hearts. the silence that followed was thick with unspoken guilt and anguish; none of them could find the words to bridge the chasm of their shared grief. they avoided each other's gaze, unable to escape the silent blame that hung heavy between them, a suffocating testament to their collective sense of failure.

gojo stared at his hands through the thin veil of his blindfold, his fingers trembling as they traced the dried blood staining his pale skin. the sight of it was a brutal reminder of you. with a strained effort, he clenched his hands tightly, hoping to meld the dried blood with his own, as if to erase the haunting evidence of what had transpired— his last hope trying to be with you.

each breath felt like a desperate gasp, a small gap forming between his lips as he struggled to draw in air. the sensation of suffocation gripped him, a relentless pressure squeezing his chest, making each inhale a battle. despite his efforts, the air seemed insufficient, leaving him feeling as though he were on the precipice of life, teetering on the brink of an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

geto felt an overwhelming tide of guilt and anguish, a heavy weight pressing down on his heart. the scene that unfolded before him replayed in his mind like a relentless, agonizing loop, hunting him down like he is some kind of a fucking prey. he was haunted by the sight of your suffering, the image of your blood-streaked hands and the anguished cries that pierced the air. each moment of his own reflection, seeing the remnants of your blood on his skin and his white shirt, deepened his torment.

the sense of responsibility gnawed at him, a constant reminder of how close he came to losing you. he felt suffocated by a profound sorrow and helplessness, as if the very air around him was too thick, leaving him gasping for breath— like the death itself pointing its ugly fucking finger to his face and laugh at him, at them.

what a fucking pathetic man’ the death must be said.

the weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders, and the silence between him and his companions only amplified his inner turmoil. the unspoken blame and the aching realization that he couldn't undo what had happened created a chasm of despair within him, making each moment feel like an eternity of unbearable remorse.

both of them are buried in profound sea of grief, guilt, shame because a thousand moments with you that they take for granted— shame, for thinking, assume that there would be a thousand more. is it too selfish to be here?’ they thought.

that curse must be laughing at them, the higher-ups, everyone— pointing their finger from all directions. look at them, ’ they thought, those two who called themselves the strongest can even save a single soul,’ again they must be laughing, let alone a soul who is to be called the love of their life.

but nobody knows, none, not even a single soul that, oh, how your presence evokes such selflessness in them— even amid their silent, tormented reflections. they are consumed by an incessant questioning of the selfishness of their own sorrow, wondering if it is wrong to cling to their grief while you teeter on the precipice of loss.

the haunting thought persists, a cruel reminder of time's fragile nature and the profound depth of their remorse. in their heartache, they are acutely aware of the contrast between their own suffering and the delicate balance of your existence, each moment of their anguish a poignant testament to the sorrow they feel for having taken so much for granted.

is it okay to feel sad? ’ they thought.

even the very sensation of sadness and grief feels like an indulgence they do not deserve. i can't even protect her, what rights do i fucking deserve to be sad?’ they thought. to them, these emotions seem an opulent luxury, an extravagant gift they are not entitled to. in their hearts, the depth of their sorrow feels almost excessive, a poignant reminder of how their suffering pales in comparison to the magnitude of the almost loss they face.

each wave of grief feels like a grand, unwelcome opulence, an unjust reward for the pain they have caused and the moments they have squandered. the luxury of their sadness seems a cruel irony, a stark contrast to the profound emptiness of the reality they must now confront.

people passing by in front of them, throwing them a glance or two. seeing their red eyes and tears-stain cheeks, blood in their hands, in shirts, in pants, in their soul, laid bare. everyone wants to give them both a pat on the back, telling them that they are good at handling grief; howling, crying, and blaming each other. that's the proper way to handle grief.

18 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

your hands are warm, a stark contrast to the pallor of your pink lips, which have lost their vibrant hue, your eyes open still so retain their gentle softness, a quiet testament to the grace you still hold.

as you lie upon the hospital bed, draped in the drab, floral-patterned gown that clings to you, it feels woefully inadequate. the gown, mundane and worn, seems too insipid and shabby to encompass your beauty, too faded and forlorn.

“i'm sorry. . .” you mumble.

you can’t bring yourself to look at them as they sit beside your bed, their eyes red and swollen from sleepless nights, their uniforms crumpled and disheveled, their hair falling in untamed disarray. their faces have lost their vibrant hue, a stark contrast to their usual vitality.

gojo satoru’s once-brilliant blue eyes, which used to shimmer with an unyielding light, now seem dull and lifeless, even when the golden sunlight spills over them. the sunlight, which once might have enhanced the beauty of his gaze with its warm orange tones, now only serves to highlight the emptiness that has replaced his once-sparkling eyes— it's dull, it's dull, it is fucking dull.

geto suguru's strikingly handsome face is graced with a smile, tender and achingly gentle, as though he is pouring all his effort into offering you a sliver of solace. his lips tremble with a subtle quiver, betraying the deep sadness that lingers beneath his calm exterior. his once-vibrant purple irises have dimmed, their former brilliance faded to a shadow of their former selves.

you fear that they might darken further, losing their hue altogether, slipping into a void of despair where even color seems to vanish. the sight of his sorrowful eyes, so devoid of their usual spark, reflects a profound sadness that pierces the heart, a silent testament to the emotional toll of the moment.

oh, what i have done. . .’ you thought.

“don't, please don't,” gojo pleads, his voice trembling as he clasps your unharmed hand with a desperate grip. his blindfold has been removed, revealing eyes that are filled with raw, unfiltered emotion as he gazes at you. beside him, geto's hand rests gently at the back of your head, his touch tender and soothing. he caresses your hair with a featherlight motion, his thumb brushing softly over your scalp.

“we are so sorry for taking you for granted,” he murmurs, the words heavy with regret and sorrow. “we are sorry for offering you only a lukewarm love, when you deserved a love that was fierce and all-consuming, a love that burned brightly and fiercely. i'm sorry,” his voice wavers, each word an echo of their deep remorse, as they both grapple with the weight of their unspoken apologies and the profound realization of what they failed to give you.

they do not seek to question why your soul bleeds, nor do they dare to unravel the dark tapestry of your pain. the blood, flowing with a steady, silent, and disturbingly deliberate pace, engulfs you in its relentless embrace. it seeps into every corner of your being, a somber tide that threatens to consume you entirely.

they find themselves unable to confront this harrowing reality, their hearts too burdened to bear the weight of such a painful inquiry. the sight of your suffering leaves them paralyzed, unable to utter the questions that linger in their minds, as they grapple with the profound helplessness of watching you slowly succumb to the encroaching shadows.

“i love you, baby,” gojo whispers, “i'm sorry that you're in so much pain so to think death is the only salvation,” he stopped for a second, cocooning your hand with his large one before resting his cheek against. “i'm sorry i didn't notice your rage for the world and too busy loving you. does my love scare you, love? that's why you decided to leave, hm?” his voice shaking, lips quivering.

“if you are angry, stab me a little so you can feel better, make it hurt, i don't care. a little suffering would be worth it if it's by your hands, by your pretty little hands,” he murmured against your skin, his breath a warm whisper that sent shivers across your body. each word was a soft plea, wrapped in a tone that trembled with both desperation and tenderness.

his trembling lips pressed gently against your hand, each kissing a fleeting starburst of warmth against your cool skin. him— no they, stood ready to endure your pain, inviting you to inflict upon them the hurt you felt.

they stand poised to let you sink your teeth into them, to delve into their very flesh. to let you open them up, laid bare and vulnerable, just to offer you a chance to heal. just so they can love you a little too much, starving even— like a flesh begging to be knitting together over a wound. ruin me, ruin us, and we will let you.

“i love you, i love you, i love you,” he gave you stars in each between. they fucking love you like a rotten dog. “believe me when i said this. . . there are so many kisses to have, soul and bone for you to crash and swear that how stars are born, so please. . ., believe me, you have to believe me,” he cries, holding your hands, begging for you to love him— love him enough to stay, “we love you.”

he finally said we’ geto thought.

at first glance, people might assume that geto suguru’s love for you surpasses that of gojo satoru, that his love is somehow greater. yet, the truth remains that it has always been gojo satoru who harbors the most profound and boundless love for you from the very beginning. his love is vast, immense, and utterly astonishing, stretching beyond the horizons of understanding.

gojo’s devotion is a vast expanse, a love so deep and wide that it seems to defy the very limits of emotion. even geto suguru, who himself is capable of immense love, finds himself awestruck and somewhat intimidated by the sheer magnitude of gojo’s feelings. no one can truly grasp the depth of gojo’s love—not even gojo himself—such is the overwhelming, almost incomprehensible nature of his heart’s boundless devotion to you.

and sometimes it scares the shit out of geto.

but maybe, just maybe, they have a little too much love for you more than for each other, even more than for themselves— as if you make a space in their ribs, and call it home country.

30 HOUR AFTER YOU TRY TO KILL YOURSELF

geto stirred from a restless sleep, his head resting gently against your hospital bed, nestled close to your side. as he slowly opened his eyes, he was met with the soft, gentle sight of you gazing at him, a faint, tender smile gracing your lips. the serene moment, bathed in the quiet of the hospital room, brought a flicker of warmth to his weary heart, a small but profound comfort amid the lingering shadows of their shared sorrow.

“hey sunshine,” geto whispered in a hoarse croak, reaching a hand to brush your hair away from your face, “how long have you been awake?”

“long enough to notice the dark circles under your eyes and the tear stains on your cheeks,” you replied softly, your fingers brushing gently against his cheek, your thumb tenderly caressing the worn skin. geto hummed, his hand capturing yours and guiding your palm to his lips, where he planted a gentle kiss.

the touch of your skin was like a salve, soothing the ache in his weary soul. he chuckled weakly. his eyes were tired and his skin pale, but your touch made him feel alive. “you’re too observant for your own good,” he teased, his lips curving into a weary smile.

geto shifted in his chair, wincing slightly as his body protested the movement. he settled into a more comfortable position, still holding your hand in his, his thumb tracing soothing circles on the back of your knuckles.

he studied your face, taking in every detail, from the delicate flutter of your eyelashes to the subtle flush in your cheeks. the sight of you, even in this vulnerable state, filled his heart with a mixture of tenderness and protectiveness.

“how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, his gaze fixed on your face. he knew it was a question he had asked before, but he couldn’t help himself. he needed to hear you speak, hear your voice, just to reassure himself that you were still with him.

“like shit,” you answer.

your hand is still gently cupping his cheek, thumb running low across his skin in a loving manner. at your blunt response, geto's lip curled into a soft smile. even in your weakened state, you still had a defiant spark.

he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as he savored the sensation. “i thought we agreed no profanity,” he teased, his voice laced with affectionate humor, opening his eyes to meet your gaze. he turned his head slightly, his lips brushing against the palm of your hand in a tender kiss.

“you’ve always been a bad influence on me,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and ticklish. he chuckled softly, his eyes softening as he studied your face.

he took a moment to compose his words, his expression growing serious. “there was a moment,” he began, his voice a hoarse whisper, “a moment when i thought i lost you.”

your smile faltered, and your eyes softened with concern as you listened to the gravity in his voice. you reached up to gently touch his cheek again, your thumb brushing away the remnants of his sadness.

“i’m here now,” you whispered, your voice steady but filled with warmth. “you haven’t lost me.” you looked deeply into his eyes, trying to convey with your gaze the depth of your presence and the promise of your unwavering support. “and i’m not going anywhere,” you added softly, hoping to soothe the lingering fear in his heart.

his hand covers yours, holding it against his cheek as he closes his eyes, relishing in your soothing touch. for a moment, he just allows himself to bask in your presence, letting the warmth and comfort wash over him.

“i was afraid i wouldn’t get to hear you say that,” he murmured, his voice growing thicker with emotion. he opened his eyes, the raw vulnerability in his gaze bared to you, his heart laid bare.

your heart ached at the sight of his vulnerability. you gently squeezed his hand, your voice trembling with sincerity as you spoke. “i’m so sorry,” you said softly, your eyes filled with compassion.

geto’s thumb traced gentle, small circles on the back of your hand. “you have nothing to apologize for,” he assured you, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “it was my responsibility to keep you safe, and i failed.”

the guilt and regret in his voice were palpable, the weight of his self-imposed responsibility clear. he lowered his gaze, wrestling with emotions that were etched deeply into every line of his weary face.

he lifted your hand from his cheek, bringing it to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss against your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours. “i just need you to know how much you mean to me,” he added, his voice cracking slightly. his grip on your hand tightened, as if he was holding onto you for dear life.

geto’s lips continued to brush against your knuckles as he spoke, soft and gentle. his eyes held yours captive, the depth of his affection bared for you to see.

“you are my everything,” he confessed, his voice hoarse with the weight of his honesty. “the thought of losing you, of living in a world where you don’t exist…” he trailed off, a pained expression crossing his features. he was torn between the love that engulfed his heart and the fear that threatened to consume him.

geto drew in a shaky breath, composing himself as best he could. he lifted his gaze from your hand, meeting your eyes once again. his expression held a mixture of love and devotion, but also a hint of desperation.

“i need you to know that no matter what, i will do everything in my power to protect you,” he vowed, his voice steady despite the turbulent emotions raging within him. “not just because it’s my duty, but because i love you more than i thought it was possible to love someone.”

you met his gaze with a warm, reassuring smile, the depth of your gratitude shining through. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice imbued with genuine appreciation. your smile was a reflection of the profound comfort and reassurance you felt, a silent promise to stand together through whatever lay ahead.

geto’s eyes softened at your smile, a flicker of relief passing over his weary face. he squeezed your hand gently, his touch both appreciative and protective.

he studied your face for a moment, his gaze lingering on each contour, each freckle and line, as if to further commit them to memory. “don’t scare me like that again,” he murmured, mostly in jest, but with an underlying current of seriousness.

gojo entered the room, his expression a mix of relief and lingering concern as he carried a bag of your belongings. upon seeing the tender moment between you and geto, his eyes softened, though they carried a hint of the exhaustion and worry that had shadowed him. he set the bag down and approached, took a sit at the edge on the other side of your bed, his voice catching slightly as he spoke.

“don’t scare me like that again too,” he said, his tone gentle but tinged with the weight of his emotions. his gaze met yours with a blend of earnestness and relief. “i know suguru’s been holding on tight, but i’ve been right here, too. seeing you like this... it’s been hard on all of us. please, don't leave us.” his words were a heartfelt plea, an echo of the concern and love he carried for you, a testament to the depth of his feelings and the strength of his devotion.

geto’s grip on your hand tightened momentarily at the sound of gojo’s voice, his eyes darting towards his best friend. he could hear the exhaustion and worry that laced gojo’s words and knew all-too-well the weight of the responsibility they shared.

he turned his gaze back to you, his expression a mix of worry and relief. his thumb resumed its gentle, soothing circles on the back of your hand. “yeah,” he said in agreement, his voice gruff with emotion. “please, don’t scare us like that again.”

gojo’s presence brought with it a sense of familiarity, a comfort that was both grounding and reassuring. he reached out and placed a gentle hand on your arm, his touch a silent expression of his affection and concern.

he studied your face, his eyes tracing every contour, every line, as if to commit the sight to memory. “how are you feeling?” he asked, his voice softer now, though still tinged with worry. “i wanna say like shit but suguru said no profanity,” you puff a little chuckle.

geto gives a little scoff at your comment, his expression laced with a mixture of annoyance and affection. he rolls his eyes playfully and mutters, “you’re such a bad influence.”

gojo’s lips curled into a small smirk before he turned his gaze back to you, the lines around his eyes creasing with a mix of amusement and relief. “can’t have you talking like that,” he teased, his words light but carrying a hint of genuine concern.

gojo studying your face carefully before speaking ever so softly, “well, apart from the obviously crappy mood geto’s been in, you look good. your color is better.” he noticed a faint crimson crushed on your cheeks, a little pink on your lips.

he reached his hand out to smooth a strand of hair away from your forehead, his touch light and tender. his gaze wandered from your face to where geto still held your hand, his eyes reflecting a subtle hint of appreciation.

geto watched gojo's gentle touch, his grip on your hand unconsciously tightening a little bit in response. his expression was a mixture of protectiveness and vulnerability, his eyes betraying the fear and worry that still tugged at his heart.

he took the moment to observe the soft interplay of emotions between you and gojo, the easy familiarity and the deep bond that existed between you all. he could sense the weight of gojo's concern as he studied your face, the care and attention in his touch.

gojo's voice was soft as he continued, his gaze still fixed on your face. “so, how are you feeling, for real?” he asked, his tone a gentle echo of geto's earlier question. “any pain? any discomfort?”

geto looked at you, his eyes silently pleading for you to be honest. he was hanging off your every word, each response a small insight into your well-being.

you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their concern pressing down on you. meeting gojo’s gentle gaze and then turning to geto’s silent plea, you spoke with a mixture of remorse and honesty. “i’m sorry,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “i’m sorry for how i handled things. i know i should have talked to you both, but i didn’t—i tried to take matters into my own hands without thinking it through first.”

your eyes reflected a deep sense of shame and regret as you continued. “i actually feel like absolute shit right now, and i’m ashamed of myself for thinking i could find a quick solution without considering the impact it would have on you both.” you looked at them, hoping your words conveyed the depth of your remorse and the sincerity of your apology, wanting them to understand that your actions were not a reflection of your feelings for them, but rather a moment of misguided desperation.

gojo's expression softened with understanding, his eyes filled with compassion. he knew the weight of your words, the regret and shame that clung to them. he reached his hand back to your arm, his touch gentle and reassuring.

geto's gaze was a mix of surprise and relief as he processed your apology. his hand around yours tightened slightly, his thumb tracing reassuring circles on your skin. “it's okay,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “we all have moments of weakness. what matters is that you're here, safe and alive.”

you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you at their responses, their understanding and compassion a balm to your wounded spirit. “thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “thank you for not being angry with me and for not questioning me right away. i know i made a terrible mistake, and i’m grateful you’re here, supporting me instead of condemning me.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes filled with a complex mixture of emotions— relief, love, and a hint of lingering fear. he shook his head gently, a reassuring smile on his lips.

gojo chuckled softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of compassion and playfulness. “we can save the anger and lecturing for when you’re not looking so terrible,” he joked, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “and trust me, baby, i had a lot of choice colorful words for you when the right time comes,” he lean in to kiss your forehead, “but right now, we just trying to be here for you.”

geto nodded in agreement, his grip on your hand still tight. he couldn’t help but roll his eyes a bit at gojo's playfulness, but there was a hint of fondness beneath the feigned annoyance.

he leaned in, reaching out with his other hand to gently brush a strand of hair off your forehead. “you are a stubborn, reckless, and stubborn pain in the ass,” he scolded lightly, his tone a soft but affectionate mix.

gojo chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners with humor. he settled himself closer, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. “he's right, you know,” he chimed in, his smile wide. “you're very good at pushing our buttons and getting under our skin.”

geto's lips curled into a small smile, his expression a mixture of feigned anger and affection. “and you're even better at making us worry,” he added, his tone light but underlined with the gravity of their concern. “but we care about you more than anything,” he added, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “so you better not do something like that again, you hear me?” his voice held a hint of authority, but mostly it was filled with love and concern.

geto's smile grew a bit wider, his eyes crinkling endearingly at the corners. “yeah,” he said, his voice firm. “you better listen. we don’t need anymore of these near-death experiences from you.”

gojo chimed in enthusiastically, leaning in a bit closer. “yeah, cause let me tell you, i can’t handle any more gray hairs than i already have.”

geto's grip on your hand tightened again, his expression a mix of sternness and vulnerability. he looked at you intently, his gaze locking with yours. “he's right,” he echoed, his voice firm but filled with warmth and care. “no more reckless decisions. no more putting yourself in danger. you hear us, my love?”

gojo nodded in agreement, his expression serious but eyes softened with concern. he added, “yeah, we can't keep having our hearts in our throats like this. it's not good for our health, you know.” geto's hand caressed your arm gently, a silent plea for your understanding. “we just want you safe and sound. that’s all we ask.”

a hint of vulnerability flashed across geto's face, his expression betraying the weight of his words. he locked eyes with you, his gaze filled with a mixture of pleading and sincerity.

“we just want to know that you're safe,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “that you're not recklessly endangering yourself anymore.”

gojo leaned in closer, his hand resting on your arm lightly. “we can't bear the thought of something happening to you again,” he chimed in, his tone carrying an undercurrent of worry.

they continued to exchange tender words and earnest pleas, their voices overlapping in a chorus of concern and affection. each spoke fervently about their love and the lengths they would go to ensure your safety and happiness. their words, though filled with their own fears and frustrations, were underscored by a deep, unwavering care for you.

as you watched them, a soft smile touched your lips. their earnest devotion, their refusal to let you face this alone, filled you with a profound sense of comfort and gratitude. you could see their love in every gesture and hear it in every word, and it warmed your heart. despite the gravity of the situation, their caring presence made you feel cherished and supported, giving you strength even in the midst of your own turmoil.

after a few moments of their heartfelt declarations, the room fell into a short silence, the weight of their words lingering in the air.

gojo ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of nervous energy. “and just so you know, suguru here basically took a week off work to sit by your bedside like a damn watchdog, he even almost made the rainbow dragon eat gakuganji because that fucker won't let him leave.” geto, caught off guard by the sudden revelation, flushed faintly and shot a glare at gojo.

geto, taken aback, shot a sharp look at gojo before retort, “you clearly about to hollow purple the higher-ups and the entire school because they won't let you stay here with her.” gojo's expression darkened for a moment, “you know i would do it in a heartbeat, if i could.” geto's grip on your hand tightened, his gaze still fixed on gojo. “i know you would. and i'd be right there with you.”

gojo and geto turned their attention back to you when they heard your soft chuckling, their expressions a mix of relief and amusement at hearing you laugh.

gojo chuckled as well, “you find that funny, huh?” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. geto rolled his eyes a bit, but his own smile betrayed his true feelings. he couldn't stay serious when you laughed. “just the thought of us going rogue and taking down the entire school system for you is amusing, i guess,” he said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

you hummed in satisfaction, “they are shit anyway.” a gentle smile lingering on your pale lips.

gojo chuckled warmly, his eyes sparkling at your comment. “ah, and there’s that signature wit of yours coming back.”

geto, still feigning annoyance but struggling to hide a grin, shook his head slightly. “still as blunt and unfiltered as ever,” he said, his eyes soft.

you glances at both of them, the comforting silence lingering between you, and with a tender smile, you mouthed softly, “i love you.” your cheeks flushed a delicate crimson beneath your pale complexion as you kissed their cheek.

gojo and geto exchanged a brief glance at your sweet words and soft kisses, their hearts swelling with warmth and love. gojo's hand reached out to stroke your hair, his touch gentle and loving. “we love you too,” he said softly.

geto's smile widened as he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “always,” he breathed, his voice filled with tenderness.

the thought of you coming back to them is warm.

TAGLIST :

@junni-berry @fortunatelyfurrygiver @soraya-daydreams @diorzs @dancing--devils @iloveboysinred @bounie1 @nina3871 @ohnotheusernameisbroken

[vantaeries]

HOW'S THEIR FIRST KISS WITH YOU

PAC : FUTURE SPOUSE SERIES

Your lips come and take me to the place to go - NCT 127

Pile : 1 ~ 2 ~ 3

How to pick : Close your eyes, take a deep breath and clear your mind. Trust your intuition and choose a pile that you are most drawn to.

Disclaimer : This is a general reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. Remember, the energies can change from time to time. So pick wisely.

Masterlist

PILE 1

Your future spouse is a reserved and low-confidence person who might struggle or fear to confess their feelings. When they see you talking and joking with another person, they feel extremely jealous. They fear they may have missed their chance with you and are tormented by the thought that you might like someone else. Unable to contain their emotions any longer, they make a bold and uncharacteristic decision. As they approach, their legs feel like jelly and their heart pounds like crazy. Acting on impulse, they pull you into a passionate kiss. The passion from truth. In that moment, time seems to stand still. The world fades away, leaving only the sensation of your lips against theirs. The kiss is filled with all the longing and fear they have kept hidden for so long. The kiss is so raw, intense and might turn into a lustful kiss. They definitely dominate the kisses so you can feel how rough and desperate they are. It's as if they are trying to say, “I was scared. Scared that you might like someone else.” How do you react to their kiss? You feel shocked but you respond to their kiss. Do you know how they feel? Oh, they feel a surge of joy and relief. They get carried away by their animalistic desire lol. I think there will be a celebration after that. I'm feel they might kiss you in front of that person or audience lol. People who had been observing the scene erupt into cheers and applause, celebrating the spontaneous and heartfelt moment. So, they actually feel relieved and can rest well after confirming their feelings.

Keyword : Jealous, Insecure, Fire sign, Capricorn sun, Libra, Scorpio, Aries Venus, Children, Party or Gathering, Music, 444

PILE 2

After a heart-wrenching breakup, they were in the midst of healing their broken heart when they met you. Something stirred within them at that first encounter, an awakening sparked by your presence. It wasn't just attraction; it was a deep, magnetic pull that they couldn’t ignore. The first kiss came about unexpectedly, rooted in a misunderstanding that led to a heated argument. Their eyes couldn’t help but fixate on your lips, watching them move with each word. The sight was tantalizing and seductive, causing them to lose focus in the middle of the argument. Without warning, the argument escalated into something entirely different. They closed the distance between you, and before you could react, they pulled you into a kiss, as if their actions were saying, "Shut your mouth, or I'm gonna kiss you." You were taken aback by the suddenness of it, but your body began to respond to their kiss instinctively. It was your first kiss, and though it was slow, it was deeply satisfying. Your hands found their way to their neck or waist, and they hugged you tightly, savoring the connection. They loved touching your body and were thrilled by the way you responded to their kiss. When the kiss finally broke, both of you were left nearly breathless, cheeks flushed red from the intensity of the moment. So cute sksksks

Keyword : Conflict, 'You are that', Summer, Manifest, Scorpio Mars, Saturnian ( Capricorn & Aquarius), Comfort, Surprise, 555

PILE 3

This experience is different from the previous two because there is no rush or urgency. It's as if your future spouse is saying, "When you're ready, we will do this together." They are willing to give you the time you need, despite the strong attraction and sexual tension between you. Once you're ready, they will kiss you with voluptuous excitement. It's a fun kiss, filled with giggles and smooching. For some of you, the kiss might lead to lovemaking because "just kissing" wouldn't be enough. It's all about passion. The kiss is so addictive and raw, taking both of your breaths away. It's hot and good, awakening the lustful desire between you two. As if they are saying, "Yes, finally, I've been waiting long enough to do this. Everything will be made right." They don't want to confuse or pressure you, so they will take it one step at a time. They want you to feel comfortable and peaceful as you explore this connection together.

Keyword : couple in ecstasy, animal within us, passion, 222, Virgo, Sagittarius, Jupiter, Venus, Moon

[yooniivrse]

early mornings | myg

summary. when time seems to bend every morning and love speaks through tender touches and quiet reassurances.

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pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: established relationship au, tooth-rotting fluff

word count: 1k

content: yoongi and oc wake up in each others arms / they love each other a bit too much and they make it pretty clear / they kiss a lot :3

warnings: fear of abandonment (kind of? if you squint??), allusions to sex

notes: idk why i'm procrastinating the third part of 'stumble into you' so bad, but this is a result of me still wanting to write something. also, ignore the images at the top if they don’t go well together, i’m too lazy to actually put in effort today 😭 likes, reblogs, comments, and asks are all greatly appreciated!! i love you guys and i hope you enjoy <33333

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main masterlist

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Amber rays spill across the room, seeping between the gaps in the curtains and kissing your bare skin with its golden warmth.

Yoongi stirs under the sheets, attempting to untangle his limbs from you, who lay beside him. But your arms only tighten around him, and he quickly gives in to the comforts of your touch.

With your head on his chest and his arm secure under your head, he can't help the lazy smile that draws across his lips.

He's always loved early mornings with you; when neither of you have to think about anything else but each other; when time feels like it ceases to exist; when nothing else mattered, because why would it when you had each other?

You were his home; his universe; his first thought in the morning and the most frequent visitor of his dreams. Everything reminded him of you, and it was maddening. But he welcomed the longing with open arms, because he was a fool.

Because he knew that it was worth being foolish if it meant having you.

Yoongi places a kiss on your forehead, his lips pressing against a few strands of hair that lay messily across your face. The scent of your skin, faintly sweet like the lavender soap you use, lingers in the air as Yoongi buries his nose in your hair, taking in the quiet of the morning, broken only by the soft hum of your breathing. He moves his hand to rest over yours, running the pad of his thumb over your knuckles.

He doesn't expect the gentle action to wake you, but your eyes flutter open. You hum, the sound quiet and laced with exhaustion as you stretch out your body.

Your eyes light up when you meet his gaze and the butterflies in his stomach erupt, fluttering around wildly.

"Morning," you whisper. You peck his lips with a soft kiss.

"Morning," Yoongi echoes. A faint blush paints his features, and a giggle tumbles from your mouth. Yoongi catches the sound with another kiss; then a third one that lingers for a few seconds longer than the others.

It is almost embarrassing to admit the effect you had on him. You've been together for years, and known each other for even more. He knows every dip and curve of your body and you have seen him through all of his highs and lows. Yet, a kiss from you still has him blushing.

"Missed me?" you tease, and he hums in agreement.

"A lot." He kisses corner of your lips and the curve of your jaw. "You're so pretty."

You laugh; a soft sound that rings through the air. It has always been Yoongi's favourite melody-the one sound that made his heart swell and his eyes crinkle into crescent moons to accommodate his growing smile.

He tucks a few strands of your hair behind your ear, letting his hand stay to cup your cheek so that he can bring his lips to yours again. He’s addicted to the way your lips fit perfectly with his, and no matter how often he kisses you, it’s never enough

And you can't stop smiling.

The feeling that courses under your skin is almost overwhelming. It still feels surreal—that kind of love, where just being with him made the world right

The possibility of losing Yoongi terrifies you, but it's a fear that follows you everyday. Sometimes, you expect to wake up one day only to realise that this is all a cruel dream, or to find the house suddenly void of his belongings and his presence.

Sometimes, the fear creeps in before you can stop it, a quiet panic that gripped you in the space between sleep and waking. You’d reach out, half-afraid to find the bed cold and empty. But then, your hand would meet the warmth of his skin, and the fear dissolved into nothing. Because every morning, he's here. Solid, warm, and real, wrapped up in the sheets beside you. His sleepy eyes, the soft curve of his lips, the way he pulls you closer as if you’re his anchor—it’s all so undeniably Yoongi, and it makes your heart flutter with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude.

You press your forehead to his, noses brushing, as if the closer you hold him, the more real this will become. Yoongi's fingers trail lightly over your skin, tracing invisible patterns that make you shiver.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs, voice raspy but tender, like he's always known your thoughts even before you speak them.

You let out a soft sigh, trying to find the words, but they dissolve on your tongue when his hand glides over your waist, settling at the small of your back.

“You’re here,” you whisper, more to yourself than him. It's a quiet confession of the relief that washes over you each time you wake up to find him still beside you. He smiles against your skin, a low hum of agreement in his throat. "I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, his voice carrying the weight of every unspoken assurance. "You know that I'll always be right here-right beside you, whenever you need me."

For a moment, the world falls away. There’s no fear of loss, no dread of waking up alone. It’s just him, his presence grounding you, his breath steady and warm against your neck. The intimacy of the moment swells between you, a shared heartbeat that drowns out the rest of the world.

Your legs tangle beneath the sheets as he pulls you even closer, his hand finding yours under the covers. His touch is gentle, tender, as if he’s memorizing every inch of you, and in the glow of the early morning, you feel more connected to him than ever.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his skin seep into yours, feeling utterly safe in his embrace.

And in that moment, you know—this is home.

[suntoru]

(PARENT)HESIS ON LOVE!

— SYNOPSIS: gojo has always been the one babied; although now that you're pregnant, the roles have been reversed.

— WARNINGS: pregnant reader, fluff, hormones, insecurities about getting bigger, referred as mama once or twice, not proofread, a bit of crying, 1k words

— AUTHOR’S NOTE: guys i'm cooking i swearrrrrrrrrr i'm too sad to write

gojo satoru is completely infatuated with you, especially now that you're carrying his child. every little thing about you seems to sparkle with an extra layer of beauty in his eyes; the way your skin seems to glow with an ethereal radiance, and how you've become increasingly dependent on him lately, fills him with a sense of pride.

and oh, his favouritest thing in the world is the way you waddle around the house, so cutely, letting out tiny grunts of effort to get around. normally, you're the one taking care of him, but lately, he's been the one doting on you, attending to your every need with unwavering devotion. he's so mindful, always making sure to take extra care, especially now that your mood swings are coming in at full force.

"you're so beautiful," he whispers to you, his eyes brimming with admiration as he gazes at you. his hand gently rests against your swollen stomach, his touch tender and soft. feeling a tiny kick from the baby, he can't contain his joy. "our baby's getting so big," he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder and adoration.

however, despite his pure intentions, hormones wreak havoc on your emotions, causing your mood to plummet suddenly. his innocent remark triggers a surge of insecurity and sensitivity within you.

"are you calling me big?" you mumble, your doe eyes welling up with tears as you struggle to hold back your emotions. crossing your arms defensively, you glare up at him, the hurt evident in your expression.

yet, gojo remains remarkably patient, his demeanor unwaveringly gentle as he responds to your emotional outburst. he never raises his voice or shows even a hint of frustration, instead choosing to shower you with affection and understanding. with a soft smile, he leans down to press a tender kiss to your swollen belly, his lips conveying all the love and reassurance he feels for both you and the precious life growing inside you.

"you know that's not what i meant," he reassures, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. as your grumpiness begins to surface, he remains by your side, tenderly massaging your sore legs, smiling up at you gently. with a sniffle, you push him away, your lips forming a stubborn pout as tears stream down your cheeks.

"go away," you sob, your voice tinged with a mix of sadness and frustration. "i don't wanna see your face right now." he sighs softly, his thumb gently wiping away your tears as he cups your face with infinite tenderness.

"do you really want me to go?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern, his willingness to leave evident in his earnest gaze if it would even bring you an ounce of peace. the thought of him leaving, even temporarily, fills you with a sense of emptiness and longing.

"no," you sniffle, longing to be held in his arms but hindered by the growing bump of your stomach. you sulk over the fact that you can no longer fit perfectly into his embrace like before, and how your increased appetite and mood swings must be testing his patience. insecurity grips you tightly as you think about how tired he must be of your constant ups and downs, from holding your hair back as you suffer from morning sickness to enduring your emotional outbursts. the fear of burdening him weighs heavily on your heart, and before you know it, fresh tears cascade down your cheeks.

"i'm sorry..." you sob, feeling utterly overwhelmed by your emotions, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your cheeks. "i'm fat, and... and ugly now, and i've been so mean to you lately..." your voice breaks as you unload your insecurities onto his sleeve, seeking solace in his comforting presence. frowning with concern, gojo gently brushes your hair behind your ears, his touch tender as he pulls you closer into his lap.

"hey, what are you talking about? you aren't any of those." he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the storm of your emotions.

"b-but... i can't even tie my own shoes without help because i'm big..." you snivel, hiccupping between words. he continues to stroke your head with a gentle rhythm, allowing you to cry freely against his chest, your tears dampening the fabric of his expensive shirt.

"you're carrying a literal human being in you; of course you'd get a little bigger," gojo reasons, his words carrying a reassuring weight. despite your doubts and fears, he remains steadfast in his support, his unwavering love evident in the earnest gaze he directs towards you. "but that doesn't mean i love you less. you always are, and will be, my pretty girl," he adds, his smile radiating warmth and affection, a beacon of reassurance in the midst of your turmoil. feeling unworthy of such devotion, you struggle to comprehend how someone as incredible as gojo could love you so unconditionally. his declaration of love washes over you like a gentle wave, soothing your battered soul with its sincerity.

"i love you, yeah?" he whispers, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back in a tender attempt to calm your racing heart. you nod softly, finding comfort in his embrace, your arms wrapped tightly around him as he kisses away your tears, his touch soothing your soul. "you're perfect," he murmurs against your cheek, his voice filled with adoration as he peppers your face with gentle kisses.

"our baby's lucky to have you as its mama." you cling onto him as if he's your lifeline, his presence grounding you amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling inside you. with each whispered word he rambles to the life growing within you, he fills the air with promises of love and protection, his hand caressing your swollen belly tenderly.

"hey there, little one," he coos, his voice filled with anticipation. "you behave for mama, okay? we can't wait to meet you."

© SUNTORU 2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | Prologue

I knew there was no one in the world who could take it I had a bad feeling

Warnings: mentions of injuries, bruises and scars, mention of the upside down, this is post s4, enemies to lovers. mentions of death and the upside down. readers features are not mentioned, besides the accident with the hair dye in the past

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You and Steve have never seen eye to eye, and it never changed, not even when you were pulled into a world of monsters and risked your life to save him. But tension had always been between you both, something that neither of you ever wanted to admit -- but how much longer can you take it when the pull between you gets stronger and stronger each second you spend by each others side?

Word count: 3.6k+

Author's note: A new fic and another shoutout to my queen @hellfire--cult 🤍 thank you for working on the ideas for this story with me, I'm so excited for this one!

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You’re running through the darkness, barefoot, the soil feels wet and slippery beneath your feet, twigs and branches scratch your skin open, the air feels icy cold, the wind blows through your hair and goosebumps arise on your skin, though not because of the cold but because of the growling behind you, the creatures that reach for you, that scream for you, that want your blood and your flesh. 

Your lungs feel on fire and so do your legs, but you don’t stop running. 

You run faster and faster, hoping to find shelter though this forest seems so big and never ending, there is no way out of this, no way out of here. 

There is no shelter and there is nowhere to run – and yet, you don’t stop, you don’t let them get to you, you don’t let them touch you. 

Rain starts falling, thunder rumbles through the woods and the ground beneath you suddenly starts shaking, making your knees buckle. 

Desperation clings onto you, you can’t fall, if you do then you lose. 

The sky becomes redder, shining angrily, the lightning now comes for you, crashing down on the ground right before you, causing you to yelp in surprise. 

And that is all that it took, an obstacle thrown into the path that was destined for you to stay on. It caught you off guard, you no longer looked at the way before you, you slowed down and you slipped on the muddy ground. 

You can feel yourself falling and it feels as though it takes forever for you to crash, you can feel the breath getting knocked out of you, you can feel the tear running down your cheek, you can feel the darkness taking ahold of you and despite knowing that you are going down, the fall still startles you, making you whimper in pain when you hit your head on something, your vision blurs and your skin aches and despite it, you push yourself up but it’s too late. 

The vines are wrapping itself around your body, like snakes that are about to poison you. Panic rises in your chest and your eyes widen when you lift your head to see the creatures running towards you, getting closer and closer. 

“No!” Your own voice sounds so unfamiliar to you, so filled with fear and desperation. 

You struggle against the vines, though they hold you down so strongly. You try kicking against it, you try fighting against it but nothing helps, nothing will help you, nothing will save you. 

Suddenly, you feel something sharp in your skin, in your legs, in your calves, in your arms, everywhere. You scream in pain – in pain and in anger. Tears stream down your face, blood seeps from the ripped open skin, the metallic taste now lingering on your tongue and that will be the last thing you will taste, the last thing you will see is the blood red sky, the last thing you will feel is how you’re being ripped apart. 

But even now, as you’re slipping into a cruel death, all you think about is him. 

You’re awaiting the darkness, the void – though it’s not what greets you when your eyes close. Light greets you. Bright, disgusting light that makes you want to close your eyes again. Fuck. You forgot to close the curtains last night.  

A groan falls from your lips and you pull the blanket up higher, hiding your face from the sun that shines directly into your room. You pay no mind to your racing heart or the fear that still lingers from the dream you just woke from – you ignore it, as you always do. 

This one was unlike all the others that have been haunting you for weeks now. Instead of hands around your neck, and the cruel blue eyes staring into your soul as he tried to kill you, it’s been the creatures that wanted you dead this time – and somehow they caused you less fear than he did. 

You sink deeper into your mattress, enjoying the comfort and warmth of your bed. 

Nothing awaits you today, absolutely nothing. 

With a sigh, you lift your blanket and sit up, rubbing your eyes before you squint them open. You pull your legs up to your chest and prop your chin up on your knees, looking out your window as you get lost in your thoughts. 

You are taken back to your dreams when the sun gets brighter, reminding you of the lights that surged through the red sky when the creatures – the monsters ripped you open. Not shying away from digging their teeth and claws into your delicate skin. – And to think that you once thought that Tommy and Carol were monsters.. Now you know what real monsters look like, feel like.. 

They never got under your skin like the monsters in your dreams did, not even when they thought they did. They threw cruel words at you, made up rumors about you that circled around school but as entertaining as it was to some of the students of Hawkins High, you just didn’t care what they thought of you, what they whispered about you whenever you passed by the gossiping girls or the boys who would smirk whenever you would walk through the hallways. 

Just like all the other new freshman girls, you were fresh meat, a little lamb in the midst of a lion's den, ready to be ripped apart – or at least, that’s what you were meant to be. The first time Kelli Robertson approached you in order to intimidate you and to make it known who she was, she walked away with a split open lip after she tugged at your pigtails and made fun of the way you dressed. She never approached you again after this and neither did her friends. 

You were no violent person but it had always been easy for you to lose your temper around girls and boys who loved to think that they were better than anyone else, that their status in school was something deemed special and meaningful outside of it, that they could push around the ones weaker than them. 

Maybe you weren’t better than them, you gave them back what they gave to others, but at least they deserved it. And with them, you had the power to fight back whenever they came at you. 

But when it came to him, you didn’t have much power to fight back – only luck was on your side, that night. A battered house you were supposed to die in, saved you. It’s ironic, really.

It’s been a few weeks since the evil had been defeated and you had won – since your friends had won, but not without scars and bruises. 

Eddie almost died. 

Max almost died. 

And you, you almost died too. 

Maybe you should have. 

You drag yourself out of bed, like every morning, ignoring the sharp pain in your side, the ache that still lingers in your neck – you wonder if it will stay there forever now. 

You hate to look at yourself in the mirror, but you still do.

You wash your face and brush your teeth and you stare at your reflection, hating what you see. The bruises that have not healed yet, the ones on your face and on your neck, the scar that he left for you to always look at. 

With a sigh, you turn away and leave the bathroom. You make yourself a cup of coffee and sit on your windowsill. You pull your knees up to your chest, closing your eyes for a moment, you enjoy the way the sun feels on your skin. You missed it, the warmth, the smell of spring in the air and giving yourself this moment of peace every morning.

You feel the beating of your heart, the kind that fills your body with fear – the fear that will always linger now. 

You can’t stand it. 

And you can’t stand that the only way to get rid of it is to be around the person who hates you the most. 

The one that ripped your heart out more than once, with nothing but cruel words. 

You should stay away, but you can’t. 

And besides, your words are just as cruel. 

-

Walking into Family Video, a small smile tugs at your lips when Steve’s frown greets you. He is leaning against the counter, a pencil in his hand as he works on the crossword in the newspaper. He instantly straightens up when he locks eyes with you, a sigh already falling from his lips. 

He has been seeing you more often than usual in the past few weeks – every time you walk in here, he ignores the relief in his chest and the pain when he sees those fading bruises on your skin. 

By the look on your face, he can tell that you are up to no good. 

You’re wearing a sweet smile on your face – one that could never be directed at him. An iced coffee in your hand that you got from the shop across the street, he sees you walk in there, every afternoon. 

“Hey Steve,” you smile as you walk up to the counter, placing the cup in front of him. “I got you a coffee.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, glancing down at the coffee, not quite believing you or the sickly sweet tone in your voice, you even called him by his name, something that never happens. 

“What’d you put in there?” 

You chuckle, shrugging at him. “Nothing, I figured you could use some coffee and some company, you look bored.” 

The store is empty and he already stacked up all the new tapes. Yes, he is bored but he doesn’t believe you for a second. You’re here because you are bored. 

You tap your manicured nails against the counter, tilting your head and looking at him oh so sweetly – your lashes flutter, your lips are curled into a soft smile, you’re wearing a pretty blouse underneath your denim jacket and heart shaped glasses on your head, you smell like cherries. If you weren’t you, he would be flirting away already but unfortunately you are you. 

The girl he cannot stand, even now, after you risked your life for a person that means so much to him, after you almost bled out and died fighting someone who was ready to kill you. 

He ignores the pang in his chest when he looks at the faint bruises around your neck, you almost got matching wounds now – only his were caused by bats, yours were caused by someone else’s hands. He redirects his eyes to your face instead, not bearing to look at the marks any longer. 

He looks into your eyes for a moment, trying to figure you out the way he always does – though you will always remain a mystery to him.

Tempting, he thinks – the coffee, not you, definitely not you. 

With a sigh, he reaches for the cup and just as he goes to wrap his hand around it, you beat him to it, snatching it back. 

“Oops, I changed my mind.” 

You wrap your lips around the straw, keeping your eyes on him as you drink the coffee that you definitely did not order for Steve.

He clenches his jaw, eyes flashing with annoyance as they lock with yours again. 

Satisfaction fills your chest, you love teasing him. 

“Robin isn’t here, so what the hell do you want, Blondie?” 

At that, you clench your jaw. 

You can’t stand the stupid nickname that he hasn’t stopped using since Sophomore year. 

You wanted that blonde you saw on Dolly Parton in the magazines, only for a bright yellow to end up on your head. You begged your sister to let you stay at home, but she pointed to the door for you to face the consequences of getting hair dye without her permission. 

And since then, you went back to your natural hair color, not touching a dye in your life again. 

Steve won’t let you live it down, always bringing up the nickname he knows you hate so much. 

Though you don’t know whether he gave you the name because of the yellow hair you once sported or because you love the band so much. 

“Well, I wanna rent a movie,” you shrug as you play with the straw. “I figured you could recommend one to me. You know, since you work here and everything.” 

He rolls his eyes, “just get The Breakfast Club and leave.” 

You put your hand over your heart, feigning pain. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Lego head?” 

He clenches his jaw harder than before, you can tell that he is trying his hardest not to roll his eyes. 

“I watched that movie last week. I wanna watch something else now. Give me a few recommendations or I’ll speak to your manager,” you tease him. 

He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he walks around the counter, nodding his head at you to follow him. 

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” 

You follow him, sipping on your coffee as you look down at the way his jeans are hugging his ass. 

“How about Teen Wolf?” He asks as he walks into the horror movie section, he reaches for the movie and turns back to you, gripping the shelf as he gives you a fake smile. 

“Hmm,” you scrunch your nose up as you pretend to think. “No thanks, I got enough Teen Wolf in front of me.” You gesture to his hair and the chest hair that peeks from his unbuttoned shirt. 

You try to not look at the scar around his neck, the vision of him being held down against the ground while the bats tried to bite chunks of flesh out of him still pains you and makes shivers run down your spine. 

With a snort, he rolls his eyes and puts the tape back on the shelf. 

“What do you want, horror, action, rom-com–”

“Do I look like I’d enjoy a shitty rom-com?” 

“Right,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck as he looks you up and down. You actually do look like you’d enjoy a shitty rom-com. Besides the constant glare or the frown on your face, you actually look like a sweet and approachable girl – that’s where he was wrong. You are unapproachable, you always have been. You’re rough and you’re mean, you never bite your tongue and you don’t shy away from fights or arguments, that is something that caught him off guard the first time he talked to you. The pink skirt, the bow in your hair and the innocent look on your face was a disguise for the little devil that was hiding behind those pretty eyes. 

Your looks still don’t match your personality. – Even now, after the horrifying things that you have been through only weeks back, you are still you. Still the same mean girl he always knew you to be. 

There was a shift in your behavior after last summer, something had changed in your eyes, a sadness lingered in them, one that hasn’t been there before, he doesn’t know what happened, if you had gotten hurt or if you had lost something or someone, but even if, that clearly wasn’t enough for you to change either. 

Nothing seems to change you. 

You are just cold and unreachable in your emotions – for the most part. 

“Alright then no rom-com,” he sighs. 

He continues to offer you movies, ones that you keep saying no to. He can feel himself growing frustrated the longer you do this, knowing damn well that you aren’t here for a movie, especially not for tonight, you’re hanging out with Robin tonight. 

Once you make it to the last aisle, Steve is officially fed up with you. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest while you innocently look at the movies in the thriller section. You are sipping on your drink, eyeing some tape that you just reached for. You put it back and sigh, pretending to be bored. 

While Steve had been trying to be less harsh with you than he was weeks before, he can’t help but roll his eyes at you. 

“Why are you here?” He grumbles. “We both know you don’t want to rent a movie.” 

You turn your head, eying him up and down before you start making your way over to him. 

“How would you know?” 

“Because I know you,” he mumbles as he takes a step closer to you. “I know you’re here because you’re fucking bored.” 

You smirk, tilting your head up as you look into his hazel eyes. 

“Get a job and let me do mine,” he rolls his eyes and finally brushes past you, making his way back to the counter. 

“I don’t need a job, I have enough money to do… uh.. well nothing for the rest of my life. Just like you, Harrington. Why don’t you take that hush money we were gifted with and get the hell out of here?” You ask, curiously as you follow him. “You could be relaxing, traveling through the country, staying in fancy hotels, taking out hot chicks.” 

“How fun,” he snorts as he stops by the register. “You go do that, if that’s what a dream life looks to you. Or get a freaking boyfriend or something and stop getting on my goddamn nerves, Blondie.” 

“Who would keep your life so entertaining if I got too busy with a boyfriend?” You ask. “You’d die of boredom.”

Steve picks up the pencil he dropped earlier, trying to ignore you as he continues working on his crossword but you don’t let him obviously. You place the drink you teased him with, in front of him and lift yourself up on the counter, making yourself comfortable next to him. 

He rolls his eyes, looking up at you through his bangs to find you looking at him already, a smirk lingering on your lips. You’re close enough for him to smell the perfume on your skin, sweet and flowery, another misleading thing, you’re not sweet, not in any way. 

“You really think you have that much of an impact in my life?” He asks. Like the bruises on your body don’t anger him, because he couldn’t help you when you were fighting for your own and someone else’s life. Like he didn’t hold your hand when your cold body was laying in the hospital bed. Like he didn’t pray for you to make it out alive. 

You bite the insides of your cheeks, blinking as you continue to look into his eyes.

You nod. “I think you would miss me so much if I was gone.”��

He glares into your eyes, taking deep breaths as he moves his tongue along his bottom lip. 

How can you speak of such things when you almost lost your life? He wonders. 

“Yeah, you would definitely miss me,” you smirk and reach for your drink, only to be stopped by him when he reaches for it first, smirking back at you as he brings it up to his lips, wrapping his lips around the straw – not caring that your lips have touched it first. 

Your jaw drops a little, only a little, though enough for him to be amused by the shocked look on your face – that is rare. 

He takes a sip of your coffee, humming. “Mhmm, Vanilla? How’d you know it was my favorite?” 

You purse your lips, squinting your eyes at him. 

“Don’t look at me like that. You’ll give me the wrong idea and make me think that you have a crush on me or something.” 

What an idiot. 

“You wish, Lego head.” You snort and jump off the counter, letting your face drop into your regular expression. 

He chuckles, tilting his head at you. “Right, I forgot, you don’t have such a thing as feelings.” 

You blink, cracking your knuckles as you meet his eyes again. 

Yeah, you heard that before and it stung, really badly. 

“Not when it comes to you.” 

He crosses his arms over his chest, looking at you with a bored expression. 

“I’m so wounded.” 

Nothing you would say or do could ever hurt Steve Harrington. 

Not even the cruelest words from you would hurt him. 

Because you don’t have the power to hurt him. 

You don’t have an impact in his life. 

You wouldn’t leave a void in his life if you just disappeared – not like he would in yours if he were to disappear.. But he doesn’t need to know that. 

He couldn’t care less about you, he surely wouldn’t care if you left this town like you should have a long time ago, he surely wouldn’t care if you had died that night. You would have been long forgotten by now, a faceless someone in his memories. 

“Heidi or Summer or Kayla will surely patch those wounds,” you smirk as you walk towards the door. “Or are you still getting over Nancy… you know after she rejected you… again?”

He nods at you with a glare, clenching his jaw at the reminder. 

You chuckle and turn around, you open the door and step out. 

“Look both ways when you cross the street, Blondie!” He calls out to you. “You don’t wanna end up in the hospital again!” 

You flip him off, rolling your eyes at his chuckle that you hear before the door closes behind you. 

The afternoon sun is shining down on you, leaving a warm feeling on your skin, a smile pulls at your lips as you glance at the growing flowers next to trees. 

The sky is blue, no cloud in sight to hide the sun, it’s quiet, peaceful – almost too peaceful. 

This is how it should be, right? 

The war that was fought in secret is over. 

But, there is still one upon you. 

You and the man you just walked away from. 

Will you make it out alive this time? 

Or will you be left more broken than before? 

-

I'm only doing taglists for friends & mutuals so please don't ask to be tagged! It's too stressful for me to keep track of that.

You can follow my side blog @andvyswritingss and turn on post notifications if you want updates for this series! 🤍

[yan-randomfandom]

hi!!! omg i just discovered your blog and i’m in LOVE! could i request yandere stanford pines (platonic or romantic or some other type is up to you) with a reader who is a reincarnated euclidean/flatworlder/dream demon? (i don’t know if you’re familiar with same coin theory, but that’s my inspiration!) preferably with no/limited memories of their past life? i imagine ford would be pretty suspicious at first because of his experiences with bill, maybe even try to kill them… but who knows if those feelings will change… that, or maybe he would get obsessed with them as a replacement muse… lots of possibilities! feel free to change/add anything to the concept, or if it doesn’t interest you, i’d appreciate any yandere ford in general! thank you!!!

Yandere!Stanford Pines x Godling!Reader

this took me a while, but i finally got around to writing it! thank you for your kind words, anon! this one contains continuous stories— because this is so long, feel free to point out any mistakes

🌑

You have been summoned.

Even from your deep slumber, the presence of other ghastly beings roaming around the dimension was painfully obvious to you. How curious; they don't seem to belong here.

"You. You grant wishes right? No deals?"

The one who summoned you flinched when you made eye contact. With their chin lifted, they tried to seem intimidating, yet the tremble of their lips and the quaking of their legs gave them away.

"Indeed, but," you replied, smiling to the best of your ability. You hovered around them, critically observing their physical body, and, by extension, their soul.

They are nothing short of terrified. But intriguingly, their fear does not mainly stem from your presence.

"Pray tell," you mused, twirling their hair with your fingers, "what happened here, dear human? I've been asleep for some time, so I request a small favor: answer my question."

Because if you had to be honest, you have no fucking idea what's happening right now. The longer you stay awake, the more you realize that you have no memory of your past.

"Bill Cipher happened. This is the Weirdmaggedon," they answered, their body shaking more intensely. You paused. "I don't know what he wants. Please, all I ask is for you to transfer me and my family somewhere safe. The ones I care about have turned to stone. We just want to be happy. Please."

A giggle escaped you. "A noble wish. Very well, I shall send you and your family to the nearest safe place."

You placed your hand on the top of their head, and they vanished out of thin air.

Humming a tune, you made your way out of the cave where you had been trapped and finally saw the world outside.

...

Swirling colors and chaotic phenomena surrounded you. What a monstrosity. Someone else has taken over this area—Bill Cipher, was it?

Turning your head, you saw an enormous bubble wrapped in chains. A grin stretched across your face.

So that’s where you sent your summoner.

🌒

Weirdmaggedon is officially over.

Stanford knew that. Bill is gone. His brother is slowly but surely regaining his memories back. Everything was going to be... normal again.

As normal as it can be anyway. A sigh left Ford when he rolled over to his side, staring at practically nothing. The room is pitch black.

He closed his eyes.

...

It's bright. With a gasp, his eyes snapped open.

A familiar field. The gentle breeze doesn't calm him down in the slightest. He's back here. Again. Why? Did Bill somehow escape? Is he out for revenge? That stupid dream demon—!!

"Gree—"

Ford shouted, immediately swinging his fist at you. You dodged swiftly in time.

"—tings! Woah!" you huffed, taking extra care to ensure he didn’t land a finger on you. "Is this how you usually greet a higher being, Stanford Pines?"

The human’s heart races uncontrollably. This can’t be happening. "Bill, what twisted form have you taken now? Didn’t we destroy you already?!"

You blinked, then laughed. "I'm not Bill, silly! He's long gone, I'm pretty sure. How should I know?"

Not Bill? What kind of nonsense are you spewing out? Stanford's expression darkened. This might be a dream, but he really didn’t want to deal with you—especially not after everything that had just happened.

You immediately noticed his demeanor.

"...Oh. I'm sorry," you muttered, getting close enough to meet his eyes. They widened at your words. "I didn't mean to laugh at your misery. I've just been so confused lately."

"What?" was all Ford could manage to say.

"I heard all about you," you said carefully, making gestures with your hands. "Human with six fingers. The man who freed Bill Cipher. Who has traveled across dimensions."

"Who told you...?"

You smiled. "I asked many—don't worry about that part. I was wondering if you could tell me anything about myself. You seem to know a lot, Pines."

Ford woke up.

Was that just a dream? Were you even real? Bill is long gone, dead. Isn't he? He won't find the answers to his questions until he falls asleep again.

🌓

Ford doesn't do anything about you until he's sure of himself. You were definitely just a figment of his imagination, right? A dream.

That’s exactly why he couldn’t believe it when you showed up again. A stupid, curious expression on your face.

And this time, Ford took it upon himself to try and kill you.

"Urk! Don’t do this! I understand you're traumatized, but I really am just trying to find my home!" you stammered, flying and dodging every attack he threw your way.

This is weird. You’re saying things Bill would never say. Is he really trying the opposite approach just to manipulate Ford again?

A massive blast from a cannon struck you.

To both of your surprise, the attack did absolutely nothing to damage you.

"I'm alive!" you exclaimed with glee, up in the air, comically rotating from the impact. "Done yet, Pines? I simply want to talk, you know!"

... Of course. Both of you are untouchable in the dreamscape. While you can imagine anything within both the mind and the dream, a being like Bill isn't stupid enough to enter with his actual body. Guess it worked the same way for you, too. It was still worth a shot.

Ford woke up.

🌔

"Finally ready?"

You tittered at him up from above. Ford narrowed his eyes at you.

"What do you want?" he deadpanned. "You're not here to make a deal, are you?"

"Deals are not my forte," you said, showing him a negative gesture. "I do wishes. But if I have to admit, I wouldn't wish something from me either."

"So you trick people," he replied, gritting his teeth. "Why do you feel the need to do that? What benefits do you gain?"

You glanced at the side before looking back at him, shrugging. "I don't remember."

"Is that so? How many wishes?"

"One."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Bill—"

"I am not Bill," for the first time since you've met him, your voice finally sounded firm. "As far as we both know, he is gone."

"... What is your name, then?"

"I don't remember."

🌕

A frustrated huff left Ford as he rubbed between his eyebrows. You giggled, pushing your hand through his hair. It's soft.

"You're not being helpful at all," he said.

"Apologies," you replied, looking sheepish. "It's hard to answer your questions if I know nothing."

"There must be something you know," the man insisted, stepping away from your touch. He doesn't like how gentle it was.

You hummed, crossing your arms as you floated away. "Do you know how Bill looks like? Am I of similar physique, perhaps?"

Ford paused as his eyes glanced up and down at your form. You can't help but feel uneasy under his tenseful gaze.

"You don't know what Bill looks like?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

This man sure is suspicious of you. Not that you blame him. "No. I believe I never met him."

"You believe?" he scoffed. "I hope you know it's hard to trust you."

"Well," you drawled, "would it convince you if I said you can wish for my memory to come back?"

His eyes widened.

You chuckled. Maybe this is too shocking for him. Take it slow, you thought.

"Before anything else, though, how about we enjoy a nice cup of dream tea?"

🌔

You stared at the chess board in between you and Ford, confusion filling your face. "Wait, how does the knight move again?"

"Think of this shape," Ford explained, forming a black marker with his thoughts and drawing the letter 'L' in mid-air. "The knight moves to the end of this point. Just try to visualize it on the board."

"Oh, I think I understand," you muttered, choosing to move your knight in the corner of the board.

Ford grinned. He placed his queen right next to your king. "Checkmate."

"What?!" you gasped, your eyes rambling around the whole chest board. "I mistook my king for the queen! I say rematch!"

A hearty laugh escaped Ford's lips. If this was in the physical world, he's sure that his cheeks would start hurting from smiling so much.

He still wasn’t sure if you were dangerous or not. Really, he should know better than to mess with otherworldly beings.

But maybe this time, you're different. Because, as far as he knows, you're currently powerless.

🌓

"Pines," you said as Ford roamed his hands across your body. He said this was his way of observing how different you were from Bill. "Aren’t you going to use your wish to help me regain my memory? Or do you want to use it for something else?"

He rubbed his thumb over the side of your body shape. Interesting. You're just as two-dimensional as Bill is. "I only have one chance of using my wish, don't I?"

"Indeed," you murmured, shifting slightly under his touch. "I won't stop you if you use it for yourself, but I'll have to find someone else who might use the wish for me."

Ford halted all his movements.

"What?"

You drifted away from his fingers. He stared at you, wide-eyed.

"I said I'll find another to grant my wish for me," you explained. "Anyway, how was your assessment? Am I anything like Bill?"

Ford continued to stare at you, looking as if he were lost in thought.

...

"Pines?"

"Sorry," he coughed, "But, yes, you're quite similar to Bill."

You beamed, floating over to him and ruffling his hair. "Another step closer to figuring out who I am! Thank you, Pines!"

Ford woke up.

He stared at the dark ceiling. The sun has barely risen.

You had no memories. If he helped you get them back, would you be indebted to him? Or would you turn out like Bill, who wanted to rule the world?

Ford can't let you meet up with another human.

There's only one way out of this.

🌒

"You're ready to use your wish?" you gasped, placing your hands on his shoulders. "That's excellent news! However—"

"Question. Do you have limits in your wishes?" Ford asked deliberately, careful with his every word.

You hesitated before replying. "I suppose not."

His large hands held yours over his shoulders. You glanced at his six fingers before meeting his gaze again.

"Then I wish to be your master."

You felt your soul fall to the deepest depths of the dreamscape.

"You'll do anything I ask for. Be under my will. There is no turning back, dream demon."

🌑

[beatingdrumspouringwine]

Advice for beginner Hellenists

This isn't necessarily a post where I include a list of Gods, epithets, resources, and offerings for said Gods, but rather, hopefully soothing the worries of those of us who are starting the journey into the religion. As someone who was once in a religion that made other religions sound like something absolutely terrifying, my journey into Hellenism was once which was also... pretty terrifying, and this fear was mostly just from my own mind.

Anyways, my list of Advice:

You can literally just start praying. If you want to get more formal, you can absolutely get more formal, but you very much don't have to. I've definitely had my first prayers to some Gods be "hello, [God or Goddess's name], I want to worship You! Please lead me in my journey. Thanks!" I can promise you, the Gods are much kinder and more understanding than any of us fully know.

You can also just start worshiping in general. I feel like I've seen on occasion people worried about the Gods not "calling" to them. This is definitely not something that needs to happen pre-worship. If you find them interesting enough to pray to, then that in and of itself is enough.

In a similar vein, I wouldn't be too concerned about the idea of "signs". I feel like there's a tendency for folks to be incredibly worried about everything when first starting out - the behavior of a candle, the sighting of an animal, a strange dream, all can suddenly seem to take on jarring significance. But I can promise you, the Gods don't constantly give out signs, and frequently, these strange occurrences can be attributed to the mundane. When something comes from the Gods, you will know, trust me!

You don't have to worry too much about the idea of cleanliness, be it spiritual or physical. Khernips are cool, and I'd definitely recommend integrating them into your practice sooner or later. Hygiene is cool too! But if I'm being honest, we in the modern day are far more physically clean, and a lot less likely to regularly encounter the type of pollution that would have been encountered in ancient Greece.

The Gods will be at varying distances over the course of your worship. Sometimes, They will feel close, joyfully, burningly so. And sometimes, They will feel far, and prayers may even feel a bit futile. Both of those are perfectly okay, and neither of those will be permanent.

And, once again in a similar vein, you will likely not find yourself having constant, close mystical experiences with the Gods (i.e., conversations, visions, etc.). These experiences are rare and far between, and I would advise that you not make them a central part of your worship. They will come when the Gods deem you're ready for them, and you definitely won't be expecting it. Focus on the little things!

My final thing (for now) is that you also shouldn't put undue pressure on yourself to be doing some sort of big offering to the Gods. If that's what you can afford, that's great! But if not, fresh water, a small wildflower that you came across and picked*, or a small bit of a meal also count as a good offering!

And with that, my (much longer than I was previously planning on) list of things for beginners to keep in mind! A lot of this list is made up of things which I picked up along the way, and a lot of it is also made from my own personal hindsight being 20/20. I hope this is helpful to someone, and that it maybe soothes some of the (incredibly common) worries which so often accompany those who are venturing into the world of Hellenic polytheism!

[zaldritzosrose]

Lose Control (Aegon x Niece!Reader)

Summary: Aegon knew it would never work. But did he care? Of course not. You were one of few members of his family who didn't look at him like he was a failure. Was it love? He didn't know. But he never felt whole without you.

(Based on Lose Control by Teddy Swims)

TW: She/Her pronouns, canon-typical incest (uncle x niece), afab reader, alcohol consumption, alcoholism, oral (f receiving), fingering, semi-public, innuendo, profanity.

Words: 2,985

kēlītsos = little cat, kitten

I apologise now, but this isn't a 'happy' ending.

Something's got a hold of me lately. No, I don't know myself anymore.

You were off limits, Aegon knew that. The fact had been drilled into him by his mother time after time. His niece, the only one who looked at him with some modicum of love or affection. He didn’t know if you felt the same, but he could pretend every time you would smile at him, or your hands would linger against his just a moment longer than needed.

But how could he not want you? You were beautiful. He didn’t care about the rumours that surrounded your parentage. Those dark curls, eyes so brown they could be mistaken for black. All the things that people used to paint you a bastard, he found to be the most beautiful things in the world.

His thoughts were consumed by you, even when you weren’t around. Everything reminded him of you.  The more he thought of you, the more he remembered he couldn’t have you and the further he sank into his cups. 

The day you left for Dragonstone with your mother had broken him beyond belief. Wine and whores barely fill the void you left behind.

Feels like the walls are all closin' in. And the devil's knockin' at my door, whoa… Out of my mind, how many times. Did I tell you I'm no good at bein' alone?

Aegon stumbled back into his chambers. The third night this week that he’d spent drowning his sorrows in some dingy tavern. Word had come that your mother was returning to King’s Landing with you and your brothers. The petitions for the seat at Driftmark were to be heard, and your brother Lucerys’ claim was being questioned.

Aegon would see you again, and it terrified him. 

He was embarrassed of the kind of man he’d become in your absence. A drunk, chasing whatever skirt he could. Fear set in, knowing you’d see him like this.

The morning of your return had come, but Aegon couldn’t bring himself to leave his bed. He was a mess in so many ways. The scent of wine still lingered on his breath and skin from the night before. Sun streamed in through his window, and he quickly sunk back under his sheets.

But his peace was short lived, the door to his chambers slamming open and the harsh words of his mother filling the room. Aegon groaned, it wouldn’t be the first nor the last time his mother would ever berate him this way. But he was in no mood for it.

The sound of her admonishments faded to muffled noise as Aegon tried to rub the sleep from his features. But his actions seemed to only antagonise her more. Heavy limbs rolled from his bed, gripping the sheet around his body as he stood.

His mother’s tirade stopped at his movement, her words faltering.

“I will not apologise, for it falls on deaf ears. Now if you don’t mind, I fear I require a bath.” 

Aegon grumbled, wanting nothing more than to escape Alicent’s harsh words.

He ignored anything else that came from her lips, walking away and towards his thankfully, already filled bath.

I lose control. When you're not next to me (when you're not here with me). I'm fallin' apart right in front of you, can't you see?

You didn’t want to be here. None of your memories of the Red Keep were particularly fond. Well, save for a few. The times spent with your uncle, Aegon, would always bring a smile to your face when you thought of them. When he would sneak to your chambers, cakes in hand, demanding you come to the gardens with him. Why?

Because he missed you.

Back then, you thought little of it, simply thinking your uncle was being kind, as an uncle should be. But when you think of those moments now? Heat filled your belly and a blush bloomed on your cheeks. The evenings spent curled up next to him beneath a tree in the royal gardens, lips sticky from the cakes he always brought, his arms wrapped tight around you and your head on his chest. Those moments had seemed so innocent then.

The reactions of your mother told you now, that they were not. The way your mother had demanded you stop sneaking out in the evenings with him – how spending time alone with any boy in such a way was unbecoming. 

But Aegon was the only one who didn’t tease you about your dark hair and eyes – you knew the rumours well enough. Instead, he told you how pretty you were. Comparing your eyes to embers and your hair to the finest chocolate. 

Now, you stood at Jace’s side, listening to your mother talk to some lord or another. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t tried to sneak off to find Aegon.” Jace whispered, only earning an eye roll from you. Your brother was one of few aware of just how much time you had once spent with Aegon.

Luckily for you, he’d never told your mother. As far as Rhaenyra was concerned, the moment she’d forbade you from spending time with your uncle, you had stopped. Instead, you had simply hidden your meetings better. Swearing your brother to secrecy when he caught you one night.

You ignored Jace’s comment because no answer you gave would keep that smirk off his face. Finally, after what seemed like the longest time, your mother turned and gave you and your brothers permission to spend some time to yourselves before the petitions. You didn’t miss the sideways glance Jace gave you as you hurried away.

I lose control. When you're not next to me, mm-hm. Yeah, you're breakin' my heart, baby. You make a mess of me.

He was washed, dressed, the alcohol feeling like it was seeping out of his skin as he wandered through the corridors. He had no destination in mind, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into his bed. But he also had no desire to listen to another of his mother’s verbal lashings against him . And even more so, he was terrified of seeing you.

Would you hate him as he is now? Would you be embarrassed of him?

Aegon was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear the footsteps coming towards him, his eyes trained solely on the stone floor before him. So, when he collided with the soft form of another person, he was knocked near off balance. As he scrambled to stay upright, he was greeted with a very familiar head of deep brown waves.

“Uncle?” 

Your voice. A voice he had imagined hearing time and time again for the past six years. But when you said his name, he finally met your gaze. The faintest of smiles finding his lips, while his eyes remained just a little glazed from the wine he’d already consumed.

You were here. You were here and you were as beautiful as ever. The deep red of your gown makes those warm curls even deeper in colour. It was only when he felt your hand on his arm that he realised he hadn’t spoken a word.

“Do I render you speechless still?” you smiled; your hand rested on his forearm.

“Always, kēlītsos.” He smiled, watching you blush at the name.

Kitten, so called for the way you always used to curl up next to him, safe under his arm. A sweet name that now had your cheeks hot. It was the way he said it, voice lower than you remembered. But you could smell the faint scent of wine on his breath, and you now realised that the stories of his love of alcohol were true.

Six years had changed you both in more ways than one.

Problematic. Problem is I want your body like a fiend, like a bad habit. Bad habits hard to break when I'm with you.

Aegon hadn’t paid attention to a single word spoken during the petitions. He could care less about who inherited Driftmark. His eyes never left you. He didn’t care who saw him staring. He didn’t care if you saw him staring. Seeing you again had awoken every feeling for you he’d once had. And then some. 

He’d ignored his mother when she demanded he leave the wine alone. He couldn’t handle court sober, never mind having to stay away from you. Now, the room swayed just a little, but the fog on his brain was a welcome distraction from you.

The petitions had gone as well as expected – if seeing Lord Vaemond beheaded was expected. The whole family was on edge, but Aegon was comfortably in a wine induced calm.

So, when you walked in, arms linked with Jace, he had little control of the expression on his face. Disgust at the sight of you so close to your brother, a closeness that had once been reserved for only him. He filled his cup again, no amount of wine in the world would likely make him feel better now.

You sat in the only available seat, between Jace and Aegon. You tried to catch your uncle’s gaze, but he seemed to be looking anywhere but at you and it made you feel ever so slightly hurt. Had you done something to upset him?

Problematic. Problem is when I'm with you, I'm an addict.

The supper ended swiftly the moment your brother hit Aemond, provoked of course. The two princes had never been close. You stood with your mother; fists clenched as you watched Aegon pin Luke to the table. There was no love lost between the uncles and nephews, but seeing Aegon treat Luke that way infuriated you.

You stormed from the hall, ignoring the shout of your mother. It was only then that Aegon released Luke, shoving the boy away and drunkenly hurrying after you.

He’d fucked up and he knew it. 

He could hear the clack of your boots on the stones, and he knew where you’d be going. The gardens. Your haven, one you once shared with him.

“I don’t appreciate being followed, uncle.” you called out, stopping just short of the entrance to the garden. 

Aegon was quick to stop behind you, the wine making him unsteady. But he wasn’t going to miss this chance to have you alone.

“You are drunk, Aegon.” 

The accusation, while true, hurt coming from you. Embarrassment flooded him as he tried to find an excuse. But the words went silent on his tongue. He was drunk, yes, but not as drunk as you seemed to think he was.

“It is a common occurrence for you now, I hear. Wine and whores?” Your voice wasn’t as angry as he expected, but having you know such things about him made him sick.

“Nothing more than distractions for a life that is quite tedious.” Aegon replied, doing his best to hold your gaze, blue meeting brown for the first time truly in six years.

“And what makes your life so tedious, I am sure there are many who would revel in the life of a prince.” You answered, turning to continue your walk to the garden, knowing he would follow.

And follow he did, wanting nothing more now than to be in your presence. A presence he’d missed. A presence he’d craved for six years. Even if you seemed frustrated.

“You know exactly what…” he snapped back, the wine loosening his tongue just a little. There was a chance this would be the last time he’d see you, knowing the state of the family, and he wasn’t going to waste a moment.

“Six years without you, kēlītsos, has been a very long time.” 

You stiffened at that. Was he blaming his problems on you? You stopped dead, turning on your heel to face him, watching as he stumbled when he stopped short of colliding with you.

“And you think it has been easy on me?” Your words came out quieter than you thought, your anger failing as you saw the sadness in his eyes, eyes that had once seemed so bright now seemed sallow and hollow.

“I did not want to leave. My home is here, with you.”

Aegon froze, chewing on the skin of his lip. Any anger he’d felt slipped away almost instantly. You hadn’t wanted to go. Those words sparked the smallest ember of hope in him. Maybe, just maybe, you felt as he did.

“I have spent every moment of those six years missing you.”

He heard nothing else, the wine in his belly fuelling his emotions beyond his control. His rough hands finding your cheeks, pulling you to him as he kissed you. The kiss was messy but reciprocated. Mere seconds passed before you curled a hand into the fabric of his shirt and pulled him tight against you. A kiss filled with years of love, passion… and lust. Aegon’s hands moved from your cheeks to your waist, pressing his body against yours as he backed you towards a nearby wall. Thankfully the gardens were quiet in the evenings.

You only pulled away to catch your breath, remembering quickly that Aegon had been drinking. As had you, but Aegon had consumed far more than you had.

“You are drunk, Aegon…” 

“Not so much that I am unable to think clearly.” He replied, wanting nothing more than to kiss you again.

His hands played with the fabric of your gown, keeping your body pinned between his and the wall. He couldn’t let you go, not now. Not without knowing if you felt as he had all this time.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I will go.” He whispered, his forehead now resting against yours.

You wanted to tell him you didn’t because it would be easier down the line. Easier to lie and break his heart now than be truthful and have to leave him again. But you did. By the gods, you did. While you’d loved him for longer than you could remember, love was not on your mind at this moment.

“I want this…I want you. I always have.” Your breath fanned across his lips as you spoke, body inching closer on instinct. 

Aegon closed the distance, his kiss gentle though his hands now gripped your waist hard. The red fabric now fisted tight in his hands as he slipped his thigh between your own. Your body responded naturally, heat flooding you as his lips slid down to your jaw then your neck. He knew he couldn’t go so far as to take your virtue, but he needed something.

And I need some relief, my skin in your teeth. Can't see the forest through the trees. Got me down on my knees, darlin' please, oh…

Your breath hitched as he bunched your gown in his hands, fingers pressed against the fabric of your small clothes. A touch you’d only dreamt about. Wondering what it would feel like to have him touch you so intimately.

The reality had your mouth dry and your flesh searing. Hips canting to meet the deft movements of his fingers. His face buried in your neck as you sighed out in pleasure. You shouldn’t be doing this, and you knew it. All you could focus on was pleasure, not right and wrong. Your own hand soon found the hard length in the front of his breeches, palming him slowly.

Aegon wanted nothing more than to feel you. To commit those soft sounds to memory. To feel your skin on his.

“Aegon…” you breathed, your hands finding the mess of silver waves atop his head.

His name had never sounded so perfect, and he wanted to hear it again. His hands kept a grip on your waist as he dropped to his knees before you, ignoring the confused glance you shot down to him. You soon had your answer when his nose brushed against the fabric of your small clothes, his hand gripping your thigh as he lifted it over his shoulder.

“What are you-“ your words fell silent as he mouthed at you through your undergarments, his name a moan falling from your lips.

Your hand found his hair again, wanting nothing more than for him to keep going. And when his fingers tugged the fabric aside, bearing your flesh to him, all sense was lost.

“So delicious, my sweet girl,” he cooed, licking a hot stripe between your folds.

No man had ever touched you this way, and you wanted no other man but Aegon to touch you this way again. A dream, of course, but one you wanted so desperately. And he lapped at you like a man starved, groaning against your skin at the taste of you, the sound enough to have pleasure shooting up your spine.

And soon the knot in your belly snapped, hands tightening in his hair as you panted his name. Aegon only stopped his ministrations when you pushed him away. With a final kiss to your inner thigh, he stood.

“You are mine, kēlītsos, and you always have been.”

I lose control. When you're not next to me (when you're not here with me). I'm fallin' apart right in front of you, can't you see?

Morning had come. You didn’t remember returning to Aegon’s chambers but that was where you woke. Wrapped in his arms and feeling safer than ever. It would not last. It never did. Shouts from outside the door told you that. And the door crashing open, revealing the furious face of your mother made it crystal clear to Aegon.

You were off limits. He knew that. He’d hoped it would change. But when morning came, the harsh words directed at you by your mother told you it never would. And his dreams become nightmares as you leave him again.

I lose control. When you're not next to me, mm-hm. Yeah, you're breakin' my heart, baby. You make a mess of me.

[furiousgoldfish]

Traumatized people are often advised to 'keep it under control' and 'find a way to contain it', and I always felt it was a fault of mine, if I freak out, or panic, or have an anxiety attack, or can't stop shaking or shivering. Now that I no longer have extreme bouts of panic, I'm starting to understand how much fear, panic and pain I contain within myself every day.

If I'm in a place that makes me anxious, I stay still, I do nothing. If I'm panicking, I will modify my behavior to the point where nobody around me will be able to see and realize that I'm panicking, I will seem happy, and pleasing. If I'm experiencing intense rage or frustration, I will shut down and won't respond or interact with anyone until I figure out what is a reasonable and logical thing to do. I am containing everything, constantly. And it's only a part of what I've been containing and keeping under control, I used to contain terror every day. I am used to circumstances where I had to act normal under threat of violence, threat to my life, every single day. I had to walk around like nothing is wrong while I was dissociating so heavily I couldn't tell if the world was even real. I was blaming myself if there was a momentary lapse of control, if the panic I was containing for months leaked out of me a little. The thought of not being able to keep it down terrified me.

I blamed myself for not being able to keep mountains of fear, grief, anger and panic under a guise, which a human being is not supposed to do. Our reactions of fear, panic and rage are there in order to point out that something is deeply wrong, that we're unsafe, that our circumstances need to change and we need safety, now. Keeping that shit contained and controlled is trying to bypass human instincts, fighting against human nature, and I did that, we all did that, because it was the only thing we were ever told to do with it. We'd be punished for anything else, threatened for any other kind of response that isn't containing and keeping it down.

And now when keeping it down is no longer humanely possible, because we did it for so long we wore our entire spirits down, now we get told we need to do more of it? More of pretense that things are fine, more of guilt and shame for not managing to be a closed human container of panic and pain? We were never supposed to keep that much in. Keeping all that inside and learning to control myself taught me to be what I am right now, keeping any inconvenient emotion down only so I could break down in private, or try to keep it down indefinitely, because I don't know any other way to live anymore. Fighting against my own instincts and fawning at others is just who I am now, and it's not who I'm supposed to be. Panic is supposed to be loud and alarming, pain is supposed to be heard, people are supposed to react with offering safety and change of circumstances that led to this. Not telling the scared, pained and panicked people to 'keep it down'.

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

New Fear

I have been on tumblr a long time. A looooong time. Far longer than I should have been, really.

And I've been arguing with schmucks about birds being dinosaurs... pretty much that whole time. Folks tend to get angry when a dinosaur blog posts birds, after all. It happens.

And while the game of whack a mole is ancient, it's not unpredictable. Usually, it ends in one of two ways:

the person admits they were wrong, and they back down

the person stops arguing with me and blocks me

I'm okay with either one, really. the former is ideal, the latter at least brings me peace.

Never before this past weekend has someone insisted they were right no matter what I say

And this isn't a coincidence.

Over the past few decades, anti-science sentiment has risen worldwide. I mean you just have to look at the COVID19 pandemic, or general reactions to the problems of climate change.

While of course people who think their opinion matters more than evidence have always existed, they have never been quite this bold before.

The idea that the colloquial definition of dinosaur matters, at all, is a completely new idea and one that has no basis in reality.

And yet, multiple people this past weekend argued exactly that.

And it sounds exceptionally similar to the idea that people could pick and choose things about COVID19 to believe, or the general republican position on science (only things that back up their bigotry are true).

It really seems to reflect a general increase in anti science sentiment and public anti-intellectualism.

Reality isn't actually up for debate. Reality isn't actually subjective. And science is the measure of reality

This isn't the same as the biases of society impacting science and making it worse. Saying "what people think is more important than science" is not the same as saying "science forgot a very important variable / factor / to consider data gained by different cultures / to have a wide variety of perspectives/ etc."

And allowing people to continue to perpetuate and believe in delusions leads directly to the spread of misinformation, leading to more people not understanding reality, and so on

This matters because reality matters. Because the reality of our world is not something we can change or escape. And, in fact, us ignoring the reality of the world - like thinking we can have infinite growth on a finite planet - is directly leading to the destruction of that world (climate change).

I am terrified of the rise of anti-science sentiment. I am terrified of the rise of cherry picking, deciding reality is what you want it to be, ignoring evidence. We see this from purely scientific topics all the way to social justice (how much of racism is ignoring the evidence of a) race being a social construct and b) how much racism impacts people's lives? Almost all of it).

This is bigger than birds being dinosaurs or evolution or climate change. This is about our society going on a deeply disturbing and self-destructive path.

And I really don't know what to do about it.

[ghsface]

It's okay to cry. It's okay to not be okay...

Bau team x bau!reader

Sumary: Sometimes I need to remind myself and others that survival doesn’t just mean being okay, it means learning to laugh at what scared us. And if I don’t do it, who else will?

Warnings: mentions of attempted suicide, lots of blood, some dark humor at the end, cuts on arms, bathtub full of blood, no use of t/n (if you don't feel good reading this please don't read it, I also tried to approach this topic with too much care and delicacy and respect, I hope not to offend anyone)

Author's note: September is suicide prevention month. "suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem" is something that you always hear people say.. and it's true.

speaking from my personal experience, it's something that was on my mind many months many years ago, and I was able to put those thoughts aside thanks to people who I thought were never going to help me, it was a long and very hard process but now I can tell you that I'm completely fine, once they told me if you have people to write a farewell letter to it's because at least someone cares about you, you may have heard this before but it's true, you will always have someone to support you even if you think you have no one, also once they told me if you ever have these thoughts again or even try again ask for help it doesn't matter who just ask for help, whatever way ask for help, those words marked me almost all of my adolescence tbh and it helped me, I hope that if you are going through this alone, you can talk to me, my messages will always be open for whatever it is help or just talking, feel free to do so, if you read this up to here I really appreciate that you did<333

The BAU team was uneasy. It wasn't often that someone on their team disappeared without a trace, much less you. Emily Prentiss had been the first to notice your absence, as you never missed work without notice. Days ago, you had requested a brief leave for personal matters, but you hadn't returned to the office or answered any calls or messages since. As the days passed, worry turned to fear.

JJ, Spencer, and Emily decided to go to your house, as they could no longer ignore the fact that something wasn't right. The atmosphere in the car was tense. JJ kept his hands tightly on the wheel, while Spencer stared out the window, his mind wandering through thousands of possibilities, each one worse than the last. Emily, in the backseat, checked her phone over and over again, hoping in vain to receive some news from you.

When they arrived at your house, the silence was deathly. The windows were closed, and the door seemed intact, but there was something in the air, something that made them hold their breath. Emily pulled out her gun, and after exchanging a worried look with JJ and Spencer, they decided to go inside.

“anyone home?” JJ shouted as she walked down the hallway to the entrance. There was no response.

Spencer’s heart was pounding as they made their way into the living room. Everything was in order, not a sign of a struggle, but something wasn’t right. Every step they took, every corner they inspected, increased the feeling that something terrible had happened.

It was Emily who first noticed the bathroom door ajar. She approached it slowly, holding her breath, as a dark foreboding took hold of her. Pushing open the door, the scene she found was enough to make her stomach turn.

There you were, in the bathtub, submerged in the red-tinged water. Your arms hung at your sides, covered in deep cuts, blood still slowly flowing from the wounds.

“Oh my God!” JJ exclaimed from the doorway, her voice cracking.

Spencer walked into the room behind her, and for a second, the world seemed to stop. She’d never felt such paralyzing fear, such sharp pain in her chest. The air became thick, almost impossible to breathe.

Emily was the first to react, rushing to you, her hands shaking as she tried to pull your unconscious body out of the water. “Call an ambulance, JJ!” she screamed, trying to stay calm, though her hands were shaking uncontrollably.

Spencer knelt beside you, her eyes flooding with tears. “You can’t do this... you can’t leave us like this,” she whispered, her voice thick with desperation.

JJ tried to call 911, but the desperation in his voice made the words catch in his throat. He finally managed to give the address, but the operator informed him that the ambulance would take a while to arrive due to an accident on the main road. Without wasting any more time, JJ made a decision. “We can’t wait, we have to take her ourselves!”

Without thinking twice, the three of them carried you out of the bathroom, wrapping you in towels to stop the bleeding. Spencer held you, his hands still stained with your blood, as they rushed you to the car.

The trip to the hospital was agony. Every second that passed, every breath you took, or stopped taking, was like a stab in the heart of each of them. Emily, driving at full speed, struggled not to lose concentration while JJ, from the backseat, pressed on your wounds, trying to keep you conscious. Spencer kept talking to you, murmuring words of encouragement, pleading with you not to leave, to stay with them.

Finally, they arrived at the hospital, and the doctors immediately took you into surgery. The BAU team, who had been alerted, arrived soon after. Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Garcia joined Emily, JJ, and Spencer in the waiting room. The hours passed slowly, each minute a silent torture as they waited for news from you.

Spencer kept staring at his hands, your words echoing in his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of you, limp and lifeless in that bathtub. He felt helpless, riddled with guilt for not realizing what was happening to you. He loved you, more than he’d ever dared to admit, and the thought of losing you was too painful to bear.

Finally, the doctor emerged from the operating room, his expression grave. “She’s stable for now, but the blood loss was significant. We had to suture multiple wounds and are monitoring for possible nerve damage. It’s a miracle they brought her in on time.”

The relief was palpable, but so was the sadness. They knew that even though you had survived, the battle wasn’t over. They would have to face the reasons why you had gotten to that point, figure out what had happened, and most of all, be there for you, to help you heal.

Spencer walked up to the ICU door, looking at you through the glass. His eyes filled with tears, he rested a hand on the glass. “I’m sorry… I didn’t realize how bad you were,” he whispered, feeling the weight of guilt crushing him.

Emily and JJ accompanied him, each feeling a mix of relief and pain. They knew the road to your recovery would be long and difficult, but they were determined to be by your side every step of the way, no matter what it took.

When you were finally able to open your eyes days later, the first thing you saw were the tired but relieved faces of your teammates. You knew you had plunged into a darkness that seemed insurmountable, but seeing the people who loved you by your side, you knew you wouldn’t be alone on the road back to the light.

The dim glow of the hospital’s fluorescent lights welcomed you back into the conscious world. Your head hurt, and you felt the weight of the blankets on your body, but what caught your attention the most was the soft sound of someone breathing next to you. You slowly turned your head and met the tired, worried eyes of Spencer, who had been watching over you.

“Spencer…” your voice came out as a whisper, rough from lack of use and medication. You were surprised at how weak you felt, as if a large part of you had vanished.

He sat up instantly, his eyes filling with relief at seeing you awake. “You’re awake…” he said in a tone that reflected a mix of joy and pain. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry... If I had known… If I had noticed something…” The weight of his guilt hit you hard. Even though every fiber of your being was exhausted, you couldn’t let Spencer carry that pain. But before you could answer, the door to the room opened, and Emily and JJ rushed in, closely followed by Hotch and Rossi.

Emily approached you, tears in her eyes, but keeping her composure. “You scared the hell out of us,” she said softly, gently taking your hand. “You don’t have to go through this alone, understand? We’re here for you, always.” JJ sat on the other side of the bed, his blue eyes filled with concern. “Whatever you’re going through… you can tell us. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

The room was filled with a heavy silence, everyone waiting for you to say something, anything to help them understand what had brought you to this point. You knew they were worried, that they wanted to help you, but it wasn’t easy to put into words the storm that had been building inside you.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice breaking, feeling tears build up in your eyes. “I didn’t want them to know… I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Spencer looked at you in pain, his hands shaking slightly as he took yours. “You would never be a burden to us. Never.”

Hotch, who had been watching silently, stepped forward. His voice was firm, but with a tinge of compassion that he rarely showed. “You don’t have to face this alone. Whatever you’re feeling, whatever led you to this, we’re going to be with you every step of the way.”

Hotch’s words, so simple and full of promise, were what finally broke the dam. The tears you’d been holding back for so long began to flow, and with them came a wave of emotions you’d been suppressing: the despair, the loneliness, the pain that had consumed you in silence.

Emily wrapped her arms around you, holding you with a strength that anchored you in the present. “It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to not be okay,” she whispered, her voice shaking with her own pent-up emotions.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, you felt like you could breathe, if only barely. The lump in your chest didn’t go away entirely, but the presence of your peers, your friends, gave you the strength you needed to start talking, to share what you’d been keeping to yourself.

You told them about the pressure you’d felt, the feeling that you were failing, that you couldn’t live up to expectations. You told them how each day had gotten harder to bear, until one day you just couldn’t take it anymore. The words came out in fits and starts, mixed with sobs, but they listened to each one with patience and understanding.

There was no judgment, just support. And as you spoke, little by little, you began to feel the weight that had been weighing you down begin to lighten, if only a little.

When you finally finished, the silence that followed wasn’t awkward. Spencer was still holding your hand, and his gaze reflected both pain and resolve. “You’re not alone in this. You won’t be anymore,” he said firmly.

Hotch nodded. “We’ll have to work together to get through this, but we will. We’ll help you find the support you need, and we’ll be here for you, too.”

Rossi, who had been watching from the back, came over and gently patted you on the shoulder. “Remember, that’s what family is for, to be there in the worst times and the best too.”

At that moment, although you knew the road ahead would be long and difficult, you also knew that you wouldn’t walk it alone. The team weren't just your colleagues, they were your family, and with them by your side, you began to believe that, perhaps, you could find a way to heal.

And although the darkness still lurked, the light of hope, however small, began to shine again.

ONE YEAR LATER...

1 year into recovery brought with it a new version of you, a version that, while still scarred, both physically and emotionally, was fully committed to moving forward with humor and gratitude. You had rejoined the team fully and found a balance between work, your personal life, and your healing process. Your colleagues had learned to appreciate your new style of humor, even when you surprised them with your comments from time to time.

One afternoon, while you were in the office cafeteria with Emily, JJ, and Garcia, you decided to break the silence with a joke, something you had perfected over those past few months.

“Did you know I’ve developed a new skill?” you said, as you poured yourself a coffee. The three womens looked at you curiously. “Now I can say that I’m an expert in abstract art. I just need something sharp and a bad day.”

There was a moment of surprise, but then Emily was the first to laugh, shaking her head. “You know, no one handles dark humor like you.”

JJ nodded, smiling. “True, but at least now we know you do it with complete command of the situation. Although I will never stop being amazed by your ability to make jokes out of something so serious.”

“Well, my traumas, my jokes,” you said with a wink, and the group burst into laughter. They had learned to take your humor as a sign of your progress, a way to remind yourself and them that you were in control, that you wouldn’t let yourself be overcome by the darkness that once trapped you.

Garcia, who until now had been listening in silence, smiled and gave you a gentle nudge. “You know, I think you should consider writing a self-help book: ‘How to survive work and not go crazy. ’ It could be a best-seller.”

“Sure, with special chapters on how to choose something sharp and how not to use them when you have a bad day,” you joked, and everyone laughed again.

Towards the end of the day, as you were gathering your things to head home, you ran into Rossi in the hallway. He looked at you with his typical knowing expression, but with a spark of amusement in his eyes.

“You know, kid I love seeing you make those jokes. It’s a sign that you’re okay, but it’s also a reminder of how far you’ve come.”

You smiled at him, nodding. “Yeah, Dave, I know. Sometimes, I need to remind myself and others that surviving doesn’t just mean being okay, but learning to laugh at what scared us. And if I don’t do it, who else will?”

Rossi let out a soft laugh. “You know, you can always count on me to be your audience. I’m not as good an audience as Spencer, though.”

“Thanks, Dave. I’ll keep that in mind for my next show.”

As you left, you knew you were surrounded by people who understood you, who supported you, and who accepted every part of you, even the darkest ones. But most importantly, you knew you had found a way to move forward: with a smile on your face, a joke on your lips, and a team that, no matter what, would always be by your side.

And as you walked out the door, ready to face whatever came next, you couldn’t help but make one last comment to yourself. “Well, if I survived the bathtub, I’m ready for anything. I just hope there’s more wine and less blood next time.”

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly🫧

[moonlight-prose]

dreams unwind, love's a state of mind

a/n: i am posting the prompts i'm doing for challenges a bit late cause i haven't been here. but this is my first ever days of future past logan fic and i am nervous! i originally planned to do it in the 70s but then an even angstier idea hit me. and honestly i'm kind of in love with how it turned out. this isn't as much smut as i intended, but who cares. enjoy!

tuna-tober 2024: day eleven - tears + "i'd be lost without you." + breast worship

summary: they told him to change the future, to right the wrongs that the world caused. but he didn't do it for them. he did it for the chance to see his lover one more time. even if he shared a different history than them.

word count: 2.1k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MDNI 18+ ONLY!! angst, fluff, reuniting, tears, grief, logan has ptsd, mention of death, love, breast worship, body worship, biting, dry humping, they almost get it on in an empty classroom.

He never felt his heart beat this fast. A rapid thud, thud, thud against his ribs as he took long strides through the halls. His eyes scanned each corner and passing student for the sight of someone familiar. Logan didn't have any worries that you would be unrecognizable. He didn't worry that you were different.

His soul would know you from miles away—the connection that tied you to him stronger than his will to survive.

No matter what Charles told him. He didn't go back for him or Jean or Storm. He didn't fight to change history just to get a chance to save his family. That remained only part of the reason. Logan survived—he clawed his way through the past—for one sole purpose. He would finally get a second chance; he'd get to see you smile again, hear you laugh, feel your lips against his.

Going through hell became worth it if it meant getting the opportunity to have you in his arms.

Students pushed past him on their way to lunch. Several greeted him with a term he would have to grow accustomed to—professor—others tossing him a warm hello before they scurried by. He seemed to have a solidified life here. The promise of peace in a world that once ripped him in two. He wasn't just the Wolverine in these hallowed halls.

He was Logan Howlett too.

"Baby!" he called, running down the empty hallway towards the set of classrooms. "Princess are you here?"

Charles directed him in his mind, pushing images of moments he couldn't recall to the front of his mind. Smiles hidden in secret during meetings packed in a too small office. Touches that you hoped went unnoticed through training sessions and meals in the dining room. Jokes about the two professors who snuck into each other's rooms at night for months on end, long before they finally decided to move in together.

Time he'd never get back. Memories that never belonged to him in the first place.

Would you like this version of him? The Logan that had seen far worse, who endured a war, who held your dying body in his arms as a battle went on behind him. Would you love the scars that ran just a bit deeper? The pain that lingered for far longer than you deserved.

Fear gripped his heart at the thought of anything other than your love. He wouldn't survive a life spent without you. He went through that once and every day felt as if his soul was being torn from his body. Each gruesome wake up to move places and fight for mutants who may never make it out alive, became lifeless—colorless—because you weren't there.

"C'mon baby," he muttered, turning in a circle, his chest heaving with gasped breaths. The air seemed to be stripped clean of your scent, no mark of your existence filled the mansion as it once did.

He felt his body seize—the familiar numbing ache trickling down through his body.

No reason to live resided in his heart if you weren't here to spend it with him.

"Princess!" he practically shouted, his voice reverberating off the walls. "Fuck. You gotta be here. You gotta–"

"Logan?"

The soft lilt of your voice forming his name on your lips punched him in the chest, effectively stealing whatever breath he clung to. He whirled around, eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears, as you popped out of the classroom door behind him. He'd never seen such beauty until today. A wash of relief flooded his body, the weight on his shoulders landing on the floor with a heavy thud.

He drank in the sight of you with a smile. The curve of your hips in a too tight black and white pinstripe pencil skirt, the way your white button down rolled at the sleeves hugged your breasts—the black lace bra faintly evident against the sunlight that streamed through the windows. He devoured you with his gaze alone. Yet the hunger still persisted. It ate at his heart, begged him to move, to gather you in his arms.

But for the life of him...he was unable to gain control of his limbs.

They were stuck. Frozen against time as you moved a bit closer, your black heels clicking on the hardwood floors.

You looked exactly the same. Though some differences lay in the style of your hair, the red lips painted deep and enticing, the glasses tucked into the front of your shirt, Logan felt as if you were ripped right from his memories.

His girl. His princess.

"Baby," he murmured, doing what he could to catch his breath.

Your eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed as you regarded him with a flash of concern. "Is everything okay? Charles let me know you were looking for me."

The mention of the man's name forced him to finally move. What little of Charles still lingered in the back of his mind quickly retreated—the mission to find you now complete. This was his way of giving the both of you some privacy. A chance to reconcile with the woman he thought he'd never see again. Logan thanked him silently, promising to speak after all was said and done—after he got a chance to hold you for the first time in nearly a decade.

"You're here," he sighed, his feet moving faster than either of you expected.

"Of course I'm here. I had a class to teach. Quantum mechanics, well actually more a study of molecular physics today. I thought I let you know at breakfast–" His hands gripped your waist roughly, pushing you back into your empty classroom with a growl. "Logan!"

His foot shut the door, hand blindly fumbling for the lock, as he dragged you against his body with his other arm. An explanation would be given later in the dark confines of your shared bedroom. He'd explain it all to you, every gruesome and grave detail. All the questions he knew swirled inside your head—ever the curious woman he fell hopelessly in love with.

But right now he'd have you on the nearest desk (preferably yours). In this fleeting moment he would reclaim what was so brutally taken from him; the love he felt now pouring out from every part of his body. Beating in tune with his erratic heart.

"What are you doing?" you gasped, hands pressed against his chest to steady yourself. "Is everything okay? Are you hurt?"

His stomach fluttered, the sensation of being on cloud nine now a reality the longer he looked at your pretty form. Hands quickly roamed his shoulders and arms as you checked for any injuries that might appear at a moment's notice. Nevermind that he healed quicker than any other mutant in this school. Nevermind that he stared at you with an expression that could only be described as awestruck.

You still did what you felt was necessary to ease the growing worry in the back of your mind.

"'M more than okay baby." The low rasp of his voice forced your gaze up to his within seconds. A soft oh echoing in the empty room.

No explanation was needed when he looked at you with pupils that devoured the hazel of his iris. You knew what he wanted—could feel the desperation in his tight grip. The thickening sweetness of your scent curled around his senses like a drug, filling his body with a need that permeated the air.

"I missed you," he breathed. "So much."

Logan wished there was a way to convey how much anguish his heart went through in the years after your death. The nights spent yearning for your touch. The memory of you passing onto a plane he couldn't follow burned onto the back of his eyelids. He couldn't escape what happened.

Death was an easy option for him. A choice he would have made in the blink of an eye. But the laws of his own being were unable to be severed. He'd never be able to join you—forever stuck in a world without your light.

He longed to tell you all of it, but feared he might fuck it up.

"You saw me a few hours ago," you grinned.

"God I wish that were true."

Your mouth parted, eyes overflowing with worry, and Logan could no longer fathom a moment without your kiss. Dipping down swiftly he slotted his lips against yours with a groan. His hands gripping any plush part of your body he could reach. Unable to stick to one spot because there was so much of you he missed. The feel of your ass in his hands as he gripped you close, how you blissfully sighed into his mouth, relenting to his hold.

Kissing you felt as if he gained back all the years he missed out on. The time he thought was unsalvageable.

The feel of your tongue pressing against his drove him over to the edge of madness. A feral moan coated in a gravel hoarseness ripped from his throat, his fingers squeezing your body to drag you even closer. He sucked on your bottom lip, licked into your mouth with whimpered broken sounds, and refused to stop even when you pulled back for air.

"W-We're in a classroom Logan," you gasped, high-pitched and layered in a neediness that matched his own.

"I don't fuckin' care."

"I don't want to get caught–"

Sucking your tongue into his mouth with a grunt, he began to walk until the back of your thighs hit the grand desk you sat at. The plaque of your name now lay with a pile of papers that landed on the floor. He groped your breasts, tugging the buttons until they popped free—scattering across the room with soft pings.

"My shirt!"

He grinned. "I'll help ya find them later, princess."

"You're not fucking me here. We have a room for a reason." The words were accompanied by a moan, your head tipping back to give him the expanse of your neck.

Space he happily began to sink his teeth into. He sucked at your skin as he pulled at your bra, his thumbs running across peaked nipples that practically begged for his attention. An act he was more than happy to partake in. With a grunt, he sucked one into his mouth, spit smearing into your soft skin with the promise of making a mess wherever he could.

"F-Fuck," you panted, fingers ripping at his hair as your hips canted up into his. "What's gotten into you baby?"

He answered with a deep grind of his hips into yours, the sticky precum practically drowning his cock in the confines of his jeans. Self control wasn't his strongest ability at this very moment. Not when he could feel the heat of your cunt call his name. He'd be surprised if he lasted long enough to sink into you—to finally indulge in the warmth of your body.

Teeth dug into the side of your breast, his hands tugging your cunt along his jeans as tears pricked his eyes. Losing you wasn't the worst part of all of this. Not being able to remember the last time he felt you this way—the final day of joy in your relationship before it happened—would forever haunt him. A memory he should have solidified in the back of his mind slipped free before his very eyes.

How did you smile at him? Was it a stolen moment by firelight? Were you smiling just to appease his growing anxiety about losing you? Or did you feel a flicker of joy?

For the life of him...he couldn't bring that moment to mind.

"Logan?" Your hands tugged his head back, thumbs wiping away tears he didn't know started to fall. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

He grinned, broken and marred and bleeding all the love his weary body could muster. "I'd be lost with you."

You paused, disbelief shrouding your features. "What are you talking about baby? Did something happen?"

The time to reveal it all would be now, but how could he move past this? Your breasts were free and coated in his spit, your eyes were darkened with wanton lust. To him you would never look more beautiful. Entirely disheveled, yet still willing to help him by any means necessary.

You would always be—and forever remain—the other half to his scarred soul.

"I'll tell you later," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your wrist. "I'll tell you everything."

"But–"

He shook his head. "Lemme have this. Okay? I need this."

A discerning smile crossed your lips as he leaned in for another kiss, his body pressing you down until your back hit the desk. This certainly wasn't how he envisioned your reunion happening. A quickie in the confines of an empty classroom that you'd eventually teach in a few hours later. But Logan couldn't fathom waiting. He'd spent years pining after a soul that might never walk the same ground as him.

A brief moment of bliss. A short forever in the allotted time.

This was something he could steal for himself.

[ninguitar]

୨୧　 𝓛OSING ALL MY INNOCENCE　˒˒　LJ

─── ﹙🎱﹚while cramming in time to have dates together, the two of you go on a bittersweet midnight drive.

pairing. lara raj x f!r genre. fluff wc. 900+ notes. UGH i love lara gosh. i fear this was my ultimate fav fic to write. italics + bolded = lyrics (MASTERLIST.)

now playing ⋆ kiss of life by sade

THE DIM HEADLIGHTS OF THE CAR reflect onto the empty streets of the neighborhood, as lara's hands grip firmly onto steering wheel.

what was initially an excuse to bother none other than your girlfriend, lara raj, turned into a car drive filled with occasional giggles and screams from lara. outside the window was merely silence, the world quiet, and the only sounds heard were the faint, soft buzzing of the engine.

your hand reaches the cassette player you insisted that lara should keep from you—as some sort of memorabilia, of course, before she became far too busy—pushing the "love deluxe" by sade cassette tape into it.

there must have been an angel by my side,

"you always have the best tapes, y'know that?" lara speaks up, a low chuckle escaping her breath, as her hand slightly brushes against yours when it meets the gearshift. and by then, you couldn't help but feel a bit of heat flare to your cheeks and ears by the mere familiar warmth against yours.

your eyes trace over against lara's lips, glancing over at the indian girl's figure. "and you always say that," you giggle, slightly nudging her.

"sue me for thinking my girlfriend's tapes are amazing," lara rolls her eyes, laughs erupting from her throat.

even with her hair tousled, messy hair strands falling onto her face, and a random white, off-the-shoulder graphic tee thrown onto herself, you couldn't help but swoon at her beauty—at the way the gentle glow of street lamps illuminate her face.

in your eyes, lara raj was a goddess—a divinity only to be treated with the utmost care. she was something a person could only dream of—something perfect, almost surreal—though, here she was, in the driver's seat beside you.

something heavenly led me to you.

a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, "take a picture, won't you? it'll surely last longer," she teases, prodding at your flushed cheeks.

you huff in annoyance, rolling your eyes at her reaction. "focus on the wheel, gosh; don't they teach you that at the dmv?" you retaliate, a giggle escaping your breath.

and despite your efforts to make yourself seem more irritated by lara's snark remarks, you were, instead, allured by her beauty.

"hey! at least i'm not as bad as a driver as megan!" lara scoffs, as you nudge lara's shoulder playfully.

"next time i'm seeing her, i'm telling her you said that," you threaten, a grin playing on your face, as lara dramatically widens her mouth.

"you wouldn't dare!"

and for the next few minutes, all you could focus on was lara; all your thoughts were over consumed by lara.

lara, lara, lara.

without notice, everything becomes silent—both the world, and the two of you. and by then, you realize that soon, you two would have to return to your respective responsibilities—you with school, and lara with her idol life.

you knew this would happen eventually, but it all felt too surreal. your eyes glance over to lara, your gaze softening.

"are you okay?" her gentle, melodic tone breaks your train of thought, as you meekly nod, swallowing a lump in your throat.

"yeah, yeah, i'm fine, lara."

look at the sky,

her eyes flicker to you, brows furrowing, "c'mon, i know you're overthinking; i know you."

a soft, comforting smile tugs at her lips—the kind that made your heart ache and long for her even more. pulling the car over, a sigh drifts from lara's lips. her hand brushes against your flushed cheek, and instinctively, you lean into her touch.

"i know, i know. it just, feels weird without seeing you everyday," you sheepishly admit, your voice so low that it could get lost in the vicious roar of the engine.

sure, you were simply exaggerating your words; you saw lara at least, almost every weekend, but she was your person—the girl you used to see everyday, gossiping every second.

"feels weird for me too, y'know; you're not alone. i sometimes wish i could keep driving until the middle of nowhere—until it's just you and i," lara whispers, her tone laced with sincerity and a sort of softness that made your heart skip, her voice dulcet.

her words hang heavy in the air, as you both lean into the warmth of one-another, the delicate feeling of her knuckles brushing against yours providing you comfort.

inevitably, her lips find your temples, pressing chaste, gentle kisses against it, and in-between each kiss was whispered praise. your chest tightens at the thought of the girl you've loved most being rarely in your life.

"don't forget me, yeah?" you murmur against her ear.

and in lieu of an answer, lara swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, her lips pressed against yours feverishly, as though it were the last time she would see you.

with your noses occasionally bumping against one-another's, it was only then that you saw the fondness in lara's eyes, her love for you encompassing her.

it's the color of love.

"you have all my sweaters anyway," lara teases, a smile playing on your face at the way the girl lightens the mood with ease.

"they're not you though."

a giggle escapes lara's throat before she presses her lips against yours once again, savoring your taste, "i love you."

"i love you too, lara raj."

it was like a vow, a promise that no matter what, it would always be the two of you against the world, and your love was real. with each kiss, lara was determined to kiss each tear prickling from your eyes away.

there must have been an angel by my side.

something heavenly came down from above.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 12 - While My Blood's Still Flowing

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Oh geez, my loves, we're really in it now. Chapter Title from Help I'm Alive By Metric.

Word Count: 18.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Ben has a plan. Usual warnings.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 11 - Chapter 13

He hadn’t let you go. In the van, when he’d been snapping at your team in low words your brain didn’t have the energy to fully process, Ben had kept you tucked into his chest. When you’d returned to the safe house he’d picked you up in a smooth and effortless movement and carried you across the threshold, up the stairs, and into your room. You waited, in a world of dread, for the fury to hit him. For Ben to pull back, dropping you on the stairs or couch or floor of the bedroom and demand answers. Tell he wasn’t forgiving you this time. But all he seemed to feel—pushing through you where your arms were wrapped around his neck—was stoned resolve and something that was itching against his ribs and running into his fingers. And he didn’t drop you, and he didn’t leave. Ben lowered you both onto the edge of the mattress and let you cling to the firm warmth of his body until you were able to pull your head back and meet his eyes. 

“It’s late,” Ben spoke first, voice gravelly and low. “You need sleep.”

“I’m not tired,” you whisper. It was the truth, every part of your body was wired and alert. You kept your eyes locked to Ben’s because if you looked away you’d start searching for Homelander in shadows and corners. You kept your hand gripped to his shirt because if you let go, they’d start to smoke and turn over every surface to make sure it was only you and Ben in the house.

Ben only grunts, still watching you. It’s silent for another moment, only your breaths filling the space in an even time with each other. He’s just watching you, barely even blinking, and you can only feel him. Safe and strong and right there. Still right there. He’s not gone yet, yet, and there’s still no hot fury. No questions. There wasn’t apathy either, and you’re grateful because that might have destroyed you. The idea that he just didn’t care enough to fight anymore and was just going to let it go until you wouldn’t break down, then he’d leave forever. There was only the resolve and itch and a third thing. So deep down, you couldn’t feel it in passing. Constricting against him, pushing into his jaw and making everything almost fuzzy.

It might be betrayal, that third thing. The final straw, the last lie, breaking whatever this strange thing you’d managed to build together was. You might never have to say all those explanations you’d been putting together in your head, about why you’d hidden the sensory manipulation when you’d had every opportunity to tell him. About how you couldn’t control what happened, and had been so terrified that Homelander would use that against you. About how you didn’t want to talk about the performance because Ben would either touch you and not mean it or just not touch you at all, and you didn’t know which was worse. This wasn’t much better, though. Sitting against him in the dark, him being the only thing keeping you from imploding, and having to wait for it to be over forever.

He wouldn’t look away from you. You wished he would. You never wanted him to leave, you needed to stay right here—in this moment where he didn’t hate you—forever, but the longer he looked at you, the larger the dread grew. Because when time passed, as it always cruelly did, and the anger found its way from him into you, it would be worse if he just kept looking at you. You were searching his eyes for a hint, a sign of an oncoming storm, but all you saw was a look you didn’t understand. You knew all of his looks, and that introduced a new thread of fear into you. You dropped your head forward, back into his chest, trying to hide the tears falling from all of it—the night and the performance and Homelander and your team and the knowledge that Ben was going to hate you so soon—and trying hopelessly to pull Ben closer. Keep him tangible against you, maybe make him a part of you before it was over.

But he still didn’t leave.

Your hands start to fidget with the collar of his shirt. It was white earlier in the afternoon—crisp and pressed when Frenchie had brought it from the van—but you could see stains of blood and filth spread across the fabric, small tears in the seams, and charred holes where you’d been pressed against him as you burned. That breaks you more.

“I’m sor-“

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben cuts off your mumbled apology, following your gaze down to one of the scorch marks. “Stop apologizing.”

“But your shirt,” you look back up at him, hand flattening against his chest. “And the mission, and my powers, and Homelander, and you had to carry me-“

You choke on your own words as one of Ben’s hands moves from your hips to your cheeks, cupping it gently and keeping your eyes on his. “Stop.” 

“But-“

He says your name, grip tightening slightly as his thumb brushes a tear from your eyes. “Fucking stop. I don’t want your apologies, so fucking stop.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and it’s painful. You don’t look away, because he doesn’t want you, and once you do that becomes real.

Ben’s eyes narrow, scanning your face closely, and you can feel the itch turn into almost a burn. His mouth opens—just slightly—and closes a few times, and your body begins to brace against your will. This is it, and you’ll find a way to be fine with that. You’ve survived a lot worse, and this will not break you. This will not break you. You’ll figure out what to do with yourself, alone once more, when this is all over. When you’re immortal, incapable of being around the world, and Ben is millions of miles away with no one to blame for that but yourself, you will be fine because you have to be. You’re a lot fucking stronger than being broken by something like this-

“I’m not mad at you, Sunshine.”

You blink, Ben’s words almost jolting through you. You can feel them, coming deep from his chest, and everything is suddenly very big and blurry.

“What?”

“You think I’m mad at you.” He says it flatly, still holding your face so lightly. “You’re doing the thing with your face. Your heart beats faster every time I talk. I’m not mad at you, so calm the fuck down.”

“Why?” You don’t believe him. You want to believe him, but you’d be mad at you. You’d hate you, and so you don’t believe him. “You should be, I hid something from you again, and I blew our cover, and my powers-“ The words die in your throat, because you don’t want to talk about that. You’re not ready to have that conversation, where the whole world will end because he’ll say the thing you know. The thing you don’t even want to think.

“I know.” Ben’s voice doesn’t waver as he speaks, even though he frowns. “But I’m not.”

“Why?” You’re repeating yourself, trapped in a loop. You won’t leave it until you understand, until the dread is gone. You need it to be concrete, that he’s staying, and you’ll be stuck right here until he either leaves or makes you understand. “Why? Ben, why-“

“Because.” He swallows heavily, and you watch the bob of his throat, waiting for him to continue. “I’m just not.”

“Please, just tell me why-“

“I fucking can’t.” He snaps your names. “But stop being so goddamn afraid that I am. I’m not, so just please fucking stop.”

“But you will be-“

“No, I won’t.” His voice raises, but you don’t flinch. Your hand flies to where his own rests on your face, holding it there so he won’t pull away. Ben tenses at the movement, but only takes a heavy breath. “I won’t be mad. I’m not now, I won’t be later, and that’s fucking it. Stop being afraid of me.”

You feel the odd, implacable feeling pulse and grow just so slightly stronger. 

“I’m not afraid of you, Ben. I’m just,” you hold his hand tighter as his eyes stay on yours. He doesn’t believe you, you can feel it. See it painted across his face. “I just, I don’t-“

“I know,” he mutters, moving his hand from your face to fold it into yours. “Me neither.” 

You know what you mean. That you aren’t—couldn’t—be afraid of him, because he’s Ben. He’s safe and you, for some godforsaken reason, trust him more than anyone. With every part of you, all you have for him is faith and-

You know what you mean. And though you feel it—that strange thing deep in him that you’re afraid to try and name—you still don’t know what he means. You still need it to be solid, though. Even if you don’t have a clue what it is.

“Promise?”

“Fucking swear it.”

You nod, and words begin to push out of you.

“It’s him.” You say it so quietly, because you’re almost afraid that it’ll be heard, somehow, by anyone but Ben. That all the way in Vought Tower, cruel and twisted ears will pick up your voice and find you. But Ben needs to know. He can’t think that you’re afraid of him, because that might be worse. “I didn’t tell you because of him, not because of you, not because I don’t trust you or I’m afraid of you or am trying to lie-“

He says your name, but you barrel forward.

“Please, please believe me. I trust you, I do, I promise, and I’m all out of lies. That was it, and nobody knew. Not him, not Butcher, not Annie or Hughie or Kimiko or Mallory-“

Ben’s hand in yours tugs you forward, and you fall right into his chest. You feel your eyes start to sting, tears falling into your mouth, clinging to your tongue as your words turn muffled and choked.

“I couldn’t tell anybody, I can’t control it, he would’ve used it, hurt me, hurt people I love, I couldn’t, nobody could know, please-“

“Breathe,” is all Ben says, and his voice moves from his chest into yours. He starts to rub small circles against where he’s holding you, and your words fall into strangled sobs. “You’re okay. You’re here, and I’m not mad. You trust me?” You make another weak sound of affirmation, and he hums. “Then fucking believe me when I say I’m not mad, and I won’t be." 

You nod into him, the heat of his body spreading through you. Your heart and brain slow as Ben just holds you. Still not moving, just waiting, still tracing soft, firm patterns against your skin until your breathing slows. You pull back, reaching up to wipe the lingering tears away from your eyes, but he catches your face before you can. Cupping your jaw with one hand, the other leaves your waist, crossing your cheeks with warm, calloused fingers.

He’s lingering. There are no tears left, no new ones falling, but Ben’s still holding your face. Watching you. Not moving—not leaving—as your breaths fall back in time. One hand has tangled in your hair, and his thumb has moved to your chin. Brushing slightly against your lips, and your mouth falls open against your will.

You look at him. Really, fully look at him for the first time since the mission. You’d been right to want to see him in a suit. Even with his tie loosened and cock-eyed, with the dried blood and dirt marking his shirt and his jacket hanging by threads, he’s everything. Safe and warm and firm and Ben. His own mouth is in a slight pout, his eyes are so pretty, and he smells almost impossibly good. It’s surrounding you, wrapping around you with the strength of his arms. Every time he breathes you can feel the muscles move under his shirt, and there’s a strand of hair falling across his eyes. He’s not letting go of you to move it, leaving it loose and taunting you. Right now, between the feel of him everywhere and the way that he’s everything, you’re not strong enough to fight yourself from brushing it away. You reach up through Ben’s arms, moving it back into place slowly, carefully, in case he wants to stop you. He doesn’t, only glancing at your hand before looking back at you, unblinking and silent. Your hand drops to his arm, and even though it tenses under your hold, he doesn’t shrug it away. He just watches you. And stays.

The feeling you couldn’t understand is gone—flickered out completely—and the burn in his chest doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s bigger, stronger, consuming and so powerful it’s carving into you. It’s hungry, so hungry you’re shocked it’s not painful, but it isn't at all. It’s in your blood and through your spine and sitting heavy in your gut and it feels good.

It’s the lust, but stronger. It’s more than the club, where it felt like it could be cured. This is insatiable, and infinite, and nothing in Ben seems to be frustrated by it. All you feel is the hunger and it’s making everything inside you hot and aching. It’s amplifying your own need for him, for Ben to stay here with you forever and drown you in everything and want you. Really, really want you.

And it’s so easy to pretend he does. When his eyes drop to your lips for a fraction of a second. When his arms don’t leave their place around you and his hands are so gentle against your face. Not touching you like you’re delicate or breakable, but as if you’re something more than just you. Something important and holy and irreplaceable. Something like him.

It’s such a perfect world to exist in, where that’s just the truth, and not an easy and comfortable illusion. If Ben were to move—to finally close the space between you and touch you—there’s not a universe where you’re strong enough to stop him. You want him, you need him, and when he’s making it so easy to stay here forever you can’t prevent yourself from giving everything to him. Even if he doesn’t need you, even if it’s fleeting and might leave you shattered later.

For one of the first times in your life, your mind is almost blank. It’s just the same harmony of Ben, Ben, Ben and everything else is only need. Electric and burning need. The world is only you in Ben’s lap, and Ben’s hands on your face, and the breaths you seem to be trading. It’s only his eyes, watching you like he’s trying to dissect you. It’s different this time, not like the beginning. He’s trying to find something specific, and you can’t say what it is. What he’s looking for. 

You do know you’d give it to him. Whatever he’s looking for, you’d find a way to give it to him. Right now, if he asked for the moon, you’d pull it from the sky. If he asked for your heart, you’d tear it out of your chest. That should terrify you, how that idea seems so easy and natural. How it’s the truth, and there’s no way around it. But it doesn’t. Because it’s Ben. And he’s not mad, and he’s still here, and he’s everything, and if your heart in his hands is the thing that would make him keep holding you like this forever then so be it. You’d grow a new one anyways, and he could have that one too, and the next one, and the one after that.

“What did you mean?” When Ben finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. “When you said you wouldn’t need saving?”

You blink, caught off guard by the question when you can still feel his hunger. “What?”

“After my meeting. After our fight. The next morning, you said if I wasn’t immortal, you wouldn’t need saving.”

“Oh,” you’d forgotten about that entirely. You remembered seeing Ben sleep peacefully for the first time, feeling him content and secure above you. You remember having to wake him up, because you’d been able to feel your bladder, but still felt real guilty about it. You remember trying to push him out the door unsuccessfully, and him throwing you onto the bed and storming out, and having to force yourself not to chase after him. You remember how sturdy his body had felt against yours and how stupidly handsome he’d somehow looked in the early morning, but everything else was just a blur of how it had made you thirsty. You’re shocked Ben remembered, because you’d dismissed your own comment after you’d decided it wasn’t worth explaining.

But Ben was frowning, and you could feel the severity of his question through where he touched you. This, for some reason, mattered to him. And he was waiting for you to answer, brows knit and gaze urgent. The lust isn’t gone, but the undecipherable feeling has blossomed back in you, in Ben. You can even see it on his face, because it’s tight and grave in the same way.

You chose your words carefully, because this feels much more vital than it reasonably should.

“Do you, do you know what the butterfly effect is?” You ask, and Ben’s frown deepens.

“No.”

At his grumbled words, the strange feeling twitches, and for a second it’s sour. You make yourself keep speaking, because you can’t stop to read into every bit and scrap you get from him. You’ve already driven yourself mad just having to feel them, trying to find a pattern or meaning would lock you in a cycle of confusion and desperation forever.

“It’s this idea in Chaos Theory, that every small action could balloon to cause larger consequences. A butterfly flaps its wings in Asia, and a hurricane occurs in the Caribbean. What about the domino effect, do you know about that?”

“Yeah, one thing happens so all the other things do too, why-“

“You get injected with the V in the 1940s, and something about how it interacts with your DNA makes you develop immortality. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s experimental, a form a V they haven’t used since. But other volunteers combust, and something about you makes it work. You help build Vought for over forty years, now you’re sixty, and you still look twenty. Dr. Jonah Vogalbaum asks you to jerk off into a cup so he can study your un-aging DNA, and you don’t think twice because why would you? You’re immortal, nobody can hurt you, and so you don’t think twice. A little more time passes, and you’re impossible and a liability and nobody likes you.” At the flash of that odd feeling, in perfect synchronization with the look of what might be hurt on his face, you pause to squeeze your hand against his bicep. “They were right to, you’re an asshole,” you offer him a soft smile. “You’re guarded and unbelievably masculine to the point of detriment. But people can change. And I, for some stupid fucking reason, still care about you. And I trust you and I give a shit about you, even though you’re a dick and a cunt.” 

“I know,” Ben grunts, and despite the indifferent annoyance of his tone, you can feel the odd feeling grow into a static hum once more. “Keep talking.”

“Okay,” you take a deep breath. “Vought used that DNA you handed to them to make-“ you swallow, pushing the name out into the air from where it catches in your throat. “Homelander, and he’s strong enough that they feel comfortable replacing you. They cut the a deal with the Russians to get you out of the picture, and Homelander is the new big thing. But he’s so strong nobody will say ‘no’ to him, not if they want to keep their life, and he becomes an entitled, psychotic monster. He just wants a family, but doesn’t care enough or know how to build one like a normal, non-sociopathic person. So he decides to force it, and I’m the person he chooses. That’s not your fault, it’s just what happened, but um-“ You feel guilty, because none of this is really Ben’s fault, not really. He didn’t lock you up, he wouldn’t, and he didn’t force Homelander to do anything. But he asked, and you’re done lying to him. Forever. “When you come back, because the Russians couldn’t kill you, nothing can, Homelander’s angry. You’re immortal and it’s unfair that he’s not. He deserves to be, he should be, but when he asks a bunch of Vought scientists about it, they all say the same thing. Soldier Boy’s V hasn’t been made since he was created, and they destroyed the formula a long time ago. If we tried to duplicate it, we would need to test it before injecting it into you. Test it on a human. And that wouldn’t be legal. Lucky Homelander, lucky scientists, they have a human that nobody gives a shit about just lying around. And they inject her with V and even though the first shot did it, she’s immortal, they still want to make sure it’s stable and that it won’t hurt Homelander. So they do it, again, and again, and again until she explodes because that last shot proved too much. But I didn’t explode. I got out, and made a bunch of insane choices that led to me living here, and led to you saving me, all the time. That’s the domino effect, the butterfly effect. You get injected with V in the 1940s and I explode a warehouse in the 2020s. That’s it.” 

Ben’s silent. You hate it. You need him to say something, anything, because what if that was the final straw. What if he thinks you’re blaming him and hates you for it. You don’t feel hatred or anger—just that strange tension—but you need him to say it. That he still doesn’t hate you, that he’s staying-

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m really fucking sorry.”

He might as well have punched you, the way the world stills and the air is knocked from your lungs. He’s apologized before, once, and the words had been strained. This isn’t strained, this sounds like it’s falling out of him. And the feeling is moving around inside of him, twisting his guts with the drums. They’re so loud and sudden and furious. But he doesn’t hate you. He’s sorry.

“Ben-“

“Jesus fucking Christ, how didn’t you kill me the first day we met?”

“I mean, I couldn’t-“

“You should’ve fucking tried harder!” His voice is rising, words rolling into rambles, and he’s still holding you. “I would’ve fucking killed me! I wouldn’t have rested until I was dead! Fuck, I tracked down every pussy headed asshole who turned me over to Russia, and you just fucking lived with me? What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

That makes you frown. “Nothing’s wrong with me-“

“Fucking damn it, that’s not what I meant. I just-“ Ben’s pulling you up slightly, like he’s trying to look for a different angle of you, to find a button he can push to understand something. “Fuck, you- I don’t get it. You’re so-“ He trails off, eyes finding your face once more. He looks angry, but it’s only a lining along that confusing thing.

“I’m what?” You ask softly, and he shakes his head.

“You don’t make fucking sense.” He says your name like a plea. “You should hate me.”

“Probably,” you breathe. “Logically, on paper, yeah. I should. But I don’t. Hate you, or blame you, or want to kill you.”

“Fucking why.”

You smile weakly. “Because. I just don’t.”

It’s amusing, how you can see the exact moment the words click in Ben’s head. You don’t have to feel the indignant disbelief spark in his chest to see the way his frown becomes more annoyed than angry, or hear his huff of exasperation.

“Brat.” He mutters, and your smile becomes just a little easier.

“What’s wrong, Pretty Boy? Is that not a satisfying answer?”

He rolls his eyes, and the drums begin to fade into the background. “You’re fucking impossible.”

“And yet, you manage to put up with me.”

“Yeah,” Ben’s lips tug upwards ever so slightly, and the world feels lighter. “I’m a real hero.”

Your grin is real, toothless but full. “Well, that’s what the Soldier Boy Voughtland show says, so it must be true.”

He snorts, but there’s still something straining inside him. “You really don’t blame me, do you.”

You wish he would stop doing that thing—where he says something that should be a question in a way that makes it sound like fact—because every time he’s right and you can’t stop yourself from proving so. 

“I blame Homelander. I blame Vogelbaum and Vought and Edgar and everyone who made the choice to put me there and not try and get me out. But I don’t blame you.”

“And you don’t hate me?”

You shake your head. “Couldn’t if I tried. And I have.”

A shadow passes over Ben’s face as the odd feeling leaves, and it’s replaced in a violent rush by something that’s forceful and pushing against his ribs and up his throat. 

“Fucking promise?”

“Swear it.” You feel the force become bloody and warm in your body, Ben’s body. “You burn, I burn.”

“You burn, I burn.” He echoes, and this time when you smile at him, Ben smiles back. It’s not as unrestrained as yours, but it’s real. He’s real. And that’s enough.

Your exhaustion hits you like a bomb. You can almost feel the last bit of adrenaline leave your body, and here—where you still exist in a reality where Ben is warm and real and safe—the heavy, free-falling and airy feeling that makes your head feel faded and the world blur in and out is easy to give into.

Ben picks up on it quickly, and you see his smirk cross his dizzily attractive face the second before he speaks. “We finally tired, beautiful?”

He can’t keep calling you that, not when your tongue is growing loose from sleep and you were being literal when you called his face “dizzying”. You don’t know if it’s the sleep deprivation or just Ben, but you’re pretty sure he’s hypnotized you. All you can manage to say is, “You’re tired.”

He laughs. “Yeah, I fucking am. So can we please get your ass to bed so I can sleep?”

You hum, and he apparently takes that as a yes. Dropping his hands from where they’ve been glued to your face, he picks you up bridal style, carrying you to your side of the bed.

“Clothes,” you mumble into his shirt, because the smell of grime and bodily fluids is just managing to push through the smell of him. “Ben, clothes.”

“What about them.”

“Gross.”

“We’ll change the sheets in the morning.”

“You’ll change the sheets in the morning.”

He chuckles, and you feel it everywhere. “Fine, Sunshine. I’ll change the damn sheets in the morning.”

You give a hum of content that turns into a very embarrassing sound from your throat when Ben pulls away. Your eyes have already fallen closed, so you grope the air around you aimlessly to try and pull him back.

Ben’s hand catches your wrist, and his smug amusement takes root through your body. “I’m taking a piss, I’ll be one fucking minute. Think you can survive?”

His words are taunting. Not malicious, but taunting all the same, so you only give him disgruntled, “cunt,” and burrow yourself under the covers.

You hear him snort, and then he’s gone. You’re half aware of him shuffling around, the bathroom closing behind him, but it feels far away. You’re so tired, yet your consciousness is clinging to your head, keeping you in its hold as the toilet flushes, and the door creaks back open.

You wish you were more surprised when the moment Ben’s weight hits the bed—heat radiating from his body as it dips his side of the mattress—sleep grabs you.

 You’re on your knees. You were dancing in the kitchen to a pop song Ben said he would hate, and you said he was wrong. You know it by heart, so you started singing because at this point, really, what’s the worst that could happen. Pink, glittery clouds were all that filled the room after a handful of seconds, so you’d just spun around—singing and dancing—right up until Ben kissed you. He’d caught you, pulled you right into him, and kissed you so powerfully you were almost afraid you’d conjured Fake Ben again. But you could feel him, feel that hunger for you, just for you, and knew it was Real Ben. Kissing the air out of your lungs, wrapping his arms around you, groaning into your mouth as your hands pulled slightly at his hair. It was the best sound you’d ever heard, so you did it again, just to hear that sound of pleasure leave Ben’s mouth and feel it move into yours. Deciding to try something, you dropped one hand between your bodies, pressing it flat against his bulge, and this time he fucking growled.

So you’re on your knees.

He’s not wearing jeans, but the slacks from his disguise at Tek Knight’s club. When you look up at him, you realize he’s in a clean version of that suit, the tie askew from you pulling at it and his hair messy from your hands. Looking up proves to be, overall, a mistake though, because now you’re looking at Ben’s face. His mouth is hanging open and his face is reverent as he watches you. It’s everything, he’s everything, and he’s looking at you like that.

It’s impressive how fast you get his pants off, more impressive that you don’t moan yourself when you see all of him, pressing against his boxers and big. You’ll never be thirsty again, because you’re salivating enough to flood a desert. When you touch him to pull his cock out, hands bordering on frantic, he leans back with another amazing groan. One hand fists in your hair, angling your face to look at him once more.

Ben says your name, and you press your legs together because just that makes you ache. “Are you-“

“Yes,” you breathe. “If you-" 

“Fuck yes.”

You smile softly. “Okay then.”

So you set to work.

When your mouth covers Ben, taking all of his cock into your mouth in one swift movement that bumps him against the back of his throat, he moans. And it’s the best one yet, it’s like a drug, so you pull almost all the way off of him and do it again. Sloppier, faster, wetter, over and over until his moans turn into your name and you’re grinding against air. One hand is steadying you, digging into Ben’s thighs, and the other is cupping and squeezing his balls, making him louder. The ache is becoming painful, but if you let go of Ben’s leg, you’ll fall, and if you let go of his balls, he won’t say your name like that. So you push through, because the sounds he's making are worth it. You might get off on them alone, moving hopelessly against the air.

Ben tenses above you, and you hear him choke out your name. “Where-" 

You suck, long and firm, and the coil in his gut springs forward into you. The sounds he keeps making are musical, and you let him buck into your throat through his orgasm, swallowing every last drop of his cum.

You’ve hardly pulled off of his softening cock, when he’s yanking you up, kissing you long and rough. You whine into his mouth, and he pulls back with a cocky wink. 

“I think you might have a problem I can fix, beautiful.” His eyes drop to where you’re still moving desperately against nothing. “Would you like me to?”

The dream is ripped from you with sleep, and when your eyes tear open you can see Ben on the other side of the bed, back to you as he thrashes in the dark. His chest is glowing, casting long shadows around the bedroom and building—brighter and brighter—by the second.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, reaching over Ben’s body, trying to twist him onto his back.

You lurch back when you touch him, because he’s in pain. Whatever is setting the bomb off is hurting him, prying his brain apart and making his lungs like lead in his chest.

“Ben,” you raise your voice, grabbing the discarded sheets from the end of the mattress. “Ben! Wake the fuck up!”

It’s not enough—you knew it wouldn’t be—so you wrap the blankets around your fists like gloves, still yelling one last time. “Benjamin, wake up!” Nothing still, and you take a deep breath. “Sorry,” you mumble to nothing, and punch Ben in the face.

Your form is significantly better than the last time you did this, and Ben’s eyes shoot open with a bellowing, unintelligible sound. There’s a borderline feral look on his face, and he grabs you and flips you onto your back. One hand is pinning yours down, the other is squeezing your jaw, and the bomb is still building. You see the recognition flash in his eyes the very second before the drums fall into time, and you don’t get a warning before he’s throwing you off the bed. Ben detonates, light and heat flashing through the room, and falls back into the bed, panting.

Standing, you walk carefully back to the bed and scoot into his side. “Better?” You ask softly, and the face Ben makes when he looks at you is haunting. 

He grunts, watching you with a clenched jaw and heavy gaze. “Did I hurt-”

“No,” your voice is firm. “But you didn’t need to throw me. I can survive that.” You poke his chest gently, and feel a rush of that impossible and tight feeling.

“I know,” Ben mutters. “Just fucking instinct.”

You thank the dark of the room for covering the flush of your face. “I get it. Do you-“ you fidget with the sheets tangled around you nervously, dropping your eyes to Ben’s chest. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” He snaps, and even though you didn’t expect a yes, it still hurts.

“Okay.” You shrug. “I’m here if you do.”

Ben sighs loudly, leaning forward until you’re right against each other, and when you look up, he’s watching you with an apprehensive look. “You’re here?” He asks lowly, and you nod.

“Obviously.” You mumble, unsure what he’s aiming for. “And I’m not really going anywhere.”

“Hm,” he’s picking you apart again, and you don’t mind in the slightest. Because his knee is pressed into yours, and even as you can feel that tense pull, you can also feel something soft and aching. You’d stay here forever if it never went away, if he kept looking at you like a painting he can’t figure out, but doesn’t really want to. “You’re sure?”

You blink, having gotten lost in him. “Sure?”

“That you’re not going anywhere.”

“Are you? Going anywhere?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then me neither.”

You feel the soft thing roll around in Ben’s chest. “Good,” he mutters. “Do you…” he trails off, swallowing roughly, and it’s unbelievably confusing how hot it is when you’re still washed with concern. “The performance."

“Oh.” You stumble over words, having sort of hoped he’d just forget about that in the grand scheme of the night. “I, um, it’s- I, you-“ 

Ben catches your shaking head between his hands, and that doesn’t help anything at all. Because you don’t feel any disgust or apprehension, only the rumble of piercing heat in his chest. “Calm the fuck down.” He tells you, and it’s not great how fast your body responds, following the order until you've stilled in his arms. “You don’t owe me shit, but I-“ His hand trace your cheekbones lightly. “Tell me. Eventually. When we’re not trying to keep you safe or get that stupid fucking kid away from Homelander, tell me.”

He makes it sound easy, like you can just say well, Ben, against all odds you’ve become the most important person in my life, and annoyingly I don’t think that’s going to change. I want to fuck you so bad it’s becoming a problem, but I also really want to just keep you with me whenever I can, so if all you want from me is to fuck me then it might kill me. Because it’s a little more than that for me, and I’m so sorry about that. I’m sorry about a lot of this. But I’m not sorry for wanting you, for- 

“It’s complicated,” you breathe. “I don’t-“

“Later,” he says, voice low and rough. “We’ll talk about it later.”

You don’t really want to talk about it later. You certainly don’t have any interest in talking about it now, but later feels worse. “Ben-“

“It’s too early to get up,” he cuts you off, still touching you carefully. So carefully, like you're almost holy. “Too early to deal with any of this fucking shit, so sleep. Don’t get in your own damn head, Sunshine, and sleep.”

He lays you down on your back, and no part of you protests. Not as he buries his head in your collarbone, warmer than any blanket, and his hands—tracing circles against your skin—lull you back into a peaceful, empty daze. You thread your fingers mindlessly through Ben’s hair, his breaths fan against your neck. It’s safe, and easy, and Ben.

You fall back into sleep quickly, your heart in rhythm with his. The last emotion you feel is a gentle, strong, scratch of your heart against your ribs, singing the same song over and over. It doesn’t have words, but you know what it wants.

This, forever.

————

Ben knew what they had to do. He, for once, had a fucking plan. A solid, good, and impenetrable plan. Tek Knight had said there was cam footage, and it had been deleted by Sage. But there was one sticky-handed asshole who had fingers and eyes everywhere at Vought. One conniving fucking pussy who would have something. Some sort of evidence or proof that they could use.

Last night—in the van as She’d been curled into Ben’s lap—he’d told the Pussy Brigade exactly what they had to do, and made it clear as the goddamn day that he wasn’t asking.

“I want to meet with Edgar,” Ben’s words had been rough, not aimed at anyone in particular. She was awake against him, but her heart was still rapid, and Ben would bet a good amount of money she wasn’t listening. He'd tell Her later, when she wasn't picking up pieces of herself in his arms.

“The fuck are you talking about?” MM had glowered at Ben in the dark of the van.

“Stan Edgar. I want to meet with him. Make it happen.”

Starlight had given him a confused look. “Why?”

“He’ll have something for us.” Ben had said coldly, glaring around the van. “Something for her.”

Starlight had glanced down at Her, still holding tightly to Ben. “He’s told us he didn’t have any clue about what Homelander was doing-“

“And the motherfucker’s in jail,” MM had snapped, and Starlight had nodded.

“And that.”

“He’s lying,” Ben had growled. “He knew fucking everything when I was at Vought. The bastard didn’t let anything slip past him. There’s not a fucking chance he’d have missed this.”

“You were able to get him out for Maine,” Cocksucker had said nervously, looking around the van. “A meeting wouldn’t be hard-“

“No.” MM had crossed his arms, words harsh and firm. “He’s got a fucking angle, Kid, there’s not a chance in hell we’re doing that.”

“I don’t have an angle,” Ben’s hiss, cold and furious, had been pair with a dirty look around the van at these high-and-mighty fuckers who were too weak to actually do something and help Her. “Edgar will have something, she won’t kill herself for you pathetic fucking pussies, and Butcher will get his damn brat back.”

“Careful, you twat-“

Ben had cut off Butcher useless fucking threat with another sneer. “Get me the meeting with Edgar. Bring a barrel of that fucking knockout gas with us if you want to, but get me the fucking meeting.”

Starlight had nodded slowly. “We’ll, we’ll see what we can do-“

“Don’t see what you can do. Fucking do it. Not for me, for her. If you have even a fucking sliver of the mortality you’re all always bitching about, fucking do it.”

He didn’t fucking get Her, or how she put up with these pussies. She was too fucking good for them, too fucking good for most anyone. Ben had known that, it had grown so goddamn obvious to him the longer he knew her, really knew Her. That she was too good, too kind and beautiful and insane and impossible. Ben hadn’t understood it, decided he wasn’t supposed to because She didn’t need him to, and then he’d made the mistake. He’d asked Her what she’d meant by it, those words that had been rattling around in his head since she’d said them. That the Thing had been trying to pick apart for weeks.

And now he knew that She really was too good for anyone. She was the first fucking person in history that was too perfect, and nobody fucking deserved Her. No one. Not even Ben.

He felt terrible. Like a fucking pussy asshole that had hurt Her. Ben didn’t have a fucking clue how people just existed like this, it was going to kill him. She shouldn’t forgive him, and it was awe-inspiring that She ever even let him yell at her or treat her like he had in the beginning when Ben had done that to her. When he’d been the stupid fucking butterfly in her weird analogy that led to Her curled in his arms, shaking and sobbing and screaming and tearing the Thing apart inside him. She was fucking impossible, this perfect and insane woman who deserved the fucking world but was still putting up with Ben. That kept promising to burn with him when nothing should ever be allowed to burn Her, and when that included Ben. That kept smiling and apologizing when She should be allowed to raze every single fucking bastard in her path.

When Ben had climbed into bed that night, he hadn’t let himself touch Her. For the first time in his long life, he didn’t feel like he deserved it. She’d said she didn’t blame him, promised that she didn’t hate him, and he really did fucking believe Her. But that didn’t make any of this shit better.

The Thing hated not touching Her—whining pathetically in Ben’s chest as he had turned his back to her—but right now Ben was stronger than the Thing. Right now it, Ben, shouldn’t be allowed to touch Her. She should stay peaceful and safe forever, be able to go wherever the fucking hell she wanted without fear of being hurt. And Ben had hurt Her, made her look at him with dread that he’d be mad at Her for the most stupid bullshit in the world, so he should be on the list of things not allowed to touch Her. It had been a lot harder to fall asleep—hearing Her breaths across the bed and the small sounds she kept making in her sleep—but he’d fucking manage. Ben had slept thousands of nights without Her. He’d survive one fucking more.

Ben followed Her heartbeat to the performance storage room. But this time he couldn’t open the door. No matter how hard he pushed, pulled, punched or kicked, it stayed locked between them. And it was transparent. Ben could see Her, on the other side, knocked out on the floor. Tek Knight wasn’t strangely frozen against her, but leering above her body with a cold smirk. She wasn’t opening her eyes, the only sign of life was Her unsteady heart, and Ben couldn’t fucking get to Her.

Homelander stepped out from the shadows, watching Her with a wide, toothy, empty grin. Walking over to her body. And Ben still couldn’t fucking open the goddamn door.

“Good work, Robert. I mean, you got her.” Homelander laughed, and it was a terrible, bone-chilling sound. “I can’t believe you, of all fucking people, got her.”

“Thank you, sir.” Tek Knight took in the praise with a puffed chest. “What, uh, what do you want me to do with her?”

“That’s not your problem. Go jerk off to a robot.” When Tek Knight didn’t move, Homelander shot him a cold glare. “Fucking now.”

Tek Knight seemed to disappear into thin air, and it was just Her and Homelander and Ben. Still locked out, trying, trying so fucking hard to get in the room.

Homelander said Her name, and Ben hated the way it sounded in his mouth. Nobody should be allowed to say it like that, in a way that made it sound small and weak. So unsuited to Her. “I found you,” Homelander reached down, pulling her roughly off the ground. “I fucking told you I would.”

Ben was roaring, even if he couldn’t hear it himself. He had to get to Her, had to fucking help her, but this fucking door wouldn’t open.

“Don’t think I’m letting you go this time,” Homelander yanked Her face up to his. “I know you’re awake, stop playing pretend.”

Her eyes opened slowly, and they were glazed and afraid, smoke rising off her body. But Homelander only laughed.

“You see that?” Ben froze as Homelander turned Her face to the door, as Her eyes widened. She could see him. “Soldier Boy won’t fucking save you, won’t help you. He doesn’t give a shit about you, not like I do.”

She shook her head, but still didn’t speak. The fear was growing, Ben needed to help her, but he couldn’t get in the fucking room-

“I care about you,” Homelander hissed to Her, and she was still watching Ben. “I’m perfect for you. We’re fucking gods together, and you’re never getting away from me again.”

A choked sob left Her, and Ben watch—fucking helpless—as she scraped at Homelander. Flames still wouldn’t come, Ben still couldn’t get to her, and Homelander’s laugh was echoing all around.

“I love you.” He said her name again. “Like no one ever has. Like no one ever will. And I’d rather you fucking burn than live without you.”

She screamed Ben’s name, and he roared hers back. The door wouldn’t budge, and She was screaming, and nothing was okay. Not as Homelander pulled Her against him and Ben could stop it. Not as Homelander shot up into the sky, and they were both gone, but the sounds of Her pleas for Ben were still ringing around him. He hadn’t kept her safe, She was gone, she was in danger, she’d hate him forever, and she was fucking gone and he hadn’t kept her safe. The one thing he’d promised and meant in his whole fucking life, and he’d failed-

She had woken Ben up, and he’d had to hear Her say it. That she wasn’t going anywhere. Not because he wouldn’t let Her leave if she wanted to—Ben didn’t think he’d survive it, but he’d promised to keep Her safe, and being away from him was safe he’d let Her go and let it kill him—but because he needed to know she was there. That he wasn’t still dreaming and She was real. Still there, with him.

And he’d made himself ask about the performance, because his control was pathetically fucking weak in that moment and he couldn’t stop himself. He needed a fucking hint, what She wanted from him. What she needed him to give her. What he needed to do for Her to keep forgiving him. Even if he was willing to let Her go, if that’s what it came to, he was going to fight tooth and nail and bullets and blood to keep her real and at his side.

The Thing had wanted to fall asleep with Her. Ben had obliged, because fuck him if he was ever depriving himself of her again. He might lose Her one day, the very idea made the Thing ache and roll, so every single chance Ben had he’d sleep against Her. Touch Her in whatever way she asks him to, whatever way she lets him.

She fit against him like he’d been made for it. Like his face had been designed to rest on Her neck, and his legs had been carved to tangle in hers. She was perfect, too fucking perfect, and sleep was so easy against Her that Ben didn’t realize it had even caught him until he blinked and there was light through the curtains.

He’d been torn, because the Thing wanted to stay there, with Her peaceful and perfect against Ben’s body. But Ben wanted to do something. For Her.

Like a fucking pussy.

Ben decided that, between two impossibly pathetic and whipped options, the doing something one was just a tiny bit less fucking awful. He could pretend it wasn’t about Her a lot easier, say it to himself over and over until—when She asked—he would be able to convince Her that this wasn’t about her.

It took Ben almost twenty minutes—after slowly leaving the bedroom and putting on the coffee—to find a good recipe. The breakfast section of their cookbook was goddamn abysmal, filled with recipes that either sounded like healthy fucking dogshit or just looked straight up impossible to actually make. Ben would rather drink gasoline than make Her a frittata, and he was pretty sure a lemon scone was outside of his skill range, so he settled on pancakes. Easy, simple, classic fucking pancakes with syrup and butter.

He'd burnt the first batch. The second tasted like shit. The third exploded—Ben wasn’t entirely sure how he’d even managed that—and he used salt where he should've used sugar on the fourth, but the fifth was fucking phenomenal. He was a goddamn genius. A cooking savant. They should give him one of those stupid shows She’d put on in the background when she was reading. Because fuck, these pancakes were good. The kitchen was filled with smoke and covered in baking powder and egg shells, but he’d fucking done it. Right on time, as well, because She entered the room with puffy lips and sleepy eyes that widened as she took in the kitchen around her.

“What the hell happened in here?”

“Breakfast,” Ben grunted, pushing the plate across the counter for Her to see.

She blinked, looking between him and the pancakes. “You made those? For me?”

“I made some for me as well.” He grumbled, nodding roughly to his own helping. But Her eyes were bright as she looked at him, and she looked so fucking perfect, Ben couldn’t stop himself saying, “But yeah. For you.”

Goddamnit, Her smile was so fucking happy and easy and wide it was going to eat him alive. The Thing was going to overtake him, and he didn’t know what he could fucking do to stop it. He didn’t really care to know, or fucking want to.

“Thank you,” She walked around the counter, dropping into her place at his side. She gave a soft hum as she poked at them with her fork, and Ben frowned.

“What-“

“How many tries?” She looked up at him with a teasing smile, and he scowled. When he didn’t answer, she started to guess.

“Three? Four? Five?”

“Fuck you.”

She giggled, and the Thing made a satisfied sound. “It’s five, isn’t it.”

“Pancakes are fucking hard to make, Sunshine, and these are goddamn delicious, you’d know if you’d actually fucking eat-“

She took a large bite, raising her brows at Ben as he fell silent, watching her chew and swallow. He was fucking entranced, he needed to know what She thought, if she liked them or hated them or just wasn’t a pancake person. Fuck, what if she just wasn’t a pancake person-

“Jesus, Ben.” She took another bite, covering her mouth with a hand as she spoke through the food. “These are actually good.”

“You’re fucking welcome,” he muttered, trying to push down the wave of relief in his body.

“Are you sure you made these? Because they’re really good-“

“Shut the fuck up,” he nudged Her leg with his, rolling his eyes. “Can’t just let me have a compliment, can you.”

“Nope,” She laughed. “That’d be too easy, Pretty Boy.”

He snorted, and started to inhale his own plate. She always ate a little slower than Ben did, but he’d gotten used to it. He’d even started—at first unconsciously—to time when he began eating his food so that they’d finish together. When he’d first noticed, Ben had cursed himself for how he’d allowed it become a habit. But then he’d noticed how she’d stopped glancing at him, nervously asking if he wanted to go do something while she finished, and the Thing had damn loved it. It was comfortable and nice and now he couldn’t fucking stop. He’d gotten good at it, too. Proven by his last wolfing bite being in perfect sync with Her final swallow.

She was tapping on the counter, not looking at Ben, and he could practically hear Her the gears turning in her head. He open his mouth to tell her to just fucking spit it out, but just before he could-

“Now what?” She finally met Ben’s eyes, and hers were clouded and glossy. “Tek Knight was a dead end, and that was all we had. What, where, just-“ She sighed shakily, and Ben pressed his knee against hers, waiting for her heart to slow. “What do we do?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Ben said gruffly, pushing on as She shook her head. “Yes, we fucking will.”

“But-“

“I am not trading you,” Ben said Her name firmly, because she somehow still didn’t understand. That there was one thing in the world he would never, ever fucking let her do. One promise he was never going to go back on or break, let alone let Her go back on it for him. He had a fucking plan, so he wasn’t letting Her break his promise. “You matter just a much as that kid, and I’m not letting climb on the bullshit sacrifice train your pussy fucking team keeps trying to board. It never works, and it’s not like Homelander’s torturing Butcher’s brat. The sooner you get that through your pretty head, the sooner we can go on with a plan that isn’t fucking stupid.”

Her heart fluttered slightly, but she still whispered. “I could try and fight him, this time. I’d be fine-“

Ben scoffed. “No. You freeze and panic at the very damn thought of him.”

“I’ve gotten better-“

“No,” he snapped. “You fucking haven’t. You didn’t even explode last time. You’re the most powerful supe in the world, and that pussy makes you fucking useless.”

“But we need to get Ryan out,” She protested. “He’s just a kid, Ben. He doesn’t deserve this-“

“I know. I’d-“ Ben sighed. “I’d tell the Pussy Brigade I won’t hit the little fucker, but they wouldn’t believe me. But you are not fucking turning yourself over-“

“You’d do that?” She said softly over Ben, grabbing onto the wrong damn part of the sentence. “You’d work to not hit Ryan?”

“If it’d stop you going through with the dumbest plan I’ve heard in my goddamn life, sure.”

“Ben-“

“You’re not doing it. Tell me you’ve fucking got that, that you’re not doing that bullshit.”

“I’ve got it,” she gave him a smile, and the Thing pushed against Ben, trying to get to Her, touch her.

“Good.”

Her smile became smug, and the infinite amusement returned to her voice. “Most powerful supe, huh?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Fuck off.”

“You said it, not me,” She leaned forward, further into him. Ben might not be able to stop himself from throwing her on the table and fucking her stupid is she kept look at him like that. Her face so open and perfect, like he was the only thing in the world that mattered to her.

“Don’t make me fucking regret it.” He muttered, and her smile only grew.

“But you meant it, didn’t you.”

“Yeah, I’m not a fucking pussy liar-“ Ben frowned at Her as she said the last words with him, her voice dropped into that overly-deep impression of him. “Shut-“

“The fuck up, brat?” She finished his sentence, wrinkling her nose at him. “Be careful, Benjamin. I’m the most powerful supe in the world, I’ll kick your ass.”

“No you won’t. You like my ass.”

Her perfect face flushed. “Doesn’t mean I won’t kick it,” she mumbled. “Could if I wanted to.”

Ben winked at Her. “I know, that’s why I’m so nice to you.”

“Oh, blow me,” She snorted.

“If you want.” Ben lowered him to Her eye level, and the flush grew stronger as her heartbeat sped up. He’d made similar offers before—almost in those exact words—but this was different. This time she wasn’t looking away, and Her mouth was parted with heavy breaths. This time she was still leaning into him, looking at him with pretty, slightly glazed eyes, and they were so fucking close-

The door of the safe house swung open with a bang, and She pulled back from Ben—knees still together but breaths no longer shared—to look up as Starlight, Cocksucker, and Butcher bustled into the kitchen. All three of them looked like shit, eyes hung with bags and faces sallowed, and they weren’t smelling much fucking better either.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Ben snapped, and sort of wanted to kill them for cutting whatever that had been short. The Thing was whining inside him, and he felt so goddamn starved now, and it was all their fucking fault.

Butcher looked between, and mocking smirk playing on his lips. “We ain’t interrupting anything, are we?”

“Fuck you-“

She spoke over Ben’s sneer, brows furrowing as she looked between Butcher, Starlight, and Cocksucker cautiously. “What’s going on? It’s like, 10am, and last night was a disaster, you should be re-grouping.”

“We’re here to collect Soldier Boy, take him off your hands for a day.” Butcher winked at Her, and she frowned.

“Take him off my hands? Take him where?” She glanced at Ben, and the Thing stuttered in him that she might think he’d lied to Her again. He’d forgotten—so caught up in making sure She knew that they would have a plan that didn’t involve giving her to Homelander—to mention that they did have a plan. And now she was going to fucking hate him-

Butcher answered lazily before Ben could even open his mouth. “We’re goin upstate, payin the haughty twat Stan Edgar a visit. Soldier Boy thinks he might have something for us.”

“He’ll know something.” Ben said shortly, giving a quick glower to Butcher before turning back to Her. “About you, about Homelander.”

“Edgar told me he didn’t know anything.” Her words were careful, and she was squinting slightly around the room, as if trying to find reason on the walls or her team's faces.

“You believed him?” Ben asked, and Her eyes fell to him.

“Not at all.”

“Then let’s go get the fucking truth.”

“Yeah well,” She looked at her team apprehensively. “Sounds like this is another you meeting.”

“You’re fucking coming with us,” Ben said Her name with a frown. “This isn’t in the city, we’re not just leaving you-“

“Actually, uh.” Starlight’s entire face was guilty and drawn with anxiety. “It is just you, Soldier Boy.”

The Thing pressed against Ben’s lungs. “There’s no fucking way I’m going without her. We could be gone for the whole fucking day.”

“Edgar wants just you. Was very insistent about it. Said we could drop by anytime this weekend.” Butcher drawled.

“So we should fucking bring her, we don’t know what kind of two-faced shit that bastard is plotting-“

“It’s Monday.” She said softly, and Ben stopped his rant to give Her a confused frown. “He said this weekend, and it’s Monday.” She looked at Butcher, who was smirking widely. “You want to get the jump on him, before he can pull anything.”

“Right on the money, Love.” Butcher said appreciatively. “Now call off your bloody guard dog.”

Ben pushed further, trying to make Her see fucking reason. “He won’t be able to pull anything, jump or not, if you just fucking come with us-“

“He won’t see us both. If he was insistent, he won’t take the meeting if we’re both there.”

“Well then he also won’t take the damn meeting if we go today,” Ben snapped. 

“No,” She shook her head. “If Edgar agreed to this, he’ll see it through. He’ll probably want something, but that’s why he’ll see it through. So if you show up and say this is his only chance, he’ll grab it. He’s not stupid, and you won’t be bluffing. But if I’m there he can call foul, say you’re not meeting his demands.”

Ben said Her name, hating how fucking desperate he sounded. But he wasn’t fucking leaving Her alone, not for a whole day, not when they knew Homelander had started looking for her. “You’re coming with us. Or I’m not going.”

“Oh my God,” Starlight rolled her eyes. “I did not get up at 4am to get you this meeting just for you to throw a temper tantrum about it. Can we please just go.”

“Annie,” She raised her palm, giving Starlight a small shake of Her head. “Just, give us one second.”

Starlight sighed with a frown, but nodded, and Butcher scoffed.

“If you cunts are going to get all fucking cheesy and fuck on the table, can you just tell us to I call Frenchie for the eye bleach?”

She ignored Butcher’s mocking words, locking eyes with Ben, words firm as she spoke. “Ben, I will be fine. And if Edgar has the information, as you clearly think he does, we need it. So please just go get it.”

And in the slight widening of Her eyes, Ben heard the rest of Her words. I’ll be right here when you get back. Now stop being an ass and play nice for one day.

Ben scowled at Her. Fine, but you owe me.

Her face looked a little lighter as she sighed. Thank you. Then, aloud, She said. “You should go now. Before Neuman has time to find out.”

Cocksucker shook his head. “We’re in the clear on that, MM, Frenchie, and Kimiko are keeping eyes on her.”

“Why would the Head-Popper give a shit about this?”

Butcher chuckled like Ben’s question was fucking insane, “Head-Popper’s Edgars kid. She keeps tabs on dear ol’ dad’s prison activity, especially after our last visit.”

“Edgar had a kid?”

“Adopted,” Cocksucker said sheepishly. “But yeah.”

“Neuman did kind of shadow work for Edgar,” She explained to Ben with a shrug. “Made sure the feds stayed off his back. Eventually Homelander flipped her, gave her V to protect her daughter. Edgar seems to still love her though, her and Zoe.”

“Who the fuck-“

“Neuman’s daughter.”

“She also a supe?”

“Uh…” She looked over at Cocksucker, who had a pouting, sad little frown on his face.

“Vicki injected Zoe with the V last year,” he supplied nervously. “Little after the whole, um, tower thing.”

“Gave the kid gross fucking face tentacles,” Butcher shook his head with a grimace. “Hideous. She ain’t gettin bloody asked to the prom ever with those fuckers.”

“Edgar was pretty mad about it in November,” She added thoughtfully, but narrowed Her eyes at him. Stop stalling, Pretty Boy.

Ben glared at Her. Brat. "Head-popped doesn't know?"

"Um, not yet," Cocksucker answered, and Ben stood from the counter.

“Then let's get a fucking move on.”

“That’s it?” Cocksucker looked between them, annoyingly fucking bewildered. “You’re just going?”

“You got a fucking problem with it?” Ben gave Cocksucker a cold death glare as he walked to the doorframe, and the pussy shook his head frantically.

“No, I’m good.”

“Then let’s fucking go.”

“You heard him, Lad, go start the van.” Butcher tossed Cocksucker the key, and for a second it looked like he was about to clap Ben on the back, but wisely thought better of it.

Ben looked back once, and saw Her watching him. He could hear the chewing of Her lip, and tapping of her fingers, so he gave her a small, tight nod. I’ll see you soon. 

She blinked at him. Be careful. Don’t do anything stupid.

Ben allowed himself to smile slightly, giving Her a wink. No promises. And followed Butcher out the door.

Every single time Ben stepped foot in this shitty fucking van, he found another damn reason to hate it. This time, it was the way its engine screeched and grinded like chalk in his ears. There weren’t any gas canisters—maybe the Pussies had forgotten, or just finally grown some damn balls—but Starlight flinched every time Ben shifted in his seat, and Butcher had a rocket launcher lying on the passenger's side. Their heart were all so fucking unsteady, and in an off-rhythm pound with that horrible fucking engine.

“Are you sure this shit-Mobile will get us upstate?” Ben grumbled after an hour of tuning out Starlight and Cocksucker’s whispers and Butcher shooting him dirty looks in the mirror.

“Yes.”

“As long as we don’t take highways,” Cocksucker's mumbled addition to Butcher’s words was met with an eye roll from the latter.

“Lucky for us, we ain’t. All backroads to get where we’re going.”

Ben grunted, and Starlight asked, “How long is the drive?”

“Three hours,” Cocksucker answered for Butcher. “But there’s probably no traffic.”

“Awesome,” Starlight sighed, again, and Ben was getting really fucking sick of that sound. “Three hours stuck between Racist Uncle Sam and Evil Robin Hood.”

“Oi!” Butcher snapped, at the same time Ben said, “Fuck you.”

“Oh shit,” Cocksucker muttered, and Butcher kept going as Ben glared daggers at Starlight.

“I ain’t Evil Robin Hood, and you wouldn’t catch me bloody dead in tights.”

“And I’m not Racist Uncle Sam,” Ben grunted.

Starlight scoffed. “Sure.”

“Can we please not do this-“

Starlight spoke over Cocksucker, still glaring at Ben as she said Her name. “Might have been pulled into your shit, but we’re not convinced.” Starlight leaned forward. “I don’t trust you, and whatever game you're trying to play here-“

“You don’t fucking know me at all, bitch.” Ben growled. “My game is doing all your goddamn jobs for you. My game is being the only person here, despite all your perfect moral compasses, who’s not willing to turn Homelander’s victim back over to him in exchange for anything “

“We didn’t let her and Butcher go through with that,” Cocksucker frowned. “She’s our friend, our teammate-“

“Really?” Ben sneered. “What about last night? When she was fucking begging you to trust her and you decided exploiting her was easier.”

“And she turned out to be lying,” Butcher said coldly from the front as Cocksucker’s eyes fell to the floor. “So we were fucking right-“

“In all you shit for brains infinite goddamn wisdom, did it never occur to you that she might have had a damn good reason not to tell you the truth? That maybe when you treat her like a fucking shiny weapon, she’s not going to be jumping for joy at the first chance to sing goddamn Kumbaya with you pussies?”

“That’s not fair-“

Ben laughed mockingly at Starlight’s words. “Fair doesn’t have anything to do with this fucking shit. Thinking that it does is your first mistake.” Ben’s jaw clenched, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m a lot more ready than any of you pussies to do whatever it takes to get to Homelander, but I’m not throwing the only person who doesn’t deserve any of this goddamn mess you assholes made in the line of fire.”

“Aren’t you a fucking hypocrite, Gov.” Butcher’s tone was mocking and bored, but Ben could hear to pound of his heart. “Pretty lady gives you a smile and suddenly she’s worth more than a fucking kid.”

She's not just pretty, the Thing screamed inside of him. She’s perfect.

Ben shut the Thing deep down inside of him as he said, “I’d rather be a hypocrite than a pathetic, weak fucking excuse for a man who’s willing to let Homelander have everything he wants for my bottom line.”

Butcher’s grip tensed on the wheel, but he didn’t respond. Starlight fell silent as well, Cocksucker still watching Ben wearily, and the remainder of the ride was lined in frigid, tense silence. When it became clear to Ben that he had successfully shut their mouth from bitching and whining, he began to run through his plan. He hadn’t really exactly had a shit ton of time to figure out what he actually needed to say to Edgar. Ben had, although he would never say it out loud, expected Her help with that part. The stupid song and dance around each other that was fucking pointless in most any scenario, but required in this one. Ben really wished She was here to help him, or at least just here. She’d wrinkle her stupid, perfect nose at Ben and tell him it’s actually really simple, dumb-dumb. People don’t respond to threats or torture, because they’ll say or do anything to make it stop.

That’s fucking idiotic. He’d tell her. Torture works wonders.

Yeah, I mean, I don’t know about you but after my personal experience with it I was really compliant and chill about everything-

Fuck you.

Just offer him something he wants, Ben. And if he’s an ass, one or two threats won’t hurt. Maybe cut off his dick, that one’s a classic.

It was incredibly annoying that, even as a voice in Ben’s head, She was always right. He didn’t know what Edgar would want, but he’d find it in the moment. He’d figure it out. He had to.

When the godawful fucking engine finally shut off, Butcher’s words were tight.

“He don’t know we’re coming, so the guard might fire on Soldier Boy. We aren’t in the business of drawing attention to ourselves, so me and Hughie will go ahead first and text you to follow.”

Ben did not want to be left alone with Starlight. He didn’t want her judgmental fucking looks, or whining about morality. But Butcher was right, and once he and Cocksucker left the van, Ben stared blankly at the wall and tried to ignore the scratch of Starlight’s breath and heart against his brain.

“You really care about her, huh?” Ben’s eyes shot to Starlight, whose face was contorted in confusion as she continued. “It’s not just sex.”

“We haven’t fucked,” Ben grunted, ignoring how bitter the Thing felt about that.

“But you care about her.”

Yes, the Thing howled. She’s perfect, how could you not fucking care about Her?

Ben just huffed, looking back at the wall. He had no interest in talking about his fucking feelings with goddamn Starlight.

“I don’t like doing those things to her, just so you know.” Starlight said carefully, still watching Ben. “It’s just complicated-“

“No, it’s not,” Ben snapped, still staring ahead.

“Well-“

“You can whine and bitch about moral gray areas and complex situations, but this one’s real fucking simple,” Ben looked at Starlight, allowing the unbridled fury he carried for Her—because she wouldn’t fucking let herself do it—to show on his face. “You’ve been part of the Vought machine your whole fucking life, Butcher’s an asshole dick-face who’s just as revenge fueled as I am, as all of you pussies are.”

Ben could hear Her voice in his head. Wow, look who’s feeling reflective. Dare I say, self-aware.

“Not Hughie,” Starlight protested. “He’s a good person. He doesn’t compromise his morals-“

“And how would you feel,” Ben hissed. “If Hughie volunteered to trade himself to Homelander for Butcher’s damn kid. Volunteered to torture himself for the sake of a plan.”

“I’d, I mean I’d hate it. But that’s not the same-“

“You’re right. Because Hughie still made choices to be here.” Ben said Her name, holding Starlight’s gaze as his fists clenched at his side. “Well, she’s only here because of you and your stupid fucking team. Because after Homelander kidnapped and raped and experimented on her, all she got for it was you. She’d do anything, just like the rest of you, but it’s not for her. It’s never for her. Nothing’s ever for her. So fuck me for being the first person ever to do something about that.”

Starlight was staring at Ben, stunned into silence, and the phone buzzed in her hands.

“It’s Hughie,” she mumbled, glancing at the van door. “He says we’re good to go. That the guards have been told to turn a blind eye, so we can just walk in.”

Ben snorted to himself. “Yeah, you fuckers are real beacons of righteousness, bribing fucking prison guards.”

Starlight frowned, but followed Ben out the van and into the prison, not saying a word.

Starlight directed them down several halls and around way too many fucking corners, and after what felt like a damn hour of tightly spoken directions and grunts they finally found Butcher and Cocksucker. Standing in front of a steel door, with Grace Mallory.

“Soldier Boy,” she greeted him coldly. “I had to get up at 5am to drive here for your plan. It better be well damn worth it.”

“I didn’t make you fucking do that shit,” Ben snapped, and Cocksucker jumped to explain.

“She needs to be here if you make any official deals.”

“It’s all bureaucratic horse-shit,” Butcher drawled. “Don’t waste what little brain power you have on it, Gov, not when Edgar’s waiting for you.”

Giving them all one last hateful glare—Starlight was still looking at him like he’d sprouted a damn second head—Ben opened the door they had gathered around.

Stan Edgar was, in fact, waiting for him. Handcuffed to a table and statue-like, humming to himself. The man didn’t look up, or even fucking acknowledge Ben until they were seated across from each other.

“You look old.” Ben said by way of greeting, and Edgar laughed dryly.

“And you have not aged a day. As lovely as it is to see you, I wasn’t expecting Butcher and company until Friday at least.”

“I’d apologize, but I don’t give a fuck about what you expecting.”

“I wasn’t trying to trick anyone. I simply had the weekend open. My crochet class got canceled, and our movie night is a screening of something horrible called Penguins of Madagascar.”

“Still don’t give a fuck. Stop being a fucking bastard and talk.”

“It’s been forty years, and I’m seeing my friend for the first time since he left America. Do not blame me for small talk.”

“We weren’t friends-”

“Yes, friends is a tad unprofessional. Amicable colleagues, perhaps? Forgive me for asking, but how was Russia? I’ve never been, and I hear the potato-based meals are to die for.”

The drums sounded, but they were distant, and Ben pushed them away. “Shut the fuck up, you fucking backstabbing dick.”

“I do apologize for that, but you were a tad unstable-“

“You can apologize,” Ben snapped. “By not being a two-faced, scheming ass for once and giving me what I came here for.”

Edgar sighed. “I guess we’re getting right into business then. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you want my help with the Anomaly problem.”

Ben scowled. “Don’t call her that.”

“Hm,” Edgar blinked. “I’ve been told you two have become quite… attached.”

“By who, Butcher?” Ben scoffed.

“No, Grace Mallory. According to her, one Marvin Milk has been trying to stop this little operation since it began, and has begun to worry that she’s not going to let go of you easily once this is over.”

The Thing rolled at that, because Ben wasn’t about to let go of Her easily either, not if she wanted to fucking stay with him for some damn reason. “That bastard doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”

“I must say, this is not exactly what I expected when I spoke to her in November. I thought she might actually fight Homelander, not outsource to you.”

“Yeah, well she’s unpredictable and doesn’t like being told what to do,” Ben muttered. “They’re two of her more annoying qualities.”

“I am rarely surprised anymore, Benjamin. It is impressive you both have managed to completely render me befuddled at your… Situation.”

The Thing twinged at that. Ben’s full name. He hated the way it sounded from Edgar now more than the 80s, because now he knew what it sounded like when She said it. Perfect.

“Are you going to give me some fucking answers, or just talk like a damn bridge troll all day.”

Edgar huffed a laugh at Ben’s question. “I am unsure how I can help in this scenario. As I have previously told Butcher, Mallory, Starlight, and the Anomaly- my apologies,” Edgar said Her name at Ben’s deep, angry scowl. “I was not privy to Homelander’s little pursuit for a family, let alone his less than ideal methods.”

“I’ve heard,”  Ben leaned across the table. “And I don’t fucking believe you. So I’m here to make you an offer, sweeten your damn pot.”

Edgar’s brows raised slightly. “Though it will not change my answer, because as much as I’d like to I cannot turn back time and learn about it sooner, you have my attention.”

Ben smirked. “I heard you’ve got a kid.”

“If you are about to attempt to blackmail me with my daughter, it will not go the way you anticipate.” 

“Because she’s a supe, right? Head-Popper.”

Edgar blinked slowly. “Did you learn this from Butcher?”

“Don’t fucking bother yourself with that shit. Do you want to know what else I heard?”

“I have a feeling you will just tell me regardless-“

“That Head-Popper has a kid. You’ve got a damn granddaughter.” Edgar's face remained stone-like, but his heart stuttered. Ben smirked, and continued. “Who recently got injected with V.”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, I know all of this.” Edgar said curtly. “What, exactly, is your offer?”

“You don’t want the girl to have V, and I can get rid of V.” Ben said, not bothering to fake warmth in his grin. “You get me solid fucking proof of what Homelander did, and I’ll do you a favor and turn the kid from a tentacle-face back to your sweet little granddaughter. And, just because I’m feeing real fucking generous, I’ll back you to Vought when the time comes. Get your dogshit, slimy fucking job back. If you get me the proof.”

Ben waited for Edgars response, but the longer the room was silent, Edgar remaining unreadable, the thinner Ben’s patience wore. He didn’t have any fucking time for this, for Edgar to try and twist and play with Ben’s head. He just wanted to fucking go home, back to-

“If, hypothetically, this was a viable deal, what type of evidence would you wish to be shown? Is the word of the victim not enough?”

The Thing roared in Ben, but he kept his face cool and unbroken. “Fucking files, photos, record, whatever shit you have stashed away.” He wouldn’t even fucking acknowledge Edgar’s jab at her word. It was enough, and that was the fucking problem. It couldn’t be, not if Ben wanted to keep Her from Homelander. Not if she was going to be safe. 

“Tragically, I don’t have anything stashed away,” Edgar sighed, and Ben had to physically stop himself slamming the table. People don’t respond to threats, Benjamin. Stop being a baby.

“That’s fucking bullshit-“ 

“But,” Edgar continued. “I have a lot of houses. Some with several attics, and all of them are filled with memorabilia from my time at Vought. I could have missed something, and I’d be willing to look again, if,” Edgar sat—somehow—straighter in his chair. “You were to cure Victoria as well.”

“Neuman?” 

Edgar nodded. “Cleanse Zoe and Victoria, and I will see what I can do. You can keep your offer about Vought, however. I have no interest in returning, and if I did I would be aided by the word of an American traitor.” 

“That’s fucking it?”

 “Essentially, yes.”

“Deal,” Ben grunted. “But if you don’t have anything for me, if you’re trying to fucking use me or trick me, I’ll cut out your eyes and replace them with your castrated fucking balls.”

It was an effective threat. Edgar’s heartbeat grew a little faster, and he even fucking blinked at Ben’s words. For that bastard, he might as well have screamed. Of course it was effective though. It was one of Ben’s favorites from the assortments She’d shouted at him during their first month together.

The door swung open, and Mallory walked with clipped steps into the room, looking between Ben and Edgar. “I wish you had run this past me first, Soldier Boy, considering that Victoria is currently the Vice President of the United States.”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Ben snapped. Neuman could be the fucking Queen of the whole damn world and his offer to Edgar would be the same.

“Grace,” as Edgar addressed Mallory, his gaze remained on Ben. “If you wish for my help, these are my demands. And I recommend you thank that there aren’t more, because you seem to be at quite the dead end.”

Mallory’s lips became a thin line. “We hit Neuman after you come through.”

“You hit Victoria before, as well as Zoe, and can add twenty years to my sentence if I fail to deliver. Do not underestimate the advantaged my demands give you. Ridding Homelander of an ally, keeping President Singer safe, likely undermine whatever Ms. Jessica Bradley is planning-“

“Who the hell-“

“Sister Sage,” Mallory snapped at Ben, watching Edgar closely. “Twenty-three years.”

“Make it a cleaner twenty-five.”

“You’d sign on it?”

“If I must.”

“Campbell!” Mallory called over her shoulder, and Cocksucker poked his head into the room. “Go get the paperwork.”

“Oh, ok,” Cocksucker vanished for a second, only to immediately re-appear. “Um, I don’t know where it is?”

“Ask Butcher.”

“Butcher-“

“How the bloody hell would I know?” Butcher’s voice echoed into the room, and his head appeared next to Cocksuckers. “Do it your fucking self, Grace, the man’s chained to a table. He ain’t going anywhere.”

Mallory gave a labored sigh, and turned around to leave Ben and Edgar alone once more.

After a beat, when they could no longer hear voices and shuffling outside the door, Edgar coughed lightly. He was still fucking watching Ben.

“The fuck do you want.”

“Me?” Edgar said with awful, fake innocence. “Officially, I have everything I want.”

“Officially?”

“Yes.”

Ben scowled. If he met one more fucker that didn’t just speak plainly and fucking truthfully with him, he was going to loose his goddamn mind.

“Unofficially, though,” Edgar continued. “There is one thing.”

“Then fucking spit it out.”

“You care about her,” Edgar said slowly, adding Her name at Ben’s glare. It wasn’t one of confusion—there was no one else Edgar could possibly be referring to—but Ben didn’t fucking love where this was going.

“Shut the hell up.”

“You seem to be willing to do quite a lot to help her. Keep her away from Homelander.”

“I’m fucking warning you, Edgar.” Ben leaned across the table. “Be very fucking careful with what you’re saying.”

Edgar hummed. “If I were to say, with certainty, I could make certain documents, pay stubs, and maybe even footage appear, but only with one last thing, what would you do, Benjamin?”

“Say what you fucking mean, before I rip your arms off.” Playing nice, Ben decided, was no longer fucking worth it.

“I would like you to give me an IOU.”

“An IOU,” Ben repeated through gritted teeth.

A small, snake-like smile crossed Edgar’s face. “Just one. From you. Off the books, of course, but shaken on. Just one IOU, for whatever I want, to be implemented whenever I want. You give me this, and I can say with absolute certainty I’ll find what you want.”

“You’ll get twenty-five extra years if you fucking don’t find what I want,” Ben clenched his fists under the table. “Why the fuck should I-“

“Twenty-five years is nothing. I quite like it here, murderers and thieves make easy company after my career. You should do this, because otherwise I might fail and you’ll both be dead in the water. One IOU. That’s all.”

He could just fucking lie. Ben could shake on it, cross his finger in his head, and that would be that. He might break through his damn jaw, with how he was grinding his teeth, trying to figure out what the fuck Edgar was trying to do. He didn’t trust it, didn’t like it, and it was shit, suspicious, underhanded idea. “You’d swear on your family's fucking life you could find the evidence?”

“If you would swear on hers that, when the time came, you’d come through.”

“She can’t die.”

“As you know, there are things worse than death.”

“I could just fucking kill you after-“

“I promise, that would not go well for you. Mallory will return soon,” Edgar angled his hand in an awkward motion. “Do we have a second deal?”

He was right, Ben could hear footsteps and heartbeats approaching. “You better fucking swear-“

“The swear is implied in my handshake,” Edgar said smoothly, and Ben didn’t miss the silent implication. As is yours.

They’d be dead in the water, Edgar wasn’t fucking wrong. They didn’t have any other ideas, any other leads, and Homelander was looking for her, with an ally in the White House. With Sage planning something and this needed to be over-

Ben shook Edgar’s hand—harsh and curt in his movements with the hope he’d break the bastard’s hand—just before Mallory returned with an unfathomable amount of loose-leaf papers in her boney hands.

Edgar frowned as it was slammed down before him. “If you don’t mind, Grace, I’d like to have my legal counsel take a look before I sign.”

“Of course you fucking do,” Mallory muttered. “I tell the guards to give them a call, try and get them here today.”

Mallory and Edgar devolved into to speaking in a bunch of legal, boring jargon Ben couldn’t be fucked to pay attention to, so he stood and stalked into the hall. Butcher, Cocksucker, and Starlight were grouped outside the door, all looking at Ben like he’d risen from the dead a third time.

“The fuck are you pussies looking at.”

“Nothing-“

“Soldier Boy,“ Mallory exited the room—cutting off Cocksucker’s words—with Her eyes on Ben. “I’d like a word before you return to the city.”

Ben didn’t give a shit what words Mallory had for him. He was done here. “If you’re asking, the answer is a big fucking no-“

“I’ll rephrase-“ Mallory snapped. “We’re going to have a word, and you will not be returning until we do. As you may have noticed, you were separated from the Anomaly without any gas.”

“Did you finally figure out that it wouldn’t do a damn fucking thing-“

“No. We’ve decided that there are better, easier approaches to ensure your cooperation.”

“Say what you fucking mean.” 

It was Butcher that drawled Her name. “You two have become peas in a damn fucking pod. Risking your necks for each other, always touching,” Butcher’s lips were in a crude, leering smile. “You get on Starlight’s ass about how we been treating her, and even if you claim you ain’t fucked her, she still seems to really want to fuck you.”

“Fucking watch it-“

“We don’t trust you,” Mallory said coldly. “But she doesn’t seem to be compromised, even with her odd affection towards you boar of a man.” 

“If you fucking hurt-“

“We won’t,” Starlight spoke, voice urgent for the first time. “They’re not being as diplomatic,” she scowled at Butcher. “As they should be.”

“The bastard don’t deserve diplomacy-“

It was Cocksucker who cut Butcher off this time. “We’re not threatening her, Butcher. We agreed on that, you promised.” Butcher rolled his eyes, and Cocksucker continued, attention turning to Ben. “We, um, we don’t trust you. That’s true. They’re just trying to tell you that, as long as you don’t go nuclear, we’ll keep her safe. Stop throwing her in places that put her in danger.”

“But,” Mallory added coldly. “Only if you stay in line. If you don’t, we’ll put you right back under. Regardless of her plan, or our deal. Understood?”

Ben’s fists clenched as the Thing roared and the drums sounded, “you fucking bitch-“

“Understood?” Mallory repeated, not flinching.

“Fuck you.” Ben growled, and Mallory rolled her eyes.

“If you want to return to the city anytime today, say you understand.”

The city. Her. Fucking alone with Homelander looking for her. The drums, though distant, grew strong as Ben made himself speak. The words were forced, hateful, and tasted like shit on Ben’s tongue. “Understood.”

Mallory nodded, and returned through the door to Edgar. Ben didn’t fucking bother to address the Pussy Brigade before he turned and walked in long, controlled and loud steps back to the van. He could hear them fucking following anyway.

The awful engine started, and Ben’s mind was twisting around in time with the Thing.

Her safety wasn’t a bargaining chip, She wasn’t a bargaining chip, and Ben wasn’t a fucking dog or toy for them to just use. But Ben wasn’t going back under, and She wasn’t going back to Homelander. And there was no fucking doubt that if She failed him, Butcher wouldn’t hesitate to bring her back to their dogshit, horrid fucking plan. 

And She wouldn’t fail him. That was the most insufferable fucking part. She was too fucking good. She was too easily self-sacrificing, too tunnel visioned with no goddamn regard for Herself or how her steamroller-like need to tear herself apart for an ungrateful world still destroyed everything in her path. How it would fucking destroy Ben if She managed to kill herself for the most pathetic collection of people in the world. And it was—apparently—fucking noticeable. How She made him weak, how easily she was weaponized against him. 

What was worse, though, was that Ben didn’t fucking care. The time to destroy the Thing had long passed, and now it was just Her. Making him weak and fucking happy. And he couldn’t bring himself to care. Because She would smile at him and it was perfect. Because She trusted him, and promised that she wasn’t going anywhere, and didn’t hate him.  He’d hit a strange point with the Thing. Where it felt vital and more powerful and indestructible than any other part of Ben. Where it needed Her. Where Ben needed Her. To sleep, to be safe, to keep fucking smiling forever. And he fucking hated himself for it, but he couldn’t hate Her. He couldn’t. And She said she couldn’t hate him. And Ben trusted Her, with fucking everything he had.

She needed to fucking know that. She needed to know he wasn’t going anywhere. She didn’t need to know she made him weak, or how he couldn’t hate her. That would make it all just so much goddamn worse and difficult. But she needed to know that Ben wasn’t going to fail her. That there was one person She could trust and never, ever need to fear. 

She needed to understand that, no matter what, Ben would burn with Her.

————

The first two hours, alone in the house, was mind-numbingly boring. You’d read all the books, didn’t really want to watch TV without Ben—he’d probably kill you if you did—and didn’t have your phone. Maybe all those dumb articles about technology dependance being dangerous were right, because you were antsy and tense and so bored. You did laundry, changed the sheets—easier now that it was just one set, or you’d still make Ben do it when he got back—organized the fridge, and deep cleaned the whole house. You were now able to say with complete certainty that the battered cookbook in the kitchen was the only one you had, that Ben went through a horrendous amount of toilet paper—your now-shared bathroom was already down to one roll—and that you were bored.

You missed Ben. It was easier to admit this time around. The house was really quiet, and way too big, and you missed Ben. It was making you restless, making you irritable at nothing, your skin crawling and head spinning because usually, over the past few months, you’d yell at Ben about this. How you didn’t trust this Edgar thing, and were still being clawed at by the thoughts of Homelander looking for you, and you missed him, so could he please hurry up because this was annoying.

You wanted to talk to him, to tell him you’d seen six-year-olds use less toilet paper for their mummy costumes. You wanted to tell him about how the CIA had apparently given you all four Twilight books, hidden in the guest bedroom. You think that the plot of them might break his brain, and you really wanted to see that. You wanted to make tacos with him and throw guacamole at his stupidly handsome face when he pronounced tortilla tort-il-ah. Then wipe it off his beard while he grumbled. But you made tacos alone, sitting at the counter and trying not to stare at the empty chair where Ben usually was.

You were going to lose your mind. You were going to kill Ben when he got back, and then you were going to lose your mind. The walls were closing in on you a little, because it wasn’t just the lack of Ben that was rattling around inside you. Homelander was looking for you. You kept pushing the thought away, and it kept crawling back up. Homelander is looking for you. He knows about your sensory manipulation. He’s invincible and he’s going to see you soon.

He’d told you, a long time ago, that you weren’t leaving him. And in nightmares and moments or haunting and lonely silence like this, you’d still hear his voice.

Homelander pulled on his gloves as he spoke. “He doesn’t know about you, of course. He wouldn’t get it, not yet.”

Ryan. He was talking about Ryan. He did that a lot, and though it was mostly about how annoying his mother had been or how cruel someone named William was being, keeping Ryan from him, sometimes it was this. Sometimes he’d tell you about how—when you finally did your job—he was excited for Ryan to meet you. Excited for the family you were going to give him.

“I think we’ll do homeschooling. You’re smart, you’ve got that PhD in sociology.”

Anthropology. You can’t correct him, you never can because then he’ll-

You can’t think about that, because then you start breaking and Homelander doesn’t get to see that.

But it was anthropology.

Homelander continued. “You’ll be a great teacher. Great mother.” He laughed, and it hurt your ears. “What can’t you do?”

You don’t answer him, not really thinking it was a question. Mistake.

“I asked,” he gripped your jaw, making you look at him. “What can’t you do?”

“Leave you,” your tone was flat and empty as you parroted back the script you’d given yourself. What you knew he wanted to hear. “I can’t leave you, I would rather die.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, and released your face. “That makes me feel a lot better.”

That was the biggest reason you hated Ben being gone. It was quiet so those memories grew into you, and you felt alone. It was easy to stare at the door or the ceiling and fear Homelander crashing through them. You felt safe with Ben. You weren’t alone with Ben, and it certainly wasn’t quiet with Ben. If he was here you could touch him, just his arm, and everything would feel certain and steady. You wouldn’t remember the cold of the white room because Ben was so warm.

And you missed him.

The groceries were dropped off around noon. The groceries, and a small box with a note taped to the top.

The note was written in curvy, thin letters.

Don’t lose this one. And please write down the passcode for Soldier Boy’s - Grace Mallory.

You frowned at it for a second before opening the box, and stared in wide-eyed surprise at its contents.

Phones. Two identical phones. One for you, and one—if Mallory’s note was any indicator—for Ben.

So now you were here, on the couch, distracting yourself with setting up Ben’s phone.

The passcode was 696969, because he’d remember it and it made you giggle, but you didn’t write it down. The CIA had likely bugged it anyway, and what was he going to do with it, look at porn? Watch cat videos and get into pointless online debates? He was dangerous enough as just Ben, so monitoring a phone—that he didn’t really even know how to use—was not something you found to be a top priority.

Mallory had included another note with everyone’s numbers, so after you’d put them in your own phone you started entering them into Ben’s. Butcher was labeled William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible. Annie was Annie January; Starlight, don’t be a dick. Hughie was Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt. Frenchie; French Prick don’t ask for drugs, and Kimiko; Emergencies only. You left MM out for reasons that felt pretty obvious, and entered your own name with no extra instructions. You didn’t want to do that to yourself, try and figure out what you would need to put there for him. You’d spend the rest of your life trying to figure out what would make Ben snort or glare or smile at, if it was about you.  So you just moved on, and started to look for wallpapers. 

You absorb yourself in setting up the phones entirely. You manage to tune out the thoughts of Homelander, you manage to miss Ben a little less, and the hours pass just a little faster.

It’s dark when the door finally opens, and Ben calls your name as he returns.

“In the living room!” You call back.

You hear his grunt, and glance up as he enters the room. Something’s wrong. His jaw is clenched, he’s standing too-tall, and his fists are in balls at his side. “Did you-“

“What happened?” You say, voice low but tone insistent, because he looks like he’s about to erupt. “Did Edgar not have anything?”

“No, he did.” Ben’s voice is tight, and he’s staring at you. “We made a deal.”

“A deal?”

“I’m blasting Head-Popper and her kid.” 

You blink. “Neuman and Zoe? That’s all Edgar wanted?” 

“No.” 

“What else?” You ask nervously. Ben is frowning, fists flexing like he’s fighting himself, and he won’t move from the doorway. You drop the phones on the couch and stand, raising your voice. “Ben-“ 

Each word of Ben’s answer is clipped, and sounds pushed through teeth. “An IOU. From me. Off the books.”

You swallow, because something painful feels stuck in your throat. “What.”

“He wanted a favor,” Ben’s still staring at you. “One favor, for anything."

“And you said no,” you narrow your eyes at him. “You fucking said no, right?”

“We shook on it.”

Your mouth falls open, and the walls start to close in again. “Are you insane?”

Ben says your name in a tense grunt, but you keep going.

“You gave Stan Edgar an IOU? For anything he wants? What if he wants you to kill the president? Or rejoin Vought? Or take the fall for a crime or join one of his schemes?” 

“I don’t give a shit-“

“I do! I give a shit!” You’re almost screaming. “There’s no way to know what he wants that IOU for, what he’ll make you do or do to you! You stopped me from selling myself to Homelander for a ’stupid plan’, only to turn around and make a stupider fucking plan where you sell yourself to Stan Edgar!”

“That’s not the fucking same!” Ben roars, finally moving from the door, stalking around the couch to stand above you. “I can fucking handle Edgar, he’s just another fucking pussy Vought asshole. Homelander wants to-“

“I am plenty fucking aware of what Homelander wants to do to me,” you hiss. “And it is not your job to protect me from it, Ben.” 

“Someone fucking has to!” 

“No!” You’re definitely screaming now, pushing at his chest as smoke fills the room. “No they don’t! I can take care of myself, I don’t need anyone else to, I never asked anyone else to! I never asked you!”

“Yes, you fucking did.” Ben doesn’t budge, glowering down at you. “You told me not to let you go back there. Not be locked up again. And I won’t. You can fucking hate me for it, but I’d trade my fucking soul to Stan Edgar if I had to.”

“Why?!” You’re almost sobbing now, the world blurry and your words choked. “I didn’t ask you to do that! I’m not fucking worth that!”

He’s still letting you push him, steady in front of you. “Yes, you are.” He says your name, and it makes you break.

“No I’m not!” You scream as fire starts to spread through the room. “I’m fucking not! My plan would’ve worked, Ben! And then you made me stop, and told me you wouldn’t let me do this to myself, just to pull this fucking shit!” Tears are evaporating on your face. “You can’t do this to me! You can’t promise that we’ll burn together and that you’re not going anywhere, just to do this!” 

Ben catches your hand, and everything is sharp again. The fire starts to turn to smoke as the world becomes sharp and bloody and clear. His words come out in a rough growl, “I”m not fucking going anywhere.”

You shake your head, still breaking. “You can’t promise that anymore, Ben. Not when you owe Stan Edgar.” 

“Sunshine, there is no place that Edgar could make me go where I wouldn’t get back to you,” Ben’s grip on your hand is iron. 

“But you’d still leave me alone. I don’t want you to leave me alone-“ 

Your words find an easy death in your throat, because Ben kisses you. He used his grip on your hand to pull you right against him, and kisses you. Hard and long and desperate, smashing his mouth against you like he’s to trying to leave an imprint on you. You’re frozen in place, unable to think anything outside Ben, and he pulls back.

“I am not fucking leav-“ 

“Shut up,” you breathe out, and—with all the strength in your body—yank Ben back to you.

You’ve never been struck by lightning, but you imagine this is what it feels like. Hot and electric and everything is just Ben. This time you don’t freeze. This time you kiss him with everything you have, dragging your hand through his hair as his arms wrap around you, pulling you up to meet him. He’s violent with his mouth, pushing with his tongue into yours with his and biting at your lips with a fervor. But his hands are touching you so carefully, tracing circles on your skin as they wander everywhere. Up to rest on the back of your neck, around every dip and curve of your back. Holding you firmly against him, as if you’re a cloud he’s trying to keep in his hands. He’s leaving fire on the path he’s drawing across you, and he’s big and warm and Ben. Through him, through his reverent touch against your skin, you can feel something wrathful and powerful consuming you, running through your blood and making you feel alive.

Your mouth grows slack, open fully into his, and it spurs him on. He’s dragging you down to the couch—mouth never leaving yours because breathing doesn’t really feel that important right now—and sits you right on his lap. You’re leaning forward, hands still in Ben’s hair, trying to get him closer and make him a part of you. Trying to touch and kiss him enough to pull just a little piece of him into you, that’s yours an no one else's.

“Ben,” you moan into his mouth, and he makes a sound from deep in his chest.

He growls your name back into you, tugging just a little forward until you can feel him. Feel his cock, pressed right against one of your thighs. It’s big, and hard, and he’s everything.

You actually whine. “Please, I- fuck.” He’s pulling back from your mouth, kissing aggressively along your jaw and neck. “Ben-“

“I’m right here,” he grunts, slightly muffled because he won’t stop sucking and nipping at your skin. You only moan again in response, pulling at his hair as you grind down on him, trying to tell him what you need like that, because words are too much right now. It’s just Ben, you just need him.

“Ben-“

You make a high, breathy noise as he flips you, caging you between his body and the couch. His mouth is back on yours, and you’re leaning up to try and be somehow closer. His hair is soft under your fingers, and he tastes like maple syrup and salt, and you feel him moving above you everywhere. His weight is braced by his arms above you, but they’re still pressed to your sides and you can feel them flex every time he re-angles his mouth. His nose keeps bumping yours and his beard scratched against your skin, but it reminds you he’s real. He’s real and there and you can feel the strength of his desire that’s for you. This is all for you.

He groans your name, and you whine as he pulls back. “How far?”

“How far?” You manage to repeat his words through the daze his face—lust-blown eyes and puffy lips and messy hair—is putting you in.

“Do you want to go.”

You blink, and what you want to say is all the way. Every way. Whatever way you’ll give me, just don’t stop. Never stop and never leave me and if you want I’ll go wherever you want.

But that’s too much. Too far.

So you make yourself say, “I think just here for now.”

Disappointment stabs you somewhere around your ribs, quick and painful. Because he wanted to go further.

But not everywhere, a cruel and small voice reminds you. Not everywhere.

You’ll be ok with here then. Hopefully he’ll never stop giving you here.

Ben nods slowly. “Are you going to listen to me now, then?”

You can’t stop your snort. “Benjamin, did you kiss me just so I’d listen to you?”

“No,” he snaps. “I kissed you because I wanted to, and because you needed to fucking listen.”

“You wanted to?” You tease. “How bad did you want to kiss me?”

“Fuck off, you kissed me the second time.”

You hum. “You can’t prove that.”

“Brat,” Ben mutters, and you feel something spark through him because this time when he calls you that he can feel you squeeze your legs under him.

His face curves into a smirk, and you roll your eyes as your face flushes. “Don’t start, not when I can feel how hard you are.”

“I knew you fucking liked me calling you that,” Ben grins at you, wide and easy, and you have to fight letting that make the ache worse as well. “Didn’t know you liked it that much though.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, and his laugh rolls through you.

“Brat.”

“I hate you.”

“I can fucking tell.”

“Are you going to make me listen or just keep being a dick?”

Ben leans a little further into you, only a breath apart, and you can feel him again. He said your name, and his voice is low and moves into your bones. “I’m not going fucking anywhere. Nobody’s taking me away, not if I have a goddamn breath in my body. You got that, Sunshine?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.” And it’s the truth. It might be how he’s looking at you, or touching you, or saying your name, but you’ve never believed anyone more in your life.

“Good,” he grunts, but doesn’t move away. His eyes fall slightly to your lips, and you feel your breath become ragged again. It’s an effort to speak, and not just let him fall back onto you. 

“Ben,” you say softly. “The performance-“

“I don’t think we need to talk about that shit anymore,” he says dryly, and you scoff.

“It’s your turn to listen, Pretty Boy.” You take a deep breath, “I don’t, I can’t do more than this right now. Not because I don’t-“

“Want me?” He interrupts with a cocky grin, and you knee his thigh.

“Shut up. But uh, yeah. It’s just, it’s complicated.”

He examines you for a second “Do you want this?”

“Wha-“

Ben leans forward, kissing you so softly, running his tongue along your teeth before pulling back. “That.”

“Yeah,” you nod, feeling a little lightheaded. “Yes please.”

“Good. Bed?”

You frown. “I just said-“

“To sleep, you fucking pervert.”

“Fuck yo-“

He winks, pulling you up with him as he stands. “Whenever you’re fucking ready, I’ll be fucking there.”

You just huff, pouting as Ben holds you in his arms, carrying you up the stairs. “I have fucking feet, Ben. I can walk by myself.”

“No. And if you ask again I’ll fucking drop you.”

“What a gentleman.”

“You seem to like it.”

He’s better at this than you are—shutting you up while making you both embarrassed and horny—and you both hate it and hope it keeps happening forever.

Ben pauses at the door to your room, scanning it with a frown. “Did you fucking clean?”

“You don’t have to sound so shocked,” you mumble against his chest, and his chuckle makes your face warmer. “It’s fucking rude.”

“You’re not exactly a book on manners either,” He sits down on the bed. “You throw shit at me every fucking day.”

“You deserve shit thrown at you, because you’re fucking rude-“

Ben kisses you as he lays you fully onto your back, looking a little too smug when he pulls back and you chase his mouth until your neck can’t go further. “Goodnight, Sunshine.”

He starts to move to his side of the bed, but you catch him by his shirt first. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Of course you fucking are,” Ben grunts, but there’s only some sort of rough affection running through him.

“And if Edgar ends up screwing us over-“

“He won’t.”

“But if he does-“

“He fucking won’t-“

“Ben-“

He kisses you again and it’s only feeling better each time. Your whole body relaxes against your will, and your hand grows slack on his shirt. 

You still manage to glare at him. “Don’t think you can just shut me up like that now. I’ll bite your tongue off.”

“I know,” Ben moves to gently, softly kiss the top of your head as he wraps an arm around your waist. “I’m fucking counting on it, beautiful.”

He’s too good at this, because you can’t remember any other words or sounds that aren’t Ben calling you beautiful with the same mouth he’d just been kissing you with.

Ben pulls you onto his chest as he falls onto his back, and within what must be only minutes his snores are filling the room, echoing into your chest. Making you so safe and relaxed, and slowing the race of your mind against him.

And you know you’ve made a mistake.

There’s no going back now. You’ve touched Ben, really touched him, and now you’ll never be able to not touch him. Not as long as he’s near you and makes you feel safe. You’ve made a mistake because you’d been fine with the deep need and want for Ben sitting under skin with the fire. But now you’d released it and it couldn’t be pulled back in. You’d made a mistake, because if you lost Ben he wouldn’t just take security and ease and warmth. He’d take the rest of your mind. But there was no going back.

And honesty, you wouldn’t if you could. Not as long as you were here, with Ben holding you, knowing what he tasted like.

You’d be fine. As long as Ben stayed right here, you’d be really, truly and completely, fine.

End Note: Hehehehe.

If you haven’t yet, please vote in my poll about what aspect of the internet would blow Ben’s mind the most. Thank you for reading, always leave a comment if you want to, with any and all your thoughts or feedback! They feed me, and y’all are funnier than I am <3

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