#but still i think he’d be more relaxed than canon

[uzumakiheart]

idk if this is an unpopular opinion or wtv but like naruto and sasuke’s respective traumas are super integral to their stories because their entire personalities would’ve been completely different if they hadn’t gone through what they went through. it’s fine when ppl write their families to still be alive but then they write the two of them to be the exact same and it irks me sometimes idk

[dyaz-stories]

JUJUTSU BOYS + PDA

how the jjk boys are when you're in public with them

including: gojo, nanami, choso, yuuji, megumi, maki

word count: 3.6k (500-600 words for one character)

cw: intended as canon compliant, established relationships, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, kissing, public demonstrations of affection, can't think of anything else tbh

a/n: been reading some fics in this format so wanted to try my hand at it again. it's been years since I wrote short pieces like that, so I hope you'll enjoy them!

GOJO

Gojo has no concept of personal space, and that is something you had to get used to since you started dating — if anything, since before you started dating. Even when the two of you were at a more flirtatious stage, he’d always be leaning towards you to talk to you, face inches away from yours, hands on your hips if he needed to move past you, arm casually around you if you were sitting next to each other. It was all the better if it flustered you.

None of this has changed, except that he’s much more extra about it now. Holding your hand while walking? Nah, that’s boring. He’ll have his arm around your shoulders, even if it’s not convenient given the height difference. He’ll also try to put his hand in the back pocket of your jeans, pout if you tell him not to do it. If you’re waiting in line with him, he has both of his arms around you, is resting his chin on top of your head, and wants nothing more than for you to lean back into his chest, relaxing into his embrace. You can both be doing totally unrelated things — you’re reading and he’s checking his phone — but you’re slotted against each other, and that’s how it is ideally for you.

You’re waiting for him to show up to your date when you feel yourself surrounded by familiar arms, and then his cheek is pressing against yours as he surveys the book you’re holding in your hands.

“Whatch’ya reading?” he asks, breath warm against your cheek.

“Just doing some research on emerging curses,” you say with a shrug as you close it and put it in your bag. “So, did you want to check out that new bakery?”

He hums in reply, and you wait for him to move so you can start walking.

He doesn’t.

“…do you plan on letting go of me?” you ask after a while, turning your head to look at him.

He pouts at you, inches away from your face.

“I haven’t even gotten a kiss yet…”

“We’re in public, Satoru,” you say, feeling your face heating up.

“So? Let ‘em stare. They might as well, if you ask me.”

You want to roll your eyes — one day, you’ll have to talk about that exhibitionist streak of his — but in the meantime, you just have to crane your neck a little to peck his lips. They’re soft, as always, and he follows greedily when you pull away, his hand coming up to tilt your chin up gently as he presses more kisses on the corner of your lips, then on your cheek.

“You’re impossible,” you say, badly hiding your laughter. “Let’s go, or we won’t make it to closing time. You’re late, by the way.”

He lets out a heartbroken sigh, but finally frees you, keeping his arm around your shoulders as the two of you start walking towards the bakery. He keeps his strides short, so you don’t have to run to keep up with him, instead allowing you to keep a comfortable pace.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? I’m just too good at my job, they can never get enough of me.”

“Aw, poor darling,” you say. You grab his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and bring it to your lips to press a kiss on the back.

He lets out a cough that doesn’t do much to disguise the fact that he’s getting flustered, and you grin, satisfied. Two can play that game.

Fortunately, neither Satoru nor you have any intention of forfeiting any time soon.

NANAMI

Nanami is a private man. There is no reason for the whole world to know his business, and he doesn’t feel the need to put his relationship on display for everyone to see. His softness for you is still plain to see in how gentle his voice gets when he speaks to you, in how carefully he chooses his words, in how fond his eyes are when he listens to you tell him about your day. He knows you like him holding your hand, though, so he’ll indulge you, especially when you’re walking by his side through crowded streets.

That is for practical reasons, of course. First, it just wouldn’t do to lose sight of you. Second, people tend to steer clear of him, his serious expression and his broad frame, and that means they realize quickly to steer clear of you. It has nothing to do with how soft your hand is in his, or how the way you use your thumb to stroke his skin sends shivers down his back.

“That’s a lovely restaurant,” you comment, eyes drinking in the elegant decor while Nanami is examining the menu.

“It had excellent reviews,” he answers, not going into details as to the great lengths he’d gone to in order to ensure that this date was as perfect as humanly possible.

“I’ve been in the neighborhood so many times, and I had no idea this was here,” you say. The place is very small, only a handful of tables, all of them now filled. You’re sharing an alcove with Nanami, creating some distance with other customers.

“There aren’t many tables available, so they don’t advertise much,” he explains as he sets the menu down. “But they’re known for their excellent cuisine.”

You give him a smile, then lean closer to him to kiss him on the cheek. Your lips linger just a little too long, and then you move them close to his ear, which is already turning quite red.

“Thank you for planning all that,” you say sweetly. “It looks wonderful.”

He clears his throat when you pull away, avoiding your eyes.

“Of course,” he answers, voice wavering imperceptibly. “Anything for you.”

And you know he means it, too.

Under the table, his hand finds your leg, large palm easily covering your knee while calloused fingers carefully rub your calf. You bite your lip, welcome the warmth that spreads in your body. You know Kento well enough to be sure that that’s as far as he’ll go, that he wouldn’t dare to do anything more in such a public setting, and that makes you enjoy the intimacy of the gesture all the more.

Later that night, while the two of you are walking out, his jacket is around your shoulder at his insistence — “It’s cold outside��� — and he’s getting ready to call a taxi.

“Kento?”

He lowers the phone to look at you, and you push yourself on your tiptoe, hand closing around his tie to pull him down towards you.

It’s late at night, he tells himself. There’s no one around, he tells himself. That’s why he closes his eyes and allows himself to melt into the kiss, regretting it when you pull away too soon and catching himself before he grabs you by the hips to get you closer to him.

“I had a great evening,” you say. “Should we take this to somewhere more private?”

How much more merciless can you get?

“Certainly,” he says. “Just give me a second.”

There is nothing he can deny you.

CHOSO

Choso cannot wrap his head around what he can and cannot do around you. The rules for what is proper, what is acceptable, have shifted so much since he was last around, and he would die before he embarrassed you — or worse, before he did something that would make you push him away. He knows that you wouldn’t, and yet the fear is like a weight that tugs on his heart every time he thinks about it. He walks by your side, glancing at your hand that’s freely hanging between the two of you, and though he brushes his knuckles against yours, he just cannot bring himself to do it. It’s to the point where it’s the only thing he’s thinking about — and he just can’t do it.

Then you see something that catches your eye and you grab his hand and pull him with you in that direction, and he thinks his heart could just fall out of his chest. You make it look so easy, so natural, being with him coming as easy to you as breathing, and he couldn’t possibly ask for more. It takes him many other tries, many other dates, before he can take your hand in his. When he does, you glance down in surprise, then grin at him, and kiss his knuckles softly — and he’s so happy he could die.

“So,” you say, sitting on the park bench, knee pressed against his while you’re leaning into him to show him your phone, your hair tickling his neck, “that’s the movies they have on tonight. Think we should call Yuuji to ask him what to watch?”

“Hm,” Choso says, not really focusing on anything you’re talking about, not when you’re this close to him, “isn’t— isn’t that the one franchise he’s always talking about?”

You burst out laughing, then rest your head on his shoulder.

“No offense, babe, but there is no one in the world I’d go see a Human Earthworm movie for. Even if this one is supposed to have romance in it,” you shudder at the thought, “I’d like to go see something actually. You know. Watchable.”

Choso’s mind is going in overdrive. You’re so close, and he knows he should have gotten used to this by now. He isn’t usually like this, but some passers-by are looking — not necessarily being judgmental, though there was an old lady earlier who scoffed and shook her head, but… looking.

“Then I don’t know if Yuuji is going to be much help,” he manages to say as you keep scrolling on the cinema’s website.

“That’s fair,” you sigh, standing up from the bench, and even if he can now think again, he misses your warmth and your smell right away. “Well, maybe we drop the movie and just go get something to eat, what do you say?

“Sounds good,” he answers, standing up after you.

Hesitantly, almost clumsily, he reaches for your hand, fingertips brushing against your thigh as he does, then tightens his grip around your palm, ensuring that it wouldn’t slip away from you. You give him a fond smile, then take a step to get closer to him, and kiss him gently. His breath hitches, and his eyes dart around the mostly empty park.

“T-there’s people around,” he says quietly, and he hates that you step back to look around.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

He takes your hand to pull you with him, and you follow him through the grass as he finds a more secluded spot, behind a tree.

“There,” he says, and you chuckle at how satisfied with himself he sounds.

“Oh Choso,” you coo, leaning against the tree while you grab his shirt to pull him down towards you. His mouth is warm, eager, and his cheeks remain a fierce shade of red as he kisses you back insistently.

You would have missed the beginning of the movie anyway.

YUUJI

The thing about Yuuji is that any type of public demonstration of affection feels so natural coming from him. It’s almost never meant to be suggestive, it’s not something he thinks through, it’s just something he does. You’ll be sitting with Nobara when he appears, and he just puts his arm around you while talking to her, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You’re walking with him when he lifts his head up like he’s forgotten something, and what he forgot was to hold your hand, silly him.

If you walk by him while he’s sitting, he’ll grab your hips to pull you in his laps, fingers rubbing circles on the skin of your arms, absent-mindedly playing with your fingers as he holds your hand. After all, why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t even realize that it flusters you, and it just feels so natural for him to show his affection like that. He’ll look at you with stars in his eyes while you speak, not seeming to realize that his face is so close to him while you’re sitting in his lap.

No one pays attention to it anymore. You arrive just as Nobara is starting the movie — she’s putting on an action movie, thank you very much, even if Gojo just bought the collector edition of Human Earthworm 4 for Yuuji, with the director’s cut — and with all the students crammed in the room, including Panda, who’s taking most of the space on the couch, there’s nowhere left for you to sit.

“Come here,” Yuuji says cheerfully, waving you towards the armchair where he’s found his spot, “it’s about to start.”

You glance around the room for a reaction, but no one is paying you any mind. You walk over to him, perching yourself on one of the arms, legs over his. He doesn’t seem puzzled by it, just puts an arm around your waist casually.

Of course, you end up still sitting in his lap eventually, just slipping in it at some point in the movie. Can you be blamed? He’s warm and comfortable, and he wraps both arms around you so he can tuck his chin in the crook of your shoulder, nose brushing against your cheek when he turns his head. Not that he seems to notice how it makes your pulse quickens, eyes focused on the movie.

“What are the themes even supposed to be,” he mutters under his breath, eyebrows knitting together in annoyance.

“’Military good’?” you suggest quietly as a guy gets blown up on screen.

“The first half of the movie was about military bad,” he protests. “They can’t just act like that never existed.”

“Would you two shut up,” Nobara shouts from her spot, “or Maki will come beat you up!”

The two of you pipe down, knowing the threat is very serious and not one to take lightly.

When the movie ends, everyone gets up, stretching, but you’ve gotten comfortable against Yuuji’s chest, and you don’t feel like doing that just yet.

“That was terrible,” Yuuji comments, and you let out a brief laugh. Gojo has somehow made a cinephile out of him, and you love how worked up he gets over that stuff.

“Yeah, we should have been watching Human Earthworm 4 instead,” you say.

“Exact— oh, you’re making fun of him.”

You giggle, then tilt your head to kiss him. For a second, he freezes, eyes going wide. Kissing is the one thing he rarely initiates — but when you do, you get to see his gaze soften, before his whole body goes soft. His hold on your waist tightens — and then a pillow thrown with impressive precision hits him, and only him, on the ear.

“Not in public,” Maki shouts from all the way into the kitchen.

“Hey,” your boyfriend protests, “I’m not the one who—”

“You’re such a traitor,” you gasp, struggling to pull yourself free from his arms — but it’s no use against his strength, and he refuses to let go.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says. “Now, where were we?”

You might have been at fault for the first pillow, but that second one is all on him, as far as you’re concerned.

MEGUMI

Megumi is a private guy. He can be affectionate in public, but there is a side of him that he only wants you to see. He especially doesn’t want any of your nosy friends, or worse, his adoptive dad to see how he can be around you. They would never stop teasing him after, and he doesn’t think he could live with that.

Or that they could live with that. Because he’d kill them.

It does annoy him that he’s supposed to deny himself because of them. If it was up to him, he’d spend most of his time alone with you, preferably in a small house in the middle of a forest with no one around, no curses, no sorcerers, no nothing. That, sadly, isn’t an option though, so he has to find his own way to do things.

“Don’t move,” he says sternly. “You have something on your face.”

You roll your eyes, but tilt your head up towards him, as he carefully runs his thumb under your eye, then over your cheek, blowing on it once it’s done.

“What was it?” you ask.

“Just an eyelash,” he says with a shrug. “You’re good now.”

You study him, waiting for him to give something away, but he doesn’t, just staring at you with the same expression he always wears.

“Should we get going?” he asks. “I thought we were supposed to catch a movie.”

“Sure,” you relent. “We should get moving.”

The streets are quite full at this time of the day, and you have to step aside frequently to let people pass, sometimes losing sight of Megumi. Eventually, with a sigh, he grabs your hand, pulling you with him as he walks, sending murderous glares to anyone who stays in his path.

“You’re going to get lost at this rate,” he mutters as he pulls you with him.

“I mean, worst case scenario we meet back at the theater,” you say, and you grin at the offended look he gives you. He notices it, but doesn’t answer, a light pink dusting his cheek as he glances away.

He hates the idea of being away from you on a day that’s supposed to be about the two of you — but since he refuses to say the quiet part out loud, you get to tease him all you want.

To be fair to him, having Megumi as your scary guard dog does make it much easier and much faster to reach the theater. He gives you a pointed look when you get there, and, to your regret, lets go of your hand quickly, though his touch lingers there a second longer than necessary.

“Should we get a couple seat?” you ask innocently as you approach the register.

Megumi glares at you once more while you give him a sweet smile.

“It’s better that way, right?” he says, clearing his throat. “Otherwise strangers might have to share one.”

“Sure,” you nod, not even bothering to hide your grin. “It’s just more practical, right?”

“Right,” he says stiffly.

Even once you are in the couple seat, he keeps a thoroughly appropriate distance from you, one that you might find a little hurtful if, at the end of the commercials, he didn’t fake a yawn to put his arm around you, in the least smooth way known to man.

“You know you can just do it,” you say quietly as the lights turn off, resting your head on his shoulder. “You don’t have to go through all that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.

Reaching for his face, you tilt his head towards you, and push yourself to meet his lips for a sweet, soft kiss. For the first time since you’ve stepped foot outside, his whole body relaxes into yours, and he stops trying to pretend.

“You had something on your lips,” you whisper when you pull away.

He snorts, then quickly goes back in to steal one more kiss from you before the movie starts.

“Liar,” he says.

As if he’s one to talk.

MAKI

Maki isn’t a demonstrative person as a general rule. She does compliment you without hesitation, words falling from her mouth so genuinely that it never fails to fluster you, but physical demonstrations of affection don’t come easy to her, maybe because she received so little of it as a kid. She does it sporadically, and she does very much enjoy teasing you, loves knowing that she can get those reactions out of you.

It’s the more spontaneous gestures that get to you though. She’ll kiss your forehead after a battle that left you bruised, a way of comforting you. She’ll pat your head after you managed to pull an impressive move during training. On one occasion, when you got injured, she carried you in your arms to Shoko, demanding that you be taken care of right this instant. She’d been the one to get flustered after that, hiding her face in her hand in embarrassment when it was brought up later on.

It might not come easy to her, but she does love it when you do it — when you show her your love in that way.

“You’re late,” she scolds you when you reach her for one of your dates, needing to take a second to catch your breath because you’ve been running since getting out of the subway.

“Sorry,” you say between deep breaths, “there was an emergency.”

Worry flashes on her face immediately.

“A curse? Were you hurt?”

She reaches for you, tilting your face towards her as she examines it, then study your body to make sure you weren’t injured. You let her, surprised at first, then endeared.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she frowns once she realizes how soft your gaze has become.

You grin, then push yourself closer to kiss her. You don’t care that you’re in public, and though it wouldn’t have occurred to her to do it, neither does she. The kiss is sweet, gentle. I’m alive, you’re alive, it says. No need for more.

“See?” you ask cheerfully. “All good. Now, I’m pretty sure you were going to buy me dinner…”

She clicks her tongue, but she’s grinning. It’s nice to see her so at ease, so relaxed. It’s a side of her you’d never see within the walls of Jujutsu High, nor on a mission. You’re the only one that can bring it out of her, and man do you love it.

“I’m buying? Again?”

“I did almost just die.”

“Nice try, but you told me you were fine.”

“I’m fine now,” you insist, “but…”

“Well, I was disowned by my family, so I don’t have money. You’re buying.”

The two of you keep bickering, but, as you walk, you reach for her hand. She pulls away at first, years and years of reflexes kicking in instinctively, and once she realizes what you were doing, she’s the one who takes your hand in hers. She holds it delicately, careful not to break it — to be fair, her strength would probably allow her that.

It’s so sweet and light, being out there with you like that. So normal. She hopes it never ends.

You squeeze her hand, and she lets you guide her across the street, content with just following, knowing that she can trust you to fill in her shortcomings in the relationship, like she does it for yours.

The sky is grey, the forecast said it might run later tonight — Maki’s planned an umbrella, she’s sure you didn’t think of it — but as far as she’s concerned, the day is as beautiful as it could possibly be.

this is my first time writing for... pretty much everyone here except gojo lol. i hope you enjoyed it and that the characterization wasn't too off, but any feedback is welcome! if you want to support me and my writing, please reblog/leave a comment or send me an ask, i'd love to chat! i'll see you later for some more jjk writing ^-^

you can find my gojo x reader work here

[sim0nril3y]

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: Simon hasn't been able to stop thinking about your relationship and how not making a commitment to you might lead you to running off with someone else. He needs to solve this.

Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), suggestive thoughts, canon-typical swearing.

It was strange to Simon that the two of you had settled into routine together. Most nights he’d pick you up after finishing work, he’d bring you back to his home or drop you off at your flat. More often than not Simon would cook you some good food to fill up your empty tummy, then roll around in the sheets together. The next morning you’d wake up beside him and he’d set to making you a hearty breakfast and discuss plans for the days. Those plans typically of doing exactly what you’d done the day before, spending time together and… though he’d never say it aloud Simon enjoyed it, he looked forward to it.

There was the times when Simon was left feeling lonely because you weren’t around. It was when he wouldn’t see you from one day to the next because you were busy working on an art project or work had left you exhausted. Simon was a solitary person, not needing or even wanting other people around him, or… at least that was how he’d felt before meeting you.

So, what was this? A question that Simon had never asked himself before, but now it was burning inside of him. Never before had Simon desired clarification, but as it currently stood you were just two people living independent lives that slept with each other and spent time together. That left opportunity for you to find someone else and bring them into your life. He hoped that wasn’t the case, it certainly wasn’t something you’d mentioned before but it still left that door open for someone to take you from him.

The thought of losing you filled him with utter dread. How was he supposed to sleep at night with your body to curl around? He’d started buying extra food when doing his weekly shop, who was going to help him eat it all? Plus, all your favourite snacks were filling the cupboards, if you weren’t here then they’d just go to waste… Besides, there wasn’t another living soul out there that would be able to make you fall apart as quick as he could.

Bloody hell. He was in deep here.

That night after a long shift at work you were curled up beside him on the sofa, blanket draped over your legs, snacks between your lounging bodies and eyes fixed on whatever dumb show you’d thrown on the TV. You hadn’t seemed to notice that from beside you Simone was stewing silently, mind racing with how to broach the subject in the most subtle way.

These questions and that anxiety was beginning to build up inside of Simon, his knee was bobbing relentlessly, muscles wound tight, fingers tapping furiously against the arm of the sofa like a metronome. How was he going to do this? How was he going to ask for clarification on what you were to each other? What did he actually hope the answer was going to be? He wanted you, right? Only you. He didn’t want another living soul to have you… fuck, the thought of someone else having their hands and their lips on you. It made him seethe.

“What are we?” The question tumbled from his lips, short and frustrated. It caused you to look up at him, brows furrowed. “Sorry?” “You… do you ever do this with anyone else?” He looked down at you through intense dark eyes. “Do I… watch TV with other people?” You questioned, almost not following his line of questions.

Further frustrated Simon bit out. “Do you fuck anyone else?” That made you begin to fight a little smile, finally figure out what he was trying to ask. “And the rest of it… everything we do together… like going for walks, or to dinner… or just watching TV like this…” He gestured to the way you were lounging so comfortably behind him, sans any make-up and looking so relaxed. “Do you?” Simon asked, you simply smirked as you flitted you gaze back towards the TV and muttered easily. “Would it bother you if I did?”

This question only made him stew and simmer again at the thought of someone else being in your life like this. The thought of them kidding and making you fall apart only mad his anger bubble further. “Mm.” He grumbled out, keep his dangerous eyes locked on you.

Reaching across to rest a delicate hand on his tattooed forearm you mentioned softly. “I don’t do this with anyone else, Si.” You informed him, watching the tension leaving him body in that moment. “Only you.” You quip with a little shrug of your shoulders, before continuing. “If I’m not here with you then I’m at work and I’m wishing that I was here with you or counting down the minutes until I’m going to see you again or wildly ignoring all of tasks and remembering all my time with you.” There was vulnerability to your tone as you informed him that. “Then I see you and I’m happy in all those hours before I’m back to being on my own and wishing it’ll happen all over again.”

You were in deep too. With the way that Simon was looking at you, you could have been convinced that there wasn’t anyone else in the world. “Simon, are you trying to ask me something?” Reaching up you brushed your fingers against his face delicately before following with a gentle few kisses against his cheeks and temples and jawline. Every action made forced his body to relax, coaxing his anxiety away before finally the words came. “What if… we did do this everyday? Just… us two…”

You gnawed your lower lip. “I could get behind that.” You agreed with a tiny shrug of your shoulders. “So… if we did do this… what would I call you?” You quirked a brow at him. “My boyfriend?” Simon grimaced. “Love, I’m not a boy.” He muttered, snatching some of your snacks and beginning to munch away. “How about my lover?” You purred playfully and once again Simon groan and threw you a look. “So… just my Simon?” You raised your brows at him, this time he didn’t seem to fight your suggestion, simply smirked.

“Mm…” Then he nodded, much to your surprise. “And you’d be mine.” It was like your heart exploded in your chest, smiling at him and trying not to act overly excited and frighten him off. “I guess I would be~” Then leaning forward you kissed a couple sweet kisses. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? Not moving too fast?” You ask, concerned that Simon might change his mind all of a sudden and end up hurting you both. “M’sure, babe.” He responded, pressing a sweet kiss to your nose. "You're mine."

Masterlist | Ask | 29-01-2024

[chuuyascumsock]

Bury Beneath this Filth they Call Skin and Turn it into a Garden || MINORS DNI

Summary: I made a hurt/comfort fic for Chuuya, I might as well make a comfort fic for Dazai too cause he’s my soft spot.

Tags: Dazai Osamu/Reader, GN reader, Angst, Comfort, No One Is Safe, Mentions Of Self Sabotaging, Self-deprecating Thoughts, Mentions Of Dehumanization, Mentions Of Suicide Attempt, Dazai Highkey Has Bad Hygiene Because I Know He Canonically Reeks Of Liquid Ass (I Still Love Him But Honey—), Brief Description Of Self Harm Scars, He Takes Off His Bandages, Non-Sexual Nudity For A Bit.

Dazai doesn’t remember when you started to keep an extra pair of clothes in your bottom drawer just for him.

He doesn’t remember when you bought an extra toothbrush for him either, the item sitting in a small cup on your bathroom counter so intimately close to yours. He doesn’t remember when you started to stock your cabinets with canned crab or an occasional snack he had stolen from you before and said it tasted good. He doesn’t remember when you began preparing meals big enough for two. And he doesn’t remember when you started to look at him the way you do.

Those eyes that so fondly trace over every inch of his frame like he’s capable of being loved— like he’s not a silver-tongued beast of a man, his words filled with more teeth than his bite ever could. He doesn’t deserve it— he knows he doesn’t— so why does he find himself at your doorstep every time he fails his attempts in ending his miserable existence?

“You’re going to get sick if you keep this up,” You sigh out, stripping away Dazai’s soaked clothes until he’s shivering in his sopping wet bandages and boxers. “And you smell horrible every time…” Your nose slightly scrunches at the lingering smell of hydrogen sulfide and mucky water from the Yokohama canal.

“Whatever do you mean, dear? That’s just my natural musk,” Dazai gives a lopsided grin, attempting to lighten the mood. His grin falls into an uneasy look when he notices the brief side eye you give him as you toss his clothes into the washer.

“My water bills spike every month you do this, you know,” You point out blamelessly.

“Sorry,” Dazai mumbles with a weak smile. He always made a promise to try his hardest not to inconvenience anyone while making his attempts— making it up to those who he had done so with such as Atsushi. But he’s burdened you countless times, not realizing until now. Before he mentally promises himself to never return to you like a pathetic, mangy stray dog— you come into his view again.

“Don’t be sorry, but please come to me when you feel the urge to do these things, ‘Samu. I worry about you.” And Dazai can’t help but to immediately let his previous thoughts fly away. Who was he kidding? He’d never be able to stay away from you.

Your hands carefully reach to begin unwrapping the bandages sliding off Dazai’s body. Flinching, Dazai subconsciously moves a hand to stop you from taking his bandages off. There’s a momentary standstill between both of your movements as you look into his eyes with a reassuring gaze before his hand relaxes and falls to his side. It’s not the first time this has happened, but Dazai doesn’t think he’d ever get used to the feeling of having his protective cloth shed to reveal the myriad of scars that are engraved on this once blank canvas that humans call skin.

And when all is removed, you still look at him as you always had with an unwavering fondness that leaves him subconsciously leaning into you, yearning to be swallowed and drowned in your gentle affections. He doesn’t understand why you do the things that you do, such as loving him no matter how many times he tells you how much he doesn’t need you because it’s always been like that— lonely— or why you even put up with any of his shit for that matter. But you do. And he thinks he’ll never know why, because he’s terrible and doesn’t deserve what you do in return to his horrid behavior.

He slips into the tub without needing guidance, face tilting up to look at you without his usual charming grin, expression replaced with a quiet pleading, begging for any sliver of attention you can offer. And you give into his pleads, sitting by the tub while running a hand through his dark tangled hair before reaching for a washcloth to bathe him. There’s a lack of cheeky comments and flirting from Dazai as you rinse away the grime sticking to his tainted skin, his eyes flickering from distant to focused in a matter of minutes before glancing back over to you and melting further into your reverent touch.

Even after exiting the tub, he says nothing, allowing you to wrap a towel around his shoulders and place a tender kiss to his forehead. If this had been any other day, he would’ve teased you to no end about how you had to stand on your toes just to reach his face, but he merely softly smiles in mild amusement and lets you lead him into your room to get dressed.

He wears the extra pair of clothes you keep for him at the bottom of your drawer, shirt loosely hanging off his shoulders and pajama pants dragging along the floor each time he takes a step forward to follow you to your bed. He was used to sleeping on his futon, but he much preferred your bed and the comfort your body brought when he tangled his limbs in yours.

You don’t scold him either when he buries his face into your neck like you used to the first few times he had done so— complaining about his hot breath on your neck. Now, you reach a hand back to scratch your fingers through his damp hair in an affectionate manner, sighing out softly in what he can tell is contentment.

Even as Dazai drifts off, he can’t help but think about the irony of hating dogs as much as he does, yet he can’t help but love you like one.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 21 - Some Things You Just Can't Speak About

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I think it’s high time I admit I accidentally gave Her a praise kink and both of them size kinks. Oops. That’s my bad y’all. Chapter Title from epiphany by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 30k (so long I had to combine paragraphs...)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Everyone takes steps forward, and a few back. Usual warnings, with extra alerts on the smut. Just so much smut.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 20 - Chapter 22

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Ben hadn’t even been that fucking tired, but his eyes had somehow closed and his brain that had been supposed to stay alert—focused on Her, her safety and every shifting movement she made against him—became glossed over and lulled into a haze by Her. In his arms, tucked into his body, with her breath hot against his skin and her heartbeat slow and steady in his ears. Safe and home, smiling slightly in her sleep and holding onto his shirt in the dark. Ben loved her, and when she’d hooked one leg over Ben’s hips and given a content sigh in her sleep he’d almost exploded. She was perfect, and clinging to him like he might vanish from her hands, and he’d made the mistake of kissing her brow.

She’d leaned into it. In deep sleep, without a single fucking thought about it, she’d pushed herself up Ben’s chest and made a small, happy humming sound that shattered all of Ben’s will and vigilance because it was just Her. So peaceful and calm, sleeping in Ben’s arms like nightmares weren’t even something to fucking consider. It was contagious. She’d used that stupid flower shampoo—it was better on Her than Ben, stronger and more potent—and her hands were still as her heartbeat rolled through him like a drug. Pulling Ben down, down, down without a fight, because she was in his arms and everything was right.

When Ben woke up, it was easy. Eyes pulling themselves open because he was rested, and the pillow against his face had blocked out all the light of morning pushing into the room. He’d rolled over in his sleep, but She wasn’t under him or at his side. There was a weight on his back that felt like Hers, and a soft sound of a piano that they didn’t own surrounding Ben’s head that Her voice floated over, smooth and controlled, brighter and warmer than the sunlight on Ben’s face when he turned his head. The whole room smelled like honey, and Ben could feel a soft wind coming from nowhere. He made a low sound—against his fucking will—and the music stopped.

“Hi,” Her voice was near his ear, and one of her arms was resting on his shoulders. She was on top of Ben, sprawled across his body with her legs half-straddling him and half-tanged in his, her hand fucking petting Ben’s hair. She was trying to fucking kill him. “You’re up.”

“Fucking obviously,” he muttered, and She just laughed into his neck. A light, joyful sound that made Ben’s whole body relax and his mouth twitch up. “Why are you sitting on me.”

Her hand trailed down the back of Ben’s head, resting on his neck. “You’re comfortable.”

“We’re on a goddamn bed-“

She leaned up, kissing Ben’s cheek with a small hum, and rolled off his body, onto the mattress beside him. Ben’s arms flew out to catch Her, stop her from getting too far away or falling off of the damn bed, and when her perfect, beautiful face landed in his view, she was smiling.

“Grumpy-“

Ben yanked Her forward, back against his body where she fit so fucking well, and kissed the small yelp out of her mouth. Let Her moan into his throat as he sat up against the headboard, pulling her with him until she was in his lap and was falling right onto his chest. Where she was fucking made to be. But, even as he fucking ate Her, Ben kept vigilant attention to her every movement and reaction. Every shift of her hips and small sound that escaped her throat when he squeezed her waist that drew them closer and closer to Ben having to stop, to reaching that unspoken limit of what he could take and take and take and give, and having to pull back so She could make that choice for him. 

She ground down on Ben once with a breathless moan, and froze. Dropped Her head down to his chest and sighed, resting against him with nothing more. She was going to apologize. She was going to try and fucking apologize to Ben for this—he recognized that small, sad sigh that meant she was going to be sorry—and he didn’t want it. He didn’t want Her to keep apologizing for everything, to keep thinking Ben gave a shit what they were doing or not doing when he had Her back. All that fucking mattered was that she was here and safe, and if Ben had to be a celibate fucking monk pussy for the rest of his life so be it. She’d be there, and Ben loved Her, and that was enough. He wished he could just tell Her he loved her, and make her understand that if she said sorry for this again, Ben would lose his fucking mind.

But he couldn’t. Not now, not when She wasn’t ready. When she was ready Ben would make Her whine and moan and do whatever the fuck she asked him to. He might die on his knees for Her, just to try and make her get it. Finally fucking believe that She was the most important thing in the universe, and Ben was lucky she was just sharing oxygen with him. That he fucking loved Her, and she should never apologize to him. He would rather eat a goddamn bullet than have her think she ever needed to apologize to him. So he spoke before She could even try to.

“You were singing.”

She tilted her head up, watching Ben with a frown. “What?” 

“Before I woke up,” he grunted, pulling Her a little higher up his chest. He wanted her closer, as close as she’d fucking allow. “You were singing.” 

“Yeah, I,” She sighed, and her arms moved up to wrap around Ben’s neck. “I just wanted to see what I could do. If I’d regressed.” 

Ben paused, examining Her sad expression, her soft words echoing in his head. “You didn’t sing at Vought.” 

“No,” She shook her head. “They never even mentioned it. I don’t think they forgot, Sage wouldn’t forget. Homelander-“ She made a small, pained sound with the name, and that was enough of that fucking shit. “He-“ 

Ben kissed her, gentle and soft until she sighed and her nails stopped digging into his skin. When he pulled back—She was so fucking perfect, swollen lips parted and pretty eyes watching him—Ben said Her name, firm and slow. “Tell me what you were singing.”

She blinked. “But-“ 

“No.” Ben glared at Her, and she swallowed her own words. “Tell me about your fucking song, or shut the hell up.” 

“Rude.” Her words were mumbled, but lighter. No strain in her voice, the pure fucking sadness in her eyes fading when she looked at Ben. “You’re not the boss of me, Benjamin, you can’t tell me what to do.”

He snorted. “You don’t even listen to your real boss, Sunshine. I don’t think that would change a single goddamn thing.”

“Well-“

“And,” Ben leaned down, bumping his nose with hers. “I don’t need to be your boss to tell you what to do. You like it when I order you around.” 

Her face was flushed, breathing heavy against Ben’s mouth, and she was so fucking perfect. “Fuck you.” 

He winked. “That’s the idea.” 

“Horny old man.”

“It’s all for you, beautiful.” He kissed her nose, and she made a small, high sound that was going to make Ben cum in his pants like a teenager. “Tell me about your music, or admit you get turned on when I tell you what to do.”

“You can’t fucking prove that I-“

“Don’t need to.” Ben pulled back, grinning down at Her. “I know how fucking wet you get when I throw you around, or make you beg.”

“Ben-“

“If it helps,” he grabbed Her chin gently, holding her gaze to his. “I think it’s fucking hot when you tell me what to do.”

She swallowed, chewing on her mouth as she watched Ben with wide eyes. “You do?”

What he wanted to say was don’t be dumb, Sunshine, of course I fucking do. You get all bossy and loud, and it makes me want to throw you against a wall to see just how loud I can get you. It makes me fucking love you more, because you’re not afraid of me and trust that I’ll listen to you. Because you never fucking waver, and I love you, and I think you should keep telling me what to do for the rest of fucking time, because that means you’re with me for the rest of fucking time and I can fuck you and make you so goddamn happy and I love you. I fucking love you, and you’re a brat who thinks she knows everything, but you actually do and it’s so fucking hot. And I love you. But He can’t say that. Not now.

“I do.” Ben smirked at Her, running his thumb over her lower lip. “Just like you it when I tell you how beautiful you are, and tell you to say my name, and how good you are-“

She made a strangled sound, and something flashed through Ben’s body. Some sort of feeling that was consuming and vast and powerful, that rushed through him before being almost yanked away. She’d leaned back, away from Ben, and this was the line he had to walk. He didn’t fucking understand it, why She’d let him say almost every filthy thought he had aloud, why she’d let Ben tell her all the ways he wanted to fuck her, but wouldn’t allow him to just do it. Just fuck Her smart as shit brain empty and blissful, let Ben make her feel good like she deserved. Why when she peeled off of his body she did it like it was impossible, why she kept looking at Ben with a fucking want and adoration but wouldn’t just tell him what to do to help. He wanted to fucking help her, make this better for her, and she wouldn’t tell him how.

All he could do was stay, and wait, and keep finding that exact line between making Her smile and happy and heartbeat steady, and telling her he fucking loved her and having her moan into his throat while he fucked her until she was good. Ben didn’t want Her to be okay or fine, she needed to be goddamn good. Nobody deserved to be fucking good like she did. To feel as desired as Ben desired her, to have someone love them like Ben loved her. He’d do anything for her. The longer she was near him to more certain Ben became that he’d do fucking anything for her. Which was why he had to wait. He had to file away how She’d looked at him when he’d called her good and try to ignore his boner—making a poor attempt to shift it away from Her thigh—and just wait. She wanted him, Ben knew she wanted him, and now all he had to do was wait.

“I’m-“

“Music,” Ben snapped, because she wasn’t fucking apologizing to him. She’d stayed on the bed— leaning into Ben’s side with her head buried in his shoulder—and there wasn’t a single reason she needed to apologize. “Tell me about your music.”

“It’s not interesting,” Her voice was muffled against Ben’s body, breath warm on his skin. “I was just practicing. I don’t even really remember what I was singing-“

Ben knew what she’d been singing. It was one of the songs he’d tried to learn while she was gone, but had been so slow and long and tedious so he’d given the fuck up and moved onto something with a goddamn beat. And when he grunted the answer for Her, she looked up at him with narrow eyes. 

“How did you know?” 

“You’ve sung it before,” he muttered. “I pay attention, Sunshine-” 

“And I’ve never sung that one.” She shuffled up, onto her knees, until her eyes were level with Ben’s. “Truth, Benjamin. Now.”

“That was-“ 

“Nope.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t.” 

Ben scowled. This shouldn’t be so hard to tell Her. He’d missed her, she knew he’d missed her, and it wasn’t a big fucking deal. She might tease him, but she always teased him. And she wouldn’t figure out Ben loved her just from this. He wouldn’t lose his chance to tell Her the right way—holding her perfect face in his hands, when there was nothing to interrupt them or try to separate them, when Ben could fuck her immediately after—because there wasn’t a chance something this stupid would give him away.

“I listened to your music while you were gone.”

“Oh.”

“I missed you.” He grunted, trying to figure out if that was a confused oh, or a turned on oh, or a I’ve figured out you love me, Benjamin oh. “And I was bored as fucking balls. I listened to all your stupid songs, and that was one of them. It’s not-“

“Ben,” Her voice was a whisper, and her whole face was soft. Looking at Ben with that adoration in her eyes, tugging on his arm until his words trailed off. “I missed you too.”

“I fucking know that-“

“No,” She shook her head, hands running mindlessly up and down Ben’s skin. “I really, really missed you. And I’m-“

“Don’t say sorry,” Ben glared at her. “If you say sorry, I’ll never kiss you again.” 

She scoffed. “Fuck off, Pretty Boy. We both know that’s not true.” 

It was. Ben would probably die if he never kissed her again. But he wasn’t losing this argument. “You don’t want to take that bet, Sunshine.” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Someone’s real fucking sure of herself-“ 

“Well,” She grinned, smug and perfect and Ben fucking loved her. “It’s hard not to be when I just had Soldier Boy say he listened to music because he missed me-“

“I told you not to fucking call me that,” Ben leaned forwards, letting their lips brush, savoring how her words died with the pretty flush of Her face. “And of course I missed you.” I fucking love you. “Nobody else moans my name quite like you do. Brat.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You’re such an asshole.”

“You fucking love it.”

She was silent, watching Ben like he was everything but with something heavy in her eyes. Mouth a small pout Ben couldn’t understand for his goddamn life. She’d looked at him like this before, and Ben never fucking understood what it meant. If it was just lust—her eyes were blown out, and Her heart was fast—or that adoration, or want or need or fucking what-

“I do,” She sighed softy, and Ben was fucking confused. “You’re a cunt, but I do.” 

He grunted Her name, because she needed to stop looking at Ben like that or he’d tell her he loved her. If She kept staring at Ben with her hands warm on his arm and that small smile on her mouth that he couldn’t understand, Ben would damn any consequence or repercussion and say he loved Her. 

“You didn’t have any nightmares.”

Ben blinked at Her, word dying in his throat. “What.”

“You were asleep for hours,” She tilted her head at him. “No nightmares.”

“What the fuck does that matter.” 

“You said they were getting worse. I can start working on your PTSD again-“ 

“No.” Ben’s words were fast, firm, and rough. He hadn’t had a fucking nightmare last night, he’d slept like a goddamn baby, but She was with him, so everything was fine. And even if it wasn’t, Annie’s words kept fucking rattling around in his head. Don’t hurt her. “I’ve got a grip on it.”

“But-“

He said Her name, moving up to kiss her brow and hum words against her skin. “This isn’t your fucking problem. I’ve got it.”

“I want to help-“

“I know,” he sighed, because of course She did. Stupid fucking perfect and kind woman. “But I’ve fucking got it handled.”

She nodded slowly, rising higher on her knees until they were level once more. “Promise?” 

“Swear it.” 

“You’ll keep,” She swallowed. “You’ll keep sleeping in bed with me? Even with the nightmares?”

“Do you want me to.” 

“Yes-“

“Then I will.” Ben shrugged, because it was that fucking simple. She wanted him here, this was where he would be. He still thought it was a dumb as shit idea—she needed to be able to always sleep peacefully, never be worried about Ben’s nightmares of blood waking her up—but he’d still stay. If all he could do was stay, he’d stay. “But you don’t get to waste time on my shell shock.”

“It’s not wasting time,” She frowned. “It helps you.” 

“I’m fine, Sunshine.” 

“But-“ 

“No.” Ben moved a hand into Her hair, stopping the frantic shake of her head. “I keep sleeping in the bed, you don’t work on the shell shock. Deal?” 

She sighed. “Deal.” 

Ben grinned, and kissed her once. It was long, biting her lip and running his tongue along the roof of her mouth, going until she was breathless and slack against his body. They probably had to fucking move, Ben could see the sun higher in the sky, and they both had shit to do. Soon, Butcher would start barging into their bedroom and demanding they attended the team meeting, and Ben was not going to allow that shit. This version of Her—where she molded perfectly against him and smiled at him so easily—was sacred, and Butcher wasn’t allowed to see. Nobody was allowed to see it but Ben, because she only showed it to him and he’d protect that with his goddamn life. So—in a display of restraint and sheer fucking willpower that should earn Ben some sort of medal—he pulled back. Ben gave Her one last tug of her lip between his teeth, sat in the needy sound that left her throat, and grinned down at her perfect, relaxed face. “Hungry?”

She nodded, and made a soft, heady sound that made Ben’s brain a little fucking foggy.

“Up,” he grunted, wrapping his arms around Her hauling her up his chest. “Let’s move.”

“What time-“

“Late.” He muttered. “And we need to eat before the meeting.”

“The meeting?” She frowned, arms tensing where they still rested around Ben’s neck. “What meeting?”

“Team meeting. At noon. It’s-“

“At noon?” She whacked his shoulder, and Ben tried to keep his gaze locked ahead as he stood, feeling Her glare burning into him. “Benjamin, why didn’t you fucking tell me-“

“I forgot,” he snapped. “I got fucking distracted, you’re just as much to blame-“

“Oh, fuck you.” Ben made the mistake of glaring down at Her, finding her sticking her tongue out at him and having to fight the urge to toss her back onto the bed and keep Her there forever. “I didn’t know. You did.”

“Well, if you hadn’t fucking sat on me, I wouldn’t have gotten off track and we’d have been downstairs a goddamn hour ago.”

“If you weren’t such a horny old cunt,” She grinned at him, kissing his neck and trying to fucking kill him. “You’d have been able to remember to do your job.”

“Brat.” He scowled into the air, trying to ignore how her pretty giggle rolled through his body, and she was trailing up to him jaw and driving him fucking insane. “I am doing my goddamn job, and we’re not fucking late to anything yet-”

“Yet,” She hummed. “I think you almost completely forgot. I think your memory is going-“

“My memory,” Ben found a better grip on Her body, using one arm to support her legs wrapped around his body and allowing the other to reach up and tug her face away from him, forcing Her to meet his eyes. “Is goddamn fine. You’re just a fucking needy, beautiful distraction.” He paused at the bottom of the stairs, watching her mouth fall open and smirking at the small whine that escaped her. He wasn’t even fucking touching Her. “But next time, I’ll just ignore you. I won’t suck your pretty face, or make you feel good. Is that what you fucking want?”

He’s won. She’s scoffing and rolling her eyes, squirming out of Ben’s grip, and he’s finally won one of these stupid things with words.

“Shut up.”

“No, you fucking said I should do my job, Sunshine, so next time you climb on me, I’ll throw you off and leave-“

She shoved his chest, pulling away from Ben’s arm trying to steady her feet. “Fuck you.”

“I won’t, not it if you don’t admit-“

She pulled his head down, kissing him like he was water and she’d been lost in the desert for years. Ben understood that, because he’d nearly fucking died of starvation while she’d been gone. He hadn’t even been hungry before her, he’d felt satisfied and been completely fucking satiated, then he’d gotten her and now he’d crave her for the rest of goddamn time. She was fucking perfect, and Ben loved Her, and when she kissed him like this he had to growl against her and dive down to make Her whine so he didn’t say it. He could say it. She was kissing Ben like he was everything and maybe, if he said it now, She’d just keep going. She’d smile at him and say Benjamin, I love you too, and he’d tell Her I love you more, Sunshine. You’re so goddamn perfect, and I love you so fucking much. It’s not possible for you to love me more than I love you, because nobody’s ever loved anyone like I love you. You drive me goddamn insane, and I’m going to fuck you until you get that. Got it? 

Ben almost heard her response, breathless in his ear even as she moaned into his mouth. Got it. But I love you more.

The feeling was back. For a split second something flashed like lightning through Ben’s body, setting him on fire before vanishing. She pulled her mouth away and took a small step back, and all Ben could do was stare at her and bite his tongue so he didn’t say it. She’d moved away again, she wasn’t ready, and Ben couldn’t say it.

“We should get ready,” she mumbled, staring intently at Ben’s chest. Not meeting his eyes. “It’s 11:30.”

“You need to eat-“ 

“I’ll go get dressed,” she glanced over her shoulder, frowning at the kitchen. “And you make some food? I don’t know what we have-“

“I can do it,” Ben muttered, taking a careful step toward Her. Another when she looked up at him and didn’t move away. “Sandwich?”

She nodded. “That sounds good. Do you want your phone?”

Ben grunted in agreement, and she smiled at him.

“Thank you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

She took a small step, standing right before Ben without actually just fucking touching him. His back went straight, his whole body tensing as he waited. She’d tell him what she wanted, and this was fucking killing him but he’d let her. He wouldn’t pick her up and eat her out on the dining room table, or slam her back into the wall and make her cum on his fingers like before. He had to wait, and it was worth it. All she did was smile at him with teeth and pure goddamn joy on her face, reaching up and kissing Ben’s cheek, and Christ on a fucking cross it was worth more than anything in the world. He didn’t breathe until She pulled back, didn’t do anything but watch Her and swallow down a shout of I love you, I fucking love you, do that again because I fucking love you and it’s better than any fucking high or rush as she turned and walked back up the stairs.

Ben made Her a sandwich and coffee—stupid goddamn love was turning him into a pussy and he couldn’t even bring himself to give a fuck—and caught his phone when she reappeared over on the loft strip, leaning over the railing and chucking it at his face.

“Jesus fucking christ, woman-“

She scoffed. “Don’t be a baby, Benjamin, you caught it. You’ve got a text from Butcher.”

Ben frowned down at his phone, where William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible, 3 Messages was displaying in a small banner on his lock screen. When he looked back up She was already gone back into the bedroom—Ben could hear her shuffling around, hear drawers opening and fabrics shifting, and had to actively fight the image of her naked out of his head—so he returned his attention to his phone and read Butcher’s texts.

William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible

Mallory said she’s been cleared, so you both better be at the meeting

Ryan will meet you both in the gym after

You two twats need to stop reunion fucking long enough to get to the dining hall

Nobody had told Ben they had a gym. He’d been here for four fucking months, and not once had anyone said they had a gym. He’d have to yell at Butcher about that later though, because she was walking back down the stairs, frowning at him and glancing at the phone in his hand.

“Everything good?”

He gave a tight nod, looking Her up and down. She was dressed—that was Ben’s fucking shirt—and her fingers were tapping at her side. “What’s wrong.”

“Nothing-“

Ben said Her name flatly, narrowing his eyes and holding her gaze. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m fine, Ben.” She sighed. “Will Ryan be there? At the meeting?”

“After. We’re meeting him in the gym.” Ben frowned, hearing Her heartbeat stumble. “If you don’t want to-“

“No!” She shook her head, eyes widening. “I want to, I do. I’m just, what if he doesn’t like me? Then what?”

He loved Her. Her eyes on Ben’s were so soft and concerned and Ben fucking loved Her. He took one long step across the room, pulling her up into his chest and holding Her perfect face between his hands, kissing Her until that worried little frown vanished and was replaced by an open mouth for Ben to mutter into.

“Stop being fucking insane.” 

She pushed his chest, but didn’t try to pull away. “Fucking rude-“

“I’ve already told you,” he grunted Her name, and her hands loosened on his shirt. “The Kid likes you.”

“You don’t know that-“

“I do.” Ben moved back, glaring at Her. “I’ve fucking talked to him about it, and he wouldn’t stop asking about you. Asking to meet you. He’s going to like you just fine, because he’s not a goddamn idiot.”

She swallowed. “You’ve really talked to him about me?”

Ben needed to learn when to shut the fuck up. His inability to not just tell Her everything he did and everything he thought didn’t bode well for keeping the fact that he loved her a secret. “I told you I did, and I’m not a fucking-” 

“Liar pussy, I know.” She was grinning again, and her eyes were sharp, so Ben decided however she was about to fucking tease him for this was worth it. “You didn’t say what you told him.” 

“I don’t remember.” That wasn’t a lie. Ben couldn’t fucking remember exactly what he’d told the Kid, because the Kid had asked a fuck ton of questions and Ben had answered all of them. He genuinely didn’t know what he had and hadn’t told the Kid. “But he already likes you. So don’t lose your damn mind worrying about it.”

“Okay.” Her voice was a whisper, and Ben kissed the top of Her head.

“You’re good.”

“I’m good.” She pulled back, tilting her head at Ben. “Did you say gym?”

“Butcher said we’re meeting the Kid there after the meeting.”

“Huh.” She frowned. “I didn’t know we had a gym.”

Ben snorted. Fucking Christ he loved Her. “They don’t tell us fucking shit, Sunshine.” He kissed the space between her eyes, light and soft and because he fucking could, and forced himself to step away. “I’m going to get changed. Eat.”

She wrinkled her perfect nose at him. “I was going to, don’t tell me what to do-“

“You like it.” 

“Fuck you.”

Ben winked, starting to walk past Her to the stairs. “You’d like that as well, wouldn’t you.”

She flipped him off, stalking to the kitchen, and Ben laughed. Really, fully laughed, feeling his goddamn cheeks hurt from grinning at Her. He fucking loved Her, and he’d missed so many goddamn things about Her—Her beautiful face, her pretty smile, her big words and smart fucking mouth, the sounds she made when Ben touched her—but he’d mostly just missed Her. The way that everything was good when she was there. How Ben could laugh and it felt so fucking simple to do so, because She was there and it would be a goddamn crime to keep joy from her. The whole fucking apartment looked better with her in it. It wasn’t big, barely three fucking rooms, but Ben hadn’t even realized how hollow it had felt without her presence filling it up. Her heartbeat echoing around it, her soft cursing when she dropped something, her tapping on the surface of the table as she ate. The light leaking in through the windows was a little brighter, everything smelled like Her again, and when Ben opened the drawers of their dresser Her clothes had moved. Because she was home to move them.

Ben changed fast, and managed to get downstairs right before the clock hit noon. She was waiting for him at the door, arms crossed, glaring at him as he walked to meet her.

“We’re going to be late, Benjamin.”

“What the hell are you talking about, it’s noon right now-“

“The meeting is at noon, dummy.” She linked Her arm through Ben’s, tugging him into the hall. “We’re supposed to be there already.”

“They can’t fucking start without us-“

“Exactly,” she gave him a flat look over her shoulder. “So walk faster, Pretty Boy. And you’re taking all the blame when we get there.”

Ben’s glower and eye roll was a complete fucking performance. She was touching him and talking to him, so he’d do whatever she told him to. He’d take the blame—Mallory could suck his fucking dick if they got shit for being five minutes late—and if She was really upset about being late, Ben would make it up to her later. He’d steal her some chocolate, or watch a movie with her, or tell her about all the shows he’d watched while she’d been gone until she smiled at him. Then he’d eat her face until she moaned. He’d probably do all of that shit anyway, but she never needed to know that.

Everyone was waiting for them, giving them varying levels of dirty looks when they walked into the dining hall. Mallory seemed to be the only one truly pissed, because MM’s glower was probably about respecting people’s motherfucking time and Butcher’s was lined with a smug amusement at Ben being pulled behind Her like a fucking dog. A-Train looked nervous—Ben was a little fucking shocked he was even here—and The French Prick, Kimiko, Annie, and Hughie just looked happy to see Her. Everyone should always be happy to see Her, so Ben wasn’t going to award them any points for that. He would appreciate Kimiko standing up and crossing the room, though, signing shit Ben didn’t understand that made her smile. Point against Kimiko, She had to fucking let go of Ben to respond. Point back to Kimiko, they hugged. Without hesitation, Kimiko hugged Her, and that was what made Ben give the woman a small nod when they pulled apart.

“Look who finally managed to pull his bloody dick out-“

“Butcher,” Annie sighed. “Can you save the sex stuff for after the meeting? Please?”

Butcher looked like he was going to argue, but Mallory snapped over him.

“We’re working, William. Save the personal talk for your own time.”

“We fuckin live here,” Butcher muttered. “Ain’t no difference between our work hours and personal hours.”

“Well this is work,” Mallory’s glare turned to Her and Ben. “And I expect professionalism.”

Ben scowled, slinging his arm over Her shoulders as they walked to the table. “We’re not fucking in front of you, so shove it up your damn ass, lady.”

“You’re late-“

“By five damn minutes,” Ben snapped, dropping on the end of the bench, keeping her at his side. Fighting the instinct to hide Her from Mallory’s tight lips and angry eyes, because she’d want to handle herself and Ben wasn’t interested in her kicking his ass right now. “We’re not delaying fucking shit anymore, that’s all you.”

Mallory looked them up and down, eyes narrowing. “Next time, I expect you both to be five minutes early.”

Ben shrugged. “Make this worth our fucking time.”

“Mallory,” She injected, and Ben looked down to find her leaning forward, elbows on the table. “We’re sorry, but can we please just get started?”

“Fine.” Mallory crossed her arms, shooting Ben one last sneering glare. “We’ll start with new developments. Campbell, updates on the V?”

“Um,” Hughie glanced around the table. “There aren’t any. I’ve been going through all the shell companies, but half of them were dissolved. Two weeks ago, actually.”

“What about the offshore accounts?” A-Train frowned. “I gave a shit ton of them, Hughie, you should’ve been able to find something.”

“No, I shouldn’t have.” Hughie was actually glaring. Ben had never seen him glare. He looked like a damn angry mouse. “All of them were emptied into the shell companies, then the shell companies were dissolved.”

MM ran a hand over his beard, shaking his head. “That money didn’t just fucking vanish, Hughie. They put it somewhere.”

“I know, I just can’t find where-“

“Keep at it, Lad, you’ll come through.” Ben gave Hughie a nod, and Hughie leaned back with a sad look at Annie. “MM, any progress on Sacramento?” 

“I reached out to my contact at the FDA, but they said that the port worked with pasteurized produce, not narcotics.”

“That was the cover,” A-Train muttered. “We were supposed to keep it off the feds radar. There’s V there, I swear-“

Butcher scoffed. “Just like you bloody swore ‘bout Atlanta?”

“Sage must have gotten there first-“

Ben felt a tug at his arm, and looked down to find Her frowning up at him. What’s going on?

We’ve been looking for the V. A-Train gave us a long as fuck list of locations and shit, but none of them worked.

She nodded slowly. What about the FDA? Or Military?

Ben blinked at Her. What.

After everyone found out about V, didn’t the government confiscate like, a shit ton of it?

I don’t fucking know, I was in Russia.

And I was underground. She gave Ben a flat look. I read about it, Pretty Boy. You could’ve as well.

Why would I read when I can just have you tell me everything? He winked, and She stuck her tongue out at him.

Cunt.

Brat. Ben glanced up, and everyone was still fucking talking about Atlanta. Tell them about the FDA. 

She gave a small shake of her head. I don’t think Mallory will like it. 

Mallory can go fuck herself with the stick up her ass. Tell them.

She sighed, and raised Her hand. When nobody noticed, Ben gave an aggressive cough that turned everyone’s eyes to them.

“What the fuck was that, are you sick-“

“I can’t get sick, dumb-fuck.” Ben cut MM off with a glare. “We’ve got an idea.”

“We?” She elbowed Ben’s ribs. “Who’s we, Benjamin?”

Ben scowled, and She just grinned at him. “Fucking Christ, she has a plan.”

“Well will you cunts stop bloody eye-fuckin and tell us?”

“We weren’t eye fucking Butcher. And it’s,” She sighed, fingers tapping on the table. “I’m not sure about it.”

“It’s better than nothing,” MM sighed Her name. “What do you got.”

“When I got out, I read about the V scandal.” She frowned, and Ben knew she was thinking, picking out all the right words to convince them. “I also read that a large amount of V was confiscated by the FDA, and the Department of Defense was granted a warrant by Congress to take some for ‘studies’,” She made small air quotes, looking around the table. “Sage probably has people in the Pentagon, but it would be harder for her to make V that’s under federal control vanish.”

“What, exactly, are you implying?” Mallory’s voice was cold, and She swallowed.

“MM has a contact at the FDA. We could ask if they still have any V.” She sighed. “Or we could meet with Singer? He kind of owes us, after Nueman-“ 

“The President doesn’t owe you anything.” Mallory snapped, and Ben’s vision went a little red as She gave a small nod. “Vought has international locations, it’s unlikely Sage has been able to flush all of them out-“ 

“This isn’t a horrible idea, Grace.” MM was watching Her, brows knit. “It’s a sure fucking bet, and a hell of a lot safer than raiding a Vought warehouse. I can reach out again, see what they’ve got for us.“ 

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask Singer either,” Annie added, nodding slowly. “Worst he says is no, right?”

Mallory’s lips somehow got fucking thinner. “We are not wasting his time-“

“It ain’t wastin’ time if he’s got what we’re fuckin lookin for.” Butcher drawled. “And if he do, we’ll all take turns suckin him off as a thank you.”

Hughie blinked. “I, uh, I don’t want to do that-“

“I’m not sucking anyone off, Butcher, you can shove that right up your ass-“

“Bloody hell,” Butcher rolled his eyes, cutting MM and Hughie off. “Frenchie will, then.”

The French Prick shrugged. “For America, of course.”

“Me and you, Mate, are the only cunts committed to the safety of this bleedin country, and we ain’t even citizens-“

“Butcher,” Annie sighed. “On topic, please.”

“Fuckin party pooper, ain’t you Starlight.” Annie’s scowl deepened as Butcher turned away. “MM, reach out to the FDA again. Grace, it ain’t gonna kill Singer or destroy America for him to meet with us for a bloody hour.”

“William-“

“If you don’t, I will.” Butcher’s eyes narrowed at Mallory. “I’ll even send Soldier Boy ‘ere to drag ‘im by the ear. We’re runnin out of options, now ain’t the time to be picky.”

Ben didn’t even bother to tell Butcher to shove it up his ass and stop giving orders. He would drag Singer by the ear, what the fuck could that pussy do to him anyway? 

Mallory scowled, looking around the table and seeing the determined, set faces all siding with Her plan. Apparently Ben wasn’t surrounded by complete fucking idiots.

“Fine. Let’s move on to the next item on the agenda,” Mallory’s gaze rested on Her, saying Her name in a clipped voice. “Have you checked the news today?”

“No,” She mumbled, fingers tapping faster. “But I don’t have a phone to check it with.”

Mallory frowned, but gave a tight nod. “In that case, I recommend you pay attention. Marvin?”

MM leaned forward. Giving Her an apologetic look that made Ben’s skin crawl.

“Homelander gave an address.”

Her heart picked up, and her hand shot up to Ben’s arm around her shoulders, smoke rising against his skin. “What,” Ben pressed his thigh to hers, and she took a steadying breath. “What did he say?”

“I’m not fucking sure how to-“ MM cut himself off, pulled out his phone, and slid it across the table with a sigh. “I think it’s best if you see for yourself.”

It was a news article. A video playing of Homelander behind a podium with a sad, weak fucking pussy expression as he addressed the camera. Sage was standing behind him, with her face neutral and bored. The audio was off, but Ben didn’t even really fucking notice it. He read the headline above the video, and clenched his jaw so hard his teeth might have shattered. 

Homelander Accuses CIA of Kidnapping Fiancée, Anomaly

Ben read the word once. Twice. A third time just to certain he wasn’t going fucking insane. Fiancée. Homelander’s Fiancée.

“What the fuck is this.” He growled, not addressing anyone in particular. Pulling Her further into his side, running his fingers in small circles on the skin of her shoulder as her heart picked up faster and faster. Her breathing was mechanical, and it was making Ben cold. She looked so fucking afraid and Ben’s whole body was cold. He felt fucking sick, and between Her every breath he could almost hear her voice going no. No, no, no. “Someone better start talking, right goddamn now-“

“It’s Sage’s move,” She whispered, staring at the table and shaking her head. “She’s giving herself jus ad bellum. I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it coming.”

Hughie frowned. “Pretend that some of us don’t know what jus ad bellum is-”

“Right of war,” MM muttered. “Justification for further escalation. But how the hell would you have seen this shit coming?” MM said Her name, nodding at the screen. “It’s an insane gamble, even for Sage-“ 

“No, it’s not.” She looked up slowly, taking a long, unsteady breath that made Ben’s heart move into his throat. “It’s what she’s been planning. She knew I’d escape-” 

“How?” Hughie leaned around Annie to look at Her, titling his head. “Sorry, I mean, how could she have known? Wouldn’t she have tried to stop you-”

“No, that sounds like Sage,” A-Train shook his head with a sigh. “That bitch plays 4-D chess, you won’t understand why she does something until it’s too late and it’s paid off for her.”

She nodded. “She told me a week ago I was going to propose to Homelander on TV, as a surprise. And if I didn’t, She’d-” Her eyes flicked up to Ben, and she swallowed. “Hurt people. She knew I wouldn’t, she knew I’d escape. I think I surprised her by telling Homelander I was going to marry him, though-“

Butcher gaped at Her, voicing Ben’s almost exact thoughts. “You fuckin what-“

“I needed him away from Vought. It worked, and it might be the only thing Sage didn’t anticipate. She probably thought I’d just run, and Homelander would give up on me.”

“No more hang ups,” MM muttered. “No more dealing with his obsession and erratic outbursts about you.” 

“Exactly.” She swallowed. “But I told him I’d marry him, and now he probably just thinks I was taken from him again. So her move is to back us into a corner. We say I left of my own volition, and we’re ignoring the gravity of the situation. We admit I’m here, it’s because you took me.”

“What if we just ignore it?” Annie’s suggestion was hesitant. She didn’t even fucking believe in it herself. “Don’t even respond-“

“We have to respond,” She gave Annie a small, sad smile. “I’m too important to this now. I made myself important, and Sage doubled down on that. If the CIA doesn’t put out some sort of statement, Sage will say silence is complicity.”

“You got any ideas?” MM glanced at Ben, giving him a small nod. “Soldier Boy said you were working on something-“ 

“I was,” She whispered. “But I didn’t plan for this. I don’t-“ 

“We’ll figure it out,” Ben grunted, unable to stand the slightly strangled sound of Her words. “They haven’t fucking won, Sunshine, we’ll figure it out.” 

She nodded, and when she leaned into his side Ben didn’t feel quite as cold anymore. “I know. I mean, I could try to distance myself-“

“That ain’t gonna fuckin work, Love.” Butcher muttered. “You’re America’s bloody Valentine, don’t matter what you say or do.”

“Butcher’s right,” Annie gestured between herself, A-Train, and—after a moment of hesitation—Ben. “We all know, these things get away from you. You’re more of a symbol, whatever people want to hear, they will.”

“What if,” She was chewing on her cheek, frowning ahead at nothing, and Ben knew she was about to say something fucking insane. “Everyone keeping in mind that there are no bad ideas in brainstorming, what if I kill myself?”

Fucking Christ.

“I think,” Hughie swallowed. “I think there might be bad ideas in brainstorming.”

“Just, listen-“

“No,” Ben snapped, trying to ignore the drums sounding far away. “Shut the fuck up, you’re not doing that.”

“I wouldn’t actually kill myself, Ben.” She leaned forwards, starting to talk far too fucking fast for how Ben’s heart was still pounding in his ears. “I mean, I can’t. But I need to be out of the picture, and this way you can say Homelander drove me to it-“ She cut herself off, frowning at nothing. “No. Wait.”

The room was silent, and Ben could fucking hear Her thinking. Hear her brain running through scenarios, her voice in his head going Sage will twist that. Say it’s a CIA cover up. It needs to be something she can twist, but not well. Not a red herring for our intentions or where I might be, but a placeholder. Make it static, make it ready for when we need it. Any attacks need to be easily deniable, implied, unactionable. Any response from Vought has to be suspicious, otherwise we’re just exposed. And I can’t be dead. That was stupid. If I’m dead, I’m too far removed, and it’s permanent. But I still can’t be here, that’s too easy for Sage to say I’m being held hostage. It won’t matter what I say myself, Annie’s right about that, so I need to be-

“I’m missing,” She said, and Ben blinked. That was aloud. “I’m just missing. Nobody knows where I am, and I’m certainly not here. The CIA is working to recover me, but you don’t have any leads. I left New York, and I’m missing, and,” she paused, tilting her head. “You’re praying for my safety.”

Mallory frowned. “Is that all you have? Just push the problem away-”

“No,” She was smiling, and it was manic and feral and a little fucking hot. A lot fucking hot. She had an idea, and it was one Ben could probably get behind, and she was fucking hot. “In the statement, say you’re not sure what happened, that it’s truly just a bipartisan tragedy, and mention that you’re not sure how it all got away from Vought. No matter what, I was in their care. That’s two people who Homelander cares about, Ryan Butcher and I, who have just vanished. You can’t say it’s because Homelander hurt me, but you can allude to it. You can say it’s so heartbreaking that I disappeared right after we got engaged. How odd.”

“It’s a non action,” MM nodded, watching Her carefully. “Walk the line. Keep Homelander going full fucking human genocide, dwindle supporters, bide time.”

She nodded. “Exactly. The CIA can’t be on the record with the rest, people won’t trust it.”

“The rest?” Butcher narrowed his eyes, looking between Her and Ben, as if Ben had a fucking clue what she was talking about. “There ain’t much more-“

“There’s more,” She took a deep breath, smile wavering slightly and falling into a determined, set look. “It’s time to tell the truth.”

“What fuckin’ truth.”

“About me,” She swallowed. “The truth about me. A few hours after the CIA’s statement, Annie’s going to tell the truth about me. And exposé on Vought, out of necessity. That I didn’t want people to know, but now I’m missing and people need to be aware.” 

“How much of the truth?” Hughie rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head at nothing. “Like, what you’ve been doing with us? Or-“

“All of it,” She mumbled. “My real identity. What Homelander did. All my powers, how I broke out, how I’ve been working with you guys, with Ben, how Homelander took me. All of it.”

“Why not have the CIA make these accusations?” The French Prick frowned. “Make them official, or believable.”

“They need to be unofficial. We can’t incite legal action, there’s no telling what Homelander will do.” She sighed. “People will either go all in on the Homelander train, or finally realize what he is. His more powerful supporters, senators and representative and military officials, will want to distance themselves. It will slow him down from government power, and Sage will latch onto this. She’ll point out how there’s not any evidence, because technically it’s just speculation and I’m not here to testify. But it has to be the whole truth. And it has to be Annie.” She gave Annie an apologetic grimace. “Sorry.”

“I’m okay with it,” Annie shook her head, giving Her a nervous look. “Are you? It’s going to be a lot-“

“I know. I’m ready.”

She was fucking lying. Ben knew she was fucking lying. Her voice was too steady, she was half on-top of him, and all her movements were mechanical. The picture perfect image of someone who was okay, the one she presented right before she collapsed, screaming in Ben’s arms.

He didn’t get a chance to call Her fucking shit, though, because behind them the dining hall door creaked open and half the table jumped up with their guns pointed at the intruder, Ben taking a large step to block Her from view.

The Kid yelped. “It’s just me! It’s Ryan Butcher! Don’t shoot!”

“Blood hell, Ryan,” Butcher glared at the Kid as everyone’s guns lowered, Ben not missing Mallory’s glower at him as he tucked his own back into his pants. “I told you to fuckin wait-“ 

“It’s 1:30,” the Kid mumbled, glancing at Ben. “They were supposed to meet me at 1:15, I just got nervous-“

Butcher frowned. “I told you they’d be there at 1:45.”

The Kid shook his head. “1:15. It’s okay, I can wait, I just wanted to make sure nobody had, um, forgotten.”

Ben felt bad. He hadn’t fucking done anything, but the Kid looked so fucking sad and now Ben felt like a piece of shit. It didn’t help when She bumped his arm, and he turned to find Her watching him with pretty, hopeful fucking eyes.

Can we go now, Ben? The meeting’s kind of over, and Ryan’s already here. We don’t even know where the gym is, and he can show us.

It was fucking amusing she was phasing it as a question. If she’d said Ben, we’re going now, it would have had the exact same goddamn effect. They were going, now.

“Wait outside, Kid, we’ll be there.” Ben looked up, glaring around the table. “Anyone got a fucking problem with that?”

“This meeting is not over-“

“Yeah, it is.” Ben snapped, holding Mallory’s glare. “You’ve got a plan, we’re done.”

Malloy crossed her arms. “I still have yet to receive a debrief about Vought Tower-”

“I don’t have much to say about it, Mallory,” She mumbled, sounding fucking guilty. “I mean, I was a hostage. You don’t tell hostage’s your evil plans for world domination.”

“Is that her?” The Kid piped up, still at the door, not in the hall like Ben had defiantly fucking ordered him to be. Looking at Ben with a small, nervous expression and wide eyes. “She’s still coming with us, right?”

“Yes,” Ben pointed at the door. “Hall.”

She was moving behind him. Ben could hear the scrape of the bench and the slight pick up of Her heart that meant she was standing up, and when he turned she was glaring up at him, pressed between his body and the table.

“Move, Benjamin.”

He scowled at Her, but couldn’t find a reason to even justify to himself keeping her hidden—The Kid wouldn’t hurt her, and moving himself over her had been more instinct than anything—and stepped to the side.

Ben was certain the Kid was going to like Her. She was perfect, everyone should like her, and people who didn’t were shit-headed dumb fucks. The Kid wasn’t a shit-headed dumb fuck. He was a fucking nerd, and talked all polite, but so did She. The Kid would like Her, and it didn’t really fucking matter if he didn’t because nothing was riding on this. Ben alone loved her enough to power the Eastern Seaboard, one random child not understanding how fucking amazing She was wouldn’t do any harm to anything. But Ben still felt something taut in his throat and around his lungs. It mattered to Her. Ben could feel Her hand warming up on his arm—starting to sear and smoke against his skin—and this felt like it mattered. She’d given her whole fucking life for the Kid, and Ben seemed to have somehow found himself important to the Kid’s life, and this might matter.

They were just fucking staring at each other. Everyone else was staring at them—even Mallory had dropped any protests—and this did matter. These two people needed to like each other. She needed to walk away from this with clear eyes and an easy smile, and the Kid needed to understand that She’d scarified to make him safe and—if Ben knew her, which he fucking did, better than anyone—would probably do it again. Then they’d both stop apologizing for their fucking existence, and whatever was choking Ben and tightening his fists would die a sad, withering death. If they didn’t start fucking moving, Ben was going to pick Her up and carry her over-

“Hi,” Her voice wasn’t a whisper, but it was quiet, gentle, unsteady. That was Her for once I don’t know what to say voice. “It’s, um, it’s nice to meet you, Ryan, I’m-“

She’d barely said her own name before the Kid was running across the room, slamming her into a tight hug. She froze, face slightly panicked—everyone in the room tensing but not launching forward to pull them apart—but when she looked down at the Kid it shifted. Became almost disbelieving, mouth parting into a small smile, eyes growing soft. 

Whatever she was feeling from the Kid, whatever was making her so relaxed, was good. She hugged the Kid back, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and holding tight, and she squeezed the Kid once in a way that Ben knew meant reassurance. The Kid liked Her—Ben had fucking known it, and now he’d get to rub that in her perfect face later—and she looked like she might cry. If she did start crying, Ben was going to have to push the rest of the team out of the dining hall so she could do it in peace. He wasn’t even sure why they were still fucking here, this was for Her and the Kid.

Butcher coughed, and Ben was going to rip out his throat. “Ryan, try not to crush the lady. She ain’t made of steel.”

“I’m fine,” She mumbled, shooting Butcher a glare over her shoulder. “And I’d live if he did.”

The Kid pulled back, looking up at Her with an admiration that Ben understood. She was admirable, she was fucking amazing.

“I, I won’t hurt you?”

“You can’t,” She shrugged, not peeling herself from the hug. “I have a regenerative healing factor.” She looked up, frowning at the group. “Did nobody tell you that?”

“They did!” The Kid shook his head, still watching Her. “But you’re not invulnerable-“

“No, but I’d live.”

The Kid nodded slowly. “Do you still feel pain?”

“Yeah,” She sighed. “I do. But you can’t control your strength, and I’d be okay.” She gave the Kid a smile, easy and content and real, and Ben fucking loved Her. She was so fucking kind and good. “It’s really nice to meet you, Ryan. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“Me too,” the Kid was smiling back, because when She smiled you’d have to be fucking insane not to smile back. “I mean, I’ve also heard about you.”

“We all have,” Butcher grumbled, still watching Her and the Kid with careful eyes. “Soldier Boy wouldn’t shut his fuckin’ cake-hole-”

“Butcher,” MM sighed. “Don’t be a bitter motherfucker and ruin the nice moment.” 

Butcher rolled his eyes, but shut his mouth. Smart move, because Ben was about to rip out his fucking tongue.

“What,” the Kid looked nervous, and Ben was starting to worry he might crush Her. “What have you heard about me?”

She huffed a small laugh. “A lot. Butcher over there’s a fucking hypocrite, because the first three months I knew him it was just Ryan’s a good kid. Smart kid. Bloody good kid.”

Ben had to cough to cover a snort, and Butcher scowled.

“That ain’t my fuckin’ voice-“

The Kid leaned around Her. “Did you really call me a good kid?”

Butcher shot Her a glare, and she returned it with a sickly sweet smile. “Yes.”

The Kid pulled away from Her, and walked over to give Butcher a hug. An awkward, tight hug that made Butcher freeze before returning it. “Thank you.”

“You’re like your mother, Ryan.” Butcher grunted. “Course you’re a good kid.”

She was smiling at them, and Ben fucking loved Her. He had to turn the words into walking back to her side and slinging his arm over her shoulder, kissing the top of her head and grinning at her when she smiled up at him. Fucking perfect. The whole world was better when she was here, because the Kid had been with them for months and Ben hadn’t actually seen him and Butcher hug. But she made everything good, because she was a goddamn miracle worker. She was a miracle herself, and Ben fucking loved Her.

“You got some trainin’ to do with Soldier Boy, Ryan.” Butcher was giving the Kid tense pat on the back, but not trying to pull back. “Better get started.”

“William-“

“Stuff it, Grace. It ain’t like they’re all gonna fuckin vanish, like I said we live here. Just go knock on the horny cunt’s doors later.” 

“It’s okay,” the Kid pulled back, frowning. “I can wait if you have work to do-“

“We don’t,” Ben snapped, glaring at Mallory in a silent challenge, pulling Her closer into his side. “We’re fucking done with this shit, let’s go.”

The Kid looked at Butcher, who nodded, then Her. “Are you coming with us?”

“For a little bit, sure,” She glanced at Ben, and he gave a tight nod. Of course She was fucking coming with them, if it was up to Ben she’d go everywhere with him. “I might have to leave early, to help Annie with some stuff, but I can sit in on the start.”

Annie shrugged. “We won’t need you for the, uh,” she glanced at the Kid. “Thing. But if you want-“

“No, I need to be there. It needs to all be accurate, Sage will exploit any fallacies. Just text-“ She cut herself off with a sigh. “Ben, I guess. And I’ll head back here.”

“We’ll get you a new phone,” Hughie said Her name, giving her a reassuring smile. “They’re not that expensive, and you need one. I can work on that.”

Butcher frowned. “You worry about the V, Lad. Frenchie-“

“I will take care of it, petite Hughie. I can even find a discount from my suppliers.”

She blinked at the French Prick. “Frenchie, please don’t get me a crime phone.” 

The French Prick shrugged. “Beggars cannot be choosers-“ Kimiko whacked his arm and signed something that made the French Prick sigh. “Fine. I will not get a crime phone.”

“Thank you.” She glanced around the group, then up at Ben. “Ready?”

Ben nodded, looking at the Kid. “Let’s fucking move, Buddy.”

The Kid started to walk over to them, and Ben felt Her elbow his side. When he frowned down at Her, she was grinning.

Buddy?

Ben rolled his eyes. What the fuck is wrong with calling him buddy.

Call him his name, Benjamin.

Why.

Because you shouldn’t call real people buddy. I call bad drivers buddy. I call my brother buddy. 

Your brother is a real fucking person.

She shrugged. But I also call him by his name. Buddy is what I say when I’m doing an impression of a 1920s Chicago mobsters, not talking to someone.

Ben scoffed. Well your impressions are fucking terrible.

I’m sorry you can’t appreciate my talent, Pretty Boy. 

I can appreciate a lot of shit about you, Sunshine. Ben winked at Her. And you’ve got a fuck ton of talent. Your impressions are still horrible. 

She wrinkled her nose at him. Rude.

Yep. Ben kissed the top of Her head, turning as Ryan stopped in front of them, looking him up and down. “You think you can move in jeans?”

He frowned. “Yes?”

“Then let’s get a fucking move on.”

They gave a few nods to the team before leaving—Mallory still looking like a sour bitch—and Ryan led the way to the gym. This place was a lot fucking bigger than Ben had thought, but exploring hadn’t really been high on his priority list. Later—if the amazed expression on Her face as they walked through the halls was any clue—She’d probably pull them around to see every damn inch of this place, and Ben would gladly follow her. As long as She kept looking so fucking relaxed like she did now, a step ahead of Ben, walking at Ryan’s side.

“Do you like biology?” Ryan had been asking Her question after question, She’d been answering them all in the same genuine, serious tone—no matter how fucking stupid they were—and Ben had been watching, biting his tongue until he drew blood so he didn’t accidentally yell that he loved Her.

“I think it’s interesting,” She shrugged. “But I’m not great at science. I’m passible at it, but it’s never been something I excel at.”

Ben rolled his eyes at nothing, because she was fucking good at science. Her benchmark of passible was just way too damn high, because she was genius.

“You can do biology manipulation, right?” Ryan’s voice was almost goddamn bouncy. “That’s one of your powers?”

“I’m not sure,” Ben could hear the thoughtful frown on Her face. “It’s a working theory, but I’ve never really had my powers fully assessed. I didn’t even really know how to use them properly until a few months ago.”

Ben tried not to be too fucking proud of that. How She gave him a small smile over her shoulder at the words, how she was better at talking about and using her powers because of Ben. He’d done that for her. He’d made Her happy and comfortable, and now that was permanent.

Ryan followed Her gaze at Ben. “Did Soldier Boy teach you too?”

“Teach me as well-“ She stopped in her tracks, and Ben nearly slammed into her back.

“Goddamnit-“ Ben started to grunt out Her name, but she whipped around with a glare at Ben that told him he was in trouble. He hadn’t even fucking done anything-

“Why is he calling you Soldier Boy?”

Ben swallowed, glancing at a wide-eyed Ryan. “I don’t fucking know-“

“Don’t get mad at him, it’s what everyone calls him-“

She raised a hand, and Ryan cut himself off, giving Ben a nervous look.

“Benjamin.” Her eyes were narrowed at him, her voice smooth and firm, and fuck She was hot. Ben probably shouldn’t want to pick her up and fuck her against the wall as much as he did right now, but Christ she was so perfect, even when she looked like she was going to kill him. What did you promise me.

He frowned. I have been fucking nice to him. A name isn’t a big deal.

Yes, it is. She glanced at Ryan, then back at Ben. He doesn’t really have anyone, Ben. He has you and Butcher. Soldier Boy isn’t you, it’s the guy who tried to kill him.

He’s forgiven me for that, Sunshine. And what the hell else is he supposed to call me, because he’s sure as shit not using grandpa.

She gave him a small smile. He could call you your name?

Ben scowled. Smartass.

She’s won, and she knows it, because Her smile grows into a wide grin. Thank you.

Shut the fuck up. Ben turned back to Ryan, who was looking between them with wide eyes. “Fine.”

“Um-“

“You can call me Ben, kid. That’s it.”

Ryan nodded slowly, his facing turning a little brighter as he looked up at Her with nervous smile that she returned—less nervous, more encouraging—and Ben was going to fucking lose his mind.

When they arrived at the gym—a full fucking gym, Ben was going to yell at Butcher and Hughie later about a pamphlet or fucking something to tell people how big this place was—Ryan led them over to a large mat, and She grabbed Ben’s phone from his pocket and dropped near the wall with her legs crossed.

“Are you not,” Ryan glanced between them. “Are you not training with us?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “My powers are a little, um, different. My training is different.”

“But you said-“

“I did train her,” Ben grunted, walking over to Her to hand her the rest of the shit in his pockets. “It’s not the same as what we’re going to do.”

She leaned around Ben’s legs as she talked to Ryan. “I’m not strong like you and Ben. When I punch someone it’s really not that effective.”

“Fuck ton more effective than when we started,” Ben muttered, and she stuck Her tongue out at him.

“It’s your fire, right?” Ryan asked, and Ben could hear him shifting on his feet. “That you use to fight?”

She nodded, tilting her head. “What do you know about my powers?”

“Um, fire?” Ryan mumbled. “You said you can heal, like Kimiko. Right?”

“Kind of like Kimiko,” She hummed. “But Kimiko still ages. I don’t.”

“Why?”

“Ben and I,” She patted Ben’s leg, leaning forward to hang off his body, and Ben had to remind himself job. Job to do. Kid in the room and job to do. “Have the same V. Old V, more unstable, makes you immortal. That’s why he’s an ancient grumpy fuck that looks like that.”

“That?” Ben scowled at Her. “What the fuck is that?”

She grinned at him. “A Pretty Boy.” 

He rolled his eyes. Brat.

Ryan coughed, and Her gaze returned to behind Ben. “You have that V because of my dad, right?”

His voice was so fucking sad. Weak and sad and nervous, and Ben didn’t know how to handle it.

She did. She was fucking perfect, so she did. She was watching Ryan carefully, words gentle. Honest and clear, but gentle. “Yes. I do. But don’t blame yourself. Homelander did it, not you,”

“But he’s my dad-“

“But you didn’t do anything.” She squeezed Ben’s leg, and his hand dropped to run through her hair. Let her handle this, never let her think she’s alone. “You aren’t responsible for his actions.”

“I’m still sorry-“

“It’s not your fault, Ryan.” Her voice was gentle, even as her nails dug into Ben’s calf. “None of this is your fault. Homelander deserves the blame, don’t take it for him.”

Ryan made a small sound, and Ben glanced back to see him looking at his feet. “I still feel bad.”

“I know,” She was smiling that soft, sad smile that meant she was being kind and forgiving and good. “Trust me, I know. But it’s not your fault.”

Ben gently tugged on Her hair, just enough for her attention to turn up to him.

What?

You should take your own fucking advice, Sunshine.

She wrinkled Her nose at him. Fuck you.

Ben grinned, and didn’t even bother to tell Her I would like to. As soon as you say the word, before it’s even out of your pretty fucking mouth, I’m carrying you home and fucking you until you scream. I’m going to fucking worship you, beautiful. Fucking ruin you. You’re going to beg and whine and moan and cum, and I’m going to fuck you until you’re dizzy. You’re going to smile at me, and I’m going to fucking cum from it, and we’re not going to leave the bed for a hundred years. I love you, and you’re going to goddamn get that when I fuck you the way you deserve. All he did—right now, when she wasn’t ready and didn’t know he loved her, when Ryan was still in the room with them—was lean over and pull her up to Her knees and kiss her, sloppy and deep. Going until she made a small sound only Ben could hear, and he drew back up to his full height.

She stared at Ben with a slack expression, and even Her glare of Cunt sounded breathless.

Ben winked. Brat. And turned back to Ryan, walking to meet him on the mat. “Let's get started, Kid. Show me what you’ve got.”

Ryan was fucking strong. It barely took ten minutes for Ben to understand that Ryan was strong. Not quite as strong as Homelander or Ben himself, but with a little practice, he could be. Fuck, with maybe five years of solid, consistent work Ryan would fly past both of them. They started by just trying to find the limit, but ran out of weights and started adding equipment from around the gym. Eventually, at about 85 tons, Ryan looked a little nervous and they moved on. He had to control it, and Ben was sure not to pussyfoot around the fact that Ryan’s strength was dangerous, real dangerous, but controllable.

“Do you think I’ll be able to?” Ryan was fidgeting with his hands, looking nervously between Her and Ben. “I’m not sure-“

“You will.” Ben snapped. “That’s what my fucking job is. You do yours and listen- Fuck!”

She’d thrown a plastic bottle at his head. Ben didn’t even fucking know where She’d gotten a plastic bottle, but while he and Ryan had been testing Ryan’s limit she’d wandered the gym, and Ben wouldn’t put it past certain fucking members of their team not to clean up after themselves.

“It’ll take time,” She didn’t even look at Ben as he glared at her, flipping him off behind Her back where Ryan couldn’t see. “But you will, Ryan. You’ll get there.”

Ben scowled. “That’s exactly what I said-“ 

“I was being encouraging.” She wrinkled her nose at him “You were being a grump.”

Ben just scoffed, and returned his attention to Ryan as she sat back against the wall, fingers tapping on the back of Ben’s phone. It was only a half hour later the screen lit up with a buzz, and She was called away. Ryan gave Her another tight hug, and Ben kissed the space between her eyes, muttering against her skin.

“You don’t fucking have to go. Annie knows everything.”

She sighed. “I do, Ben. This has to be done right. I’ll be okay.”

Ben didn’t believe Her. She didn’t believe her. Her hands were curled against his chest, and her heart was unsteady and stumbling, and Ben knew she was nervous. “Just stay the hell here-“

“No,” She pulled back, reaching up to give Ben one last, light kiss. “I’ll see you tonight, Pretty Boy. Play nice.”

He wanted to tug Her back. There was something hollow forming in her eyes when she pulled away from him, and Ben wanted to just yell I love you. I know you’re going to do this no matter what I tell you, because you never fucking listen go me, so just do it knowing I love you.

But she was gone, and Ben was left alone with Ryan, starting to feel fucking sick. Love was making him a desperate, whining pussy who felt nauseous when She was gone. And he still didn’t fucking care.

“I forgot to say thank you,” Ryan mumbled, and Ben frowned at him. “I meant to tell her thank you for getting me out-“

“She knows,” Ben grunted. “Trust me, she fucking knows.” 

“Do you think she liked me?”

Ben snorted. “Yes. And she’s not fucking gone, she’s still on this same damn floor.” Those words were more for him. Ben trying to convince himself that she was barely a three minute walk away. That he was feeling worse and worse by the second, that something was sitting like a weight on his chest the longer she was gone, but if he was really that fucking pathetic without Her he could just go find her. She wasn’t gone, and she was fine.

They kept training. Ben tested Ryan’s grip strength, trying to see what could and couldn’t be crushed by accident in a hand, and made a note to tell MM they needed metal cups. Kimiko and Annie would sure as fuck appreciate it as well, and it would be a good placeholder until Ryan was better at controlling himself. From there Ben dragged out some mock targets—boxing bags that he drew large X’s on—and they worked on heat vision. Using it at will, trying not make the bags just immediately fucking explode.

And Ben still felt fucking sick. It was still getting worse and worse as the afternoon crept on, until suddenly it was gone. Fully vanished into thin air around dinner time, right when he and Ryan were wrapping up.

“Solid work, kid.” Ben muttered, giving up almost immediately on trying to rearrange and clean up the gym. MM would have a grand fucking time doing it himself later, and Ben didn’t have any interest in being told he’d done it wrong. “Here, next week, same time.”

“Thanks,” Ryan mumbled, and Ben nodded, picking his phone up off the floor. “Ben?”

He grunted, frowning up at Ryan’s nervous expression and waiting for him to continue.

“Are you going to dinner?”

“Maybe.” Ben sighed. “We’ve got some shit to deal with, but we’ll try.”

“We?” Ryan said Her name, watching Ben carefully. “Um, she’ll be there too?”

“As well,” Ben muttered, smiling to himself. “And if I’m there, yeah. She will be.”

Ryan nodded, and didn’t push further. They walked in silence back to the dining hall—which was fucking empty—and continued until they reached Butcher’s apartment. Ben knocked, loud in case Butcher tried to fucking ignore it, and the door opened almost immediately. 

“Oi, Gov, ain’t not reason to fuckin break it.”

Ben scowled. “Looks fine to me. We’re done.”

Butcher turned to Ryan. “Good session? Worth bloody houndin me about?”

Ryan nodded, eager and sincere, and Ben felt something warm and prideful flare in his chest. “I hit the target.”

“The target.” Butcher repeated, glancing at Ben. “What target.” 

“We worked on his laser eyes,” Ben grunted. “Can’t have him exploding the fucking building.”

“And I hit the target.” Ryan’s chest was puffed out, and Ben sighed.

“And he hit the damn target.”

“Well then, bloody good work, lad. Let’s get you in a fuckin shower, you smell like ass.” Butcher gesture for Ryan to enter the apartment, but Ryan turned to Ben and pulled him into a fucking hug.

“Thank you, Ben.”

Ben didn’t know what to do. The kid was squeezing his torso, and thanking him, and he was frozen, staring at Butcher. Butcher didn’t seem to know what the fuck to do either, but his glower at Ben a little too shocked for Ben to just push Ryan away. He didn’t want to push Ryan away, it felt fucking wrong to push Ryan away. Her words echoed in Ben’s head—he doesn’t really have anyone, Ben. He has you and Butcher—and Ben hugged Ryan back. It was tense, awkward, and weird, but Ryan didn’t seem to care. He just hugged Ben tighter before stepping back and disappearing into the apartment. Leaving Ben and Butcher staring at each other in the doorway, Butcher’s face looking as confused as Ben fucking felt. 

Butcher spoke first.

“Don’t fuck this up,” his glare on Ben wasn’t hateful, it was weary. “That kid don’t got much. Don’t give him hope then fuckin turn away.”

Ben narrowed his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. I know what the hell I’m doing.”

Butcher didn’t waver. “I guess we’ll bloody see if you do. But know that if you drop the fuckin grandpa ball-”

“Call me grandpa again and I’ll fucking twist you like a pretzel and shove your dick in your mouth.”

“I ain’t joking-”

“I won’t fuck him up.” Ben grunted Her name. “She’d kick my damn ass if I did.”

Butcher sighed. “You seen her?” 

Something tugged at Ben’s heart. “No. Why, what’s fucking wrong-“ 

“It’s been a real rough fuckin afternoon, Gov.” Butcher shook his head. “You should go find your woman.”

“Is she-“

“She’s okay. The media is full of cunts, and she’s on the blunt end of it now.” Butcher looked Ben up and down, face twisting into something tired and tight. “I’d just fuckin go. She might well need you.”

Ben didn’t bother with goodbyes, or even wait for the door to fully fucking close before he was tearing down the hall to their apartment. Butcher said she was okay, but everyone kept fucking telling Ben she was okay when she clearly fucking wasn’t. He seemed to be the only pussy in the whole goddamn world who had eyes, who was capable of hearing her say I’m okay and noticing how her smile wasn’t full and her eyes were too fucking empty for it to be true. Nobody seemed fucking worried about Her but Ben. Seemed to even think that maybe the was just a slim goddamn chance that after being kidnapped—fucking again—She wasn’t okay.

He pulled out his phone as he all but ran. The media was full of cunts, full of worthless fucking pussies whose jobs were make everyone’s life fucking hell. Full of idiots saying Annie was a liar, or speculating about Her life. Her real life. Her job and original address. If she’d asked Homelander to make her a supe, gone to that Vought party to stalk him. Why she’d left Her mother’s house so young, if it was really a coincidence that her step-father was a public figure, or if this had been engineered. Everyone had fucking something to say, and all of it was dogshit. Ben was mentioned. For the first time since this started, he could find articles where their names were the main headline. Saying Starlight claims that Soldier Boy and Anomaly are close, but what does that mean? and calling her a whore. A fucking gold-digger or power-chaser, saying she was jumping between powerful, older supes to get her what she wanted. Sinking her claws into Ben—just like she’d done with Homelander—and she was going to leave him the moment she was tired of him.

She was in the hall. Ben had the keycard, she couldn’t have gotten in herself, and she had tucked Herself against the wall outside their door. Staring at nothing, and from Her side-profile, her expression was slack. When Ben dropped to Her side, she didn’t flinch or start or even fucking look at him. He grunted her name, and She just hummed. He said it again, voice low and scraping his throat, and moved in front of Her body. She was flushed, and her eyes were hazy. He wasn’t even fucking sure she could see him for a second, but then her face lit up. It didn’t clear or focus, but a loose, happy smile crossed her face, and hands shot up to grab Ben’s face between Her hands.

“Ben,” She was trying to whisper, but doing a piss-poor job of it, pulling Ben’s face closer to hers. “You’re here. Wait,” She frowned, eyes narrowing at him as one hand started poking his nose. “Say something Ben would say.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about.” 

Her smile was back. Bigger this time, and she started falling forwards. Ben’s arms moved to catch Her, slumping against him, and she giggled. “You’re Ben. Ben frowns like that,” She traced a finger over his mouth, following the downward turn of his lip. “And he always catches me. And I can feel you.”

“Of course you can feel me,” he grunted Her name. “I’m fucking touching you. What’s-“

“No,” She shook her head, pushing herself up and half crawling up Ben’s body. “No, no. You don’t get it you handsome dumb dumb. I feel you here.” She jabbed a finger at Ben’s chest. “And it’s you. It’s big and strong and loud, and it’s very Benjamin.” 

She looked back up at him, he studied Her face. Relaxed, completely relaxed, parted lips and glossy eyes, words falling out of Her mouth without thought. Her heart was slow, but her face was flushed and her breath was short. 

He said Her name slowly, holding her face so her eyes stayed on his. “Are you fucking drunk?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Christ on a cross, woman.” Ben sighed, tucked stray hair away from Her face, dropping an arm under her thighs and hauling her up his body, standing cautiously. “How the fuck do you even get drunk.”

Her hands grabbed Ben’s face, pulling it to barely an inch from Hers. “Frenchie,” she whispered, staring at Ben with wide, serious eyes. “Is a fucking god. And very bad at hiding his experiments in the kitchen.” 

Ben sighed, carefully prying her hands away so he could open the door. “What happened, Sunshine.”

“Nothing,” Her lips dropped into a pout. “Ben?”

He grunted, and She buried her head in his neck.

“Why do you like me?”

He paused in his tracks, frowning down at Her. “What.”

“Why do you like me?” She mumbled. “I’m the worst.”

“You’re being insane,” he mutters, adjusting his grip so one arm was under Her knees, the other holding her back. “You’re drunk, and tired, and talking fucking nonsense. We’re going to bed.”

“Ben,” Her voice was almost a whine. “I’m not being insane. I don’t have friends, why would you be my friend.” 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be your friend.”

“Because I’m annoying.” She whispered, hands tightening around his neck. “And mean. And a whore.” 

“You’re not a whore.” Ben pushed the door to their room open. “I’m a whore. You’re perfect.”

She wasn’t letting Ben lower her onto the mattress. “I’m not perfect. I’m a liar-“

“You’re not a liar.” Ben made his voice, firm, a little louder than he’d normally be with Her, but she needed to hear. “You just told the world the truth. That’s the opposite of lying, Sunshine. And you are fucking perfect. You’re a genius, and funny as shit, and kind, and powerful, and beautiful-“

She snorted. “I’m not beautiful.”

Ben scowled. “Yes you are. Shut the fuck up and let me talk-“

“No,” She squirmed out of his arms, falling on Her back onto the bed, head hanging off the side, reaching to Ben until he knelt at her side. “You’re beautiful, Ben.” She sighed, rolling onto Her stomach. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ben stood up, dropping at her side on the bed and watching Her scramble into his lap. “You call me Pretty Boy every fucking day.”

She shook Her head, falling onto his chest and placing one hand on each side of his head. “You’re beautiful, Ben. You don’t get it, it’s not normal.” She was staring at him with something burning and desperate in her eyes. “Nobody should get to have your face and be you. It’s mean to me.”

He watched Her carefully. “How the hell is that mean to you.”

“Because,” She was glaring at him. “You don’t get it.”

“Then fucking tell me-“

She’d shifted up onto her knees, guiding Ben’s brow to Hers, eyes burning into his body. “You’re so beautiful,” She whispered, shaking her head. “It’s not fair.” Her eyes were drooping, words growing more and more slurred as she fell further into Ben’s body. “Not fair.”

“None of this is fair,” he sighed Her name, cradling her head against him. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t have a fucking clue what to do to make this better for Her, and all he could do was stay. “But you’ve got me. And I’ve got you.” 

She made a small sound that might be a sob, or a moan, or a plea. Her words were barely a breath. “Please stay.” 

Ben leaned up to kiss her forehead, before pulling back to watch her eyes flutter, almost closed. “I’ll always fucking stay. You burn, I burn, Sunshine. That’s fucking that.”

“That’s that,” she whispered, a small, blissful smile crossing her face. She said something else, but Ben didn’t understand it. It was a noise from Her throat that sounded like words, but Ben didn’t have the foggiest fucking idea what words they could be. Then She was burying herself back into his neck, breathing growing steady, and something started to wash over him. That feeling, the one he’d felt a few times before that wasn’t wrong but fucking strange. It was so big, covering the whole world and circling around his head. Climbing into his every thought until everything was just this illuminated, boundless, earth-shattering feeling. 

It was everywhere. When he looked around the room, trying to figure out if there was some sort of fucking gas leak or if this was an odd, weird dream, everything was washed with it. His shield at the door, the sheets on their bed, their reflections on the dresser mirror and the deep green, fluffy carpet on the floor. The whole word was fueling the feeling until it was sweeping through Ben’s body, making his blood hot and his head light. This was holy and ancient and fucking everything. This was wider than the ocean, and brighter than the goddamn sun. It was some sort of song that called Ben like a siren, morphing his body into something beautiful. It was peaceful and electric and thirsty and safe, and Ben wanted it to go and go forever. He wanted to create it and then devour it, let it care for him and make everything better. It was natural, it felt like something inevitable and fucking sacred. It made him feel stronger. It made his whole body along with something deeper, further down and intangible, fucking eternal and unstoppable. He could fucking destroy and rebuild the universe without faltering, because this would be with him the whole way.

She sighed against Ben’s neck, and the feeling was gone. Dissipated into thin air, slipping between Ben’s fingers before he could figure out what the fuck it even was. He wanted it back. She was fast asleep against him, heartbeat in perfect time with Ben’s, and he wanted that back. It had been some sort of fucking drug, making him high in a way he’d never felt before. He needed it back now, he needed to feel that for the rest of his fucking life, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t even know what it was, where it had come from, let alone how to get it back in him, around him, through him.

She made a soft sound against Ben’s skin, and he couldn’t stop himself looking down at Her and smiling. She was so fucking beautiful. It didn’t matter what the hell she’d said in her odd, drunken state, She was the most beautiful thing Ben had ever fucking seen. She was the fucking night sky in the wild, when it was more stars than actual darkness, and everything was washed the millions of colors of northern lights. Nothing could ever trap Her, not really, because she wasn’t something that could be trapped. Ben could watch Her, though. He could stay near her, and let her keep being beautiful while he destroyed anything that tried to mar that. She could handle herself, Ben knew she could handle herself, but fuck he wanted to help Her. He wanted to hold her like this every time something in Her broke, and keep calling her beautiful and perfect and good until she stopped fucking fighting with him about it.

Ben loved Her. He still couldn’t tell her he loved her, because this wasn’t at fucking all about him. But he could hold Her like this. He could carefully, steadily pull off her clothing and replace it with his own shirt, keeping his eyes trained only where they needed to be. He could pull them both—still pressed together—up to the top of the bed and under the covers, run fingers through Her hair and savor in the feeling of her body clinging to his. Ben could drift in and out of sleep and watch over Her. Take care of Her in this one way that she allowed him to. Love her and whisper it into the dark, where she couldn’t hear. 

He kept eye on his phone on the bed beside him, and dawn was barely breaking when it buzzed, the screen glowing in the low light of their bedroom. 

Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt, 2 messages.

Ben sighed. He really needed to change those damn contact names, he knew who fucking Hughie was. He’d ask Her to, because the only reason they’d stuck for so long was because She’d put them there, and Ben had no interest in changing them if she didn’t write out the new ones.

He swiped open the display, angling the light away from her closed eyes and reading Hughie’s texts.

Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt

We’re having a meeting in the dining hall in twenty minutes.

I think you’ll want to be there. 

Ben frowned at the words. Hughie never told him there was a meeting. It was always Butcher or Mallory, sometimes MM or Annie, and they’d once sent Kimiko and the French prick right after he’d lost Her, when he rarely looked at his phone except to see Her perfect face in photos. 

He peeled Her off his body in careful, slow, and measured movements to make sure she stayed asleep. Resting Her head off his arm and on a pillow, pulling his legs away from hers and replacing them with blankets. Adding an extra comforter from their closet, because Ben was heavier than a blanket and she seemed to sleep easier when his weight was on top of Her.

It was difficult to get changed and ready for whatever fucking meeting Hughie had been telling him about without waking Her. Clothes off then on one at a time, not bothering to go to the bathroom because he’d have to flush the toilet, and brushing his teeth with one eye on the door for any movement. She shifted mid-spit, and Ben went rigid. He had to wait for Her to settle before walking out, looked at Her beautiful, neutral face one last time, and whispered into the silent room, “I fucking love you, Sunshine. Sleep.”

She made a small hum, but her heart didn’t flutter and breathing did break rhythm, so Ben knew she hadn’t heard him. He left the apartment in silent steps, and the moment the door was cautiously closed behind him he stalked to the dining hall. Everyone was already there, except Mallory, A-Train, Ryan, Ben, and Her. Huddled around the table, speaking in low, tense voices, turning to see Ben push through the doors with wide, surprised expressions. 

“Soldier Boy,” MM frowned at him. “You’re… up early.”

Ben scowled, looking around at their nervous, fucking guilty expressions. “Hughie said there was a meeting.”

A chorus of groans and sighs echoed through the room, and any pretense of silence was apparently thrown out the fucking window as everyone glared at a red-faced Hughie.

“Bloody fuckin hell, lad,” Butcher whacked Hughie upside the head. “You ain’t able to keep your mouth shut about this for one morning?”

Hughie rubbed the back of his neck, frantic words paired with gestures at Ben. “He should know! And he’ll help-“

“Kid,” MM shook his head. “We all fucking agreed he couldn’t be a part of this. He’s biased-“

“I am not fucking biased,” Ben snapped, voice loud enough to silence all the various protests and pussy fucking arguments. “And someone better tell me what’s going on, before I start chopping dicks of and shoving them down throats-“

Hughie said Her name, flinching as everyone’s glares grew sharper. “It’s about her. We’re, um, worried.”

Ben was worried as well. But he didn’t fucking trust that his worry, which was about how She was perfect and beautiful and needed fucking rest, matched their worry.

“Why.”

“As you know,” Annie sighed. “She passed the psych test. But she was really quiet last night,” Annie whispered. “She didn’t talk unless we asked her a question. And it wasn’t getting better, when we wrapped up.“

Ben studied their faces, and it was all concern. Granted, Butcher’s concern made it look like the emotion was physically fucking painful to him, but it was still worry. For Her. Just Her, not how she could help them or if she was a liability. He trusted them. Somehow, at least for this, Ben trusted that they at least fucking meant well for Her. And he could acknowledge that he was a little fucking biased. A lot fucking biased. He loved Her, and she was more important than the whole goddamn world, so he was a lot biased. 

“She got drunk,” Ben muttered, stalking across the dining hall to stand at their table. “Last night, I found her outside our apartment. Fucking hammered.” 

Butcher frowned. “She ain’t able to get drunk-“

“She said he,” Ben glared at the French Prick. “Hides his experiments in the kitchen. Fucking horribly.”

The French Prick’s mouth fell open. “Merde. That would, ah, that would be the V.”

Hughie blinked. “We have V in the kitchen?”

“No,” the French Prick ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I have been attempting to recreate V in the kitchen. But it has been trial and error, and I did not think it would, ah, have narcotic effects. It should not have narcotic, I must have made an error-”

“Frenchie,” MM grunted. “I want that shit out of my kitchen by this afternoon.” 

“Just the V, or would you like everything else gone with it?”

“The fuck you mean everything-“

“MM,” Butcher grunted. “Bigger fish, mate. Frenchie, take care of it, before MM’s fuckin head flies off his body. Soldier Boy,” Butcher turned to Ben, saying Her name with a frown. “Is she alright? Frenchie ain’t killed her on accident?”

Ben gave a tight nod. “She’s sleeping it off.”

“What do you think we should do?” Hughie was looking at Ben with sad fucking eyes. “I mean, she can’t go in public right now, but we also-“ 

“Can’t fucking bench her,” Ben finished for Hughie with a sigh, because they couldn’t. She’d climb the fucking walls and yell at them until they let her do something. “She can work on the V. Help us go through the records. That’s it.”

He’d have to ask Her. Later—even though everyone else seemed willing not to tell her about this—Ben was going to ask her what she wanted. It was a lot fucking easier for them to keep secrets from Her. They didn’t fucking love Her.

Annie frowned at him. “Do you think she’ll be okay with that? I mean, she might try to do something else-“

“She will try to do something else,” Ben snapped. She’d always try to do more, even when it killed her. “But she needs rest. So she can do whatever the fuck she wants, as long as it’s far away from Homelander and Sage. Got it?”

That wasn’t something he’d waver on. She could make all their plans and tell everyone what to do, and she could do it right here. At Ben’s side, where if She cried he could wipe away her tears, and if she fell down he could pick her back up. Everyone was nodding, mumbling agreements, and Ben stayed at the table as the group wandered off. The French Prick and Kimiko into the kitchen with MM glaring after them, Annie and Hughie to the hallway as Hughie whined about meaning well, and calling Ben having worked out, leaving Ben with MM and Butcher, silently watching each other.

“You’re going to tell her about this, aren’t you?” MM muttered, and Ben rolled his eyes.

“Of course I fucking am.” I love Her, you pussy. “And if you try and stop me I’ll rip out your asshole-“

“We ain’t gonna stop you, Gov.” Butcher grunted. “Just checkin.”

“Why.”

Butcher shrugged, giving Ben a look he didn’t understand. “No reason. Call it healthy fuckin curiosity.”

Ben scowled, but moved on. If Butcher wanted to be a weird, cryptic fucking dickhole, Ben wasn’t going to be the one that managed to force him to make fucking sense. “You dickhats seen the news?” 

“Yep.” MM sighed. “They’re saying some fucked up shit. You think it got to her?” 

“She was saying,” Ben paused, figuring out what he wanted to tell them. Not everything. Not how She’d called him beautiful, or passed out in his arms, or that strange fucking feeling. “Fucking weird shit. Things that only an insane fucking pussy would say.”

“Things Homelander would say?” 

Ben nodded at MM, something rolling in his stomach. “Things fucking Homelander would say.”

“Keep an eye on her,” Butcher frowned, hands tucking into his pockets as he stood. “She’s strong, but that shit was bloody hell. Right now it’s about the V, so let all fuckin lock in on that. Get Homelander well and bloody buried, twenty feet under. Agreed?”

Even as Ben grunted an agreement, sitting at the table and combing through more and more worthless fucking records with MM and Butcher—the French Prick and Kimiko filtering in and out—he didn’t fucking mean it. This was about Her, not Homelander. This didn’t get to be about Homelander. He didn’t get to fucking take Ben’s attention and energy from Her, along with how’d he’d taken her life and happiness and fucking peace. Ben was already here—sat in the dining hall with the papers in front of him—so he’d keep working at it, but the moment she called for him he’d be gone. Doing whatever she needed him to do. He fucking loved Her. This was about Her. For Ben, this had to be about Her. Nobody else would make it about Her—the real Her, not the speculation or lies or fucking Vought persona—so that was Ben’s most important fucking job. Love Her. Silently, piously love Her. Watch Her bounce around with Ryan and listen to her make plans and kiss her and nip at her until he was allowed to fuck her stupid. Never do anything that made Her feel annoying or the worst or like a burden. Just fucking love Her. Sit in her light and love Her. 

There were worse fates, Ben decided, than waiting for a perfect woman, sitting in Her light, and loving her forever. All Ben could really ask for now was to prove that he was worthy, really, truly goddamn worthy, of sitting in Her light forever.

——————

When you wake up, someone is banging on the downstairs door and Ben isn’t at your side. He was here. You’d gotten drunk, barely managed to keep the words Ben. Ben, I love you from falling out of your mouth, and he’d pick you up and carried you to bed. It wasn’t an exact memory, more of a clouded over flash of sitting in the hallway, alone. So alone. Everyone knows your name and they all have fucking opinions but you’re alone that turned into Ben. Ben’s here. He’s in front of you and real, and everything is warm now. Then you were on the stairs, then on the bed, then in Ben’s lap, then asleep. Not alone. Ben’s still here so you’ll never be alone. He’s so handsome and doesn’t know you love him, and this isn’t fair. You should be able to tell him you love him and it should be easy. Ben is so easy, so you should tell him you love him.

You hadn’t. You know you hadn’t because this part was clear in your memory. Not fair. This isn’t fair. Why you, why are you the one who has to be here and fix this. Why were you the one Homelander decided to take, why did it have to be you. You don’t want it to be someone else, you wouldn’t wish this for anyone, but it’s still so unfair. You didn’t do anything, you didn’t make this mess, but now you have to clean it up. It’s not fucking fair, but this isn’t about fair. Nothing’s fair, but Ben’s got you and you love him. He’s staying, you’ll burn together, and that’s that. You love him, and it’s not fair, but that’s that.

And then you’d fallen asleep. Deep, peaceful, dreamless sleep, that Ben had been here for. The bed smelled like him, and his Thing in your chest was just a little stronger than it had been yesterday. It was always strong—it was tattooed on a part of you that was far too carefully tended to and protected for it to fade—but when Ben was here it flared. Grew almost painful and loud. Like it was responding to his proximity, revitalized by the fact that Ben had been here. With you. You loved him, and he’d been here, so really nothing was that terrible.

The door bangs again, and you have to move. You were only wearing Ben’s shirt and underwear—it smelled like him, pine and salt and Ben—but whoever’s downstairs won’t let up, so you have to move. 

When the door slides open, Frenchie almost falls onto you with a shout of surprise and a hand flying forward you narrowly manage to dodge.

“Fuck, Frenchie!” You watch him with a frown, regaining steady footing and looking around the apartment with curious expression. “Are you-“

“It is lighter.” Frenchie looks back to you, looking you up and down. “The apartment feels much lighter.” 

You blink. “Lighter than what? What’s-” 

“The last time I was here, it was heavy. Full of Soldier Boy’s pain. It is now light.” 

“Yeah, okay, sure.” You sigh. It’s too early to decipher weird Frenchie sayings. “Can I ask why you’re here now?”

Frenchie nods eagerly, reaching into his pockets. “I come with gifts.” 

“Gifts?” 

“A phone,” he shoves a brand new, practically sparkling phone in your hand before returning to his pockets. “And your request, well and fulfilled.” 

He holds up a small, plastic baggie filled with white pills, and you swallow. “The suppressant?”

“Oui.” Frenchie passes it into your hands. “Take two a day. They will run on a thirteen hour cycle, and grow less effective as the hours pass. If you start to take them with more frequency, I will make more. And do not let anyone else take them. It would not be good.”

You narrow your eyes at the pills, glancing at Frenchie with a frown. “What would happen?” 

“Well, your empathy works as an extension of your limbic system beyond only your one self. It does not end with you, but connects beyond your body into others. Correct?” 

“Sure.” You don’t have a single fucking clue about the scientific aspects of your power outside of V goes in, something happens, but Frenchie’s talking fast and you’re tired. That sounds right, and as long as the pill works, you don’t really care. “So?” 

“This will destroy your limbic system. Bomb it entirely. For you, it will regenerate within the millisecond, fast enough that you will not even notice it was ever fully gone. Within the thirteen hours it will have returned to its previous capacity, and another pill will sever your connection to others emotions once more. Stop taking the pills, the empathy returns in a full force.” 

“And for others?” 

“Death.” Frenchie shrugged. “Immediate death. Their brains would likely leak out of their ears.” 

You grimace. “Gross.” 

“Oui, very much.” 

“So, I guess I just take one?” You look between the bag and Frenchie. “And that’s it?”

“They will not work immediately, Madame,” he says your name with a sigh, glaring at the pills like they’d disappointed him. “Your body will attempt to fight them off. If I have been correct, after one pill they will have more of an instant kick.”

You nod slowly. “Two a day?”

“I would do every twelve hours. Should the thirteen pass, you will be made to start from scratch once more.” 

“Okay,” you sigh. “Thanks, Frenchie. This really means a lot.” 

“Do not worry, I enjoyed making them. Let me know if you die.” 

You snort. “I’ll try not to, but sure.”

The door closes behind him, and you don’t bother to get any water to take the pill. Nothing happens—like Frenchie’d said—and now all you have to do is wait. For it to work, and for Ben to get back. You put the coffee on, hide the pills with the V, and take an inventory of what’s changed in your absence. The fridge is stocked better than you’d thought it would be, and all the dishes are clean. Most everything, actually, is clean and well maintained. You’ll have to tell Ben later that you were proud of him, because this was even more than you’d hoped for. You’re low on toothpaste, but toothpaste is cheap. There was a blanket and pillow still on the floor near the couch, and all that took to fix was carrying them upstairs into the hamper. Everything else was almost exactly as you’d left it.

Another reason to love Ben. He was a surprisingly good housekeeper.

I am not a fucking trophy wife, Sunshine.

You sigh into your empty bedroom, where everything still smells like him. Even when he’s probably just in the dining hall, he won’t stop haunting you, his voice rough and low in your ear. I didn’t call you a Trophy Wife, Benjamin. I called you a housekeeper. 

And? Those are the same goddamn thing-

No. Trophy wife implies wealth, and we technically live on welfare. And a housekeeper is a job. So if escorts don’t pan out, I can start a sexy male maid business.

I am not a fucking maid.

No, you’re a sexy maid. Big difference.

You can hear his chuckles, rolling somewhere near his Thing. You think I’m sexy? Think I’m fucking hot? 

Shut up.

I think you’re fucking hot. If you’d let me, I’d show you just how hot I think you are.

It’s not real Ben. It’s okay to indulge this, because it’s not real Ben, and he can’t feel all this love for him, swirling in with the thirst as something warm spreads through your body. How? 

There’s a pause, and then a grunt. You want me to tell you? 

Yes, please.

Silence again. I love you.

Ben, I told you-

I know what you fucking told me, his voice snaps your name. If you want to know what I’d do, I get to say I love you.

You sigh. You know him too well, love him too much, because even this phantom of Ben is a stubborn asshole. Fine. 

Good. I love you. I’d tell you that first, until you got it. Then I’d kneel at the side of the bed, and pull you right onto my face. You fit real well on my face, Sunshine, like you were fucking made for it. Then I’m going to prep you. I’m not fucking small, beautiful, and I’ve felt how damn tight you are. I’m going to have to tongue-fuck and finger you until I decide you’ll take me easy. If it takes a whole goddamn day, that’s a whole day you get to cum for. A whole day I make you feel fucking good. 

You almost fall over, because his voice is everywhere. Sitting around you and in your body, warm and deep and hungry. He sounds so fucking hungry, and he’s everywhere. Ben’s not even here but he’s everywhere. The whole room smells like him, and his voice is living somewhere in your skull, and every time you touch yourself—squeeze your breast or shove a finger into your cunt—it’s so easy to imagine it’s Ben.

If you get tired or need a break, you can suck my cock until you’re ready again. But once I get you in bed, we’re not leaving until I fuck you right. If you need to stop you’ll tell me, and I’ll take care of you, because I fucking love you, but if you’re just fucking sensitive we’re riding it out. We’re going until you’re ready, and once you are I’m fucking you until the bed breaks. Until you’re screaming so loud the suits downstairs hear you begging for me and saying my name.

Ben- 

Just like that. Over and over again until I’ve fucked you so good you can’t even speak. All you’ll be able to do is make those pretty moans and whines, and I’m going to fucking eat them. The first time it’s going to be fucking romantic, because I’m a gentleman and I love you, and we’re going to do goddamn boring ass missionary so I can watch your face when you cum on my cock and devour all your pretty fucking sounds.

You swallow, and give up on standing. This is your apartment, your bedroom, and you’re allowed to fall backwards onto your bed and imagine your… Ben telling you how he’d want to fuck you. You’re allowed to slide a hand into your underwear and up your shirt—Ben’s shirt—and indulge this. The first time? How, being speechless in just a fantasy does not bode well for when this is real. How else do you want to fuck me?

Every fucking way.

Can you be a little more fucking specific-

After we’re romantic, you’re getting on your stomach and I’m fucking you from behind until you can’t hold yourself up anymore. You’re going to fall forwards, and I’m going to have to hold your perfect fucking ass in the air until you cum again and I finish on your back.

That’s specific. That’s really specific. Is that it?

It’s a taunt, a bait for the phantom to keep going until you manage to cum in real life. He takes it, because he’s a figment of Ben and that idiot doesn’t know how to shut up. You love him so fucking much.

Of course that’s not fucking it, brat. I think I’ll let you ride me, see how long you can keep yourself upright before you need me to take over and fuck up into you. Then you’re going to sit in my lap and I’ll fuck you and finger you until you’re fucking putty in my arms. We’ll try to clean up, but I’ll fuck you in to shower as well. You’ll probably suck my dick after, and then I’ll bend you over the table downstairs when we try to get food. We’re defiantly fucking doing it against the wall, and if Butcher tries to cockblock me again we’re not stopping. He’ll just have to watch me fuck you until you try to bite me again. That was real fucking hot. I want to see if that’s just a wall thing, or if it’s just something you do whenever I throw you around.

You’re so close. He sounds like he’s talking right in your ear, and you hear every wet sound your fingers are making as you go faster. 

I’m going to throw you around, Sunshine. I’m going to get real fucking rough with you, because you like it. I know you fucking like it. And I love you, so every time I leave bruises on you I’ll kiss them away then fuck you slow to make up for it.

You can’t bruise me, Ben. It’ll heal.

Who gives a fuck. I’ll still fuck you until you’re scratching my back and bursting into flame then fuck you until you’re begging and dizzy. The, when this shit is over, we’re going to travel the whole goddamn world together until there’s not a corner of I haven’t fucked you in.

Even as you start to grind into your hand and your eyes start to flutter, you scoff. Romantic.

Only for you, beautiful. By the time I’m done with you, everyone will always be able to fucking smell me on you. Know how fucking good you are, how goddamn addictive and perfect you are, because I won’t be able to stop fucking cumming all over you. Fuck, I’ll never be done with you. The world will go to shit and I’ll just keep fucking you, Sunshine. I fucking love you. 

That’s enough. That’s all the right things to say, said in Ben’s deep, firm voice, and you let out a small whine that he can never know about when you cum. It’s silent for a second, Ben’s Thing is still humming a beat in your body that carries you back down, and you smile into the air. Pull out method guy, huh?

Condoms don’t fucking work on supe jizz, Sunshine. It’s like trying to block a bullet with a damn window. 

Did they not offer sex ed in the 1930s? Pull out method doesn’t work, Pretty Boy.

I don’t give a fuck. I’ll cum in you all I want, until you’re fucking full of me. And I’ve slept around my whole damn life, never knocked anyone up.

As far as you know. 

You can almost see his scowl. That’s not funny.

What, don’t like the idea of a bunch of tiny Benjamin’s, running around telling their stuffed animals to shove it up their fucking ballsacks? 

There’s a long pause, and when Ben speaks again his voice low. Low and careful and rough. 

I like whatever the fuck you like. If you want an army of kids in a white picket fucking house, then you get that. If you never want to look at baby again, I’ll kick all of them into the fucking sun. But that’s a bridge we’ll cross after I fuck you like you deserve. Got it? 

You don’t get to respond to the Phantom—remind it that it’s not real, and can’t really offer you anything—because the door opens downstairs and real Ben is home. He’s not talking or making any real noise except for heavy footsteps, but his Thing in your body flares and you know it’s him. 

When you exit the bedroom he’s outside the door, frowning down at you. You’re about to ask him where the hell he went—your mouth already open and eyes narrowed at his stupid, handsome face—but he moves first. Pulls you against him and kisses you, long and heavy until your knees are weak and you can’t stop the moan escaping your throat. He takes it, mouth curling in a smirk against yours, and your blood is hot. Burning in your body and trying to push out of you, into Ben. Everywhere you’re connected to him you can feel his hunger, and when his arm wraps around your hips and squeezes your whole body almost caves in with an effort to keep all your love for him in you. You’re still a little high from your orgasm, and he’s kneading at your skin and dropping his head to suck on your neck, and it’s almost impossible to just push him away. Take an unsteady step back—keeping your fists in a tight grip on his shirt because you’re not that strong—and watch him carefully.

“Good morning to you too, Benjamin.”

“It’s fucking not,” he grumbles, hands covering yours against his chest, holding you there. “Better now, but still not good.”

You have to focus on the not good part, so that your heart doesn’t pound right through your ribs and out of your chest at the better now part. “What happened?”

Ben sighs, eyes scanning over your face, pulling you apart until he finds whatever it was needed. You let him. It always makes you feel safe, known, and a little more alive because Ben can look at you like that, so you let him. You sit in the concrete resolve wrapping around you, in the rumble of his Thing around your body, and wait.

“You’re hungry.” 

You are hungry. You haven’t eaten since yesterday, unless you count whatever Frenchie had been hiding in the Kitchen that had gotten you drunk and the tiny pill in your system, still not kicked it. But Ben says it and suddenly you’re starving, and your stomach makes a bubbling, rolling sound. Ben hears it—of course he does, stupid asshole with stupid supe ears—and smirks at you.

“Shut up.”

His smirk widens. “I didn’t say shit.” 

“It was a preemptive shut up.” You take a step further down the loft strip, and Ben follows, folding his fingers between yours as you walk down the stairs. “To keep you from saying something fucking dumb.” 

He snorts, and you can feel his shrug jostle your arm. “Preemptive warfare is a crime, Sunshine.” 

“I know that.” You turn with a frown, waiting for him to join you at the bottom of the stairs. “How do you know that?” 

“I’m not a fucking idiot-“ 

“I don’t think you’re a fucking idiot.” You tilt your head at him, feeling that odd glow start to hum inside Ben’s body as his glare softens. “But when I tried to explain Bill Clintion’s impeachment, you started shouting about how fucking should never be a crime. I’m just never sure what you do and don’t know.”

Ben sighs. “I was there when the UN Charter was signed. I remember all the fucking peace-pussies arguing about that shit for three days.” 

You grin at him. “Old-“

“Shut the fuck up and eat.” Ben starts to tug you toward the table, where he’s poured the coffee into your mug and set out a plate with a muffin that definitely hadn’t been in your apartment before. 

“Where-“ 

Ben pulls out your chair, and all but shoves you into it before walking around to his own seat, dropping across from you with a glare. “Dining hall.” 

“Why-“

“You like those muffins. And you need to fucking eat.”

You sigh. “No, I’ve got that. Why were you in the dining hall?”

Ben’s jaw tightens, and he glares between you and the muffin. “Working before I got kicked out. Eat.”

“Kicked-“ 

“Eat, and I’ll fucking tell you.”

You wrinkle your nose at him and take an exaggerated bite of the muffin. Ben nods, staring at your chewing as he answers.

“Got a boner. MM saw it. Fucking prude asshole kicked me out.”

“Out of-“ You swallow, covering your mouth with a hand. “Out of what?”

“Work.”

“Why were you working in the dining hall?”

“You’re not allowed to flip your shit.”

You glare at him. “No.”

Ben grunts your name. “You’ve got to swear you won’t fucking lose it-“

“If you don’t want me to lose it, dumb dumb, don’t lead with asking me not to. Why were you working in the dining hall?” 

He sighs. “We had a meeting.”

“About?”

“You.”

He’s still looking at you. Watching you carefully, a foot pressed against yours under the table. There’s something sick in his body, made of that stone protection but wrapped in toxin. Worry. Ben’s worried.

You take a long breath. “What about me.”

“If you’re okay.”

“I’m fine-“ 

“No, you’re fucking not. You got drunk,” He snaps your name, but it’s not angry. It’s strained, and the sickness starts to wrap around his throat. “And you’re still throwing yourself in front of trains when you need to rest.” 

“That’s not for you to decide,” you glare at the muffin on the plate, because you can’t look at Ben. If you look at Ben, you might start crying. “I’m here, Ben. I’m okay, it’s just a lot-“ 

“It doesn’t fucking have to be a lot. This doesn’t have to be your job-“

“Yes, it does.” You sigh, feeling blood draw in your mouth as you bite through your cheek. Blood. So much blood. “I have to fix this.”

He mutters your name, and when you look up he just looks sad. The toxin has settled into something that aches, and Ben’s eyes on yours are just tired and sad. “This is fucking killing you. You’ve done enough, you’ve fucking scarified all your goddamn privacy and peace for this shit, just rest-“ 

“No,” you give him a small, sad smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes. “I’ve bought us time, but we have to finish this soon. I’ll rest when we finish this.”

Ben shakes his head, the ache growing, but sighs. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Is anything I say going to make you, for once in your damn life, listen to me?”

“No,” you mumble, and it’s a half lie. The only thing that would make you listen is the one thing Ben won’t say, so, technically, the answer is no. “It won’t. I have to-“

“You have to fix this.” Ben mutters. “I know. But,” he narrows his eyes at you. “No more fighting Homelander and Sage by yourself. No more risky, shit fucking plans that put you in the line of fire or make you afraid.”

“Okay,” you whisper. You don’t really want to fight Homelander and Sage by yourself again. Ever. You don’t want to see blood on your hands for the rest of your life, and agreeing to this makes something loosen around Ben’s throat, so it’s so fucking easy to agree. “Deal.”

Ben’s hand finds yours on the table, squeezing once. “Deal.”

“Ben?”

He repeats your name back to you with a frown, and you smile at him. This one’s real, and born from how he didn’t yell. You didn’t yell. He’s still here, and worried about you, and you love him, so it’s perfectly natural and easy to smile at Ben.

“You smell like shit.”

Ben scowls, but his amusement sparks in your chest and your smile widens. “Shut the fuck up. I didn’t get to shower last night, because someone was climbing all over me and wouldn’t let me fucking move.”

You feel the heat rush to your face. “Sorry.”

“Don’t-

“Apologize.” You sigh, poking at your muffin. “I know. I’m still sorry. I was out of it, I know you’re my friend, but it was, um, weird to see what everyone was saying-”

Ben grunts your name, and his Thing is aching. “You’re my best friend. I was fucking serious when I said you’re my best friend.”

“I know-“

“You clearly don’t,” he glares at you, and you can’t look away from him. His thumb is running over your knuckles, there’s a heat in his eyes that starts to make the fire push under your skin, makes something in your gut ignite. “I fucking adore you. Not some fake, plastic, marketable version of you. Nothing any sort of fucking Hollywood pussies and vultures say about you, nothing Vought says, and nothing fucking Homelander says matters, because I adore you, and know you better than fucking anyone. You’re not a liar, or a whore. You are mean, but I usually deserve it, and you’re also beautiful and kind. Got it?”

It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done to not launch yourself across the table and kiss Ben, tell him you love him, and that you know that. That any fear or doubt festering in your head is in the form of a cold, cruel voice calling you weak, and what pushes it away is an ardor and love and certainty that Ben will catch you. You manage to stop yourself. Bite your tongue and choking down the words, give Ben a smile that says thank you.

He sighs, scooting back from the table. “Come here.”

The muffin is forgotten as you stand and move around the table, falling into Ben’s lap and just holding him. Wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your head into his shoulder. You can feel his every breath moving his body, and it makes an even harmony with his Thing in your chest.

“The media is full of idiot pussies,” he mutters in your ear, hands drawing circles on your back. “In the 60s, they said I couldn’t really shoot a gun. I can shoot a fucking gun.”

You smile against him. “I know. I’ve seen you do it.” 

“And I hit the mark every goddamn time.” 

“Sure.”

He pulls back, glaring at you. “I fucking do.”

“I believe you, Ben.” You grin at the adorable, frustrated frown and knit of his brow. “What am I supposed to say?”

Ben narrows his eyes at you. “I don’t know, something fucking encouraging. With Ryan you kept telling him he was strong-“

“Ryan is twelve. You’re a grown man.” You pull yourself further up his chest until your lips are brushing against his when you speak. “You know you’re a good shot, Ryan didn’t think he could hold more than three tons. What do you want me to say.” 

He’s glaring at you, and his words are low and tense. “Shut up.”

“I’ll say it,” you mumble, falling further forward as that glow deep in Ben’s body returns, still not fully kissing him. It’s hard to keep teasing him, because his invading all your senses in the best way possible, but you manage. “I’ll tell you you’re stupid fucking handsome, and strong, and my, Benjamin, what nice hands you have-”

His Thing roars inside of you, and suddenly he’s moving. Picking you up and slamming you down onto the table, leaning over you and smirking against your lips without ever just fucking kissing you.

“Brat.” His words are a growl, and you can just watch him. Feel the hunger sweeping through your body, drowning out all the lingering fear and tension until it’s just Ben. Ben, I love you. “You’ve got a smart, pretty fucking mouth, Sunshine. You want me to touch it, all you have to do is damn ask.”

You don’t bother. Your nails are digging into the skin of Ben’s neck, and his grin is so fucking cocky, and the groan he lets out when you tug him down—pull his mouth onto yours—is the best thing you’ve ever heard. He doesn’t push it further—his hips pinning yours to the table so you can’t buck up into him—but it’s still too much. Your love is starting to get away from you. But you can hold it in a little longer, hopefully long enough long enough for Frenchie’s stupid fucking pill to do its job so Ben can just fuck you. He can’t keep looking at you and touching you like this—hungry and reverent and devoted—and expecting you not to fuck him. He needs to feel how much you love him, even if it’s just with hands and teeth and moans instead of soft confessions and whispers of Ben. Ben, I love you. 

It doesn’t kick in though. Your blood is starting to burn in your body, and Ben’s thing is rioting in the spaces between your ribs. So you have to lean your head away and take a heavy long breath as Ben drops his head to your neck, kissing and sucking a wet, heavy trail up to and along your jaw, across your face, and stopping on your lips, pressing his brow to yours. 

“Ben?”

He grunts, and you move your hands to hold his face, pulling him back to meet your eyes. 

“You still smell like shit.” 

He scoffs. “You didn’t seem to fucking mind.” 

“I am capable of being distracted.” You grin up at him, running a hand up, into his hair. “Are you going to distract MM or Annie at dinner by making out with them when they say you smell?” 

“Smartass.”

“You love it.”

Ben sighs, dropping his full weight back onto your body, pressing his head into your neck. “I do.”

That doesn’t mean anything. He means the words—Ben means everything he says, it’s one of the reasons why you love him—but they don’t mean anything. His breath is warm on your skin, and his hands tracing across your body like you’re sacred, but it doesn’t mean anything. His thing in your chest is pounding and roaring and trying to carve something crucial into you, but it doesn’t mean a single thing. Your blood is starting to leak out of your body, and that’s why he’s acting like this. It’s your love, crawling away from you, making you a liar. A weak, horrible liar.

You pray he can’t hear the strain of your voice when you mumble in his ear. “Go shower, Pretty Boy.” 

He nods, hauling himself off your body with a strange expression that you can’t read, kissing you one last time. Slow and gentle, letting your hand curl into his hair before standing up—tugging you upright as he does—with a glare.

“Finish your muffin.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

You see his mouth twitch up, and can’t stop your own smile crossing your face as he rolls his eyes, and kisses you one last time before he walks away—up the stairs and into your bedroom—and you love him. You need this stupid pill to kick in now, because you love Ben and the longer you draw this out the harder it is to keep holding your ground. The more you walk right up to the line, the harder it is not to cross it. That had been too close, far too close, but it had still been impossible to stop it.

Because you’re weak. The words are bored, obvious, and crude in your head. You’re a weak, manipulative, lying bitch. Useless. Weak and useless. 

You’re not useless. You can’t be useless. You might be weak—too soft, too kind, too forgiving—but you won’t allow yourself to be useless. Once your empathy is severed, you will be useless. You’ll have your fire—sitting comfortably under your skin—but if you have to face Homelander again it might go dormant, and you still don’t trust your singing enough to work in your favor.

You’d promised not to face Homelander alone again. And you’ll never go looking for it. But there will always be a chance. A single, hollow sliver of a possibility that no matter what you—or Ben—do, Homelander will find you again. You can’t be useless if that happens. You won’t be useless if that happens again.

The phone Frenchie gave you is already half set-up. The benefit of your phone being destroyed last time is that—unlike when Homelander had found it—you could just port in all your old data. Nothing’s been lost, nothing has to be redone. Ben’s contact is still pinned at the top of your messages, and your heart breaks a little when you see the last text he’d sent you.

Benjamin: Handsome Fucking Dumbass Cunt

If Butcher gives u shit for going off bok, tell me and Ill rip his face of

He texts like a child with two broken thumbs. The longer he’d had a phone, the more his grammar and sentence structure had regressed. You’d made the mistake of turning his autocorrect in the hope it would make him try harder, then the bigger mistake of explaining texting abbreviations, and now every single text he sent looked like that one. He’s an idiot, and you love him so much it might kill you. 

I’m going to Annie and Hughie’s. I love you.

You type it without thinking, and barely catch it the second before you hit send.

I’m going to Annie and Hughie’s. I’ll see you in a few hours.

Ben’s phone lights up on the table next to you when you hit send, and you smile when you see your own photo, still his lock screen.

You can’t lose this again. It’s what carries your feet out the door and down the hall, makes you knock on the door of Annie and Huhgie’s apartment. You can’t lose Ben again, and if you’re useless, you might. I might be wiser to ask Ben to do this for you, but you don’t have the strength to explain to him why you need it. To see his face fall and feel his worry when you tell him that you’re still weak and afraid, that he’s your best friend and you adore and trust him, but you’re still weak and afraid. That his word means more than anyone’s, but it can only do so much to combat Homelander’s cold and the screams of the world that you’re a liar. A weak, useless, liar.

Hughie answers, and says your name in surprise. “Hi, are you-“ 

“I need you to help me.” 

“Me?” Hughie blinks. “Um, with what?” 

You take a deep breath, crossing your arms over your chest. “Teach me how to shoot a gun.” 

Hughie stares at you, mouth slack, shaking his head and stumbling over words. “What? I mean, why? Why are you asking me, and not MM or Butcher or, uh, Soldier Boy-” 

“Because you’re the only one who I trust to not be a dick about it.” That’s true. MM will try to be patient, but you’ll get frustrated with yourself and it will end up making you both tense and angry. Butcher will probably end up shooting you to make a point, and—on top of not wanting to explain to Ben why you need this—he’ll be a cocky fucking showoff about it, and you’ll get horny, and nothing will get done. “Please, Hughie. I don’t need to be an expert sniper, I’m just the last person left on the team who doesn’t know how.”

“But I’m, I’m a terrible shot. Butcher says I might as well be blind-“ 

“You know how to use a gun?” 

“I mean, I guess yeah. I kind of have to, for this shit-“ 

“Then teach me.” You sigh. “Please.” 

“Are you really-“ 

“I’m sure.” 

“Then yeah,” Hughie takes a step back, pausing with a nervous smile. “Okay. Just, give me a sec.” 

He’s only gone for a minute, and when he reappears with shoes on and his phone in his hand, Hughie closes the door and leads you down the hall. 

You walk in silence for a while, before he clears his throat and frowns at you. “You’re really okay?” 

“I’m tired,” you mumble, looking down at the floor. “But I’m okay.” 

“And Soldier Boy-“ 

“He’s good.” You smile to yourself, because you’re a lovesick dummy. “He’s really good. He brought me a muffin.” 

“A muffin?” When you look at Hughie, he’s frowning. “That’s, that’s kind of sweet.” 

You nod, shrugging. “He’s a lot more like a puppy than you’d expect. I mean, I know you met him before I did and he was a dick-“ 

“I don’t judge you,” Hughie interrupts you with almost frantic words, and you blink at him. “I mean, he’s still a dick, and you know that, but, fuck, he’s isn’t calling me cocksucker anymore, and even Annie thinks he’s nicer-“ Hughie shakes his head, and you start to get a little worried he’s going make himself pass out. “Not nicer. But less, um, mean? Like he’s still a dick but more of a soft dick? That’s horrible, I-“ 

“Hughie,” you almost nudge his shoulder, but manage to catch yourself. “I get it. And I don’t think you judge me.” 

“Oh. Good.” As you reach a door labelled Shooting Range—Ben was right, they don’t tell you fucking shit—Hughie stops in the hall, giving you an awkward smile. “Is there, uh, a reason you don’t want him to teach you?” 

You breathe out a small laugh. “Not any you’d want to hear.” 

“I don’t think that’s true, I mean you’re my friend-“ 

“We wouldn’t get through a lesson without being, um, less than PG-13.” 

Hughie’s eyes widen, and his face grows red. “Uh, gross.” 

You shrug. “I told you. Should’ve believed me.” 

Hughie opens the door, and his smile is still embarrassed, but less awkward. “Learned that lesson, I guess.” 

You grin, and follow Hughie inside. 

The shooting “range” is more of a shooting hall. It’s not small—there’s at least five or six booths—but it’s narrow and tight, with the guns being kept in a large gray trunk that Hughie kneels down to unlock. 

“This can’t be safe,” you mutter, watching him shift through the hopefully unloaded firearms. “You’d think a government building would have stricter gun codes.” 

“They do.” Hughie stands back up, handing you a pistol similar to the one Ben had taken from the agent in February. The one you’d shot Sage with. “These are all ours. I don’t think we’re technically supposed to have them here, but nobody seems to really give a shit that we do.” 

You hum an agreement, glancing down at the gun. “Now what?” 

“Uh,” Hughie looks around the hall. “I guess you chose a booth, and I figure out where MM would’ve put the ammo?” 

All the booths look the same. Headphone mufflers you won’t need provided, targets set up behind a steel counter that runs the length of the hall, floor to ceiling dividers between each area. The dividers have full length mirrors for some reason—though it is pretty easy to imagine Frenchie flexing into them to try and show off to Kimiko, or Butcher winking at himself when he makes a shot—and there’s a panel of buttons to adjust the targets. You chose the closest one, and watch Hughie shuffle around the area until he finds a small box at the booth closest to the door, filled with neatly sorted bullets.

He returns to your side, swallowing and giving you one last apprehensive look. “Ready?” 

You nod. “Born it.”

The first thing you learn is how to load the gun. Hughie does it once for himself, then again to walk you through it, and you manage to do it yourself in one try. The moment the bullet is locked in the chamber, Hughie freezes. 

“We probably should’ve done gun safety stuff before the bullet went in.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” you shrug, keeping the barrel pointed at the floor. “No pointing it at anyone, myself included, safety on until I shoot, finger off the trigger, don’t be a dumbass. Right?”

Hughie nods, and from there it’s all about how to shoot the gun. Logistically, it’s simple. In practice less so. Guns are loud. You don’t wear the earmuffs—your eardrums can’t shatter, so you hand them to Hughie—but the bang still echoes through the room and the blast makes you stumble back slightly. Over the hour you figure out how to plant your feet so you don’t fall backwards, Hughie gives you nervous, hesitant tips about aiming and stance and hand positioning, and you get better. You’re not good at it, not by a mile, but you’re hitting the target and stop flinching every time you fire. 

“You want to try and move it back?” Hughie leans forward, frowning at ten foot space between you and the target. “I think you could manage fifteen-“

You feel Ben right before someone knocks on the door. His Thing in your chest spikes up along your spine, and you sigh as Hughie jumps. “Shit.”

He’s shouting your name, and the wall is barely muffling it. “Open the damn door!”

“Do it yourself, drama queen!” You yell back, and the banging on the door stops.

“I can’t, you took the fucking keycard!”

You had done that. It’s sitting on the counter, right in front of you, next to your phone. When you open the door to a glowering Ben—hair still damp, scanning you up and down—you sigh. “I forgot, sorry-“

“Shut up.” He marches past you, glaring around the room, eyes settling on Hughie. “Why the fuck didn’t you pussies tell me we had a gun range.”

“Uh, I don’t-“

“And what the fuck are you,” Ben turns back to you with a scowl. “Doing in it?”

You give him a flat look. “Guess.”

“Brat.”

“Cunt. Why are you here.” 

“I went looking for you, and Annie said you and Hughie went to the gun range that nobody fucking told me we had.”

“We didn’t think-“ 

Hughie’s mumble is cut off by a sharp glare from Ben. “Shut the fuck up. What have you taught her.”

“Ben, I asked him to-“

“Why him?” Ben’s Thing in you is aching and sour, and his face looks almost lost. “Why didn’t you fucking ask me?”

You don’t have a good answer that doesn’t either start or end with Ben. Ben, I love you, so you just give a lame, guilty shrug. “I didn’t want to bother you-“

“You never fucking bother me.” He snaps, and you feel the heat rush into your face. “I’m sure as hell going to be a better fucking teacher than he is.” Ben jerks his head at Hughie, and you frown. 

“Hughie’s been fine, Ben, don’t be an ass.”

Ben scoffs. “I’d be fucking better.”

“I actually agree with Soldier Boy-“

You raise a hand, and Hughie falls silent as you hold Ben’s glare. “I’m not try to join the fucking army, Benjamin, just shoot well enough to get by. And we’re doing fine.”

Ben steps to the side, gesturing back to the booth. “Prove it.”

Hughie all but stumbles back as you march to the counter—shoving past Ben and ignoring the heat rolling off his body into yours—and pick up the gun. You can feel his eyes on you, his Thing starting to scorch your lungs and heart, you pull the trigger. Hughie yelps—you hadn’t given him enough time to put the earmuffs back on, you give him an apologetic look when you turn—but Ben is silent. Stalking over and glaring at where you’d hit the target. A small, smoking hole right over the heart. You’d been aiming for the head. Ben didn’t need to know that.

“Good,” he grunts, leaning past you and picking up the gun. Loading it with rough, careful movements. “Do it again.”

“Do I, uh,” Hughie’s looking between where Ben is standing over you, glaring at the gun, and where you’re staring at Ben’s hands, trying not to drool, clinging to even a fake anger at him. “Do I have be here?”

“No.” Ben snaps, glancing up at you with a smirk flashing across his face. “Fuck off, kid.” 

Hughie doesn’t wait to be told twice. He gives you a small nod, Ben an anxious look, and the door closes behind him.

“That was mean, Ben-“ 

“I don’t give a fuck.” Ben passes the gun back into your hands, taking a large step back. “Again. Knees further apart.”

You frown. “Why?”

“You won’t have to tense as much to stay up.”

“But-“

“Just fucking do it, Sunshine.”

You stick your tongue out at him, and turn back to the target. Knees further apart, raise the gun, shoot.

It’s really annoying when Ben is right. His handsome face gets all smug, and his eyes get all taunting, and the cocky grins that always pulls at his lips never goes away until you kiss it. “You going to admit I was right?”

“Fuck you.”

He snorts. “Do it again, and I might. You look fucking hot.” 

You flip off, but do it again anyway. This time the recoil barely even shakes your body, and Ben’s grin grows.

“Arms higher up.”

“What?” 

“Your arms.” You don’t get to turn to glare at him before you feel Ben behind you, wrapping around your body and moving your arms to level with your shoulders. “There. Again.”

You have to take a shaky breath before you fire, because even after Ben steps back his Thing keeps bellowing in your chest.

It goes like this for another hour. Ben adjusting you, muttering orders and standing behind you as you fire. His Thing in you becomes almost violent—clawing against you, making your blood rush and burn and try to reach Ben—but you push on. You won’t be useless. 

“Even footing,” Ben grunts from behind you as you glance back at him, reloading the gun. “You’re putting more weight on your left. They need to be even.” 

“Can you say please?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You grins at him. “So you can’t say please.”

Ben lets out a long, labored sigh, and his Thing makes a long, feral sound, and pushes at the top of your chest. “Please. Brat.”

“Well,” you hum. “If it’s that’s important to you-“

“Shoot the damn gun, Sunshine.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Asshole.”’ 

When you turn back around and raise the gun, you freeze. 

You can’t feel Ben.

He’s behind you, a foot away and watching you silently, and you can’t feel him. His Thing in your chest is gone. Not dormant, not quiet. Vanished. Frenchie’s pill had worked. You weren’t dead, and you can’t feel Ben.

You lower the gun and turn around, taking a deep breath when you find Ben staring at you, scanning your face with a frown.

“Are you-“

“I’m done,” your words are quick, frantic, and you rush past him. Unloading the gun, shoving it back into the trunk and dropping the bullets in MM’s box, and turning back to Ben. “Let’s go-“

“What's wrong with you.” He cuts you off with a glare, crossing the hall until he’s towering over you. His arms are brushing yours, and you can’t feel if he’s angry or annoyed or worried. You can tell he’s worried—he’s still studying your face, wrapping around you without touching you so he can block you from any possible threats—but you can’t feel it. He grunts your name, low and gruff and Ben, he’s saying your name and looking at you and he’s warm and- Fuck it.

You surge up, crashing your mouth into Ben’s and yanking him down by his shirt to meet you halfway. His hesitation barely lasts a second—a long, painful second of him tensing under your hands—before he makes a low, rumbling sound from deep in his chest and spurs into action. Hands grabbing your face, angling it so he can deepen the kiss with his tongue down your throat, biting your lip as he presses his body against yours and walks you back into the wall. Groaning when you start to tug at his hair, dropping his head into your neck and sucking that one spot until you moan. A loud, desperate moan that makes Ben grin as he moves a hand up to support himself against the wall, dropping the other grab your hips. 

He says your name again, and you can hear the hunger. It’s not in you, but Ben’s voice is deep and hoarse—his hand starting to squeeze and rub your skin as he nips near your ear—and you know he’s hungry. “You’re okay.” 

“I’m okay-“ You cut your own words off with a high, breathless sound when Ben starts to leave sloppy, open kisses along your jaw. “Fuck, I’m good. I’m really good, Ben, please-“

“You’re good.” He pulls all the way back, his fist curling on the wall near your head as he watches you with dark eyes. “You want this.”

You nod, not even bothering to pretend that you’re not desperate. That if Ben doesn’t touch you right fucking now you might die, or at least start crying. “Yes, please.”

He nods, but still doesn’t just move. “Say it.” 

“Benjamin, please fuck me-“

You don’t get to finish your sentence before he’s back on you. Bruising your mouth with his, growling your name down your throat as you start to try and climb up his chest with desperate hands scraping at his shoulders. Hands Ben grabs and moves around his neck, muttering an order against your lips that rumbles through your body and makes your knees almost buckle. 

“Hold on.”

Ben’s knee pushes between your thighs before you’ve even had a chance to listen, and when you roll your hips onto it his hands hold you down. Stopping any movement, pressing your core right against him as his arms drop to hook under your knees. He pauses, rubbing circles on your thighs as he adjusts his grip and watches at you, still trying to grind down onto him.

“Please-“

“Tell me you want me. Fucking mean it.”

You nod, your nails digging into his neck. “I want you. Now, Ben, I want you now-“

This kiss is heavy. All of Ben’s weight is over you, and he’s eating your words, turning them into breathless, needy whines. You're a little dizzy when he pulls back, trying to chase his mouth and squirm higher up his leg, and almost squealing when your shorts are ripped off your body. He’s grinning at you, watching you with almost an amazement, and his chuckle makes you whimper. “You want me so bad you’ll fuck yourself on my knee, Sunshine?” 

“Ben-“

You yelp when he hauls you up and over his body, your legs wrapping around his chest and your head leaning down to try and connect his mouth back to yours. It doesn’t take much effort, because Ben drops you down his chest just enough that you almost slam back into him. His nose is bumping yours, and he tastes like coffee and strawberries, and his beard is scraping the soft skin of your face as he takes more. His hands are squeezing and pulling at your thighs, and he won’t stop making low, deep sounds that cause his chest to vibrate and make you moan into his mouth. 

“So fucking good,” he mutters your name, and you try to roll your hips against him. Try to do something about your whole body feels like it’s on fire, how every time Ben’s big, rough hands move against you, and every time he groans and sucks your tongue into his mouth, you can feel your heartbeat move down, down and the ache grows painful. “And so needy, beautiful. I haven’t even really fucking touched you, and I bet you’re dripping.” 

“Please, Ben, you asshole-“

He pulls back, and looks up at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever. With blown-out eyes, his nostrils flaring and his mouth half-open. “You’re so fucking perfect.” He growls, one hand moving up your thigh, running one, broad finger right over your pussy and sending a shiver through your body. “I’m going fucking ruin you. Fuck your beautiful fucking cunt until you can’t sit down, until you can’t walk for a week. You’re going to fucking soak my cock, I’m going to make you so fucking wet and desperate you’re going to fucking scream.” 

You nod, and if you had any sort of thoughts right now that weren’t Ben. Fuck, Ben, I love you. I love you, please, Ben, I love you, fuck, please- you’d point out that you can’t be fucked enough to get sore, you can’t get sore, but Ben moves to rub your clit in one rough movement and you decided that it doesn’t really fucking matter. If he wants to take up that challenge, who are you to stop him. 

“Words.”

“Do that,” you mumble, your whole body going slack as one of Ben’s fingers runs between your slit over your panties, before rising to flick your clit once. “Fuck, Ben, do that, that’s good-“

Your words turn into a whine when he starts to slide you down his body—an arm moving around your waist to keep you upright and pressed against him—and Ben hisses when you brush against his cock. Hard in his pants, long and thick, pressed against your thigh and so close and big and Ben- 

He’s trying to sit you on one of the booth counters, but you lean your weight forward and keep going down. Ben doesn’t try to stop you, his hand moving up to your face as he watches you drop down onto your knees. Level with his cock, grinning up at his slack face. When he says your name, his voice is rasp. “Are you-”

“Yeah,” you move your hands up his thighs, holding his gaze. He needs to look at you like that forever—like you’re all the stars in the sky and the spaces between them—because combined with the way you can see his cock twitch in his pant and how you his  chest is rising and falling in a heavy, uneven pattern, you might cum without Ben even touching you. “Do you want me to?”

He chuckles, leaning back against the divider and tangling his hand into your hair. “What are you supposed to do if I tell you no.”

“Shoot you,” you start to undo his belt buckle, glancing between your hands and Ben’s face. His jaw is clenched and his free hand has moved to grip the counter, leaving an indent on the metal. “I can do that now. I’m good at it.”

“You’re real goddamn confident for only a day of practice-“

“I have a great teacher,” you smile at him, and Ben swallows, glaring at you. “He’s a cunt, but really hot. I think I might let him fuck my face if he asks nicely.” 

“Brat.”

You hum, pulling down his pants, boxers with them. At this point it’s really not worth fighting the small whine that escapes your throat when you see him, because that cock is yours. And you’re going to suck it, if it's the last fucking thing you do. “That’s not nice, Benjamin-“

He growls your name, and when you look back up his eyes on yours are feral. Pushing right through your body, making you grind mindlessly onto nothing and your nails dig into his skin. “Do you want me to fuck your face.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, glancing back at where he’s only centimeters from your mouth. “I do.”

“Well,” he smirks. “Are you going to ask nicely?”

“You dick-“

“My dick, beautiful,” he keeps glancing over your head, looking between you and something behind you that you can’t see. “Is going to fuck your perfect, pretty fucking mouth. If you can’t take it, squeeze both my knees twice. Got it?”

You nod, and your voice is breathless. “Both knees. Twice.”

“I’m going to start slow,” his hands in your hair curls into a fist, pulling your head back until your eyes meet. “And when I cum-“ 

“Inside.” Your words are a little too fast, because Ben grins.

“You want to fucking swallow, Sunshine?”

“You know I swallow, asshole-“

“I don’t know shit,” Ben winks, and you grind down on to the air again. “But I know you’re going be a goddamn work of art with your lips on my cock. And I know you’re going to fucking prove that you can swallow all of me. Ready?”

“Yes-“

The word has barely left your mouth when he slams forward. His cock pushes into your mouth, the head resting at the top of your throat, and Ben’s hand tightens in your hair as he just sits there. His dick on your tongue and your nose brushing his hips, and a whimper leaving your body when Ben groans and you can feel it.

He pulls you off, keeping the tip right between your lips, and tugs your hair until you look up at him. “Good?”

You squeeze his thigh, hold his gaze, and run your tongue around the head on his cock, grazing it with your teeth. Don’t be a pussy, Benjamin. Fuck my face.

His eyes flash, and you hear the metal of the counter whine under his grip as he takes a deep breath, staring behind you again. When he looks back to you, he looks like an angel again. He’s so handsome, and he looks primal and powerful, and you love him. You can tell him that, in a long, desperate noise when his cock is muffling any real words he could hear. He’s looking at you like you’re the holy one, when he’s everything. He’s the whole world, and when he starts to move, all your thoughts just clear to that. Ben. Ben, I love you. 

He’s not holding back. Ben’s hand is guiding your head up and down his cock at a brutal, unrelenting pace, and his hips keep bucking when he hits the back of your throat to the point that you give up on trying to do anything productive and just focus on keeping your gag reflex from choking on him. There’s smoke starting to curl from your hands and the whole world is growing blurry, but fuck, you don’t care. He tastes so good, and every hiss and groan that leaves him is like music, and he’s everything. 

“You’re, fuck,” you suck on him once, just trying to contain the drool falling out of your mouth, and Ben’s hips jerk. “You’re so fucking good. So fucking good, Sunshine, you’re beautiful and perfect and I fucking-“ His words turn into a long, deep strained sound, and you start to grind onto the air. You can’t let go of his legs to touch yourself, you’ll fall over, so all you can do is whine and hope a pillow somehow appears for you to ride. “Fucking Christ,” Ben’s words are pushed between his teeth, and he somehow goes faster. “God, fuck, you’re beautiful. Your mouth was fucking made for my cock, so fucking soft and warm and perfect and, fuck-“

Ben’s hand flies off the counters, joining his other on your head, and he’s close. You can feel the head of his cock twitch when your throat squeezes around it, and his words are starting to slur.

“Fuck, you’re so good, you’re fucking beautiful, and perfect, and fuck, Sunshine, you’re beautiful, you don’t have a goddamn fucking clue how beautiful you are, how much I, fuck-“

You’re dizzy and your brain is clouded with lust, but you’d manage to move one hand off of Ben’s thigh to squeeze his balls. It works just like you’d hoped, and Ben’s whole body tenses as cum shoots, fast and hot, down your throat. You swallow—you’re not a pussy, and you love him more than anything—and Ben’s hands splay against your scalp and cheek. When you pull back your lips make a popping sound, and you smile up at Ben as he looks down at you, his thumb tracing your cheekbone and his breathing loud and ragged. 

“Fucking Christ,” Ben mutters your name, and the devotion is back in his eyes. Devotion and heat and something else you don’t understand. “You’re… Christ.”

“I’m Christ?” You shift on your knees, trying to ignore how the ache is starting to become painful so you can just look at him. “Wow. Don’t tell Butcher, he’s a big god-hater-“ 

Ben pulls you upwards, leaning down to meet you halfway, kissing you until your knees start to shake again and you have to lean against him to avoid falling over.

“Brat,” his growl is paired with a long suck of your upper lip and squeeze of your waist, and you make a high, needy sound. “Want me to show you something?” 

You have literally no idea what he might want to show you, but you nod because right now if Ben asked you to figure out time travel you’re pretty sure it would take you an hour.

He spins you around, pressing your back to his chest, and you realize what he’s been staring at. The mirrors. On the booths. You’d totally forgotten about the mirrors on the booths.

“See how fucking beautiful you are?” Ben’s muttered in your ear, the hot air of his breath making you shiver and try to push further back into his body. “You’re the most beautiful woman in goddamn history. Fuck, you might be the most beautiful thing in history. I don’t know how you ever expected this to be a fair fucking fight, for us not to end up here. Where I’m going to make you feel fucking good and you’re going to watch.”

“Ben-“

“I liked watching you suck my cock, Sunshine.” One of his hands has moved up to palm your breast, and the other has started to trail down, tracing patterns on your stomach. “You looked real fucking pretty, taking my cock all good and deep in your throat, letting me fuck your face and swallowing my cum. But you’ve got a little bit of a problem, don’t you.”

Ben’s watching you in the mirror, locking your gaze with his, a thumb rubbing over your nipple as his hand slides a little lower, resting right below your abdomen. All you can do to answer him is nod, and try to grind up so that his hand will drop further. 

“You’re so fucking desperate for me to touch your perfect fucking cunt,” Ben says your name, and it rolls through your body and sets you on fire. There’s no smoke rising through your body, but everything smells like pine and the whole room is starting to dance with a misty, green light. “That’s your problem, isn’t it. You need me, need me so bad you’ve fucking ruined your underwear just from sucking my cock. I can fucking smell you, Sunshine, you smell fucking delicious.”

He hates you. You’ve made a grave miscalculation in how much Ben likes you, because this is torture. He won’t stop teasing you and calling you beautiful and good and not just fucking touching you. He must hate you, because you’re whining sounds that are meant to be pleas of his name and humping the air near his hand, and Ben won’t just touch you. Ben’s smirking at you in the reflection, and he’s such a cunt and he’s so handsome and you love him and if he doesn’t start doing something right now you’re going to punch him square in his stupid, smug, handsome face.

“You want me to fix your problem?”

“Ben-“

“I know, beautiful.” His hand moves out from under your shirt, moving up to your chin until you’re looking back at him and he can kiss you. Soft, gentle, deceptively innocent. “I’m going to take care of you. All you have to do is-“

He needs to stop being so sweet and good or you’ll tell him you love him. He needs to shut the fuck up and touch you. “Ben, please. Please-“ 

“Please, what?”

“Fucking touch me-“

His hand on your chin pulls your head back down, forcing your eyes back to the mirror right as he tears off your underwear. Ben grins at your reflections, thumb brushing against your lip as his hold on your chin loosens slightly, and his hand drops down, resting right between your thighs without just moving.

“God, you’re fucking wet,” he’s still whispering right into your ear, and it’s making you a little lightheaded. “Is this all for me, beautiful? All for me to take care of?”

You start trying to grind down onto his hand, and Ben’s free arm drops back down to pin your hips against him, muscles rippling when your try to squirm away and he’s kissing your neck and hie won’t move- “Ben-“

“No,” he grunts, hand moving back up  your shirt to brush your tits, face buried into your shoulder where you can’t actually see him. “My turn. You’re going to relax, and I’m going to do this for you.”

“Please-“

He says your name, pulling back to meet your eyes in the mirror. “You trust me.”

Not a question. You both know the answer, and it’s more for Ben to hear it. You know that, because when you glare yes, at him through the mirror, he grins. You’re about him to just do something, anything, whatever he wants as long as he’s touching you, when he moves.

Ben’s finger pushes right into you, pumps once, twice, and then is joined by a second one. “Fucking tight,” he growls in your ear, still watching you. Always watching you. “Look at how fucking beautiful you are, squirming on my fucking fingers. I’ve barely even touched you, Sunshine, and you’re already fucking squeezing me.” 

You make a loud, shameless moan as he starts to move faster, playing with your boobs with his hand up your shirt and muttering pure filth into your ear.

“So fucking good. Look at how fucking good you take me, beautiful, and this is just my hand. Just my goddamn hand that’s making you whine, whine like the perfect fucking brat you are, fucking soaking my fingers, covering me in how much you fucking want me. So goddamn perfect, you’re perfect, it’s not even a fucking contest. So fucking good and perfect, going to cum all over my fingers, look at how fucking beautiful you are with your perfect fucking mouth all swollen and your pretty fucking eyes watching me ruin you-“

He groans, because you’ve figured out that you can grind backwards, into him.

“God, fucking Christ, woman, you’re driving me fucking insane-“

Ben rambles start to turn into just low, deep sounds that roll straight through your body and down into your core. He’s still talking, and you know he’s saying words, but you’re high. Ben’s fingers are big and broad and rough inside of you, and they keep brushing against that one spot deep in your body, and he won’t stop scissoring them when they push all the way in. He keeps driving his fingers into your pussy, curling and twisting them with harsh, fast movements, and yanking them out until you can see them in the mirror. See your need for him falling off his hand, see them disappear back inside you, see his palm start to rise up to press against your clit and rub.

“Ben-“

“So fucking good,” He growls against your skin, half-pulling you off the ground. “I fucking adore you, Sunshine, fuck, see how goddamn perfect you are? Look at you, so fucking beautiful, all wrecked on just my hand-“ 

You do look beautiful. Ben is wrapped around you—he looks almost animalistic as you grind back into him with your head pressed into his shoulder—and you’re not sure if it’s the lights dancing through the room or the way that some sort of soft music seems to be playing in the distance, but you’re beautiful. You think, in the haze, that it might be how Ben’s watching you. That his eyes on yours are full of lust and hunger and affection, and you feel like something better than what you are. You’re barely in control of yourself, grinding back into Ben and countless, wanting sounds leaving your body, and you feel like wildfire. Like a star, burning and burning against the infinite way that Ben exists around you. Beautiful. But you look at Ben, watching you like you’re all the stars and planets and everything through and past the universe, and he’s better. You mold perfectly against him, and his dark hair is falling over his eyes as he ruts up into you. If you could think enough to make yourself move, you’d reach up and brush it away. But your hands are clinging to his arm over your stomach—you can see his muscles flex with every movement and it makes you squirm—and all you can do is meet his eyes in the mirror. He’s watching you whine and moan and writhe against him, and his jaw is slack, and he’s everything. Ben is everything, and he’s looking at you like you’re holy and crucial, so you’re beautiful. Ben doesn’t lie, so you’re beautiful. 

Ben’s palm rubbing circles on your clit start moving in faster, smaller movements right as his fingers press down inside of you and he bucks up into your ass, you almost scream as you cum. He’s still just watching you—eyes blown out and jaw slack—and when your legs give out he scoops you up into his arms, tearing his gaze from the mirror and meeting your eyes. I love you. Ben. Ben, I love you.

“You’re okay.” When you nod, your brain still a little slow, he frowns. “Words-“

“I’m okay, Ben.” You smile at him, reaching a hand up to trace his jawline. “I’m going to have to buy you a thesaurus, but I’m good.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Well, you clearly fucking liked it-“

“I wasn’t of sound mind, Pretty Boy. Corrupt testimony.” You shrug, leaning further into his body. “You need to learn a few more words.”

Ben grins at you. “Someone’s trying to talk herself out of a proper fucking when we get home.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“See if I give a fuck.” He kisses the top of your head, and you wrap your arms around his neck. He’s so warm. You can’t feel him, but Ben’s still so warm. “You want a proper fucking?”

You swallow. “Yes, please.” 

“Then here’s how this is gonna go.” Ben leans back, holding your gaze. “We’re going to put on your shorts, and I’m going to put on my pants. We’re going back home, and cleaning up, then going to dinner because you’re going to need the energy. Then, the moment the door closes behind us, I’m fucking you. In our bed. Deal?”

Your voice is a whisper. “Deal.”

“Good.”

He helps you get dressed. Ben pulls his pants back on—shifting his body to block yours from the door—and let you use his arm as balance while you put your shorts back up your legs.

Your underwear has been effectively destroyed, and when Ben picks it up you think it’s going straight into the trash can, but instead he shoves it into his pockets and winks at you.

“Pervert-“ 

“Shut the fuck up.”

He tries to carry you. Ben bends down, and you have to whack him to stop him from picking you up and carrying you down the hall. He pouts—the grumpy, annoyed pout that means he being a little bitch about something—but settles for slinging his arm over your shoulder and tucking you into his side. He smells good. He’s big and strong and warm and Ben, and you can’t feel him. You’re okay. You can touch him, but not feel him, and you’re okay. 

It’s later than you’d thought it was. Barely twilight—everything cast in a blue-purple glow—and Ben tells you you’re taking the first shower. Demands it, actually. Grumbles about how I fucking showered this morning, and you’re the one covered in cum, Sunshine until you relent, because you’ve lost stupider arguments with him and you are indeed covered in cum. Mostly yours, running a little down your thigh, but some of Ben’s had managed to escape your mouth and dried on your chin and shoulders. Ben walks you upstairs and into the bathroom, drops on the bed with a frown as you start to close the door, and you love him a little too much to leave him looking like a lost puppy dog in the dark. Especially when it’s really not that much effort to cross the room and stand between his legs, to give him one last gentle kiss until his hands relax on your hips and he’s grinning against your mouth. 

Ben. Ben, I love you.

The shower is almost burning. Steam collects on the glass door and your skin is still sensitive from the gun range, the hum of the fan the only sound tangling in with the water.

It’s been coming in waves. It’s important for you to recognize that this is coming in waves. When you tell Ben you’re okay, you really are. You’re okay. Then. In that moment, when you’re smiling and laughing with the people you love and care about, you’re okay. When Ben looks at you—really looks at you, sees you in a way no one else does—you’re okay.

And then you’re not. Then it’s silent, and you’re cold even with the scalding water, and that fan is humming in the same key that ones in Homelander’s apartment did. And you’re so tired.

Something feels wrong in your body. It feels like a limb has been cut off, like something’s been taken out that’s vital to your existence. The longer it’s gone—the longer it’s just you, alone in your body—the worse it gets. The more you can feel that part of you that snapped in Vought tower, and all you can feel it is flailing around in your body, trying to find where it can fit back in. It’s making you sick, it’s making everything cold again. You’re broken, and afraid, and exhausted, and all this fear has to stay in you. All of this pain has to live and fester in your body, and you’re not strong enough to stomp it out. Weak. 

You hate not feeling Ben. He’s not touching you, and you can’t feel that imprint of him in your chest, and you’re alone. You can’t control yourself, keep your shit together and keep your love or panic or pain in your body, so now you’re alone. Ben’s just outside—waiting for you to finish showering—but the fan is humming like you’re back in the tower and they had warm showers there as well. Weak.

Everything is wrong. You’re broken and exhausted and in pain and weak. Ben is staying and you don’t get why, and people aren’t giving up on you but they should. You’re making everything worse for everyone, and you’re so cold, and the whole world can see how weak you are but you’re tricking your friends and lying and you’re weak. Useless, lying, manipulative bitch. Nobody stays, because why would they? Unlovable, better alone, better never being touched or loved because nobody could love you, you’re too weak.

You can’t feel your tears falling, any evidence of them being washed away with the water and the steam, but your eyes hurt and your throat is sore. You can’t breathe, and you’re drowning and alone, and you must have started screaming because the door bangs open and Ben bursts into the room. You think you say his name, but it’s so loud. Your blood is pounding in your ears and it can’t get out, and the fan is suffocating you, and Ben’s here but you can’t feel him. You can’t feel anything but freezing, painful, cold.

He turns off the fan. His fist slams into the wall, the sound stutters off, and you still can’t really breathe but now you can hear him. He’s saying your name, pulling off his shoes and opening the shower door. His hands move to his shirt, but you make a weak, choked sob and he freezes. 

“Fuck it.” 

You hear that. You hear his grunt, and watch as he pushes into the water, let him pull your head against his chest and hold you. You’re shaking and making strangled, weak noises, but he’s holding you up and staying. You don’t know why, but Ben’s really, truly staying. He’s humming in a low, horrible voice that rolls through your body and slowly starts to clear your head, and when he says your name this time you can nod, so he continues.

“What’s wrong.”

“I, I can’t-“

“Breathe,” he mutters, hand running up and down your back. “I’m here, you’re safe, and this is real. We’ve got all the damn time in the world, so fucking breathe.”

It takes another minute, of uneven, heavy inhales and long, sobbing exhales, but you finally manage to whisper the full sentence. “I can’t fight him again.”

You can hear his frown, but he doesn’t ask who. You both know, and Ben doesn’t waste time on clarification. “There’s not a chance in hell-“ 

“There is,” you mumble. “There’s always a chance. And I can’t. If I have to, I won't be strong enough, I can’t fight him again.” Your words are vomiting out of your body, your head shaking against Ben’s chest like you can push the thought—push Homelander’s cruel, callous voice—out of your head forever. “I’ll lose, I can’t lose, I can’t go back-“

Ben snaps your name, and you let out a shaky, weak breath. “Fucking listen to me. You are never fighting that pussy alone again. Ever. That’s fucking it. End of story. You can cry all you goddamn want, as long as you understand that you are never fucking going back there, and as long as I’m fucking alive he will never touch you again.” 

You make another soft sound, and nod. “I’m sorry-“

“No. You’re fucking everything to me, and if you’re burning, it’s not without me. So don’t fucking apologize.”

This time you just let out a breath, and wrap your arms fully around his body. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t push that one. Ben just grunts, and holds you tighter against him, shielding you from the water, still holding you like you’re sacred. Always holding you like you’re sacred. Like you can’t be broken, because the fire in your body will seal the cracks back together, and he’ll be here while it does. Words are coming a little easier, mumbled into his shirt, and you’re still broken but it’s not wrong anymore. “I’m tired, Ben. I’m so tired.”

“I know,” you can feel the heave of his chest as he sighs, and you think you might just fall asleep here. You’re safe, Ben would pick you up, and you’re so tired. “Sleep, Sunshine. I’m here.”

He’s here. Ben’s here, and saying all the right things, so right before you collapse against him, you smile. His heart is right under your head on his chest, and you can’t feel him but he’s real.

“You’re home.” Ben mutters onto the crown of your head. “That’s all that fucking matters.”

This time, when he’s warmer than the water and stronger than all the fear in your body, his heart lulling you to sleep, you believe him.

End Note: Big character centered chapter, I know, but we have to EARN the confession. Who do you guys think is gonna slip up and say I love you first. I know who I’m putting money on, but also that’s insider trading.

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

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Taglist

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[noemilivv]

hiiii!! i was wondering if perchance i could request head canons or a one shot (whichever you see more fit) of how [character] is on their first date with [reader]

the characters im rlly invested in are alastor, vox, velvette, angel & husk 💗

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐯𝐨𝐱, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭, 𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞, 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐤, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

a/n: i’m so sorry requests have been so slow, my show is almost done (closing night is today) so i’ll be able to get to requests after that!! and i tried to make this a bit longer than my normal pieces so i hope i did okay? we’re almost at 700 btw so tysm for that <3

warnings: profanity, mentions of sex in vox’s part (no smut), mentions of valentino, implied!masc reader in angel’s section — the rest are gn

proofread: no 😔

tags: x reader, alastor, husk hazbin hotel, angel dust, headcanons, the vees

𝐯𝐨𝐱

vox would probably enjoy a night in the most, honestly, fans can irk him a fair bit, and he wants tonight to be about you and him alone

he’d probably get some of his more decent employees to be like waiters, and let’s be real, even if you were only in vox’s quarters, you both would still be dolled up

seeing as this is only the first date, vox’s “show host” persona is still very present, he’s not ready to let his walls down quite yet, he’ll sit there and boast about how fucking amazing he is for most of the date

but you’d be surprised, when you speak, vox won’t shut down anything you’d say, he’s an extremely good listener — it mainly comes from how he has to listen to boring meetings, even when he doesn’t want to, but as much as he won’t admit it, he could listen to you talk anyday

when the end of the date comes, you’re either gonna end up spending the night at his, whether it ends in sex with him or falling asleep on the couch together in the middle of a movie is a bit of a 50/50

OR he’s gonna end up driving you home, mainly because he doesn’t enjoy just walking about the streets of hell, because so many people come up to him, and also cause he doesn’t want to risk putting you in harms way, but also because he wants to flex his fancy ass car…

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭

like vox, he’d also probably enjoy a date in a more private settings — due to the type of fans he has, the contract he’s under, along with many other things

but angel has a preference for more relaxed dates, he’d bring you into his room the hotel and end up having a massive sleepover — movies, skincare, gossip seshs, etc. whatever you ask for, he’ll give ya!!

after valentino, i can see angel only really taking interest in people who he’s known for a long time/has a strong bond with — so considering the fact that he’s most likely known you for a long time, this is probably when he’s gonna be more affectionate — possible cuddles, kisses, etc

but even with that, angel really considers first dates as a ‘get to know you’ sorta thing, so he wants to hear all about you, and share stories with you about him as well! you two will probably play games like 21 questions or truth or dare but with mostly truths 😭🙏

honestly, angel will probably spend more time telling you about molly (his sister) then himself, he misses her a lot, and she was one of the biggest parts of him and he loves telling you stories about them together in their lifetime

𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞

in contrast to vox, she would love to go out somewhere for a first date, more specifically, the mall! she may end up treating the first date as more a girls trip, but trust me, it isn’t her way of friend zoning you in the slightest!!

the stores in the mall that she’d most likely wanna hit up are the clothing stores and makeup stores (duh)

she’d try on a bunch of fits for you in a ‘fashion run-way’ kind-of manner and force outfits into your arms and rush you to do the same

and in makeup stores, she’d grab a bunch of lip-oil testers and swatch them on your arm and see which ones she thinks look the best — and she’d also try to find your foundation shade match or something like that

then you goes would probably stop at a food court and she would sit there and just yap, i can see velvette as a big rambler, she can be very expressive with her words, especially when it comes to her passion topics, so she really grows to appreciate you if you decide to hear her out

and side note; if you guys run into one of her fans, she’ll make sure you see it, she needs you to know how fucking hot and famous she is

the both of you will probably stay until the mall is about to close, and then you’ll walk her home, but don’t worry, she’ll give you a small kiss for being so good ~

𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐤

honestly, husk would kinda be at loss a for what to do for a ‘date’ — it’s been a long damn time since he’s been romantically interested in someone, so he’s not too sure where to start

he’ll end up going to charlie for help, or angel, and he ends up deciding to take you out to a small diner that’s just a stroll away from the hotel

it’s not great there by any means, but it’s not bad, but more importantly, it’s safe, and that’s all he really wants for you

you two will spend most of the time conversing in conversation, nothing too crazy or life changing, but simple ice breakers here and there, husker is more awkward than you may think

despite the fact that he thinks it’s so fucking stupid, he takes charlie’s idea to share a smoothie with you, which ends up back-firing as he takes a sip and it goes through and up your straw and splatters onto your face

and you can’t help but blush as he gets a little too close to you as he wipes the smoothie off of your face with a few napkins…

𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫

alastor is a gentlemen, who aims to please, so he has a number of activities for you that are bound to blow you out of the water, even if the idea is simple on paper

first, he starts off by taking you out to dinner, the fanciest restaurant he could find, you both are dressed up to a tee

he makes sure to feed you every last bite of your food, treating you like a pet, its so sickeningly sweet you didn’t whether to be slightly offended or swoon right then and there

then he takes you out to a nice park, even if it’s already dark out, and he’ll have you on his arm and take a simple stroll with you, the attention is fully on you and he won’t shy away from giving you all the praise possible

shortly after, alastor will get his staff and play some gentle jazz music as you both sway under the hellish stars on what seems to be such a blissful night ~

i do not permit for my work to be reposted, translated, or stolen. all rights go to signedmio. characters are not mine, unless stated, and belong to their rightful creators.

[fangirl-writes]

Tell me you want this

Isaac Lahey x Fem!Stilinski!Reader

Warning(s): canon-level stuff, blood, making out, mentions of sex

Summary: In a life that is constantly on the move, you appreciate the small moments much more. Especially if they're with Isaac.

"It'll just heal in a few minutes, you know," Isaac said.

"I know," you replied, sitting on his bed next to him.

You pulled a baby wipe from its package and held Issac's chin between your thumb and forefinger, moving his head to look him over.

It had been a particularly bad fight, for everyone. The kind of fight where you needed the rest of the night to just heal; physically, mentally, emotionally.

And, of course, you wouldn't let Isaac do it on his own.

You began wiping at a spot on his face, gliding the cloth over the apple of his cheek.

"If Stiles finds out about this, he's gonna be upset," Isaac said, watching your face contort as you worked.

"Yeah, well," you moved his head to the other side, frowning at the mention of your brother. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

You and Isaac had known each other forever. Being in the same grade, it would’ve been hard not to notice one another, but even besides that you had a connection. You were sort of friends.

Not the kind that hung out outside of school, but the loners who ate lunch under the bleachers and spent free periods in the library.

You also covered for him whenever he wasn’t in school, finding out about his home life after his dad had a particularly bad day.

You’d cleaned him up then, too.

Isaac gently grabbed your wrist, "and Derek-"

"Derek's not gonna hurt me."

You'd long since perfected sneaking into Derek's loft to see Isaac. You suspected that he knew you were there. Being a seasoned werewolf, you were sure he could hear the extra heartbeat, if not smell your scent.

But you didn't care, and clearly neither did he.

But Isaac? Isaac cared.

Ever since he became a werewolf, and you were further pulled into the bullshit that came along with that, he’d been protective in a way he hadn’t before.

You weren’t sure if it was a wolf thing or if Isaac felt some kind of obligation to you. Either way, you wouldn’t let him keep you out of it.

Tossing the wipe in the trash, you put your hand to his now clean cheek. "Relax."

He eyed you for a long moment, searching, before he took a deep breath and leaned into your touch.

The shape of his jaw pressed into your palm, his hand wrapping around your wrist gently, as if just to touch you.

Silence surrounded you, only the sound of your heartbeats and breathing cutting through.

That and the tension that hung palpably in the small space between you.

"You know," he pulled at the new hole in his shirt. "I think you better get this one, too."

You smiled, shaking your head. "I guess I better."

He wasted no time in pulling the material over his head and tossing it somewhere else in the room, making you laugh.

You scooted closer to him, crossing your legs under you and pulling another wipe from the package.

"Oh, Isaac," you said, taking in the wound. "It must've hurt."

He shrugged. "You'd be surprised how much the adrenaline can mask...and I'm used to pain."

He was so close now, close enough you could feel his breath on your cheek as you cleaned him up.

You focused on the task at hand because if you didn't, you'd notice the way he was staring at you. And you weren't sure what you'd do if you met his eyes.

He was fitter than he used to be, the tone of his chest and abs more prominent, his arms more muscular.

You unconsciously lifted your other hand to drag it down his chest.

He shivered under your touch. "Y/N..."

You swallowed, stilling your hand on his shoulder as you continued to clean him up.

"Y/N," he said again, making you look up at him.

His eyes were already on you, as you suspected, looking at you with so much intensity you wondered what he was thinking.

"Yes?"

He was so beautiful, especially this close.

You could see every line on his face, every freckle, every mole. The sculpt of his nose, the part of his lips. The dim light made the blue of his eyes seem darker, or maybe that was just the way he was looking at you.

He lightly pushed down your hand that had stilled on his chest so that he could lean closer, brushing his nose against yours.

"Tell me you want this."

His breath fanned your lips, and you sucked in a breath. "Isaac-"

"I can hear your heartbeat," he said. "I can tell how nervous you are...don't be. Tell me you want this."

You released the breath, shakily. "Yes. Yes, please, kiss me."

He leaned in, pressing his lips softly against yours.

You kissed him back, hesitantly. So hesitantly that he stopped, but didn't go far, allowing you the power to continue if you wanted. And you did.

More confidently this time, you kissed him. And he kissed you back.

You didn't realize how much you'd wanted this until now. How kissing him felt akin to breathing; natural, easy, like if you stopped, you might die.

It was a natural progression that he pulled you closer by your waist, his hands rough but gesture gentle, slow.

Your hands slid their way over the shape of his arms, then shoulders, then neck before they finally stopped to tangled themselves in his hair.

He hummed into your mouth, dragging his tongue over your bottom lip, and you parted them. His tongue slid over yours, experimentally, trying to find a rhythm.

You tugged against his hair.

That caused him to moan.

His fingers were ghosting just under your shirt when-

"Isaac, I need you to- oh my god."

You jumped apart, faces burning, as Derek stood in the doorway of Isaac's room.

It was pointless to try to look innocent, Isaac was shirtless for Christ's sake.

"Okay, I've clearly let this go on too long, I don't need you having sex in here."

"We weren't going to have sex!" Isaac protested, and you hid your face in your hands.

"Maybe not yet," Derek replied, crossing his arms. "How'd you get here anyway?"

"Walked," you replied sheepishly.

"Great, now I'm going to have to take you home. They're going to think I've kidnapped you."

"I can walk home."

"After that fight today? I'm surprised you made it here, let alone getting back."

"I can take her back," Isaac offered.

"And have you get busy in my car? Yeah, no, thanks."

"We wouldn't-" Isaac groaned. "Fine."

"Let's go. Now."

Too embarrassed to protest, you stood and followed Derek out the door.

Boyd and Erica were sitting in the main room and looked at you with wide eyes when they saw you come out of Isaac's room.

Great, you thought. Now it looks like a walk of shame.

"Y/N, wait."

You turned as Isaac came out of his room, holding your jacket in his hand.

"You, uh, forgot this," he said, blushing as everyone looked at him.

Face hot, you took it from him. "Thanks."

You put it on as Derek grabbed his keys and the two of you disappeared out the door.

Then Boyd and Erica's eyes drifted back to Isaac.

"...what?"

Erica split into a grin. "So, Stilinski, huh?"

"Shut up."

[breadbrobin]

Hi idk if you’re taking reqs but I’ve been reading your posts about Luke Castellan a lot and I think I’m getting obsessed- So could you make a fic/shot about a Luke Castellan x daughter of Apollo reader where they’ve known each other since childhood and they’re kind of like frenemies (friends and/or enemies) and one day he ends up getting badly injured after a quest so she has to take care of him in the infirmary for a week, but ever since that happened he’s been trying to get injured just to go and see reader at the infirmary again?

Sorry if that wasn’t clear, and this is kinda inspired from another fic you made about Luke and daughter of Apollo:)

But if you ever make something like this I would really appreciate it if you tagged me!

two hearts

luke castellan x reader — percy jackson and the olympians

[fem!daughter of apollo reader]

summary: (as above)

warnings: canon typical mentions of violence, kissing, flirting, a couple of swear words, blood, idiots to lovers a lil bit too (can you tell it’s my favourite thing)

word count: 3.5k

(hiiii hello hi!! sorry this took me so long to get out, but here it is!! thank you so much for the request i had a lot of fun with this one (3.5k words of fun apparently). hope you enjoy it!)

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if someone had told you luke castellan was going to be gone on a quest when you arrived at camp for the summer, you wouldn’t have spent the whole drive to camp preparing to deal with his annoying ass.

you hiked up half-blood hill and over the boundary, noticing the distinct tension in the atmosphere. something was off.

when luke hadn’t come to see you as you dropped your bags off in the apollo cabin, or when you stopped into the infirmary, or even when you walked past the hermes cabin, you were clued in that something was up.

“where’s luke?” you asked chiron curiously.

“he is on a quest, child. sent by his father,” he smiled down at you warmly. “do not worry about him.”

“i’m not worried,” you bit your lip. “just curious. that’s all.”

and that was that.

it was weirdly boring being at camp without luke’s constant snarky comments. ever since you’d both gotten to camp when you were younger, he’d been a persistent thorn in your side. maybe it was because you both were new around the same time, or because you didn’t like it when he hovered around the infirmary, poking his quick fingers into buckets of bandages and medications. whatever it was, he seemed to enjoy irritating you. and you apparently enjoyed it more than you thought.

monotonous days: breakfast, archery, infirmary, training, activities, dinner, bed.

sleepless nights: nightmares of quests and dragons and a bright white scar.

you sighed one night, waking up from yet another dream of flashes and brief images. your siblings were sleeping around you, a couple of them snoring, and you sat up.

the air on the porch was cooler that night, especially for summer time. you wrapped your sweatshirt a little tighter around yourself and leaned on the porch railing, peering out into the darkness. you just needed a minute, really. you sat down on a chair and relaxed.

you woke up abruptly.

at first, you were confused as to why.

then you saw the figure on the hill.

it was a camper. the hint of orange in the full-moon light told you that much. they were stumbling down—no, they were rolling now.

you stood up and dashed back into your cabin, grabbing your to-go first aid kit. you then turned and ran towards the obviously injured figure. there were only three people it could be. and where were the other two?

you reached them quickly, dropping to your knees beside them and rolling them over.

luke.

it was luke.

the air rushed from your lungs. he was here. he was back. he was alive. you’d never felt such an overwhelming emotion before. it drew slight stinging tears to your eyes.

his eyes were barely open but he gripped your arm with a strength you didn’t think his weak body could still possess. “y/n?”

“just hold on, luke,” you whispered. there were injuries all over his body. you hardly knew where to start. “just hold on.”

“they’re gone,” he said absently.

you looked at him, but didn’t stop trying to help. “who’s gone?”

“everyone,” he stared up at the moon.

you bit your cheek and looked over your shoulder. one of your brothers had gone on that quest with him. “wake up!” you shouted. “someone come help!” you turned back to luke. “okay, luke. you’re gonna be okay.”

his cheeks were hollow. it was then that you noticed the way his eye was swollen closed and a dark red angry cut traced its way down the side of his face. you gasped and turned his head gently to see it better.

“not looking good, huh?” he murmured bitterly. “guess i won’t be getting any modelling contracts soon.”

“we’ll see about that,” you muttered. “stay awake, yeah?”

“you’re not the boss of me,” he grumbled, but kept his eyes open as help finally arrived to get him to the infirmary.

he’d had more injuries than you’d originally thought. it was like he’d been attacked by half of the monsters in greek mythology, honestly, based on the peppered burn holes in his shirt, the cuts and scrapes on his arms and knees and the gashes littering his abdomen. oh, and not to mention the gaping spear wound in his right shoulder.

after working all night with some of your siblings and chiron in the infirmary, he was finally stable. finally, he’d be okay.

you volunteered to stay with him to keep an eye on him for the first few hours, though your eyelids were drooping with sleep.

you held his hand. it felt like the right thing to do.

he didn’t stir.

it was strange, being around him without him talking. since you were fourteen, he’d rarely managed to shut up around you. incessant talking and waving his hands around, explaining some new thing he learned in sword fighting or some joke one of his brothers made. it was both infuriating and entertaining. you loved and hated it, just like you loved and hated him.

sitting in silence with luke castellan felt like the world was turning on its head.

a couple of hours passed. you didn’t let go of his hand. not even as you slipped into a dream—a memory, really.

you were fifteen, and it was raining. it had only been a few months since you got to camp. things were still fresh and somewhat unknown. what you did know, though, was you could never get a moments peace anymore.

“y/n?”

you rolled your eyes. of course it was luke. “what?”

“where are you?”

you supposed you were hidden pretty well. sitting among the reeds at the bottom of the lake was one of your favourite places to be. it was cooler there, but even in winter it wasn’t cold. your feet could sit in the water if you wanted them to and the reeds blocked you from the wind and outside attention.

when you didn’t respond, you could hear him coming closer anyway.

“that’s fine, don’t tell me. i’ll find you anyway.”

and he did. he always did.

there was some theory about that, you realised as he sat beside you, the tiny space between the reeds barely big enough to hold both of you. some theory about a string of fate tying people together. some greek myth about people originally having four arms, four legs and two hearts, and when zeus split them down the middle, those people spent the rest of their lives searching for their other halves. drawn together by fate and reconnected always. you arm was pressed against his arm and your leg against his leg, and maybe it felt so right because you were cold and he was warm. not because of some silly soulmate theory that didn’t even make sense. because there was also the idea that maybe he’d put a tracker on you, but you had no idea where he would have gotten that. or maybe you were just bad at hiding.

“i’ve been looking for you,” he said.

you tilted your head in confusion. “what? why?”

“well,” were you mistaken, or were his cheeks kind of red? “i kinda hurt myself at training today. and the people in the infirmary told me to grow up and get over it. but honestly, it really hurts and i just wanted to know if you could heal it.”

you rolled your eyes. “always needing something, huh, castellan? is it so much to ask for you to just want to see me?” you hold your hand out and he extends his sword arm, revealing the cross-muscle cut on his forearm.

“i do want to see you,” he protested. “honestly. it’s not my fault that i’m also coincidentally injured whenever i want to see you.”

you couldn’t stay mad at that smile. “coincidentally, huh?” you handed him a small section of ambrosia from your pocket as your fingers ran over the cut, whispering a prayer to your father. you watched as the skin knit itself closed again, leaving not even a scar on his arm. you pulled back with a smile. “there. done. good as new.”

“thanks, doctor. don’t know what i’d do without you.”

“die a horrible death and be left permanently disfigured? to the point where we’d do a closed casket funeral just so we don’t have to look at your ugly face?” you tilted your head with a teasing smile.

he elbowed you. “shut up, loser. you know you love my face.”

and as you woke up, feeling his hand tighten around yours, you realised you kind of did. there was gauze over the cut on his eye and cheek, covering half of his face. and yet, he was still annoyingly beautiful.

“something on my face?” he mumbled as he saw looking, finally awake. “except for this thing, of course.” he gestured to the gauze.

you smiled wanly. “i’m glad you’re awake.”

“missed me?” he half-grinned.

you snort and drop his hand, patting the back of it and standing up to check his bandages. “you wish.”

he was silent as you checked his bandages and reapplied the few that were loosening. then, as you left to go and get the next person to keep an eye on him, he spoke up. “i missed you.”

you paused in the doorway, a small smile growing on your face. you looked back at him. his eyes were earnest and soft. he looked younger like this. “i’ll be back a few hours. we’ll have dinner together.”

you did have dinner together. in fact, you had almost every meal together for the first few days.

it was quiet, mostly. you didn’t ask him what happened and he didn’t tell you. you knew he’d already been interrogated by everyone else. he didn’t need that from you.

annabeth came and joined you a couple of times, chatting about some new architectural design she’d learned about or a new move she’d learned in training.

you realised how alike they were. family in every way that mattered, regardless of blood.

it didn’t take long for luke to start getting annoying again though.

once he’d been in the infirmary for four days, he regained most of his usual personality. and that meant bad jokes, incessant talking and poorly-timed, half-hearted flirting.

“the sun makes your eyes glow,” he said one day. he’d never had much of a filter, so it wasn’t too out of the blue, but it still caught you a little of guard.

you fumbled the supplies in your hand. “sorry, what?”

he was sitting up on his bed now. his wounds were almost healed. two more days and he’d be out of the infirmary. you didn’t know if you were one hundred per cent happy about that.

“your eyes. they glow in the sun.” he repeated.

you paused, glancing over at him. “thank you…?”

he nodded and leaned back, his eyes staying on you.

that was only the beginning.

within five hours he’d complimented your eyes, your skills, your smile and your kindness. multiple times. it got the point where the other two patients in the infirmary had stopped taking you seriously, just complimenting you instead. that’s where you drew the line.

“okay, luke, you need to stop. this is too much,” you said. you were checking his remaining wounds and nodding happily at them.

“what, am i flustering you? are you blushing?” he teased.

you were not blushing at all, you decided. whether it was strictly true or not was between your brain and your cheeks, not your honesty. “you’re annoying me,” you grumbled. “like, a lot.”

“you know you’ll miss me when i go back to my cabin,” he leaned back on his pillows, a smirk on his lips. it warped the scar on his cheek more than you expected, and it made your heart clench every time.

“if i miss you, you have permission to annoy me for the rest of my life,” you grumbled. you definitely wouldn’t miss this.

finally, he was out of the infirmary.

finally, you could work in peace.

finally, you could— oh, what the hell?

“good morning!” luke said as he waltzed into the infirmary. “i’ve injured myself.”

you looked him up and down as you walked closer. “you look fine to me. what did you do?”

“i fell of the rock climbing wall and hit my head.” he turned his head to show you the small trickle of blood above his ear.

you sighed and led him to a bed. you handed him ambrosia as you used a wet cloth to clean his head. “you were meant to take things easy for the first few days.”

“i did!” he protested. “i was only like, twelve feet up!”

you pursed your lips and shook your head. your hand was under his chin now, stopping him from turning his head to look at you. “taking it easy means no rock climbing at all, dumbass. you’ve been out of here for half a day and you’re already back!”

“maybe i like it in here.” he shrugged, pouting slightly, looking up at you.

“maybe i find you really annoying and ban you from coming in here,” you countered.

“you can’t do that,” he gasped.

“watch me, castellan.” you prodded his cheek mockingly. “don’t mess with me.”

his smile wasn’t exactly the response you were looking for, but you found that you didn’t mind it all too much.

luke came into the infirmary almost every two days for the next two weeks.

there was always some new injury that he couldn’t ignore, that he needed to have you heal. he only came in when you were there though, like he knew your schedule off by heart.

he probably did.

his sheepish smile was becoming a fixture of your days and you couldn’t help but smile a little brighter when you saw it. you couldn’t stop your heart from beating a little faster either, and it was annoying.

in the years that you’d been at camp, luke castellan had driven you up the wall. did you hate him? did you love him? how did you love him? how a friend loves a friend? how a doctor loves a patient? how a lover loves a lover? how did you hate him? why? why anything? why nothing? the questions only got worse.

“another minor injury?” you sighed, hearing his footsteps entering the infirmary. you didn’t know when you memorised the sound of his footsteps, or the rise and fall of his breathing while he slept, but you did.

“uh, not exactly…” the weakness in his voice made your stomach drop.

you turned around to see him clutching a bright red wound on his inner arm. he looked pale. that wasn’t a good sign. the blood was still seeping past his fingers. also not a good sign.

you gasped and pulled him to a bed immediately, pushing him to lie down and placing hard pressure on the wound. you could feel him reaching into your pocket and fishing around for ambrosia. once he found some, he ate it quickly and sighed in relief.

“what the hell happened?” you exclaimed.

he shrugged with one shoulder. “sword training.”

“were you training against the fucking terminator?” you took in the other minor cuts and bruises. your voice was unfairly shaky. you didn’t want to get close to losing him again. even just the thought made you feel sick.

his eyes were soft when they looked up at you. you almost dropped all of your anger right there. “i got sloppy,” he said nonchalantly. “i’ll be fine once i get back to normal.”

“this is an artery,” you said. “you could die.”

he didn’t look all that upset or shocked. “i won’t die, baby. i won’t.”

your stomach gave a pitiful lurch at the nickname. “save your energy.”

“is that your doctorly way of telling me to shut up?” he teased.

“yes, it is,” you nodded. “now, shut up while i help you.”

he looked at you like you were hanging the stars in the sky, not tending to him with hands red from his blood.

no one had stopped talking about luke since he got back. the first failed quest in years, with two of the three members dying and the third one permanently scarred by a dragon. not a good ratio.

you often saw luke sitting alone now, and when he was nowhere to be found, you knew where he was.

maybe there was something to the strings of fate theory, you thought as you found him and sat down beside him among the reeds. they were taller now and more dense, but the two of you had carved out a little spot for yourselves over time. your limbs were still pressed against each other though. that was one thing that would never change.

he was turning something over in his hands. a repetitive motion.

you tried to make sense of what it was, but couldn’t.

“it’s a dragon claw,” he spoke up. “the one that did this.” he pointed at the still-red scar on his face. that was why you couldn’t get rid of that one. magic scars never really went away.

you stayed quiet.

“peter distracted the dragon just in time for me to get my sword back. i got the cut, but when i turned back he was getting thrown against the mountainside.” he shook his head bitterly. “he didn’t stand a chance.”

you stared at a dragonfly on a reed in front of you. “knowing my brother, he just would have been happy to be there. and happy that you’re alive.”

he smiled, but it looked forced and bitter. “yeah. he spent the whole time talking about how lucky we were for this opportunity, and how he was so excited to explore beyond camp… and gianna was the same. they were just…” he was fiddling with his camp beads now.

you watched his movements slowly. it was like he’d never been gone, but also like everything had changed. there was a new tension in the air around him. you weren’t sure if it was you or him.

“don’t be resentful,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

“what?” his eyes turned to you. “what do you mean?”

“don’t resent yourself and the gods for this,” you said, leaning a little closer to him and looking away. the dragonfly hadn’t moved—like it was listening. watching. “peter and gianna made their choices. they’re in elysium now. that’s about as good as it gets.”

he pressed his lips together and nodded. “i know.”

maybe there was something to the two hearts theory too, because you could tell he didn’t. he didn’t agree. he didn’t want to. you slipped your hand into his. “you know i’m always here for you, right, luke? i mean, you annoy me—a lot—but you’re still, well, you. and you’re important to me. i’ll always be there for you. if you want to hold hate in your heart, then be my guest. i’ll just have to hold more love in mine to balance you out.”

he was watching your connected fingers as you spoke. his hands were calloused and hard, but yours were softer. less time spent training and more time spent healing. “love for who?”

you, you thought. you didn’t speak.

he turned to look at you. you were already looking at him. “love for me?”

you swallowed tightly. “luke…”

he leaned in closer, until his lips were moments away from touching yours. one wrong move and you’d touch. or was that the right move? was the wrong move pulling away? leaving him alone—again? that didn’t feel fair. but nor did your pounding heart and your flushing cheeks, and maybe you were blushing now, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

then you gave in. that string that connected your souls was pulling you too tight. your lips brushed against his softly at first, and before you could think to move any further, his hand was gripping the back of your neck and pulling you closer, and his lips were pressing against yours with the passion of years of built up tension. you’d never hated him at all, you realised. you loved him the whole time. sure, he was irritating. he was chatty. he was pushy and annoying and never stopped bothering you. but you’d missed his bothering, and you’d missed his smile, and when he pulled away to take a breath, you missed his lips with a fiery need that bubbled up from deep down inside you.

“guess i’ll be annoying you for the rest of our lives then, huh?” he said softly, chest rising and falling against yours.

your eyes were still closed, reeling from the kiss. “wasn’t that a given anyway? i wouldn’t want it any other way, personally.”

when he kissed you again, you decided that the theory about two hearts was, in fact, correct. you met as two, seperate halves in a fucked up world that had you grow up far too fast. you grew as two, finding your places at camp, finding your people, but always finding each other first. you met now as one. four arms, four legs, two hearts, meeting in a tumultuous display of love and desire. and that’s how you wanted to stay. your limbs locked with his, your hearts pounding in sync, your every feeling, every emotion, every sensation making your very soul hum with joy. you’d found him, finally, after years of your hearts waiting for this moment. finally, your two hearts were one again.

[sorrowfulrosebud]

I hope you know you've given me puppy hybrid Bakugou brain rot, so you get another ask as a repercussion u3u

Whats the scenario or head canon of why we had to start putting a muzzle on hybrid Bakugou when going out? Did he bite, start a fight, did something out of spite? (Yes, that was a purposeful rhyme)

Gimme the tea 🫖

Blue? Wolf? Angel? 01? However you wish to be referred to, I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BIG SMART BRAIN MWA MWA. Also this got long hehehe

Warnings: bratty kid, animalistic Bakugou, wounds, reader passes out

I imagine Katsuki would have to start wearing the muzzle as soon as he left the shelter. In my AU, he was in a fighting ring (original, I know), so he still snaps when he gets frightened or angry. He doesn’t mean to, not in the slightest. But when you have to fight to the death for scraps, or a ratty blanket to keep you warm in a cramped and filthy dog cage, it becomes a nasty habit.

You try to keep it off him as much as possible unless you’re going out. It was a very long process to get him to relax even slightly with you, which was honestly a feat in of itself.

You listen to his body language. He comes to you when he has a problem. If he tenses when you’re petting him, you retract your hand and wait for the signal for you to continue, if any. You leave his food alone, because it’s his. You allow him to nap, knowing the poor creature needs some proper sleep.

It’s easier in the privacy of your own home, in a comforting environment that Bakugou can explore a million times over and never find anything new. In public though, when the screaming child demands to touch his sensitive tail, or when the shih tzu hybrid is sniffing him, it can be so overwhelming for the pup.

“Are you all ready to go, sweet thing?” You smile at your new puppy boy.

Katsuki growled lowly, his collar and leash loose on his neck. The muzzle was wrapped around his lower face, protecting himself from a future lawsuit. He tugged at the metal bars irritatedly. You sigh in empathy.

“I know, sweetpea. I’m afraid that until the padded muzzle comes, it has to be the one provided by the shelter. On the bright side, you can come outside for a walk! It’s a lovely day outside and you can meet the neighbours!” You explain happily.

Katsuki chuffs and rolls his eyes, walking ahead and pulling you on the leash as you squeak in surprise.

“See, I told you it was nice! How’s your collar feeling, honey?” You ask him gently, not wanting to overwhelm him. Katsuki’s pupils were blown with all sorts of new smells and sounds.

He never knew what squirrels sounded like. They scurried in the trees a lot more delicately than the rats in the compound. The screams of children were from fun as their parents chased and played with them. The new pups in the compound were snatched from their mother and sold or… Katsuki shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that place any more.

It was all so bewildering for him, but he seemed to be enjoying it as he threw you a nod.

“Aw I’m so glad!” You laugh softly. You stop near the local convenience store, the thought of a cold ice cream tickling your fancy. You call out to Katsuki to stop as he obeys.

“Do you fancy an ice cream? It’s such a hot day today, and you’ve taken everything in so wonderfully,” you ask him.

Katsuki cocked his head, not knowing what “ice cream” was. He had sometimes heard his old handlers talk about it, but he’d never been able to try any. You felt a pang of guilt at the realisation that he’d never had the sweet treat.

“Let’s go and get you one. I’m sure you’ll like it,” you promise him softly, allowing him to walk in first. He jumped slightly at the little ding-dong of the door, growling at it as you explained what it was.

Despite his grumbling and the occasional bark, he was behaving himself remarkably.

The ice cream freezer was thankfully stocked full to the brim, with flavours of nearly every description.

“Ah, here they are! I hope they have some that’s hybrid friendly. Katsuki, why don’t you come take a look and see what you want to try,” you encourage him. Katsuki froze a little. You were… giving HIM the choice? Was this some sort of trap? Your soft smile made him feel slightly at ease.

Plus, you would never hit him in a store, right?

He takes a look at the flavours in the freezer, entranced by the huge red strawberries and slabs of chocolate. He was about to grab an ice lolly with a motif of a raspberry when a shriek pierces his ears.

His hands slap to his head, covering the fluffy things as he snaps his head at the source. He lets out an automatic growl as his teeth curl back. A small child, not much older than 6 is staring back at him with a delighted look. In his sticky hand held a melting ice lolly.

“Doggy!” He shrieks excitedly, jumping up and down. A woman, whom you presume is his mother, is taking a phone call further down the aisle.

Katsuki pressed further into you when the kid tries touching him with sticky fingers. You immediately stand in front of him, trying to calm the puppy boy down and deal with the kid.

“Hi there sweetie, I’m sorry but Katsuki doesn’t like being touched,” you try to explain carefully, getting on the child’s level. You’re taken aback when the little monster’s face goes red and he lets out an ear-piercing scream that has Katsuki starting to hyperventilate a bit.

“NO! WANT TO PET THE DOGGY! MAMAAAA!” The kid wails, the woman walking to her son. She looks you up and down as she holds her son by the shoulders.

“What seems to be the problem here?” She sneers. You make sure Katsuki has space to cool down as you try to explain.

“Your son here is trying to pet my hybrid, but that is not something that he is comfortable at all with, so I’m trying to explain-” you were cut off by the woman.

“So? The beast is muzzled and leashed, why can’t my angel pet him?” She gave you a dirty look, as if she could look past your puppyboy who looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

“Katsuki is really not comfortable with that. It’s his first time out of the house in a long time and-” you were once again cut off by the woman’s snooty laughter.

“Well if he’s such a ‘rabid beast’ then he shouldn’t be out of the house,” she snarls viciously. You didn’t even notice the kid sneaking behind you until Katsuki lets out a vicious growl, and the sound of 2 screams fill the air.

Katsuki waited for the paramedics to bandage you up as they took you to hospital. They found you bleeding in Katsuki’s arms, his claw marks identical to the ones in your chest.

Turns out the little bastard had snuck behind you and yanked on Katsuki’s leash. Being already wound up and anxious, the sharp leash tug threw him into a frenzy as he instinctively went to claw the threat. You pushed the kid off in time, taking the blow instead.

Katsuki could only stare at you as cotton filled his mouth. His mouth twitched as he started trembling. He had … hurt you…

Your shriek of pain could never leave his head, him not even registering that he had made you bleed until the metallic smell hit his nose. The kid started wailing after being shoved on the floor, the mother picking him up and running away.

You look at him, then at the blood and you try to smile. You swallow, the shock of the pain making it difficult to see.

“D-don’t worry K’s’ki! I do- I don’ blame you,” you start to slur out, the shock and blood loss making you woozy. You slump against your pup, breathing shallow and light. Katsuki whined anxiously, looking for help.

A witness in the same aisle came forward slowly, aware of Katsuki’s hyperventilating and anxious state. He clutched you close to him, sitting on the ground as he trembled and nosed your face. Blood was everywhere, staining everything.

The customer slowly made his way to Katsuki, clicking her tongue softly to get his attention. Katsuki looked wild as he snarled savagely, pulling you tighter. She held her hands up slowly, demonstrating she wasn’t a threat.

“I’m going to call for help. I need to make sure that your owner is okay. I’m going to be super duper careful to make sure I don’t hurt them any more. You can still hold them, I just need to make sure their pulse is still there. Is that okay?” She spoke slowly and calmly, getting emergency services on her phone.

Katsuki snarled, but the claws digging into you relaxed slightly. The customer let a small smile out as she checked your pulse and referred everything back to the emergency services. She was slow and methodical, careful not to move too quickly and scare the trembling pup.

“There we go, all done. I saw everything you know,” she said quietly, kneeling near the two of you. Katsuki whined quietly, chuffing your hair.

“You were scared, and that monster of a boy didn’t listen. There are cameras everywhere, so I’m certain nothing will happen,” she said firmly.

Her hand slowly lifted up, paying close attention to his body language. Her hand slowly found refuge in his hair, slowly petting his ears. Katsuki could feel his heartbeat slow down, just for a moment, before it spiked again at the sound of the siren of the ambulance.

The paramedics filtered through with animal control, surprised to see a muzzled hybrid already collared and leashed holding on to the patient. The lead paramedic slowly approached you, the uniform and sterile smell making Katsuki snarl loudly and pinning you back to him. His eyes were like pin pricks as he held you tight.

“Heyyy, there you go buddy. Is that your owner there?” The paramedic questioned him quietly, bringing the cart to carry you beside her. Katsuki snarled as they got closer.

“I know, I know. It must be scary being in this situation. The lady on the phone told me what happened. You didn’t mean it, did you?” the paramedic prayed her words were getting through to him.

It seemed her prayers were answered when his grip lets loose slightly.

“You were frightened, weren’t you? The kid yanked on your leash? That must have hurt,” she murmured to him, getting more on his level. She was making slow progress to you, getting anxious when she sees the amount of blood lost.

“But now your owner is hurting. Can we take them to get all fixed up? You can ride with us in the ambulance,” she promised, holding her hand out. Katsuki growled, but with a small whine, relinquished his grasp on you.

The paramedic smiled at him, slowly picking you up as she dashed you to the cart, strapping you in as she rushed you to the ambulance outside. Katsuki whined and followed you, desperate to keep your pained face in his vision.

He rode with you the entire way to the hospital, whining when he couldn’t see past the curtain of the emergency room.

The next few hours were hell. He sat next to the curtained room, jumping up when the nurse talks to him.

“You’re very lucky. The wounds were relatively deep, but it was the shock that made them pass out. We stitched up the wound, so now we’re going to monitor your owner in a different room. Would you like to come with?” He asked. Katsuki nodded frantically.

He couldn’t help the whimper when he saw your bed being wheeled out, the bandages reaching a good way across your chest. You were docked into your new room. All Katsuki could do was wait for you to wake up.

Katsuki was a mess. He couldn’t stop whimpering to himself, scared shitless. You were the only person to ever treat him with such kindness, to talk to him like a person and not a dog. You were kind, and gentle, and-

Probably gonna hand him back to the shelter. He knew what that meant though, considering this was his ‘saving grace’. He wouldn’t get any more chances. He tried to toughen himself up, beating his leg in rage as he prepares himself for your rage.

The rage, however, never came. Katsuki must have fallen asleep, since he was awoken by the gentle call of his name. His head snapped up, mixed emotions when he sees your confused orbs.

“What… happened?” You slurred out, sleep still overtaking your system. Your eyes snapped open at the recollection of events.

“Oh god! Are you alright?!” You gasp. Katsuki looked at you dumbfounded. His body trembled. Even when he had hurt you… made you pass out… you still wouldn’t say a bad word against him. Your eyes softened as tears breached his waterline, making his beautiful lashes clump together.

“No no no no, sweet thing! What’s wrong?!” You coo at him, sitting up. He looks pointedly at your chest. You let out an “oh”.

“Katsuki, this wasn’t your fault. That little boy wouldn’t leave you alone, completely ignoring that I said to leave you alone. He still did, despite you being clearly upset and went to yank on your leash! I couldn’t have them take you away from me, so I chose to take the blow instead,” you said firmly, placing a gentle hand on his clenched fist.

“I would do it a million times over for you,” you murmured to him, softly wiping his tears. He flinched slightly, before shakily nuzzling his hand into your palm.

“You’re my good boy, my sweet Katsuki,” you preen, rubbing your thumb across his cheek. His chest rumbles as he slowly ambles into your bed. He makes eye contact with you, something within him trying to force himself to stop. Your warm eyes don’t however, simply shifting along to make room.

He cuddles into you, careful of your wound as he licks your neck gently.

“M-miiiine,” he tried, the word new as it rolled on his tongue. Your head snapped to him, amazed at his first word. Your eyes watered as you pressed a kiss to his head.

“That’s right, puppy. You’re mine.”

@archer-fb had to expand the first word babe 🤭

[sirdindjarin]

The Concession - Din Djarin x f!Reader

gif from @rebeljyn 's gifset here

Din Djarin falls in love. Whoops.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

AO3 Link

TAGS: S2 Din Djarin, "Who Did This to You?", P in V, Unprotected Sex w/o consequences because who likes those, m!Masturbation, Fluff, Pining, touch-starved!Din, helmet-less!Din, soft!Din, protective!Din, Grogu bein a sweet shit.

WARNINGS: Star Wars cursing/slang which I know annoys some people lmao, abusive shopkeepers.

A/N: "Shit" is Star Wars canon (thank you, Andor); Din is a groaner (Chapter 5 of TBOBF); & Din is a bit of a poet (thanks pledge to Bo-Katan in Chapter 23); I have cited my sources LOL.

"No," the Mandalorian snaps. "No droids." 

A gloved hand flies to his holster and the rusty pit droids screech to a halt, beeping nervously.

Leaning against the frame of the Razor Crest, at the top of the boarding ramp, you roll your eyes at Din Djarin's back. His distaste for droids had been made clear to you the first time he'd stopped for parts.

Those droids had been considerably less polite about Din’s preference, and he had taken too much pleasure in enforcing it.

"Listen, buddy, they're my refueling dr-"

"Then I'll take my business elsewhere."

The attendant sighs loudly, glaring at the Mandalorian. The skinny, maroon male with a fin-shaped head rises from his chair behind his workshop desk. He walks toward a shaking pit droid and grabs the refueler.

"It'll cost you extra," the attendant's eye-stalks narrow at the bounty hunter.

Din comes to an agreement with the disgruntled worker, sullenly agreeing to a slightly higher rate.

As the Mandalorian keeps watch over his ship, your footsteps clang down the steep ramp, and you sidle up to him, saying, "We need some things. Ration packs are gone. And - don't tell him -" your voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, "But I think Grogu deserves a treat." 

"He would agree with you.” Din’s elbow brushes your shoulder, and he realizes he’d leaned closer as you spoke.

You continue, “And you need something to relax.” 

At that, Din’s helmet turns. “I do not.” 

“You’re even more impatient than usual. You’re on an anti-droid campaign; the last time we stopped, you threatened to yank out one’s navigator circuits just for bumping your foot.” You look up at him, raising a teasing eyebrow. 

The Mandalorian goes as still as one of those droids he had deactivated. His intimidating, T-shaped slit brands into your vision. Behind it, you know he’s boring holes into your face. 

“Alright. Nothing for you, then.”

Your shoulders drop when you turn away from him, almost relieved to be out from underneath his piercing, hidden gaze. 

The Mandalorian had paid you a few days before, and this was your first real opportunity to spend your own money. You can’t stop smiling, even as you place the kid in his white pod and stuff your pocket with your credits. Grogu is as excited as you are - giggling in his quiet way.

As you pass the statue of Din Djarin, he extends a closed fist. Obediently, you hold out your hand. The tan-hide fingers of his gloves open and credits fall, clinking. You look up questioningly at him.

“For the food. Your wages are not meant to be spent on communal necessities.”

 Your lips curve into a lopsided, sweet smile that Din immediately commits to memory, and you nod.

Turning to Grogu, his fuzzy ears perked and eyes wide, you ask, “Ready, kid?”

***

The marketplace is huge. Stretching the length of the entire square, it’s busy for a planet this remote, but the size increases the options. 

Grogu floats along beside you, and you keep one hand on the lip of the pod, just to be safe. The responsibility of the kid is the greatest charge you’ve ever been given, in more ways than one. Grogu often holds your hand or squeaks to get your attention to point at something glowing or stinky or flashing. His outright affection is a lamp to your lonely heart. 

After visiting several vendors, you’ve resupplied what was necessary (with credits left over), and now you move on to something for Grogu. You’d be buying that with your own wages. Din could say whatever he liked, but what else do you have to spend your money on except the cute baby?

You walk past a booth advertising repair supplies, but when you realize it’s for clothing repair, something clicks in your brain. Grogu’s ears flop forward with your sudden stop. Your eyes run over the objects, and you select some, a smile splitting your face. You hope he will be pleased.

Several minutes later, Grogu makes a bah! sound, pointing at a live amphibian display. You’re pretty sure it’s a pet vendor, but the look on the kid’s face tells you he won’t take no for an answer. And maybe you should parent him - tell him no - but that’s Din’s job, not yours. 

“Hi. How much for the frog eggs?” You politely ask the vendor, digging in your pocket for credits.

The bug-eyed lady tells you in a language you don’t speak, but she holds up three short tentacles on her hand. She pushes six eggs toward you, which you gratefully take and set in Grogu’s pod. 

When you try to hand her the credits, she’s pushed out of the way by someone behind her. A man with a smushed nose yells in the same language the lady had spoken, and points away, clearly telling her to leave. 

You watch warily, and once the woman has gone, the man turns to you. 

“My apologies. The price is one credit per egg,” he simpers at you. 

Disliking the hike in price, you move to return half of the eggs, but he protests, “Once the item has left my possession, they must be paid for.” 

“But I can give them back to you,” you assert. “I’m not paying that much for frog eggs.” 

His smushed nose twitches up like a feral Loth-wolf, “Yes, you are.”

"I'm not." You set three eggs back on the counter. 

The man seizes your wrists, holding you in place. The crowded market is loud, but your indignant cry and the vendor's screamed accusation of theft cause several people to stop and watch. 

You try to twist out of his hold, but his scaly skin tears at yours. The snarling vendor suddenly ceases making noise, and he releases your wrists to clutch at his throat. Shocked, your head snaps to the child.

Grogu has one little, three-fingered hand raised and curled. 

“No!” You gasp, slamming the button on Grogu’s pod to close it. Far, far too many eyes watch. 

The vendor, choking and sputtering, recovers quickly and lunges at you across the table. His hands grip your upper arms, but you wrench out of his hold. Hoping to draw all attention to yourself, you punch the vendor with all your might. The vendor stumbles.

“Never seen someone pretend to choke over three credits,” your lie is an incredibly lame one, but you hope it’s enough for passersby.

He clutches his jaw; his spat insult is garbled, and he begins to inch around the long table, trying to get a better shot at you.

You turn and walk away with as even a pace as you can manage. Running would make his accusation true. The crowd swallows the two of you up well, and you lengthen your stride.

 But the vendor is regaining his volume. Nervously, you check over your shoulder. You jolt when Grogu’s pod bumps into your hip, then zooms away.

“No,” you yell again, grasping for the white vessel, but it comes to a hovering stop in front of a tall, silver man.

“Thank the Maker,” you sigh with relief. “We have to go.”

Din immediately notices the red ring of heat around your wrists and along your knuckles. He strides toward you. The closer he gets, the safer you feel - his protective aura slowly engulfing you.  

Din grabs your forearm and examines your wrist. There’s a raw quality to your skin where the man’s abrasive hands had clamped down and twisted. After a moment, his face locks onto yours.

“Show me who did this."

Cold, calm, his words are a promise.

Confused by his reaction, and still so used to answering when asked a direct question, you wince over your shoulder. Din finally seems to hear the vendor shouting in the distance as he searches the crowd for a ‘thief’ and her ‘dangerous pet’. Din abruptly straightens and steps past you.

Running after him, you reach for his gloved hand, fingers sliding home. “Din, please; we need to go.” 

The familiar contact makes him stop and turn to look at you. He says nothing, so you use the opportunity to explain.

“The ki- I made a scene, and it would be best if everyone forgot about it. A Mandalorian publicly roughing up the very same shopkeeper would give them more reason to gossip.” 

Din Djarin frowns the longer you speak. He knows you’re right. The kid is far more important than his sudden anger. He nods curtly.

The man’s vicious insults about your likely occupation and parentage echo down the street and make Din’s lip curl. But for the sake of the child, he manages to turn back toward the Razor Crest. It’s only when he passes Grogu’s stationary pod that he realizes he’s still holding your hand, fingers loosely intertwined. 

He gently flexes his hand, letting go.

____________________________________

As the Razor Crest speeds away from the planet, you smile. Vacuous and bone-chillingly cold, space is the worst. For most of your life, the inhospitable conditions had been worsened by your constant transport in the dark hold of some Creator-forsaken vessel.

But the cabin of the Mandalorian’s ship is warm and full of life, occupied by the kid's excited babbling and your semi-nervous laughter.

The kid waves his stubby arms in the Mandalorian’s lap as the Razor Crest dips and rises through a relatively calm asteroid field. Expertly maneuvering the expanse, Din Djarin has little motivation to do so except the smiles on his passengers’ faces. If you ask, he’ll tell you it’s a shortcut to the next system, which is only mostly untrue.

It’s been three months since Din collected the bounty on your former master. During that time, the Mandalorian had found one of the kid’s kind. A Jedi who could’ve taken Grogu, she declined the task. She told the bounty hunter of a place, a Seeing Stone, where Grogu could reach out for a Jedi master himself. 

Though a week has passed since learning of the Stone, Din had yet to bring Grogu to it, instead taking a couple of jobs. The stoic Mandalorian won’t admit, especially to himself, that he’s reluctant to let the child go. 

Reaching a lull in the slow-moving asteroids, Din draws the thruster back to stationary level, then looks down, his helmet nearly touching his breastplate, at the child still waving his short arms. Din turns his silver face to you questioningly.

Before he can speak, you joke, "I don’t want to learn to fly out here, if that's what you're about to ask.”

He shrugs with acceptance. Your eyebrows pinch in surprise, wondering if he’s playing along or serious.

“Okay, kid. We're done here,” he tenderly lifts Grogu and passes him to you. 

Grogu makes a protesting sound and hides one of his hands inside his robe.

“Big, mean Mandalorian is no fun,” you mutter to the child teasingly. Grogu coos in agreement.

Din shakes his head and swivels back to the control panel, flipping switches and entering data. The kid catches your attention, triumphantly showcasing a small metal sphere from his robe. You press your lips together and wink, silently promising you won’t tell. 

The Mandalorian’s gloved fingers run over his ship’s control panel like he’s conducting the Coruscant Orchestra, and then, suddenly, his right hand freezes in mid-air as he reaches for the thruster. 

“Grogu,” Din growls, spinning in his chair.

You laugh openly, “He’s a toddler, Din. You can’t close your eyes for a second.”

The Mandalorian rises, his bulk taking up the entirety of the cabin. He gently wrestles the ball from Grogu's fingers.

Long, soft ears droop, and massive, black eyes turn glassy. 

“Oh, look what you've done,” you croon, looking up at Din with an expression mirroring the kid’s.

Though he doesn't move, you can somehow see when Din’s annoyance is overruled by something stronger. Then the Mandalorian’s wide shoulders slowly rise and fall, a long-suffering sigh leaving his body.

“You are both menaces,” the Mandalorian accuses. He extends his hand, palm upward, “Grogu. Take it.” 

You hold your breath, allowing the child to focus on using his power. Grogu closes his eyes. The metal ball wiggles in the concave of Din’s large palm, then zooms to Grogu’s tiny hand.

Din makes a fist in excitement, “Great job, kid.”

Beaming at the Mandalorian, even more enthralled with him than the magic child in your lap, you wish you could see his proud smile.

Noticing your expression, Din's chin swivels to the side, clearly questioning. 

"Nothing. It's just that - it’s good to see you like this.” You shrug, trying to minimize your staring. “I know you’ve been stressed.”

The silent moment draws out as he assesses your observation. Still standing, the Mandalorian’s right hand hesitantly rises to whisper across the left side of your jaw. The gloved softness of his thumb caresses your cheekbone for an instant and a lifetime.

Din drops his hand like it weighs as much as a rancor. He turns around and sits back in his pilot's chair. Silver armor reflects the red and yellow lights around the cabin as he finishes his navigational procedures. 

Cheeks aflame, you duck your face down into the kid. 

___________________________________

“‘Occasional repairs,’��' you quote at the Mandalorian. “Every karking week there’s a new hole in this poor ship.” 

On the other side of the wing, busy soldering panels together, the Mandalorian's head snaps up. Unmoving, his expressionless mask simply stares at you. You bite your lip to prevent a grin and continue replacing bolts.

The beskar helmet remains for a while longer, hiding Din’s thoughts. He imagines what you’d look like if he put you on your knees and made you pay for your jokes. If he wiped that pretty smirk off your face. He feels a stirring in his flight suit, so he wrenches his mind away. 

The act the two of you committed in that field has not been repeated. His dedication to his helmet - to his creed - is paramount. And you tempt him too much. 

For the second time in the past year, Din has accidentally grown attached to someone - first the kid and now you. But with you, it’s a danger of a different kind.

Din had hoped that he just needed to get it out of his system. Get you out of his system. He had won that mock fight in the field, but he had yielded to his desire for you. 

Instead of feeling sated, Din feels hungrier as the days go by. Useless information, such as the number of sonic showers you've taken, clogs his mind. He would be ashamed of his counting, but he's too battle-weary to care. He does not count how many times he's taken advantage of the privacy of his bunk, remembering your eager face, your receptive body underneath him. 

All that armor wasn't worth a damn thing.

It’s easier for you. As inexperienced as Din but with your self-esteem already in the sarlacc pit, it wasn’t a stretch to imagine he'd had his fill of you and… well, that was that. Though you dream of it nearly every night, waking up to the strange feeling of both gaining and losing something.

Of course, the Mandalorian still needed you to care for the kid or help him replace several wing panels when he inevitably damaged them, as you were currently doing. 

At dusk, white trees sway behind you in the biting wind. This planet is rather cold, and Grogu, asleep inside the Razor Crest, doesn’t join you for the lovely, young Gornt dinner that Din had hunted. The two of you butcher it in silence and place it on the makeshift spit.

You then plop onto a log and snuggle down into your clothes, shivering. Though the items Din had given you months earlier are sturdy and warm, some of the chill of the night manages to seep through. You cross your arms, rubbing them.

Din vanishes from the other side of the fire - the smoky, dark air impenetrable. Squinting, you try to spot his reflective armor, but it works against you in this instance, easily blending him into the flickering, dim light.

A heavy material suddenly falls onto your shoulders, and you jump.

"Oh!" 

The Mandalorian stands directly behind you, the thick cloak he was trying to give you still partially in his hand. 

"I was focused on trying to see you through the smoke. I didn't think you'd be there." You clutch the brown garment tight around you and softly smile up at him, "Thank you."

Din nods, the clinking sound of metal audible as he returns to his log across the firelight. Your mouth gapes for a moment when you realize that the material around your shoulders is his torn cape.

"Do you not get cold?"

"I do." 

"Why not wear one yourself then?" You lift part of the cloak in indication.

"Mandalorians are taught to withstand uncomfortable circumstances. As a foundling, I frequently exercised in far less temperate weather." 

"A foundling?" You query, your eyebrow raising.

The Mandalorian leans back and shifts his legs apart to better distribute his weight.

"My youth was upended by war. When my village was destroyed, I was found by a Mandalorian."

"The name is quite literal, then?" 

"My people are quite literal," Din crosses his arms and his commanding presence is distracting.

He looks so big sitting on the log, his legs open, back straight, and arms folded. 

"We have similar beginnings," you swallow, trying to ignore the burning inside that has nothing to do with the fire.

"I was a little more fortunate in who found me," Din states. He leans forward to finally adjust the rod holding your dinner.

You lose your gaze in the flaming light, remembering.  

“I still can’t believe how much things have changed,” you murmur. 

Din Djarin can’t either. He has a life-altering decision to make, and a child to let go of, and both thoughts weigh on him like a karking Mudhorn. Din sighs internally at his unintended choice of simile.

Your eyes stray upward to the navy sky, breathing deeply. The frigid air burns your lungs, but you only draw more in, relishing your freedom to do so.

"You did not deserve that life," Din’s rough, mechanical voice answers over the sound of the crackling fire. 

You frown, "No one does." 

Running with the Mandalorian was a great way to stay ahead of the slavers. Paid employment, constant movement, and no one besides Din knowing your name - it was too good to be true.

Dropping your head from the sky, you level the Mandalorian with the most heartfelt gaze you can manage, "Thank you. I would've never had the courage to run without you."

Unable to see his reaction, you feel the distance most acutely. It isn't just flame and metal that divides you.

"I-" Din starts, but you cut him off.

"But mostly it's thanks to Grogu," you grin, trying to lighten the mood.

The helmet bobs as though he's amused, then Din sighs dramatically. 

"I need to separate you two."

"I love him," you giggle, remembering a moment a few days earlier when he had picked up a very dignified, sentient species of frog and tried to eat it. "He is such an agent of chaos." You laugh into your cloak-covered hand. 

Grateful that you can't see the fervent emotion glimmering in his brown eyes, Din studies you. Your fond smile is lit by the glowing fire and the cold winds blow redness into your cheeks and nose. You’re secure in his cloak, and it makes his chest ache.

"Shit," he breathes. The hiss through his modulator doesn't pick up the word well, to his relief. 

It's not a surprise if you do truly love the kid. He is adorable and you've been with him every waking moment for three months, but the word you've just introduced is jarring to Din.

Talking about Grogu brings the dangers you all face to the forefront of your mind. Your smile falls.

"Will you continue to teach me to fight?" You don't immediately register the sudden rigidity of Din's posture, so you press on, "It’s upsetting to me that I'm better with a blaster than with the skills I was taught and trained in by my family." 

The Mandalorian is relieved. You've given him an excuse to say no.

"I cannot teach you the methods of your people." 

“That’s alright; anything would be appreciated.” 

Din shifts his thigh on the log, agitated, and you struggle to fill the silence, “You don’t have to, of course.”

Then, as the silence lengthens, and you watch his helmet glint as he looks away, you realize what he must be so uncomfortable about. 

“Oh. I am not asking we repeat that. I’m sorry,” you raise a hand to chest height as if you’re trying to physically defend yourself from the awkwardness. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“I know.” 

“I- Din, really I only meant the…” you grimace and clamp your lips together, unable to bear the tension. Standing, you insist, “I swear to you, I never expected more.”

Forgetting to return his cape, you unconsciously hold it closer as you retreat into the Razor Crest. 

The Mandalorian does not watch you walk away. His conflicted eyes remain trained on the crackling fire. Sparring with you brings every heart tug, every little attraction he has to you to the surface, and that's too frustrating to manage while IMPs track him and he deals with letting go of Grogu. 

But Din knows he really should continue to teach you. It’s in your best interest, as well as Grogu’s. His hangup is entirely selfish, and Din is not a selfish man. 

***

Hours later, when the sun has started to rise once more on this short-cycle planet, the Mandalorian finds his brown cape hung on the door to the refresher. He jerks it off its resting place, and goes to tuck it back around himself, when he notices that something is wrong.

Frozen, the Mandalorian stares at the brown, rough material in his hand. There are no holes in it anymore, only stitches. 

_________________________________________

Combined with the sound of intentionally-loud footsteps, Din places Grogu - who had jumped between the two of you all night - on the edge of your cot, allowing the child to wake you up. Din strides to his weapons cache.

You yawn, then snicker at Grogu’s delighted face as he babbles what must be his version of Good Morning. 

“Morning, kid.” You pet his ear and he begins to purr.

“You should stop babying him,” the Mandalorian doesn’t look at you as he searches among the weapons.

“Why? He’s a baby.” 

Din shuts the doors to his stash. “He is fifty years old."

“He's what?” 

Din shrugs and inclines his head in humor. You stare incredulously at the middle-aged child who rotates his little head between you and his father. 

“His species is unknown, but they age differently than we do.” 

“Uh, yeah. Fifty?” 

Din’s modulator makes a rasping sound. It could’ve been a small laugh, but you’re not sure. 

“Is fifty so terrible?”

Something in Din’s voice makes you look up at him. He casually leans against the hull. 

Unsure if you should have the gumption to even ask, you stutter, “A-are you also fifty?” 

The beskar mask does not move as the man behind it debates his reply. He decides on honesty.

“No,” Din states. He clasps one hand over the other in front of him, adding, “But I will reach that number in less than a decade.” 

You make a small, accepting gesture as you had subconsciously placed him around his early forties anyway. In any case, it doesn’t matter to you. He is the Mandalorian who (somewhat inadvertently at first, you’ll admit) saved you. Even without that gratitude, you would feel an attraction to him. He was strong and kind and protective. Ruthless, sure, but only when necessary.

Din pushes off the wall, “You didn’t ask why I woke you.” 

“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to you, so used to being woken up - far more rudely or violently - each morning for the prior two decades. “Alright, why did you wake me?”

He reaches behind his back, unhooking an item, and holds out the fighting stick he had used in that skirmish between the two of you. 

“I will teach you what I can.” 

***

Din Djarin is careful not to touch you, even through his gloves. He doesn’t trust himself anymore. Instead, he instructs you in tactics. After clocking your strategy in less than three moves, Din is worried about your future opponents doing the same. 

“You dislike giving ground, but there will be times you’ll have to. It’s how you will outmaneuver them,” the Mandalorian stands, hands folded, his knee cocked, as he speaks. 

“How do you know that?” You ask in response to his first statement. 

Din clenches his jaw at the memory so very close to other memories, and answers you in a contained voice, “You were not subtle.” 

You smile, abashed. “See, that is why I asked you. I’m far too inexperienced.”

Din closes his eyes in frustration.

You continue nervously, thinking about how hesitant he had been to agree to this, “My master took me to many fights, and you’re the best I’ve ever seen. I value your opinion.”

Din is used to compliments. Those whom he returned quarries to often praised him for his work. But your praise is one he actually wants, and something throbs in his chest. Then he grows irritated with his rampant, immature yearning for you. 

Din speaks harshly, “This is for the protection of the child. You are his guardian when I am not nearby.”

Locked onto that T-shaped, black slit, your eyes flicker a little at his callous, impatient pronouncement, but you nod. 

“Of course. For the kid.”

__________________________________

Unhappy to be removed from where he had curled up on his father’s pilot seat, Grogu had insisted upon sleeping in the cockpit with his little metal ball. You had assured the Mandalorian that you didn’t mind staying in the passenger chair for the night. The cushions were comfortable enough, and it made the child happy. 

An hour after Grogu had begun purring in his sleep, you’re brought to consciousness by a deeper, labored sound. Bolting to your feet, worried about the Mandalorian below, you descend the ladder. 

The door to the Mandalorian’s bunk had not fully closed, apparently jamming on some loose junk part that Grogu must’ve picked up. There is no light on in the enclosed space, so you cannot see him. But you can hear the way he mutters your name once, rough and agitated. You can hear the sound of material jerking and his rasping, vocoded grunts. 

Your throat tightens and your breathing stops. Eyes wide, you slowly back up, terrified for him to find you in this way. A molten weight in your stomach wants you to push open the door and take care of him, but after the manner in which he spoke to you the entire afternoon, and the obvious way he tries to forget about that day in the field, you can’t. You can’t even fathom why he would be uttering your name. It’s too confusing.

Dazed, you return to the cockpit and try to block him out. Sleep does not come to save you for far too long, and when it does, it provides you no escape from the Mandalorian.

__________________________________

Din’s tortured use of your name had kept you awake far into the night. When you groggily open your eyes the next morning, you know you won’t be able to let this go. You must talk to him. Bravery is a muscle you’re trying to flex anyway, so you might as well try it on the scariest thing you can think of: an angry Din Djarin. 

While Grogu plays with a ship part you pretend to have never seen, one Din had pried out of the receiving slot of his bunk door this morning, you and he traipse down the boarding ramp, intending to save the rest of the Gornt meat for traveling. 

Absolutely guessing at how you’ll begin this conversation, you decide you’ll just hope for the best. 

“I- I heard you last night.” It’s barely more than a whisper.

The Mandalorian stops dead in his tracks and you stumble, trying not to run into him. He turns on you, a solid wall of muscle and metal, but says nothing. You swallow and force what shred of courage you have to the front. 

“I heard you say my name. You don’t have to do that alone. I can help you,” your final words are almost inaudible.

The Mandalorian provides food, shelter, and companionship. Ignorant to any kind of normal relationship, friendly or greater, you want to show your gratitude. And if that was how you could help him, all the better.

Your inner self, the one that’s been unthawing since the day your master was frozen in carbonite, wants Din in a far more genuine manner. You want him. His compassion and honor, his fatherly love for Grogu, his non-pitying care for you, and his primal confidence have you in danger of becoming a hopeless devotee.

“Help me,” he reiterates, his tone worryingly neutral.

“Passage for assistance,” you try to ease the tension slightly with another old quote of his. “I can still assist you. It’s repayment for your aid.”

Even as you say it, you feel the depth of the lie. You want Din for yourself.

He’s silent. At his side, the fingers on his right hand fidget. The broad bounty hunter leans over you. As he tilts his head, the cold sun glints off his armor. 

Din’s voice is as sharp as his vibroblade but twice as lethal, “You are no longer a slave - do not make me say that again. This is not a business transaction.” 

Not a business transaction? While technically a rejection, his clarification makes you dizzy. Your breath comes out shakily, fogging in the chill air. 

“Okay. What if that’s not my real reason for asking?”

That does it. Stunned, the Mandalorian might as well be a statue made of beskar. Din had found it easy to believe you allowed him to touch you because you felt in his debt, and he hated it. Made him feel as slimy as a Hutt.

“Tell me.” 

Din watches your facial expressions run the gamut and he knows that whatever you’re about to say is the truth. 

“I care about you.” Will you ever stop whispering? “For you, not just what you’ve done for me,” your second greatest act of bravery this morning is touching his cold chestplate. You swallow as you look up into that blank face. 

Din doesn't move. Doesn't think he can move, but then his body responds before his mind does. Soft leather brushes your cheekbones as he takes your face in his large hands. He tilts his cold helmet to your forehead, and you instinctively close your eyes, sighing in relief. This was not what you were expecting when you followed him out here.

You can't hear the first thing he says, but it sounds like dank farrik. You laugh quietly in his hands.

"You are a menace,” he mutters a little louder, the modulator somehow enhancing the timbre of his voice. “You and the kid.”

Grinning, you open your eyes as he lifts his helmet from your skin. “Don’t bring him into this,” you joke. 

Din’s thumb ghosts across your lips and you shiver. The Mandalorian is calm. This is inevitable now. He need not fight himself any longer. He grasps your wrist and brings it upward. Gently guiding your fingers underneath the edge of his helmet, Din presses them to his lips.

Utterly shocked at this new gift, you gasp. A scratchy cloth wraps around the bottom of his chin, but above it, his soft, scruffy facial hair and plump lips make your skin tingle. Nerves jumble in your lower stomach. He presses another kiss before slowly lowering your hand.

You tell him disbelievingly, "I thought there was no way -” 

“What you thought was wrong.” 

Your heat signature rises at the sincerity in his voice. Din tilts his head, watching your reaction to him. He lets his covered fingers drift over your lips again, then he drags them down the column of your throat and past your exposed collarbone, enjoying your whimper. Your pupils are dilated.

“You want me now, don’t you?” He asks, his voice hoarse. 

You nod, whispering past your suddenly dry mouth, “Yes.” 

The Mandalorian crouches for a split second, hefting you into his arms with no effort. Your legs automatically wrap around his middle, arms around his neck. His hands clasp underneath your thighs as he strides up the loading ramp as though every second he delayed was one wasted. 

Din lays you out on his bunk and hits the button for the door without looking at it. He does not turn on the light. In the tiny, black room, you can hear him divesting himself of his flight suit and armor. It makes your heart throw itself against your chest. You sit up and struggle out of your own clothes, wanting nothing between you and him.

“Will I ever get to kiss you?” You ask timidly.

Din answers you immediately. His rough palms bracket your face, then he reverently pushes his lips into yours. His facial hair brushes against your skin and you weakly moan into his mouth, parting your lips for more. The Mandalorian groans, as well, enraptured by this new sensation. 

Din wraps a muscled arm around your waist, crushing you to him in the small space. His warm, broad chest forces yours to mold around him. Your hands gently drag along his torso, mapping him. He shudders underneath your fingers.

His lips break like waves around yours. You could be floating above the bed and it would feel no different. He kisses you like it’s what he needs to survive; his occasional noises of desperation stake your heart and dampen your thighs.

“Need to touch you everywhere,” Din’s real, untampered voice knots your stomach. 

“You can do whatever you want,” you breathlessly repeat the unspoken affirmation you’d given him the first time. 

He chuckles, and you shiver again, drunk with lust. Din lowers you back onto the hard bed, settling over you.

His hot mouth surprises the sensitive skin of your breast. Din moans, involuntarily you think, as he tastes you there, gently pulling and sucking. You jerk, pressing up into him with a cry. Who knew that could feel so good?

His big hands flow down your sides, pressing into you, exploring, and you get a burst of understanding. This man is starved.

Your hands comb into his hair, and while you wonder what its color is, you’re choked up to find that it’s soft and wavy. Din groans loudly when your fingers rub on his scalp. He seems invigorated by it as he growls and returns to your lips with a fever. His tongue demands you allow him inside, but there is no resistance on your end. 

Suddenly, Din breaks the kiss with a wet pop of his lips. He vanishes from above you, but then two large hands slide up your thighs. He pushes them apart and your breath hitches. 

“You trust me?” The Mandalorian knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.

Nodding dumbly in the dark, you realize he can’t see you and squeak, “Yes.”

He shifts down and presses a row of kisses up your inner thigh. His nose brushes your coarse hair, and your breathing breaks a second time. 

Din flattens his tongue and licks the spot he already knows you like. You jolt and his arms wrest around your thighs, holding you in place for him. You whimper as he buries his face in your folds, shocking your system. Your hands return to his hair, and his chest swells as he quickly shoves you toward your end. His nose continually nudges your bundle of nerves and each time it feels like you’re hurtling through hyperspace.

Your back arches when he traps your clit between his lips, and he responds with another obscene noise. This time, the vibration of his deep voice rips your orgasm from your marrow. Crying out his name, you quake, chest heaving through the waves of euphoria. 

Too overwhelmed by all his options, Din moves back to your mouth, breathing heavily himself, “Incredible.” 

He licks into you again, his hand cradling your face to allow him deeper. Taking advantage of his position, you wrap your legs around his trim waist, pulling him down. His hips cant toward you, and you feel his length fall onto your abdomen. You hadn’t forgotten how big he was, but the heft of it makes your body tremble. 

The Mandalorian could be a patient man, but this would never be one of those moments. Din fists himself, rubbing once along your soaked seam. He pushes forward, steadily feeding his cock into your tight, forgiving heat. Din grunts several times, overstimulated. 

“You don’t know what you’ve done, mesh’la,” he gruffly murmurs, his naked voice still so shocking to hear.

You have no idea what he means, and you file it away for later study. Solely focused on how he feels halfway inside you, you clutch at the back of his thick thighs, encouraging him. But then he snaps his hips, driving himself to the hilt.

“Din, oh,” you sharply gasp. 

He grinds his pubic bone into your mound, stimulating you; his chin tilts up, proud, when you shudder. The Mandalorian grabs one of your hands and brings it to where he’s joined with you.

“You feel that?” Din’s voice is weighty, meaningful.

“Mhm,” you sigh, your fingers leaving his hand to explore his dark curls. He’s right. The deviant way his thick member disappears inside you is intoxicating.

He languidly draws himself out, letting you experience every ridge and vein, pulsing with your filthy sounds. He re-enters you just as intentionally, and when he’s given you everything, he leans down and drags you into a kiss. A kiss that means something to him. His tongue surges through your mouth in a single stroke before his full lips pull on yours, one hand gripping the back of your neck.

He lets you go, trailing his mouth down your throat, obsessed with the taste and the feel of you on his skin.

Din returns to your lips, his forearms framing your head. His fingers twist in your hair, and he begins to pump faster. His length strokes along a spot that makes your eyes flutter in the pitch blackness. Your nails carefully rake at his toned back, drawing a strangled moan from him as he shoves himself inside again and again. Losing a measure of self-control, he thrusts hard, placing a palm on the back wall for stability. 

Your hands finally, finally, reach up for his face, expecting at any moment that he’ll stop you. His lips are parted as he pants in exertion, his facial hair fluttering with his breath. Din’s cheekbones are round and high; his nose is angular and fitting. 

“I knew you were handsome,” you praise, the words fluctuating in cadence with his pounding strokes. “Wouldn’t have mattered.”

He scoffs, barely conscious of what you’re saying. His forehead drops to yours again, and he can’t believe the life he’d known had unraveled so drastically. In under a year, Din had gained a child and this. 

“Turn over,” he orders.

Of course, you obey without hesitation.

His calloused fingers slide around your hips, pulling them upward. With your chest still pressed into the bunk, you moan when he slowly re-inserts himself. He nearly chokes when your body draws him in; the angle and drenched grip of you makes him shake his head in disbelief. 

“You okay?” He rumbles. 

Your chin scrapes on the metal bed as you nod, “Please move.” 

He clasps an arm around your middle, hunching forward. His scruff and lips tickle the top of your spine as he begins to rut into you. It’s already too much - Din grunting, his chest hair scratching your upper back, his muscled arms holding you in place as he fills you over and over. You begin to clench around him again, crying out harshly in a rush of pleasure. Your legs shake, giving out underneath you.

The Mandalorian’s large hand splays across your breast, and he pulls you backward onto your knees alone, welding you to his perspiring chest. As his length plunges up into you, his lips brush your ear. He’s whispering something, but you can't understand the words.

Then, Din exhales with a groan and rolls several long, pulsing strokes, burying his come as deep as he can with a final, gravel-filled grunt.

***

In the dark, there’s only the sound of two people fighting for breath. Din has leaned against the cool wall; he tugs you to him. You sit somewhat beside him, your legs tangled together. Your head rests on his heaving shoulder, and every now and then, you feel the press of his lips in your hair. He laughs once, quietly.

“What is it?” 

“Your life is not the only one that has changed.” 

Blinking rapidly, your heart glows with warmth. Yours had changed the most. This Mandalorian had come into your non-existence and given you everything. Courage, freedom, responsibility, love. 

“I know you like to fight, but this is one I’ll win,” you laugh softly. 

___________________________________

Tagging:

@morks-watermelon

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War (8)

Summary: The aftermath of all her family secrets might be more chaotic than Reader bargained for when her powers suddenly start to flare. Good thing her Warlord has more than a few ideas how to help navigate it ;)

Content Warnings: Depressive thoughts, Reader mentions wanting to die; Suggestiveness, Slight SMUT; Canon Typical Violence

Author's Note: To make up for the last chapter being so short, please enjoy that flirty little bastard being a menace! ;)

Chapter 7/Masterlist

---------------

I don’t sleep at all that night. I lay there, Rhysand sleeping soundly beside me, exhausted from the events of the last couple of days. He’d barely kept his eyes open long enough to eat. I’d barely managed to choke down a few bites myself. The guilt has my stomach in a perpetual knot. I’ve dedicated so much of my life to hating this male, only to be wrong about all of it, and now I’m in too deep to even do anything about it.  I can’t go home. There is no home to go back to. My family slaughtered an innocent mother and daughter. Rhys received their heads in boxes like some sort of twisted gift. They were supposed to be allies and my father betrayed them in the worst possible way. He paid for it with his life, with my mother’s life; it should have been the end of it. Tamlin was given a mercy and he should have taken it. He should have abandoned my father’s teachings and become a better lord, a better man. Instead, he perpetuated the cycle of abuse and suffering. He encouraged me to hate these people, to covet everything they had as if they were undeserving of it. All these years I loathed our miserable existence thinking the Mother hated us and was being unjust in giving these people all these things that we were never allowed. But we deserved it! We were the bad guys all along.

I roll over onto my side to look at him. He still sleeps in his armor, knife still strapped to his thigh, sword resting against the tent pole only a foot away. He’s ready to be up and fighting in a moment's notice. Our father’s were so similar, and yet, he turned out to be merciful and kind and somehow, so startlingly gentle that I often forget he’s still capable of intense prowess. He is the only male I’ve ever truly felt comfortable with, because that gentleness came as a response to the violence he’d seen, not because that violence was never there. He’d felt the cold sting of it, and chose to be something gentle instead of returning it.

And here I am, with all that righteous anger that had kept me warm on my coldest days, choosing to return all the violence that had been inflicted on me onto others. Just as Tamlin did. Just as my father did. 

And looking at it I don’t want to be him. He ruined my mother! He took something good and kind and locked it away and used her for his own ends! I don’t even know if he ever really loved her. Why would you keep the things you love in a cage?

I sit up abruptly. Maybe he was as scared of being alone as I am. 

I can’t sit in this tent anymore! I can’t-

Rhysand jolts awake as soon as I move, hand twitching for his knife, shadows swirling off his body in response to what his sleep muddled mind thinks is a threat. “What’s wrong?”

I put a hand on his chest, spinning onto my knees so I can kiss his forehead. “Nothing, I just need to relieve myself.”

He lets me push him down onto the mat, body relaxing and pliant beneath my touch. “You sure?”

“Positive.” If he tried to follow me out now I think I really might explode. My stomach feels like it's ripping itself apart. My bones ache, my skin feels like it's stretched too tight over them. There is too much nervous energy bound inside my body. I just need to get out and stretch my legs; get some fresh air and clear my head. I will be fine if I can clear my head.

“Take your knife,” he says, eyes already drifting shut again. 

I strap it to my thigh as I slip from the tent, gulping down lungfuls of crisp, mountain air as I go. I just need to clear my head. Is finding a way to survive this fucked up world really me acting like my father? I’ve never killed innocent people. I’ve never withheld necessities or lorded my power over people. I’m just not being honest about my intentions. It’s shitty. I’m using a mating bond I’m still not wholly sure is real as a means to getting food and shelter and, hopefully, a decent helping of mind blowing sex.

Cauldron that sounds really, really fucked up.

But how am I supposed to tell him? Hey, I know that you really don’t like my family and they’ve done nothing but screw you over but I also accepted your offer to try and ruin your life and take all of your land and kinda only just changed my mind about it yesterday. And it would be really super cool if you just let that slide because I have nowhere else to go.

That would go over soooooo well. He’d be totally fine with it! 

I ground my palms into my eyes as I walk behind a couple trees to at least make it look like I really did need to go pee. There are men on guard duty, no doubt someone is going to see me wandering around camp.

My brain feels like it’s being squeezed by my skull. There has to be a way to go about this that doesn’t get me tossed out into the coming snow, while also not lying so deeply about it. I do care about him. It was a lie at first but now…

I put my back against the tree and slide down until I’m sitting on the rocky ground, head still in my hands. I don’t know if he’s my mate. There’s something there, I feel it pulling at me, even now, but I can’t give it a name. And I want to be here. Not just because of the story he’d told yesterday. When Lucien tried to get me to leave, I really didn’t want to go back with him. But how am I supposed to live with the truth? How am I supposed to look at him and see that he wants this so much more than I do, despite everything?

Actually, why does he want this, despite everything? He’d asked me why I stayed. I never asked him why he brought me here. There’s certainly enough bad blood between our families to make even a mate hesitate to bring me in.

I lean back against the tree, the rough scrape of the bark against my aching skin a relief. My body feels so strange, being around Rhysand’s magic has made it feel like there’s something beneath my skin.

Tomorrow, in the morning, I will ask him why he still brought me back. Then I will decide what to do. 

------

He certainly doesn’t make asking him easy. Rhys wakes me up with his lips on my throat, along the fading marks he’d left a couple days before,  trailing them down as his hands hike up my sweater. The heat of him against the early morning chill has my resolve slipping, all my plans slipping through my fingers as he runs his tongue over my peaked nipples.

I can’t think past the roaring in my ears; the ache in my body for more, more, more. There is nothing and no one but him as he trails lower, each kiss more forceful than the last as he heads for the waistband of my pants.

“Rhys,” I moan, voice still thick with sleep, even as my body arches under him. I want him everywhere. I need him everywhere. The stirring feeling beneath my skin is worse today, only quelled by the trail of his hands on my body. For once, my racing thoughts are quiet. If only we could stay like this. 

“Hmmm,” he hums into my stomach, just beneath my navel. There’s a bit of stubble along his jaw, the scrape of it against my oversensitive skin makes my eyes roll back into my head. “Did you want something, mate?”

“You,” I groan, hand reaching out to tangle in his hair to try and move him where I need him. 

He grins, I can feel the upturn of his lips against my stomach, but he refuses to budge. Just nips at the skin visible above my waistline. “You have me.”

Bastard! My whole body trembles beneath him. I can’t get a breath down fast enough. I need him everywhere all at once. “Need you inside me,” I bite out.

He simply hums again, hands tugging at my waistband with an inhumane slowness that makes me feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin. I use the hand not in his hair to grip the mat, trying to ground myself, trying to find some semblance of control again. I’m gripping so tight my bones ache, fingers feeling like they’re breaking. There’s a tearing sound, a pricking sensation in my palm and then a gush of something wet across my hand. 

Even he looks up at that, and when I turn to look, I’m more than a little surprised to find that I’ve grown claws, and I’ve just tore them right through my hand!

“Shit!” He’s gone from between my legs in an instant, all the heat in my body leaving with him. 

I can’t unfurl my hand. Can’t retract the claws, they’re stuck through my palm with my fist closed around it. I’ve only ever grown them in anger, how the hell had I done it now?

Rhysand comes back with a towel as I manage to sit up. “I thought you smelled different this morning,” he muses.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I hiss.

“Our magic can be protective. It can hide itself if it doesn’t feel safe. I don’t think you were born with too little, I think you were born with too much.” His fingers massage my wrist, trying to find the right pressure points to help me unclench my fist. “I think that it buried itself inside you to keep you safe. And I think, now that you’re here, it’s manifesting, and like the wards, it has its own scent.”

Fan-fucking-tastic!

“Well I’d like it to un-manifest,” I hiss. “I was doing just fine without it!” There’s blood dripping through the towel, if anything it feels like my claws are burrowing deeper into my palm. I can practically feel them trying to tear right through the back of my hand.

He can’t seem to find the right spot and trying to pry my fingers out of my palm is a no go. He frowns, lifting the towel for a better look. “I’m gonna try something.”

I’m prepared for a blow from his own magic, some form of glittering starlight or shadowy darkness, I am not prepared for him to kiss me again. The sound I make in surprise is somewhere between a growl and a gasp because what the hell is he doing? But even though my head is struggling to catch up, my body is not. On instinct, I lean back to allow him better access, his tongue slipping behind my teeth. The rolling feeling beneath my skin lessens, the tightness in my palm slowly releasing. I thread my functioning hand through his hair as my body gives what I can only describe as a sigh of relief. A moment later, the claws retract and I can finally unfurl my fist.

“Flair ups can be heavily tied to your emotions,” he says, lips barely off mine. “Probably wasn’t the best idea to tease you in the middle of one.” 

It takes him all of thirty seconds to find some rags and tie up my hand, even though the blood flow is already lessening. All I can do is stare at it while he does it. This is certainly a new and unwelcome development to this whole mess.

“Is that going to keep happening?”

Azriel pops his head into our tent, unannounced as usual. “Are you two done in here or what? I, personally, cannot live with Cassian if he beats us around the mountain.”

“We’ll be right there,” Rhysand huffs.

“I’m seeing a trend with him,” I mutter. 

He smirks, “It’s one of Azriel’s many charms.” 

He helps me to my feet, holding onto me like he thinks something else might just burst out of my skin. Truth be told, I can still feel something shifting around, a prowling animal begging to be released from its cage. I’d thought it was my unease this whole time, but maybe it’s worse than that. 

“We don’t know how deep your power well is,” Rhysand says. “And if it’s never fully manifested…” He blows out a breath. “When mine first started manifesting, I shredded a whole section of camp with starlight. There was a whole twenty-four hour period where my shadows blocked out the sun. And you’re my equal so, yes I think that will keep happening.”

Cauldron boil me!

“As long as you remain calm, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I should think you would know better than to tell a female to be calm, Rhysand.”

He grins, “Well you can also spend the day making out with me, since that seems to be such a lovely little distraction with you.”

I go to hiss an insult at him but the only thing that comes out is an actual, animal-like growl. I clamp a hand over my mouth in embarrassment while he bursts out laughing. 

“This is going to be fun!” He declares.

I am not at all inclined to agree.

----

I only manage to ride with him for an hour or two before the pull of his magic makes my skin start to itch. He was right about magic having a scent. Half way through the hour I suddenly become very aware of the jasmine scent of him. It’s everywhere. In every breath. Every brush of his chest against my back, every movement of his hands along the reins. My body is hyper aware of every place we do and don’t touch.

“Getting all worked up again, aren’t we?” He purrs in my ear.

My jaw feels like it’s snapping as a set of fangs tear through my gums, spurting blood into my mouth. Somehow his magic is the catalyst for my transformation and the balm all in one. I can’t be near him and I can’t be away from him, as I soon learn. When I jump off the horse and declare I’m going to walk beside him, my claws return, in both hands this time. At least they shoot out my nail beds and not my knuckles like Tamlin’s.

The thought of him makes another growl rumble through my chest and something that feels suspiciously like fur sprouts from the back of my neck.

“Wouldn’t recommend,” Rhysand warns.

The itchiness of my skin is even worse on the ground. I feel the wards tugging at me like I’ve been tied to the glittering magic that builds them with a string.  The jasmine and overripe fruit scent of them is enough to make my nose crinkle. Apparently the transformation heightens my senses as well.

“I’m gonna tear off my skin,” I snarl, fidgeting with my collar. Why is it so itchy? Is it supposed to be like this?

He slows his mount to keep pace with me and I do not miss the grumbled complaints of the males behind us. My ears twitch every time one of them speaks, the sound sometimes like a shout and others like a far off echo.

“Breathe,” he says gently. “The more worked up you get, the worse it will be until we can find a way to safely expel it.”

I draw a shaky breath, then another. 

“Good girl.”

A shiver works its way up my spine at that.

“Now come here,” he leans so far out of the saddle he’s only holding on with his thighs, and my first thought is how we can get this little caravan to pause so I can be the one beneath him. He gets an arm around my waist and hauls me back up onto the horse and damn if that’s not the hottest thing I’ve ever seen a male do!

“Let’s get these wards up-” I’m hyper-aware how every word rumbles through his chest, the way his body shifts on the horse. “-And we’ll find a place to camp soon enough, then you and I can work on this.”

“Make it stop,” I gently beg. “I don’t want it!” The itch beneath my skin is becoming unbearable! My claws scratch up my arms, tearing up my sweater. 

His free hand covers mine, intertwining our fingers, even as the horse begins to move. “Focus on me.”

I focus my attention on the way his body molds against mine. The way the leather of his glove slides over the back of my hand. I let my eyes drift shut, focusing on the brush of his chest against mine, the swaying motion of his hips as the horse moves over the rocky terrain. It’s not enough. Not like the feel of his lips on mine had been this morning. As if he knows it, he drops his head against my shoulder, nose brushing over the exposed skin of my throat. 

“I’m right here,” he continues. “Focus on me, just like you did this morning.”

This morning there had been a lot less clothes between us. 

“Breathe for me.”

It is a physical effort to draw a deep enough breath in; another to pull my claws away from my itching skin. He settles our joined hands against my stomach. 

“Again.”

I manage to do what I am told, just barely. 

“Good. Just like that.” His voice makes a shiver run down my spine as my mind spins with all the other things I want him to talk me through. I think I could do just about anything if he explained it to me in that rich, husky voice he was using in my ear. “Part of learning to control it is finding your center. Find a safe mental space to retreat to.”

“Like what?” There are few places in the world I have ever felt safe. Thinking about how I used to sit in the rocking chair with my mother and listen to her stories only fills me with pain now. Or perhaps a couple weeks ago I might have thought about all those summers I spent at the creek with Lucien, but now it only makes the thing beneath my skin rumble and shake like there’s some sort of animal that lives caged beneath my ribs and is trying desperately to break free. What makes me feel safe?

“A good memory, a happy time,” he lists. 

I have nothing. My eyes start to water and my throat starts to close, talons growing longer and sharper at my fingertips. I feel the give of my leather chest-piece beneath them. Everything good in my life has been a lie! Everyone that was supposed to protect me only ever hurt me in the end. None of it was ever real.

And this, this thing that could be something, that could be real, I had ruined it. I have to lie to keep it. I have to pretend that I had every right to hurt him, when it was really the other way around. The only person who had ever told me the truth, who could see me for what I was, and I had ruined any chance of it being real before it had even had the chance to start.

A sob slips out of me and with it, the tree we pass erupts in a flurry of leaves and twisting, screaming bark that makes the horse rear. The earth rumbles, random cracks splitting in the rock face, gnarled vines crawling out of them like tentacled monsters. The itching in my skin won’t stop! The more I try to trap it the more the world around us screams in protest. 

“Breathe, Y/N,” Rhysand orders in my ear. “You have to breathe.”

“I can’t!” I choke out. 

He slides his hand out of mine and brings it up against the side of my temple. It feels like a shadow unfurling from his fingertips, but the brush of it is not against my face, but inside my skull. Darkness clouds my vision from the inside out. It feels as if my brain is being emptied, piece by piece with shadows until there is nothing inside my mind but him. 

“Breathe,” he commands, the voice of a Warlord. “Now.”

I choke on each breath. 

“You are safe, Y/N,” he says, gentler. There is nothing in the world but the two of us in this dark little bubble. Nothing but the press of night chilled jasmine and calming, all consuming night. From somewhere far off, I hear music on the wind, the swell of stringed instruments pulling my attention away from the itch running beneath my skin.

“Why is this happening?” My body feels so impossibly small, yet like it’s being stretched beyond its capacity, my bones trying to tear through the confines of my skin all the same.

“Our powers can very easily get tangled with our emotions,” he explains, the hand on my temple drawing shapes into my skin. Somehow, after looking at the stitches in the tent walls, I know he’s spelling something out in Illyrian, but I’ll never know what. “The last twenty-four hours have been a lot for you, I’m sure.”

There is no room to think about it in this headspace, no twisted memories to plague me, only the music and the faint twinkle of stars for company. I let myself fall into it, let it swallow me and fill me until I feel disconnected from the pulling of my skin.

“I don’t want this power,” I whisper into the darkness.

The darkness caresses me, wraps itself around me as surely as his arm around my waist. “I know, but we don’t get a say in what we’re given, only what we do with it.”

When have I ever truly had a say in anything?

“What if I hurt somebody?” What if I am just as bad as my father in both intentions and power? If I am capable of plotting to ruin someone’s life based on a lie, how much more capable am I of turning these claws on someone else? Maybe power is passed from my mother, but that will never change the fact that I now carry the same weapons that were used to scar me, and Rhys, and probably his mother and sister. 

“You won’t,” he assures. “I’ll be right here to teach you. You can control it.”

He has far more faith in me than he should.

----

Once we’ve stopped for the night and camp is set up, Rhysand takes me by the hand and leads me out into the empty, grassy plains beneath the mountain. The knee-high yellow blades are brittle this time of year, cracking under our boots as we walk until only the smoke from the campfires pinpoints where we left the others. We’re far enough away that I won’t hurt anyone if I lose control again.

Shame flushes my cheeks. I’ve always prided myself on being the calm one of the family; always able to keep my emotions shoved deep down beneath the surface to keep them from getting the better of me. I thought I was good at it. I was wrong. It’s only been the constant brush of Rhysand’s shadows against my mind all afternoon that have kept me from tearing everything I touch to shreds. Even now, my hands ache from often my new claws have sprung and retracted from my fingertips.

I must feel about as awful as Rhysand looks. The circles under his eyes have not lessened in the slightest, and every once in a while I’ll see him start to sway, like it’s an effort to stay on his feet. The scent of his magic has lessened, the night blooming jasmine fading behind the citrus and salty scent of him. He shouldn’t be out here with me, he should be resting, recharging his own magic so he can be prepared for more warding tomorrow. According to Azriel and the scouts’ reports, we should meet up with Cassian and Mor’s group by this time tomorrow and Rhysand will need all his energy to ensure both ends of the wards are fully meshed together. 

We stop once we’re cushioned between two large hills, nothing but the chirp of crickets and the stars to keep us company. The Mountain looms dark and shadowy beneath the small sliver of the moon. 

“This looks like a good place,” he says as he finally releases my hand.

I keep my lower lip between my teeth, hands shaking at my sides. I don’t want to do this! Entertaining the idea that I have powers to train and use is foolish. I don’t need to learn to use them; I need to learn to shove them back down into the darkest parts of me where they can’t hurt anybody. 

“Let’s start with something simple,” he suggests. “Tell me where you feel your power the most.”

My hand comes up to poke between my rib cage, where the stirring and itchy feeling is the most concentrated. “Feels like something is trying to break out of my skin,” I say softly.

“The claws and the fangs could be a beast form,” he muses. “Or it could just be some shape-shifting powers you inherited from your father?”

The mention of that bastard makes the stirring in my chest feel like a tidal wave, raw energy crackling so hard and fast through my veins that I feel it crest out my fingertips. The grass around me withers and dies, the ground beneath it crackling and rumbling with what feels like the early stages of an earthquake. I can’t have powers like my fathers!

There is no shortage of pity in those violet eyes and I press my palms into my eyes with a groan. I can’t do this! It needs to stop! I need to bury it now before it runs away with me; while I still have some control over it. Because if it goes any further than this…

Maybe Tamlin was right to send me away. Maybe he did know about my powers and that was why he got rid of me. I couldn’t hurt anybody if I was alone in the woods.

Rhysands shadows drift along the floor until they can slither up my calves, rubbing affectionately against me in a way that reminds me of a cat. “It’s ok,” he soothes.

Tears stream down my cheeks. “Make it stop!” I beg. “Show me how to bury it again.”

His shadows trail higher, winding over my hips and waist, even as he steps closer, leaving barely a breath between us. “Y/N…” he shakes his head, trying to find the right words and I feel a strange pang beneath the movement in my chest.

“Please,” I whimper. “I’ll do anything! Just make it stop.”

He cups my cheek and I give myself the briefest moment to fall into the warmth of his touch.  “I know it’s scary, and that it hurts, but this is good. It has to be released. You will die if you don’t.”

Then let me. The words freeze on my tongue when a tendril of his power flicks over his shoulder, down his wrist, to brush against my cheek, but that doesn’t stop the spiraling of my thoughts. Let me be free of this pain. Let me go out before I become a monster like my father. Let that awful bastard be right; let me be useless and worthless and incapable of doing anything he could be proud of. 

As if spurred on by my thoughts, the grass around me continues to wither, until there’s a whole circle of dead earth surrounding me. The harder I try to draw it in, the wider the circle becomes. Power sizzle through my nerve endings, a fire that digs itself into my veins and when I curl my hands into fists to try and stop it, I pull weeds through the cracks in the earth, the gnarled, leafy branches reaching up like skeletal hands that wrap around my, and Rhysand’s ankles.

“Focus on that spot,” his free hand taps gently against my ribs. “Focus until it feels like you’re holding it.”

I try to imagine the power like a bowl filled with sloshing, dark liquid. I imagine myself reaching for the lip of the bowl, the cracked edges and rough wood a mirror to the one that used to sit on our kitchen table, full of apples I’d sneak when no one was looking. If I make it familiar, it feels easier to focus on. I imagine every crack in the bowl, every worn edge, focusing until I get a mental hold around the edges. Now all I need to do is tip the bowl over. If I spill out its contents, there will be nothing left inside me to unleash… right?

“Once you can hold it, focus on containing it. Imagine it like a bottle, get all that energy into the bottle, and put a lid on the top,” Rhys says like he can hear my plans.

The liquid inside the bowl bubbles and hisses as my conflicted feelings run circles through my head. He hasn’t been wrong this far, I should do as he says, but I can’t help but feel like indulging this is a mistake. I can hear my father’s voice inside my head, telling me that this is not how females are supposed to behave. 

I can feel the weeds I’d summoned dying around me. Can feel every blade of grass as if it was somehow attached to my skin. The longer I hold that imaginary bowl, the more aware of this power I become, but it doesn’t feel like control. It just feels like more things pulling at me, trying to move me in directions I’ve never decided I want to go in. 

The ground rumbles beneath my boots again as my mental grip slips, and when I open my eyes the weeds, dead as they are now, have slithered all the way up my chest, reaching for my throat like some decrypt hand. 

The air leaves my lungs in a rush and with it, the dead vegetation crumbles and turns to dust on the wind.

Rhysand should be looking at me like I’m a monster. He should be stepping away, shadows swirling, that giant sword in hand. We are supposed to be enemies and he should be looking at me like I am one. But he’s not. He reaches out and brushes some of the ruined plant off my shoulder instead.

“It’s ok,” he assures. “No one gets it on their first try. Not even me.”

That compassion and understanding makes my chest ache worse than any restless power ever has. I don’t deserve it. I wish he would treat me like the horrible creature I am. He would be better off if he tossed me out into the woods like Tam.

He stiffens and I can’t help but wonder if I accidentally said that out loud because his eyes darken as he closes the gap between us and takes my face in his hands. “Maybe I’m taking the wrong approach.” His voice is clipped, husky. 

Good, maybe he can finally see me for what I really am.

I am wholly unprepared for him to crash his lips against mine. My brain short circuits, the agitation I feel morphing into that desperate, needy thing I had felt this morning. Just as I tilt my head back, lips parting to let him in, he pulls back. 

“Let’s play a game.”

The power in my chest feels like it’s going to rip out of my skin again. 

“Match what I do and you’ll get a reward,” he explains. “If you can’t…” He takes a step back and it is an effort not to chase after him, but the message is clear enough: Matching his efforts means his hands, his lips, his body is on me again, fail to do so, and he puts space between us. It shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t make me want to try, but I do. Gods I do! 

“Ok,” my voice shakes a little. In the back of my mind I still think it’s a bad idea. Maybe I will regret it in the end, but this thing between us is the only thing that makes sense. There is nothing between us when his lips are on mine. I need that distraction tonight.

He holds out a hand and a ball of shadows emerge, the tendrils of darkness crawling out from beneath his skin to form the swirling shape. “Find that spot in your chest and push it into your hand. It’s a part of you, it answers to you. Make it answer to you.”

I hold out my hand, matching his position and then close my eyes, reaching for that bowl of darkness again. Hesitantly, I tip it sideways, sloshing some of the dark liquid over the edge and imagine pulling it through my limbs. It makes my muscles spasm, my claws shooting out of my nail beds in defense.

“Breathe through it, you’ll pass out if you hold your breath.” 

Selfishly, I want to impress him. Want to show him I can. I want the reward of his lips on mine again. Want to not have to think about whether I should be doing this or that, the only thought in my head him and how good he feels. I do as he says, drawing in a breath as I keep pushing that bit of darkness in the direction I want it. It makes my head hurt, trying to focus so intently, but I’m nothing if not persistent. 

I feel the rumble of movement beneath my palm, and just when I’m starting to think that maybe I’m more capable than I thought, the tiniest, most wilted looking dandelion grows from my palm. And then immediately turns to ash. It’s the saddest excuse for power I’ve ever seen and I growl out a complaint like a literal beast as even the thing in my chest shows its disappointment.

Rhysand snorts out a laugh too, which makes it worse.

So much for powerful. 

He clears his throat as he steps back into my space. “It was a good attempt.”

“Don’t patronize me,” I hiss. “That was embarrassing.” 

He wraps his hand around my wrist and places his lips against my palm anyway, never mind that my claws are still out and drifting over his temple as he kisses right where my powers flared. “You still tried.”

I shiver at the contact of his plush lips against my skin, his breath warm against my palm. My senses are still incredibly heightened and even that bit of contact makes my skin buzz with excitement. 

He quirks a dark brow as he looks at me from where my hand is still pressed against his lips. “Try again for me?”

I nod, not trusting my voice when he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me. His pupils are blown wide, barely a ring of violet left to see. He keeps his lower lip between his perfect teeth as he watches me with an intensity that makes my thighs clench. 

Just like before, I imagine myself holding that bowl, this time, I draw a breath and tip it over, letting more of that strange darkness spill into the abyss that is my soul. It is strange to see it like this, to have some parts of it so clear and yet the rest of it is shrouded in fathomless depths. There might be anything living within the confines of my skin. I’d never bothered to look until now. 

I push it towards my fingertips, just as before. The same spasm in my muscles returns, a knot forming in my bicep that I do my best to ignore as I keep pushing my power towards my hand. I remind myself to breathe when it flares in my wrist, making my claws retract and pop back out. 

“Just like that,” Rhysand coaxes.

Cauldron his voice makes my insides feel like jelly. 

Crawling vines emerge one by one from beneath my palms, twining around my fingertips like tiny snakes. In the center sprouts another dandelion, a little taller than the last. I manage to hold it for all of five seconds before the knot in my bicep and wrist become too much and the vines and flower die together. My bones ache. How does he do this so easily?

“Better,” Rhysand praises as he places the next kiss on the inside of my wrist, his fingers massaging the knot forming there. 

“Is it supposed to hurt?” I grumble.

“It’s a process,” he murmurs into my skin, lips trailing higher, causing a shiver to run down my spine. “Think of it like building a muscle. The first couple days of using that muscle will hurt. You’ll be sore. But the more you build it, the stronger it becomes, and the less it hurts. Eventually, you’ll be able to perform bigger and bigger feats with less and less discomfort.” 

That sounds exhausting! 

I’m going to have to do this for the rest of my life? The thought sours my mood, once again turning my thoughts away from this lovely little distraction he’s been offering and back into the darkness that’s been threatening to overtake me all afternoon. 

I swear he can hear the thoughts spinning through my head as he suddenly nips at the tender flesh of the inside of my wrist. “You think you can give me one more?”

I have a headache just thinking about doing it again, but he keeps looking at me through those long lashes, the intensity in his gaze making all rational thought fly out the window. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises, lips trailing higher. He’s so warm and intoxicating, I think he might be capable of making me do anything, as long as his lips remain on my skin.

I focus on that spot, paying extra attention to breathe as I reach for that imaginary bowl a third time. Maybe if I let myself relax, lean a little heavier into the warmth of his touch, and stop trying so hard to hold on so tight, it won't hurt so bad. It has been like fighting a tide all this time; if I relax, go with the wave, will that make it easier?

I imagine that darkness spilling from the bowl like water instead, letting it flow like a river. The path from my chest to my fingertips is kind of like a stream, right? The water bubbling and rushing through me. There must be something to that thought process, because, when I open my eyes, there are more vines twining around my fingers and wrist, but this time, tiny yellow and pink flowers bloom from them. There is nothing dead or angry crawling out from beneath my skin, but something beautiful and alive. My claws retract as the vines spin around my fingers.

I can’t help but grin as I look to Rhys for his approval. “I did it!”

He grins right back, the sight so dazzling I think I might just stand here for hours summoning flower after flower to see it again. “That’s my girl!”

Instinctively, spurred by the excitement rushing through my veins, I stretch up on my toes and place a quick kiss on his lips. “You’re a good teacher,” and I mean it. Whatever this is between us, I am grateful for him, even if this is all we have. “Thank you.”

He slides a hand in my hair and kisses me back. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

I don’t know what it is I feel about it. It still feels wrong, or maybe it just feels different. Everything feels different these days, I’d rather not think too long about it. “Feels like I can breathe a little easier.” 

“Good.” He kisses me again. “We’ll practice some more tomorrow.”

I slide my hand into the silky strands of his hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp as he rests his forehead on mine. I won’t let myself think about tomorrow, or about these new powers. There can only be this moment.

“Just promise me,” he continues, “that you’ll keep trying?”

“I might need some convincing,” I return, clinging to this distraction with every last bit of willpower I possess.

He grins at the challenge. This is the best I can give him today; the closest to the truth I can admit without laying everything bare. 

“I can be very persuasive,” he purrs and the next thing I know I am on my back in what’s left of the grass, the solid weight of him on top of me. “Maybe we should work on some self-defense while we’re at it. That was alarmingly easy.”

“The words every girl wants to hear when she’s beneath a man,” I retort.

“I just want you to be safe, is all,” he says as he kisses the tip of my nose. 

I reach up a hand and brush some of the hair that’s falling over his forehead into his eyes out of the way. He is breathtakingly beautiful under the moonlight. I wish I could paint or sketch, immortalize every glorious sharp edge of him in ink and paper. “I’m with you, how can I not be safe?”

Cauldron boil me, I mean that too.

It’s not until later that night, long after I’d fallen apart on his tongue in that field and then tumbled back into camp, nearly asleep on my feet to nestle down against his warm body that I remembered I’d meant to ask him this morning why he’d still let me in after everything between us. By now I’m too exhausted to care; maybe I’ll find the courage to ask in the morning.

-------------

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[fumifooms]

Kabuholm

For me the main appeal of Kabru x Holm is that Holm is 1) dependable and 2) casual.

For 1, we see it throughout the manga and whatnot, with his healer role but also with his composure, so relaxed it’s in turn soothing to hang around him. He’s a bit like a turtle, gentle and takes it at a relaxed pace, slows down your frenzied pace, retreats into his shell if too much is happening hehe… The Mick & Kuro bath comic is a favorite of mine on that front! In that one he complains and shouts, but he still lets Mick crash, he still helps, he still makes them tea and makes sure they have a trashbin and makeshift beds and whatnot lmao, and it’s late too… Reliable dependable Holm.

But also he freezes up when too much is happening <3 Gotta protect him a bit teehee, Kabru coming to his rescue and it’s his chance to show off. Except he doesn’t need to show off, it’s not strategical or needed, neither for his plan or to win Holm over as an ally, but he still will <3 Because he wants to and that on its own, wanting to, feels novel to Kabru… Dungeons is the place where he feels like he can show off the most to Holm because he seems so unaffected in general by his charms, and protecting him is one of the things Kabru knows he can do, and the showing off is because…

… of 2! He has that huge casual vibe to him. Holm still has expectations of Kabru as a leader yes, but he won’t voice them unless prompted and on his face you’ll find the same unbothered calm smile as always. Being around him feels like having no pressure. It feels like being trusted entirely even if your actions seem shady at first, because it’s not a vibe or a persona he trusts in you but it’s you, however you are like in the moment.

Kabru spends time with Holm, around this other repressed guy that has his shit put together (even if Kabru does know about Holm’s flaws, and he feels a special kind of way about that… Collecting that info like pokemon cards and finding that he wished he knew even more <3 so so intrigued and "It’s probably just curiosity. If anything I’m just infatuated" when he realizes it feels a twinge different than with everyone else), and he finds that he feels like he can unwind and show himself a bit. Show some flaws too. Holm being so unconditionally casual AND quietly supportive, even if he doesn’t say anything, would be soo important to Kabru in a kabuholm timeline… A telepathic sort of thing would form where Kabru learns how to read his face, and even if it’s always the same droopy eyed smile he starts understanding how he feels, what he’s thinking, what it means when he nods at him in silence and aughh…

Holm DOESN’T push his emotions onto Kabru!!! Holm keeps that shit to himself!!! Kabru doesn’t have to manage Holm’s emotional needs & states for him, when that’s what he usually has to do for everyone!!! Charm them and keep them happy and if this or that happens then you need to anticipate their needs with this and blahblahblah. Holm is low maintenance, he doesn’t take much emotional energy to deal with, he has his own deal figured out!

Kabru in canon knew about the way Holm freezes up in surprising intense situations, a rare time he’s had to cover for him in any way and he was so quick about it, and again, battlefield with humans both physical and mind games is his specialty so if it’s just protecting him from enemies he’s the man for the job <3 Holm’s the healer to his warrior after all, with an impressive dose of defense and offense thrown into the mix too. I will say also, that scene where Holm hesitates when Marcille says not to hurt Faligon… Kabru stepping in and giving Holm the decisiveness he needed to not falter.

With all that said about Holm’s feelings being something he doesn’t make Kabru’s problem to deal with, in Kabru getting infatuated it should be something that eventually gets him like "I wish he’d rely on me a bit more…" Kabru should massage the stress out of him <3 Always keeping himself composed and being dependable and stuff wears down on Holm (and Kabru)… I do think Holm represses to some degree so 1) the pent up stress he hasn’t been letting out 2) "bro, let’s learn to show our real emotions more together… Bro…"

I’m not sureee how the Holm side plays out in my mind yet but either he falls much later than Kabru or he’s just really good at hiding and being casual about his crush which tbf would be thematic lol. But idk if he’d be that good as that… Thinking. Because with the comic about his sister or even the one about Dia’s fiance or Mick crashing at his place, Holm does like, show a lot of emotion and distaste, some anger, he doesn’t repress that much/everything. He has a sense of duty that makes him want to help where he can, he does have desires like say, Kabru not getting it on with his sister, but also he’s not gonna force himself to be a solemn saint always either… Kabru would also find that fun methinks, figuring out the exact duality in Holm, where he cracks and why. Oh nooo I fell in love with my enrichment and coworker. Them just hanging ouuuut at a tavernnn after everyone else leeeeft… Haven’t done a full Holm analysis yet but I’ve started giving him more thoughts bc of kabuholm and diaholm. Because his religion is important to him and it bars him from meat for example, it’s reasonable to think he sticks to an upstanding moral code with awareness and purpose. Despite having been to jail he’s never shown scorn or shittalked elves or alluded to it, either he doesn’t resent easily or he keeps that part of his past on the down-low for whichever reason. His maturity is actually something that’s often pointed to about him, he’s only the equivalent of like 30, but being close in age (as in they’re both older bc they’re long lived races) is cited as the reason for why he gets along with Dia the most in the party for example. He can be lively, but when he is it’s usually because something’s happening that he doesn’t like lol, also usually off the job, wether it be because of being in a different mind state, doing different things in different situations, or because Kui make so him more expressive in Daydream Hour extras haha.

So kabuholm to me is the casual quiet feel-good get-to-know-each-other slow burn ever. They prob never confess if we’re being honest but even just hanging out around each other fills up their battery somehow, like being at a sauna and feeling refreshed.

So yes sort of, the want to show off someone hard to wow and impress someone who’s very well put together and unfazed, in duality with how that person makes you feel like you shouldn’t or don’t have to try so hard, that you can just catch a break and take it easy for a moment, socially.

Holm’s observant and composed. I like that he’s able to keep up with Kabru and engage with his points. I do always like when a partner has the capacity to be critical or skeptical, reign in a bit or balance, but Holm is easily swayed with his trust in Kabru, and easily reasoned with to a satisfied degree. He’s low maintenance but still engaging.

Kabru is not only the main character of the group but also his main character point is being good at reading and remembering people: It’s no surprise that the majority of what we learn about Holm is done through him one way or another, but I still like that he’s got Holm’s quirks down pat, like the freezing up thing. Allow me to find that cute idk. And then the reverse of that too below… Underrated how all of his party knows about how he sucks at taking care of himself and his space.

I tried compiling all of their moments but I’m sure I missed some, especially Daydream Hours ones. So yeah my kabuholm manifesto. I’m casual about them but they creeped up on me randomly and have refused to leave my heart. Bromance idk idk

[luffyvace]

omg i literally love ur blog can i just have luffy zoro and ace x male amab reader hcs like just do whatever u want

Thank you lots dear!! I’m so happy to hear you appreciate my work!! 💞

Just as you requested~…

Luffy!! 🏴‍☠️⚓️

Luffy is the main one who doesn’t care abt gender. No. He’s the KING. (The pirate king 😉) so its pretty much just gonna sound like I’m writing regular hcs for him but keep in mind it’s amab <3

i might end up mentioning it once or twice tho idk

but let me say this, if you change your gender he’s gonna get it right? “Oh so you’re a girl now?” (Example) But this dude cannot comprehend the more “complex” umbrellas of sexuality and romantic attractions. “You’re non-binary..? What’s that? /… / ohhh so your basically neither? Oh okay! what does that do?”

HELP 😂😅

At the end of the day just say you’re like Bon-Chan and he’ll figure out it’s something like that! I mean Bon Clay himself said he borders along genders and Luffy had absolutelyyyy……...no reaction! 😲👏👏👏

so overall it’s kinda the same with you 😅

not in a mean way ofc!! If you didn’t come out before you met the strawhats and you finally do, all you have to do is explain it takes a lot of courage and effort to come out sometimes, and he’ll be more than happy to party and celebrate with you! ☺️💖

It’s practically canon that Luffy drags you everywhere. Like it’s just inevitable accept your fate 🙏

Luffy shows affection of all sorts! The main being hugs, quality time and occasional gifts <3

You’re the main one who has to answer Luffy’s weird and random (-sometimes dumb) questions! 😆👏👏👏

“If frogs can breathe in the water AND air can they breathe in the ground too??? what about in mud?! 😆”

“If I taped a banana peel back together do you think a monkey would get confused when there’s no banana in it? Shishishishishi!! I’m gonna go try it out!” 🏃

“If you slide down a rainbow will your butt be rainbow or would you just erase the rainbow?”

Luffy takes you on adventures no matter how dangerous it is 🤪

Luffy really is trying to be thoughtful when he does things for you. He just ends up messing around and, well- messing things up! Like how he tried to bake you a cake in the middle of the night since Sanjiwould never let him in the day! 😊 (The kitchen almost burned down. Franky had to repair it 😬)

Luffy was banned from a number of things after that but he did make you a mud pie! He used to make them all the time when he was younger and he figured you’d like one! Here ya go! 😃👍

Luffy and you barely have and slow and relaxing moments but when you do it’s very comforting. Usually in the middle of the night during a rare occasion that Luffy ate enough so he doesn’t get up for snacks or adventure

but you get up, and you see how calm and peaceful he looks while sleeping. You lovingly observe his face for a bit before going back to sleep <3

Luffy always has to have you around when he eats. if your far away and he sees you, he pulls you close with his stretchy limbs. even if you are close he’ll basically have you in a literal choke hold as he balloons from overeating 😅😭

he burps, laughs, kisses you on the temple and keeps eating. In that order. 💕

Luffy will obv still eat if your not around but as soon as your in sight he’s pulling you over

It’s the best feeling ever to be surrounded by both food and YOU!! Double whammy! 🤪🙏

Zoro!! ⚔️🗡️

Zoro isn’t really all that much softer or tougher based off gender other than him going easy on women

so your relationship is pretty laid back unless your very loud with your affections

he’s very casual and shows his love subconsciously in little ways. He’s not insecure so he doesn’t feel the need to go out of his way and show it, he just thinks it’s an automatic thing you both know is there.

Which, it should be right? Otherwise why would you have accepted his confession?

And since this is amab he’d be pretty down if you changed from your original gender

doesn’t make or break anything for him 👌

The number one thing he cares about in a relationship is loyalty tbh. Like it’s so obvious that it’s important to him by the way he’s so loyal to Luffy.

on that note he’s just as loyal to you as he is to Luffy so rest assured 👍

his no. 1 love language is quality time bc it’s really causal and not lovey dovey n stuff yk? You could even do it in public and no one would question! It’s not embarrassing at all and is a normal thing to do, so it’s perfect in this relationship!

Actually finds cuddles rather enjoyable but like idk how to explain it? Not in a cuddle way?? (Then how brook 🗿) IDK!! 😭🗣️

no but fr tho (😭) he wouldn’t mind if you just so happened to get tangled up with him while sleeping yk? It’s just kinda warm (not that he would ever have problems with being cold from all that muscle and previous training while frigid 🗿) and I have a feeling he would like skin to skin contact- only when your relaxing tho

the only gifts you really ever bring him is new swords and beer 🍻 cuz what else is going through his head? 🤷‍♀️

wont force you to train with him but kinda will 😲

like you just have to! How else are you gonna get stronger? 🤨

at the least he don’t gotta worry abt Sanji swooning over you cuz the crew obv know you were born a man! y’all are super close! That way sanji won’t be attracted to you (not in a bad way like the okama/island of women situation- 😀 your relationship with Sanji is more like chopper/luffy/usopp depending on your personality)

Another thing Zoro does is seek you out. Which is ironic cuz he’s always getting lost.

you either gotta keep him close, go with him or wait til you meet up later 💃

if you’ve been together a while he’s grateful when you clean his swords for him. He always makes sure to keep up with they’re hygiene (better than his own) but when you happen to beat him to it he feels a sense of pride?

I guess maybe cuz it’s like “hmph! 😼 my s/o is cleaning my swords for me”

Ace!! 🔥❤️‍🔥

Ace is the most aware ? (Idk how to word it) If you change your gender. He knows all the terms n such, mostly cuz I feel like out of ALL THOSE DARN PIRATES- you mean to tell me not ONE of them is QUEER?! 🤨😐 I DONT THINK SOOOOO 🗣️🗣️

he’s very supportive and anyone who doesn’t want to be turned into pot roast better be too! ☺️

I hc him as Bi but if your something other than a man or woman you just broke the scale cuz your mans no longer cares 🤷‍♀️

he doesn’t date for gender anyway, he dates for genuine love ❤️

especially since he was deprived of it til his brothers & WBP (before then was too unstable)

also! I said “date” but tbh I don’t think he dated anyone before you soooo :T

tbh idk if Marco knows how to do top/bottom surgery but if he doesn’t Ace will def help you find someone who does‼️

you could probably even ask around on the ship to see who others got they’re surgeries from!! <3

btw if your not trans that’s just fine too 😊

like I said it’s not about gender its about YOU.

cuz hot dang. 😜

GET IT? HOT DANG?! (LOLL it was funnyyyy cmon guys laugh 😭)

fine back to your hcs 🙁

Ace isn’t necessarily clingy he just likes to be around you. He loves the natural love he feels when he’s around you. He could spend all day doing absolutely nothing with you and he would be 100% fulfilled.

wym you wasted today lazying around?! Today was a great day!! 😁

Ace’s main love languages are acts of service and quality time. He’ll do any thing reasonable (and probably unreasonable too) that you ask of him!

whenever one of the WBP are looking for one of you they either ask the opposite of who they’re looking for, bc you always know where the other is- OR try and find both of you cuz your always together 😂💞

Ace loves making you laugh, he thinks it’s such a wonderful melody. Not even in a cheesy way, it just makes him happy the same way hearing your fav character’s laugh makes you happy!

He tickles you randomly and you have all our tickle wars. So unless you’re looking for it to go on for the next 2 days (or longer) til one of you end it by calling uncle, prepare to be laughing a wholeeee lot! 🤗

Ace always seems to be smiling around you. Technically he’s always smiling, but you hardly catch him with even a straight face when your in his perimeter

He yaps abt you to EVERYONE. They’re not sick of him tho cuz your awesome and he’s great at storytelling + he never says the same thing twice but BRO-

anytime he makes a new friend, they’re practically YOUR new friend too by the time you meet them bc they already love you from hearing all sorts of stories abt you!! 🤗💝

he does this with both you and Luffy :)

Ace has a tendency to forget things so he writes down any important dates you tell him about on his calendar and starts planning ahead of time for them.

happy or sad! He has your birthday and anniversary memorized, but if something traumatic happened around a certain time and he knows you’ll feel sad on that day (a parental death, for example) then he plans something to keep you distracted, happy or even something to help you feel better! Helping start to heal from it ❤️‍🩹 yk? Something that may bring you peace and put you at ease 💖

Ace feels whatever you feel, but tweaked a bit. If you’re feeling sad he’s angry at whatever makes you sad. If you’re happy he’s ecstatic! If your angry he’s livid, if your disgusted- well, in this case he might find it funny 😂🤦‍♀️

I don’t think he’d be disgusted of very many things so he doesn’t exactly feel you on that one- But!! You get the point! 💓

Ace loves going on adventures with you and causing chaos. Bothering Marco, Izo, Jozu, thatch, Vista and even Whitebeard- LOL 😃

bro is the fearless one 🗿

it’s nothing that would get them seriously angry ofc but he would love if you joined him on his antics

just don’t pin it against him. You WILL start a war. I hope your not stubborn bc unless you admit you were wrong and do what he wants for a whole day to make up for it- it’ll never end 🤦‍♀️🤷‍♀️

he gets you when you least expect it. Still harmless, ofc, you’re his fav!! 😊 (⬇️)

BUT THIS MEANS WAAAR!! 👹

Your so real for requesting these 3 together

AND I GOT LUFFY ZORO AND ACE I CALL THEM THE TRIPLE THREAT‼️🗣️

If ykyk..

[toffeecoco1]

A concept:

SQH is forced to reveal the system and/or his status as a transmigrator, due to a truth serum or whatever other convenient plot device. I HIGHLY doubt MBJ would just pass this knowledge on to LBH, especially if LBH didn’t ask—and how on earth would he think to ask??

So instead, I think at least part of it happens with LBH around. He watches SQH have a meltdown over being revealed, spewing nonsense about writing a book and then waking up inside it. He doesn’t even need to catch the entire mess, only fragments of it—enough to understand that it’s possible to jump from one world to the next, to end up in a world you already know.

And he starts wondering. Thinking about someone else he knows who has always known too much and brushed it off by claiming he read it in some book or another that Binghe can’t confirm exists. And though SQH appears to have found himself in this world as a child, who’s to say that’s the only possibility? His shizun’s personality changed suddenly and drastically, and he has no memories of his shizun having such startlingly extensive knowledge before that event.

What happens then depends on when this takes place: if it’s post-canon, he probably corners SQH to ask, and is smug about threatening him, then cradles the knowledge he receives close to his chest. Whether he brings this to his shizun is hard to tell, but he’d definitely carry himself with a light, happy air. Knowing that his shizun has always been kind to him and always loved him is simply euphoric. SQQ might notice him acting different and ask him about it, which might lead to a conversation—where SQQ is terrified at first, but relieved and simply relaxed by the end. He truly doesn’t mind being Shen Qingqiu and living what is technically a lie, but it’s… lovely to let his guard down a little around his husband, even if by this point “Shen Qingqiu” is no longer a mask he has to hide behind.

(Being post-canon is also fun because binghe can think back to the mausoleum and go “wow. maybe this should have been obvious.”)

Alternatively, I LOVE the idea that this happens earlier, during the 5 years where SQQ is dead. Rather than excitement and giddiness at solving a puzzle and figuring out more about his beloved, Binghe feels only grief and a slow horror as the pieces fall into place.

Maybe he still doesn’t know why his shizun pushed him into the abyss, but if none of the abuse he suffered was actually at his hands, if shizun truly was only ever kind to him… at the least he can begin to understand why his shizun might have sacrificed himself for him.

When he corners SQH this time, it’s with real anger, laced with fear and regret. SQH’s panicked answers give him enough information to piece together that SQQ likely didn’t have a choice in pushing him into the abyss.

So he wallows. His beloved never once tried to hurt him, was always kind to him and protected him. Likely knew he would escape the abyss alive. And he repaid that with threats and coercion, and drove his shizun to his death.

Years later, when he is in a dream and suddenly realises that his shizun is real, he doesn’t slowly smirk and begin to plot. He instead falls to his knees, gripping tightly to his shizun’s clothing and sobbing—much to SQQ’s confusion. But, still slightly numb with the whiplash of being kissed clumsily without warning and then suddenly cried on by a man he’s convinced is going to kill him, all SQQ can do is gently pat his disciple’s head.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 28 - Something That I'm Supposed to Be

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: As we’re in the home stretch, I offer some sweet fluff and nasty smut to pad the absolute violence on the horizon.

Chapter Title from Rainbow Connection by Kermit.

Word Count: 29.1k (sorry)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Ben take a trip. Usual warnings, with a extra smut.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, very big fluff, p in v sex, oral (m and f reciving), established relationship

Read on A03!

Chapter 27 - Chapter 29

When the sun starts to rise, the ocean isn’t blue or green. It’s black and gold, almost like oil. It swallows Mallory’s burnt and mangled body in an instant, and the shattered pieces of Ben’s shield even faster.

You’d told him it was fixable. That it had broken the first time around, but still been sealed back into one, solid piece. He’d just shaken his head, his hand on your waist tracing soft patterns in a stark contrast with the grave expression on his face, and tossed the larger pieces into the harbor. The smaller ones were either burnt, scattered across the wreckage, or buried under rubble.

It didn’t really matter. Not right now, as everyone stood in a silent vigil, watching the sun slowly break over the horizon until the water was blue, and you had to exchange bleak, heavy looks of now what.

Ryan was still shaking. Butcher keeps a firm grip on his shoulder as you walked back to his car—somehow spared from the wrath of the fight—but he turns and shuffles to you as soon as the whole team settles into a circle. His head presses into your chest, his arms wrapping around you in the same clinging, fearful manner as before, and his whole body relaxing when you hug him back. And when your hand moves to his head—petting his hair as you sway Ryan back and forth—the world-blurring terror and heart-numbing grief and head-eating guilt in Ryan’s body begins to wane.

Ben stands at your side, tall and watchful, full of that painful, aching glow that feels like both a hurricane and it’s refuge. Ripping him apart inside, and sewing him back together in the very same second. And you’re not much better, mostly just so tired, but still with a lump in your throat and something cold over your skin that’s warming with the sun and under Ben’s firm, reverent touch.

Nobody is looking well for wear. There are various levels of bruising and blood over everyone’s bodies, and you’re barely wearing any clothing. Ben had pulled off his boxers for you before you’d returned to the group—carrying you in his arms and folded over your body to shield you from view—Butcher had scrounged up a hideous Hawaiian shirt from his car to cover your bloody tits and keep Soldier Boy from carvin out our fuckin eyes, you’d manage not to vomit as you pulled on Mallory’s blood covered pants, and your jacket survived the chaos. It’s not exactly fashionable, but it is incredibly suspicious.

You can’t linger here. In the devastation of the fight with Homelander—emergency services and government investigators will be here soon, and you can’t afford to be seen when they arrive—or the weight of this unforgiving knowledge of how you have so few paths left. Homelander got away, and you’re still here, but the last supply of V is gone. You could just try to fight him, but he’s gone back to Sage. She’ll take one look at his now hideous, scarred and burned features, and refuse to let him anywhere you. You don’t know how much gas they have, and you need the V if you want to just knock him down and finish this. For any ending that doesn’t involve blood turning the water and earth red once more, you need the V.

You think you have one, very last chance. A gamble that’s more likely to fail than pay off, but is still the only option you really have.

So you take a long, deep breath—keeping Ryan steady against your body, and your body steady against Ben’s—and place your shot in the dark out on the table for debate.

“The Cornucopia is a villa. In Rome. Built by Fredrick Vought.” You look around at their frowns of confusion, and continue. “He gave it to me. And Sage is after it, so-“

“It’s important.” MM mutters, running a hand over his face. “If Sage is still after it this late in the game, it might be real fucking important.”

You nod, letting out a soft sigh. “Important enough for her to look for, and for her to offer Ben and I help getting out in exchange for it.”

Butcher’s eyes flare. “Sage offered what-“

“We turned it down, asshole.” Ben grunts, a flash of something hot and bitter in his veins as he tugs you closer. “You pussies can’t get rid of us that easy.”

“I ain’t worried about that, you twats are like a cancer in my fuckin taint, but Sage don’t seem like the offerin type-“

“Offer was the wrong word,” you mutter. “It was a deal. Ben and I get to leave, she makes sure Homelander never finds us, and when we find the Cornucopia we give it to her instead of Edgar.”

Hughie frowns. “When you find it? Didn’t we already-“

“We did.” You cross your arms, looking around at your team as they begin to connect the dots. “And Sage doesn’t know that. She also doesn’t seem to know what it is, just that Edgar has it, and she wants it. Which means-“

“It might be a weapon.” Annie finishes your sentence, her eyes wide. “If it’s just a name to her, and, you said Fredrick Vought owned it, right?”

“Yeah. Edgar said he built the place himself.” 

“And that he met with a bunch of other fucking science pussies there,” Ben adds, voice gruff and low. “For extra eyes.”

Your free hand drift to Ben’s—covering your hips—and you squeeze it gently. You love him, and next time anyone dares to think of this remarkably observant and aggressively perceptive man as stupid, you’ll punch them.

“Exactly.” You nod, continuing to address the group as Ben’s fingers tangle in yours. “So the chance that there’s at least something there is-“

“High.” MM grunts. “Real damn high. But I don’t know what the fuck we can do about it, if the villa’s all the way in Rome-“

You swallow, pushing the solution out of your throat. “We’re only twenty minutes from an international airport. Our CIA credit cards probably haven’t been frozen yet, so Ben and I can get a flight-“

“But the Homelander is very famous for taking down many, many planes.” Frenchie interjects, his words and expression painted with nerves. “It would not be safe to fly-“

“I, I know.” You sigh, and a biting memory of wind that pierced through your skin and turned your body into something sick flashes through your head. “But if we’re fast, he’ll have no way to figure out what we’re doing. And he won’t be going out in public until his face fixes itself.”

Annie blinks at you. “His face-“

“I burned him. Worse than the tower.”

“How fuckin bad did the cunt get it?” There’s a twisted glee in Butcher’s voice, and you keep your voice level and bored as you answer.

“Bad enough that he’s not going to want anyone to see.”

Butcher scowls—obviously about to push for a more descriptive answer—but MM cuts him off with a firm, slow words and a grave expression.

“If you two motherfuckers jet off the Rome, to get on top of this Cornucopia shit, that still leaves us high and dry until you get some answers.”

It’s a question, phrased as a statement. What do the Boys do while you’re gone. You can’t all go to Rome, that’s expensive and likely not very productive—just you and Ben together will be difficult enough to keep disguised—but the compound probably won’t be secure very, very soon.

But not yet. Right now you probably have half a day until the federal government catches up with this mess, so you take that and fucking run with it.

“You can go back to Jersey.” You look around the group, not wasting time to think out your words as you say them. You can revise as you go. “Get all our stuff out while you still can. Pick up A-Train, grab clothing and supplies, then lay low. Find somewhere safe and stay there until Ben and I get back. Don’t bother with damage control, because we don’t know what Sage or Singer will say about this. We might be about to be public enemies, and we can’t risk giving the media any possible extra information. So right now, all we can do is hide.”

“We could return to the Renegade Room-“

You cut off Frenchie’s suggestion with a shake of your head. “No. It has to be somewhere with absolutely no Vought association, and no chance that Sage…” You pause, trailing off and narrowing your eyes at the air. “Scratch that. Vought association might be good. Sage won’t look for you in her own territory, because that’s a stupid move and it might not even occur to her. Go to Edgar’s farm. It’s far enough removed that no one will just recognize you, and close enough that you can get back if you really need to. Stop at Neuman’s and pick up Ashley, then fucking book it to Maine.”

Everyone is silent for a second, thinking over your words, and you feel Ryan’s grip on you start to bruise your skin. You look down at him with a soft frown, and find his eyes wide and anxious and pleading in a way that makes your whole body ache. He’s not really afraid anymore—at least not in a way that’s paralyzing to either of you—but he is nervous. Hopeless. Filled with a slight mold that reminds you of Ben’s, and the pound of his weighted despair visceral is in your blood and muscles.

“Ryan, what’s-“

He leans up, words hushed like he’s afraid the sky might hear. “I don’t want you to go.”

You choke on something soft and painful, and force a small, sad close-lipped smile onto your face. “I know.” You whisper, pulling your hand from Ben’s to cup Ryan’s face. “But we’ll be back.”

“But what if my dad comes back-“

“He won’t hurt you.” You raise your voice, just enough to ensure your team hears to unspoken order in your words. That, above all else, they need to keep Ryan safe from Homelander. “A-Train will get you far away, and Butcher will protect you, or you can go hide with Neuman. But Homelander won’t get to you, I promise.”

Ryan nods slowly, eyes drifting over to Ben. “And you’ll, you’ll be safe-“

“We’re going to be fine, kid.” Ben grunts. “Don’t worry about us, we’ll be back before you even damn blink.”

“Are you,” Ryan blinks at Ben, his expression wide and open, and something rolling around in his gut like worry. “Are you okay? With the V?”

Ben looks like someone punched him, and you can feel the shock slam into his body like a bomb. It’s not bad, he’s not angry, but it’s like lightning through his heart and lungs. Like he’s in disbelief that Ryan would even be fucked to worry about him at all. Before he gets a chance to respond, though, MM cuts in with tense words.

“What V?”

You take this one, because Ben looks like he needs another second. “We kind of, um, found some extra original formula V. And Ben shot it up during the fight.”

Annie’s mouth falls open. “But that’s so dangerous, isn’t that V really fucking unstable-“

“I’m fine.” Ben snaps through gritted teeth. “Didn’t even fucking feel it-“

Liar. You glare up at him. I felt it, Benjamin. And I thought I was dying.

Ben’s gaze whips to you, and his grip on your body tightens. What the fuck do you mean, you felt it.

You sigh, because you’d been hoping to have this conversation later. I literally felt it. Like it was happening to me as well. With the V, and the fight with Homelander. I think it’s the brain connection, I’ll ask Frenchie-

“Frenchie.” Ben grunts, aloud. “Could the brain connection shit mean that she feels my fucking pain.”

You wrinkle your nose at him, muttering dramatic man-child down your connection, but turn to look at Frenchie all the same.

“It could, hypothetically. If Her brain became deep enough that it hit your nervous systems-“

“Well why the fuck didn’t we catch it before-“

“We haven’t been in combat,” you turn back to Ben, chewing on your lips. “So there wasn’t really anything to catch before. But I, um-“ You glance down at Ryan—still in your arms and looking between you and Ben with a curious, nervous expression—and decide to move the conversation into your heads. I’ve felt your orgasms, Ben. And it happened before the connection, so I thought it was just the empathy. But maybe it was because I was physically touching you during it, I just don’t have to now. And it’s just the more intense feelings that get through.

Ben scans over your face. I haven’t felt your orgasms. He frowns. I’m pretty damn sure I haven’t.

Well, we’ll figure it out later. You look back to the group, making your voice measured and settled, no room for debate. Ben will still have new powers to fight with everyone about later, and you and Ben will still be just as—if not more—connected when you return from Rome. Right now is not the time to linger and pick apart anything, not when your fate is in an hourglass that’s running out by the second. “I know it’s a lot, but we have to move. Right now my best estimate is that Ben’s new powers are some sort of energy or nuclear manipulation, but we don’t have the time for semantics. Ben and I will figure it out later, and we’ll keep in contact with you on the phone Annie got me. Let us know when you get to Maine, we’ll tell you when we get to Rome, and please, stay safe.” Your gaze falls back to Ryan, and you give him a gentle smile. “We’ll be back soon. Listen to Butcher, and ask him to call me if you need to, okay?”

Ryan nods, but doesn’t move away from you. He dives fully into your hug, squeezing you in a way that might snap your ribs, and you try and use your fire to make your body as warm as possible. Keeping your hold on Ryan steady as Ben takes over in addressing the team, the humming glow in his body passing between you both.

“You assholes take the car, I can get us to the airport myself. Watch the kid with your fucking life, and if I he tells me even one of you pussies so much as looked at him wrong-“

“We got it, Gov.” Butcher mutters, reaching his arms out to Ryan. “Let’s move, kid. She ain’t gonna vanish if you let go of her.”

Ryan nods, peeling himself from your body, and has barely started to turn back to Butcher before he’s twisting back around and a crashing into Ben.

You wish this was easier. That you could smile at how Ben didn’t hesitate to return Ryan’s hug—it takes him a moment to relax, but his arms had shot up before Ryan had even fully leaned into him—with it only being sweet on your tongue, instead of mixed with something bitter on your teeth. You can still meet Ben’s eyes when he glances at you over Ryan’s head, and squeeze his bicep in silent thanks, but you can’t stay here and savor this moment.

You have to go.

Ryan walks back to Butcher with a low head and one last quiet look of anxiety on his face, and you give him a soft, gentle smile. You’ll be okay, Ryan. You’re strong, and Butcher will take care of you.

He nods the uneasy look in his eyes relaxing slightly, but his features remain lined with uncertainty. Promise me you’ll come back?

You think you might be choking on something so, so heavy, yet still only a mist. I promise. 

Butcher guides Ryan back to the car with a borderline respectful nod and grunt of don’t fuckin die at you and Ben, and Ben stands tall and watchful at your side as Annie and Hughie give you tight hugs—their bodies filled with worry and fear and an ill feeling of doubt, but never hesitating or flinching away at your touch—and offer Ben nods.

“Um, Ben,” Hughie swallows at his own use of Ben’s real name, but doesn’t take it back as he reached into his jacket. “Annie got you a phone too, we didn’t figure Mallory was going to give you another.”

Ben looks between Hughie outstretched hand and his cautious but unafraid expression, and makes a low, gruff sound as he takes the phone. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Annie says, leaning past Hughie to say your name. “Don’t let him use it for anything weird-“

“Don’t worry.” Your lips tug up, your voice teasing as you nudge Ben’s shoulder. “When I set it up, I’ll put parental locks on it. No porn for you, Pretty Boy-“

Ben pulls you back under his arm, kissing you in a long, rough way that makes your knees a little weak. Don’t need porn. Got you.

Oh. Your brain is going a little numb under Ben’s unyielding touch and the way he seems to be everywhere against you, so you just fall a little further into him with a breathy sigh. Okay then.

Someone clears their throat, and when Ben pulls away from you—sucking on your lip before rising back up—you barely get a chance to ground yourself before Kimiko is tackling you in a tight hug.

“We both hope your flight is safe.” You hear Frenchie tell Ben, your own eyes closed as you sit in Kimiko’s care and determination, shockingly similar to Ben’s and coursing through your body. “Is there anything you would like retrieved from the compound-“

“Yes.” You look up, and Kimiko pulls away with a small nod at Ben. “Ben’s suit, and the rest of the suppressants. Not for me,” you give Ben a pointed look, and his mouth snaps shut with a glower. “But just to keep it away from the government. It’s in my underwear drawer, just take it with you to Maine. Please.”

Frenchie blinks, but hums an agreement. He shakes your hand—and Ben’s, but with a little less enthusiasm—and when he and Kimiko turn to the car, it’s just you, Ben, and MM left outside.

MM’s arms are crossed, and he’s watching you with an expression you can’t fully read.

“Stay safe.” You mumble, extending your hand for him to shake. “I’ll give you updates on what we find-“

MM lets out a sound that’s half a grunt and half a scoff, and fully ignores your hand as he pulls you into a hug. It’s not long like your hugs with the others, but it’s solid. And all you feel from him is conviction and will. Nothing lined with resent, or hatred, or disgust. Just a steadfast feeling like a tidal wave. Washing over you with the undeniable knowledge that MM trusts you. That if he ever found your love for Ben to be revolting, if he ever loathed you for it, he doesn’t now.

“Found this shit in the car, looks like it’s yours.” MM hands Ben his hat, and your sunglasses. “Don’t be stupid.” He moves back, holding your gaze with a hand on your free shoulder. “Keep that motherfucker,” his head jerks to Ben. “In line, and take care of yourself.”

“I will.” You whisper. “Thank you.”

MM and Ben shake hands—fast and almost brutal, but without any malice—and then it’s just you and Ben in the rubble. The engine on Butcher’s car starts with a slight sputter, dust kicking up in its wake as they pull out of the harbor yard, and you bury your head in Ben’s chest. You’ll have to move, soon, but for one second longer you just take in Ben’s warmth and inhale the scent of pine and salt and gunpowder that tells you you’ll be okay. Ben is here, so you’ll be okay.

When you pull away, looking up to see Ben already watching you—always watching you, always like you’re holy—and you smile at him as you speak between your heads. Logan Airport isn’t far, but you’ll probably need to steal us a car.

Ben’s mouth twitches slightly, but his gaze keeps pulling you apart. Searching for something on your face that you don’t know how to find for him, but Ben knows you, so he seems to find it himself. You’re afraid of fucking heights. I am not putting you in a situation where you’re going to lose your damn mind.

It’s a little late for that, Pretty Boy. You give him a flat look, and he scowls. And I’ll be fine. You’ll be there.

Something melts in his expression, and any of that aching, rotting feeling that had been eating at Ben’s heart is obliterated by the glow. It becomes overgrown and wild through his body—lighting up his spine and molten in his gut—as his gaze softens, and he leans down, pressing his brow to yours.

“I love you,” he mutters your name, and you feel that broken, writhing thing in your gut die an easy, peaceful death. “And I’ve fucking got you.”

“I love you too, Benjamin.” Your hands move up to hold his face, his beard soft under your touch and his body seeming to be made only of an ardor that makes the world a blur, but what matters sharp. “You burn, I burn.”

Ben nods, one of his hands dropping to hold yours. There’s a moment longer—just you and Ben, the rest of the world only pointless sounds and colors—and then you have to move.

It’s easy to find a car. The streets outside the harbor are lined with them, and you manage to push down any guilt by finding one that has some truly disgusting bumper stickers. Ben hot wires it while you stand guard, and when Ben draws up, you manage to drop into the driver’s seat before he can stop you.

He leans down to your eye level, scanning over your bright, smug smile and grunting your name. “Get the fuck out of my seat.”

Your smile widens. “Make me.”

He could. Ben could very easily pick you up, or push you over the console. He could kiss you until you whine and melt forward into his body, then draw back up and get all fucking cocky as you jump to your feet to chase his mouth.

But he doesn’t. He just rolls his eyes, grumbles beautiful fucking brat, and stomps around the car to sit shotgun.

Because of that, you make the twenty-minute drive to the airport in fifteen minutes flat. You probably would’ve made it in thirteen, but you’d passed Ben your phone around the seven-minute mark, told him to buy the tickets, and learned very, very quickly that he had no idea how to do that.

“You could pull the goddamn car over and do it yourself-“

“Not a chance, Pretty Boy.” You’d wrinkled your nose at him, switching lanes in a manner that can only be described as life risking. “You’ll kick me out of my seat.”

“Then we’re not getting anywhere, because I can’t do this shit myself-“

He could. You’d walked him through it—tap that button. Don’t do that airline, it’s shit. No, we don’t need any check-ons, we don’t have any property—and had to slow down to think and talk.

By the time you park, Ben has managed to buy two tickets on a one-way trip to Rome, and presents the confirmation screen to you with a wide grin and swelling, heated light in his chest.

“And you put in the right email-“

“I typed what you told me.” He grunts, passing the phone into your hands. “But I didn’t get us economy, fuck that, we’re riding first goddamn class.”

“Ben, first class is like a thousand dollars-“

“Not our money,” he shrugs, and you can feel his eyes on you as you read over the tickets. “And if the CIA pussies have a problem with it, then they can eat my fucking ass.”

“Gross. Even I don’t eat your ass.”

“And you fucking won’t.” Ben pauses, and you look up to see him frowning at you. “Unless you-“

“I do not want to eat your ass, Benjamin.” You don’t bother to push down the giggle at how incredibly serious he is, brow furrowed and looking you over with a frown. “That is very far down on the list of things I want to do with you.”

Ben’s eyes flash, and you feel your face heat before the smirk is even on his face. “You have a fucking list, Sunshine?”

“I mean, I have a vague outline?” You mumble, and this isn’t a battle you’ll win. You not even sure why you started it, because it has and always will end with you pinned under Ben’s strong body, coming apart as he touches and kisses and teases you. “I don’t know, we need to get through security, shut up and move your ass-“

“No.” Ben’s hands grab your hips, and he pulls you onto his lap without any effort. “Our flight isn’t for five fucking hours, darling. I know, because I booked the goddamn tickets. And you’re going to tell me about this vague fucking outline of yours, now.”

“I, um-“ You swallow, because he’s so close to you, and so handsome, and kneading on your skin and big and warm and Ben-

“Words-“

“Shut up-“

“Do you want to ride me, right here? Make you squirt all over my cock, fuck you so stupid you can’t remember how to walk?”

“We don’t have extra clothing.” You say, your voice already a little dumb and far away. “Or a shower. If you get cum on me, people will notice.”

“I think I’ll be able to fucking live with that.” Ben winks, his voice dropping to a deep drawl you can feel everywhere in your body. “I’d love to get you so wet and filled up that the whole goddamn plane smells how good I fuck my-“

You fall into him, kissing Ben until every inch and fiber of your love is wrapped around his head, and he groans in a way that makes you grind down onto him. His grip on you tenses, and you have to force yourself away, or he’ll flip you over and you won’t leave the car for another two hours.

“Ben,” you try to make your voice firm, a command for him to follow, but it comes out breathy and desperate, and he just growls and drops his mouth to that one spot on your neck. “God, fuck, we need to go-“

Five hours, Sunshine, we’ve got a goddamn shitload of time-

No, Ben, we- He bites you, not enough to break skin but enough to make you a little dizzy, and you moan. Security, we need to get through security-

Security will take ten minutes, it’s just a fucking metal detector-

That gives you enough strength to tug on his hair and move his gaze back to yours. It’s not easy—Ben’s eyes are blown out, his chest is rising and falling in a ragged, uneven pattern, and you can feel how hard he is, right against your thigh—but you manage to look at him with an amused, dry expression.

“Airport security will not take ten minutes, and it’s a lot more than a metal detector, you dinosaur.”

Ben frowns, and your fingers start to lightly trace over the lines of his face on pure instinct. “What the hell else is there, it’s a plane-“

“Has nobody told you about 9/11? And like, airports? Didn’t you take a plane back from Russia?”

“I snuck on that plane, and it was real fucking easy-“

“Comforting.” You mumble, letting out a long sigh. “I don’t have time to explain 9/11 to you, but we’re going to have to wait in a very long line, and-“ You pause, dropping your head into his chest. “Fuck. We don’t have passports, and you’re a walking bomb, and I’m a living sun, there’s no way we’re going to make it through the gate, fuck-“

“We’ll make it.” Ben’s hand tangles in your hair, his voice rolling through your body. “You think you can do the invisible shit on me?”

You blink against him, your words muffled in his shirt. “Maybe? I wouldn’t want to bet on it though-“

“I’ll fucking bet on it.” Ben hauls you further up his body, forcing you to his eye level. “You’ve got this. We’ll walk right through the door, and no one will know the goddamn difference.”

“But-“

“No. You’re strong, Sunshine. You’re going to do this.”

You have a feeling that if Ben told you actually, Sunshine, you can fucking breathe underwater, you’d figure out a way to do it. Because he looks at you with such certainty, and says all his words like they’re purely fact, and you can feel the hot, focused power of his love in your chest, so you can do this. It’s going to be really, really easy to do this.

Ben helps you out of the car, his hand folded in yours, and you take the shuttle bus to the airport in an easy silence. Your disguises are dogshit—Ben’s hat not even fully covering his face, your sunglasses not looking very casual in the darkness of the bus, and you’re still wearing incredibly questionable outfits—but nobody really spares you a glance, so you arrive at the airport without a single issue.

Ben pulls you into a family restroom, and his voice is gruff in your head. You’ve fucking got this. We’re going to walk past the lines, past the detectors, and get on that fucking plane.

You nod, searching his face and trying to let his concrete resolve fully destroy your own skin-crawling and stomach-turning anxiety. We won’t be able to see each other-

So don’t let go. Ben squeezes your hand in his. And even if we do get separated, I can just fucking pigeon back to you.

Your mouth twitches. You said pigeon.

Shut the fuck up. Ben presses a kiss to your brow, and you know he called it that on purpose. That you’re smiling a little more now, and he’s standing a little less rigid, and breathing is a little easier for you both, because Ben knew that would do it.

I love you, Benjamin.

I love you too, he mutters your name in the silence of the airport bathroom, his gaze stringing you up like he’s trying to find an extra piece of you for his love to touch. Let’s do this.

It’s shockingly easy. You really do think it’s because Ben said it would be, and your body knows that he’d never hurt you or lead you astray, so now it is easy. Now you can sing in a soft, almost inaudible voice, and watch Ben vanish before your eyes. You can still feel him—both stroking his thumb over the back of your hand and alight and easy in your chest—and smell pine, but he’s nowhere in sight, so you start to walk before you can miss even a single note.

You duck and weave your way through the crowd, right up to the departure doors, then through them. The guards don’t blink, a million alarms don’t sound, and nobody stops and shouts Soldier Boy and the Anomaly, so you did it. You find another empty bathroom, stop singing, and watch a grinning, smug Ben materialize right in front of you.

“I fucking told you-“

“Shut up.” Despite your words, you’re still rising up to kiss his cheek, and tugging his arm around your waist. “Are you ready to experience the wonders of modern airports, Benjamin?”

“It’s a fucking airport.” He mutters. “I’ve seen a goddamn airport before, they’re all boring as shit.”

You hum, shaking your head with a grin. “Wrong. They’re like malls now. There’s a food court, and shops, and a million Dunkin Donuts because we’re in Boston. I think we should start with some clothing that doesn’t make us look like we just returned from war, but if you’re hungry-“

“Are you hungry.”

“I,” you pause, trying to figure out when you’d actually last eaten. Or slept. Or sat down just for the sake of resting. Your voice drops to a whisper, and you scan over Ben’s stoic features with a soft gaze. “I could eat. But I would really like to change into something that doesn’t belong to Butcher or a dead lady. And we should probably get you some underwear.”

“I’m fucking fine,” Ben grunts your name, and you cut him off with a slight shove of his shoulder.

“See, if I told you that, you’d get all grumpy and tell me to shut up-“

Ben scowls. “Because it’s not the same damn thing-“

“It’s exactly the same thing. I like to take of you as well, Benjamin, my love.” You run your hand over his brow, pushing ash covered hair away from his eyes. “You just did something very fucking stupid, and we don’t even really know what your new powers are, or how they might hurt you-“

“They won’t hurt me.” Ben grumbles, but he’s leaning into your touch. His hands on your body have gone a little slack, the patterns on your hips looser, and you can feel the glow in his body softening something that’s embedded so deep that it feels a little raw. “It’s just V, and I barely even fucking felt it-“

His words fade off before you can even give him a pointed look, and there’s something sore over his heart, his voice a little hoarse when he speaks again.

“You felt it.”

“I did.” You mumble, your fingers curling slightly against his beard. “All of it.”

Ben’s jaw clenches, and his hand shoots up to catch your wrist. “I, fucking Christ-“

“It’s okay. I was,” you take a long breath, and offer him a small, soft smile you hope he can feel. “I was mostly just afraid. For you. And Ryan.”

“I know, but you shouldn’t have fucking had to be-“

“But it’s also done.” You counter, twisting your hand in Ben’s hold to tangle your fingers together. “All that we can do now is figure out what your powers are, and try and work with them.”

He’s scanning over your face, his grip like iron, and you think he’s trying to find a single part of you that’s still in pain. Any evidence that Ben’s own toil had rooted or left a depression in your body, even if he can no longer feel it himself.

He doesn’t find it. Every ache and sore and stab and sting has faded, and the most distress your body can feel is a crawl of grime over your skin and a slight strain in your lungs from the pressure of how this has to work.

“You want new clothing.”

It’s not a question, but you nod anyway. “We passed a burger place earlier,” you whisper, leaning a little further into Ben’s chest. “We can buy some clothing, change, and eat?”

Ben presses a kiss to the top of your head with a low grunt of affirmation, and keeps his hand locked in yours as you exit the bathroom.

You get a few strange looks as Ben tugs you through the terminal, but nobody’s eyes linger for more than a second, so you’re not that worried about being made. Right now you and Ben are just a horribly dressed couple, walking around an airport convenience store and grabbing city-themed merchandise that’s going to cost the CIA over a hundred dollars.

I need a hoodie. You mumble to Ben’s head, pushing through a rack of men’s shirts. Sunglasses are really suspicious indoors.

Ben grunts, kissing the side of your head before shuffling away. You find him the simplest top you can—with absolutely no sports associations he might be a massive baby about—and he returns to your side with a bright pink hoodie and bag of chocolates.

For you. He passes both into your hands, taking the shirt and looking it over with a frown. They don’t have men’s underwear. Or jeans. Got sweatpants.

You frown. What about women’s underwear? I can give you your boxers back-

Nothing. He looks back to you with a wink. You can give me back my underwear if you want, though. One of us is going commando, and I won’t complain if it’s you.

You wrinkle your nose at him. Horny old man.

Of course I’m damn horny, I have a hot fucking wi- Ben cuts himself off in your head, his hands tightening on the shirt, and you blink at him.

Are you-

Let’s pay for this shit and get you some food. Ben’s arm loops through yours, and he starts to pull you to the checkout counter. And if you want to keep wearing my underwear, I’m not going to complain.

Ben, what was- This time you cut yourself off, eyes landing on a small, stuffed lobster, and you try to tug your arm from Ben’s hold. Wait.

He freezes, but doesn’t let you go as he turns back around. What.

You gesture to the lobster, looking up at Ben with your best, sweetest, most pleading expression. Can we get that? For Ryan?

Something flares on Ben’s face, and it’s in perfect time with the glow, as well as a feeling that’s rioting and bellowing through his whole body. Crafted from his love, but set with something bigger. Something that’s almost sensitive and tender, with less wrath and sitting near his love for you, but extending a little further into the world.

Ben reaches over you, grabbing the lobster without a word, and pauses before grabbing a second one.

When you get to the cashier—Ben dropping everything on the counter with a glower that kills any attempted small talk before it starts—you tug on his arm.

We only have one Ryan, my love, we don’t need two-

Second one is for you. He keeps his gaze vigilantly scanning over the shop, but pulls you a little further into his side. I promised you a lobster, and that’s a fucking lobster.

You can’t start crying in the airport. But you also can’t climb up Ben’s chest or tackle him to the floor, then beg him to fuck you in broad daylight. It’s leaving you with very few options as the whole world becomes Ben, and your whole body seems to only care about kissing him and touching him and telling him in every way you can that fuck you love him. He’s so good to you—so silently and grumpily adorable and handsome and strong and big and Ben—and you need to show him that every single time he does something like this, your whole body lights up with adoration and a sense of being cared for you’d never felt before him. Won’t ever feel after him, and won’t need to worry about not feeling, because he’s permanent and loves you and you’ll never not be amazed by that. Ben loves you, and you don’t want for anything anymore because he’s everything, and gives you more, and the least you can do is find a quiet corner to drop to your knees and give him something back.

I’m not fucking you in the airport, Sunshine.

You blink at him, and realize you’ve half fallen into his body. He’s still not fully looking at you, but you can see the cocky, smug smirk on his stupid, handsome face, and it takes a lot of effort to scoff between your heads and stick your tongue out at him, instead of kissing all over his jaw and neck and beard until he groans. Until he feels just as worshipped and tended to as you always feel under his attention.

I wasn’t going to ask you to-

He snorts. You were making begging eyes at me, and you’re goddamn seconds from trying to fuck the air.

I am not going to try and fuck the air-

Ben grunts your name, light and joy and love that makes your knees a little weak dancing over his every feature as he glances down at you. I can fucking smell how wet you are. Christ, I can feel how desperate you are for my cock. He leans down to your flushed face, voice deep and taunting. I’ll fuck you real good later, but you need to pull yourself the hell together, or we’re going to get a public indecency charge.

You, You swallow, your eyes wide on his. You can just not fuck me-

He chuckles, kissing the space between your eyes. We both know that’s not true.

Ben pulls away, his arm around your waist holding you steady, but you’re still sitting in a lustful, warm, airy daze of Ben. Alive and powerful in your body and all around you, guiding you back to a family restroom to change into your newly acquired, filth and blood free clothing, and sitting you carefully on the toilet so he can strip.

You glare at him as he pulls off his shirt, just a pace out of your reach. “You’re such an asshole.”

He just grins, shooting you a wink as he pulls his new shirt over his head, his muscles rippling and his arms flexing and fuck he’s so pretty and strong and all yours-

“Next time Butcher or MM accuse me of being unable to keep it in my pants,” Ben drawls, shaking out his hair slightly and starting to undo his belt. “I’m going to get real goddamn specific about how you beg me to fuck you every twenty minutes.”

You pull your gaze away from Ben’s hands—broad and rough and pulling down his jeans—and give him a pout. “Shut up, you’re no better than I am.”

He shrugs, and now you have to pretend you can’t see his half hard cock, only a few feet and small movement from being in your mouth. “No, but everyone seems to think you’re some sort of fucking innocent little thing I’ve corrupted, when you’re the horniest woman I’ve ever fucking met.” He scans over you with a darkened gaze, his grin widening into something hungry you can feel pooling in your lower stomach. “You’re fucking drooling, Sunshine.”

“Fuck you-“

You know what you’re doing, because at this point telling Ben fuck you is just as much begging him as scratching at his back and moaning his name and squirming under him are. And you’re never disappointed in its return rate, because worst case you get a lewd promise that he fulfills within the day, and best case is he groans and fucks you on the spot, until you’re screaming and so cock-drunk all you can do is smile at him and mold into his body.

This time, it’s closer to the latter. Ben’s eyes flash, and he closes the space between you with one long step.

“You’re such a fucking brat.” he growls, his expression filled with an awe that makes you start to rub your thighs together. “So goddamn needy for me, so fucking beautiful and desperate for my cock-“ 

“Ben-“

“You want me in that pretty mouth of yours?” He’s slowly stroking his dick, now fully erect and coated with pre-cum, and you’re going to fall over. He raises himself to press against your lower lip in a silent question, and you open for him without thought. Running your tongue over his throbbing, red tip, moaning around him as he pushes further in.

Your hands brace on his thighs—Ben’s grunts mixing in with the wet sounds of him slowly fucking your mouth—and you whimper when his hand tangles in your hair, moving you up and down in a steady rhythm.

“Christ, you’re a miracle. Such a good girl, fucking made to suck my cock, goddamnit, you’re perfect-“

Ben’s word falter as you swallow slightly when he bumps the back of your throat, his head throwing back and his muscles tensing under your hands.

“Fuck,” he groans your name, and you moan around him. “You’re, fuck, so good, so fucking beautiful, I, fuck-“

You’ve started to graze your teeth over him, your hand moving up to play with his balls, and you let every lewd and wanting noise fall out of your body and around his cock. He’s twitching in your mouth, rutting against you and tugging at your hair, and his foul words and praise start to slur.

“Fucking Christ, you’re going to kill me.” His free hand is braced on the wall, and when you look up and him under your lashes, his hips jerk. “Want to cum on your tits, fucking mark you, let everyone know how fucking good you take my cock, how you’re fucking mine-“

You oblige, pulling off of him with a long suck and flicking your tongue against him right before you squeeze his balls and press a kiss to his abdomen. Cum on me, Ben, show everyone that I’m yours-

He makes the lowest, most feral and deep noise you’ve ever heard, and you find your own release as his orgasm crashes into your body. You’re covered in him, painted white from his cum and smelling like heat and sex and salt and Ben, and you’d have probably fallen off the toilet if Ben didn’t dive down, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his torso before kissing you with spit and teeth and a brutal passion that sends you over the edge again.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, and you realize you’ve sent himinto another orgasm, his cock twitching against your thigh. “You’re, fuck.”

“I know,” you mumble, writhing slightly in his arms as your body grows hypersensitive, his every touch feeling like the best type of torture on your skin. “We, um, we should probably change and leave before they kick us out.”

“They can fucking try,” Ben grumbles, kissing the tip of your nose and sliding you down his body. “Some pussy with a taser can’t do shit to us-“

You let out a loud, pleading sound as his cock brushes over your clit, and Ben stares down at you, his jaw clenched and his body filled with such overwhelming love and reverence you might cum again.

“Christ on a cross,” he mutters, and you whine again at the pure adoration and practical wonder in his voice. “You’re, holy fuck, you’re so fucking perfect. You already need me to fuck you again-“

“You didn’t fuck me,” you protest weakly, your arms wrapped around his neck to prevent your legs from giving out. You think Ben can sense that, because even as he smirks at the whine of your words, his arm braces against you, keeping you upright. “And we haven’t fucked in like, a day-“

Ben lets out a loud, full laugh, and you bury your flushed face in his chest.

“Shut up-“

“No.” Ben kisses the top your head, letting you cling to him as he starts to move around the bathroom, pulling on his sweatpants and starting to peel off your own clothing. “You’re so fucking need, beautiful, so responsive and pretty when I worship you like you deserve, I fucking love you. But you’re going have to hold on a little longer,” He mutters your name against your hair, and you grind into him with a downright pathetic sound. “Because I want to fucking try something, and I’m not doing it in a goddamn airport bathroom.”

You’re pouting, but you still manage to nod and ignore that—even after you’re in your new clothing, Butcher’s cum-covered shirt if the trash—you smell like Ben. He’s dried on your skin—salt mixed with something strong and earthy and bitter that’s purely Ben—and you try to wash him off in the sink, but the asshole himself walks up behind you and starts kissing your neck, so the most you mange is anything obviously visible.

In a true, genuine, moment of genius and foresight, Ben had bought a backpack for you to keep the lobsters, chocolate, and sunglasses in. He insists on carrying in it—grumbling about you work too fucking hard, and he’s stronger—and any fight you put up is hollow, because Ben’s rugged face and huge body looks downright ridiculous wearing a backpack that was probably meant for a child, and you can’t stop smiling at the sight.

You find a restaurant with a half-decent menu—Ben’s hat low on his face and your hoodie shadowing over your features—and eat in a comfortable silence. Ben’s knee stays pressed against yours under the table through the meal, his eyes following your every movement, and it becomes downright torture with how your pussy is still aching and squeezing around nothing.

“Have you,” you glance up at him from your plate, your fingers tapping on the table as you try to distract yourself from thoughts of jumping over the table and riding him right here. “Have you been to Rome before? I know we’ve talked about it, but you’ve never actually said-“

“Once.” His words are slightly muffled by his mouthful of burger, and a little sauce gets stuck to his lip. “After the war.”

“Oh, so a million years ago.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Shut the fuck up, brat, I am not old-“

“You literally just said after the war, Benjamin.” You reach over the table with an easy smile, swiping the sauce away with your thumb. “That’s something old people say.”

“There are plenty of fucking wars, I could be talking about any damn one of them-“

You shrug, sucking the sauce off your fingers, and grinning at Ben’s hunger pounding against your ribs. “But you’re not. You’re talking about World War II, because you’re old.”

“You love it,” he mutters, and you’re not lucid enough stop your hum of agreement. It’s not like he doesn’t already know it, but it still makes you flush when his eyes start to sear through your body, a smirk creeping back over his face.

“Where did you go in Rome-“

Your attempt to reign in the conversation fails massively, and Ben chuckles as he leans across the table, placing his big, warm hand over yours. “You do fucking love it. It gets you real damn wet, how old I am-“

“Shut up,” you mutter, unable to tear your gaze away from him. “I do not get turned on by how old you are-“

“Yes, you do-“

“No I don’t-“

“From where I’m fucking sitting, you do-“

“I get turned on by you,” you blurt, the words falling out of your mouth as Ben’s hand over yours tenses. “It’s just you, I’m not into all old men-“

“I know that,” He grins as he says your name, tone mocking but full of such affection it makes you gape. “But you love me, and you love teaching me shit, and how I’m so experienced I can make you fucking soaked in two seconds, and that I’m a goddamn gentleman-“

“That’s just you, though.” You protest. “I love you. Not that you’re old-“

“If I admit that I’m old,” Ben drawls, fingers folding into yours. “Will you admit that it turns you on?”

You swallow, but nod cautiously, and his grin lights up his whole face. Like you’ve just offered him ice cream and sex as a reward for good behavior, and now he gets to have both. It’s downright adorable, and you don’t think you know how to even pretend to be annoyed with him anymore. Not when he looks so happy, and it’s all directed at you.

“Say it.”

You wrinkle your nose at him, but push the words out. “I get turned on by how old you are. But, it’s because-“

“Nope.” Ben shakes his head, pulling your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “I’m old, and you fucking love it. And I,” he lowers your hand back down, holding your gaze. “Love you. And we’re going to find a butterfly garden for you in Rome, and see some buildings that are older than I am, and go wherever the hell else you want us to.”

“We have a job to do-“

“After the job. We’ll have one fucking day where it’s just us.” Ben’s voice is firm, and his love is setting you ablaze, and you’d follow him anywhere, so you can only watch him speak with soft eyes and a slight gape. “When I went there were these stupid fucking stone pillars they made me take pictures with, and I-“

“The Roman forum?” You interrupt him with quick words, and his smile somehow grows as he huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, that shit. You want to see them?”

Your nod is eager, and you feel a flash of pride and hot satisfaction through Ben’s body.

“Good,” he says, scanning over your features with an intensity that makes you squirm. Like if you move your body just right under his attention, Ben might stand, pick you up, slam you down on the table, and fuck you right here. “We’re going to have one real day where we’re not doing anyone’s goddamn job, and I’m going show off you off to all of Europe. Show the whole goddamn world how I have the best fucking wi-“ Ben’s jaw ticks sightly, his hand flexing in yours, and there’s a slight stutter to his words that makes you blink. “Woman in the world, and how I treat you right.”

You decide to brush off his odd words and just smile at him, squeezing his hand in yours. “You do.” You say the words simply, because he does treat you so good, it makes the glow in him become white-hot. “And we can see something you want to see as well-“

“I don’t give a fuck what we see.” Ben shrugs, taking a last large bite of his burger. “I’ll go wherever the hell you go.”

“Oh.” Your voice drops to a whisper—he’d said those words so passively, like it was as inherent as breathing, and it’s making your brain a little numb—and Ben pauses between bites to stare at you with a slight frown.

He grunts your name in the noise of the restaurant, and his eyes are so green and pretty and Ben that it takes you a moment to realize you need to respond to him.

I’m good. I’m really good. You don’t trust your voice to not be only a needy, breathy noise, so you smile at Ben until his features relax. 

I have to take a piss, Sunshine, so we’re going to pay the bill, go to the bathroom, and then you’ll tell me all the things you want to do in Rome. Deal?

Deal. You extend your hand over the table, and Ben scoffs at it, standing up out of his seat and walking around the table to kneel at your side. Ben-

I love you, his eyes are making you a little dizzy, and you’re shocked you haven’t exploded from the strength and fervor of Ben inside you. A fuck ton. And I’m going to prove it-

You don’t have to prove it, you drop your brow to Ben’s, tracing a hand over his jaw. I know you love me. I never, ever doubt that, Ben. I can feel it, you poke his chest. Here. I can feel you everywhere. And I love you too.

Ben nods slowly—rising back up with a kiss to the top of your head—and glowers around the restaurant. “Where the fuck did the waiter go-“

“Just go to the bathroom, I can take care of the bill-“

“I am not leaving you-“

You sigh, wrapping your hand around his forearm and pulling him back to your eye level. “It’s not leaving me, my love. I’ll pay, go to the gate, wait for you, and be in one complete piece when you get back. We can’t always be right next to each other, and it’s literally physically impossible for you to lose me.”

He frowns—the ache and mold over his lungs making you think he’s going to protest—and his words are grumbled and stiff. “Do you need anything.”

“I’m okay right now. We should get snacks before the flight, airplane food is famously bad-“

“What type of snacks.”

You shrug. “Road trip snacks, I guess. But it can wait-“

Ben gives you a rough nod, a deep, heavy kiss that makes toes curl, and stomps off to find a bathroom. 

It takes you a second to fully regain control of your body, but when you do, you’re quick to flag down a waiter and pay the bill. It’s easy to find the gate, and it’s not too from where you can sense Ben, so you drop down in your seat and send MM a quick update. You’re at the airport, no delays or risk of being burned or identified, your flight is in two hours, boarding in one, and you’ll call after you get to the vila. MM responds quickly—they just got back to the compound, their keycards still work, and they’ll be in Maine when you land—and now you have nothing to do but wait.

Your attention wanders around the crowd—suits and tourists and sleeping solo travelers—and lands on a family. A tired looking mother and father, a baby, and three bouncing children, and it pulls on something soft and delicate in your chest. You want that. You really want something so painfully domestic and simple with Ben more than you might have ever wanted anything. You’d meant those words to Homelander, that—when he’s long dead and buried, only a ghost that crawls over your skin and makes the cracks inside you a little more visible—you’ll marry Ben. And it doesn’t really feel like that big of a decision, because you’re alive inside of him and he’ll go wherever you go. It would be more so you can have a ring to twist on your finger that displays that Ben loves you, and no men at gas stations will try to take what you only offer to Ben, and everyone who walks past you will know that you’re married. That you’re loved by the strongest, safest, most impossibly grumpy and handsome and caring man in the world.

You’d meant the other part as well. That somewhere in the future, if Ben wanted it as well, you’d want kids. It wouldn’t be even similar to how Homelander wanted your children, because he didn’t want you. He’d wanted a body that he deemed fit to serve him, but Ben serves you every waking moment. He carries you in his arms, and mutters words of gruff comfort, and does small things—like picking you flowers and buying you a stuffed lobster—that make it so easy to be his. So children with Ben would be yours, and you’d never have to protect them from their father, because he’d be a great dad. He might actually be the most dad dad you could ask for, because between how he grumbles supportive words and protects you and Ryan like it’s all that matters and the WWII documentaries and pancakes and baseball, he’s straight out of a dad factory.

And it would be amazing. To have a life like that family’s, where you’re curled into Ben’s side like you always have been and his arm is over your shoulder like it always is, but you’re cradling a baby that pouts at you like Ben does when you leave him alone, and he’s locked in a deeply serious conversation with a toddler that looks just like you. Where there’s another child asleep on his lap—which you’d understand, Ben’s lap is the best place to be in the world—that looks like someone melded you and Ben together, and a fourth one that looks like someone photocopied Ben—right down to the deep glare—watching him talk and hanging off his leg. Ryan could be with you, talking to you in a hushed voice about school, and that could be your whole world. The name Homelander would never mean anything to your children, and it would only be spoken on darker nights where you, Ben, or Ryan woke up in a cold, hollow pain.

You have to pull your attention away from the family—you’re staring, and if you keep looking at them you might start crying with something that’s made of longing and a very faint hope—and lean back in your seat with closed eyes. You don’t want to watch the news—playing on high mounted televisions around the terminal—because it will make you sad, so you drift through a world where Homelander is only dirt and you’re only loved, right until you feel Ben stir in your chest. When you open your eyes, they’re drawn to him in the crowd like he’s gravity. Marching out of the bathroom and finding to you after barely a beat, a grin crossing his face as he shoves through the crowd to returns to you.

“Hi, Sunshine.”

The smile on your face might make you look downright stupid, but you don’t care. “Hi, Benjamin.”

He drops at your side, tugs you half onto his lap, and rests his chin on the top of your head as you bury your face in his chest, humming as you tap your fingers against him.

What’s the plan. He grunts in your head, his hands starting to rub patterns on your hips. In Rome.

You let out a long, slow breath. I don’t know how long we’ll be there-

We’re going to have at least two days. Call it one for all the fucking work we need to do, and one for us.

Okay. You gnaw on your lower lip, thinking out every word between your heads. The work is pretty simple. Find the villa, look for whatever Sage is after, and brief the team. If it’s not in a highly populated area, we might want to use some time to figure out what the fuck is up with your new powers-

It’s the nuke.

You lean up to examine him, and he looks solemn, his whole body wrapped in something grim and definite. Are you positive-

I’m pretty goddamn certain. His brow furrows. Fucking feels like it.

What does it feel like?

Energy.

And…?

Power.

Benjamin, I swear to god-

It feels like the fucking nuke, okay? It- Ben lets out a heavy breath, the scowl on his face turning in on his body, and his skin lining with a hot frustration that isn’t directed at you, but leaking out of something that’s almost stuck in his body. I don’t know how to fucking describe it, it just is the nuke.

Okay. You raise your hand to his face, running your hands through his beard until the taut thing wrapping around his throat and pulling his face into a frown loosens. I believe you. I still want to test it, so we know what you can do, but I believe you.

Good. I- Ben’s jaw twitches, but nothing tearing or molding grows on his heart. With Homelander. I didn’t want to lose you, and it just damn appeared. It doesn’t hurt anymore, and it feels a whole lot fucking easier to control. Does that-

That’s helpful. Thank you.

Ben just grunts. Any other shit for us to do?

I’d like to figure out the whole pain thing. If it was just high adrenaline or something more consistent, if it’s only severe pain, if you can feel it when I’m in pain-

Do you ever feel sick.

You blink at him. What-

When you’re afraid. Ben mutters in your head, scanning over your face. Or sad. Do you feel sick.

Yeah, sometimes. I, I vomit when it’s really bad. Like at the tower. Why-

I can feel it. When you’re in pain.

Oh.

I didn’t fucking think it was a big deal-

No, it’s okay. You sigh, dropping your brow to rest on his shoulder. It’s good to know, and it knocks off another thing. We’ll just need to search the villa, call the team, and test your powers a little.

Good. And for us. What do you want to do for us.

I, you take a long, steading breath, just to try and come down a little further into the sense of Ben, everywhere around you. I like the butterfly garden idea. You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. I think it would be really funny to see you in it. You’re going to be so grumpy-

Shut up-

No. I love you, and you’re going to hate it, but I’ll let you fuck me after as a reward for doing something so stupid-

It’s not fucking stupid. He grumbles in your head. If you like it, it’s not stupid.

You might melt right here, in public, inhaling pine and salt and coffee and Ben, lightheaded from the unbreaking feeling of his love inside you. Oh. Thank you.

Don’t. What else.

Um, I’d like to see more gardens, and the Roman Forum would be cool. I might not shut up the whole time, but-

I think I’ll fucking live. Ben drawls in the noise of the crowd around you. That it?

No. Your voice is a little more confident now, as you fall a little further into Ben’s body. We should see some fountains, and the Sistine Chapel, go shopping while we still have CIA credit cards, and go to the Colosseum. You’ll love the Colosseum, Pretty Boy, you’d have been an excellent gladiator.

Damn right, I would have. Ben’s arms squeeze around your body, the glow inside him becoming prideful. I’d have kicked fucking ass.

You giggle softly, tracing your fingers over his chest. I know.

Ben’s hand moves to your chin, tilting it up with a reverent touch so he can kiss you slowly. Snacks.

You understand the half-question, half-request for Ben to be given something to do, and hum. Yes, please.

The kiss lasts another long minute before Ben draws up, letting his fingers linger against your lips, before grunting stay here in your head, and stomping off. You pass the time he’s gone people watching and keeping an eye on the flight attendants—shuffling around the desk and calling for last minute bag-checks—and Ben is just slow enough to return right as they begin boarding.

“What the hell is-“

“They’re filling up the plane.” You take in his armful of gummies and cookies and chocolates, and snort. “You have the appetite of a toddler, my love-“

“This shit is for you,” he winks as he dumps the majority of the snacks into your backpack. “I’ll eat whatever you don’t, but you eat first.”

“Such a good boyfriend,” you tease, taking his hand as you move to your feet. “Taking good care of his girl-“

“My wi-“ Ben’s mouth twitches, and he tugs you closer to his body as he continues with a too casual drawl for how his whole world seems to be electric ardor and something loud and blinding he’s pushing down. “My woman, Sunshine. You’re a fucking woman.”

You giggle again, kissing him on the cheek and deciding to let the strange moment go, but keep an eye out for more like it, given this is the third time he’s stumbled over words, and Ben never stumbles over words. “A true feminist, Benjamin. I’m not a girl, I’m a woman-“

“You are a woman.” He grumbles, slinging his arm over your shoulders and grabbing the bag. “You’re a beautiful goddamn menace, and you’re my fucking woman.”

There’s a smug pride to how he says that, and it makes it impossible to do anything but bury your head in his side and sigh. I am, you asshole. I’m yours.

Good. You feel the glow almost explode across his skin and organs, and he starts to guide you both into the line for boarding. How the fuck does this shit work now-

You lean away from him with an eye roll and mumble of old fucking man you know he hears—though all you get is deep lines on his face and a fake glower—to take the lead on getting you onto the plane.

It’s easy. Showing the woman your tickets and giving a ditzy giggle about how you’re so excited for your vacation is easy. It’s made easier because she’s barely looking at you and Ben is half wrapped over your body, and you always feel a little lightheaded and dumb when he climbs over and into your every sense. It’s easy to smile at him, easy to stay pressed against him as you enter the cabin, and easy to find your impossibly fancy seats and let Ben help you into them.

It’s easy to not think about how you’re going to fly—in the cold air, high above the ground where Homelander could reach you and send you plummeting to the ground—when Ben keeps one hand on your leg and shifts in his seat to block his own face and your body from the view of other passengers. And even if you do get recognized now, as the doors close and the plane begins to move onto the runway, there’s not much for anyone to do about it. You’re out of American jurisdiction, and you’re certain Homelander won’t want to be in public until his face heals—which could take a week, buying you extra time—so if someone sees you, you’ll handle it. You’ll handle any of this, because you have Ben.

The flight is eight hours. The engine begins to build to a roar, and you can make it eight hours. You’ll watch stupid movies to pass time, and cling to Ben’s body until you’re safe from the sky and on sturdy ground again.

And it might be the way Ben’s rubbing circles on your skin, or humming a low, off-key tune you both know by heart, or filled with such an attentive care to your every breath and hitched breath, but you feel a peaceful darkness wash over you, and fall asleep with ease.

When you wake up—your sleep dreamless and restful—Ben’s chest is rumbling with snores, his lips brushing your forehead, and he’s holding you tight against his chest. The cabin is darkened, the flight trajectory says you have a little more than four hours left, and you know that if you startle Ben awake he might accidentally break something or someone, so you slowly twist yourself in his arms and pull out your phone.

Airplane wifi is slow and shitty, but good enough to pass time. To set up the basics of Ben’s phone, but this time including MM’s number and letting Ben decide the contact names. To look out the window at an ocean of clouds and golden, blinding sunlight. To listen to music on static, thin, wired earbuds and rest against Ben’s sleeping body, doing nothing but waste time because you finally have time to waste.

Ben’s hand moves before he’s fully awake, rubbing up and down your leg and kneading at your skin as he lets out a low grunt that you can feel deep in a place nobody but he gets to touch.

He mutters your name as his eyes open, and for a long second you just look at each other. Then he sighs, pulls your head into his chest, and that’s it. You’re happy being gently touched and kept safe right here, against him, until the plane lands, so the last two hours pass in barely a minute. The last hour passes even faster, because Ben gets the bright idea to let his hand wander between your legs and rub his palm against your still sensitive pussy until you’re biting on his shoulder to stifle your moans and squirming in your seat as he pulls you through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You can’t look anyone in the eye after that—out of fear they might read my boyfriend just made me cum on your face—and when you reach the land Ben keeps a pace ahead of you, letting you hide yourself in his back as he pulls you through the airport.

“We need to find a taxi.” Your words are quiet, but you know he hears them. “I googled the address Edgar gave us, it’s about twenty minutes away-“

“Villa will still be there in thirty minutes.” Ben snaps, leading you past a sign that very obviously leads to transportation. “What we need is some fucking money.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. “Fuck, you’re right, we don’t have euros-“

“We’ll get them, don’t lose your damn mind. We need somewhere that won’t check for any ID, or ask stupid fucking question. Can you,” Ben looks at you over his shoulder, tugging you under his arm to match his pace. “Does the internet tell you how much our money is to theirs?”

It’s quick to check, and when you tell him you’re unable to hide the slight awe and sheer amusement in your voice at how he’s disturbingly good at this, but do manage to keep to yourself how much that’s turning you on. Making your knees a little weak, trying to override your will and move your body to jump into his arms .

Ben nods at the number, jaw clenched as he stomps through the crowd. “Good. We should withdraw a lot, so we can beat Muller and Singer to the fucking draw. Get their money before they freeze our credit line.”

“Have you,” you squeeze his arm, drawing his attention enough for his steel-like gaze to drop to yours. “Have you fled a country before, Pretty Boy?”

“No.” He grunts. “I just know what the fuck to do in a crisis. I’m not a fucking idiot-“

“I know that, Ben, I’ve told you I know that. But you’re like, ready for this.”

“Shut up-“

“It’s good, it’s really good.” the words fall out of your mouth, and you might be pleading just a little for him to grin at you and understand that you love this. You love him, and you love that he’s helping, and that he’s keeping you steady as you speed walk and shove through the bustling movement of the airport, and he’s everything, and somehow still surprising you with how much he cares. How good he is to you—getting you snacks you love, and picking you flowers, and offering to look at old buildings because he thinks you’ll like them—and how you’re never actually that shocked, because if anything is real, this is. Ben is real, in every movement and grumble and frown and beat of his heart in your chest.

He mutters your name, gaze peeling you apart and stringing you up for only him to really see. “It’s not that big a fucking deal-“

“Yes, it is,” you whisper, ducking out from under his hold—but keeping your hand on his arm—as you reach an exchange ATM. “I like it. It’s hot.”

His movements don’t falter on the ATM, but his love and hunger strain in your chest, and his voice is a gravely in a way you feel spark in your gut. “It’s hot.”

You flush at the deep, teasing drawl of his voice. “Yeah,” you mumble. “I like it.”

“You already said that, Sunshine.” Ben grins down at you, waiting for the money to be fed out of the machine. “What do you like about it?”

“That you’re helping,” you shouldn’t look him in the eyes—your legs are going to give out, and you keep this up you might smell like sex for the next fifty years—but he’s locked his bright, devout gaze against yours, and you’re not cruel enough to pull it away. “I, I like that you’re taking control. To help. Me. You always help me, but I, I really like that you’re doing something for me, when it’s something I can do, but you’re doing it, and I love you, and it’s hot that you’re so focused and handsome and hot and focused-“

Ben takes mercy on you, and dives down to turn your ramblings into a long, easy sigh of his name. When he pulls away, his smile is open and cocky, his hand cupping your jaw as his whole body becomes insatiable need and adoration, trying to flood the world with a riot of something so wrathfully, unforgivingly powerful and loving that you might fall over.

“Christ,” he says your name with a reverence, thumb pressing slightly on your lower lip. “Thought I fucking broke you. You get real damn scrambled when we talk about fucking, don’t you.” At some point, one of you should grab the money from the ATM, but you couldn’t care less now because Ben is backing you into a wall, and he’s everything. “Makes that smart, clever brain of yours go dumb, when I tell you that I love you. Make you tell me how hot you find my hands, and my mouth, and my cock, and when I fucking help you. When I pick you up and fix things for you, when I take control and make you feel good-“

You’re half slumped against the wall, knees shaking, and Ben’s arm shoots out to wrap around your waist the moment he notices. “Ben-“

“Going to make you feel fucking good, darling, I’ve got too many damn things to do to you, so I might start simple.” His mouth lowers to suck on your neck, and you don’t care if anyone hears your high whine. “Have you ride my cock, maybe tie you up and tease that perfect body and pussy until you’re begging me. Eat you out until you’re fucking suffocating me, put my cock in that pretty mouth until you’re dripping-“

“Ben,” your protest is weak—you don’t even mean it—and your shove at his chest is pathetic. “Money. Need to get the money-“

He hums against you, drawing back up with a gentle, sweet kiss on your lips. “When the job is done,” Ben hand traces over where his mouth had just been, and you shiver at the promise in his voice. “I’ve got countless things to do to you, Sunshine. But,” he kisses your brow, tangling his hand back in yours. “I still have a real damn good plan, so I might just stick to that. I’ll have all the time I need after to do everything I want with you.”

You swallow, watching as he takes the money and letting him lead you back in the direction of transportation, and you allow the feeling of almost blissful joy sink into your body. You will have all the time. Right now you’re following Ben and hanging off his arm as he flags down a taxi, and you’re going to find a way to have all the time. No matter what the Cornucopia has—or doesn’t have—for you, you will force there to be a way for you to have all the time after, with Ben.

He’s still shielding you with his body through the taxi ride. It’s short and tense, the driver making the mistake asking about your lives, where you’re visiting Rome from, and mentioning he’s been to America once and liked baseball—specifically the Mets—which launches Ben into a long, passionate rant. When you’re dropped off outside a high, wrought-iron fence, you pay quickly with an apologetic expression, and hit Ben’s chest with a glare as the taxi drives off.

“That was very rude, Benjamin-“

“He shouldn’t ask so many fucking questions,” he grumbles, looking over the bars with a furrowed brow. “Got him to stop damn pushing, didn’t I?”

“You did. But you could’ve also just ignored him-“

“He should talk about what he doesn’t fucking know-“

“I don’t know about Baseball, and I talk about it with you-“

“Not the same. I love you, and you’re hot when you get all fucking flustered and eager about shit. He’s just some cuckhead.” Ben doesn’t look at you as he speaks, voice flat and deep and obvious, and he points to a break in the seemingly gate less fence. “There. Keyhole.”

You lean forward, squinting slightly for what he’s trying to show you. “I don’t- Oh. I see it.”

“You got the-“

You stick your tongue out at him as you reach into your pocket, pulling out the keys and dangling them in front of him. “Of course I have the key, Pretty Boy. We’d be fucked if it didn’t, because I would not do two more flights to go get it”

Ben winks with a shrug. “You certainly seemed to enjoy that first fucking flight, with the goddamn mess you made-“

“And I’ll be able to make plenty of bigger messes, here, in private.” You lean up to whisper in his ear, running your hand over his chest. “Where I can scream and moan and whine and beg-“

There’s a deep, almost primal growl that leaves Ben’s body, and suddenly he’s bending down, slamming his lips to yours, and hauling you up his body until your legs wrap around his torso. A high, airy sound escapes you as you drop the keys, scraping at Ben’s neck and shoulders as he goes and goes and goes until you grind against him, and he leans back with a smirk.

“I think,” Ben nips on your lower lip and squeezes his hold on your ass, everything inside him alight and coursing through you like lightning. “I can do better than just screaming and begging. I think I can fuck you until every sound you make is just-“

He stops his own words, kissing you so deep and rough that it makes you start to try and climb up his chest, squirming against his body as he only drops you lower, pressing your clothed pussy right over his hard-on, and fuck he’s still not wearing underwear-

You make a sound that might be the most animalistic noise that’s ever left your body—desperate and pleading and breathless—and Ben pulls back. His brow presses to yours as he starts to take deep breaths, and the hunger in him takes a comfortable and white-hot root in your stomach and over your hands, giving them an itch that feels like touching Ben would aid. You start to comb your fingers gently through his hair, just to feel him a little more, and he makes a low, rumbling sound as he tightens his grip on your body. When you chance a look at him, his eyes are closed and his lips are parted, and this might make you cum all by itself. You’re still playing with his hair, he’s still making that sound—his breath hot and fanning over your mouth, his beard brushing your cheek, and his cock twitching against your inner thigh—and you have a job to do, but right now it doesn’t feel that important.

Suddenly Ben freezes, his eyes shooting open and locking onto yours, and there’s something wild in them you can feel over his lungs. It’s vigilant and taut, growing stronger as the content want in his body shoves deep down to somewhere behind his ribs that’s harder to feel.

He grunts your name, and you let one hand drift to cup his jaw, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

I love you, Ben. You’re not sure why he looks like someone just kicked him in the gut, but telling him that never fails to make something in him soften. Did you not like- 

I did. He catches your hand, holding his against his face. I fucking loved that. I don’t- His hold on you tightens, and the sore, hot feeling of embarrassment creeps over his skin. Don’t worry about it, Sunshine.  

You frown. Well, now I’m absolutely going to worry about it-

Fucking don’t-

Benjamin. Your fingers curl into his, and you let your blood leak into his, waiting until his throat bobs and eyes narrow to continue. Tell me now. Please.

The soreness in him becomes an itch, and his voice is gruff and quiet in your head when he speaks. Felt good. Real good. Relaxing. Never had someone do that.

So you liked it?

Yes.

Is that bad-

I was fucking purring, he grumbles your name, and the soreness becomes heated. That’s fucking dumb-

I liked it. You shrug in his hold, risking another slight scratch of his head and fighting the smile at his groan. I liked doing it.

His eyes narrow on yours. You did.

I did. It’s not bad to like something that’s a little stupid, Benjamin. I get wet when you pick me up, or when we dance.

That manages to make something ease inside him, and light flashes in his eyes. I know that, brat. I can smell it.

So can you admit that you like it when I pet you?

Whatever.

Ben-

He scowls. I like it.

Okay. You smile, kissing the outer corner of his lip. Was that so hard?

Shut the fuck up. Ben turns his head to fully capture your lips against his, smirking at your small gasp. Grab the keys, darling, we’ve got some fucking work to do.

You wrinkle your nose at him as he lowers you back to the ground to pick up the keys, keeping one careful arm around your waist. After we do the work, do you want me to do that again-

No. Not until I’m done with you.

Benjamin, my love, you lean against him, looking up at his darkened eyes with a pout. After you fuck me, can I please suck your cock and pet your hair?

Ben’s body is rigid, and he looks you up and down in a way that might make you just fall against him and burn off all your clothing just to see what he does about it. Fucking Christ, Sunshine.

That’s not a no-

We’ll see. He kisses the side of your head, spinning you to face the fence. Open the gate, and maybe I’ll put my cock between those pretty lips when we’ve got the time.

You huff in disappointment that’s only half-performative, and Ben’s chuckle rolls through your body as you put the keys in the slightly hidden lock, waiting for a click before turning them, and tilt your head back to meet Ben’s eyes. He gives you a short nod, and you push the gate open. 

In the sunlight and clear sky of Rome, the dark, high fence had looked out of place. Gothic and foreboding in the sunlight, clashing with the green of the overgrown bushes and vines. But the driveway is long—made of carful mock-stone patterns of red and brown brick—and before you even see the house, you see the gardens. It’s not just the plants around the gates that had flourished in the years of unattendance. The grounds—not sprawling, but by no means small—are filled with flowers and moss and life. The path under your feet may be cracked, and the iron of the gates may have been dulled, but this place is filled with life.

And that’s a house. When you and Ben reach the end of the path—even his eyes and chest sparking with slight disbelief at the scene around you—your mouth falls open, because that is a real house. It’s not high, two floors at best, but it’s long. There’s low-step dais leading up to a door that’s really just unreasonably large, and two, large trees on either side of the entrance. You stop at the base of the stairs, giving yourself a long second to breathe and look around the rest of the grounds. There are trees in a clearly deliberate line to act as a second gate, a few more paths leading around to the back of the villa, and large circle drive around an algae filled reflecting pool that Ben had guided you carefully past.

It’s a little too much, and you’re not even inside yet. Ben’s hold on you doesn’t waver, but you feel his own tension—untrusting of the world and land around you, everything in him on edge and vigilant again an invisible threat—as his lips drop down to mutter in your ear.

“We don’t have to do this shit-“

“Yeah.” You turn your head to give him a soft smile. “We do. You know we do. And it’s just a house-“

“It’s a huge fucking house.” Ben corrects with a glare up at the building. “And damn near anything could be inside it.”

You shake your head, moving his arm down to hold you over your stomach. “We’re the two most powerful supes in the world, Benjamin. Whatever is in there should be afraid of us.”

He snorts, and doesn’t push. Just stands with you in the sounds of light breezes and bird song you’ve never heard before, waiting for you to be ready.

When you lean forward, Ben releases you enough to take the lead, and walks a steady pace behind you. You put the key in the door when he stops at your side—giving his stoic expression you a nervous smile, and receiving a squeeze of your hand in return—and open it with a slight grimace at the creak of the hinges.

While Edgar clearly hadn’t been having anyone tend to the grounds, the house itself is clean. You bump Ben’s shoulder when you sense his body tense, and when you look up at him, he’s scanning over the clean furniture and floor with a sharp glare.

Do you hear anyone?

Just you. He gives you a glance that’s almost gentle, but his jaw remains set. What now.

You blink, looking back around the entrance hall with wide eyes. Despite the more unruly, older Mediterranean architecture of the villa itself, the floor is glossy marble brick and there are column arches almost wherever you look. There’s a large, curled staircase leading to a second-floor walkway, and a single step down to a sunken living area with spotless white couches and a fireplace. You don’t bother to count the wooden doors, but there’s a lot of them, and two long halls that lead away from you on either side.

And this is your house.It’s really just becoming real now—as you stand in it—that this whole place belongs to you. Edgar hadn’t given you a deed, but when you’d tried to google any property records during the flight, none had come up, and it doesn’t seem unreasonable that this place might be a little less than legal. You can hound Edgar about specifics when this is over, though, because right now this is, in name, your house. The furniture is a little ugly—Edgar obviously never redecorated from Dr. Vought—but the building is beautiful, the grounds are beautiful, and it’s yours.

“We,” you swallow, and your voice echoes around the room. “We should look around. See how big it is, look for something that Sage might be after.”

“What the fuck might Sage be after.”

“I don’t know, Ben, otherwise I’d say look for the secret weapon Sage doesn’t want us to find.”

He rolls his eyes. “Smartass.”

You hum, resting your head against his arm. “You love it. Should we split up-“

“There is not a chance in fucking hell we’re splitting up.” Ben grunts, still eyeing everything around you with a distrust like they might start singing show tunes and try to murder you. “We don’t have a floor plan, or a goddamn clue what we’re looking for, so we’re goddamn sticking together.”

That’s true. The villa could be five to six very, very large rooms like this one, or twenty to thirty tiny, closet-like rooms. Based on the paths there might be a backyard, and you have no way to know if there’s a cellar or basement, or anything else that’s slightly more nefarious.

“Okay. Top floor and work our way down, or find a corner and work our way up?“

“I don’t fucking care.” Ben grunts, and you wrinkle your nose at him.

“That’s very helpful, Benjamin, I appreciate it-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben rolls his eyes, but his affection in your body only gains sharper, more jagged lines that wrap around you like a barbed wire. Not to hurt you, never to hurt you, but to keep you safe from whatever comes. Wires that you could easily slip past, but chose to stay surrounded by, because nothing else has ever been bloody and protective for you. So you tangle your hand in Ben’s and give him a wide, unrestrained grin.

“Top and work down, Pretty Boy. Let’s go.”

You start up the stairs, and Ben marches behind you in rough, pounding steps. It’s easy to take stock of the upper floor, because it’s all bedrooms and bathrooms and balconies—you were right, there is a backyard, and it has a fucking pool—along with a small library and a handful of mostly empty linen closets.

“I counted seven bedrooms and eight bathrooms so far.” You move from the library side-table—drawer empty save for an inkless fountain pen and some loose money that you pocket—to Ben’s side, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing the line of his jaw. “You?”

Ben frowns, his hands dropping holding you by your hips. “I got seven bedrooms and seven bathrooms, you’re fucking terrible at counting.”

“No I’m not. Maybe you’re wrong, asshole-“

“You counted the conjoined bathroom twice.”

You flush slightly as you run back through the floor plan you’d been building in your head, and realize he’s right. “Fuck.”

“I goddamn told you-“

“Fuck you.” You whack Ben’s arm, and push off his chest. “There’s too fucking much to keep track of, who the hell needs seven bedrooms-“

“You.” Ben catches you by your wrist, amusement building in his chest, in perfect time with his love like summer storm. “Us. We’ve got seven annoying fucking assholes to house, and they’re probably falling apart without us. And-“ he tugs to right back to his chest, every low word making his lips brush against yours. “You might wish we had a few more rooms, darling, when I’m done with you. When I’ve fucked you and filled you so good it goddamn sticks.”

There’s a slight stutter in his usually confident, smooth cockiness when he teases you, and he’s studying your expression so carefully you realize he thinks he might have crossed a line.

You don’t really have lines with Ben anymore. You probably should, it would probably be healthier, but they seem pointless. You can feel him all the time, and he can feel you in the same way. He—apparently—can feel it when your body turn in on itself from pain and emotional suffering, and you’ve literally experienced his orgasms. Every line you have doesn’t feel that important, because they’re things you know Ben would never do. They’re things like don’t hand me back to Vought or Homelander, and don’t lock me up, and don’t treat me like I’m weak and useless, because then I’ll shatter, and Ben never even strays close to them. They remain unspoken because they simply don’t need to be said aloud for Ben to know. Just as you understand that you can never ask Ben to stop fully protecting you, or send him back to Russia, or put him back in the box.

And you’ll die before you do that to him. The idea of anyone doing those things to him makes your whole body feel wrong, and it’s the same for Ben with you, so lines don’t matter. A line like that—the hypothetical future of who will occupy those bedrooms—feels almost ridiculous, because it’s more comforting than off-putting. That Ben would want that, and there’s a life he seems to have thought about at least a little where it’s you and Ben and the team, and he gives you more. You’d always want more of Ben, because you feel as if you’ve been in a drought for a million years, only to be offered water and told you never had to go back to the way it was before.

That’s why it’s easy to close the inch between your faces and give Ben a soft, gentle kiss. Sweet and long and almost innocent, melting into him and promising that he hasn’t shaken or cracked you.

I’d like that. You hum against him, drawing back and starting to pull him out of the library. But after. We have a whole other floor to search.

Ben nods, and follows you back down to the ground floor. Down one hall there’s a kitchen, a half-bath, a dining room, a pantry, and a fucking wine cellar. You find another bedroom—with another bathroom and its own exit outside—before you turn to go down the other side.

Your steps falter slightly around the house entrance, and Ben silently follows you as your turn, walking into the living area and staring out the almost floor-to-ceiling windows.

There’s a patio, and pool, and large yard that looks a little more kept than the front.

“This is weird.” You whisper, and hear Ben grunt in agreement from behind you. “Like, really weird, Ben. This is our house, and it’s huge and fancy and probably worth more than I could’ve ever earned in a lifetime. Fuck,” you shake your head, starting to drown yourself in hypotheticals. “Are we going to have to pay property taxes? How much even are property taxes in Rome? We don’t have a lot of money, shit, we don’t have any money, and if we live here we’ll need jobs, and I’ve been mostly joking about escorts but I don’t speak Italian and you don’t have a college degree, so we might as well-“

Ben kisses your neck, his body humming with amusement and care behind you. “Calm the fuck down, Sunshine.” He mutters against your skin. “We’ll figure it out. Together. Right now you have a house, and that’s that. No losing your mind over shit we can’t solve today.”

You nod slowly, looking around the outdoor area one last time. “Do you think that water is safe to swim in?”

“Who gives a fuck.” Ben shrugs around you. “Neither of us can get sick, it could be filled with sewer water and it wouldn’t make a goddamn difference.”

“I think it would make a difference,” you tilt your head back, giving Ben an upside-down smile. “Just like, psychologically.”

Ben rolls his eyes, but still plants a small kiss on the tip of your nose. “One last area to search, brat. Let’s move.”

The other side of the main floor seems to just be one more sitting area and bathroom, until you push through a the very last door, and stop in your tracks.

Ben almost slams into you with a disgruntled noise, catching himself on the frame of the door over your head. “What-“

“Found the master bedroom,” you mumble, and he stiffens behind you as he sees it. The sprawling space before you, with a soft looking carpet, walk-in closet, a bed that’s unreasonably large—even for Ben, which is impressive—and two extra doors, one ajar and leading to a master bath and the other closed and leading to… something else.

“Holy fuck.” Ben says, half leaning on your body. “This is fucking bigger than our damn living room and kitchen back home.”

You hum an agreement, your eyes still locked on the extra door. “It’s probably just a closet, right?”

Ben frowns down at you. “What the fuck are you talking about-“

“The door.” You nod in the direction of where your attention has been trapped. “It probably just opens to a closet.”

Ben moves in front of you, stone resolve wrapping around his body as he keeps his hand in yours. “Let’s find the fuck out.”

You reach around him, unlocking the door, and he opens it with a less-than-quiet kick, and you peak over his shoulder to see a study.

Dr. Vought’s study, seemingly entirely untouched by whatever cleaner Edgar had coming through. There’s a fancy wooden desk, and some military medals that you’re going to have to burn later, and a very large, chest resting against a wall with German words carved on its top.

You dunk under Ben’s arm, kneeling before the chest, and scan over the words before looking over to Ben with a sigh. “I don’t speak German-“

“I fucking don’t either-“

“But,” you look back to the writing. “I think it’s a safe guess that Projekt Chloe, 1956, means Project Chloe, 1956.”

Ben scowls. “Who the fuck is Chloe.”

“Vought’s daughter, I think. And,” your fingers tap on the chest as you let out an uncertain breath. “I can only think of one famous Dr. Vought project. That he might have perfected around 1956.”

You turn to him with an open, uncertain gaze, and see Ben’s fists curled at his side.

“Should I-“

“I’ll do it.” He drops at your side within a second, grabbing at chest with rough hands before pausing, and frowning at you. “Ready.” “Ready.“ You take a long breath. “Do it.”

Ben rips the top of its hinges, and a cloud of dust billows up into the air. Your eyes recover a little faster than Ben’s, and you swallow as you take in the contents of the chest.

V.

The chest is full of little green vials of V. And when you look around the room, scanning over the papers and books, they’re all journals.

Edgar said Vought came here to get extra eyes on his work. And you’d bet almost anything that, somewhere in this room, is the secret formula for compound V.

“Fuck.” You whisper, and Ben echoes your sentiment with a grumbled sound as he looks into the chest.

“Is that all fucking-“

“Yeah. We need-“

“You call them,” Ben places the top back on the chest, helping you rise back to your feet. “They won’t know my number.” 

You nod, and pulling out your phone as Ben guides you outside, helping you lower onto the large steps of the back patio and sitting tall at your side as you tap through your phone to MM’s contact, figuring out how to dial internationally.

He picks up on the second ring, and you hear a slight banging sound before says your name. “You landed?”

“And got to the villa.” You flinch slightly as there’s another crash. “Are you guys okay?”

“Got to Maine a few hours ago,” MM lets out a long, groaning sigh. “Been cleaning up from the mess last year and trying to move shit around. Flight fine?”

“Nobody died.”

Ben coughs at your side, and MM huffs a dry laugh. “And the villa? No kind of trap or some other shit for us to worry about-“

“No, um.” You lean into Ben’s body, tugging his arm over your shoulders. “Actually, it’s good. We’ve got something.”

There’s a second of static as you take a deep breath and MM waits, and you look over to Ben—grounding yourself in his touch and smell and deep, boundless, pretty eyes—before continuing.

“V. There’s a whole stash of it. And, I think, maybe the formula? I haven’t checked yet.”

“The formula-“

“For V.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” MM sighs into the speaker. “You think you’ll be able to get us some pre-made V back? Because I can give Frenchie a shot at the formula-“

“No, there’s more than plenty. We’ll get it back soon.” You glance up at Ben, your words becoming slightly softer. “I know we’re in crisis mode right now, and we need to be getting ready to finish this, but Ben and I were wondering if we could have an extra day-“

“Take a week.”

You blink, Ben’s own rush of shock matching yours. “A week?”

MM grunts, and you can picture him nodding over the phone. “We’re all safe here. Homelander hasn’t been seen in public since your fight, Frenchie’s trapping the grounds for Sage, and you-“ MM pauses, his voice weary when he speaks again. “You shouldn’t be home right now.”

Something in Ben becomes alert and bloody, and your whole body feels wound tight. “Why?”

“Shit’s in chaos.” MM mutters. “They haven’t found Mallory’s body, but they know she’s dead.”

“How-“

“Sage. Homelander must have fucking told her, and she came out with a statement accusing Muller of political violence against Mallory. He’s facing a whole lot of backlash, even if they don’t have proof anyone’s dead yet. He might be out of the VP race.”

“But.” You frown into the air, your fingers tapping on Ben’s knee. “That doesn’t make any sense. Muller was the leak, Sage should’ve been trying to get him in as a puppet, throwing him under the bus loses her a political ally and an opportunity to scapegoat us-“

“Well it’s what’s happening.” MM’s voice becomes concerned. “And you’re going to need to be careful, even in Rome. Vought’s looking like it’s going to turn on you.”

“What.” Ben’s words are pushed through his teeth, and you don’t even think he knows how close he’s pulled you. “The fuck you mean, turn on her.”

MM’s tone becomes short over the speaker “I mean Hughie noticed they deleted all the Anomaly and Homelander propaganda on their social media. And the merch is having a buy one, get four free sale. They’re wiping you off the slate.”

“Fuck. I-“ Your vision isn’t blurring, but you have to measure every breath and word, because this matters. “I need to come back. Into the public eye. Sage is going to try to manipulate the narrative, and we can’t let her, I need to make a statement, and-“

Ben squeezes your arm, muttering breathe in your head, before grunting to MM, “think we got a week before everything gets fully fucked?”

“Everything’s already fully fucked.” MM mutters, and you think it’s meant to be under his breath. “But one week might look better. Let Sage spew her bullshit, and know what you need to say. We’re fine here, we can start working on how to get the V actually into Homelander.” MM snaps your name, and you make a small sound so he knows you’re listening. “We can hold down the fort. Take a week with your ancient dick of a boyfriend then come back with the V, and we’ll be ready for you.”

There’s a lump in your throat that’s made of something gentle but aching, and your voice is shaking. “Thank you, MM.”

“No problem. Tell me when you get the flights back, don’t be idiots, and, is the asshole still there-“

“Yeah,” you look up at Ben’s scowl, a smile pulling at your lips just from the sight of him.

“Good. You, motherfucker.” There’s a pause in the static, and MM’s words are clipped. “Earn it.”

You don’t know what that means, but Ben seems to, because his jaw clenches and his grunt is firm. There’s no anger in his body, though. Only resolve, and that permanent care that always takes root near your heart and wraps you in a stone feeling of safe.

When the line clicks, the world is nothing but you, Ben, and the wind.

And you have a week. You get a whole week in Rome, just you and Ben for more than a moment or night or long, taxing day.

You look over at him with a tentative smile. “Now what?”

“Now we fucking relax.” Ben hauls you onto his lap, turning you so you’re straddling his lap. “Have a goddamn vacation, Sunshine. No work, no death, no fucking dumbass pussies trying to tell us what to do.” He kneads on your thighs, his face growing into a wide grin. “A whole week where we’re eating and fucking.”

“That’s just a normal week for us, Benjamin-“

“No.” Ben’s face falls into a practical pout as he grumbles. “Someone’s always trying to stop us, or give us orders, or fucking kill us. This week, we’re only eating and fucking.”

You press your face into his neck, giving a soft hum of content. “I could live with that. But now what. Specifically right now, what do we do?”

“What do you want to do.”

“Maybe just,” you lean back to look up at the house, chewing on your tongue. “Make this place feel more us, and less former Nazi in the 20th century?”

The glow might be everything inside of Ben. It’s all you can feel—the truly devout and immovable wrath of his love for you, the way that every single piece of him seems to be alive in a way that’s easy—and when you look at his face, he looks like someone struck him with lightning.

“Ben-“

“What does us look like.” His voice is a little hoarse, and the itching, sore embarrassment on his skin feels like it’s trying to twist into something else. So you take his face in your hands, smile at him with everything you can offer, and scoot further up his lap until his body might as well be yours too.

“Whatever we want it to be.” You whisper, bumping your nose with his. “As long as there’s nothing blue.”

Ben gives you a rough nod, low chuckle, and stands in one fluid movement, carrying you in his arms back inside the house. “Whatever you want, beautiful, we’ll make it happen.” He kisses your brow as he walks, and the embarrassment turns into something sacred and made of ardor, feeding something that’s starving in Ben’s body, but doesn’t seem to be painful at all.

You start with the master bedroom. Namely, you start by absolutely destroying the master bedroom. Ben drags a bookshelf in front of the study door—just so you don’t have to think about it every moment you spend in the room—and you start two piles for most everything else. Memorabilia and war medals and books that you’ll pass onto historians, or something, go into the first pile, and regular household items that are flat out hideous and you simply don’t want are carefully burned and dropped in the second pile as ash.

As Ben starts to carry the horrible, cream colored and floral pattern couch out to the burn pile, you frown at the bed. It’s a nice bed, and when you push down on the mattress with a flat had it’s not really that different from your mattress back at the compound, but it’s still Fredrick Vought’s mattress.

Ben walks up behind you, wrapping his arm around your stomach and leaning down to mutter in your ear. “What’s wrong.”

“Bed.” You push down on it again, shaking your head sightly. “It’s not a bad bed, but it feels weird to maybe sleep on the same mattress Vought and Stormfront-“ Your lip curls in disgust at that realization, and you sigh. “Fuck.”

“Do you want a new bed.”

“I mean, yeah, but-“

“Then we’ll get one.” Ben grunts, pressing a kiss to that one spot on your neck and grumbling against your skin. “We can sleep on the floor.”

You hum an agreement, a smile creeping back over your features. “Won’t that be bad for your back, old man-“

Ben spins you around, more devouring you than kissing you, and walks you backwards until your knees hit the bed frame and you let out a high whine.

Fucking brat- he groans down your throat as you move a hand down to palm his bulge though his sweatpants, and pulls back to look at you with a wonder you can feel feeding the glow in his body. “Christ, Sunshine, you’re a fucking marvel.”

You nod frantically, not really listening to his actual words because his voice is deep and rough and he’s huge under your hand and his touch is so soft on your body for how he’s started to suck and bite on your throat and neck-

Can’t fuck you now. He picks you up, never removing his mouth from your skin. But when we get the bed, we’re taking a goddamn day in it. Got it?

You whimper as his knee moves between your legs, and your voice is airy in the silence. Got it. Fuck, Ben, please-

You get us a proper bed, he mutters your name between your heads, letting you grind down against him. And nothing will stop me from fucking you good and stupid, darling. But I am not fucking you on the damn floor-

Ben grunts against you as you tug on his hair, trying to get his face up to yours. “Ben, we can go get a bed now-“

He chuckles, and the sound of his voice makes you keen on his leg. “That fucking desperate for my cock, Sunshine? Need me so bad you’re going to find a bed from fuck knows were-“

“Mattress store,” you press your face against the side of his head, trying to ignore how Ben’s hand on your ass has started to drift closer to where you can feel yourself dripping for him. “We’ll find one at a mattress store-“

Ben draws back without warning, grinning down at your likely wrecked expression. “Let’s find a fucking mattress store then.”

He sets you carefully against a wall to search on your phone, and you manage to find a mall with an Ikea. Ben has cleared the room of all the larger furniture items—the room now just a bed frame and empty bookshelves—but this specific trip needs to be about getting a mattress and some groceries. Navigating an Italian Ikea once with an aggressive, grumpy Ben is going to prove to be an effort, so you’ll live without a couch for a while.

The taxi ride to the mall is mostly silent—this driver less interested in small talk, and Ben’s hostile, protective expression and hold on you isn’t exactly screaming talk to me about the weather—and the mall itself isn’t that much different. You pull Ben behind you, find a mattress, and buy it with Ben’s seemingly infinite supply of Euros.

“What do we do when we run out of money?” You mumble to him at the cashier, and he shrugs, writing down the address you’d given him for the mattress’ delivery.

We won’t.

Ben-

There was cash in the library. And study. Far as I’m concerned, it’s our fucking money now.

You gape at him slightly, shoving his chest. You didn’t think to tell me that, dumbass- 

You were about to spiral, I wasn’t going to add any extra shit for you to deal with. And I’m telling you now, aren’t I?

Yeah, but… You can’t think of a proper argument, and Ben smirks down at you.

Going to admit I didn’t fuck up? Maybe fucking thank me? 

You stuck your tongue out at him. You’re such a fucking dick. 

I know. He kisses the top of your head, guiding you out of the store. You love it.

Shut up. How much money is there?

Ben just grins at you, and you quickly learn that the answer is a lot. There’s a lot of money. When you get back from the mall—Ben carrying the groceries and looking very grumpy about it, despite you explicitly offering to help and him refusing—you go up to the library and count the cash.

Holy fuck.

You feel Ben stir in your chest from downstairs. What. Are you- 

I’m fine. You stare at the last stack of Euros in your hand, swallowing. I’m good. We’re good. Ben, this is really fucking good. 

What.

We’re rich. Vought was a paranoid, anti-bank asshole, and now we’re rich.

There’s a moment of silence as your instinct of Ben grows stronger and stronger, and then he’s bursting into the library, dropping on his knees at your side. “What the fuck do you mean we’re rich.”

“I mean Vought was rich.” You pass the cash into his hands with a grin. “And everything in this house is ours now, and I’m not above taking his blood money. He’s not using it, and he would’ve hated me, so this feels more like vengeance than anything else.”

Ben frowns. “How-“

“We’re going to use this money make his house ours.” You crawl forward until you’re on Ben’s lap, your hands moving up to hold his jaw. “We’re going to get rid of all this old, ugly furniture, and make this somewhere for us to live after we destroy his company. We’ll donate some of it to causes he’d have hated, and the rest will be for us to live happily after he’s just a fucking stain on history.”

Ben surges forward, kissing you down to the ground, grinning against your mouth. I think I can fucking live with that.

Good. You nip at his lower lip, scratching over his back. Because that’s the plan.

Because he’s an asshole, Ben doesn’t fuck you on the floor of the library. Or in the kitchen as you finally finish putting away groceries, or on one of the itchy, garish couches as you try to make a list of what you’ll need to get before you can fully lean into relaxing.

“We need clothing,” you mumble, titling your head at your writing. “It should probably be prioritized under toilet paper, but over extra sheets-“

“There were a fuck ton of shops at that mall,” Ben says into your ear, his arms wrapped around your waist as he holds you against his chest. “We can go tomorrow.”

Somehow—before the list is even properly done—you end up with Ben’s boner pressed into your ass and your head thrown back as he kisses across your neck and shoulders. But he still doesn’t fuck you, only growling and groaning as he turns you to a mess in his arms, teasing you with low words and praise, and been an annoying fucking gentleman who’s suddenly too good to have sex anywhere but a bed.

You’re only a few more muttered good girls and so fucking perfects from losing your mind and killing this insufferable man you’ve chose to love when your phone buzzes with an alert that the mattress is here.

You probably could’ve gotten more things done today. But Ben gets the mattress to the bedroom and suddenly shopping and decorating and taking stock seems really fucking dumb, because he’s looking at you with a hungry, feral gaze, kissing you like he’ll die if he doesn’t, and throwing you onto the mattress with promising growl of going to fuck you dumb, Sunshine.

And this is your vacation. So if your handsome, sex god of a boyfriend wants to fuck you until you’re screaming and ruined and numb with pleasure, who are you to stop him?

It’s almost three days of just that. Just this strange, perfect life you’ve somehow stumbled into, where you have someone who you love more than the universe, and who loves you like you are the universe. A life you’d only dreamed of before, and hadn’t dared to really, fully hope for after.

But it is your life. It’s you and Ben, doing whatever you want. Cooking together in a fancy, old kitchen before you’re somehow pinned to the counter and moaning as Ben eats you out, his beard tickling your inner thighs and his hands leaving bruises that fade in seconds on your hips. Trying to get more renovations done, but ending up slammed into the wall as you grind onto strong, broad fingers, or on your knees, choking on Ben’s cock as he fucks your mouth at a slow pace that tortures you both.

You only leave the house once in those first few days, because you need clothing that isn’t Boston themed and covered in cum. Ben lets you take the lead as you walk through the mall, only giving grumbled opinions about what he wants—mostly jeans, sweatpants, and solid color shirts—and hovering over you as you pick out things for yourself.

“If you buy that,” he nods to the dark green lingerie you’re turning between your fingers, his voice almost a growl. “You’ll need to goddamn save it, because I will rip it off your perfect fucking body.”

You giggle, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Promise?”

He groans, squeezing his hand on your waist, and you’re not strong enough to not buy the lingerie. By the end of the shopping trip you have a truly disgusting number of bags that Ben insists on carrying himself, and you justify it with the fact that you were technically out all your clothing, and you deserve a few nice things in your life. You might not need underwear and dresses that you can only describe as slutty, or makeup that you’d managed to finagle Ben into letting you buy with the clothing—by finagle, you mean asking him very sweetly with a pout, and him dragging you into the store—but the sheer love and hunger you feel in Ben’s body when you dress up for your first real venture outside the house justifies your shopping spree tenfold.

“Let’s stay here.” He pulls you forward, lowering his head so your eyes are level and his breath fans over your mouth. “The beach will still fucking be there tomorrow, and I have a lot of damn ideas for what to do with this.”

His hand brushes up your thigh, under your swimsuit, and presses his palm over your already aching pussy. You make a high, needy sound, and use all the will in your body to grab his wrist and shake your head.

“This,” you roll your hips against him, and his eyes flare with the coil in his gut. “Will also still be here tomorrow. And you can do whatever you want with it, after we do something fun and stupid and touristy.”

Ben scowls, but moves his hand up to tangle in your hair and gives you a soft kiss. “Fine. But when we get home-“

“All yours.” You smile onto his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Always yours.”

He nods, letting you pull on a dress and lead him out the door, and you end up regretting your words almost the exact moment you arrive at the beach.

Ben shouldn’t be allowed to be shirtless, let alone in broad daylight. Where the sun can make his skin look golden, and his eyes somehow greener, and his whole, stupid, handsome face illuminated with life. His skin is warmer, and you can see every ripple of his muscle as he moves, and he’s everything, and suddenly you’re possessive.

You’ve never been possessive before. It’s always felt pointless, because if you’re with someone and they need to be kept in line, you don’t want to be with them. And Ben would never stray or be disloyal—he’s not even looking anywhere but at you—but that’s not what this feeling is about. He’s the most attractive man alive, and he’s yours, and he’s keeping himself against you all the time, and if you catch one more person staring at him, you’re going to burn their eyes out. Ben won’t entertain them, he probably hasn’t even noticed them, but he’s still yours. You can ogle and objectify him all you want, but that’s because you love him, and know he’s a lot more than just a walking work of art.

These cunts only think he’s a slab of meat to stare at. They don’t understand that he’s the most caring, loyal, honorable, adorably grumpy and impossible gentleman in history. That he’d die and kill and suffer for you, and you’d do all the same for him.

And when your glowering pout deepen as a pretty, model-like girl walks past you for the fifth time—her strut growing more and more provocative with every pass—Ben chuckles, his amusement flashing in your ribs.

“Someone’s getting real fucking territorial.” His words are low and taunting, spoken into your ear and sending a shiver up your spine. “Over something that’s already hers.”

“Fuck you-“

“I could.” He kisses behind your ear, open hand to shameless grope at your tits. “I could fuck your right here, prove to everyone that my dick belongs you to.”

You flush, half-heartedly swatting his hand away. “Shut up. We’re trying to lay low, Pretty Boy. That means no sex in public-“

Ben moves so fast you barely have time to process it, standing you both up and gathering your items in an earnest haste.

“What are you-“

“No sex in public.” He repeats your words, looking up at you with a heavy, wanting gaze that takes apart your whole body for him to have. “So let’s go the fuck home.”

That’s another reason it was sensible to get so much clothing. Because at the rate Ben is tearing everything you wear off your body—you hardly make it back through the property gate before your sundress is tossed into the gardens, and you’re only just through the door when your swimsuit is just cloth in Ben’s hand—you’ll be back to owning nothing before the week is even over. You’re saving some money by sleeping naked—every evening ends with him buried inside you, groaning your name and pounding into your cunt until you feel his orgasm, cresting in time with your own—but you still have to change the sheets again when his cum leaks down your thighs.

On fourth day, you put your foot down. You’re going to go see some old buildings, Ben’s not going to try to fuck you in an alleyway or bathroom, and you’re not going to glare at everyone who looks at him.

“People fucking look at you as well,” he tells you as you get dressed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “And you don’t see me ripping off heads.”

“I haven’t ripped off heads-“

Ben says your name in a dry tone, his brows raised. “I can see your fucking face. You want to kill every lady that even glances at me.”

There’s an odd sense of bright, satisfied pride in his body at his words, and you scoff.

“I remember the guy at the gas station, Benjamin. You literally asked me if you could kill him.”

“And you should’ve fucking let me-“

“Maybe.” You give him a teasing, sweet smile, moving to stand between his legs. “But my point is that you’re no better than I am.”

“Never said I was. But,” he takes your hand, kissing your knuckles with a wink. “It’s a lot fucking hotter when you do it.”

It’s a miracle you make it out the door, because Ben pulls you down to the mattress—laying flat on his back and watching you with a pious awe as you whine above him, letting him drill up into you until you’re lightheaded and dizzy—and you have to find the willpower to move when his cum is still sticky on your skin and everything around you smells like salt and pine and Ben.

But from there, you make it almost the whole day. There are moments—in the taxi, and on the streets of downtown Rome, and staring at ancient stone ruins—where you’re in danger of damning any social consequences and just taking what you’re aways thirsty for. But you push it down, coasting on the knowledge that Ben is yours forever and later, when you drop to your knees for him in the doorway of your house, there’s no world where he doesn’t press his cock between your lips and let you worship him until he cums in your mouth.

It’s still difficult to get through, though. Because when you’re ranting about historical facts—several groups of tourists very obviously eavesdropping on your various lectures about Roman cultic practices and social conventions—and look over at Ben to see him staring at you like you’re holy. His love is roaring between your bodies, his attention is unraveling you without touch, and his dick very obviously straining in his pants as you ramble.

You get through it, promising you both soon. You also get through him buying you a large chocolate cake, and the way he groans when you lick your fingers clean. You get through his boyish, proud, happy expression when you fully explain gladiators and why he’d be amazing as one, and his body pressed right against yours as you wander through the Roman Forum.

What gets you is something impossibly stupid. Ben pulls you off to the side of the street, his eyes scanning over the crowds as he speaks into your head.

You want to learn something?

You blink at him with a small frown. Like what?

Pickpocketing.

Benjamin-

He glances down at you with a taunting grin. It’s a useful fucking skill, Sunshine. Don’t tell me you’re too good for it-

You know I’m not, you dick. You swat at his arm. But we don’t need the money, and I don’t want to steal from random people-

We won’t pick a random target.

What-

We’ll pick a someone who’s richer than we are now, and who’s a fucking asscuck pussy.

How will we-

Him. Ben jerks his head in the direction of a greasy looking, suit-wearing man. He’s here with his family, and on the phone with his mistress.

You narrow your eyes at the man, glancing back to Ben. Are you sure-

Fucking positive. He turns back to you with raised brows. Ready?

You sigh, but nod, and Ben talks you through it. It takes longer than it maybe should have—his lips are very distracting when they move and the determination in his voice is making your ache for it to be turned on you—but you get it eventually, and walk out into the crowd with your head high and expression neutral, bumping into the man with a fake-nervous apology, and returning to Ben’s side with his wallet.

“I did it.” You throw him your prize, and he grins at you with teeth and a smug pride you feel everywhere.

Ben pulls you under his arms, kissing the side of your head. “Fucking told you that you could. Not that damn hard, is it-“

“For you.” You give him a fake glare, even as your blood leaks with love into his. “Because you’re a delinquent, Benjamin. And it’s very hot, but if you ever teach our kids about this, I’ll kick your ass.”

He freezes, and you think you might have broken him. The words had fallen out of your mouth before you could think them through, and now Ben is gaping at you. Everything in him is rioting, and you can’t pick out a single emotion to focus on, so you speak softly, a little afraid to spook him.

“Ben-“

He picks you up—stolen wallet entirely forgotten—and kissing is too light a word for what he’s doing. Ben’s eating you, his mouth demanding against yours, the groans leaving his body animalistic, and his hands are everywhere on your body but where you’re beginning to ache for them as all the confusion and clashing inside him fuses into love. Raw, powerful, indestructible love that sweeps through you like a storm.

Home. He grunts in your head, voice gravelly and the lowest you’ve ever heard. Need to get you home.

And that does it. You’ve seen enough old buildings today, and Ben’s more important than anything else, so you nod and whimper and let him take you home.

The rest of the day is spent on the floor, or in bed, or in the shower. You could probably spend the rest of the week like that as well, but you only have three days left, and there are things you really want to do before this bubble is popped. You talk Ben into testing his powers just a little, enough to know what to expect when you get back to America and in an environment where nothing is that urgent. 

“We can go shopping after,” you promise him, kissing along his jaw and chest in bed. “And do more decorating, and have more sex. I’ll even let you fuck me in the Vatican tomorrow. But I really want to get this over with-“

“Fine.” He grumbles, sitting up carefully, holding your gaze. “You get three hours.”

“Six.”

Ben’s eyes narrow, even as amusement flashes over his ribs. “Three.”

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Deal.” Your smile is bright and pleased, because four is more than enough to get this done.

You use the time well, and work out that he’d been right. Ben’s new powers seemed to be very simply the nuke, now fully fused and natural in his body. He can make force fields—like the one that had protected you and Ryan—and create blasts that completely destroy a tree in the backyard, but—at least for now—they’re not as powerful as the full force of the drums.

“I think,” you examine the rubble of the tree, chewing on your lips. “It’s stronger when it’s directly from you. The further the energy is away from your body, the weaker it is. The special sauce explodes right out of you, but this,” you gesture back to the splintered logs. “And the shields emit from you. Like you’re throwing it out into the air and then focusing it, instead of focusing it then throwing it out. Does that make sense?”

“No.” Ben grunts, crossing over to your side in long steps. “But I believe you.”

“Oh-“

“I don’t understand any of this shit, Sunshine.” He slings his arm around your shoulders, watching you with a careful intensity. “You do. You say it’s right, it’s right. Now let’s go shopping.”

You sigh and nod, because Ben has been shockingly eager to go shopping, and you’ve gotten what you need. This trip is mostly about decorations—furniture and rugs and painting and more sheets and pillows—which means that Ben’s contributions are as useless as ever, but about halfway through he asks if you want food, you tell him yes, and he proceeds to vanish for almost an hour. He’s still in the mall, you can sense him near the cafe you’d passed earlier, but when he comes back he’s only carrying two coffees and the pastry you’d asked for.

“Long wait,” he mutters, handing you the pasty and your coffee with a stiff arm. “Eat.”

It’s odd, but he’s not tense or angry. Ben’s stumbling slightly in your chest, wrapped in a new feeling that’s electric and almost addictive—so strangely hungry and wanting, bursting along his stomach and heart and ribs and trying to climb out his body—but he’s not saying anything, so you don’t either. You trust him, and despite that fact that you’re irreversibly in love with and tied to him, you know that you still don’t fully understand this strong, wrathful, powerful man in front of you.

It doesn’t fade, though. The rest of this day passes with laughter and ease and a happiness settled in your bones that would feel naïve if it wasn’t so genuine, but that new feeling in Ben only becomes stronger. With every smile and shove of his shoulder, every teasing word and pout and squeeze of his hand in yours, the sensation grows more and more feral and loud. It’s there when you wake up the next morning as well—Ben’s body flopped over yours, his morning wood quickly finding its way inside of you and your mouth falling open with gasps of his name as he rolls your clit between rough, expert fingers—and by the end of the day you might pass out from it.

You should ask him, but you don’t even know what you’d say. Ben doesn’t lie to you, or keep secrets—this doesn’t feel like either of those things, though, it feels somehow more important—and he doesn’t care that you can always feel him, but this seems like something you shouldn’t feel. This feels like something building and banging inside of Ben, that’s doomed to explode from him but he’s trying to savor and time correctly. And more intense it becomes, the more it feels like yours. It’s almost undeniably for you—it hums inside of you like Ben’s love, and softens the closer you are to his body—but he’s still containing it within himself. You’re pulling him through Vatican City, explaining the Sistine Chapel and why these maps are important and this tomb is so interesting, and Ben is looking at you like you’re a star that’s landed in his hands and made a home in his head, but the feeling just silently growing.

You’ll give it one more day. You’ll use this time—in the sun and green world of the Borghese Gardens—to let Ben try to deal with whatever that feeling is himself, and then you’ll pull his head down to your eye level and demand he tell you what the fuck is going on. You’ll run around the zoo with his grumpy, handsome ass, pretending that he’s not having fun when you can feel his joy, living in time with and just under that strange feeling. That when you point out the lions, his eyes don’t flash with interest and awe.

He stops you as you wander the gift shop, not looking for anything in particular, and points to a stuffed white tiger with a glower.

“Get that.”

You stare at him for a second before you speak, hearing the slight uncertainty in your own voice. “What?”

“For Ryan.” He pauses, the lines of his brow deepening. “And one for you.”

“Oh.” You hum, titling your head as you tap on Ben’s arm. “What about you?”

“What about me-“

“Will you get one?” You give him a fake pout and the sweetest eyes you can manage. “Please?”

“I don’t fucking need one-“

“Nobody needs one, Benjamin, they’re fun. Look.” You tug him over to the shelf, grabbing two stuffed lions and hold them up dramatically. “For you and Ryan. And,” you pass the lions into Ben’s arms—he takes them without thinking, then proceeds to glare down at them—and pick up one of the white tigers. “For me.”

“Why aren’t you a lion.”

“Because I’m not related to you and Ryan. I’d thank God for that, but,“ you smile at him, passing the white tiger into his arms. “It does mean I chose to be here. I’m not a lion, but I’m still part of this for some reason.”

“You’re here because you love us.”

“I am here because I love you.”

Ben’s glare at the white tiger softens slightly, and the strange feeling might be about to break and seal his whole body in the same second. “Good.”

You have to keep letting it go, even as the day crawls on and that feeling in Ben starts to bellow and thrash. You have to get ice cream and smile at him the same, bright way you always do and swallow the question of what’s happening, Ben. I love you and I trust you and this doesn’t feel poisonous, but it still feels critical. Finish your ice cream, you old cunt, and tell me what’s wrong.

He says your name with a clear his throat late that night, and you turn over in arms to watch his set, stoic expression as he speaks. “Tomorrow,” he mutters. “I’m in charge.”

“You’re-“

“In charge.” Ben’s eyes keep boring into you like it’s dangerous to look at you, but he can’t stand to look away. “I’ve got shit for us to do.”

“What-“

“Trust me.” He pulls you impossibly closer, kissing the space between your eyes before dropping down your nose, finally hovering his lips right over yours as he speaks. “Please.”

“Okay.” You whisper, because you can count on one hand the amount of times Ben has said please. “I trust you.”

He nods slowly, and kisses you long and soft and slow until you’re melting and falling against him, and nothing—even as that feeling’s brief moment of rest and peace ends—has ever been as good as this.

Ben doesn’t wake you up—he never does, and you think his bladder is made of steel—but the moment your eyes flutter open, he’s sucking and nipping at your throat, every part of him alight with ardor and devotion and love, and rushing with something you don’t have a name for.

It takes you two hours to get out of bed. Ben ends up being the one who draws away—although it does come with a low groan, and long kiss that he has to pry himself away from—before helping you up, tossing you his shirt to wear, and carrying you to the kitchen for breakfast.

Three, very large pancakes and a blowjob later, he’s placing you down on the bed and towering over you in a way that can’tbe productive for anyone involved.

“We’re going out. Don’t dress fancy yet, but do whatever you want with the makeup shit.”

Ben’s words sound almost rehearsed for how simple they are, and you frown up at him, trying to ignore the slight bob of his throat. “Where are we going?”

His jaw clenches, and he mutters through his teeth, “butterfly garden.”

“Oh-“

“If you hate it-“

“I won’t hate it.” Your voice is hushed, and you reach up to grab Ben’s face between your hands. He’ll too high up, but hunches down to meet you, and it makes you melt even more. “I’ll love it,” you whisper, running his beard between your fingers. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he kisses you quickly, fucking tenderly, before drawing back up and taking a rough pace back. “Change.”

You follow his orders, his eyes tracking your every movement, and when you move to the mirror moves to stand directly behind you, a hand gliding over your stomach.

“Hi, my love.” You smile at him through the reflection, and his lips twitch and he rests his head over yours.

“Hi, Sunshine. Done?”

You hum an agreement, and Ben leaves one last sloppy kiss on your skin, before picking you up and carrying you outside.

Despite the fact that a butterfly garden was entirely Ben’s idea, he looks remarkably angry to be here. Everything around you is soft and colorful—greens and pinks and yellows and reds, flowers and mist and gentle rushing water—but Ben is vigilantly silent at your side. Eyeing every other patron, which consists of primarily children, as if they might try and throw little metal water bottles or tell him something mean.

They won’t, but when they do pay you attention, they mostly just look a little awestruck. A handful of little kids are staring at Ben with wide eyes, he’s glaring right back, and you have to bury your face in his side to prevent yourself from giggling.

Why the fuck are they looking at me. Do they know I’m Soldier Boy-

They’re a bunch of Italian children, Ben. They don’t know you’re Soldier Boy.

So why the goddamn hell.

You’re staring at them. You prop your chin on his shoulder, grinning at his scowl. You’re a big, scary, grumpy man, and you’re looking at them like they’re going to try and steal your lunch money.

His arm tightens around your waist as he rolls his eyes. Shut the fuck up, I am not grumpy.

You look grumpy. Are you, you pause, letting a little bit of your worry cross your face. Are you okay?

That odd feeling flares inside of him, and you get a short nod and kiss on the tip of your nose. “I’m good.” He mutters, raising his head to look around the garden. “Got you.”

He means it. Ben very obviously means it, because from there he lets you lead him around the garden, almost clinging to your body and only glaring and half-pouting when a black and green butterfly lands on his head.

You don’t bother to pretend it’s not the most amazing, hilarious thing you’ve ever seen. Ben’s jaw clenched and brow furrowed, his back a tall, rigid line, but still not moving or shaking it off.

Three more land on him, and he stares at you with slightly wide eyes. Get them the fuck off of me-

You get them off of you, Benjamin.

He doesn’t, the lines of his face only deepening as another two land. Why are they even goddamn on me. I’m not a fucking tree-

I think they like you. You take a step out of his grip to survey the scene before you with a smile. I get it.

You take a picture, and Ben has a glint in his eyes that would promise violence for anyone else, but you know that—directed at you—it just means he’s going to fuck you with teasing words and an unforgiving pace once you’re alone.

It’s amazing how predictable he is. Because when you’re done at the garden—your photo roll now filled to brim with pictures of your handsome, stoic boyfriend covered in butterflies—you wander the streets into the evening, until Ben insists you go home to get ready. When the door closes behind you, you don’t even get a chance to ask what are we getting ready for before he’s slamming you against the wall and fucking you in a way that might be dangerous to the foundation of the house.

When you’re done, he insists you shower, and tells you to dress fancy.

You do—wearing the type of dress you haven’t worn just for fun in four years—and when Ben takes you in with a slow, sweeping look, you’re in genuine danger of never leaving the house.

His eyes are heavy and dark, and you can feel the hunger growing savage in his body, but Ben only reaches a hand out for you to take with a cocky grin, and kisses the top of your head when you reach his side.

“You look beautiful,” he mutters your name against your hair, and you let out an airy breath at the everything of him. The smell of pine and coffee and strawberry and vanilla, the warmth of his body against yours, and how he should not be allowed to wear formal wear, because it’s a threat to your cognitive function. Ben is inhumanly attractive on a bad day, and with his hair mussed just right, his beard trimmed carefully, and his muscles straining at his button up shirt and jacket, he’s reducing your whole brain to that songs of Ben. Ben Ben Ben, handsome and big and strong and for you, he’s for you, you’re for him and Ben is all for you-

“You,” you swallow, supporting yourself against his chest with a fist curled into his shirt. “You’re also beautiful.”

He chuckles, and guides you out the door. “You need to keep it together, darling, or this is going to be a long fucking night.”

You manage to get a grip—using the time in the cab to remind yourself that Ben’s always hot, and he’ll still look like that when you get home and fucking him is an option that’s on the table—but the night is long anyways. Ben’s taking you to dinner, a fancy dinner with food that’s too expensive and wine that gets neither of you even slightly buzzed, but is still fun to drink. His knee stays pressed to yours as you tease him, and he glares at you and calls you a brat, and you talk about the future like it’s simple. Like it’s not a risky, uncertain if, but a promise of after.

“I knew it,” he tells you, his grin wide and smug. “I fucking knew it-“

“Fuck you, Benjamin.” You nudge his shin with your foot with a wrinkle of your nose. “I never tried to hide that I like when you cum inside me-”

“You’re all on my ass about my,” he coughs, and a slight soreness crawl over his skin. “Breeding kink. But you fucking love it-“

“I love you-“ 

“And you love when I fuck you, when I fill you up and tell everyone that you’re mine-“

“I am yours.” You shrug, leaning back in your chair. “And, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this, but you’re really good at sex, Pretty Boy-“

His whole face lights up, and it would look innocent if his voice wasn’t so deep and rough. “I am, but you still fucking love me pumping you full of my cum, kissing you until you’re stupid and screaming my name, telling you you’re beautiful and good, and that I fucking love you-“

Your thighs are squeezed together, your face flushed from his words, but you push through it to weakly jab back, “shut up, Ben-“

“No, you want me, you fucking love me when I fuck you dumb and pretty with my cock-“

“I do.” You mumble, focusing your attention on a glint of wine caught in his beard. “But I mostly just love you. I like you. You’re my best friend, and I’ve always wanted you more than anything else.”

He’s suddenly silent across the table, that odd feeling growing ravenous. “What do you want after.”

You hum, with a soft frown. “What?”

“You made me tell you what I wanted, in DC. What do you want.”

“I,” you chew on your low lip, and realize you don’t have to think these words out. “I want to move. Not here, not until Ryan is done with school at least, but just, away from New York. We could come here on summers, but I think I want a home still in America. We could get on in Philly, or Boston, or somewhere else, but I’d like to stay in a city. And I want to help with the post-Vought and Homelander clean up, but I don’t want to fight again. I can testify and help with plans, but I don’t want blood. I just want you, and Ryan, and our friends and maybe more, eventually.”

There’s a moment of silence, and the feeling snaps in Ben’s body. When you risk meeting his eyes, they’re blown out and adoring, and his voice when he speaks is hoarse.

“We’re going home.”

You nod, a little smaller and more timid than you’d like, but Ben’s everything and you feel like he’s about to consume you in the best way possible. “Okay.”

The ride home is silent, Ben’s hand resting on your thigh and the feeling rushing in and around and between every part of his body, and you have to ask him. Before he throws you on your mattress, you need to knowwhatthis feeling is.

But he doesn’t bring you to the bedroom. Ben carries you to the backyard, pulling off his shoes and waiting for you to follow suit before moving to the pool and sitting down with his feet in the water. You lower yourself at his side, leaning your head on his shoulder, and for a second you almost forget your concern. Ben’s arm wraps around your shoulders, and you can feel every rise and fall of his chest, and you could stay like this for the rest of time.

But you have to go home tomorrow. This is your last night like this, and you’re not afraid—not cold or hollow or broken—but you’re scared. You have something so good now, and if you lose it, you know you won’t recover. You won’t lose Ben, he won’t let you lose him, but he can still be taken away from you. And you’d burn the whole world to get him back, but you’d rather just be like this. Peaceful.

Happy.

He clears his throat, and when you look up at him, he’s already staring at you. “Do you want to dance.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, and you know he can feel it too. How this feels so vital in a way you don’t understand yet, that you do something simple and romantic like this. “I can sing-“

“Just,” he sighs, helping you to your feet. “I’ve got it. Follow my lead.”

You nod slowly, and you’ll follow him to hell and back, so you let Ben hold you against him with a careful, steady arm around your waist, and guide your movements with another hand tangled in yours.

You might have been here for a million years, dancing in a slow, easy way, your head resting on Ben’s chest, every off-key hum rolling through your body and settling in your bones with a sense of permanence. He’s so bad at singing, but you don’t care, because you love him, and love is making your judgment a little hazy. He’s touching you like you’re holy, and his body over and around yours is everything, so even as that feeling builds and builds and passes some point of no return, it’s still just Ben. It’s still just another strange part of this man you love, who has done so much wrong, but still is everything right.

You smile at him up at him, and you know it’s your wide, toothy, lovestruck smile that makes you look a little stupid, but you don’t care. Ben is warm and solid against you and in you and everywhere around you, and he’s yours, so he deserves the dumbest, most pathetic sounds and expressions you have to offer. He deserves everything you have to offer, even if it’s just a beating heart in his hands and a cracked skull to press his brow against. If all you can give Ben is a happy sigh of his name and your hands cupping his face, then you’ll offer it a thousand times over.

He’s offered you more. Everything Ben gives you is so blatantly, obviously worship. It’s how you see people treat Queens in old, historically inaccurate movies. How he kisses you at every possible moment, in the only way that’s somehow correct. How he’s started to buy the pine shampoo himself, because he knows you like it, and always leaves his shirt casually out for you to wear, replacing it with a clean one if he deems it too dirty. How he’s leading you in a dance, his whole face relaxed and his whole body adapting so quickly to your every misstep and stumble. How his body feels like just as much yours as yours has become his, and nothing about that feels wrong.

How he tells you I love you every second like he’s worried you’ve somehow forgotten. How he’s like a barrier between you and everything wrong and cruel, just because he’s so good and caring in his tending to every part of you.

Ben tends to you so well.

It’s something nobody but Ben seems to do so easily, without any labor or resentment, like these offerings he leaves you aren’t to protect himself from your wrath, but to try and get you to just look at him.

And it’s almost worryingly natural to look at Ben. He’s bigger and stronger and more infinite than the dark, star splattered sky above you. You’d try to justify yourself out of saying he looks like an angel in the night—almost glowing in moonlight, shadows casting over his handsome features like they’d rehearsed it—but you’re past that.

For you, and just you, Ben is an angel. Not a soft, baby angel they show in churches and bible studies and cartoons, but a biblical angel. Bloody and consuming and loud and zealous, with eyes that burn through you and wrath that’s focused to serve their god.

You might be his god. And you’d say it’s not a fair trade, but Ben is your everything. You may love the world and every piece of beauty it has to offer, but you also have a favorite thing, and it’s Ben. Without a single doubt, Ben is your favorite. And you’ll never choose anything over him. You could be a god, and create a whole world, and you’d still chose Ben as the sun set and mean it every time.

He mutters your name, that feeling inside him on edge, and stops your slow, mostly swaying movements in the grass.

“Benjamin.” You whisper in return, and his grip against you tightens and he continues in a low voice.

“I love you.” He searches over your face, and every part of you is already open for him to take, but you loosen your features slightly. Just to try and ease that roar inside him. “You know I love you.”

“I do.”

“And we’re,” he lets out a long, heavy sigh. “Fuck-buddy-brain-connected.”

Your smile starts to strain at your cheeks. “We are.”

“And if you want just that, for the rest of time, I’m more than damn okay with it. But,” he’s standing tall and watching you cautiously, his words slower than you’ve ever heard them. “I want to get married. To you.”

The world might have ended. Everything could be flooding and trumpets could be sounding and the oxygen could be being pulled from your lungs, but you wouldn’t know the difference. Unless it was Ben doing it, you wouldn’t have a fucking clue.

He’s still talking. For some reason, the sentence didn’t stop when your heart did, and Ben’s still saying stuff.

“We could do it now. Or after. Or in fifty fucking years. But I want to marry you, Sunshine, I fucking love you and if they threw me back in the box in an hour it would’ve still been fucking worth it because I got to have you.” He reaches into his pants, pulls out a ring with an iridescent opal set into the band, and glares at it like it might ruin this for him. “This is for you. It’s got all the fucking colors, and I can find some asshole to fit it better, or change it. If you want it. If you want me-“

That’s enough of that. The very prospect that you might not always want Ben springs you into action, and you crash into him with a fervor in your blood and nervous system that you’ve never felt before Ben, and will never have to worry about not feeling after. He catches you, raising you up off the ground as he deepens the kiss, and it’s only when you’re both forced away to breathe that you realize you haven’t actually answered.

“Yes.” You press your brow to Ben’s and if your smile was dumb before, it’s flat out idiotic now. “I’d like to marry you, Benjamin. I love you, and I’d really like to marry you.”

The odd feeling is gone, and all that’s left is love. Powerful and eternal love that’s all yours and Ben’s, and you could spend a lifetime describing how it’s everything—brutal and soft and unstoppable and immovable and made of fire and light but so sharp and embedded in your very soul that nothing else feels quite as real—but you’d rather spend that lifetime with Ben. In his arms and at his side and never, ever afraid because you have him, and he won’t let you burn without burning at your side.

“Good.” He grunts, glancing back down to the ring. “Do you want it now.”

You nod, offering out your hand, and he slides it on your finger carefully, looking up at you with a grin when he’s done.

“Do you…” Your words stray off as you start to get a little high off his gentle touch and boundless eyes on yours. “Do you want to have sex?”

He laughs—a loud echoing laugh that starts in his chest and moves into your heart—and picks you up with a wide grin.

“That is a stupid fucking question,” he starts to walk you back inside, holding your gaze the whole way. “I always want to fuck you, Sunshine. I’d fuck you in a hurricane, or tornado, or in the middle the goddamn world ending. What I want to know,” he lowers his face to yours, eyes alight and warming every part of your body. “Is how you want me to fuck you.”

“I,” you take a shaky breath, trying to force yourself not to drool or whimper under his attention. “I trust you. Whatever you want.”

You can’t look at him right now. You can feel him growing so hungry and strong in your body that it’s going to knock you out, make you cum on the spot, burst into flames, or all three at once, and holding Ben’s gaze will only make that worse.

It’s bad enough to hear his voice, low and rumbling and gravely, say your name like it’s a prayer. “Whatever I want.”

You hum, because you don’t trust your voice not to just be a breathless plea of his name.

“Words-“

Whatever you want.

You can see Ben nod in your periphery as he kicks the door open. He lowers you onto your bed slowly and carefully before crawling over you and pushing you onto your back, and when you finally gather yourself enough to meet his eyes, he looks feral. He feels feral inside you—beating against your ribs and hungry in every place of you he’s allowed to touch, which is all of them—and he’s hard against your thigh, making it really, really hard to focus on anything but Ben. Caging you against his body, only watching you and not really doing anything but making you sit in Ben. Starving for you and looking at you like you’re holy, loving you like you’re the most important thing in the world.

Ben- 

Whatever I want. He’s repeating it one last time, giving you one last chance to take it back. But the growl of his voice in your head tells you that he knows exactly what he wants, and if this is another thing you can give him, then he’ll get it. It won’t be gentle.

Okay. You drag one hand down his chest, palming at his bulge until he groans, his head dropping to the crook of your neck. I can take it-

He grabs your hand against him, his grip rough and bruising as he moves your hand on your head, and picks his head up to scan over your slack, desperate expression. No touching me. He starts to trace small circles on your wrist with his thumb, and it’s sending small electric shocks through your body. I touch you. And be loud. Be real fucking loud. Got it?

You nod, and it’s a little pathetic. Yes. Got it. What are you-

Ben rips off your stupid fancy dress in one movement, and leaves wet, sloppy, open mouth kisses over your lip, down your throat, over your collarbone and tits and stomach and down, down, down until his tongue flattens on your clit, and a low groan leaves him as two, broad fingers trace up and down your pussy.

So fucking wet for me, Sunshine. Always so goddamn wet, soaking through your panties like a fucking brat, tasting like fucking heaven-

“Ben,” you gasp as his tongue start to drag down, teasing and flicking at your fluttering pussy but never going in, both his hands moving to knead at your ass as he angles you up. “Fuck, please. Please-“

His tongue pushes into you, and your words turn into a choked and high whimper that only makes him go faster.

Fucking perfect, darling, soaking my fucking face. You’re like fucking crack, I could goddamn die here. His beard starts to tickle and burn at your skin, and you grind up into his face. Christ, you’re fucking desperate. You want my cock, don’t you. You want me to make you feel fucking good, ruin you and split you open-

You can’t touch him. Your hands are fisted in the sheet because you can’t touch Ben. He’s spewing filth in your head and eating you in a way that make his nose bump your clit and his hands pull and squeeze your skin, his tongue occasionally just licking a long, rough stripe up your cunt and making you scream, but you can’t touch him.

“God, I need you, now, Ben, need you now-“

You’re right on the edge, Ben’s tongue starting to just plunge in and out of you, and he’s not bothering to hold you down. You bucking and keening off the mattress, your arms starting to wrap around your own body to just touch something, and Ben grins, chuckling right against your pussy.

So fucking good. Goddamn perfect, and beautiful, and real needy. All wet and begging, just for me-

“Just for you, only for you,” you gasp, kicking against the bed as Ben’s mouth moves back to suck and nip at your swollen clit in a pattern that’s holding pleasure just out of your reach, but still makes you scream. “God, Benjamin, you cunt, please-“

Hold it, Sunshine. Take it and keep fucking talking, and maybe I’ll let you cum.

I can’t-

You can. His tongue starts to flick torturously, and you fucking squeal. It would be embarrassing if it didn’t spur Ben on, his voice dropping to an octave you’ve never even heard before. Good girl, taking it so well. Talk to me, darling, tell me what you want-

I want you, Benjamin. I want your cock, I want you to make me cum-

Aloud.

“Fuck!” You scream, writhing and rolling your hips squeezing your tits like you can force your own relief. “You asshole, please let me cum, fuck, please, need it, need you-“

He starts to circle his tongue over your clit in slow, painfully good motions, and you whine.

“Please,” your legs lock around his head, trying to force him deeper into your cunt. “God, fuck, Ben-“

The last shout of his name is almost a protest, because he unhooks your legs without effort, and rises up to look at you. He looks proud, and in love, and it’s all for you and you’re going to explode-

“I said no touching.” His voice is stern, but one hand has snaked over your abdomen, lingering with teasing fingers and a soft touch. “You want to cum?”

“Yes, please.” You spread your legs as wide as you can, giving Ben a pout that usually gets snaps him and makes his cock drive into you with an abandon.

This time, though, he just smirks, and drops his hand between your legs. Resting it right over your cunt, holding his balance on your knees as his other hand press down on your stomach to still your squirms. “Going to be fucking good for me, Sunshine? Let me do whatever I want to this perfect pussy?”

He slaps his hand against you, and your mouth falls open. All you can do is whine stupidly and make soft, breathless noises that are supposed to be his name.

“Talk to me,” he grunts your name, and hits your cunt again, this time a little harsher. It’s not painful, but it stings and sends a rush through your whole body, spurring your voice into borderline incoherent pleas.

“Ben, fuck, please. Please, I want you, need you, fuck-“ Another slap of your pussy, another strangled scream. “Need to cum, need you to make me cum, Ben-“

He starts to makes smaller, slightly circulars patterns with his hits, dragging you right up to the edge, and you can’t really think outside of Ben, Ben, Ben, who let him learn how to play you like an instrument and who made him smell like an aphrodisiac and who decided he could be big and handsome and strong and rough but still touch you like you’re sacred and look at you like nothing else is worth looking at-

“Let go for me, Sunshine.” He mutters, and you feel him alive and roaring inside of you. “Cum.”

Your body almost flies off the bed as it obeys. For almost a whole minute your existence is almost only pleasure and warmth and something wet pouring out of you, all in a perfect harmony with Ben. You might be shouting it, or calling it into his head, or just keeping him all in yourself, but it’s all Ben. Still rubbing larger, softer circles over your pussy as you come down, staring at you as the world comes back into focus with a devotion and care and love that sends one last, smaller orgasm shuttering through your body.

“Ben-“

Your whisper has barely left your mouth when his eyes flash and darken further, and he’s moving. Grabbing you by your hips and flipping you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up into the air and running his broad forefinger right between the lips of your dripping, overly sensitive pussy.

He leans over your body, his lips brushing your ear, and you’re not lucid enough to stop the moan from leaving your mouth at the low, deep, hoarse sound of his voice.

“Cum all you want,” he growls your name, and your whole body shivers. “But don’t stop saying my name.” 

You nod, pressing your ass further back into where his cock is still trapped in his pants. “Ben, please, need it-“

“I know you do, darling.” He kisses your neck, squeezing your hips and hissing his words through teeth as you wiggle against him. “Fuck, you need to stop that-“

It’s almost automatic, how your body listens to him, and you fall forward onto the mattress with a whimper, curling your fingers into the sheets. “Ben. Ben, please-“

“Good girl,” Ben smirks on your skin, rutting against your bare pussy as you let out a long, hopeful moan. “Don’t move.”

You couldn’t if you tried. You can hear and feel Ben moving around behind you—rising back onto his knees and tearing at cloth—and nothing in you wants to move. Your brain is in an easy harmony of Ben, and you’re warm and wrapped in a haze of pine, so you’re really good right here.

If you moved, you wouldn’t get to feel Ben’s hands knead and pull at your ass, yanking you back up into the air before pressing his thumb right over your clit and rubbing once, twice, a third time until you’re gasping and pleading his name, gathering all your strength to push up onto your knees and offer yourself as easily as you can.

Ben. Please, Benjamin, please-

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters, one, thick finger pushing into you and pumping slowly. “Never seen anything as fucking perfect as you, Sunshine. I fucking love you, I’m going to marry the fuck out of you.”

You let out a soft, airy giggle. “Romantic-“

Ben’s fingers are yanked out of you without warning—leaving you squeezing around nothing and making a loud, needy noise—and his cock replaces them so fast it knocks the air out you and sends a rush of lightning-like pleasure though your body. 

“Fucking brat,” Ben pulls in and out once, and you can’t do anything but moan and feel smoke start to curl from your hands. “Such a smart fucking mouth, you’re-“ he groans, starting to move faster, building up and up, his balls slapping against your clit as his hands bruise into your hips. “Christ, so fucking good, darling, fucking love you, going to drive me goddamn mad-“ You’re too high to hold onto his words anymore. He’d wrapped an arm around you waist and trailed big, warm fingers down your stomach until they’re pinching and rolling your clit, and when your orgasm crashes over you it’s not a wave, but a storm. It washes over you again and again, only growing stronger as Ben reaches an unrelenting pace, drilling into you and growling praise you can’t hear, but that still sends spasms through your body and more and more wetness out of your cunt. You’re squeezing and fluttering around his cock, and he’s saying words that sound like hymns, but you can’t decipher outside of good. Ben and good. You’re burning but it’s fine because you won’t fade out and Ben’s right here with you.

His hips jerk, his body falling over yours, and you feel something hot spread over your gut and down your thigh when Ben’s orgasm slams into you it’s unforgiving. You’re nothing but a shaking, whimpering, soft mess when his beard brushes on the skin of your back, and you let out a happy sigh when he starts to kiss up and down your spine. He’s still buried into you, and he’s so simply and contently alive in everything that’s inside and around you that you don’t realize that the bed is blackened and scorched under your body.

“Ben,” you whisper, running some ash between your fingers. “Did I-“

“You did.” His mouth moves back to your neck, and you can feel his grin against your skin. “You’re a marvel, Sunshine. That was fucking hot.”

“Literally,” you mumble, and he chuckles.

“Smartass.”

You hum, smiling like a fool and carefully moving your hand up to reach behind you and run his hair between your fingers, “I love you, Benjamin. And I’d marry you now, but I think you’d like to be dramatic about it.”

“I’ve got a hot fucking wife,” he grumbles, arms wrapping around your waist. “I’ll be as dramatic as I want, beautiful.”

You laugh, and tomorrow you’ll have to go home, but tonight you don’t have to go anywhere. You can sleep easy with Ben over you like a weight that’s not a trial to carry, and dream of sunlight and laughter and a hollow thing that’s finally full, and the light that’s leaking out of it.

End Note: If you wanted more of them in Rome, do not worry. There will be many, many one-shots from things that we didn’t have space for in the chapter. There's even been a secret one already in the Bonus Footage. See you guys for the shit hitting the fan <3.

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

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[bisexualiteaa]

Mornings Like These

Cooper Howard x Fem Reader

CW: slightly NSFW, established relationship, mentions of sex, sexual daydream, OOC Cooper, Cooper in a frilly apron cooking, cursing, slight deviance from the canon, more domestic Cooper because 🥹❤️

AN: Had the most wonderful request to do something a little different than what I’m used to! I know it’s out of character for our cowboy ghoul but I just loved the concept. This is a continuation of my last work, so it is set in the same Fallout TV series and Fallout 4 tense. Breakfast is served my lovely Cooper simps, hope I did your ask justice @morrrrow !! Hope y’all enjoy!

“God damn this fuckin’ thing” spoke the ever recognizable southern twang of Cooper from the kitchen. You woke up to hearing a few pots and pans clank together as he removed them from the cabinet, and his not so quiet curses in frustration that he was a man who failed at being quiet. Outside of bounty hunting of course. You were still in bed, having just barely woken up as the sun poured in through the windows, making you rub the sleep from your eyes. You padded into the kitchen to see what all the noise was about, seeing him trying to work the stove that you both bought off of someone that was supposed to be repaired and in working order. “What a fuckin’ rip off” he said angrily as he threw the towel down on the floor that was resting on his shoulder, then leaned over the sink to breathe, doing his best to try to control his anger before he started breaking things. “Stove givin’ ya trouble, hun?” You asked, your voice carrying a sleepy rasp to it as a small playful smile stretched to your lips, making him look over at you. In that moment, it was as if all the anger inside of him had just melted away upon seeing you, clad in just a tank top and underwear, hair slightly messy from sleep. You were truly a sight to behold at all hours of the day in his eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry darlin’. I wanted t’ surprise you with breakfast but this damn thing won’t work. Shoulda known it was a fat load a shit when he said it was workin’” he replied, defeat and agitation still evident in his tone, making you walk closer to him and grab his hand. “Hey, it’s okay, Coop. I think it’s mighty sweet you wanted t’ do that. Can I take a look? Maybe a fresh set’a eyes can help?” You asked, watching as his shoulders dropped a little bit as the tension left him at your touch, a small smile reaching his thin, marred lips as he looked down at his girl. “Go ‘head” he replied, starting to follow you and what you were trying to do but you stopped him before he could do anything. “*You* have a seat and relax, I’ll take a look, ‘kay?” you said, your hands resting on his shoulders to make sure he listened to you, knowing well and good his stubbornness was his biggest attribute. He gave a grunt before giving in, recognizing that you just wanted him to relax after being all worked up. “I’ll take care of it, promise. I’m a big girl, but if I need anythin’ I’ll holler for ya” you said, smiling up at him sweetly once more as you rubbed his shoulders a little before kissing him softly. His hands rested on your hips for a moment as you kissed, and in that moment, everything felt at peace in the world. As you parted from the kiss, you turned and moved out of his way before coming to take a look at the new appliance. Well, maybe not *new* but new for post war standards. You took a look at the wiring, noticing that it looked pretty good for a shit box that survived a nuclear bomb or two. No rust, no corrosion, hell even the paint didn’t look half bad. Cooper knew he had to get it for you the moment your pretty eyes lit up with excitement upon seeing it, going on about how much you missed making homemade pies, casseroles, and bread. He knew you were one hell of a cook with the passion you put into making some iguana, or even your famous stew he’d grown to love that was made from just about anything you could get your hands on. He swore you put some kind of drugs in your food with the way he craved it all the time, he’d joke that you could put cyanide in it and still manage to make it taste delicious. And that was just over a fire, he could only imagine the creations you’d put out if given the right materials. Seeing you working a stove, in a house that was starting to get pretty settled into, would be one step closer to the dream of having a domestic life with you when the rest of the world had gone to shit. He wanted to see you happy, because when you were happy, everything was alright in the world in his book.

You opened the door to the stove, bent over and examining the inside for any reason as to why it wasn’t working. The broiler seemed good, all the coils were there, nothing was rusted or corroded so you weren’t quite sure what the issue was. Cooper however, was in a whole other world looking at you. Had he been the man he was before meeting you, he’d have had half the mind to fuck you right then and there while your body was half way in the oven. He gave a groan at his own daydream, watching you with your ass in the air, clad in just the panties you were wearing, making him shift in the small, dining room chair he was sitting on as his pants began to grown uncomfortably tight. You always had a way of getting to him, whether you meant to or not, that man stayed feral for you all hours of the day. He wondered if your moans would be muffled or amplified with your head stuck in the oven, how you’d squeeze him tight with the slight sensory depravation. What he really wanted was the memory to play in your mind each time you’d use it, for you to bend down and remember the way he used you in that same position as you’d slide a casserole in the oven. He was broken from his daydream when you called his name, finding that you were no longer in the kitchen but outside checking the power source. He stood up and walked towards the front door, leaning in the open doorway as you stood outside, looking to him with a relieved smile as you found the solution. “Was wonderin’ why it was so hot in there” you thought out loud, explaining that it was a problem with the power source, not the stove itself before flipping a few switches and connecting a few wires then hearing your electricity hum back to life. “‘s ‘cause you’re here” he joked flirtatiously, sending a wink and a smirk your way, making you giggle. “Wasn’t the stove, was the power. Radstorm must’ve knocked it out last night” you said as you both came back inside, plugging the stove back in and sure as shit, it turned on. You dusted your hands off, standing there proudly in front of your new, working oven. He was thoroughly impressed. “Well I’ll be damned, when’d you get so handy?” Cooper asked with a teasing grin, making you smile as he looped an arm around your waist proud that his little lady was able to fix the problem. “Since I had to start fixin’ things ‘fore you break ‘em” you teased, coming up to kiss his cheek as he swatted your ass affectionately in retaliation.

“Ya know, before you start cookin’ I have the perfect thing for you to wear” you said, slipping from his grasp for only a moment, making him raise a brow at you as you giggled and treaded into the closet of what you called your bedroom. You opened it, finding a frilly white apron you used to own back in the day when you would bake and cook everything by hand at home. You smiled as you grabbed it, knowing full and well you’d have hell to pay for this little stunt, but when has that ever stopped you before? So you snatched it up, leaving it folded before coming back into the kitchen and handing it to him. “A good cook needs a good apron, and I just know this one would look damn good on you” you said, handing it to him with the most mischievous glint in your eyes and grin stretched to your lips, leaving him to unfold it and look it over. Now this was where you were expecting to get in some serious shit. To hear a chide comment or a “never in a million years, sugar” but no, this man looked at you like you’d handed him a challenge, and he was going to take it in stride. So with a smirk, he set it aside and started to shake his duster off from his frame. “I’ll do ya one better there, little lady” he said, that look in his eyes told you he was up to no good and it had you curious. He started working his shirt off and you’d be damned if you weren’t enjoying the sight of him shirtless and just in his pants, the decorative buckle on his belt helping him maintain that rugged cowboy look. He noticed your stares, giving a dry chuckle. “Like whatchya see, sweetheart?” He asked, his voice dipping a little lower but he didn’t need you to say anything, he already knew the answer. “Always” you replied, a half lidded expression on your face as your tone dripped with something a little less pure. What you really hadn’t been expecting was when you saw him take his pants and briefs off before you, a slack jawed grin coming to your mouth as he tied the apron around his frame. Completely naked underneath. You gave a laugh as you watched him wear it with pride. “You sir, never fail to surprise me” you said, making him chuckle but you spotted the tent that started to poke at the apron where he was getting hard underneath. “Think you’re right, it’s a pretty good look” he said, turning to face away from you and you gave that same crude whistle he’d always give you when he liked something you wore or did, because you had an eye full of ass standing right in front of you. You walked up and stood behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso and laying kisses to his shoulder and back. “On second thought, who needs breakfast when you look this good? Hell, I think you pull it off better than I ever did” you said through a giggle, feeling him swat at your grabby hands the way you do when he gets handsy with you. “Can’t disturb a chef when he’s cookin’, sugar” he said coyly, making you chuckle as he started frying a few slices of Cram in the skillet. “Oh but you can disturb me when I’m doin’ laundry? I see how it is” You said playfully as you took a seat down at the dinner table you two found, it wasn’t much, but it was nice all things considered. Gave that homey touch that was missing from the house when you two first put together the settlement. You watched as he romped around the kitchen, going out of his way to put on a show for you and get you as worked up as you make him. “You are such a tease” you said, making him grin as he had his back turned to you, fully focused on making a good breakfast for the two of you to enjoy. “Welcome to my world, sweetheart” he said, making you laugh. You could certainly get used to this.