#fame glory power i want it all

[misskittyhart]

She laughed softly, “my, you see right through me like a pane of glass”

She kept a calm and confident demeanor, “to be honest, I’m looking for fame. I’ve been performing about town and have been making a little name for myself. However I want more, as one does. I’d be happy to work my way to the top to be on one of your programs. I know nothing good comes to those who won’t put in the work, as they say.”

@voxasks

“Well. It’s always wise to be courteous to those above you in the food chain you know.” She jazz singer said with a shrug, “just popping by to say, love the progresses in the tv station network. Very entertaining new things happening.”

“thanks,  i  like  to  stay  on  top  of  things.  and there certainly is! though i doubt that’s the reason for your visit.”

[leviiackrman]

CHOOSE YOUR FIGHTER: TEAM DADDY ISSUES

Mineyo ‘MEow’ Ginnivan: “With all due respect, which is none…”

Rin ‘Whiplash’ Kyutoku: “Forgive and forget? Nahhh. Fuck you, and fuck that.”

Chika ‘Blighted’ Hōki: “Am I supposed to be grateful to have survived this?”

more art || commissions || oc page

tag list (ask to be added or removed): @risingsh0t @bbrocklesnar @carrionsflower @statichvm @roofgeese @unholymilf @florbelles @arklay @captmactavish @shellibisshe @simonxriley @queennymeria @marivenah @nokstella @mrdekarios @thedeadthree @jacobseed @jackiesarch @heroofpenamstan @dameayliins @carlosoliveiraa @shadowglens @fenharel @alexxmason @malefiicarum @nightbloodbix

[delirious-donna]

story summary: Omegas had never been allowed within the ranks of the Scout Regiment, that was until Erwin took over as Commander. Now, it’s commonplace for Alphas and Omegas to work side by side and harmony has prevailed.

That is until one Omega slips up and triggers their first ever heat, that Omega is you…

“Shh, little one. Let me take care of you like you asked. Your skin is divine to touch… soft and smooth. It makes me want to bite it all over,” he admitted. “If you were mine, I would—” Erwin let the sentence falter, not knowing if it was wise to admit exactly what he would do if you were his. Nor did he want to admit just how badly he wanted you to be his.

pairing: Alpha Erwin Smith x Omega female reader

word count: 10.1k (brings snacks and get comfy)

warnings: omegaverse AU, no mention of titans, abundant mentions of heats/ruts, boss/subordinate dynamic, knotting, breeding kink, biting kink, aggression surrounding reader (they remain safe throughout), scenting, protector Erwin, internal conflict, mini appearances of Hange and Levi, spit, mounting, look… it’s a lot of smut and smutty thoughts all the way through 😆

thanks to @thesoftugly for volunteering to beta read this behemoth

Before Commander Smith had taken over The Scout Regiment, Omegas had not been allowed to serve within the division. The school of thought was generally that it would not be safe for any Omega to be around a military division largely occupied by Alphas, and not just any Alphas, but some of the strongest and most ferocious. 

Erwin disagreed with that idea. 

“If any of my soldiers cannot control their nature and act accordingly around an Omega then they do not belong in my ranks. We must protect those that cannot protect themselves and do so without appearing superior. No Scout worth their salt would dare defy me.” 

He recalled the stunned silence he was met with when he laid out his reasoning for the draft of new recruits he was bringing into the Scouts. Even his closest ally, Pyxis, had glanced at him with doubtful eyes and a twitching moustache. 

It was a brave decision, and he knew that. However, history would not tell the tales of the meek and whilst Commander Smith was not looking for fame or glory, he was certain that this generation of Scouts would become infamous. He would ensure it was for good reason and not from disgrace. 

From that moment, Omegas were welcomed into the ranks and two years of peace and harmony ensued. 

~ 

“What seems to be the problem?” Hange asked, lifting their gaze from the clipboard in their hand to peer at you over the rim of their glasses. 

“You’re not a doctor. Where’s Doctor Hamilton?” 

Hange clicked their teeth and rolled their eyes in exasperation. “She’s out sick. I might not have a doctorate in medicine, but I am the best we have as a stand in until she returns. I have several other patients to see so I suggest you ‘chop chop’ and tell me what you need.” They made a chopping motion with their hands, and you wanted to die right then and there. 

This was exactly what you didn’t need.  

Hange couldn’t know. They mustn’t know why you were here. You couldn’t afford to be turfed back into the monotonous boredom of clerking for the Military Police. There were only so many transcripts of interrogations of clearly wrongfully imprisoned patsies you could write up. 

You had your limits and to go back to ‘The Pen’ as it was not-so-affectionately called, would be enough for you to consider calling your career in the military quits altogether. Then what would your mother say?  

The thought of her smug expression and the ‘I told you so’ that would be written plainly across her face was enough to sour the contents of your stomach. She couldn’t understand your desire to venture even a toe out of the safety of the MP and their dedicated Omega squad. It was like being herded sheep. Every second you had hated, once again being judged on only your position on the ladder of power. 

When the opportunity for non-alphas to join the ranks of the Scout Regiment arose two years ago, you had worked diligently to secure a transfer. It had not been easy, but was anything worth fighting for ever easy?  

It had been nearly a full year since your new post begun and, in your time here, you had never felt more fulfilled in your whole life. You had a job that you didn’t hate, you felt like you were actually making a difference, and most importantly, you had friends. Real, true friends that were not simply others considered of the same social standing.   

More so, your most recent post had put you directly into the path of a man you had admired quietly from afar for many many years… Commander Smith was everything you could ever want in a man.  

Passionate. Courageous. Eloquent. Assertive. Handsome. 

That last thought surprised you, although you had long admitted it to yourself. It was not your place to lust after a man of such high stature, especially not the man in charge of the entire division and your direct superior. What surprised you was that you had allowed it to escape into the frantic hive of your mind. 

It was something you had been suppressing since taking the promoted post as Commander Smith’s new personal assistant. You had made a vow to yourself that you would keep your wicked—carnal—thoughts about the blond hulk of an Alpha to yourself. Work was work and the filthy fantasies that played out when you were laying in bed in deepest nighttime were between you and your poor overused vibrator. 

“It... doesn’t matter,” you said, standing abruptly. 

“Uh, no no. Sit your butt back down and tell me why you asked for this appointment. I was told you indicated it was an emergency,” Hange countered with a frown. 

They moved to block your view of the door, eyes narrowing at how you were obviously considering a dash for the exit. This was not helping. A flush ran the course of your spine and spread over your head. Another minute or two and sweat would be leaking from your pores as if you had just emerged from a sauna. 

“Fever?” Hange asked curiously. 

“Yes! I mean, yes, a fever... that’s it. I think I’m coming down with something.” You clutched at the lifeline they had unwittingly thrown. 

Hange reached for a thermometer and the stethoscope laying on the orderly doctor’s desk. They approached slowly, the reassuring smile doing nothing to calm the racing pulse which would be discovered all too soon. They took the necessary measurements and drew back with their nose scrunched. 

“It’s none of my business, but a word of advice — you might want to consider using less perfume. The smell is a little overpowering and what with us having a keen sense of smell, it’s probably not wise.” 

Oh. 

“R-right, sorry,” you stammered shyly. 

If Hange only knew the truth of it.  

This perfume was the only thing masking the first bloom of your scent. It was faint right now, but soon it would be so potent that Alphas from miles away would catch a whiff on the wind if it was in blowing in the right direction. 

There had never been an expectation for Omegas to mask in the Scouts. Suppressants were not a mandated requirement to work here, and as far as you were aware, there had never been any incidents of Alphas overstepping. Of course, things like that could have been kept hush hush from the lowly subordinates, but there was something inherently honest in everyone you had dealings with here in Trost. 

You did choose to suppress; a decision you were no longer entirely at ease with. Growing up it had been expected; the monthly injections and daily medication started the very second you entered adolescence. It was tedious. 

Perhaps that was why you found yourself in this current predicament—out of suppressants and your monthly injection days away from expiration. Were you subconsciously rebelling? 

The more you considered it, the more it made sense. You were in your late twenties now and the thought of experiencing what was meant to be a large part of your societal culture and physiological needs… it didn’t disgust you as it once had when you were younger. 

It was just a shame that the only Alpha you wanted was well and truly out of reach. 

“Alrighty then. Your core temperature is slightly elevated but not enough for me to be overly concerned. There is no noise on your chest and apart from your pulse being a little quick...” They paused, cutting a curious glance in your direction and making you jump from your wayward thoughts. “I think the best course of action would be a day of bedrest and plenty of hydration. If it gets worse come back and we’ll see about referring the symptoms to Doctor Hamilton for antibiotics to be prescribed.” 

Nodding fervently, you stood quickly and surreptitiously steadied your balance with a palm on the wall beside you. The need to be out of this too small room was clawing nails down your skin, a wave of dizziness draining the blood from your face which thankfully went unnoticed as Hange became far more interested in a manilla folder in their hands. 

“Thanks. I appreciate you seeing me on short notice, please send my regards to Doctor Hamilton.” 

You had never dashed so swiftly to your quarters, only breathing a long sigh of relief once the door was closed behind your back and the lock clicked into place. Slowly, you slid to the floor and curled your arms around your knees. 

What am I going to do? 

Something stirred inside the depths of your brain, an entity shrouded in sleepy shackles that were ready to snap at any moment. A pulse of heat erupted in your stomach then vanished as fast as it had arrived. You sensed a smile stretching wide in anticipation.  

Sleep found you surprisingly easily that night, all your anxieties melting away into insignificance as your body prepared for what was coming. Your silly concerns mattered not to your beastly side, they needed you fresh faced and in peak physical condition. 

Your first heat was coming, there would be nothing to stop it this time. 

~ 

Erwin drummed his fingers on the polished cherry wood desk. He was already bored to tears by the man droning on and on about... something or other. Truth be told, he had tuned out soon after the speech started. For this was absolutely a speech and not the informal conversation that had been sold to him initially. 

His cool blue eyes glanced to the corner to watch you scribbling furiously on a secretary’s pad, your tongue between your teeth in concentration. He did not envy you this task, especially when he was certain you were under the weather. 

“I’m fine, Commander. Please don’t relieve me from duty, I need something to focus on and we both know you don’t want to have to listen to Commander Dok. I’ll scribe just fine, I swear it!” 

Erwin was fond of you, more so than he wished to admit.  

Only recently had you taken over as his personal secretary when the previous one had retired from active service after finding their mate, a feat he was more than happy to witness since it was far from guaranteed in the world they lived in.  

He enjoyed your sharp wit and dedication to the Scouts. Your smile had a way of lighting up the room, although he was certain that was not something he should have taken note of. You were young and enthusiastic, bright eyed and bushy tailed as some might say. 

Shakily, you pushed strands of hair that had fallen into your eyes back behind your ear and he felt a deep crease form between his eyebrows. Now that he was looking at you closely, he could see a thin sheen of sweat decorating your skin.  

He had to do something, and now. 

“Nile, I must apologise for interrupting,” he interjected, lifting a placating hand, “but I have another engagement that I must attend to. I had no idea you wished to take up so much of my time or I would have scheduled a longer appointment. However, given that nothing you have mentioned is especially pressing, I will endeavour to meet with you again next week. How does that sound?” 

Nile bristled at being dismissed so readily. “You’ll never not be a pain in my arse, Erwin Smith.” 

“Ahem, no need to include that in the transcript,” Erwin said jovially, casting a twinkling smile in your direction which was not returned, much to his disappointment. 

Another twenty minutes was spent negotiating with Nile, off record, before the man finally departed. When the office door finally closed, Erwin watched as your posture relaxed and your arm fell limp to your side with the pen still dangling between your fingertips. 

“You’re sick,” he stated matter-of-factly. 

The Commander rose from his chair and stalked closer, eyeing you carefully to assess your condition. He stopped a few feet from you, sniffing subtly before shaking his head. He was being ridiculous. He had to be. 

Your eyes cracked opened slowly to roam around the room before landing on his midsection and rose up up up until you met his piercing blue gaze. If he didn’t know better, he would say you were under the influence of alcohol or something far more illicit. A glaze coated your eyes and turned them… sultry. 

Erwin stiffened; his spine lengthened, and his stance fell back to one of familiarity from years in the military. He couldn’t help but watch your chest rise and fall, the rhythm unnaturally fast and it only drew his attention to the top three buttons of your blouse, ones that were normally fastened but were not today.  

He should stop. 

“I know you said you needed something to focus on, but I cannot have you falling over at your desk. Consider yourself on bedrest for the rest of the week—” 

“But Sir! I’m fine,” you interrupted loudly. The shock of his words jolted you upright in your seat and nearly had you toppling out of it altogether just as he had warned. 

“Since when do you answer back to your superior like that? This is highly uncharacteristic from you, and I refuse to allow it to continue. You are relieved of all duties until Monday morning, do you hear me?” 

He hated being strict when you were so obviously out of sorts. This was not behaviour he had come to expect from you, along with his growing affection, he silently cursed himself when your eyes turned red and misty. 

Standing, your head bowed in submission. “Yes, Commander. I apologise for my outburst.” 

Erwin clicked his tongue against his teeth and despite thinking better of it, he raised his hand so that two fingers slid beneath your chin. “There is no need for that. All I ask is for you to get better, okay?” 

It was a mistake, but one he only realised once it was too late. 

A soft purr seemed to emanate from your chest, an enticing sound the likes of which he had not had the pleasure of hearing for the longest time. Erwin pulled his hand back like he had been scorched. The heat of your skin increased tenfold, and for a moment he had the desire to look at his fingertips to see if they did in fact sizzle like how they felt. 

He watched you leave; dumbstruck and frozen to the spot as if he had taken root on the antique rug beneath him. It had been so long since he had first-hand experience of an Omega approaching a heat that he almost dismissed the signs as figments of his imagination.  

However, the animal inside would not be so gullible. 

~ 

That evening and the following day were a total blur.  

You had no real clue how much time had passed since you were dismissed by Commander Erwin, neither did you know what time of day it was currently. 

All you knew was that you were too hot and that even the thinnest bedsheet was too much for your overheating body. You writhed atop your mattress, naked and unbearably uncomfortable. The cotton from the fitted sheet was clammy from your sweat, droplets rushing from places you never dreamed of.  

For the millionth time, your hands passed over your body and you hissed like a wounded animal when you grazed the stiff peaks of your nipples. You tweaked at them in turn, the painful pleasure echoing between your legs… 

Speaking of which, your cunt was completely soaked. 

After ruining four consecutive pairs of underwear with the rivers of slick flowing easily from your aching hole, you had endeavoured to remain entirely naked. Nature was preparing you for the only thing that would calm your mind, lift the fog that had descended and satiate your body. The abundance of lubrication present to help your Alpha ease into your body, to feed you their cock and eventually their knot with minimal discomfort. 

Except, you didn’t have an Alpha.  

It was funny how you knew the symptoms and process of a heat, but the theory was nothing compared to experiencing them first hand. You had no idea how those who chose not to suppress dealt with this routinely. It felt like hot knives were carving through your insides, shredding you apart until you didn’t recognise yourself. The reflection in the mirror would be someone—something else. 

Distantly, you heard knocks coming from the door to your quarters, but you paid it little attention. It wasn’t like you could walk the short distance to it anyway, nor were you in any state to answer. Voices followed the knocks which grew in determination.  

Hange, maybe? You couldn’t be sure. Although, you wouldn’t put it past Commander Smith to send someone to check in on you, especially if he discovered you had visited the temporary doctor recently as well as your outburst in his office. 

All you could do was roll over onto your side and press your palm between your thighs, stimulating the bundle of nerves with the heel of your hand in an effort to ease the continuous throbbing sensation. You screwed your eyes shut, the black of your eyelids turning into a kaleidoscope of colours until they formed a figure—a figure you were well acquainted with—and had no right to be thinking about in this context.  

Commander Erwin Smith’s silhouette shook like a desert mirage until it thickened and materialised in your mind’s eye. If you strained enough, you could smell the scent of his understated cologne and beneath that, his unique musk that was all him.  

Those natural pheromones that dominated all others and highlighted his status as Alpha. Not just any Alpha, but one of the most powerful Alphas in Trost. The Alpha you admired the most if you let the little voice in your head speak freely. 

Your nose twitched again, and your eyes shot wide as you realised it was stronger when you moved your head closer to the edge of the bed. 

On the floor lay your blouse and skirt, the ones you had worn during his meeting with Commander Dok. Without hesitation, you grabbed up the blouse and held it beneath your nose to inhale deeply.  

There it was. 

A spicy scent unlike any other. It was warming and comforting, for the first time in, you didn’t know how long, you could breathe a little easier and the heavy feeling in your heart and gut lightened. You nuzzled the blouse. Holding it against each cheek in turn before returning it to your nose. 

Why couldn’t you scent it directly from his skin? It wasn’t fair. You could bury your nose in the hollow of his throat. Lick lazily at the prominent bob of his Adam’s apple. Grind your feverish body against his until he was hard and ready to take you.  

You should stop pretending. 

Gods… what were you doing? 

There was no denying the primal desires swirling like a building vortex in your brain. You wanted to be full, stretched to the breaking point. You needed to be bred like the good little Omega you were. You wanted a knot so badly you could cry.  

None of these were thoughts you had experienced before and had you been in your right mind, they would have shocked you right down to the core.  

Delicate shaky fingers sought out your aching hole, two slipping easily past the ring of muscles until your knuckles were lodged against the gumminess of your walls, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.  

Without an Alpha here to pin you down and split you wide, you would suffer. Without Erwin here to smother you with his impressive weight, you would continue to feel bereft. Wronged by a universe that danced to its own tune without thought for those affected. 

Yes, it would pass eventually, but you doubted your sanity would be intact when that time finally arrived. A hurt-sounding howl escaped your throat, a lament aimed at a world that was proving to be unfair and unjust. 

With a final wail, you curled in on yourself and fell into a pain-filled sleep. All the while, the commotion on the other side of your quarters door continued unabated. 

~ 

Erwin had not needed to be notified of the ruckus kicking off in the living quarters assigned to secretarial and support personnel. He could hear it from all the way in his office. At first, he assumed it would be dealt with as all other little scuffles were, but after ten minutes, his concern heightened. 

He was met with a very red-faced soldier whom he could not recall the name of. “Commander! We have a situation. Captain Levi sent me to find you… there is, well—” 

“Spit it out, we don’t have all day.” Erwin demanded, barely halting in his purposeful strides in the direction of the noise. He could hear arguing, but almost above the rabble, a soft howl of distress caught his attention. It sounded familiar, and his pace quickened. 

“An Omega… they are going into a heat. It seems to have riled those living in close proximity.” 

Erwin stalled. “What?” 

Fury bleed from his pores. Had they all lost their damn minds? This wasn’t the first heat to happen since Erwin’s command, and there had never been this level of disorder. He rounded the final corner and was confronted by six men in various states of dress, some with visible injuries on their faces and hands and at the door which he assumed led to the Omega in question, Levi stood on an overturned chair looking equal parts haughty and furious. 

“Enough!” Erwin bellowed over the heated voices. “Pull yourselves together or I will be forced to take further action.” 

An awkward silence descended almost immediately. The power of his voice along with the blast of authority he projected towards the troublemakers was more than enough to have their metaphorical tails lying limp between their legs. 

“About damn time,” Levi snarled. 

He leapt to the floor and shouldered past two engineers with matching bruises blooming purple beneath their eyes. They dared to bare their teeth, but remained silent, nonetheless. Levi seemed oblivious, or more likely he considered them so far removed from a threat that he took no note. 

Levi’s eyes cut up to Erwin, an eyebrow arching at the high blush that was slowly coating the Commander’s cheeks. He knew what had caused the pandemonium and what shamed him the most was his inability to remain unaffected.  

A first heat. 

They were special for most Omegas and could be extremely traumatising if not handled delicately and in the right way. From experience, Erwin knew that it was commonplace for Omegas who were unattached to seek out help from other Omegas in their family or close friends. They could ride out the worst of the heat whilst knowing they were safe and being cared for, but this… he couldn’t imagine what they were going through whilst trapped in a den of literal wolves. 

“You can smell it, right?” Levi whispered out of earshot of the others. “It’s a first heat and I must be honest; I am barely hanging on myself. Hange sought me out when they couldn’t raise an answer at the door, and by the time we returned… well, this was the scene. Some of the men were tearing at each other to get to the door and they had started to break it in places. Apparently, she presented at the clinic three days ago under the guise of a fever, Hange now suspects that they were suppressing and had run out of the drugs. She seemed unwilling to admit it to Hange, perhaps because they are an Alpha and Doctor Hamilton is not.” 

A fever? Oh no. With alarming clarity, the puzzle pieces fell into place. Erwin knew why the howl he had heard seemed familiar, why the scent of arousal mingled with pheromones tickled his nose in such a way that he was struggling to stop himself from huffing the air like the men now forcibly being returned to their rooms. 

It was his sweet little personal assistant. You weren’t sick, you were in need, and he could help you.  

No! He mustn’t. He would control himself, but he could at least ensure you were safe. 

“You there,” he gestured to the bloodied men who were starting to disperse. “Find cots in the dormitory for tonight, I cannot trust that you won’t try this again and I will personally cut down anyone who tries to enter these quarters without express permission. Captain Levi will escort you.” 

Erwin turned to Levi and ignored the scowl emblazoned across his face. “See that the dormitories are guarded by those you trust the most and have everyone in this part of the wing relocated for the next night or two.” 

“Don’t go in there, Erwin.” Levi’s warning was barely above a whisper. 

The Commander clapped a hand on the smaller man’s shoulder and moved past him towards the barely intact door. “And Levi? Ask Miche to replace this door within the hour,” he asked calmly without acknowledging the words of warning, stepping directly into the breach. 

For once he wasn’t going toe to toe with powerful enemies, he was facing a different beast altogether and somehow, he was more nervous about this situation than any battle he had participated in… 

Your small apartment space was orderly with minimal decorations, but he noted a family photograph nailed to the wall and an arrangement of plush cushions resembling animals piled up on the cramped little couch. 

His gaze swivelled absently around the room, in truth, he was doing everything in his power not to make a direct line for the bedroom. Your scent hung like thick molasses now that he was inside, hands fisting by his sides to remain where he stood. Erwin was the master of his body, not his instincts but the fight was not a fair one on this occasion. 

He had never smelled anything quite as inviting, and that was entirely the problem. Whilst, he had had partners in the past, even gone through a heat or two, none of them tempted him in the way he felt tempted right this second. It was as if the scent was visible on the air, seductive tendrils writhing around him and beckoned him to move closer to the source. 

It was as if all his favourite sweet treats from his childhood had melted into one tantalising scent crafted especially for him. Saliva gathered behind his clenched teeth. German chocolate cake. Fire roasted marshmallow. Raspberry jam straight from the jar. He wanted to drink it down like a man discovering a bountiful oasis after days without water. It made him feel younger, though he was hardly past his prime, but the scent invigorated his heart until he was certain he could best the top cadet in a foot race. 

If someone told him that the vapour was tickling him beneath the chin, he would believe it. 

After several moments of calming breaths which did little to actually calm his nerves, Erwin dared to venture deeper. He told himself that he needed to assess your condition, which was true, but if his instincts could speak, they would announce loudly their desire to catch a whiff of your scent directly from the honeypot. 

The bedroom was dark, though it mattered little given his ability to see well in low lighting, and what he saw on the bed, stopped his heart for what felt like a full minute. A huddled mass lay in the very centre, your body in the foetal position with a hand buried between your legs and the other arm covering your naked breasts. 

He should look away.  

He should stop staring at your skin glistening with dewdrops of sweat and sticky slick pooling beneath you.  

He should cover your vulnerability and walk away, leave this to someone else, but there was no one he trusted to handle this situation in his stead.  

Your breathing was even and deep, a blessing given your predicament. As voices approached in the hallway outside, Erwin snapped out of his drunken stupor and did the first thing that came to mind. He pulled off his jacket and laid it over your body. It barely reached mid-thigh, but it would do. 

With your modesty protected, somewhat, he retreated to oversee the work on your door being replaced. What he didn’t see was the smile of contentment on your face and the visible relief of being draped in his scent loosening the tight ache of your muscles.  

In sleep you burrowed into the jacket warmed by his blood. 

~ 

It was the sound of pages being turned in a book that roused you. It shouldn’t have, given how carefully the reader was being to not make noise, but the ache in your gut had returned and the fatigue was no longer severe enough to allow you to sleep on. 

For a long moment you kept your eyes carefully closed, wondering what it was that weighed so nicely over your body and kept the worst of your current dilemma at bay. It felt like being held by a loved one, as if you were young once more and your mother was wrapping you in her protective and caring embrace. 

“You’re awake.” 

Commander Smith’s rich baritone rumbled from somewhere behind you. It froze the very blood in your veins until another wave of desire pulsed through you, causing you to writhe and buck, to your shame. Not him. Anyone but him. 

Lies! You want him most of all… don’t deny it. 

You couldn’t look at him—not now. Instead, you steeled your voice and spoke to the wall. “Commander Smith… why are you in my bedroom?” 

“I apologise if you have the wrong impression, however, my presence was rather necessary given your… predicament,” Erwin supplied, sounding more uneasy than you had ever heard him. “I must be honest with you because that is only fair.” 

He sighed and the sound caused a moan to bubble inside your throat, barely caught before it slipped out. Biting down on the inside of your cheek, you waited for him to continue not only because you needed to know, but the sound of his voice soothed you in ways you didn’t wish to examine closer.  

“Your heat triggered some displays of aggression amongst your neighbours. There may have been attempts made at getting to you, but do not worry,” Erwin stressed when he saw how you tensed on the bed. “Your door has been replaced, and I will personally ensure your safety until it has passed.” 

“Aggression? You’re telling me that—oh fuck.” All rational thought and ability to speak coherently died on a single spasm between your thighs. You should be absolutely appalled that anyone had tried to get inside your quarters without permission, but that animalistic instinct reared its head and grinned wickedly into the dark space of your mind. 

It was what you needed. To be taken, filled, consumed… bred.  

“Don’t speak right now, it’ll pass so just breathe for me,” Erwin coaxed softly whilst the sound of a chair creaked as it was dragged across a wooden floor. “A first heat can be very difficult. I assume you have suppressed since adolescence—you don’t need to answer. I-I don’t have any personal experience to draw upon, but I will do whatever it takes to help you through this.” 

Fuck me… you thought, enraged that you wanted it so badly that you were chewing your lips bloody from speaking it aloud. Your spine bowed at the ripples of heat spreading outward from your centre to the ends of your fingers and toes, to the top of your head. 

“Can you walk? I’ve run a lukewarm bath which might help cool you down.” 

“No. Commander—you shouldn’t…” You broke off on a sob, wracked with another wave of scorching fire attacking the insides of your thighs at the steady drip of slick covering your skin. 

“Please, it’s Erwin. Given the situation, I don’t think formalities are necessary right now. I’m going to lift you into my arms, okay? I’ll be gentle and you may hold on as tightly as you need to. Once I’ve got you in the bath, I will step outside to give you some privacy.”  

The bath water was just cool enough that you sighed happily as the water sloshed over you. It was no comparison to the relief you felt whilst held in Erwin’s careful arms, but simply thinking of how easily your arms had wound around his neck gave you shivers of a completely different kind. 

You did your best to refute all those lustful thoughts from months of working closely with the Commander. Of course, you hadn’t noticed how broad his shoulders were or how the short undercut at the nape of his neck tickled your fingertips when you held on. Nope. Nada.  

Your nose was growing at an alarming rate with all this lying. 

Through drooped lids you watched whilst he glanced around your meagre bathroom looking for goodness knows what. He was too large, too imposing for such a cramped space but despite it all, you liked him in here—wanted him to stay. 

Where others may have taken full advantage of having a naked Omega within reach, not to mention an Omega in heat, Erwin had shown you nothing but diligent care. It made you wonder if your state bothered him at all, and somehow the thought that it might not… well, that bothered you.   

He was an Alpha; shouldn’t he want you?  

“Stay… please?” You purred when he made to exit and give you the privacy he had promised. 

Erwin paused in the doorway. His piercing artic eyes roamed your face and dipped towards the fluttering pulse in your neck but ventured no further. You could see the tic in his cheek work at the same time his jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared. He was fighting himself. 

One soapy hand reached for his clenched fist, bubbles dripping across his knuckles until the fingers finally—finally—loosened and gently entwined with yours. 

“I shouldn’t,” he breathed more to himself. 

You hummed in a half agreement, bolstered by the need thrumming through your body. “But you will, won’t you? Sit here.” 

Erwin awkwardly perched on the corner of the tub before reaching for the towel he had laid out for you to wipe his wet hand. There were wrinkles in his normally crisp shirt, the top buttons unfastened and the bolo tie that rested around his throat suspiciously absent. This was by far the most casual you had been afforded to see him. You guessed not many had received such a luxury. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked whilst he began to roll his sleeves towards the bend at his elbows. It was hard to follow the movements given he was sat near your shoulder, but you twisted enough to keep some of him in view, sloshing water in the process. 

You took a second to assess, listening to the competing demands being screamed in your mind and body. This was certainly the most lucid you had felt since the heat had started, and you had an inkling that Erwin’s presence had a lot to do with it.  

Would you ever be able to express your gratitude? 

In short, yes it did hurt. However, there was a will to prove that you were not so easily overcome or beaten down. A sly voice echoed around your mind, purring and shunting you to ask for more of your Commander—far more than you had any right to. 

“Not badly, I guess. But you could make it better… if you were inclined to. I think I would like it very much,” you urged gently, once more finding his hand and leading it towards the rippling surface of the bath. 

Erwin didn’t stop you.  

He didn’t seem to breathe or blink. Blindly, he allowed for his fingers to skim the water before breaking the surface and slipping over the wet flesh covering your shoulder. His cock strained against his underwear and trousers; the rigid length trapped along his thigh whilst thick pearls of precum oozed out to stain the heavy fabric. 

He had been aroused since he first identified your scent, more so when he felt your heat descend over his like a vaporous fog. Finding you naked in bed had not fed his desire, if anything, it infuriated him and roused his protective nature.  

Now that you were awake and calm enough to speak without letting out whines of distress or angry expletives… now he was truly struggling to maintain his composure. 

“Do you have any idea what you are asking of me?” he murmured, wet fingertips tracing swirling patterns over your collarbone and across your clavicle. One pad dipped into the hollow of your throat, eliciting a soft moan that nearly broke him. 

If you responded, he didn’t hear it.  

You were sweltering to the touch; the lightly perfumed oil he had added to the water slicked your skin so the journey down your chest was made all the easier. His fingers skirted over the mounds of your breasts, avoiding your nipples although you did your best to thrust upward and force his hand so to speak. 

Erwin’s tongue clicked against his teeth in a commanding tsk. “Behave.” 

He continued to explore you, slowly and methodically. It was bliss. It was torture. Your head rested against the tiled backsplash; eyes closed as you concentrated solely on the sensation of his hand on you. Erwin traced the sides of your breasts down to your soft stomach; he circled your navel then ventured back up to give attention to your neglected nipples. 

His breathing was more of pant when he tweaked your tender little nub between a rough finger and thumb. Your eyebrows creased when he pulled it taut and tugged firmly, the echo of the sensation causing your clit to throb in unison. It was difficult not to wriggle but you wanted to be good for him, to behave as he had asked. 

“Com—Erwin… please? It hurts so bad.” 

“Shh, little one. Let me take care of you like you asked. Your skin is divine to touch… soft and smooth. It makes me want to bite it all over,” he admitted. “If you were mine, I would—” Erwin let the sentence falter, not knowing if it was wise to admit exactly what he would do if you were his. Nor did he want to admit just how badly he wanted you to be his. 

“You would… what?” You tried to cajole, moving just enough so that his fingertips brushed the opposite nipple, and you let out a long exhale of relief. 

He couldn’t deny you, not in this matter or any other, not right now. It was funny how there was a systemic flaw in society’s hierarchy. Alphas were meant to be the ones on top, but it wasn’t always true and especially not for those who found their mates. Omegas held the power and never was it more evident than this moment here. 

Erwin Smith was your superior in the literal sense. He was the Commander of the Scout Regiment, and he held responsibility for every soldier and support worker under his command. Yet here he was in the tiny bathroom of his assistant—his direct subordinate—with his hand submerged to the elbow and his cock so hard he wanted to tear the damn thing off.  

You held all the cards, and you didn’t even know it, because if you did then there was no way you wouldn’t have already pounced given the instincts running through you. 

“I shouldn’t be saying this, but,” he enthused when you started to whine pitifully. “I would not have allowed for you to become as delirious as you did. It must have been agony, and you were alone—I don’t like that. Any heat can be torture to endure if you deny yourself the only plausible relief, not to mention this is your first. If you were my… mate.”  

Erwin paused again; aware his hand had moved without his prior notice. He was cupping your cunt in his palms, stretching and flexing his thick fingers along the seam of your labia. With ease he sought and located your jittery bundle of nerves, circling the pad of his thumb with slow, deliberate strokes. 

“Tell me, Commander— ‘wanna know how you’d treat your mate.” 

“Mm. I’d have taken a leave of absence the second the signs of your cycle came to light. I’d bite that lovely creamy skin at your neck where the scent gland resides, hold you in my jaws whilst I fed my cock into your drenched cunt. I’d have loved you exactly as you deserve—worshipped every inch of your scorched skin with my mouth and hands. Whispered words of devotion into your ear until I was ready to give you my knot, and more importantly, when you were ready to take it. I’d have you come time and again until you were properly sated,” he admitted with a heated growl. 

You mewled at the images he fed you, his words dripping with hungry conviction and accompanied by the ministrations of his skilful hand playing between your thighs like a damn savant. 

Your imagination ran at full speed imagining the knot he would give you, of the painful pleasure from his sharpened teeth piercing the scent gland at your neck and how you wished it was the mating mark he was leaving you.  

As two thick digits worked inside your aching, needy hole you thought of the fullness that would come with having his cockhead buried against the neck of your womb. Gods, you wanted to be split in half until his name was carved into your gummy walls. The searing heat of being stuffed to capacity that would be far more pleasurable, unlike the current stinging sensation you were experiencing. 

You grasped at Erwin’s forearm and revelled at how the muscles flexed as he continued to pump two fingers into you, his thumb aggressively rubbing at your swollen pearl. It was just enough to bring you to the peak, the waters barely disrupted, Erwin working furiously but only from the wrist down. 

“You’ve no idea how badly I want to climb into this damned tub and make you take me. I won’t. I swear it. I’ll protect you and keep you safe… from me. It’s okay. That’s it—there we go. Feel it consume you.” 

He was babbling—switching rapidly between commanding and anxious. His large frame threw a shadow over you; bending more he buried his nose into your hair and inhaled deeply. You thought he might have whimpered but you were too far gone to be certain. Your nails dug bloody marks into his arm, encouraging him on until you gave one final shuddering spasm and broke apart like a star finally imploding. 

Tears burned in your eyes. Your stomach contracted over and over whilst you rode out a high that didn’t last nearly as long as you had hoped it would. The desire in your gut rekindled like a dying fire fed oxygen. 

 What had been enough no longer was. 

“Erwin… please. I’ll be so good for you, don’t hold back. I want—I need it all. Everything you described! The fullness. The bite. I want to feel your weight pressing me down, dominating me. Can you...? I just want to know what it’s like,” you wailed in utter misery, absolutely convinced that he would deny you. 

“I’m a nobody,” you continued, releasing your grip on his arm to wipe at your tears. “I appreciate you even going this far. I’ll never be able to look you in the eye again, but I’ll always be grateful for this. You’re a good man, Commander Smith, I’ve admired you for years.” 

His laughter warmed your heart just a little. It was robust and genuine, and whilst you wanted to turn and see for yourself what expression he wore, you didn’t want to witness pity—not from him. “You can go. Just leave me a towel and I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll sleep it off or—” 

Erwin’s hand twitched and you almost yelped, biting into your tongue until you tasted coppery blood. His fingers slid along the wet pulsing length of your gummy walls and slowly rose from the water. You closed your eyes, turning away when you felt him rise to his feet.  

You didn’t expect him to say anything.  

You certainly didn’t expect two muscled arms to plunge into the waters and lift you up and out in one smooth action. Dripping wet from shoulders to toes, you soaked his pristine uniform shirt. Only then did you dare to peek up, and the look Erwin levelled at you… it stole your breath. 

Those clever blue eyes were alight with cool fire—the flames licking around his swollen, lust-blown pupils. The thick set of his eyebrows were draw close together and he looked positively furious, but in a way that only made you squeeze your thighs together all the more. 

“Don’t you ever—ever—call yourself a nobody. I may be the Commander here but behind every great figure are those in the shadows who make that figure shine brightly. My ma—I mean, my assistant is brave and beautiful,” he declared with absolute conviction. 

Words alluded you.  

Every single thought, other than the animal voice begging you to cling to this Alpha with every available ounce of strength and never let go, had fled. Not that you needed to speak, not when he strode from your bathroom with determined steps. 

Erwin lowered you to the stained sheets of your bed and stood back with an apologetic look. “I’d offer to change them but there would be no point. We’d merely end up ruining a second set.” 

The heat of your body had dried most of the water from your skin, all except the thick, tacky arousal coating your tender pussy and streaking the insides of your thighs. His head canted left when you spread your legs, bending at the knees so that he could see the most intimate part of you on full display. 

“Little minx,” he teased with a wry smile. His fingers fumbled at the buckle of his belt and your gaze raked him in hungrily. “Warm yourself up for me, won’t you?” 

There was no modicum of inhibition left in you. You were working on pure instinct and when you were told to warm yourself, you did just that. The heel of your palm rotated against your clit whilst you spread the lips of your pussy apart and let the fingertips fuck an inch into your cunt. 

Your eyes remained glued to the man at the end of your bed. He was a powerhouse of strength and virility, thick chested and decorated with battle scars. You longed to run your fingers and tongue across each faded silvery scar—to show him just how much you appreciated his every sacrifice. Erwin shucked out of his trousers and underwear in record time, but it was not before you noted the large stains on both thighs. It made your smile turn saccharine, sultry and feminine. 

The length of his cock sprung upward to smack wetly against his abdomen, but the weight was too much to stand, which left the impressive sight to hang heavily between his thighs. The golden hair on his torso seemed to glisten despite the lack of a light source in the room, and perhaps it was a trick of your eyes. He rolled his neck from side to side, never once breaking his concentration on how you were toying with yourself at his command. 

He fisted his swollen cock, rolling the foreskin back until the beating red tip shone from the arousal dripping out the slit. Thick veins pulsed beneath his calloused fingers as he gave a few cursory pumps, moving his grip to his heavy pendulous balls to tug them loose from where they had nestled tightly near the base. 

Muscles that only came with age, experience and dedication rolled beneath his skin, smattered by those lovely coarse hairs that you wanted to feel against your cheeks. Erwin was a handsome man, that you had always known, but naked he was even more glorious—a chiselled God.  

Saliva pooled in your mouth, and you swore it seemed like your teeth elongated at the simple thought of biting into the solid wall that was his chest. His biceps. The cords in his neck. His strong jawline. Everything. 

Your appreciation did not go unnoticed. If anything, it made his chest puff with pride that you would find him so attractive. For the first time in years, he had no desire to put aside his wants in favour of someone else’s.  

Erwin wanted you entirely, and whilst he was certain you didn’t understand the full implication of that, he would take his time. Courting you would be a slow waltz, not some frenzied race to the finish line. 

He appreciated how contrary that was given he was about to fuck you into a drooling coma, but the situation called for a drastic intervention to alleviate the both of you. It had been many years since his instincts ruled him. Your intoxicatingly sweet musk had bewitched him thoroughly.  

Erwin felt like a young man again—in his prime. Back when his mind did not rule his body with an iron fist. 

“If you want this,” he tugged on his shaft for emphasis, “you’ll get on your knees and present like a good Omega.” 

Stepping close enough that his shins met the edge of the mattress, he observed you scrambling into position, his tongue wetting the plush of his bottom lip. He hadn’t tasted your mouth yet, something he would remedy at the earliest opportunity. Right now, you would nip and bite and snap at him, something he liked, but your first kiss should be more restrained than that. 

“That’s it. Good girl… look at you dripping for me. Fuck—sway your hips like that again and we won’t leave this room until you’re round and full of my pups.” 

You dropped to your elbows when you felt the bed dip behind you. Your molten cheek came to rest on the sticky sheets, the angle just enough to cut your eyes up and see him approach.  

Commander Smith. 

Erwin. 

Alpha. 

He filled his broad palms with the fat of your rump, stretching you wide until your cunt flexed in want, pushing out slick in anticipation. Erwin thumbed at your entrance before raising a hand to his mouth and licking the flat of his palm right to the tips of his fingers. The saliva felt that much hotter when it connected with your needy flesh. 

You’d be mortified by the obscene squelch of your juices and his spit mingling together if you were in your right mind. It was filthy—pure and simple.  

What you couldn’t see was Erwin coating himself in your abundant arousal, viscous strands succumbing to gravity to drip over his balls. He was breathing heavily now, the muscles taut in his neck and shoulders with the restraint of not being inside you. A wide mitt of a hand rested at your hip, massaging whilst he shuffled closer and let the weight of his tip notch at your cunt. 

“Erwin—please! Need it now. I might di—oh my fuccccckk!” 

The stretch was immediate despite how well primed you were. You knew he was thick, heavy, long… but the girth was the real killer. His cock bullied into you, inch by slow inch. 

“Ha-! Don’t… squirm. You wanted this, right?” 

Erwin clenched his fist to prevent the warning smack he nearly inflicted on your peachy butt. He was a lot to take, he knew that, and you were not accustomed to him—not yet. 

You would learn in time. He would ruin you for anyone else. 

Sweat dripped along your spine at the sweltering heat of his body engulfing yours. Erwin draped himself over you like a personal blanket, his lips and tongue and teeth exploring your skin and marking you in places you would have to contort to be able to see in the mirror come tomorrow. 

“Taste divine. Smell like nirvana. Gods, your cunt is moulded to me, sweetheart. Can you feel me here?” he asked with a thrust that made your knees wobble and stars spark in your eyes. He was lodged right at your cervix, just as you had imagined when all this began, although not from the man in question. 

“Uh-huh!” 

It was all you could manage, drool slipping past the seam of your lips as Erwin set a pace that suited him. It wasn’t the frantic fuck you expected, neither was it slow nor deliberate like his fingers had been in the bath. What he managed to achieve was a combination of pace and force that knocked the air from your lungs each time he impaled you fully. It left you whining for him when he retreated, and soon the sensation of his balls swinging directly against your swollen little nub became so overwhelming that you were certain you wouldn’t last long. 

As if he sensed your dilemma, he grunted mid-stroke and reassured you as he said, “Follow your instinct. Let your body do what it wants, what it needs. I want to feel you try to milk me.”  

Erwin grunted; jaw clenched tightly. His knot was inflating, and he didn’t feel anywhere near ready for this to be over. Rationally, he knew that once would not be enough for you. There would more time to kiss and fuck and touch and learn, but he still clung to this first time like it really was his very first time. 

In a way it was. It was his first time with you. It would not be his last. 

The intensity of your orgasm nearly had him lose his bearing, if his wrist hadn’t caught the brunt of his weight then you would have been flattened into the mattress beneath him.  

Your cunt was a greedy little thing—sucking and pulsing around his cock with little room for him to retreat. All he could do was ride out the pleasure through gritted teeth and determination not to blow his load like some young pup. 

“Bi—Bite. Bite me!” 

Christ… you were temptation and sin, and love and beauty all wrapped in one body.  

Erwin scented along your back, mounting you like any animal would and dragging the prominent ridge of his nose over the fluttering pulse in your neck. It was beating wildly, a rhythm unique to you and he hummed his appreciation when you turned to give him more access. “Here?” he asked unnecessarily. 

You chewed your lip, near delirious from the warmth and continued fullness of his cock sawing in and out of your core. He was licking the scent gland that attracted all Alphas to Omegas and Omegas to Alphas, but it was not the one on the other side that only those considered mates would bite and mark. 

“Y-yes.” 

A lie. He could smell it. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I-I… of course!” 

Erwin smiled into your skin and sighed, knowing he was reaching his limit. “You are not being honest with me, but that’s okay. I won’t press you right now, we will have time.” 

“Oh god. This won’t be enough?” You whimpered in realisation, shame coating your features and you were glad he couldn’t see how flushed your face was. 

“Can you feel my knot growing?”  

You nodded once, meekly, and he continued. “Once I plug you as nature intended, you will be fine for a good few hours, certainly until we can part safely. It’ll be enough for you to sleep and actually rest, but no… it will not be enough. I’m not going anywhere, darling.” 

“But you have duties! You’re the fucking Commander… why are you laughing?” you asked with an evident pout. 

“I think you’ll find you’re fucking the Commander.” 

“Really? We’re really going to do dad level jokes whilst you’re balls deep and I’m desperate for you to bite my damn neck and knot me? Hey—mmm.”  

Your wits scattered once again as Erwin spread his weight further, mounting you more fully than you thought possible. He braced one palm at the small of your spine and his jaw snapped wide. 

His teeth grazed your earlobe, the sharp points travelling past the carotid artery until his hot breath huffed out in a wave of heat that tickled down your spine. He was losing his pace, hips beginning to snap harsher against your perfectly plump rear in a faltering tempo. You held your breath as you sensed the moment near. 

 He was so deep—so damn deep in your guts. Erwin lunged for you, his jaw stretched, and his perfectly pointed canines pierced into your flesh like a hot knife through butter. It made you tense all over, your walls clamping down around his ready to burst cock and it tripped his orgasm with a blinding flash. Heat unlike anything you had ever experienced speared your insides, and for a second it felt like your innards might be cooked alive. 

Wave after wave of cum painted the neck of your womb. Your neck throbbed from where he held you in his beastly maw. His tongue lapped at the skin trapped between his teeth, soothing the hurt in any way he could whilst he grunted and growled spilling inside you endlessly. 

You could feel the knot ballooning. It travelled further into your body, and you’d be damned if you could accurately describe the sensation. In simple terms it felt like you were being filled and stretched to the very limit of your body’s elasticity. 

Finally, it came to rest right where it was needed most. A stopper for any seed escaping and you knew that it could be some time before you could untangle from each other. The orgasm from having Erwin’s potent essence flood your cunt was unlike any other.  

It felt like it soothed the animal inside and sent it into a tranquil slumber. With a final cry of bliss, your knees slid out from under you and sent you both falling the final few inches to the mattress below. 

Erwin licked over the wound he had inflicted, wincing at the harsh purple bite mark and dribbles of blood oozing sluggishly from the shallow wound. Hooking an arm around your front, he shifted you both, so his weight was no longer suffocating you, shushing your little whimpers when the repositioning slightly moved how you were joined. 

“Sleep, my pretty little Omega. Let me watch over you.” Let me trace my fingertips over the curve of your shoulder, memorise the position of every freckle and divot in your skin. 

He left those parts out, afraid of overwhelming you. Fearful that you might agree to things simply because of his power and position. There was no doubt in his mind that you were his mate, but could you say the same about him? 

Erwin listened to your breathing even out, the heat dissipating from your skin until you were comfortable enough to nuzzle your face into the crook of his elbow beneath you. Strands of your hair fell across your eyes, and he was careful to move them aside to watch your eyelashes flutter in sleep. 

What a lie it was… that an Alpha had all the power. 

You could make or break him completely. You were the Goddess in his world and the fear of not being enough for you tore at his heart. He dropped his head to your shoulder and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come and soothe him like it was for you. 

“I can’t wait to kiss you under the moonlight. When you accept me as your man, your mate, your Alpha. 

I will change this world for the better… for you.”  

[nomouthtospeakof]

karlach's thought about gortash is so.. bizarrely sweet actually.

she's still getting a bit of revenge against him, but it's not the simple "he needs to suffer and die," not how she is against zariel. no, that's not enough. even at this point she knows that doesn't fix anything and it's not what she truly wants, regardless of what he deserves.

she has him on his hands and knees for eternity, working to make a terrible part of the world just a little bit nicer. a little bit prettier.

she forces him to bring softness and beauty to a world filled with pain.

like i'm sorry WHAT???? karlach i fucking love you so much

(side note: gale saying "a mythal in my own right"... from my quick search, a mythal is a field of magical effect that's so powerful, it changes the rules of physics and reality. even at this point, what mystra is to the weave, he wants to be to the netherese magic in him.

he doesn't want to be a man, he wants to be a world-bending force of nature. he wants power to the point of dehumanization. to the point, really, of objectification.)

Companions' Wishes

Wyll:

Shadowheart:

Gale:

Karlach:

Astarion:

Lae'zel:

I just thought these were cool insights on the characters.

(Haven't checked if Lae'zel's options change if she visits the Creche first, but it is too late for that )

Edit: If you are wondering where this is, you should investigate the basement of the apothecary in the Blighted Village.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 26 - I've Loved Everything About You That Hurts

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: They’re insane because I’ll try to write a chapter with no sex and they end up fucking, and then I try to do the sex in less words and now it’s emotional.

Chapter Title from G.I.N.A.S.F.S by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 25k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: The team drives to DC for a meeting with Singer. Usual warnings, plus some extra smut and average No Love Lost angst.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, much smut (p in v, oral f receiving, fingering, squirting) fluff, emotional angst, established relationship

Read on A03!

Chapter 25 - Chapter 27

Ben was not the brains. And he was fucking fine with that. He was the muscle, and he was goddamn good at it. Because while She was stronger than he was—She was stronger and brighter and more vital than the fucking sun—she shouldn’t have blood on her hands. Her hands weren’t fucking meant to be covered in blood. They were meant to tap in a smooth, unyielding pattern against every surface, and turn the pages of books, and hold Ben’s face as she smiled at him. She was meant to fucking smile, and only be near blood to sit with Ben as he washed it off himself.

She kept letting it stain her skin. She kept taking fucking bullets meant for others and covering herself in the mud that pussies like Homelander pushed her into. And that’s what Ben was here for. He was now certain that he wasn’t here for fame or glory or money, he was here to move in perfect fucking time with the woman he loved. To listen to Her giggle and mumble and snort, and give her the fucking world. To dance with Her in the kitchen, and joke with her about fucking everything, and keep his arm around her during dinner as She gave him a secret look that meant I love you, Benjamin, you grump. He was supposed to watch baseball as She frowned at the screen, turning his hand over in hers as she tried to follow the game. He was meant to hold onto the easier, better things—the warm, well-fueled light that inflated in his chest when Ryan hugged at him after training, or the chuckle he couldn’t stop from escaping his body when She pouted at him about something stupid, or the way She moaned when he fucked her into the mattress—and hack and claw his way through the worse parts.

Ben was meant to be the only person in the fucking world who did the dirty work for Her. She’d done enough, and even though he believed her more and more when she told him I’m okay, Ben would do everything in his fucking power to keep her okay. He knew he couldn’t stop Her from running into traffic, because she was fast and stubborn and still didn’t care if She got hit. But he’d jump in front of the oncoming car, and continue to make her understand that he fucking cared. Ben would never fucking recover if She got hit. And if all he could do was tell Her I fucking love you, stop thinking you’re weak and expendable when I fucking love you and adore you and need you, and then run into traffic with Her, he’d do it. Ben was meant to fucking defend Her from everything that haunted her at night, and he understood that now. That he’d never chase away the ghosts, and She’d never chase away his, but they could really easily fucking kill them together. If they were together, those fucking pussy ghosts didn’t stand a goddamn chance. 

So Ben was the muscle, in order to make sure that She didn’t have to be. It was another thing for him to do for Her, when She’d made everything so much more beautiful just by fucking existing near him, and fixing all his messes, and loving him. Still somehow fucking loving him, because Ben was almost goddamn certain some cosmic entity had made a clerical error and sent him the most perfect woman in history, instead of leaving him alone. Ben thought he was supposed to be, mostly, alone. Making empty promises to women he knew he didn’t really want, and to keep fucking moving until it was enough.

It hadn’t been enough. It had never been fucking enough. 

But he’d rested for one goddamn second—his head held against Her body, the most awful aching fucking pain he’d ever goddamn felt consuming him like a storm—and it had been good. She’d hummed to him like she loved him, and She fucking did, and stayed. He’d rested, and it had been enough. 

And now he knew that the fantasy he’d created—where life was so fucking happy because She was happy—wasn’t something he’d allow to be a fantasy. He couldn’t control anything about Her, but he could keep her happy. And if Her nightmares were of blood, he’d never let her see fucking blood again. He’d hide everything that was blue—if they had a son, the kid would have to just fucking deal with green—and shoot out whatever fucking ceiling fans made her cry. He’d drive her everywhere, half because he was over a hundred and had never seen someone speed like She did, and half because she was afraid of heights, and shouldn’t have to use a single goddamn plane. He’d yell at whoever was in charge of bridges until they built one to Rome, and the rest of their fucking lives would be happy.

That was a life he wanted to live. Where he was resting with Her, and they were both happy. And Ben would fucking choke on blood and dirt and mud until it was a reality. 

Which is why he was losing his fucking mind as they entered that part of this war where it wasn’t about muscle anymore. It was about careful moves and well chosen words, and it was the only goddamn battle Ben couldn’t fight for Her. He wasn’t fucking stupid, but he wasn’t even fucking close to understanding whatever the hell went on in Her perfect, clever, insufferably brilliant brain. He knew how She thought—because he knew Her and loved Her and cared for Her—so when something happened that made her eyes grow glazed and her breathing become mechanical, Ben knew he had to hold her until she stopped thinking the only stupid thoughts she was capable of thinking.

That she was bad, when she was actually the only truly good thing in the world. 

That she was weak, when she fucking wasn’t. 

That she didn’t matter, when she mattered more than fucking anything, and sometimes it stabbed him deep in his arteries that she still didn’t get that. 

Ben knew how to chase those thoughts away. He was smart enough to know how to worship and tend to her, and to know when she just needed him at her side.

But Christ, he wasn’t smart enough for this shit. For the CIA and Singer and Edgar and Sage messes. This was Her territory. And Ben could stand at her side, but that was the only fucking way he could help, and it was driving him out of his goddamn mind.

What was worse, though, was that She was fucking confused. And that’s how Ben knew they were fucked.

Because not a single goddamn person could figure out what the fuck the keys were for. 

As they’d left the safe house, Neuman had stopped them. In reality, Neuman had stopped Her and Ben had simply fucking refused to leave them alone. He’d received several irritated glares from Neuman, but She’d moved her free hand to hold Ben’s forearm—in a silent request to keep his hand in Her’s, to stay at her side all the goddamn time—so Ben had stood tall and proud next to her, keeping her safe. Just by being there, like She’d told him to. Neuman could look fucking pissed at him all she wanted, Ben wasn’t going anywhere.

“You were at Red River,” Neuman had watched them carefully, arms crossed as she blocked their way down the stairs. “Did you get it?” 

There had been a pause as She examined Neuman, before finally nodding, her tone flat and  bored. “Yeah, we did. We’ll get it to Edgar-“ 

“What is it?” 

She’d blinked at Neuman. “Does it matter?” 

“Of course it matters,” Neuman had said Her name with an eye roll, and Ben had felt something bloody and zealous tense in his body. “Edgar raised me to be a lot smarter than just blindly trusting him, so I want to know what it is.” 

“And if I don’t tell you?” 

“Oh, come on.” Neuman’s voice had been vaguely amused, giving Her a flat look. “We both know you’re going to tell me. You trust me enough to bring Ashley here, and whatever it is I bet you’re debating whether or not you should give it to Edgar. I can help you decide.”

Ben hadn’t been debating shit. It was keys. Who gave a fuck about keys. As far as he had known, they’d toss the keys to Edgar, settling the debt, and figure out what the fuck to do with the V.

And that was another fucking reason why She was the brains. She’d studied Neuman—fingers tapping on Ben’s arm with lips pulled between her teeth—and found a conclusion that satisfied her enough to reach into Ben’s pocket and pull out the keys, holding them up for Neuman to see.

“Keys.” She’d jingled them with a shrug. “Got an idea what they’re to?”

Neuman hadn’t. Neuman had just looked fucking confused, and helped with goddamn nothing. Neuman had stared at the keys, bluntly stated that she didn’t know what they could possibly unlock, all of Edgar’s property assets were seized and all of Vought’s buildings used electronic locks, and suggested they figure out what they were for before giving them to Edgar. And—based on Her drawn, too-neutral face and the spark of indigence in her eyes—She’d already known all that, and had no intention of giving Edgar a goddamn thing until they knew what the hell was going on.

And now they were even more goddamn late to get back to the compound, and make the drive to DC. She’d volunteered to drive them back, and Ben, Hughie, and Kimiko had exchanged silent looks of not a fucking chance in hell. 

“I’ll be safe-“ 

Ben had drawled Her name, cutting off her protests as Hughie and Kimiko moved to the front of the car. “You will not be fucking safe. You’re worse than Butcher, and if you wreck his car we’re going to have to deal with his bitching for the rest of our goddamn lives.” 

“But-“ 

He’d tugged Her into the back seat, holding her half on his lap and kissing her pretty, pouting mouth until she relaxed in his arms. We’re going to be fucking fine. If Singer gets all goddamn pissed about us being late, he can shove it in his dick hole. 

A small smile had played on her lips, still pressed against Ben’s. Gross.

Her heartbeat had remained steady under Ben’s hands for the rest of the—perfectly fucking legal and safe—drive, and when they’d stepped off the elevator they’d been greeted by MM’s assessing glare and scowl.

“What the hell took you so long.” 

“Um,” Hughie had glanced back to Her—tucked under Ben’s arm—with a stutter of Her name and pallid face. “Do you want to-“ 

“You know what,” MM had run a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I don’t care. Kimiko, you and Frenchie are holding down the fort with Ryan. You three,” he’d turned his glare to Her, Ben, and Hughie. “Get ten minutes to pack. We’re rolling out in fifteen no matter who the fuck is in the limo.”

She’d blinked. “The limo-“ 

“Van’s still scrapped,” MM had muttered. “And we can’t fit six grown ass adults in a minivan or Butcher’s car. We’re renting a limo.”

Ben had no complaints about that. He didn’t have to wear a damn seatbelt in a limo, and it was a very opportune and appropriate place to hold Her in his lap as they drove without groans and pointed glares from their prude fucking team. If a life of luxury had taught him anything, it was that limos were meant to hold beautiful women, and he’d be fucking damned if he didn’t hold his beautiful woman—the most beautiful, perfect fucking woman who he fucking loved—when he was given the opportunity. So he’d let Her pull them back to their apartment, changing as she stuffed their shit into a suitcase, and taken over when her heartbeat became too fucking fast and her glare at their clothing became almost violent.

“I’ve got it,” Ben had walked up behind Her, wrapping his arms over Her shoulders and kissing Her neck until she let out a breath that didn’t sound fucking mechanical. “Don’t lose your damn mind, Sunshine, I can fucking pack.”

She’d nodded slowly, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t,” he’d muttered, leaning down to kiss under Her jaw, and felt something light and perfectly fucking mind-numbing wrap around his brain like a crown as she made a high, breathy sound. “Go get changed, darling.” 

She’d let Ben guide her to the dresser, and begun to hum under her breath as she’d changed.

“Rainbow Connection.” He’d grunted as she’d returned to his side, hanging off Ben’s arms as She surveyed his packing job.

Her smile had been all content, easy joy, and Ben whole fucking heart had skipped. Then she’d started to actually fucking sing, and he’d genuinely considered just letting the team leave without them. Her voice was like honey and summer rain and something peaceful and strong that Ben hadn’t heard before Her, and never wanted to stop hearing for the rest of his fucking life. The only thing that kept him from staying here, where She was safe and happy and the whole goddamn world was just color and light and her perfect fucking smile, was that she’d kick his fucking ass if they missed this meeting.

They’d had five more minutes, though. And that was more than enough time for Ben to spin Her around until she was dizzy and giggling, swaying in his arms to the instruments that weren’t really there as She sang, looking at him with such infinite and impossibly fucking ceaseless love.

This was the fucking shit worth fighting for. This was where Ben was goddamn supposed to be. And even as he’d kept his arm over Her shoulder—letting Her drag the suitcase behind them and grabbing his shield before they left the apartment—Ben didn’t fucking want to go. He wanted to stay right here, and let this ungrateful world that kept fucking hurting Her crumble.

But She wouldn’t let that happen, and part of why Ben loved Her—there were countless fucking reasons, and the world would probably be swallowed by the Sun before he’d finished naming them all—was because she loved fucking everything. She had a goddamn unfathomable amount of love to hold in Her body, and most of it might be for Ben, but it still spilled into everywhere that Ben could see. Music sounded better, and jokes were funnier, and water quenched his thirst faster when she was around. The only thing Ben remained at her side was hungry. For more of this fucking beauty, and whatever bit of love She’d spare for him. And as long as She kept loving the world, he’d defend it for her. If Ben had a goddamn say in anything, the world wouldn’t fall to ruin until She told him to burn it.

And She wouldn’t. So Ben had to kiss Her head and mutter that he loved Her—just in case she hadn’t heard him the million other times he’d said it—and stay watchful and dependent at her side. Walk with her to the elevator, out to the parking lot, and over to a sleek, black limo that already had the engine fucking running.

“Bout fucking time,” Butcher had grunted, jerking his head to the limo doors as they approached. “We were two bleedin seconds from leavin you twats behind. I’m drivin, which means I’m in fuckin charge, and that means no hanky panky in my bloody limo.”

She’d wrinkled Her nose as Ben opened the door. “Hanky Panky? What are you, a fucking grandmother? You sound older than he does.” 

Butcher had scoffed as She’d bumped Ben’s shoulder. “Shut it, Love, least I know how fuckin wifi works.” 

“I know how wifi works,” Ben had grumbled into Her ear as Butcher turned away. “You put in the numbers and the radio shows you the internet.”

“That’s,” She’d paused, tilting Her head as Ben pulled her into the limo. “Not wrong. Good work, Pretty Boy.”

He’d grunted, shifting them until She was on his lap, not sparing a goddamn glance to the rest of the team. “I didn’t fucking miss the old shit, brat. I’m not-“ 

“Fucking old,” She’d grinned at him, voice dropping into that dog shit impression of Ben that She’d only gotten worse at. “You know better than any damn pussy fucker, Sunshine, that I am not old.” 

He’d rolled his eyes, kissing at the base of Her neck, and MM had let out a very loud cough that almost made Ben bash his brains in, because it caused Her beautiful, perfect face to twist away from him.

“Sorry, MM-“

MM had cut Her off with a heavy, almost pained sigh. “It isn’t that shit. I mean, we’d all really appreciate if you toned it the fuck down for the drive, but I’ve given up on trying to stop you motherfuckers from humping like dogs in heat all the goddamn time.”

She’d flushed, and Ben had taken over. “The fuck do you want then-“

“The Cornucopia.” MM had looked between Ben and Her and Hughie with a raised brow. “What the hell is it.”

She’d reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out the keys, and tossed them across the limo to MM. He’d blinked at Her, she’d explained Red River as Ben added some very fucking helpful nods and Hughie jumped in with small, stupid details that didn’t seem like they mattered, but She’d thanked him for anyways. 

And now, after a whole goddamn hour of sitting in the limo, they’d made no progress in figuring out what the fuck to do with the keys. Everyone had coughed up fifty dollars to Annie for Her bet of any item that’s not a bucket—Annie had forgiven Her debt, and Ben had taken Annie’s dish duty for two fucking months to make up for his own—and they’d passed them around the group for everyone to examine like they’d suddenly fucking have Vought Sex Dungeon engraved on the side.

“Maybe they’re to a storage unit?” Annie looked around the group, fidgeting with the keys in her hands, and MM shook his head.

“No, they’d have a label on them. And then we’d have to worry about-“

“What the fuck is in the storage unit.” She mumbled, leaning Her head back onto Ben’s shoulder. “I mean, no matter what those keys probably lead to the actual Cornucopia. It can’t just be keys.”

“But it’s different, right?” Hughie leaned forwards as he spoke, arms on his knees. “If it’s a storage unit, or a box, or, like, a whole building? And it matters that they’re keys, I mean that sort of, um, narrows it down.”

Ben frowned, opening his mouth to ask Hughie how the fuck that narrowed a goddamn thing down, when She squeeze his arm over her stomach.

A lot of Vought buildings don’t use physical keys, they use keycards. And those keys don’t look old, so it’s not a warehouse that just hasn’t been modernized.

Ben reached his hand up to tilt Her head back, moving her full attention from Hughie to him. What the fuck do you think it is.

I don’t know. She sighed, pulling Ben’s arms around her a little tighter. I mean, I have guesses, but-

What are they.

Ben could see Her teeth as they tugged at her lower lip, her fingers tapping against the back of his hand. They’re just theories, and none of them are concrete-

He grunted Her name in his head. Tell me your fucking theories.

They don’t-

If you say matter, I’ll crash the fucking car.

Grumpy. She gave him a fake pout, and Ben hauled her a little further up his chest, kissing the crook of Her neck.

Tell me. I won’t interrupt you, and you can talk them out. That always fucking helps you. 

Her fingers stilled against him, and when Ben pulled back she was watching him with something so gentle and adoring in her eyes it nearly fucking knocked him out. He could feel the full fucking force of Her love, crashing into his body and making everything so good. There was a soft smile playing on Her face, and Ben didn’t understand it. That was the smile she gave him when he said something supportive to Ryan, or grumbled an agreement with Butcher, or exchanged short, curt nods with MM. It was the smile She gave him when he made her pancakes, or proved he’d been listening to Her rant about nothing, or she caught him humming one of her songs in the shower, and none of his scowling or protests could deter her teasing.

I love you, Benjamin. Her voice was almost whispering in his head, and she reached up to trace the lines of his face. I really love you.

I fucking know that-

No, you don’t. She brushed hair from Ben’s eyes, and let out a small sigh. I love you so, so much. I love you, Ben. I really fucking love you.

Something felt almost fucking radiant in Ben’s body. It wasn’t the nuke, because that felt violent and hateful and still fucking painful, even within Ben’s control. This was comfortable and open and so fucking painfully glorious it might drive him mad. It was so goddamn strange, and easy, and he’d felt it before but not quite like this. This felt like when he’d rested against Her, but without any of the pain or the lump of failure in his throat. So—though he still didn’t fully fucking understand what she meant, Ben did know She loved him and never fucking doubted it—he nodded, and dropped his face back to her neck. I love you too, Sunshine. Talk.

It could be an apartment or house that the feds missed. It’s likely Edgar’s and not Vought’s, because if it’s important enough to hide Vought would’ve already taken it. Sage would’ve taken it. Maybe it’s an incredibly well-kept secret, and Sage is looking for it, and that’s why Edgar wants it now. But if it’s that, it’s probably not a house, because what would Sage need with a house. I don’t think it’s going to be something small, because Cornucopia implies plenty, and Edgar isn’t someone who misuses words. My bet is on a warehouse that Edgar’s keeping a lot of shit in. Vanessa seemed worried about what we’d do with it, which makes me think it’s something dangerous. She turned Her head, resting it against Ben’s. But that’s all I have.

Ben rolled his eyes. Still a fuck ton more than everyone else.

Shut up. She whacked Ben’s arm lightly, and he could feel her smile brushing against his forehead. What’s your bet.

My money is on your fucking money, darling.

That’s very sweet, but not the slightest bit helpful.

Tough shit, I’m not changing my answer. Ben nipped at Her slightly, smirking at the small squeak that left her lips. You’re the smartest one here by a damn mile. Money on you is safe fucking money.

Love has made you stupid, Benjamin.

No. He drew back up, his grin unrestrained as he took in Her perfect, pretty face, and her sharp, amused eyes, and all Her fucking love and adoration for, and knew that all of it was fucking his. Ben got to have this. He loved Her like she deserved, so he got to be the one she looked at with a smile and watched like he was everything. Love has made me smart as fuck. Which is why I know to put money on you, beautiful. Because you’re always fucking right.

They were so fucking close, Ben’s breath passing into her mouth, and Christ, She was going to kill him. Her lips had parted slightly, her hands over Ben’s arms—holding them in their rightful place against Her—gripping him like she was going to fall down, and She wanted him. Her thighs were rubbing for friction against his body, and her heartbeat had picked up, and Ben was going to fuck Her in the back of the limo. Everyone else was just going to have to suck it the fuck up, because She fucking wanted Ben and he wasn’t capable of denying her anything. 

Then MM said Her name, and Ben almost bit through this tongue at the way She squirmed above him and made his cock jump, and the way she was still holding onto him, and the fucking smell and feel of Her above him, and Christ he needed to fuck her-

“Catch,” MM grunted, and Ben grabbed the keys flying through the air before She even had time to react. “That wasn’t mean for you-“ 

“Shove it up your ass, MM.” Ben tucked the keys into Her pocket, holding MM’s glare. “What do you want.”

She pinched Ben’s arm. Rude, Benjamin-

He shouldn’t just fucking throw shit at you-

You throw things at me all the time- 

No, I don’t, you throw shit at me all the damn time, because you’re fucking mean to me- 

You’re invincible, Pretty Boy, I think you’ll survive some paper-

MM let out a loud, overdramatic cough. “If you can listen to me for five minutes, I’ll let you dumbasses brain-fuck each other all you want. Think you can make it five fucking minutes?”

Ben had no interest in making it five minutes, and She didn’t either. He’d shifted against Her, pressing himself into her ass, and her breath had hitched as her heart began to stumble in her chest. But She was too fucking kind and good and perfect, so She nodded, and MM continued. 

“You have to keep those on you,” he said, voice firm and jaw set. “And no making any moves with them until we’re all on board, this could be dangerous. That goes for everyone!” MM raised his voice, glare turning to the front of the limo. “That means you, motherfucker. No stealing the keys and going all vigilante!”

Butcher snorted from the front. “I ain’t the one for you to worry about, Mate. If anyone’s goin fuckin rogue, it’s Bonnie and Clyde over there.” 

“We’re not going to go rogue, Butcher.” She flipped off the divider between them and Butcher, a pretty glower on her face. “And if you try to steal the keys, I’ll burn your face off.”

“Fuckin shame, that’s my money maker-“ 

“Can we please not kill each other when there’s still two hours left of the drive?” Hughie had gone all fucking puppy-dog eyed—looking between Her and Butcher’s back like a whining child—and She gave him an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, Hughie.” She turned back to MM, and She needed to stop wiggling around on Ben’s lap or he’d go fucking insane. “Is that it?” 

When MM nodded, She twisted back around, dropping Her head into Ben’s chest, and sighed. Ben let Her stay there as Hughie, Annie, and MM trailed off into a conversation he wasn’t paying attention to, tangling his fingers in Her hair and kneading at her skin. Her heartbeat was a soft, even hum in Her chest, and he didn’t need to feel Her fingers tapping on his back or hear the chew of her tongue to know She was thinking. He didn’t push it—waiting for Her to speak first—because She fit naturally against him, and nothing in him felt wrong, so She was okay. Just fucking thinking.

Benjamin? 

He hummed Her name back, between their heads, and she exhaled against him. 

We didn’t tell them about the V. The vial of it we found with the keys. 

Ben paused, glancing over at their team. Do you want to.

I don’t know. I, Her arms around him tightened, and She looked up, meeting Ben’s eyes with a frown. I don’t want to give it to Edgar. I don’t trust whatever intentions he has with it. But I don’t want to make more supes. It’s fighting fire with fire, and it’s not- She cut herself off, eyes roaming Ben’s face like she’d find an answer there. It’s not fair.

None of this is fair- 

I know, She sat up a little, hands moving to cup Ben’s jaw. I know this isn’t about fair. But it’s still not fucking fair. I know you asked for this, for the V, but I didn’t. No one else did. And that’s so fucking unfair. It’s so unfair, Ben, and I don’t, I mean. She took a long breath. You remember how much it hurt, I can’t do that to someone. Even for the mission.

He began to trace patterns on Her waist, studying her almost glossy, pleading eyes. She wasn’t spiraling—Her heartbeat was too steady—but she looked lost. Unsure and so fucking tired that it made Ben’s whole head heavy. 

And he needed to help. Ben needed to make this fucking better for Her, whatever it goddamn took.

Do you know why I volunteered for the Vought trials.

She paused, tilting her head at him. To impress your dad, Butcher told me before we woke you up.

Yeah. Ben let out a dry chuckle, holding Her gaze. Did the cockfuck tell you if it worked?

He said it didn’t. Her fingers began to play with the hair of Ben’s beard as She frowned at him. Why?

Because I did this shit to myself, I made myself Soldier Boy, and it didn’t mean a goddamn thing. Everyone loved me, and nobody gave a fuck about me-

I give a fuck about you, She gave him a small, sweet, toothless smile, and Ben didn’t even fucking bother to stop himself from returning it. 

If you’d let me talk, brat, Ben drawled between their heads, dropping his brow to Hers. I’m fucking getting there. I missed my own mother’s funeral because my father somehow managed to outlive her, and I didn’t want to see his old, ugly, evil fucking face. My whole goddamn life was about being Soldier Boy, I never had a single pussy fucker I trusted, and I wasn’t aging so I decided to just keep damn waiting until this proved worth something. And you, he squeezed his arms around her, brushing his lips against Hers in a slight, soft motion. Are worth something. I waited a fucking lifetime, and I found it.

She made a small, choked sound, and Her eyes on Ben’s were filled with all that love he could feel everywhere around him. In Her, and traded between their body, and making everything so fucking good.

I love you, Her voice was soft in his head, her hands holding Ben’s head against Hers. But I don’t-

Ben had to spell it out for Her. He’d expected that. The one fucking thing she never seemed to get was that She was the whole fucking world, and Ben would follow her everywhere. I love you. I fucking adore you, and it’s not fair that you’re cleaning up all the goddamn messes I helped make in your name, before I even fucking knew you.

In my-

I was Soldier Boy to make this shit worth something. Everything I did was for whatever the fuck would be worth something, and that’s you. I was just a fucking dumbass who did it wrong. Love has made me smarter, Sunshine, because I’m doing it right now, but I still did it fucking wrong before. And I made messes, and now the woman I love has to clean them up because none of this shit is fucking fair. That V is my V, that they made to make you, and that’s it. Butcher might end up with us, but it’s you and me. We can flush that V down the toilet, or throw it off a fucking building, but that’s it. It’s not fair for you to make that call, so we’re taking it off the goddamn table.

She was silent for a second, and when She spoke she was combing her fingers through Ben’s hair, mouth dropped in a soft frown. You didn’t make these messes, Ben.

Yeah I know, fucking Homelander- 

No. She gave a small shake of her head. Not Homelander either. That's the worst part, I think. That all of this is so fucking unfair, and no one person can pay for it.

What the fuck are you talking about.

She sighed. I’m saying that I can’t blame anyone. That none of this is fair, and I can’t blame Homelander for all of it. Voguelbaum created him, and Stillwell enabled him, and- 

I fucking helped in making him- 

But they didn’t tell you to. And you didn’t make the system that he’s thrived in. You helped build it, to a degree, but not all of it. And I don’t blame you. I’ve told you that. I’ve never blamed you for how unfair this is, or what happened to me.

And I’ve told you that you fucking should- 

But I don’t. She searched his eyes, her own almost pleading. I really don’t. I love you, Benjamin, and I don’t really care for Soldier Boy, but I haven’t ever blamed you for this. Even before you were my Ben, I never blamed you.

He still didn’t fucking understand Her. She should blame him. This shit was unfair, and they both knew that fair didn’t matter, but Ben would still never be properly fucking worthy of Her. He’d never make up for how he’d set in motion things that had goddamn hurt her. But She was still curled in his lap, calling him mine, and looking at him like he was worth something. 

Why.

Do you know the Bhagavad Gita?

Ben gave Her a flat glare. You know goddamn well- 

It’s Hindu scripture. And there’s a really famous passage that says “I am become death, shatterer of worlds.” It means the soldier isn’t responsible for the deaths of the war. You were, sort of, a soldier. And you did benefit, and you were a real fucking asshole, but you were willingly blind. You committed atrocious, and didn’t think twice, because that’s what soldiers are meant to do. You aren’t a victim, but these messes aren’t just yours. A lot of people helped you make them. Vought gave you compound V, and the government signed off on the trials, and your father told you that you were worthless and you wanted a way to prove him wrong. You were an unstable dick, but you didn’t tell them the solution was to make Homelander. And you didn’t raise Homelander, or tell him to hurt me. You’ve been one of the only people who’s tried to stop him from hurting me, and that’s why I don’t blame you. Many, many people contributed to this, and none of them have ever repented. You’re repenting, and this will always be fucking unfair, but it’s you and me. You’re not a soldier anymore. You’re fighting for people you care about instead of power or glory, and you’re trying to help me fix this, and I love you. And that’s what matters.

She was fucking perfect. Ben hadn’t followed half the damn words She passed down their connection, but he understood the gist. She was still too good, too kind, too fucking forgiving, and She loved him. This wasn’t fucking fair, but he was doing everything in his goddamn power to make it easier for Her, and she fucking loved him. Ben bumped Her nose with his, and a smile tugged at her lips.

Lot of smart fucking words to say you love me and don’t blame me.

Well, you weren’t fucking getting it, Pretty Boy. That’s not my fault. She pressed a light kiss to Ben’s check, humming against his beard. Thank you.

Don’t-

Nope. Thank you. I love you, and thank you.

Ben sighed, and let it the fuck go. He had a lifetime to finally get Her to stop fucking thanking him for things he was supposed to be doing. He was meant to love Her, and listen to her, and hold her like this, so she needed to stop fucking pretending it was some sort of labor he needed thanks for. But for now, as Her head dropped down to his shoulder and she buried her face in his neck—warm breath fanning over his skin, a light touch tracing over his bicep—Ben let this be enough. She—all by her goddamn self—was more than fucking enough, and so he dropped it.

I love you too. He muttered in Her head, something relaxing and blooming in his chest as she smiled against him. Whatever the hell you want to do with the V, we’ll do it. And my vote is flushing it down the goddamn toilet. You and I are strong enough to kick Homelander’s pussy dick into his asshole all by our goddamn selves.

Her nose wrinkled. Gross.

Shut up. He moved his hand to the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair until she was molded against him. You fucking love it.

I do. There was a moment of silence, Her fingers still tracing over Ben’s skin before resting against his chest. Ben?

He grunted, keeping his hand around her and against Her in steady patterns. Circles on her hips and hair wrapped between his fingers, her skin soft under his touch and heartbeat in an even rhythm Ben knew better than his own.

You’re worth something to me as well. 

I know-

No. Let me finish. She pushed up on him, holding his gaze with an almost anguished intensity. You’re worth everything to me. You are everything to me. I love you and adore you and I give so many fucks about you it’s insane. You’re my whole life, Benjamin, now and after. And you make all of this worth something for me as well.

The radiant warmth was everywhere inside of him now, but it was fed by the ache. The way Her voice in his head was pleading, like she needed Ben to understand, and if he didn’t it might hurt her. The way Her hands were curled in his shirt as she held herself up—like she was forcing herself not to collapse against him—and her words were wrapping over Ben’s body and seeping in his skin, all of it born from Her love for him. And it all made the ache in him slide into his throat, and tug at his tongue to say a million fucking things he didn’t have words for.

Simple was easier. The only words that never failed to make Her smile, and set her heart back to an even rhythm. The only thing he fully knew how to be certain of in the entire goddamn universe.

I love you, Sunshine.

Her face split into a soft, gentle smile. I love you too, Benjamin.

She fucking loved him, and that was rooted so deeply inside of Ben that he’d never stray from it. It made him stronger, holding him in a place he knew and loved and wanted to defend. He pulled Her a little higher up his torso, dropping his head to top of her chest and just fucking living there. Where her heartbeat was the loudest, and everything felt fucking good.

They’d worry about all this shit later. They had a whole fucking day ahead of them to worry about Singer and Her stepfather, and Homelander and Mallory and Edgar. And they’d spent months that felt like lives worrying about all these fucking messes, and Ben had spent lives before that making them without ever resting, or feeling fucking satiated by it.

He was satiated here. Leaning into her, with Her legs wrapped around his body and her head resting over his. Her body was slumped over him, every hitched breath when Ben ran a hand up her thigh or traced down her spine brushing against Ben’s ear, and this felt right. This felt fucking right, and Ben didn’t think he’d felt something this plainly natural in his life. It kept amazing him—over and fucking over—how he’d spent his whole life tearing things apart when all he’d had to do was fucking wait. It had made it easier when She’d been away from him and asked him to just wait for Her, because he had a lifetime of goddamn practice waiting for Her already. Waiting for something that wasn’t fucking salvation—because She hadn’t fixed him or saved him, that was fucking stupid—but better.

She wasn’t a cure. She was too silently wrathful to be a cure, made of too many sharp, spiking parts that she cut off for others to consume for Her to be a cure. She wasn’t for others, she just didn’t know how not to be. She was something that was meant to be worshipped, that had been made into a fucking offering. Turned into something like a cure, but never able to do it right, because it’s not what she was supposed to be.

Cures were made for something deadly and diseased. And Ben wasn’t a fucking saint, but he wasn’t sick. He’d just been angry. He’d been furious and bitter and vigilant, so he’d made himself lonely half by choice and half by how vicious his bite was when he was wronged.

She bit too. She didn’t cower or maul or run. She just bit back, and Her bite was a match to his. Less brute force, but more targeted. Right into Ben’s neck, and feeding something in him he hadn’t known was hungry. So She wasn’t a fucking cure, because cures took things away. She’d made him more. Given him something he’d always wanted, and never known existed. And now Ben would always be hungry, but he’ll be satiated. He found purpose. He’d had waited his whole fucking life for purpose, and it was Her. This was a goddamn purpose, something he was meant to do and be and have and give.

Are you hungry?

Ben leaned back, meeting Her eyes with a frown. What. 

I’m thinking about dinner. We’re staying in a hotel tonight, and the meeting with Singer isn’t until the morning, and I’m hungry. 

She gave him a fake pout, and Ben seriously fucking considered throwing Butcher out of the car to get Her to a fucking McDonalds. She probably liked McDonalds, everyone fucking liked McDonalds, and she always ate Ben’s burgers, so it wasn’t like they’d get fucked by the menu.

Just in case, he asked, What do you want?

She hummed, her fingers tapping against Ben’s jaw. What do hotels usually have? Lobster? Do they have lobster? 

Fancy hotels have lobster. And if this one doesn’t, I’ll find you some- 

Ben. She gave him a flat look, even as Her love swept through him like a wildfire. Where are you going to find me lobster. 

I don’t fucking know, the ocean- 

We’re on a river, those don’t have lobsters. 

Ben rolled his eyes. Fine, smartass, another restaurant- 

They’d make you pay for that, Pretty Boy, and we’re broke. If you keep losing bets at this rate, you’ll be on dish duty until after we kill Homelander.

What the fuck else am I supposed to do, they won’t forgive my debts like they do yours- 

Because you lose all the time. She shrugged, dropping Her brow to Ben’s as she smiled at him. And I cover you, when I have the money. 

We should both have the fucking money. Ben’s hands gripped Her body against him, and she must have read his next thought on his face, because She frowned and shook her head. 

Do not use the meeting with Singer to demand a pay raise, Benjamin. That’s not what it’s for. 

It’s not a pay raise, my love, it’s a fucking union. You and I aren’t going to do more of their shit for them until they give us some goddamn money- 

We both know we’re not going to unionize. She sighed, her breath passing into Ben’s m. We might not be legally dead anymore, but we’re still not CIA employees. 

We should be-

You’d have to do an interview with Mallory. Amusement danced in Her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. And they’d run a background check. You can’t even do a background check, Benjamin, your social security number is negative five. 

Shut up. I am not fucking old, and we still need some goddamn money. I’ll tongue Butcher’s taint before I become these pussies fucking maid-

We’ll make money. She pressed a kiss to the corner of Ben’s mouth. If escorts don’t pan out, we can try birthday parties. I know a guy who has a very authentic Soldier Boy costume, and I think he’ll let me borrow it if I give him a blowjob.

Ben snorted. He’d let you borrow it if you asked him real pretty and made him a bagel, Sunshine, but I’m not doing fucking birthday parties- 

You wouldn’t even have to talk. I’d stand behind a curtain, and I can say everything for you. The kids would never know the difference. She grinned as Her voice in Ben’s head dropped to that gravelly impression of him. Hi, I’m Soldier Boy. New York. Eagles. Baseball. Boobs. Don’t do crack, kids, do Benzedrine. Don’t wear blue, it’s a pussy color, wear green. And if you’re ever in a fight, go for the other guy’s dick. I’m a million fucking years old, and I sing Rainbow Connection in the shower when I think nobody can hear, and I know you can fucking hear me Sunshine, but you don’t goddamn count-

Ben buried his head in Her neck, sucking and biting that one spot until her words trailed off into a tiny whimper.

Brat.

Cunt. Her voice was soft and needy, and Ben smirked against Her, kissing a wet trail up her jaw and over her face. Ben-

I love you so fucking much, Sunshine. He kissed around her pretty, already open mouth, trailing his tongue over her lips. And if we didn’t have company, I’d fuck you right here.

Ben felt Her heartbeat pick up under his careful, firm touches, but she didn’t pull away. We get our own room tonight, She let out a small, breathy sigh as Ben deepened the kiss. If you can keep it in your pants for a little while longer, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.

How much longer.

She pulls away from him slightly, reaching between their bodies to grab Her phone. She paused as she swiped at Her screen, looking up at Ben with a frown. We really need to get you another phone-

Later. How much longer until I get to fuck you. 

She wrinkled her nose at him. Horny old man- 

Needy fucking brat. Ben shifted Her above him, letting his half-hard cock push between Her thighs, gritting his teeth as her legs tightened around him. How much- 

An hour. She dropped her phone back between their bodies, wrapping her arms around Ben’s neck and lowering her face so their cheeks brushed. Think you can make it? 

Ben scoffed, moving one hand down to squeeze at Her ass and smirking at her soft squeak in his ear. I’ll manage, Sunshine. 

He wasn’t going to manage. They fell into an easy silence, Her body curled over Ben’s and her hands playing thoughtlessly with the hair at the nape of his neck, and the longer they stayed like that the more he needed her. She still smelled like that flower shampoo, but there was grass lingering over it, and a third smell that invaded Ben’s senses and so clearly just fucking Her. It was like the goddamn apples in their apartment, and chocolate, and warm smoke and the fucking sun. Ben didn’t have a better way to put it, because really it was just fucking Her. Like an aphrodisiac or song that tugged on something in his brain and called him home. Back to Her, closer to Her, always with Her.

It probably fucking was Her. That piece of her that was alive inside of him, growing stronger and stronger the longer it stayed. 

Ben had no fucking intention of letting it leave. If holding Her like this—sitting in complete goddamn silence and caring for every perfect piece of her in his arms and mind—was what this part of Her needed to thrive, he’d hold her like this forever. She lived in Ben because he was safe to her. She given this part of her to him—even if She hadn’t actually meant to—and he’d never fail Her and let it feel pain. 

He fucking loved Her, and she was all around him in every fucking way but the one that was starting to strain at his pant, and that sense of her everywhere wasn’t doing him any favors to make it through the hour. He wanted to make that piece of Her light up inside him, watch her perfect, beautiful face grow blissfully relaxed and adoring as he worshiped Her. Prove to Her that he thought she was too fucking kind and good for anyone at all, but he’d never let Her be wrong about him. If She said that Ben was repenting, he’d do whatever trial was laid out before him to prove Her right.

But as much as he wanted to bury himself deep inside of Her and mutter praise he meant and promises he’d always fucking keep, the hum of Her heart was growing slower and softer, and Ben realized she’d fallen asleep. He could feel a small amount of drool on his neck—her hair tickling his nose and her grip on his neck becoming slack—and he couldn’t stop the small smile that crept over his face. She was fucking safe here, where Ben was allowed to touch her in small ways that made her hum in sleep against his skin. Where he could trace patterns on Her hips, keep a steady arm around her waist, and let a hand move slowly up her spine to tangle in her hair until she fell further into him was a content sigh. Ben kept his breathing even and slow, his eyes on the rest of their team in a warning of keep it the fuck down, or I’ll crack your head open, so nothing could disturb her sleep.

She didn’t have a single fucking nightmare. No smoke rose from Her body, and no distressed, strangled sounds escaped her mouth. Everything in Ben felt right and a little high, so he knew she was really, truly, really fucking good. And when the limo finally stopped and Butcher turned to address them from the front, Ben’s respect for their team fucking doubled as a chorus of hissed be quiets filled the limo.

Butcher scoffed. “She’s a big girl, she don’t need a nap-“

“Butcher,” MM whispered, his tone and expression venomous. “If you wake her up, I’m not going to stop Soldier Boy from killing you.” 

“Oh, come off it, Mate-“ 

“She never sleeps well, you asshole,” Annie’s voice was hushed, her eyes turning to Ben’s. “When was the last time she had a real, full night of sleep?” 

Ben couldn’t fucking remember. Even after she’d stopped taking the suppressants, she still woke up screaming and wrapped and fire and sobbing about fucking blood. She fell back asleep easier now, but Ben had received countless fucking burns across his arms and face as he held Her down, trying to bring her back to earth before she flew off the bed and burned right through the fucking roof. She always healed the twisted for him if they weren’t gone by morning, and Ben always fucked Her after to chase off any useless goddamn guilt in her eyes, but it kept happening. He didn’t know how to fix it, other than only staying, just like she’d asked. 

Annie must have seen the clench of his jaw—images of Her perfect face empty and hollow and broken flashing in Ben’s brain, echoes of her screams ringing in his ears—because she turned back to Butcher with a glare. “You just have to lower your voice, Butcher. Don’t be a dick.”

Butcher’s attention darted to Her—still steadily asleep against Ben—and rolled his eyes as he dropped his voice. “We got four rooms, and all the lovey dovey cunts will be sharin.” Butcher threw keycards to MM and Ben, who caught their’s with ease, and Hughie, who made a small yelp as Annie’s arm shot out, catching it for him. “Meetin with Singer is at 8am, and we got to be there at 7. You lot will meet me here at 6, and I don’t want to see your sorry fuckin faces until then.”

Ben could live with that. It was a little past midnight, and six hours of sleep was a fuck ton more than She usually got, so he’d take it and rest at Her side until morning. He shifted Her in his arms—moving her carefully up his chest, looping one arm under her knees—and carried her out of the limo, into the back entrance of the hotel, and up the stairs. MM had grabbed their suitcase, and Ben gave him a silent, firm nod as MM pushed into their room.

A hand shot out before Ben could kick the door closed, and MM’s gaze bore into Ben’s skull, his voice low. “She okay?” 

She would be. As long as Ben could do a goddamn thing about it, She’d be okay for the rest of her fucking life. “She’s good,” Ben grunted, glancing down to Her perfect, peaceful face, half smushed into his shoulder, hair falling over her eyes. So fucking beautiful, and happily where she belonged. “I’m taking care of her.”

He wasn’t sure why he said that. It certainly wasn’t for MM’s fucking approval, because the only person whose approval mattered was Hers. And Ben did take care of Her. He took very fucking good care of Her, because he fucking loved her, and she was the most important person in the world. And he sure as fuck didn’t need to say that he took care of Her, because he proved that he did in his every waking moment. 

Even right fucking now Ben was carrying her to bed, holding Her like she was something holier than life—she was—and planning to stay at Her side all night. Wrap his arms around her and hold her in the dark, then march at her side in the morning to face whatever the hell Singer had ready for them. And then he’d figure out where they kept lobster in DC, and get her some. And that’s what fucking mattered. Showing Her she was good. Only saying he was taking care of her wouldn’t mean a goddamn thing if he didn’t keep doing it, over and over and over until they were the last people left in the world, and a long while after that.

But MM gave a short nod, and Ben realized that the man had just believed him. MM might not fully trust Ben—and if he was being completely fucking honest that was still an understandable call, Ben would shoot everyone in the fucking head if they became a threat to Her or Ryan—but he trusted Ben with this. With Her. He trusted that when Ben said she’s good, he was telling the truth. 

And he was. With a muttered reminder from MM not to be late in the morning and the door closing—leaving Ben and Her alone, together with the nightlights of the city casting shadows over her sleeping features—She was happy. Content as Ben laid her down on the bed, keeping one hand on her thigh as he unzipped their suitcase. He found one of his softer shirts and—a little selfishly, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad or give a fuck because She wore his clothing all the goddamn time anyway—changed her into it. She shouldn’t sleep in fucking jeans or her bra, so Ben carefully stripped her down—every movement debilitate and slow and silent so as not to disturb or wake her—and pulled his shirt over her body, kissing her brow before sitting at the edge of their bed and trying to figure out how the fuck to get them food.

This wasn’t the same hotel as last time, but shit had always worked the same at every hotel in history, so Ben figured it out. He read the directory, called room service, and ordered everything.

“And, um,��� a nervous, soft-voiced woman was on the other end of the line, listing off more shit for Ben to add to his list. “Would you like dessert, sir?”

“Of course I want fucking dessert-“

Don’t be mean to the hotel staff, Benjamin. Ben cut himself off as Her arms wrapped around his torso, and looked down to see her head in his lap, her face buried in his abdomen. They’re doing their best, and it’s late. 

Ben sighed, letting his free hand wander into her hair, and grunted into the phone, “dessert is good. Add it.” 

“Do you have anything in mind, or would you like, um, all of it too?” 

Sunshine- 

I’d like ice cream. She hummed against him, and Ben felt her soft smile against his body. Whatever flavor you want. 

“Ice cream,” Ben muttered, his eyes locked on Her, tucked and resting against him, so fucking perfect. “Vanilla. Two of them.” 

A small giggle escaped Her. You’re very predictable, Pretty Boy. 

Shut the fuck up. 

“That will come to,” Ben heard the lady on the other end swallow, and there was a moment of static silence on the phone. “$492. Are you sure-“

“Get me the fucking food lady, and I’ll give you a 20% tip.” 

Ben had no idea how much that would be, but the woman seemed happy with it, because she gave him an eager agreement before hanging up the line. 

“Food will be here soon,” Ben muttered Her name, and his heart might’ve stopped fucking working when she rolled over in his lap, a beautiful, sleepy expression on her perfect face. “You’re-“ 

“Don’t say tired, or I’ll punch you.” She grumbled, poking at Ben’s chest with a pout. “You’re not allowed to do that right now.”

“I didn’t do fucking shit-”

“You were going to,” she mumbled, face flushing. “You were going to make me go to sleep.” 

“We both know,” Ben drawled, smirking as he traced his thumb over her lips. “That I can’t make you do anything, darling. You never fucking listen to me.”

She buried her face back into Ben’s body, words muffled against his skin. “Fuck you.”

“I did promise to.” He hummed, glancing at the red numbers on their bedside table, reading 12:49. “But you need fucking sleep. We’re moving real damn early tomorrow, and you-“

“How early?”

“Six.”

She sighed against him, and Ben felt the alarm of wrong. Something is very wrong, because She’s hurting and that’s the worst fucking thing in the universe. 

He grunted Her name, pulling lightly at her hair. “Look at me.” 

When She rolled fully onto her back—Her eyes not hollow, but glossed over and soft—she just watched him. Waited for Ben to speak, one of her hands reaching up to touch his jaw, the whole fucking world just them. Together.

“What’s wrong. And don’t say nothing-“

“I don’t want to go tomorrow.” She whispered, and Ben froze. She sounded so fucking tired, and it was wrapping around his head and dragging his body down. Down to Her, to soothe her, to touch her and fucking fix this. “I know we have to, but I don’t want to, Ben. I’m,” she took a heavy breath. “I don’t want to.” 

“Then we fucking won’t.” He snapped. It was pretty goddamn simple. He’d steal them a car, and they’d drive home. The rest of the team could handle this, and that was fucking that- 

“We need to.” She gave Ben a small, sad smile, and he felt like someone was fucking stabbing him. “You know we need to. I have to be there for this-“ 

“You don’t have to-“ 

“I do.” She sat up, twisting until their legs were tangled and she was leaning against him, holding Ben’s face in her hands. “I have to. I need to see him.” 

Ben's arms wrapped around Her body as he scanned over her face. Only inches from his, so goddamn sad and tired, a so fucking beautiful. “Muller.”

She nodded, and Ben’s was going to break his teeth. For that pussies' own sake, Muller better be too much of a goddamn coward to show face tomorrow, or Ben would damn the consequences and kill him. V or no V, he was still someone that was fucking hurting Her. As She spoke her voice was too quiet, and her eyes looked so goddamn far away, and Ben felt fucking sick.

“He never,” She swallowed, and Ben remained silent. Right now his job was to fucking listen, and he was damn good at it. Rubbing circles on her lower back, holding whatever of her gaze she gave him, and watching her the whole time. “He never acknowledged I was dead. Or alive. Or anything.” She sighed, leaning her brow against Ben’s. “I don’t want to talk to him, Ben. I don’t want to hear what he believes.”

“Believes-“ 

“About me.” She mumbled, Her eyes closed and heartbeat not fast, but uneven. “What Homelander and Sage have said, what Annie’s said, and-“ She shook her head, nose brushing Ben’s. “Everything. All of it. What I’ve done, and what happened to me. Who I might be, if I’m a whore, or bitch, or liar, or traitor-”

Ben muttered Her name, waiting for her to look at him before he spoke. “You’re not any of that. He’s not your fucking family. He’s a worthless pussy, and if he believes the wrong shit it doesn’t change the goddamn truth.”

“I know. I know, it doesn’t, but-“ 

“No.” Ben moved at hand up, pulling one of Hers off his face as kissing her knuckles. “No fucking but-“ 

“Please,” Her voice was barely a breath, and Ben’s whole body hurt as he fell silent.“I’m not worried about Muller, Ben. I’m worried about my,” Her hand tangled in Ben’s, her grip like iron as she took a long breath. “I’m worried about my mom. He’s just an extension of her, and whatever he believes-” 

She cut Herself off with a half-sob, and Ben let smoke curl between their fingers, not flinching away as heat started to burn his skin. He’d hold Her through this fall and catch Her at the end. He’d always fucking catch her, but he knew she had to fall first. Ben had to hear everything spiraling through her insane, perfect brain so he could get his words fucking right when it was his turn to speak.

“I,” She took a shaking breath, and there was something tight and curled in her throat that Ben could feel. “I know I shouldn’t care. It’s been years, and I shouldn’t care, and I’ve had worse things-“ She made another strangled noise, her heart bouncing around her ribs. “Worse things happen to me since. But it still hurts, everything hurts. She said I wasn’t strong enough to be alone, Homelander said I’m not strong enough, and I’m not, Ben, I’m not. I’m so tired. And I’m so sick of being tired, but I’m not, I’m not strong enough to just fucking be better-“

That was enough. Ben had all he fucking needed to pull Her back down, and he’d be damned if he let Her think for another fucking second that she wasn’t fucking everything. 

“You don’t need to be fucking better, you are better.” Ben tilted his head up, her words falling into soft tears that made something flail around in his gut, and kissed the space between her eyes as he muttered against her skin. “No matter fucking what, you’re better. You’re not whatever the fuck they think you are. Any of them. They don’t know you, Sunshine, I fucking know you. And you’re smart and good and kind and beautiful and a goddamn powerful fucking problem and you’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect, so stop being stupid.”

She made a choked sound, fully falling against him, and as her arms wrapped around Ben’s neck all Her love bloomed in his body. It hurt, it fucking ripped him apart inside as she sobbed into him, shaking slightly in his hands and clinging to him like he was an anchor. Something holding Her together, that she trusted to keep her safe, and She fucking did. Because Ben folded his body over hers, and touched her right, and waited for this to pass. It always fucking passed, and they both knew it would return, but then they’d just wait it out together once more. Every single fucking thing would pass but them. She’d stay planted in Ben, covering everything in him and the world, and if they burned they’d burn together. And that was where the love in her made this pain worth it by a million fucking fold. Because this hurt—this killed Ben and lined cracks along his skull, twisting and rotting something in his heart—but then it passed, and everything was warm. Turning the rot to smoke, healing every crack, and spreading through Ben’s veins like a fucking drug. Like something sacred, that everyone chased but Ben got to have. That he’d somehow managed to earn, just by loving Her and caring for her and staying.

So when this passed, and Her breathing still ragged but her heart growing even, Her voice in Ben’s head was soft but not weak. She couldn’t be fucking weak if she tried. I’m sorry.

Before Ben could grunt between them for her to never fucking apologize, She looked up at him with a beautiful, full-lipped, toothless smile, her face glistening with evaporated tears. 

What’s- 

I don’t think this is how meeting the parents is supposed to go. I think we’re supposed to have dinner at an Olive Garden and not talk about Homelander at all.

Ben snorted, kissing the top of Her head. I don’t give fuck about Olive Garden- 

That’s not very family-oriented of you, Benjamin- 

And I don’t give a fuck about your parents. I care about you, Sunshine, and I have no fucking interest in impressing idiots pussies who don’t. 

Her love was fucking infinite in Ben’s body, and nobody had ever fucking looked at him like that but Her. Like She believed him, but didn’t believe he was real. Would you, um, I mean I know we’ve been keeping Violet away from this, but after, my dad and my other siblings- 

He grunted Her name between them, and a pretty flush covered her face. Whoever you want me to meet, I will. But if I think they’re being asshole cockheads, I’m not fucking standing for it. I love you, and nobody is allowed to tell you who the fuck you are- 

You tell me who I am all the time, She gave him an amused look. You literally just told me who I was.

Ben rolled his eyes. That’s not the fucking same. I’m not a pussy dumb fuck talking out of my ass, you’re the love of my fucking life and you were being an idiot. You’re not weak, and I’m not going to let people who don’t goddamn know shit tell you that you are- 

She kissed him, soft and sweet, her hands gliding up his chest to hold his jaw. Thanksgivings are going to be really awkward, if you call my family a bunch of fucking pussies the whole time.

Ben smirked against her. Good thing those pussies aren’t invited to our thanksgiving.

Who is-

Nobody. It’s going to be me, you, and a massive fucking sex marathon. 

She giggled, and even though the sound was quiet, it was real. She was fucking happy, here, with Ben. Not even going to pretend we’ll invite our friends? 

No. Ben twisted his face in half-mocked disgust. We’re going to need the entire goddamn turkey to ourselves, to make sure you have enough energy. I will not have you fucking tagging out before we get started. 

All I hear, She pulled back, and that was Her full smile. Her wide, infinite smile that contained the whole universe and was made of something so fucking bright and vital Ben would never find anything like it if he tried. Is that you’re not denying they’re our friends. 

Ben’s eyes narrowed. Impossibly clever, beautiful, perfect fucking woman, backing him into corners and knowing him too fucking well. He didn’t have an argument out of it, because if he said they weren’t she’d push it and win—something starting with our friends care about me, and ending with and you trust them with Ryan and I—and if he just agreed he’d never hear the goddamn end of it, so his only avenue was to roll her onto her back, leaving sloppy, wet kiss all over her face as she laughed and let out blissful sighs, muttering brat and fucking love you, Sunshine against her skin and down her throat right up until someone knocked on the door.

Her eyes grew comically wide as Ben dumped their order of food on the hotel table, her face falling into a plainly adorable gape as she looked up at him. “Did you order thanksgiving? I can’t eat all of this-“

“Then take whatever the fuck you want,” Ben looped his arm around Her waist, kissing the top of her head as she leaned onto his shoulder. “And I’ll eat whatever you don’t.”

She smiled at him, tilting her head to kiss his cheek, and hummed against him. “I can’t believe I’m in love with a dog.”

He scowled. “I am not a fucking dog-“

“You are, my love. You’re a massive fucking puppy, and I adore you.” 

Ben is pretty goddamn sure his heart stopped working and then got jumpstarted within the same fucking millisecond. She’d tugged herself away from him—filling up one of the paper plates hotel services had brought up before shuffling back to the bed, waiting for Ben to join her with a patient, expectant gaze—and he had to make his feet move. He’d wanted to stay there for the rest of his fucking life, where She’d called him my love, and he’d understood why her heart always skipped when Ben said it. He was Her’s. Every single fucking part of Ben was Her’s, and he couldn’t even bring himself to be mad about the dog comment, because She was fucking right. He’d follow her everywhere, and snarl at what threatened her, and taking whatever fucking scraps she offered him of her love.

He’d never have enough of Her love. It was better than any drug or drink or high, and it was for Ben. It was all goddamn his, and if that meant he had to be a fucking pathetic dog for Her, then so goddamn be it. Anyone would do that, love Her how she asked, because it made Her fucking smile and chased off the pain faster.

And Ben had learned that, in his life, he’d really only despised two people. He’d hated a lot of people, but that was hatred born of vengeance and a sour, white-hot fury that had festered in his body for most of his life and found an avenue out through the drums. Despising people wasn’t the same. It was born of true, raw, pure disgust and loathing. A channel for that fury that wasn’t about Ben’s own anger, but about twisting and morphing the fury into ardor and zealous protection. Turning the drums and wrath into something better, that targeted the only two pussy fucking idiots who made Her fucking cry. The only two asshole cum-fucks who knew exactly how to hurt Her, and weaponized it, making Her sob against Ben as she broke.

Nobody made Her fucking cry but Homelander and her mother. She made herself cry sometimes, but that wasn’t the fucking same. That was born of how much She cared and loved everything, and how she seemed to remember every goddamn thing anyone ever said and took it as gospel—when it fucking wasn’t—to who she was. When Homelander and her mother made Her cry, it was born of something evil. Something evil and cold and horrid and covered in bile and guts to carve her open. 

Ben would kill Homelander, if not for the world, for Her. And despite the truth that he had no fucking interest in trying to entertain anyone in Her life who made her fucking cry like that, he still wanted to meet her mother. Not to kill her, but just put the fear of God in her. Make the woman understand that her daughter was a goddamn miracle on Earth, and Ben was going to love Her until it was just them in a ruined world, watching the stars and laying in the grass and smiling. He’d love her like the perfect, dangerous, beautiful thing that had crawled to him covered in blood and dirt and grime that she was, wrapped in fire and still seeking warmth. Ben wanted to sneer at Her mother to never try to fucking bother them, because if the woman said one wrong thing to Her, Ben wouldn’t tolerate it. There wasn’t a fucking chance he was letting anyone make her look all fucking sad, when She was meant to be happy. He might not cut out tongues when people misstepped, but he’d stay wrapped around Her, a silent reminder to the world—to Her mother—that Ben loved Her, and she’d always fucking have him. However She wanted Ben, she’d get him. 

Ben would always hate that she never got to meet his mother, because they’d have fucking loved each other. His mother would’ve liked Her, a bit because everyone fucking liked Her, but mostly because She was better than Ben was. She was better thanany other pussy in the universe, and She was smart, and kind, and clever, and the type of beautiful his mother would’ve said made gods jealous. That was what his mother had always said he should find, even after he’d become Soldier Boy,and he’d never fucking gotten what the hell it meant before Her. He’d had countless beautiful women in his bed, and not one would’ve made gods jealous. They were just beautiful. There was so much fucking beauty in the world, and Soldier Boy got all of it, and Ben had decided that the made gods jealous shit was just something a mother told her son. 

He got it now though. She was the type of beauty that made gods fucking jealous. Because she was the type of beautiful they wrote stories about, made art and castles and temples for, and searched through the world to learn more words for beauty just to fucking compare Her to. And all the beauty in the universe lived inside of Her, and she was fucking perfect. So Ben’s mother would’ve loved Her, because she carried Ben’s whole fucking world just by existing. He’d have sat in silence as they talked about whatever the fuck mothers and daughters talked about, and She’d have hit him halfway through the conversation to ask him his opinion, then made a joke about his opinion with joy and love in Her eyes and Ben’s body, and he’d have smiled at Her, and when they stood up to leave his mother would’ve hugged Her and that would’ve been it. It would’ve confirmed something that Ben already fucking knew, but still wanted his mother to know as well. 

And something still sour and angry in Ben wished he could introduce Her to his father. One, quick meeting just to say fuck you, you old pussy. I am worth something, because I’m repenting, and I’m fighting for people I care about, and the most perfect woman in fucking history loves me, and she’s never wrong. Ben wouldn’t let his father speak to Her—he barely deserved to be in Her presence—but he’d brag about her. Tell his father that She was a brilliant fucking woman, and a fucking doctor, and never took any goddamn shortcuts, and She loved Ben. To tell his father that their last name would die with him, and he’d rot in a grave for the rest of time while She and Ben were fucking happy, and Ben gave her the world. 

He’d give this perfect fucking menace—curled at his side, wearing his shirt and eating chicken nuggets like a fucking animal—whatever she wanted or needed and asked for. His lungs and heart and guts out of his body, the sun to hold in her hands, a hundred fucking trees planted in her name. Ben would offer his life on a silver platter for Her to do whatever she pleased with it, which is why he almost snorted when She started stealing looks at his food, chewing on her lips and eyeing his fries like she hadn’t just practically fucking inhaled her own. 

He dumped them onto her plate without a word, and when Her face lit up with joy he didn’t fucking understand how anyone could fucking think to hurt Her. He was a little bias—not everyone was as fucking genius as Ben was to love her, or strong enough to be loved by her—but he still just didn’t goddamn get it. How a single goddamn pussy fucker could look at Her and consider being cruel to her. Even when he thought back to the beginning, Ben had never wanted to hurt her. He’d found Her annoying, and been mad about the whole borderline blackmailing shit, but he’d never wanted to make her cry. Her crying had always set off something primal and feral and confusing in his body, making his every thought this is fucking wrong. Something like Her shouldn’t hurt or be in pain. 

Ben coughed, and her pretty eyes shot up to meet his with a little bit of sauce hanging on her lip. Sauce that Ben got to wipe off with his thumb, eat, and smirk as Her mouth remained parted and her heart kicked into a faster gear.

“Ben-“

“I haven’t had a thanksgiving since the 50s.” Ben grunted, and wasn’t fucking sure where this was coming from. All he did know was that She fell silent to listen, and the words started to fucking vomit out of him, and he needed Her to understand that She was his family. That he’d never allow himself to be someone who made her cry. “And it was fucking shit. Food was fine, drinks were weak, and I went because my mother begged me to. Nobody seemed to get why I was there, my own family didn’t fucking know me because my father didn’t let my mom talk about me, and all I did the whole night was answer fucking Soldier Boy questions.” 

She blinked at him. “What are Soldier Boy questions?” 

“What was the war like,” Ben grunted. “If I shoot you will it hurt. Think you can fucking outdrink me or beat me in a race. Elvis and Sinatra a good time, Garland a good fuck. I wore my fucking supe suit there because I’d be shipping off to film some fucking movie in the morning, and my father didn’t look at me the whole time. I left early, and that was the fucking end of it. But,” Ben swallowed, and suddenly this was impossibly fucking difficult. He had to get this right. “I’d try it again. I could kill a turkey and you could burn it, and if you want the team we could fuck after they leave-“

“Ben.”

He cut himself off, and Her smile was so simply fucking sweet. It wasn’t the syrupy, over exaggerated and slightly crude one she gave when people tried to make her be nice when the situation didn’t fucking call for it. This was all fucking love and affection and want for Ben.

“When we get to November,” she whispered, and Ben’s whole body was frozen in place. As if, should he blink, he’d miss a single word or moment of her love. “I’d love to do thanksgiving with you and the team. I’d love to do anything with you, except killing the turkey.” Her nose wrinkled. “That’s gross.”

She’d love to do anything with him. She’d love to do anything with Ben.

“Good,” he muttered, moving their plates off to the side and pulling her with him towards the headboard, moving her to rest between his legs, his arms wrapping over her stomach as he kissed her neck and hummed in her ear. “Whatever the fuck you want, beautiful, as long as you’re not cooking.”

She twisted around in his hold, pushing his chest lightly as he grinned at her. “Fucking rude, Benjamin. I can cook perfectly well now, and I certainly a whole lot better than you are-“

“You’re better at most things than I am,” Ben shrugged. “And fuck me for trying to stop everyone from eating your piss-poor pie and getting fucking poisoned-“ 

“You love my pie. You won’t shut the fuck up about my pie.” There was a smug, proud look in her eyes at her dogshit innuendo, and Ben snorted. 

“That might be the only thing you’re not good at,” Ben said her name, kneading his hands against her skin. “That didn’t even make goddamn sense-“ 

“Fuck you, Ben, you got hard-“ 

“Because you’re fucking sitting on me, darling.” He leaned down, nipping at Her lower lip. “And that will always make me hard.” 

Her heart stumbled in her chest. “Shut up.” 

“No. I love you, and I’m never going to fucking apologize for wanting to fuck my woman.” Ben winked at Her. “And I always want to fuck you.” 

She cleared her throat, and her gaze was suddenly sharp. Her love still lived in Ben—running up and down his spine, eternal and so fucking powerful it might consume him, and he’d let it—but Her fingers were tapping on Ben’s chest, the gears of Her impossibly brilliant mind turning behind her eyes. 

“Ben?” 

He grunted, the grunt she’d said meant he was listening to her, and she let out a long breath. 

“Do you, have you thought about after?”

“After what.” 

“After this.” She made a gesture to the air, eyes still locked onto Ben’s. “All of this. If we kill Homelander-“ 

“When. When we fucking kill Homelander-” 

She gave him a flat look. “When we kill Homelander. What do you, um, what do you want after?” 

Ben knew exactly what he fucking wanted. Her. Whatever way he got to have her, he wanted her. But he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like a fucking dumbass, so he hesitated. One fucking second too long, because something is her eyes looked wounded, and Ben had to talk right fucking now. She deserved to be told with all the fucking poetry and art in the fucking universe, but that wasn’t Ben. He didn’t know how the hell to do that, but she also didn’t want anyone but Ben, so he settled on his way. The blunt, clear as fucking day truth.

He said Her name, moving a hand up to cup her cheek, letting his thumb run over her cheekbone. “Whatever the hell you want, I want as well. That’s fucking that.” 

“But I want to knowwhat you want.” She mumbled, hands fisting in his shirt. “I, I just want to hear about it. Don’t worry about, um,” her tongue peaked out from her lips, her chewing becoming rapid with Her heart. “Anything. What I’ll think, how I’ll react. I just want to know.” 

Ben’s hand on her hips stilled, and he clung to Her—alive inside him—to make sure She was serious. He had the feeling they both knew what Ben wanted, but he’d had no desire to say it aloud. Not when Homelander was still fucking alive, still trying to hurt her, and had been so fucking close to crossing that final, horrible, unspeakable line once more barely a few months ago.

But She was content inside of him. There wasn’t any sickness or cold or sense of wrong, only the pleading look in Her eyes and her hands turning the fabric of Ben’s shirt between them as she waited. 

“Swear that if you start to-“ 

“I’ll stop you,” She whispered, holding Ben’s gaze. “I promise. Please tell me.” 

“I want this.” He muttered, a careful ear on Her heart for the slightest stutter. “I want you and me, for the rest of fucking time.” 

He stopped, and hoped that was enough. And of course, it fucking wasn’t. 

She dropped her face on his shoulder. “And?” 

“That’s it-“ 

“Where do you want us to be?” She mumbled, and Ben could feel her eyes on his as she turned her head. “Rome? A little no name town? New York, LA-“

“No. Not fucking LA-“ 

“Then where-“ 

“Wherever the fuck you are, I’ll be fine-“ 

“Ben.” His eyes moved to watch her without his fucking permission. “I want to know what you want-“ 

“That is what I fucking want.” He grunted. “I just fucking want you and whatever the hell you want I’ll be good with. I don’t give a fuck where we are, because I’ll be there with you, and that’s what I want. If you want a little fucking postcard town, then we’ll go there. I’ll get a job in the woods so I don’t have to see anyone but you, and you can do whatever the fuck you want all day. If you want Rome, we’ll get you there and do the escort plan until we have a fucking mansion, and I’ll fuck you in every corner of it. If you ask I’ll fuck you full of kids, until we can run our own goddamn little league.” Ben had started, and now he couldn’t fucking stop. “If you want to stay in New York, we’ll find a goddamn apartment and have Annie and Hughie over for lunch, and I’ll take you to stupid fucking movies and we’ll dance the kitchen and sit on the roof until I carry you to bed. If you want to travel the world and help people, I’ll be right at your fucking side, and if you just want to go back to Boston I’ll be there as well. We can have a shitty house that’s older than I am, and you’ll do your decorating shit and be nice to all our stupid neighbors. You can do whatever the fuck smart people do, and I can teach our kids to fucking hate all your stupid sports teams, and we’ll drive them down to the fucking Cape for the summer, and when everyone’s asleep I’ll bring you outside and fuck you on the beach. I’ll fuck you anywhere, Sunshine. I’ll be fucking happy anywhere, because I’ll be wherever you are. So I don’t care what you give me, kids or no kids or a house or a fucking dumpster. As long as you’re there, I’ll be good.” 

Before Ben had even fucking finished speaking, She was smiling at him. And it was all raw fucking joy. “Okay,” She whispered, and rose back up Ben’s body, pressing her brow to his and still fucking smiling. “I’d like that.” 

“Which-“ 

“All of it.” She made a small, blissful sound. “Thank you.” 

He didn’t tell Her not to thank him. Ben just allowed one arm wrap around her waist, and his hand moved up to hold the back of Her head. He let their lips brush, but not further, and muttered. “I fucking love you, Sunshine. I’m serious-“ 

“I know you are.” Her hands glided down Ben’s chest, pushing Herself a little higher up, a little closer, on his chest. “You’re a huge, very serious, grumpy old cunt.” She closed the last bit of space between them, her lips fitting so fucking perfectly against Ben’s, her body melting into his like it was fucking meant to. Her words hummed through Ben’s blood, setting him alight. “And I love you too.” 

It was all he needed. Ben rolled the over, caging Her between him and the mattress—safe, fucking safe and goddamn happy—without ever breaking their kiss. Ben let her hands roam over his body, let her tug his shirt up and her hands trace paths over the bare skin of his chest and torso that lit him on fucking fire. 

“Off,” She mumbled into Ben’s mouth, pulling his shirt further up his chest. “Off, Ben, please-“ 

Ben raised himself up—keeping her against the bed, pinned under his weight by his thighs—and half ripped his shirt off his body before immediately returning. Propping himself up on one elbow, diving down to her neck and sucking and biting a path that made Her sigh, a whining and high sound, and grind up into his torso. 

“Want you,” he muttered Her name against her skin, his free hand moving under Her shirt—Ben’s shirt—to play with the waistline of her panties. “Want you all the fucking time, Sunshine. What do you-“ 

“You,” Her answer was breathless, soft and high and ending in a slight whine as Ben’s thumb pressed right over Her clothed clit. “Want you, Ben, please. Need you.“ 

He groaned as one of Her hands slid between their bodies, palming at his cock, tenting against Her thighs. “How do you-“ 

“Don’t care, just want you-“ 

Ben decided to do it slow. Gentle and fucking sweet. Too good, and all Ben’s to praise and tend to and revere. So he pulled his shirt off Her body—carefully this time, because it did fucking things to Ben when she wore his clothing and he never wanted to take that away from himself—and pressed his palm over her soaked panties, kissing a line down between and under her breasts, rising back up to take a nipple in his mouth, smirking at the high squeak that left her mouth as he sucked. 

Her hands had shot into his hair, her chest heaving as Ben continued his work, starting to roll his hand over her clit. “Ben-“

You’re so fucking beautiful, Sunshine. He let his teeth graze over her—forcing himself to keep focus as she bucked her hips up—and switched to the other nipple. Can’t believe you’re all fucking mine. So fucking good for me, darling, so goddamn perfect. 

“Please-“ 

She cut herself off with a whine as Ben flicked his tongue, his palm pushing down against her, halting her movements up into him. 

Want to fucking show you how perfect you are, my love. Let me fucking show you- 

Please, Ben, fuck, please- 

He grinned at the breathless tone of Her voice between their minds, and surged back up, crashing his mouth into Hers and kissing her until she moaned. Long and desperate, half a sound of need and half his name, already fucking wrecked without friction, Ben holding her still under him. 

“Want you to be loud,” he grunted Her name into her mouth. “Talk to me, tell me how fucking good it feels-“ 

She nodded frantically, and Ben chuckled. 

“Words-“ 

“Feels good,” She mumbled, words practically fucking slurred. “Feels so good, Ben, god-“ 

“Have I told you,” he drawled, swallowing Her whimper as he pressed his hand further against her. “How much you consume my every fucking thought. How much I think about you, how it’s a goddamn problem, how much I adore and love you?” 

“You’ve-“ She took a ragged breath as Ben’s head dropped to suck and lick at her neck. “I think you’ve mention it-“ 

“See, I still think you don’t fucking understand.” Ben bit at her skin and she rolled Her hips, pulling at his hair. “You’re my fucking life, Sunshine. And I’ll say it until you get it into your pretty head. You’re perfect, every single goddamn part of you. You’re too fucking clever, darling, so good and kind and brilliant.” Ben trailed back up, tugging at Her ear and kissing over her cheekbone before pressing his brow to hers. 

“Ben-“ 

He chuckled as she tried to chase his mouth, and started to rub large circles against her clit with his palm, tracing his fingers over the slit of her pussy, still covered by her underwear. 

“Fuck-“ 

“I can fucking feel that sharp, insane mind of yours inside me, beautiful.” He dropped his mouth just an inch further down, holding himself where their lips brushed as he spoke, but no further. “And I love you there the most. Love how fucking bright you are, Sunshine. This mouth of yours is so fucking smart,” he traced his lips over Hers, and she whimpered, eyes blown out and wide on his. “And you can be such a fucking brat, darling, but I goddamn love it. You’re my best fucking friend, and the most impossible fucking pain in my ass I could ever ask to love.”

She was fucking coming apart below him. Sighing in Ben’s mouth and letting him push his tongue down her throat, letting him kiss Her until he decided he should probably keep up with the plan he’d come up with, or else he’d just fucking kiss her until he came in his pants like a goddamn teenager.

Ben dragged his lips from Hers, and her sound of protest turned to a soft moan as Ben kissed every fucking inch of her face her could reach, love and want fucking rioting inside of him as she tried to move to offer him better access.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he muttered, dragging his hand up from her cunt to hold her face, running his fingers over her lips and cheekbones and jaw. “You’re a goddamn marvel, Sunshine, you’re fucking art.” 

“Benjamin-“ 

Her words were a long, breathy, desperate moan, and he dropped back down to her lips. “I know, my love. I’ll get there-”

“I want you there now, you fucking dick-“ 

“And you get my fucking dick,” Ben hummed Her name, feeling himself twitch in his pants as he glanced down at her body, squirming and grinding and fucking perfect under him. “Patience.” 

“I hate you-“ 

“You fucking love me.” He kissed back down Her neck, over her collarbones. You love how grumpy I am, and how hard I work, and my fucking dick. But I think what you love most, Ben squeezed where he was holding Her waist. Is how I fucking worship you like you deserve. Make you feel fucking good, Sunshine, take real good care of you- 

I, She took a long breath, hands tugging Ben’s face back up, Her eyes on his still lustful, but now soft as well. That’s not what I love most about you. 

He grunted Her name between their heads, but she pushed on. 

I love how much you care, period. You don’t half-ass anything, Benjamin, and that includes caring. I’ve never seen anyone care about anything so aggressively as you care about baseball and stupid war documentaries and ice cream. I’ve never been cared about as much as you care about me. I didn’t think it was possible to care about someone as much as you care about me. She smiled at him, and Ben was pretty goddamn sure his heart fucking exploded. You care about me and Ryan and everything else you love so violently and wrathfully and powerfully, and that’s what I love most about you.

Ben’s voice sounded fucking hoarse in his own head. Sunshine- 

But, She curled up, kissing Ben’s nose. It’s only one reason on a very long list, my love- 

That snapped something deep in Ben's head, and it cleared his brain to Her. Everything in the universe narrowed to Her. 

This kiss was fucking brutal. Ben’s hand fisted Her hair, his teeth and spit and tongue Hers as well, his whole body demanding more. He’d never been more fucking satiated, and he’d never be more fucking hungry.

I love you, he muttered Her name between their heads. I love every single goddamn thing about you. And I’ve got a whole fucking plan to show you, so for once in your goddamn life, let me do the talking, darling. Moan and scream and beg all you fucking want, but I talk.

But you said-

I changed my mind. No talking.

Ben-

Deal? 

She nodded, finger’s curling on Ben’s face as she writhed below him. Deal, fucking deal, just please- 

I’ve meant everything I said about how much I love you. How smart and kind and clever and perfect that mind of yours is. But fucking Christ, Sunshine, you’re a goddamn wet dream. 

She moaned as Ben moved back to Her body, worshiping Her shoulder and neck and chest with his mouth, Her hips and waist and ass with his hands.

Every single fucking thing about you is goddamn perfection, but these, Ben returned his mouth to Her nipple, her moan only spurring him on. Were crafted by some sort of evil god. They’re fucking magic, beautiful, you could fucking win a war with them. He raised his spare hand to knead at Her other breast, and a strangled sound that sounded like his name left her mouth. 

“God, please-“ 

I talk. Ben squeezed Her one last time, flicking her nipple before switching to soothe the hurt with his tongue, and moved his hand back up to Her mouth. Be fucking good for me, darling, and listen.

Ben- 

He pressed his fingers between Her lips, and she didn’t fucking hesitate to start sucking on them. Licking and nipping and fucking moaning around him, and he groaned against Her tit. 

Fucking Christ, you’re going to kill me. He left one last kiss on her nipple, rising up just enough to watch her. You’re so fucking beautiful-

She whined, bucking up into Ben’s fully hard cock, and Her eyes on his were a plea.

Want to cum, Sunshine? 

She only nodded, kicking his abdomen, and he chuckled, pulling his fingers away with a pop.

Just a little longer, darling. Hold on for me.

Ben didn’t wait to see the desperation in Her eyes—he could feel it in his fucking body—before he was dropping back down, kissing between her breasts, over her stomach, and leaving one soft, fucking sweet kiss over her clothed clit before leaning back and ripping off her panties, admiring his handiwork.

She was fucking dripping. Soaking the sheets, so fucking perfect, and all goddamn Ben’s.

You’ve got the best fucking legs I’ve ever seen, he muttered into her head, kissing and biting a loose pattern over her inner thighs. Could fucking die here. But this, Ben parted Her swollen pussy lips, smirking at her small gasp. Is like a fucking drug. You’re always so fucking wet for me, my love, I don’t even need to prep you. But I think I will anyway.

Ben pushed two fingers into Her, pumping slowly and groaning as she squeezed around him. Then, just for his fucking self, Ben pulled Her clit into his mouth and sucked. Going and going without pointless shit like air, scissoring and pushing his fingers in deeper, and only stopping when She screamed, and his whole fucking face got soaked. He felt and smelled and tasted Her fucking everywhere, and it was like fucking water. Earthier and harsher and so fucking Her, but just as goddamn critical to Ben’s life now.

He pushed himself off of Her, rising back up to his knees and groaning at the sight of Her. Fucking glowing, goddamn ruined. Looking at Ben like he was something holy and sacred, and to Her, he was. He could feel it fucking everywhere, and taste it on his tongue as he licked his lips.

He hoped She fucking lingered there for the rest of time. That every night for the rest of his life, Ben could run a hand through his beard, and end up with his fingers fucking covered in Her. 

You fucking squirted.

She nodded, and—despite the fucking choir of Her love around Ben in the world—only moaned, reaching up for him. 

Think you can do it again? 

She whined, and Ben chuckled. 

Words, darling- 

Yes, fuck Ben, please- 

Good girl. 

She practically flew off the fucking bed as her hips jerked up, her heart stuttering with her breath. God, fuck, please- 

Ben grinned, and he could never fucking deny her anything, so he ripped his pants off, stroking himself once, twice—just to how fucking beautiful she was—and pushed himself in with a groan. He fell over Her as he bottomed out, and fuck She was perfect. Fluttering around him, fitting him like they’d been fucking designed to be as close as goddamn possible, gasping in Ben’s ear as Her hands clawed at his back. 

Ready, Sunshine? 

Just move, you ass- 

He kissed Her—bruising and demanding and made of all this fucking love for Her that consumed Ben’s whole goddamn existence—and obeyed. 

Ben didn’t think he’d ever worked harder than to memorize every single fucking part of Her. What every pout and glare and smile meant, how She said his name and every small way she existed around him—in music and movies and shows and books and the flowers in MM’s garden—and how She moved. Ben had learned Her like fucking she was a fucking testament to how he should live, and he took it goddamn seriously. It was what helped him know how to fuck Her right. How to angle himself inside her so he was hitting that spot that always made Her let out a strangled moan, how to kiss her in a fucking rhythm as he pounded himself into her, and that, if he groaned when She squeezed around him, she’d start to try and grind up into him. 

This was better than a fucking drug. This was fucking oxygen, how warm and tight she was around him, how when Ben deepened their kiss she opened up for him and scratched his back, how sensitive She was—leaning into his every touch, moaning at every muttered and growled praise—and how he could fucking feel Her. How fucking perfect She was, finally around him in every single possible way. So fucking bright, a green mist that smelled like pine and vanilla and damn strawberries covering the room as she shinedlike fucking star under Ben, Her eyes watching him like he was something good. 

Ben was something good, for Her. It lived in how he tended and adored and cared for her, and he wanted to be something that was half as fucking perfect as she was, just so she’d let him stay here for the rest of fucking time. Buried deep inside Her, his thrusts becoming stuttered as he began to lose control—no fucking idiot pussy could blame him, though, because She was squirming under him and moaning his name so I was a miracle he lasted this long—and letting every single fucking thought of Her fall out of his mouth, down her throat.

“So fucking good,” he grunted Her name. “Taking me so fucking perfect. You sound like a fucking song, look so fucking beautiful all fucked out, love you, taking me so fucking well-“

He cut himself off with a groan as her head dropped to his jaw, kissing along his beard with sinful fucking whimpers. 

“Christ, you’re a goddamn miracle, fucking made for me.” Ben pushed one hand between their bodies, rolling his hips to press against the deepest part of her as he pinched and rubbed over her clit. 

Her mouth fell open in a silent scream, Her heart hitting that frantic pace that meant she was close, and when Her hands trying to push Ben further into her he moved faster, crashing his mouth back into her and growling Her name. 

“You’re fucking perfect.” Ben’s words became fast and rough, their brows pressed together so he could see every inch of Her beautiful face, his own orgasm pushing at his restraint. “You so fucking good, darling, good to everyone, so fucking good to me. I fucking love you-“

“Ben,” Her voice was a whisper of pure fucking need that almost sent Ben over the edge. “Please-“

He kissed Her again, soft and sweet as his movements become almost feral, splitting her fucking open on his cock. Cum for me, Sunshine, say my name-

She screamed—Ben’s name lost somewhere in many high, wrecked sounds of God and fuck—and Ben let go. Driven on by Her fucking squirting over him, her pussy contracting like she was trying to really fucking kill him, Ben made one last, long thrust as he emptied himself into Her body. He waited for Her breathy, blissful sigh that meant she was happy and high on pleasure before pressing one last, soft kiss to between Her eyes, tucking hair behind her ears, and lowering himself down. Covering her body in his like he could serve as a shield from fucking everything. From the daylight and blue sky, slowing creeping over them and threatening that morning was here, and they couldn’t fucking stay here forever. From the battle they were staged to fight, where Ben would have to just be fucking silent at Her side. From every single factor that neither of them could control, from everything that might hurt Her or make her cry. Every single weak thing that dared to pretend they were worthy sharing the same air that She fucking breathed. 

And She let them stay like that. With Ben’s body likely fucking dead-weight over her, his arms wrapped around her waist as he buried his head between her breasts, her hands even moving to hold his face, tilting it up for Ben to meet her gaze. 

He scanned over her face, perfect and fucking beautiful and all fucking Ben’s. “Hi, Sunshine.” 

“Hi, Benjamin, my love.” 

She couldn’t be allowed to fucking call him that. If Ben ever wanted to be a goddamn productive member of society, She couldn’t keep calling him my love. And, Christ on a fucking cross, Benjamin, my love, was worse. That made him short circuit and practically fucking gape at Her. It repeated over and over in his head, and he probably looked like an idiot fucking pussy, just gaping at Her, but fuck She was so pretty, and happy, and Ben’s and Her Her Her, everything in him kept calling Ben home to Her. 

Ben managed to regain just enough control over his stupid fucking lovestruck body to roll them over, tugging Her down until that bright, drug-like smile was right above him, Her arms holding her a few inches away from him. 

“You’re a fucking thief,” Ben drawled Her name, and was unable to contain a dumb fucking smile from overtaking his face. It was born from Her—hair messy, fucking naked, beautiful mouth still slightly swollen and pretty eyes still so dazed from sex—being so goddamn near him. Her smell that was half wrapped in salt from sweat and Ben’s cum, Her perfect face all fucking happy above him, Her smile and love fucking intoxicating. A high Ben never had to come down from, because even as She gave him a fake pout he just got higher. 

“I am not a thief, that’s mean-“ 

“You’re fucking mean.” He grabbed Her hips, pulling them down to press against his and letting Her sit over him. “And you’re a goddamn thief. I call you my love, you stole my goddamn idea-“

She scoffed, crossing her arms and glaring down at him. “You are not the first dummy to call their person my love, Pretty Boy-“ 

“I said it first with us-“ 

“Well you don’t get a patent over it-“ 

“The fuck I don’t.” 

They were glowering at each other, and Ben knew he’d lost when a soft smile crossed her face, a sharp look glinting in her eyes. “Well then I am a thief,” She crawled back down his body, bumping their noses and kissing along Ben’s jaw. “Because it’s mine now. I call you my love, and that’s that.”

He scowled, but it was getting harder to even keep up the charade of this fake fight when She was squirming above him and his hands were bruising at Her hips. “You don’t get to just fucking take it-“ 

“Yes, I do.” 

Ben hauled Her further up his body, fully moving her to collapse over him, a high yelp leaving her as Ben kissed every single fucking inch of skin he could angle his head to find. “Fucking brat.” He grunted, rutting slightly up into Her thighs and growing harder as he felt her wetness, dripping down her thighs. “Already so goddamn needy for me again, want me to fuck you good, darling? Again?” 

She was fucking perfect. It wasn’t Ben’s own damn bias or love or something fucking pathetic—but entirely goddamn warranted, She was his life and Ben was allowed to be a little bit of a fucking pussy about her—She was just so fucking clearly perfect. She might be the only person alive who was more dirty-minded and horny than Ben, and he pitied any fucker who’d tried to keep up with Her before him. Her head ended up thrown back as she rode him, a beautiful fucking squeak leaving her when Ben took back control, grabbing Her hips and drilling up into Her until her pretty eyes rolled back and she was shaking around him. 

When he found his release with Her own—letting Her grind over his cock and scrape at his abdomen as she made sounds that were fucking music—Ben had to take a long, heavy breath to stop himself from just rolling Her over and going for round three when he saw his cum leaking and coating her thighs.��

She giggled slightly, brushing some of Ben’s hair from his eyes. 

“What-“ 

“We really do fuck like rabbits,” She said, shifting around until their legs were tangled, pulling Ben’s arms over her body. “Hughie asked if it was the supe stamina, but I think it might just be us.” 

“You talked to Hughie about our sex life-“ 

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Technically I was talking to Annie, but Hughie was forced to listen. And halfway through the story about the dishes incident, he asked if copious amounts of sex was normal for two supes.” 

It wasn’t. Ben had fucked half the female supe population before Russia, and it might as well have been juvenile dry humping compared to what he did with her. But he was still caught on the talking to Annie shit. “What the fuck else do you tell her about us-“

“Normal friend stuff,” she shrugged, leaving soft kisses along his beard as She spoke. “How much I love you, how you made me pancakes for breakfast again, how good you are with Ryan and how adorably grumpy you get when we talk about books, how I’m going to bribe you to read something with Ryan and I, and Hughie and Annie are welcome read with us-“

“You’re going to fucking bribe me-“

She continued, kissing the bridge of Ben’s nose and holding his gaze. “Usually Hughie clocks out when I start talking about how much I love your dick, though-“

Ben raised his brows at Her. “You talk about my dick with fucking Hughie? What, are you telling Butcher about my balls-“

“I would if he would listen.” She smiled, dropping back down, kissing everywhere but Ben’s fucking lips. “Benjamin, my love, if you were fucking you, you’d never shut up about it either-“ 

His eyes narrowed. “You did it again.” 

She hummed, her smile so perfectly and beautifully mocking innocence. “I don’t know what you could possibly be talking about.”

Ben snaked one hand up her back, tangling his finger in her hair and moving her back his mouth. Kissing her until she was writhing and moaning above him, a tiny whine leaving her lips when he pulled away. 

“Ben-“ 

“You’re the love of my fucking life, Sunshine, and you should know that-“ 

“I do know that,” She whispered, and Ben could fucking feel it. Spreading between them, how he was just as critical to Her as She was to him. Her piece of him so fucking strong inside of him, twined into something so deep inside of Ben’s body he’d never fucking known about it before. “I know that all the time, Ben. And I need you to know that I love you.” She sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You do so much for me, and I want to give you something back-“ 

“You give me more than fucking enough-“ 

She shook her head. “I want to do more. It’s just a name, Pretty Boy. You have a million of them for me, and I’m sure you’ll come up with more.” 

Ben groaned, because he’d fucking lost this one as well. She was too fucking pretty, half-pouting up at him and loving him and so fucking happy around him, alive inside him, and Ben needed to get his fucking shit together, but he didn’t want to. This was so fucking good, and She was so goddamn perfect, and when he made a grumbling relent, her smile was so fucking bright and sweet and all for him. 

“Thank you, Benjamin, my love.” 

She kissed him one last time, and Ben needed to get better at faking a genuine scowl, because right now he goddamn knew he looked just like the fucking puppy dog She kept accusing him of being. Watching Her and trying to act like he was annoyed by this, when everything in him was just Her. Making his whole fucking life better and loving him and wanting him and being so fucking annoying and he wouldn’t change a goddamn thing. 

“We could both fucking use it-“ 

“No.” She mumbled, burying her face in his neck. “Mine.” 

And Ben couldn’t fucking argue with that. He was Hers. He was holding Her against him as they both made a completely fucking pointless attempt to properly rest in the last hour before they had to get up, watching the light start to dance over her perfect face, and he wanted to be here for the rest of his goddamn life. 

He really fucking wanted to be with Her, forever. He’d always fucking burn with her, but he wanted to just stay here. No burning, just warm and love and good. In whatever goddamn form it took, Ben just really fucking wanted Her. 

She was half-asleep, and there was a chance she wouldn’t even hear him. But Ben muttered Her name anyway, and waited for her small sound of acknowledgement, her hand squeezing his bicep in a silent signal that she was listening. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too-“ 

“I really fucking love you,” Ben grunted. “And we should get married. Now.” 

Her heart hitched slightly, but all she did was smile against Ben’s skin. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, my love.” 

Ben snorted slightly, and knew that he would. He’d have to make it romantic. Something that she deserved, that made every single other fucking gesture in history seem fucking stupid. There would be music and flowers—she fucking loved music and flowers—and chocolate, and maybe a horse. Ben didn’t have a goddamn clue why he’d need a horse, but those things always seemed involved in romance somehow, so he’d have to figure out where the fuck to get a horse, and how to work it in with everything else. 

But then he looked down at Her—sleeping peacefully above Ben, breath warming his neck and lips brushing over his skin—and knew she wouldn’t give a fuck about a horse. He didn’t need to make it complicated, just do it right. 

Fuck, if he tried right now—more than just a grumbled idea that made Her love spark in his head and bones—Ben could probably get it right. He could roll her over, kiss her neck, cheeks, brow, and lips, and tell Her to fucking marry me. I love you, and I love every single part of you, and I want every single part of you, and I’ll spend the rest of my fucking life proving that to you, starting now. If you let me, I’ll pick you up and we can go find a judge and do it right goddamn now. I don’t have a ring, but I’ll find one, I’ll find you whatever the fuck you want, and that will be it. You and me, for the rest of fucking time, together. 

He didn’t, though. She was, somehow, fast asleep, and Ben had no desire to wake Her. Not when her face was so relaxed, and Ben could just lay here and care for her in silence. Hold Her until he saw the clock flash 5:30, and they had to move. 

They were silent getting ready. Ben wore his supe suit, She kept his shirt on—her eyes bleary and gaze slightly unfocused as she shuffled around the room—and Ben didn’t fight her when she grabbed their suitcase. Her grip on it was white-knuckled and smoking, and even though she was probably about to do fucking everything at the meeting for everyone else, she needed to be useful. Ben knew that drawn focus, and mechanical breathing, and rapid tapping of Moon River. It was her I’m doing this, my way, and that means doing it fucking right, face. It was the one that Ben knew he could help with an arm looped through hers and a kiss on the side of Her head, promising that he was fucking there, and not going anywhere.

The rest of the team seemed to know that face by now as well. Enough so for Butcher not to make any mocking comments about how that shirt was very obviously Ben’s, Annie and Hughie not to try and engage her in boring, pointless fucking conversation, and MM to only give her a tight nod as they tossed the suitcase in the back and climbed into the limo. 

The ride was completely silent. Her head was leaned back on Ben's shoulder, her eyes closed but heartbeat fast, and her finger still tapping, faster and faster, on Ben’s arm. 

He muttered Her name between their heads, and her eyes slowly opened, her face turning to look at him.

Ben. 

You’re going to be fucking fine. 

I know- 

I’m serious, he pushed Her a little further up his body, making their eyes level. You’re going to be fucking fine. We’re going to figure this out, no matter what happens, or what the pussies decide. We’ll take care of this, together. 

She swallowed, but gave Ben a soft, reassuring smile that didn’t hit her eyes. Together. I love you. 

I love you too. Ben paused, scanning over her face. If those cumfucks ask- 

We’re dating. Her smile grew a little wider, and her fingers stilled on Ben’s skin. Or fuck-buddy-brain-connected. My vote is- 

Ben kissed Her, squeezing her body once, and Her giggle into his mouth might be the best fucking thing he’s ever heard. 

You’re not allowed to vote on what we call things. 

She fake-pouted against him. This is a democracy, Benjamin- 

No, it’s not. He grinned, nipping on her lower lip. It’s a constitutional monarchy, where you’re the fucking Queen. And the Queen isn’t supposed to vote. 

She pulled back, giving Ben a wide, amused smile he could feel something soften in his stomach. Look who paid attention in civics class. 

I paid attention to you and Ryan, not some boring fucking history teacher. I’ve told you, your boobs have magical fucking powers, Sunshine. They move when you talk and I always fucking listen.

Gross. 

You love it. 

I do. She traced a hand over Ben’s jaw, the sharp smile playing over her features lighting up the whole goddamn world. Because we’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected. 

Ben rolled his eyes. Don’t call us that. 

Can I call us that on the Ben’o’phone? 

You can do whatever the fuck you want in here, Ben held Her hand on his face, kissing her palm. But if you tell Singer that we’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected, I’m not fucking you for a week.

Her eyes narrowed. That’s a bad bluff, Pretty Boy. 

It was. Ben wouldn’t make it two fucking days before he caved, even if all She did smile and talk to him. But he kept his face set and neutral, shrugging slightly. So fucking call me on it, Sunshine. 

Her tongue peaked between her lips as she chewed, nose twitching, and she sighed. Fuck you. 

Don’t call us that shit, Ben winked. And I will. Hard, this time, until you’re rolling around and can’t feel your fucking legs. Until we finally get you to really, properly squirt, and I can fucking taste it. Ben kissed Her nose, light and teasing. I’ll fuck until we break the goddamn bed, and you’re burning down the whole goddamn building with how good I make you cum. Think you’d like that, darling? He smirked at Her slack expression, pressing his thumb between her lips and feeling his cock twitch when they parted. Think you’d want me to make you cum so fucking hard you scream my name and light up like a fucking star? Think you could be a good girl and let go when I fuck you? 

Her eyes had gone clear of glazed, grinding thought, and clouded with a lust that called Ben like a fucking siren. He was a strong man, but not strong enough for this. Things like will and resolve didn’t matter when She looked at him like that. When Her hands were curled on Ben’s arm, and her breathing was ragged in a way that made things feel right, and there was a little bit of fucking drool lining her lips. The limo was starting to be washed in a golden haze that meant she was turned on and probably fucking soaking her underwear, so nobody would be strong in this situation. Every other single asshole would want to make good on those promises, because they were to Her and she was perfect. 

Ben was either about to try and secretly fuck her in front of everyone, or try the proposal again, so or everyone’s sake, it was good they arrived within the next few seconds. If they did try to fuck the secret thing wouldn’t last a damn minute, and if Ben proposed—the right way—they’d definitely be fucking, loud and hard and wet, after. And even if Hughie and Annie had heard about how good Ben fucked Her, they still weren’t allowed to see it. 

Butcher twisted around from the front, his eyes landing on Her as he said Her name. “You’re gonna need to wear a fuckin disguise, we ain’t able to risk anyone figurin out who you are.” 

She rolled Her eyes, dramatically pulling her sunglasses out of her jacket and placing them on her face. “Good?” 

Butcher frowned, turning to Hughie. “Oi, lad. Give her your fucking cap.” 

“My-“ 

“I’ve got it.” Annie tossed Her a black baseball cap from across the limo, giving Butcher a flat, annoyed look. “Hughie doesn’t have a hat, asshole, it’s mine-“ 

“Don’t matter whose hat it is, long as she,” Butcher jerked his head to Her. “Is the one wearin it. Indoors too, Love, I ain’t lookin for Homelander to drop through the ceiling-“ 

“Keep your tits on, Butcher.” She plopped the cap on her head with another sweeping, sarcastic gesture. “Everyone ready?” 

MM nodded. “Grace is already there, so hopefully we won’t have a wait time. Everyone try to be diplomatic for once in your lives, don’t say something you don’t think over five fucking times in your head, and no weapons.” 

Everyone looked at Ben and Butcher. 

“That cunt is a bloody weapon, I’m takin my gun-“ 

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want-“ 

“Both of you,” She glared between Ben and Butcher, voice not as loud as theirs, but with a threat of violence that made even Butcher snap his jaw closed. “Shut the fuck up. No weapons in the White House. Near the president. Ben, you are a weapon, we’ll be fine. Butcher, if you remind the fucking secret service that Ben and I are weapons, they’ll make us wait outside, and you’ll be fucked. You need me for this, I’ve put the whole thing together. Got it?”

Ben made a grumbled agreement, and Butcher scowled, pulling out at least fifty fucking guns and placing them in the passenger’s seat, glaring at Her the whole time. She gave them both a pretty, smug smile, and pulled Ben with her, out of the limo. 

As they walked through the halls of the White House, flanked by many, incredibly fucking useless secret service agents—Her hand over Ben’s, on her shoulder, warmer than usual but not smoking—Ben nudged her shoulder.

You look fucking hot when you order everyone around, Sunshine. 

She huffed a small laugh. You always think I look hot. 

Because you’re always fucking hot- 

I think. She smiled up at him, squeezing his hand. That I could eat vomit and roll in shit, and you’d still think I’m hot. 

You would be. 

I would objectively not be- 

Yes, you fucking would be. Ben kissed Her brow. You’re objectively hot all the goddamn time.

And you’re an incredibly biased party, Benjamin, my love. 

Ben almost picked her up and to fuck her on one of these stupid fancy benches in the halls. The only thing that stopped him was a secret service agent, coming to a halt in the hall with no warning. 

“Christ, you pussy-“ 

Her free hand shot up, covering Ben’s mouth. “Is this it?” 

The agent nodded, and started listing off a bunch of fucking rules that Ben didn’t care about. Not when Her eyes had gone glass-like once more, and her heart was stumbling in her chest. 

You’ve fucking got this, Sunshine. We’re going to be fine. 

I know. She let out a long, slow breath, and leaned into Ben slightly. Ready? 

Fucking born it. 

Singer was at the center of the table—in the same spot as last time—with Mallory on one side and a man Ben had never seen before on the other. 

Ben hated him. She was perfect and beautiful, and Todd Muller was a slimy-looking weasel-fuck, wearing a red tie Ben wanted to strangle him with and looking at them with gleaming eyes Ben wanted to stab. The man hadn’t even spoken, and Ben’s fists were already goddamn curling at his side. There was something in him that told Ben wrong. Bad, vile, fucking wrong, and it came from Her. When the man smiled, a crude cold smirk that made Ben feel like he’d been shoved into a fucking swamp, the warning became an alarm, and Her grip on Ben’s hand over her shoulders started to smoke.

Muller—it was fucking Muller, Mallory had made some introductions that Ben barely heard over the blood lining his every thought—wouldn’t stop looking at Her, and Ben had to fight every fucking urge in his body to just step in front of her. 

And when Muller said Her name—said it fucking wrong, with no love and only callous venom—Ben thought his jaw might crack. 

“You’re looking healthy for a dead girl.” 

“Todd.” Her voice was bored and cold, Her heart pounding like a fucking war drum. “You’re looking like a bitch ass cock guzzler.” 

Even with the tension in the air—wired and electric and set to detonate—Ben still had to cough to cover his laugh, and Muller’s eyes shot to his. 

“Soldier Boy,” a hand was extended over the table. Ben forced himself not to break it. “Big fan-“ 

“Don’t be.” Her voice was dry. “He’s a Phillies fan.” 

Brat. 

Cunt. A small smile tugged at Her lips, even as Muller’s attention returned to her. 

“You’ve been busy,” Muller said Her name again, and Ben was going to pull out his tongue. “Learning about baseball, getting your fifteen minutes of fame, never bothering to tell your mother and me that you were alive-“ 

“I’d been dead to you and Mom for years,” She shrugged. “What’s legal death to being locked out and left to fend for myself?” 

“And I see you’re still a little-“ 

“Secretary Muller.” Mallory’s voice was even and cool, and she didn’t even fucking look at Her or Ben. “We agreed to keep personal lives out of this meeting.” 

Muller’s face twitched, but he fell back into his seat, eyes still trained on Her and Ben. 

“Alright, let’s get this shit over with.” Singer nodded to the chairs before them. “Sit, so we can talk like damn adults.” 

MM cleared his throat as they all sat, nodding to a silent, bored-looking Singer. “Thank you for seeing us again, sir.”

“Don’t.” Singer sighed, rubbing at his beard. “If I don’t follow up with you dumbasses, the brit,” he jerked his head to Butcher, who winked. “Will probably start sendin death threats and bombs to my family. But I ain’t here to small talk or do fucking therapy sessions, so I’m just gonna say it.” Singer sighed, looking around the room. “You’re not gettin any V. You’ve been determined to be a liability and are being ordered to explore other avenues to eliminate Homelander.”

The shocked, angry silence only lasted a moment before the room erupted in protests. Butcher shouting about Singer being a bloody fuckin cunt idiot, MM and Annie trying to provide reason, and Hughie trying to make everyone stop yelling. 

But She was silent, watching Muller. No smoke, no screams, only a pure, horrid sense of wrong and sick in Ben’s body. 

Ben. She didn’t look at him, but squeezed his arm. Don’t freak out. 

What- 

She coughed, a tiny amount of fire escaping her mouth, the whole room erupted in clicks of guns. All fucking aimed at Her. The only thing that kept Ben only rigid and alert at Her side, instead of launching himself over her body and bashing in the brains of any pussy that dared to fire, was Her quick, sharp glance in his direction, and smooth words in his head. 

I’ve got this. 

She had this. Ben was right here, killing anyone who fired was still very much an option, and she had this. She was leaning over the table, eyes flicking between Singer, Muller, and Mallory, and she had this. 

“What exactly about us is a liability?” She asked, tilting her head in mock thought. “That would justify you refusing to provide us with the only definitive weapon against Homelander?” 

“Your team has proven reckless,” Singer held Her gaze, which was a little fucking admirable. Ben had seen fucking Butcher stop talking under that glare, and Singer didn’t even seem to have the cocky death-wish Butcher had. “Countless times. Truth-con, both of Firecracker’s rallies, Tek Knight’s club massacre, the Believe Expo, and that’s just off the top of my damn head. We’re past takin gambles that don’t pay off, and this is a massive gamble that we ain’t able to afford.“

“How so?” She blinked at Singer, her face innocent and her fingers tapping on the table. “This is not a gamble. V will incapacitate Homelander.” 

“On your word.” Muller sneered. “All we have is your word, and there’s nothing to stop you from simply taking the V for your own use.” 

She scoffed, giving Muller a bored, amused look. “That can’t possibly be your real excuse. Half of us are already supes, and the other half hate supes-” 

“I don’t hate supes-“ 

Hughie’s mumble was cut off by Mallory’s curt, snapped words. “You have all been known to make questionable moves.” 

This time, Butcher laughed. “Come off it, Grace. Questionable moves is real high and fuckin mighty from you-“ 

“I have always remained within the bounds of the law-“ 

“The law,” She drawled. “Is not the end all be all of morality. We need to kill Homelander. This will help us. There isn’t another way. So please give me one really good reason why you can’t spare one vial of V so we can eliminate the most dangerous man alive.” 

There was a beat of tight, furious silence, and then Singer stood. 

“Grace, Todd,” he flattened his suit, letting out a labored breath. “I got a fuckin country to run, deal with this. You dumbasses,” he nodded across the table to the Boys. “Are real lucky we’re still housing and entertaining you. And you,” Singer said Her name, and the whole world was lined in red. “Consider playing that role you designed for yourself, if you’re so fuckin committed to the safety of our country.” 

Ben felt his fists curl, and Butcher looked like he would’ve stood up and tackled Singer down had it not been for the countless fucking guns still trained on their heads. 

Muller cleared his throat as the door, and their last fucking hope, closed. “We have determined that the pitch comes from a non-lucid party-“ 

“Shut the fuck up, Todd.” She wrinkled Her nose, lip curling. “Just say it’s because of me, so we can all move on.” 

“You are not important enough for this call to be made in your name-“ 

“Try again.” 

“Homelander is a chronic threat of unfathomable proportion. You are not qualified to handle such a delicate situation-“

“Wrong.” She shrugged, and Ben felt like he was watching a sparring match. Muller’s face was growing more and more red, and Her breathing more mechanical, both close to snapping, but she still pushed on. “I am qualified. I have field experience, and I’m literally a doctor. And you used chronic wrong. That’s not what it means-“ 

“I do not care what it means,” Muller hissed. “You are not stable or reliable, and we will not put the most dangerous drug in history into the hands of an over-emotional girl.” 

The table cracked under Ben’s hands, and something fucking dangerous crossed over Her face. 

“Oh, fuck.” MM muttered, leaning back in his chair and running a hand over his face as the air of the room started to wave in the heat. 

“So,” Her words were slow, wrathful. “You are risking America, risking the fucking world, because you think I’m the same unstable teenager I was thirteen fucking years ago.” 

Muller didn’t waver. “I believe you are the same girl you were because you are spoiled and believe you are owed something from the world. We are not a weapons bank-” 

“I am not owed V, it’s the only weapon to hold down Homelander that we have!” Her voice was growing louder, the room crackling with heat. “I want to kill my fucking abuser, that’s not spoiled-“ 

“And she’s helped us!“ Annie jumped in, glaring at Muller. “She’s not spoiled, she’s made a lot of the hard calls-“ 

“Starlight,” Mallory muttered, shooting Annie a look. “Drop it.” 

“No, Mallory! This is insane, you can’t think this is the best choice-“ 

“This is the president’s call-“ 

Butcher let out a cold, angry laugh. “You ain’t ever been this much of a bureaucratic bitch before, Grace-“

“Times are changing, Butcher-“ 

“And Grace here,” Muller gave Mallory a cold smirk. “Still wants to be in the running for the sweet VP spot. So now isn’t the time to disagree with Mr. President.” 

MM gaped at Mallory. “Are you being serious, Grace-“

“Oh, she is,” Muller turned his grin to the team. “And she’s still trying to make up ground for letting her two most dangerous and unreliable weapons,” his twisted gaze turned to Her and Ben. “Fall in love. What did you drug him with,” Muller sneered Her name. “To get Soldier Boy to follow you like a weak fucking baby?” 

Ben still had to let Her handle it. Even as he felt so fucking cold, physically restraining himself from launching across the table at Muller, he had to let Her handle it. 

“Ben isn’t weak, or a baby.“ She lifted her chin at Muller, and Ben swore he saw something fucking spark in the air. “And I’m not like you, Todd. I don’t need to offer someone something for them to love me.” A cold, hollow smirk played across Her lips. “Tell Mom I say hi, by the way.” 

Muller’s eyes narrowed. “You whoring little bitch-“ 

That was fucking it. Fuck letting Her handle it, that was the fucking line. 

Ben shot to his feet, letting the table crack further under his fist, and Muller’s words faded off. 

“Don’t ever fucking speak to her like that again in your pathetic, pussy life,” Ben growled. “Or I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Soldier Boy-“ 

Ben ignored MM’s low warning. “And you should count yourself real fucking lucky, because otherwise I’d break your fucking skull right goddamn now.” 

Muller cleared his throat, and a flash of fear crossed his face. “Careful, Soldier Boy.” Muller said, voice less smug and assured as he straightened his already too-straight tie. “Or we’ll find some Agent Orange and put you back in the box, and she won’t have anyone to do her dirty work.”

Ben could hear the fucking drums. He hadn’t heard the drums like this in months, but they were pounding in his head. Not from Muller—he could throw his against the wall and crack his spine without a thought—but from the thought of leaving Her alone. Failing Her again, leaving Her and Ryan to fight Homelander alone. And the drums beat with the knowledge that She’d burn herself out to wake Ben up, and he could never fucking let that happen- 

“You won’t get near him,” She hissed. “Or I’ll burn your dick off, and your fancy house down. And you,” Her wrath turned to Mallory, her words measured and toxic. “Are fucking pathetic. You know this is the wrong call, and you’re just letting it happen. Actually do something to kill Homelander, or deal with the consequences of him being alive.” 

She stood, looping Her arm through Ben’s. We need to leave, now. 

We’re not going fucking anywhere without the V- 

Ben. Her voice was firm in his head, and Ben realized her heart had slowed. Trust me. 

“Oi, where are you-“ 

“We’re done here,” She announced over Butcher, giving the team sharp, pointed looks. “Thank you,” She gave Mallory and Muller a too sweet, toxic smile. “For absolutely fucking nothing.” 

The rest of their team exchanged confused looks, their mouths opening and closing in protest, but She was on a strange sort of warpath. Pulling Ben behind Her into the hall, barely looking back to see their team scramble up as she turned to face Ben. 

Take my phone.

What the fuck are you- 

We’re not getting the V, Muller is the leak. 

How do you- 

He said Agent Orange. You told me Frenchie used that for his gas, that Sage based Hers on. Nobody except the Boys, Homelander, and Sage know that. It’s him. But we’ll be fine, you just need to play the music-

How the goddamn Christ is music going to help-

Neuman said they had a backup of V, that isn’t under the pentagon's control. I’m going to find it, and I need you to play a song, any song, really fucking loud. Don’t stop until I tell you to. Please. 

Ben nodded, putting Her rapid word in order in his own head. They didn’t have the V. There was more V, that wasn’t under the pentagon’s—Muller’s—control. She needed him to play music. Ben could defiantly fucking play music. 

He took Her phone, and she glanced behind him as their team stumbled into the hall. 

“Love, we ain’t fuckin done here-“ 

“Listen to me, Butcher.” Her voice was controlled and firm, and Ben glanced up from her phone to see that sharp, almost hazardous focus in her eyes. “We need to go now. I need to have my back here, please.”

Butcher blinked, and—by some fucking miracle—nodded. “Let’s bloody get a move on, then.” 

“Butcher-“ 

“Nah, Mate.” Butcher cut off MM with a shrug, sticking his hands in his pockets. “We ain’t gettin shit out of those cunts. Let’s cut our losses and move.” 

“That’s,” Annie frowned, watching Butcher carefully. “Uncharacteristically forgiving of you-“

“What can I say, I’m a changed fuckin man. Let’s go.” 

MM, Annie, and Hughie exchanged looks, but before they could protest further, Ben felt Her bump his shoulder, her eyes fixed behind him. 

Now. 

He didn’t think about what he was playing, because it didn’t fucking matter. It was fucking loud, and it caused the team to jump slightly and give him odd looks, but She nodded. And that’s what fucking mattered. 

And then She fucking vanished, like she had at Red River. Something rushed through Ben’s body—indescribable and elusive and not wrong but strange—the world practically stuttered, and She was gone. 

Annie’s mouth fell open. “Where-“ 

“Oh, shit.” Hughie looked over at Ben, his voice muffled by the blasting vocals and drums and guitar. “She’s-“ 

Ben didn’t want to talk over the music. He didn’t understand how this weird fucking power of Hers worked—She’d explained it a few times, and he’d still gotten lost in Her pretty eyes and big words—and now wasn’t the time to pull experiments with it. So, he just gave Hughie a sharp nod, and waited. 

Butcher didn’t seem phased by this in the goddamn slightest, looking around the hall and rolling his eyes before starting for the exit. 

A secret service agent blocked his path, and an argument started about turning off the music and where is the sixth member of your party—MM grunted something about the bathroom, and they seemed to buy it—but Ben didn’t fucking hear any of it. She was taking too long, there wasn’t any telling where the fuck She’d gone, and Ben could feel Her tugging him with the Pigeon instinct—he was worried out his damn mind, and She’d never get to know he’d called it that—from deep in the building. 

Then She started drawing closer, back to Ben, and the instinct started to grow electric and feral. She was closer, and something felt sick, and he should just fuck this and go fucking find her- 

She was walking down the hallway, and, without a word, looped Her arms through Ben’s. 

Go. 

Ben didn’t stop playing the music—despite the many people in suits glaring at him—as She half-marched down the hall. Her face was too neutral, almost statue-like, and she still wasn’t speaking. Ben could swear he could hear Her fucking singing, like a ghost or phantom on the wind, but Her mouth was closed. 

They made it out. The rest of their team still looked tense and confused, and She was still being so fucking weird, but they’d made it the fuck out. Ben knew She was with them—he could feel Her humming and taut somewhere in his head—but she still didn’t speak. 

Butcher started driving, and when they crossed the lines out of DC, Ben finally felt a tug of his arm. 

Off. 

When the song stopped and Ben looked back to Her, tucked against his side, her eyes were far away, and he could hear Her fucking brain moving. 

“You gonna bloody explain whatever the fuckin hell you just pulled-“ 

“Drive, Butcher.” She snapped, eyes still glazed over. “Fast.” 

The ride was silent for another ten minutes. The didn’t have the V. They were out of fucking options, and they still had to figure out the Cornucopia, and they were fucked- 

Ben. 

He glanced down at Her, and found her staring at him. What- 

I got it. 

You- 

I followed Mallory and Muller to the oval office, which is like, really small by the way- 

Ben grunted Her name, trying to keep her perfect, too fast mind on one track. What the fuck did you get. 

The location. Of the executive V. It’s in a warehouse in Boston. 

Ben nodded slowly. So let’s go fucking get it. 

We need to deal with Edgar first. She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. No loose ends. We can’t get this wrong. 

She squeezed Ben’s hand—resting on her waist—and cleared her throat. 

Ben frowned. You’re telling them- 

Everything. “Butcher, pull over.” 

“We’re on the fuckin freeway-“ 

“So find a rest stop or take the next exit.” 

Ben could hear Butcher’s sigh, but the ass wasn’t stupid enough to keep arguing—not when Her tone was so flat and forceful, her face painted in a tight, resolved look—so they were parked within two minutes. 

“Can I, uh,” Hughie coughed. “I need to go to the bathroom-“ 

“Hold it, lad.” Butcher twisted in his seat, shooting Her a glare. “The fuck was all that-“

“I’m going to talk, and you’re all going to listen. No talking until I’m done.” She looked around the team, leaning forward. “Got it?” 

They got some nods and mumbled agreements—everyone glancing at Ben’s set, purposefully unreadable face like he had shit to say—and She let out a long, heavy breath. Ben’s hand moved to Her thigh, steadying her heart a little further, and she began. 

“We have a leak. I caught it when we met with Edgar, who’s probably doing some cloak and dagger double-agent bullshit, because he knew stuff only Sage and Homelander would know. And I wasn’t sure, but then Ashley jumped ship and confirmed it-“ 

Annie blinked. “Ashley-“ 

“Jumped ship.” She snapped, fingers tapping on Ben’s hand. “At Red River. Don’t get mad at Hughie, I told him to keep it quiet while we were in DC. Ashley’s staying with Neuman, and they’ve both confirm that there’s a leak in either the government or CIA. It’s the government, because it’s Muller. I don’t,” She sighed, chewing on her lips. “I don’t know what the fuck Muller is doing, or what Sage promised him to flip, but it’s him. It’s probably the real reason why we didn’t get the V, but it’s fine. I,” She reached into her jacket, pulling out a folded up piece of paper. “Fixed it. Neuman told me there was an off-site stash of V for the government. Off the books, probably part of a deal for the government to help fund Red River. And I’ve got its location.” She leaned forward, passing the paper over to Annie. “Boston docks warehouse. We’ll need to take care of Edgar first, but that’s it. That’s our shot.” 

The limo was silent as MM and Hughie leaned over Annie’s shoulders, all three of them reading the paper—likely just some fucking evidence—and Butcher scowled at the air. 

“So,” Butcher drawled. “All we gotta do is go to Boston, nab some fuckin V from the federal government, and we’re bloody golden and set?” 

“Unless we fuck up,” She shrugged. “Yeah. And we can clean up Muller and Ashley after, but I think we need to clear Edgar first. He’s actually dangerous, and I’m not sure if he’s playing us or Sage. Muller’s just an idiot, and Ashley’s out of the picture for now.” 

“All she told you was there was a leak?” MM looked up from the paper with a frown. “Nothing else?” 

“She recorded Sage. And if she’s trying to infiltrate us, I burned out her tracker and she doesn’t have her phone. Neuman will keep an eye on her, and she won’t get anywhere close enough to us to get useful information for Sage.” 

“And how do you know Muller is the leak-“ 

“Butcher,” She cut off MM with a sigh. “What did Frenchie use to make the gas, when you met with Homelander and Sage in January?” 

Butcher frowned, something flashing in his eyes. “Agent Orange.” 

She nodded, and turned to Hughie and Annie. “And what did Sage base her gas on?” 

“Oh, God.” Annie shook her head, realization flashing in her eyes. “That’s not good-“ 

“What gas does Sage have?” MM grunted, looking around the limo. “None of you motherfuckers mentioned gas-“ 

“It’s against me,” Ben grunted, and felt Her hand cover his, still on her leg. “Homelander tried to use it during the tower fight. Pussy said Sage designed it after Frenchie’s.” 

“And only we know that,” Hughie mumbled. “Us and Vought. Shit-“ 

“That’s how I know it’s Muller,” She muttered. “And that’s how I know this is it. The V is there,” She nodded to the paper, slightly crumpled in Annie’s hands. “And we’re going to get it.” 

There was another moment of silence, broken by Butcher once more.

“That it, Love?”

 She nodded. “That’s it. We’re fucking finishing this.”

End Note: For such a stoic and emotionally stunted character, all of the Ben centric chapters sure do contain a lot of emotion.

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

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods @ahoytothestorm @silverwingxox @criminalyetminimal @solsborg

@generalmoonpolice @ifyouwerethemoon @leavli @imsiriuslyreal

[highinmiamiii]

MONEY POWER GLORY

club owner!joe kessler x exotic dancer

A/N: this piece goes hand in hand with @billybutcherxyou / @foxiewrites and I’s DBF!Butcher series. best to be read alongside their most recent post, so make sure to check that out first. (cw: themes of manipulation, power dynamics, implied threats, and mentions of the adult entertainment industry.) NO USE OF Y/N

summary: Kessler, the sleazy owner of Club Kess, where petal works, dangles promises of fame and fortune, but his intentions are far from pure. Highlighting petal’s willingness to play his game, even as she’s fully aware of the dangers that come with it.

—————

She walks into the dimly lit office at the back of the club, the heavy bass from the music outside thrumming through the walls. Kessler, the club’s owner, sits behind an oversized mahogany desk, a fine Cuban cigar smoldering between his fingers. The air is thick with the scent of smoke and the faint tang of his expensive cologne. His eyes, sharp and calculating, follow her as she approaches, amusement flickering in them.

“Ah, there she is,” Kessler purrs, his voice smooth like honey with an underlying edge that makes your skin crawl if you listen too closely. He leans back in his chair, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he gestures for her to sit. “My favorite girl.”

She offers him a small, confident smile, though there’s a tightness in her chest she can’t quite shake. She’s been working for him for some time now, just barely making enough to have a little extra cash after repaying her father’s debts and getting out of every negative situation. Billy still couldn’t seem to get off her ass. She’s good at what she does, and she’s determined to be more than just another one of Kessler’s showgirls.

Once she had even the slightest taste of financial freedom to splurge on a cute top or take herself out to lunch somewhere nice, she’d never go back to her old life. Her life had been full of losses, wins, failures, and falls.

Kessler’s gaze never wavers as she takes her seat across from him, the leather chair creaking slightly under her weight. He exhales a long plume of smoke, watching her with that same calculated amusement, like a cat playing with a mouse.

“I’ve been watching you,” Kessler continues, his eyes narrowing as he takes a drag from his cigar, the smoke curling around his face like a serpent. “You’ve got something… special. A spark, if you will.”

“You’ve been doing good work, sweetheart,” he says, the endearment slipping from his lips like it’s second nature. His voice carries a certain weight, commanding attention, respect, and maybe even a little fear. “Better than most of the girls who walk through that door.”

Her smile widens just a fraction; the words hit their mark. She’s been craving validation like this—something to tell her that all the hours, the effort, the sacrifices are worth it. The faint praise settles into her bones, stoking the fire she keeps burning inside.

“Well, I aim to please,” she replies smoothly, her voice laced with just the right amount of sultriness. She knows how to play her part, knows what Kessler wants to hear. And she’s more than willing to give it to him if it means getting what she wants in return.

Kessler’s smirk deepens, his eyes glittering with something dark, something dangerous. “That’s why you’re my favorite, baby,” he purrs, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking onto hers with predatory intensity. “You’ve got the looks, the talent, the drive. Everything a girl needs to make it big. And I’m gonna make sure you do.”

She feels a thrill of anticipation run through her at his words. She’s been chasing this dream for as long as she can remember—the idea of being more than just another face in the crowd, of standing out, of having everything she’s ever wanted. Money, power, glory. The trifecta that’s kept her going through every hardship, every setback.

“A-anything, Mr. Kessler,” she says, her voice almost a whisper, leaning in slightly as if she’s afraid to miss a single word. “Tell me what I need to do.”

Kessler’s smile is almost fatherly as he leans back in his chair, taking another drag from his cigar. He likes this part—the moment they’re fully under his spell, ready to do whatever it takes to make his promises come true. He’s seen it a hundred times before, but there’s something about her that makes it all the more satisfying.

“It’s simple, really,” he says, his tone almost conspiratorial. “You just keep doing what you’re doing, baby—keep turning heads, keep bringing in the crowds. Make them want more of you, make them crave you. And when the time is right, when you’re ready, we’ll take that next step.”

He pauses, letting the words sink in, watching as her eyes widen just a fraction, her breath catching slightly in her throat. He’s got her, and he knows it.

“What next step?” she asks, her voice hushed, almost afraid of the answer.

Kessler’s smirk returns, sharper this time. “Movies, baby. Real stardom. You’ve got a face for the camera, and I’m gonna make sure you get there. But you have to trust me, follow my lead. Do that, and you’ll have everything that pretty little heart o’ yours desires.”

She bites her lower lip, a move she knows he finds irresistible, playing into the moment. It’s all she’s ever wanted to hear—the promise of something more, something bigger than the life she’s been living. Dealing with her asshole of a father and his gambling debts, instead of living the life of a normal girl her age, she was working the pole at Club Kess. She’s come too far to turn back now, and Kessler knows that. He’s got her wrapped around his finger, and she can’t even bring herself to care.

“I trust you,” she says, the words coming out easily, as if they were always meant to be spoken. “I’m a big girl, I can take it,” she adds cheekily.

Kessler chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down her spine. He reaches out, brushing a thumb across her cheek, the touch as possessive as it is comforting.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice rich with satisfaction. “Stick with me, baby, and I’ll make sure the whole world knows your name.”

She feels her heart pound with a mix of fear and excitement. She’s heard the rumors, knows what happens to the girls who fall out of Kessler’s favor, but she’s convinced it won’t happen to her. She’s different. She has to be.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his gaze locking onto hers with predatory intensity. “You want more than just the dance floor. You want to be a star.”

The word hangs in the air between them, heavy with unspoken promises. She can feel the pull, the allure of everything she’s ever wanted, dangling just out of reach. But there’s a part of her, the smart part, that knows there’s always a catch when someone like Kessler is involved.

“I do,” she admits, keeping her voice soft, almost vulnerable, knowing that’s what he’s looking for. “But I know it’s not easy. I’m willing to work for it.”

Kessler’s grin widens, and for a moment, she can see the wolf behind the businessman. “That’s what I like to hear, sweetheart,” he says, his tone oozing with false sincerity. “You’re different. I see big things in your future. Movies, magazine covers, hell, maybe even your own show one day.”

The flattery is relentless, and she finds herself nodding along, even as a small voice in the back of her mind tells her not to fall for it. But it’s hard not to, especially when he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

The words are intoxicating, and for a moment, she lets herself believe them. But then Kessler’s gaze hardens, just for a split second, and she catches a glimpse of the man behind the mask—the one who’s willing to destroy anyone who doesn’t play by his rules.

“But remember,” he adds, his tone shifting to something colder, more menacing, “this business is tough. It chews up the weak and spits them out. You keep up your end of the bargain, and I’ll keep up mine. But cross me… and, well, I’m sure you know what happens to girls who get on my bad side.”

She forces herself to smile, to play along with his game. “I won’t disappoint you, I promise,” she says, her voice smooth as silk, hiding the unease coiling in her gut.

“Good girl,” he replies, the smirk returning as he leans back in his chair, satisfied. “Now, go out there and show them what you’re made of. Got big plans for you.”

She nods, offering him one last smile before she turns.

As she’s about to leave, Kessler’s voice cuts through the lingering haze of cigar smoke. “Actually—hold on a sec, baby,” he drawls, his tone smooth but with an edge that halts her in her tracks. She looks over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

Kessler reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out an old Polaroid camera, the kind that spits out instant photos with a soft mechanical whirr. He holds it up, a sly grin spreading across his face. “One more thing before you go. Gotta get a picture to go with the others, yeah? Keeps things personal, keeps us close.”

She hesitates for a moment, feeling a strange twist in her gut. This wasn’t part of the usual routine, but then again, Kessler always liked to blur the lines. “A Polaroid?” she asks, forcing a light tone, though she can’t keep the edge of suspicion out of her voice.

Kessler chuckles, but it’s a low, menacing sound that sends a shiver down her spine. “Just for the collection,” he says, as if that explains everything. “A little keepsake for me. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

The unease deepens, but she can see the challenge in his eyes, the unspoken command. He wants her to trust him, to play along. And if she refuses, if she makes a scene, she knows what that might mean for her future here.

So, she swallows her discomfort and flashes him her best smile, the one she reserves for customers she’s trying to impress. “Of course, Mr. Kessler,” she says sweetly, stepping closer to the desk.

Kessler’s grin widens as he raises the camera, the lens glinting in the dim light. “Say cheese, darling.”

She hears the click, followed by the whir of the camera spitting out the photo. Kessler catches it before it hits the desk, holding it by the edges as the image slowly develops.

She forces herself to stay calm, to keep that practiced smile in place, even as Kessler’s gaze flicks between her and the photo with a predatory glint. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, more to himself than to her, before he slips the photo into his desk drawer, locking it away.

“Alright, baby,” he says, his tone returning to that of the smooth-talking club owner. “You go on now. Remember, I’m watching.”

She nods, mutters a soft “thank you,” and finally makes her exit, feeling the weight of his gaze on her until she’s out the door. As she steps back into the dimly lit hallway, the thumping bass from the club outside washing over her like a wave, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s just crossed some invisible line, one she might not be able to step back from.

But she pushes the thought aside. This is what she wanted—what she needed. If playing Kessler’s game was the price she had to pay for her shot at fame and fortune, then so be it. She’d play, and she’d win.

Because she knew one thing for sure: in this world, you either play the game or get played. And she wasn’t about to let herself become just another one of Kessler’s pawns.

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

Whenever I remember that Tenya almost went full vigilante mode for Tensei I want to scream so bad like it's not even funny.

Bnha somersaults its way into saying "maybe heroes are just good citizens with the power to do good things" and "maybe heroism is not in the big notorious acts but in being kind and fair in the day to day details" AND THAT'S ALL TENSEI.

AND THAT'S WHAT MOTIVATES TENYA TO GO FULL BLOODHOUND ON STAIN.

I'm not denying that the world needs the big ass heroism acts like defeating AFO or saving a city or all those flashy notorious feats. All Might is very needed, because there are threats that are too old and developed and have accumulated too much hatred and damage over the years. You cannot always prevent those things from happening and to believe so would be naive, right?

What I'm saying is that those big events are the lowest percentage. They are the consequences of a systematic failure.

Take two of the biggest evil plots in the manga: AFO planning to still OFA and Overhaul with his quirk-erasure bullets. Both plans depended on an abused child being used as objects, Eri because her quirk was the base of the bullet working and Tomura because he was just meant to be AFO's new body in the future. In both cases, AFO and Overhaul were cornered after losing the child they were using for their plots. In fact it was the kids resisting the abuse that contributed the most to their failure: Eri prevented Overhaul from hurting Deku and Tomura prevented AFO from escaping his decaying body.

In that sense, the little unknown pro-heroes taking care of their neighborhood's children do a lot to prevent cases like Tomura or Eri from happening. Hell, AFO and Overhaul were also kids who went the violent route to survive.

Ingenium's silent heroism is probably the best example of what a hero looks like. They don't seek fame or glory. They regard heroism as their duty, their responsibility. No matter how little the act is, it's still important to do it.

At this point, we must admit the Tenya's crisis over what happened to Tensei is not only about their bond as brothers. Yeah, that was Tenya's big bro, but it is no less than when Deku and Bakugo saw All Might fighting AFO for the last time— the last moments of their role models.

The Iida brothers' crisis was deep rooted in the main issues of the story, so I'm still baffled at how people just tend to ignore it.

Before Stain, the "League of Villains" was just a minor threat. Dabi was a nobody with no real crimes to his name. Toga was just a lost little girl trying to survive the streets. Spinner didn't even think about being a villain. Before Stain, things were bad, but no one really thought they could change the status quo, you know?

The USJ incident was not the big deal because 1) how was attacking kids the answer? and 2) going for All Might was expected, since he was almost invincible and the biggest hero in the world and blah blah blah.

When Stain started attacking minor pro-heroes...

Stain was the opposite of Tomura. He admired All Might and saved those kids, but went after the pro-heroes with less powerful quirks. He gave the population a sense of control. It's like he said "hey, you don't have to go after All Might to change the system and why would you? The real problem are the ones on the lowest part of the pro-hero chain".

Suddenly, they could go against pro-heroes and win. Divide and conquer. Suddenly, there was a ladder to climb. Suddenly, you could target not the institutions responsible for the rotten ideology of your society, but the people who enforced the ideology with their daily work.

Stain defended his posture by saying that those people didn't want to be real heroes. They just wanted the money, the fame, they were not really committed to their duty.

And then attacked Tensei, of all people.

If big crimes are built from little crimes that are accumulated over time, what would happen if you decided to eliminate the people taking care of the little crimes?

The crisis of belief in pro-heroes was triggered by Stain. When Stain pointed out at Ingenium (the one in the suit was Tensei) and accused him of false heroism, it's when shit started to go south. He created the idea that pro-heroes should be punished if they don't perform correctly and that they deserve to die if they don't have pure ideas of their job— or whatever.

Tensei being the victim is supposed to show how hypocritical Stain is. Tensei is probably one of the only pro-heroes that never did anything wrong in the manga and one of the best family men to be presented. A man who was loved by everyone for being good in every sense of the word.

Stain projected his own fantasies on Tensei in order to accomplish his witch hunt, not truly caring to figure out who the person was. He just attacked for the sake of attacking, which explains why he was so popular: anyone could do the same and project their issues on him, fighting different battles disguised as just one cause.

When Tenya went after him, it could only make sense. The little of the Iidas is too righteous and noble, quick to judge and act, prone to making mistakes and getting carried away by the looks of it all. So easily his justice turns into revenge and he falls into the trap Stain set. Who knows what a hero student killing Stain would have caused...

At this point it's obvious I'm just ranting for the sake of ranting but 😭😭😭 give the Iidas the respect they deserve please.

[xoxorealitygalore]

Plan B MasterList

Jey Uso x Afro-Brazilian OC

Summary: In her thirties and single after a breakup, Hamisa decides she wants to become a mother, despite her friends' and family's objections. Unable to wait any longer, she chooses to have a baby on her own. However, she unknowingly ends up using her ex-boyfriend sperm after he drunkenly swapped her donor’s sample for his own. As Hamisa raises her child, she starts noticing striking similarities between her ex-boyfriend and her baby, leading to questions about the true origins of her child's conception.

FULL NAME

Hamisa Janeisha Woo

BIRTHDAY

February 14, 1989

BIRTH SIGN

Aquarius

BIRTHPLACE

Miami, FL

AGE

35 years old

OCCUPATION

Soccer player • entrepreneur • sports broadcaster • wrestler

ABOUT

She is a retired soccer player who was a regular on the U.S. women's national soccer team from 2008 to 2016. Became the CEO of Hamisa Boutique, an online clothing outlet that caters to teens and women. And she is a sports broadcaster and part time wrestler for WWE. She has over nineteen million Instagram followers.

BEFORE FAME

She was an All-American while playing college soccer.

TRIVIA

She attended Georgia Tech University and competed in track and field and soccer. She graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Literature, Media, and Communication (LMC) degree.

FAMILY LIFE

She is Afro-Brazilian. Her mother is from Duque de Caxias, Rio de Janeiro state. She is recently gave birth to a baby girl, eight months ago.

hamisawoo ✓

550 posts 19.7M followers 100 following

Hamisa Janeisha Woo

Public Figure

WWE

Tik tok: hamisawoo

@hamisaboutique

🔗 linktr.ee/hamisawoo and 2 more

Liked by rhearipley_wwe, cmpunk, trinity_fatu, and 2,315,914 others

hamisawoo Twenty days into 2025, I sit in awe, reflecting on the miracle that is my daughter. Eight months ago, I gave birth to the most beautiful little soul, and the gratitude I feel is beyond words. Glory to God for this precious gift, this life that’s brought so much joy, growth, and love into my world.

To my incredible birth team, thank you from the depths of my heart for supporting me in bringing her into this world safely, in the comfort of our home, surrounded by love. We did it—unmedicated, and it was more than just a birth. It was a rebirth for me, a process of transformation that reshaped my mind, body, and soul.

I always imagined birth as just the physical arrival of a baby, but what I experienced was so much more profound. It wasn’t just the miracle of life; it was a journey of silencing the mind, letting go of every fear, every doubt, and surrendering to the natural power within. The woman I once was stepped aside to make space for the mother I was becoming. There is something sacred in that space, where pain and love intertwine, where you realize just how strong you truly are.

In those moments, I wasn’t just giving birth to a baby—I was becoming a mother, in the truest sense of the word. Thank you, my sweet girl, for showing me strength I never knew I had. Thank you for teaching me that surrender isn’t weakness; it’s the ultimate form of trust.

Here’s to the journey of motherhood—a lifelong process of growth, learning, and unconditional love. I am forever grateful for the path that brought me to you, and for the new chapters still to be written. 💕

View all 14,863 comments

CHAPTERS

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Updated February 10, 2025

[prettyfastcars]

thunderstorms | Lewis x Reader

Summary: Your mom and his dad have been in a serious relationship for a little while, but you do everything to avoid interacting with Lewis. He’s everything you’ll never be. How could you compete with that amount of fame, glory, power and multiple world championships. So you kept your distance in order to avoid hearing your mom praise him endlessly, but that was until a mandatory family vacation. Living in the same house, under the same roof, you couldn’t avoid him anymore. Neither could either of you avoid the tension in between you. 

Themes: smut, stepbrother!lewis, age gap (reader is in her early twenties), forbidden/taboo romance

The thunder sounded like it shook the entire cabin. 

You froze on the wooden stairs, holding on to the handrail for dear life. You liked to think that you were a brave human. But thunderstorms scared the hell out of you. Especially right now given you and your ‘family’ were in some cabin in the middle of nowhere. 

You could’ve been on a nice beach, soaking the warmth of the sun, swimming in the ocean, drinking all day, going on boat rides. But no, the golden son – your soon to be step brother – decided to take the family to a cabin, in the mountains where it is cold, humid and dark all the time. Where it rains incessantly. 

He wanted to hike. And naturally his dad and your mom agreed. And naturally your opinion didn’t matter. Sometimes you thought, all of you didn’t matter whenever he was concerned. After all, you were nowhere near as accomplished as he was. 

He had it all. He was loved by millions, admired, worshipped. People loved him, everyone wanted to be his friend, everyone wanted to be seen with him. 

All you had was a boutique in Paris, that too it was gifted to you by one of your mom’s many ex husbands. It was your entire life now. But no matter how luxurious, elegant, sleek and modern a Parisian boutique is, it cannot compare to multiple motorsport world championships. 

Hence, your suggestion of going on vacation somewhere warm was immediately ignored. As expected. And here you were now, still holding on to the handrail.

You finally let go of it, and wrapped your blanket tighter around you. You were on your way downstairs in search of something warm to drink. This whole cabin was freezing despite the multiple heaters. 

“Damn him,” You whispered under your breath as you walked into the open kitchen, turning just one light on and leaving the rest of the kitchen in darkness. “Could be on a beach partying right now,” You muttered bitterly like an old woman as you gathered your things to make your hot chocolate. “But no,” You hissed as you put the kettle on. “His Majesty wanted to be in this damn forest,” You grabbed your mug and put your cocoa powder in, “We could be killed in here,” You kept muttering as you waited for the water to boil. “God knows what’s in these woods, wild life, serial killers,” You scoffed. “As if he doesn’t get enough adrenaline–,” 

A smooth voice spoke up from one of the dark corners of the kitchen, “Still cursing my name I see?” 

You gasped, turning around to face the dark corner immediately. There he was, the light from his phone allowing you to look at his ridiculously handsome face, and his ridiculously handsome smirk. His braids were out of his usual ponytail. It angered you almost that he looked even better this way. 

You opened your mouth to say something, but ended up squealing instead as the loudest thunder ever shook the entire cabin once again. 

You crouched in place, holding onto the kitchen counter. Meanwhile Lewis broke into chuckles, laughing at you right in your face. 

“You are seriously scared of thunderstorms?” He laughed some more. 

You frowned at him, your bravery coming out of hiding now the thunder had passed. “Oh shut up. Of all places you had to bring us here?” You shook your head and turned around to carry on making your hot chocolate. 

You heard the chair screech as Lewis stood up from the small table, you heard him walk over to where you stood. Your body became hyper aware of each one of his moves. 

The way he placed both of his hands on the counter, on either side of you, caging you in. 

The way his torso pressed gently against your back. 

The way he subtly nuzzled your neck from behind. 

You froze. Lewis’ lips brushed against the back of your neck as he spoke. “Is that why you’re down here so late at night? Hmm?” He teased, “You needed your big brother to keep you safe from the thunderstorm?” 

“You’re not my fucking brother.” You gasped in surprise when you felt him purposely drag his lips up your neck. “Lewis…” You whispered, “What are you doing?” Your voice ended up sounding a lot more like a quiet moan. 

You’d be lying if you said this was the first time the two of you were crossing lines which you knew you shouldn’t. The man was drop dead gorgeous, it was hard to resist him. 

“What?” He acted oblivious even as he left soft, open mouth kisses all over your neck and slightly exposed shoulder. “I’m just helping you make hot chocolate before the water gets cold.” He said as one of his tattooed hands wrapped around your waist while the other grabbed the kettle and poured hot water into your mug. 

The warm drink was the last thing on your mind as Lewis kept kissing up and down your neck. “Lewis…” You murmured again, “We shouldn’t.” 

He didn’t stop. You didn’t want him to stop. He knew that. 

He let go of you momentarily and gave you enough space to turn around and face him. Fuck, that was a mistake. In the dim, partially lit kitchen he looked too tempting. Big brown eyes, how could you resist those? 

The blanket you had around yourself fell to the ground. Now you were left in tiny shorts and an almost see-through pj top. Lewis’ eyes roamed your body shamelessly. Your face burned when you admitted to yourself that you liked it. 

“Look at you,” He murmured, as he placed his hand on your waist again. His other hand came up to grab your chin. He leaned in slightly, his scent acting like an aphrodisiac. “What am I supposed to do when you’re walking around half naked, little sis?” He accused in that dreamy voice. “Am I supposed to keep my hands to myself while you walk around looking like this?” 

You couldn’t look away from his rich, dark brown eyes. Bottomless, warm, inviting. His eyes had an intensity that was hard to ignore. 

You were aware of how his thumb drew lazy circles on your hip. You felt weak in your knees. Lewis just smirked. “You better stop looking at me with those fuck-me eyes if you don’t want me to bend you over this counter right here right now.” He whispered, leaning in even closer to kiss the corner of your mouth. 

You were dragged back to reality once you broke eye contact. So you cleared your throat and pulled away from his embrace. The air felt immediately colder as you pulled away from him. 

Lewis picked up your blanket and wrapped it around you again. You muttered a quick ‘thanks’ as you clutched the blanket under your chin, securely as if it would keep you safe from him. Then he handed you your mug and said, “Wanna watch a movie?” 

You should’ve just gone to bed. You should’ve said no. 

Seeing you were contemplating, Lewis added, “Unless of course you want to go upstairs and be all by yourself.” 

Right then, another loud thunder echoed throughout the entire place. And your decision was made. 

So you found yourself in the living area, on the same couch as Lewis while some horror movie played on TV. And with each loud boom from the sky, you scooted closer and closer to him. He chuckled each time you jumped due to the thunder, but he made no further comments. 

After a while, and some more scooting he said, “Just come here, will you?” He patted the spot next to him and opened his arms. 

Maybe it was the thunder. Or the fact that he looked so nice, warm and comfy in his sweatpants and sweater. Or maybe it was that you were subconsciously dying to be in his arms. Whatever the case, you slid right up to him and let him wrap his arms around you as you laid your head on his shoulder. 

“There, see,” He said, “Isn’t it nice to let big brother take care of you?” He teased. 

You scoffed, but remained in his arms. “You’re not my brother. I hate you and your big ass forehead.” 

Lewis laughed. You smiled too, but hid it quickly. 

“Can I have some of your hot chocolate?” He asked after a few silent seconds. 

“I drank it all.” You said. 

“Shame,” He murmured, “I really wanted a taste of it.” He sounded almost seductive as he said it. 

There. 

You could feel the shift in the air just then. That line, you were gonna cross it again. 

You pulled away and looked right into his soft brown eyes. “Lewis…” You whispered. 

“Come here, baby,” He whispered, cupping your face and leaning in for a kiss. 

You melted instantly, kissing his warm and soft lips back immediately. You didn’t even hesitate before making your way to his lap, straddling him without breaking the kiss. You felt him smirk into the kiss, you did too. 

Too late to turn back now, that’s what the smirks meant. 

You only pulled away to take a breath, looking into his eyes to find him just as breathless as you. Neither one of you said anything. Not even when you whimpered as you felt his erection through the layers of clothing separating your bodies. 

“Tell me you want this,” He whispered. His hands touching you wherever he could. Sliding across your now exposed thighs, up and down your sides and fingers caressing your skin, dangerously close to where you ached for him. 

You didn’t say anything, but Lewis looked down and found your eager fingers toying with the waistband of his sweatpants. He smirked when he saw that, and looked up at you with a cocky look in his eyes. 

“Is that what you want?” He asked, sounding just as cocky as he looked. 

You nodded, heart racing at the thought of what you were about to do. But it was too late to turn back now. You held his heated stare as you lowered his sweatpants and wrapped your hand around him, slowly stroking his cock, making him throw his head back and groan under his breath. 

You leaned in close to him again, “I want you,” you whispered against his lips and then pressed your mouth to his. He kissed you back immediately. “I want you inside of me.” You said, urgently and breathlessly. 

You slipped your tongue past his lips and slowly stroked the top of his mouth. He groaned into your mouth, and you immediately bucked your hips against his, your clothed core rubbing against his cock and he grunted. 

His hands rubbed up and down your sides, fingers sliding under your thin top until he could toy with your nipples. 

“Take me,” He whispered against your mouth. 

You pulled away from the kiss briefly, quickly removing your shorts before you lowered yourself down on his cock, earning quiet moans and groans out of both of you as you sank down on him. 

Your body resisted just a little to fit him inside. Your face felt hot at the thought of him being too big to fit inside your wet cunt. Lewis felt it too, and an arrogant smirk formed on his gorgeous face. 

His voice was cocky and laced with lust as he spoke, “I bet you’re regretting wasting all that time on your little French boys now, huh?” 

You scoffed, deciding to mess with him. “Oh, trust me. They’re not little.” 

His brain short circuited. For a moment he loathed every man who ever touched you like this. 

Lewis glared at you for a moment, before he grabbed you by the hips thrust up into you. You gasped in surprise as you felt him fill you up. He was nice and snug inside you as he whispered, his voice filled with promises, “I’m gonna ruin every single man for you.” 

Your lust-drunk brain was barely able to process his words. All you knew was that you wanted more. His cock throbbed against your pulsating walls, causing the tiniest bit of friction which drove you both insane. It felt like he was splitting you in half.

“Ah,” You whimpered, “Lewis, please…” 

He grabbed you by the hips and guided you up and then back down on his cock. You whimpered as he groaned when the tip of his cock reached sensitive places you never knew existed. 

“Does big brother’s cock feel good? Huh?” He taunted before leaning forward to wrap his lips around one of your clothed nipples. He gave it a hard enough suck to make you moan, then moved on to the other one. 

Fuck. This was so wrong. 

The forbidden nature of it gave you a warm rush. You just whimpered and nodded as you moved faster, impaling yourself down on his cock each time. 

You felt him filling you up completely each time, feeling him reach deeper into you with each thrust. His hand slipped between the two of you and found your clit, he rubbed it lazily. 

When he noticed that you were comfortable with the pace, he let go of your hip and wrapped his hand around your throat instead. “You look so good like this, little sis.” He teased. “Taking my cock like you’re made for it.” 

You couldn’t help but lean down to kiss him, biting down and tugging at his plump, soft bottom lip while you sped up, and his cock stretched you out each time. Lewis pulled your warm body closer to his as you bounced on his cock moaning and whining, feeling him stretch you out as you stared into his dark eyes. 

Lewis rhythmically thrust his hips up each time to match your movements. Brows furrowing and panting while you rode his cock, throwing his head back and moaning. 

“Shh,” You whispered as you kissed along his bearded cheek, barely able to keep from moaning yourself. 

He panted against your cheek, kissing the side of your face and gripping your jaw with his hand. “You feel so good,” He whispered.

“Damn you…” You didn’t slow down as you felt your orgasm wash over you, and he kept thrusting his hips up into you as your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came, hard, feeling your walls squeezing and clenching around him as you came undone. 

You panted and leaned forward, pushing your face into his neck to catch your breath. 

Lewis came right after you, his warm load spilling inside of you, as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed your trembling body closer to him. “Fuck…” He swore before saying, “I think I like thunderstorms even more now.”

You still sounded breathless as you said, "I still hate you."

---

here's part two if you want

[lola-writes]

𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐄 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐈 ║ III. Somnium Romae ║ Marcus Acacius x Hanno's sister!reader

➣ Deliciae Imperii -> Delights of the Empire

➣ Somnium Romae -> The Dream of Rome

➣ Masterlist | Add yourself to my taglist | Ao3 | Ko-Fi

➣ Chapter II. | Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2,1k

Synopsis: As an esteemed warrior of the Numidian army, your world turns on its axis when you’re taken prisoner by the Romans. Ever since your stealth attack that nearly cost the General of the Roman army, Marcus Acacius, his life, he appears to have taken a special interest in you. Under his tutelage of swordplay and carnal things, you delve deeper into the heart of the Roman Empire, uncovering its instability, and Acacius’ true intentions with you…

Chapter Themes & Warnings: POV first person, violence, misogyny, angst, yearning & longing, slavery, pet names, mentions of sexual inexperience, swearing, mentions of sex. See series masterlist for full themes & warnings!

Anaticula (duckling)

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I’d never thought I’d feel so subservient. So utterly susceptible to somebody else’s whim. Neither would I have believed that one simple action, taken in a mere second, would’ve unravelled a path that would crumble my whole world. Only to be put before an impossible choice that could inevitably grant me my freedom. 

Though, it wasn’t really much of a choice. I needed to do it. For myself, and for my honour. 

What felt like an eternity of silence had passed, before Acacius’ timber startled me, “What say you?” he whispered, like he was afraid of how I would respond to his instruction. I realized he had as much to fear as I did - relaying this sort of information to me. What nearly escaped me was just how much power he had actually placed in my hands. I was of no importance to the Roman Empire. 

I wouldn’t even have to kill him myself. One breath to the emperors about Acacius’ schemes and I could have his head on a spike come dawn. 

It was a dangerous game, a gamble with stakes far higher than I could have imagined. 

But I’d sworn my allegiance. In my world, that meant something. And I believed that it did in his as well.

He pierced me with his gaze, his eyes the color of dark, swirling pools in the dim light of the atrium.

If I were to do this, I needed answers.

“Why do you wish to kill them?” I finally breathed.  

Acacius appeared to wrestle with his thoughts, a torrent of emotions and events which I supposed could not be captured by mere words. 

Finally, he sat down on the stone rim of the pond, one hand resting atop his knee. He proceeded to tell me everything. 

About his departed wife, Lucilla, and their relentless pursuit of the dream of Rome, inherited by her father, the revered Emperor Marcus Aurelius. A dream that was slowly, agonizingly slipping away. He spoke of Emperor Geta and Caracalla – about their hot-headed tyranny; slowly bleeding the country out in pursuit of their own fame and glory. 

“The bloodshed will not end with Numidia,” said Acacius solemnly. “These brats want to take it all. Persia. India. All the while their own people starve in the streets.”

The memory of the festering city swam up before me. The so-renowned city of Rome, in actuality, reduced to such a pathetic spectacle.

“Is that not the way of the world?” I asked.

A furrow of despair etched between his brows. “It does not have to be,” he said, his voice filled with a sincerity that I yearned to believe. “Change needs to begin somewhere.” 

A strange warmth bloomed within my chest. Despite my reservations, I was beginning to realize that Acacius wasn’t inherently a bad man. 

“And you wish to start this change with an assassination?” I queried, taking a seat beside him. 

“An assassination that will help save the lives of thousands,” he implored, before rising from his seat and pacing the atrium, twisting the armilla around his forearm. 

“And you wish me to perform this?” I posed. The notion was unfathomable to me. As a General, he surely had legions of loyal soldiers at his command. Men who wouldn’t hesitate, wouldn’t question. Wouldn’t fail...

“That’s right,” he drawled, the sound blazing a path down my spine of velvet and steel. 

My eyes, drawn to his face, studied him intently. His skin was tanned, and slightly aged. He could not have been older than fifty. His lips, the faintest shade of cherry, formed the shape of a heart at rest. A perpetual frown etched his brow, which I supposed had come naturally from extensive warfare, but it did nothing to intimidate me, nor did it mar him. An old scar traced his right cheekbone, and the one I’d made on his neck was just beginning to heal. 

“Why?” my voice was barely a whisper. 

The question hung heavy in the air as he approached me slowly. “Because you will be able to get close enough to them.”

I stared into his eyes, dark and fathomless like polished obsidian, searching for any hint of jest. But his resolve was as clear as the dawn breaking over the horizon, and the weight of his request began to settle upon my shoulders. 

“To get close,” I repeated, contemplating the actual enormity of this task when cold vexation flashed my nerves. “Enough of these vague concepts,” I said curtly, “What are you truly asking of me? I will need details, Acacius,” I said, rising to my feet, “Strategies, routines, vulnerabilities. I’ll need to know it all.”

His jaw ticked, and his expression hewed into something apologetic, a fleeting emotion that sparked an ill foreboding in my bones. He released the armilla and allowed his arms to drop to his sides. My eyes followed his path as he moved to a corner of the room, pulling out one of the elegant curule chairs from a round mahogany table. “Please, sit,” he said, before placing himself in the opposite curule. “You must be starving.” He poured wine into two glasses while I stood rooted and hesitant. But the agonizing hollowness in my stomach could not be denied. I had not eaten for two days, and though it did not sound like a lot, it felt like an eternity. 

I walked myself toward the corner, pacing myself to not seem too eager, and cautiously seated myself. The small table offered a modest spread: a bowl overflowing with fruit, a dish of walnuts, a bowl of olives, and a sliced loaf of bread. I plucked vigorously, each bite feeling like a touch of heaven, and when my tongue tasted the wine, I found myself envying him. 

When I looked up, he was watching me, his eyes a deeper shade of brown, almost black, as he sipped his wine slowly, deliberately. I spat an olive pit into my hand, and watched his eyes grow darker still beyond the rim of his glass. 

I dried my mouth on the back of my hand, leaning back in the chair as he refilled my glass. 

“Tell me everything,” I said, my voice firm with a newfound resolve. “I’m ready.”

Acacius leaned back, the palm of his hand stroking the dark, bristling beard of his chin as he appraised me. “Very well,” he began, his voice a low murmur that seemed to carry the weight of centuries and fixed me with eyes almost imploring. 

He took a moment to gather himself, before he leaned toward me, and my breath slowed with apprehension.

“There will be a celebration in my honor. Tonight,” he said, and bile rose in my throat while a million questions and scenarios erupted in my mind like a flurry. “I need you to accompany me.”

Repugnance penetrated my veins at the thought of attending a celebration of my people’s demise. An overwhelming feeling struck me, like I was back in that cage, and the only way to set myself free was to chop my own arm off. I gritted my teeth against the rising tide of despair, pushing back the tears. “I fucking hate you,” I hissed below my breath, but the brief pause in his narrative confirmed he’d heard me. 

If only I’d contemplated how much worse it could get.

“Now,” he continued, his voice softer, “The emperors’ parties are no mere gatherings. They are spectacles of power, displays of decadence, exercises in control... and sex.”

The last word snapped me back to attention, my pulse quickening, ice settling into my stomach – fear. 

“They are designed to intoxicate the senses, to break down barriers, and expose the deepest vulnerabilities of those who attend,” he proceeded, and I prayed he didn’t notice how I’d gone pale. 

A shiver, cold and profound, snaked down my spine, my entire body quivering from dread of the heart of his plan. 

“During this party, I want you to get close to the emperors. Either one, preferably both.” His eyes held mine with such intensity that I could feel how the muscles in his body contracted. “And assassinate them.”

He made it sound so easy. I nodded, attempting to digest his every word without completely losing my mind. 

“And,” I uttered hesitantly. “How would I...” I didn’t want to know the answer. “...get close to them?”

“You will have to seduce them.”

I shuddered, his words echoing in the silence of the atrium. I didn’t have a single notion of how to do that. Though, if I somehow did manage it, what then? 

I was starting to feel dizzy. 

“What if I get caught?” I asked, annoyed that I could not keep my voice from trembling. 

“You won’t,” he said assertively. 

“What if I get caught?” I repeated, my voice hardening, “Spare me the platitudes.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair; one hand placed firmly upon the mahogany table. “Follow my plan,” he said. “Get them alone. And I’ll ensure you won’t get caught.”

It wasn’t much reassurance, but I supposed at this stage, I only had myself to blame. The moment of the battle flashed before my eyes, and instead of hesitating, I made sure Acacius spurted blood. It gave me momentary reprieve from the crushing weight of my predicament, my mind attempting to relieve my agony. But the torment only escalated once reality dawned once more.

Stupid, stupid girl.

“What am I to you?” I asked, my voice faltering.

Acacius paused and studied me cynically, clearly uncertain of the inference of this question. “You’re my slave,” he said then, and my guts twisted into a knot. 

“I mean, at this party,” I managed, choking back tears, “What will I be to you?”

Silence stretched, and the furrow between his brow etched deeper, his gaze growing solemn and cold. 

“I believe you already know the answer to that question.”

A tear spilled from my eye, not from grief, but from indignation, and I clutched onto my rags so hard they nearly ripped. 

“Listen,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. “Nothing needs to happen if you play your cards right. You’ll get through this,” he said placating, but somehow it only made me resent him more. 

Dread coiled beneath my skin at the prospect of intimacy. My sexual experience was limited, non-existent, in truth. And the idea of having to pretend to know what I was doing – to make it believable enough, while simultaneously plotting the emperors’ demise, made me feel vertiginous, like I was teetering on the edge of a precipice. 

“B-but,” I stammered, my fingers trembling as I tried to school my racing heart. “Will the emperors not deem a girl already... pledged to another as... off limits?”

“On the contrary,” he said derisively. “They enjoy the hunt. They like feeling powerful, and desirable. It’s important that you make them feel as such,” he explained. 

I was starting to feel delirious, and out of breath. 

“They’re not only tyrannical, but extremely vulgar.”

“Enough,” I gasped, and rose from the curule, needing to escape the unbearable weight of this imminent affair. 

“I’m not trying to upset you,” came Acacius’ voice from behind.

I walked into the atrium, and found myself drawn to the pond, watching the fish swirl and dart, their serene movements a stark contrast to the turmoil within, pacifying me. 

“You need to be prepared,” he said gently, something akin to compassion penetrating his silken drawl.

I filled my lungs, slowly and deeply. 

I would survive this, I thought. I had to. This was not merely about my freedom; it was about freeing the world from the suffocating grip of the Roman tyranny. 

I turned back towards Acacius, who was now upstanding, watching me with a determined, cautious look. His demeanour, a peculiar mix of empathy and resolve, offered me the slightest hint of relief. 

It could’ve been worse. Acacius could’ve been a tyrant too. Or I could’ve been somebody else’s slave forever, with no opportunity of escape. Acacius had offered me a chance to change something for the better. To make my life mean something. In this moment, partly to ease myself into the reality of the situation, I decided to be grateful. I decided to trust him. I couldn’t afford to falter now. 

I met my reflection in the water of the pond and recoiled. I certainly couldn’t go anywhere like this. I turned to him. “What should I wear?”

He smiled gently, to my surprise, and offered me his hand. I took it. “Come with me,” he said, as he led me out of the atrium. “I have just the thing.”

Series Masterlist

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[luna-rainbow]

Hi

Like your posts especially your Bucky posts. He is my precious cinnamon roll, and a character whose popularity makes sense.

Can you explain to me why T*ny Stark though is so popular? I just... cannot see the appeal of him. He's self-righteous, self-centred, reckless, irresponsible and very likely narcissistic.

Also, for all his fans go on about how "sacrificial" he is I do not see it. Or rather, its not actually that admirable to have to sacrifce yourself to solve the problems you created in the first place! That's just... being a decent human.

Now Cap, there's a guy. Resisting authortarinism and fighting for freedom all his life. T*ny though? He's like "yeah kill myself to kill he villain my father/me created". Nope. Not a hero.

Even in Endgame, he's selfish because he's not willing to even give his backing to the Time Heist if it might negatively impact him/his family.

Why do people see him as such again?

Thanks for the ask!

I think most people like characters for a few reasons: a) they think they are their blorbo, b) they want to be like their blorbo, and c) they want to have sex with their blorbo.

Tony, especially with RDJ's portrayal, is exactly the kind of guy that appeals to the intended audience of the comics-loving (mostly male) fanbase: who identify with Tony's "intellectual and pragmatic" over sentimental (ala Pepper) or moralistic (ala Steve), and who wishes they could be the playboy billionaire who has all the sex and buys all the toys and shrugs off all the accountability. Tony is 40 but RDJ plays him like he's 14, he's misogynist and self-centered, cocky and reckless, who won't listen to anyone else's advice because he genuinely believes he knows better until real life proves him wrong (...so many socialised males are like this...)

To be honest, on the one hand, I can see why Tony appeals to the audience. He's at once a a reassurance and a fantasy. If you take away his billionaire status, he's an extremely flawed (all the ones you've listed and more) middle-aged guy who struggles to maintain human relations and makes frequent mistakes but does strive, at least in the earlier movies, to try and do the right thing. I think a lot of people relate to that, because most of us are lonely and messed up and likely misunderstood to some degree. But he's also very much a power fantasy -- he's swimming in money (if you forget where it comes from), surrounded by fawning hot women, he has fast cars and a man cave to tinker with his hobby while his girlfriend/secretary does the real work of running the company. He then gets the ideal redemption story where he proves all the accusations of immorality wrong by doing A Good Deed, and all the fame and glory that comes with it. Yeah, some fans like to lean into how he's still ""misunderstood", but his critics in universe are the minority, and his new hero status has enabled him greater access to what is essentially political power and intelligence networks.

To me, Tony's appeal lies in his struggles and the redemption. He is a morally grey character just learning to look beyond his own needs and still occasionally relapsing into self-centered recklessness. His story was never one about sacrifice - because as you say, doing the bare minimum of fixing your own mistakes isn't sacrifice, it's being a grown up.

And I ignore Endgame XD

[blueteller]

We Don't Talk About Clopeh

So, uh... I know it's super silly, and the "We don't talk about Bruno" meme is super old by now; but this has been sitting among my files getting dust for over 2 years no, so I figured – why not?? 😅😂

***

[Rasheel] …So anyway, who's Clopeh? [Rosalyn] We don't talk about Clopeh, no no no We don't talk about Clopeh~! [Choi Han] …But! When the invasion came [Mary] Wyvern invasion came [Choi Han] We were all prepared And Cale-nim's shield brightly shined in the sky [Mary] Cale-nim's shield shined in the sky [Choi Han] Clopeh flew in With a full-of-it grin [Bud] Bastard! [Choi Han] No cursing, Bud, there are children here! [Bud] I'm sorry, Choi Han, go on [Choi Han] I'll be a legend, Clopeh said [Cale] He was delusional! [Choi Han] I smacked him and I said, no way [Cale] Still, he was quite usable… [Choi Han] Capture, interrogation, then- [Cale] -Suddenly he's nuts; but anyway [Everyone] We don't talk about Clopeh, no no no We don't talk about Clopeh~! [Lock] I don't know his deal and I am quite scared of asking Prasing Cale-nim constantly and stalking the young master He invented tech to record Cale-nim every act [Rasheel] Wait, what? What?? [Choi Han] Mary put bombs in his limbs to control his actions Ruthless and mad, skilled actor and spy master Despite getting tortured he's as loyal as he's nuts He's got quite the guts [Archie] A decietful snake Hiding in the grass Planned from very start To stab 'em in the back Yet at Cale-nim's name He gets quite insane [Everyone] We don't talk about Clopeh, no no no We don't talk about Clopeh~! [Mary] Pretended to be the Wyvern Knight of the North [Bud] Oh, wow [Choi Han] But it was Syrem controlling them all along! [Rosalyn] His family fabricated legend Of the lake Tears of God~! [Bud] The gall! [Mary, Choi Han, Rosalyn] His thirst for fame, No power can it stop~! [Raon] He told me He made biography Of the human that got popular [Bud] Wait, really? [Raon] He told me That me and Good Mary Can help with the sequel If we want [Hong] Hey, look, Dodori's on his way! [On] He told me That in Puzzle City There'd be a museum Depicting Cale's glory [Dodri] Wow, I can see it now… [Cale] Hey kids, [Dodri] Oh, I can see it now…! [Cale] I think, no more dessert for you! [The kids] Aw… [Dodri] I can see it now! [Fandom] Yeah, Clopeh About that Clopeh We really need to title Clopeh Are you a Pope yet, are you, Clopeh?? [Cale] Everybody, Beacrox's here! [Everyone] Time for dinner!

[theshiftingwitch]

Hii, I have a question regarding shifting.

So whenever I try to shift I feel demotivated. During the day I am soo motivated (but too busy to actually try n shift) and when I go to sleep I am just like "meh.. yeah Ima try" but I aint really focused ya' know? How to fix that? Cause my thoughts keep drifting back to my cr, no matter how hard I try to think as my DR self. Plus, I cant rlly "ignore" the 3d so that makes me even more "annoyed". And then I js say "I will shift" but dont really mean it and fall asleep. Yet, when I wake up I am just sad I didnt even try.

I truly want to shift, yes. But I dont know whats wrong with me.

Hope you have a nice day,

Bye! <3

Ah, good old self sabotage.

Look, you're afraid of success so you delay it and you don't even try. You're afraid of failure because you have this assumption that tonight isn't going to be the night you shift anyway so why try at all?

Either way, you're holding yourself back.

Don't say "I will shift." That is factually incorrect. You have already shifted. You're already in your Dr, your awareness has shifted the second you started conceptualising other realities in your imagination. It's that instant.

So now what?

Get your shit together.

You're already there. You're already living and experiencing every detail of your reality. You're really going to throw all of that to hell because you can't stop focusing on this 3d for a second? Because you're too lazy or too demotivated to say a couple of affirmations and actually giving this bitch a go?

Get out of your own way and leave this shit hole behind. There are infinite realities waiting for you out there! With magic and myths and love and friendship and fun and joy and fame and riches and glory and happiness and power and you're still here for what?

Assume you have already shifted and stop bringing yourself down.

Go shift!

[choster33]

Gambit- X-men 97's Romantic Hero

I love Gambit and after watching X-men 97 I'm sure that he's a lot of people's favorite right now. After watching and rewatching, season 1 I think that the writers have set him up as the Romantic Hero which is not just that he's a main part of a love triangle which he is but Romantic in the Byronic literary archetype way of "possessing the qualities of being larger than life, enjoying suffering, being isolated from society, being always haunted by an unseeingly unidentified sin and is known for being quite cynical" according to Brainly.com. Not to mention having a long suffering love interest!

He is not in the series for a lot of time, but his arc through episode 5 and the impact that he has throughout the whole show is monumental. He begins with a splash looking hot in his iconic pink crop top. I mean, there are very few people who would make this look good and he really does. He also comes off as way more interesting than Scott who bores me to tears. I sometimes skip Scott and Jean stuff to be quite honest and that comes from Remy being a good guy, but not boring. He has a sense of humor, a sense of adventure, and an all around down to earth personality. He is a strong fighter and loyal X-men, but even from the beginning he is seen as charming, funny and right. There is less of a threat after Xavier's death and Scott, Bishop and Ororo did have it handled.

Then we get to the club and Gambit is the ultimate lover in that he pairs up with Rogue and then proceeds to look at her lovingly whilst telling her what any worthwhile man would do to be with her. Swoon.

Then we have episode 2 where Rogue and Magneto reestablish their connection. We may cheer Rogue for being able to touch someone, but look at Gambit's hurt and sad eyes. Long suffering relationship indeed. Romantic heroes seem to love suffering and what is more painful and self inflicted than falling in love with someone who can't touch, but also is full of insecurities about love and commitment. I love Rogue, but she's afraid of love and terrified of hurting someone else which shows in how she handles relationships.

Mon dieu, it's freaky Rogueneto telling him what he tells himself, his deepest fears. A good Romantic hero always has demons and haunted by past sins and who is more haunted by his past than Gambit. I have to say here that some people might be thinking who is more tortured than Magneto, but I disagree. Magneto has a dark past, but he thinks he's right. Whereas Gambit is wracked with guilt and feelings of not being worthy of being called a X-man and being Rogue's man. He grew up a Cajun swamp rat from a Thieves guild raised by thieves, assassins and other nefarious people and lived most of his life as a thief. What makes him interesting is the tortured guilt and modesty that Gambit has.

He goes to Genosha because he's jealous and wants to make sure that there is nothing going on between Rogue and Magneto. Magneto even says as much. He wasn't even meant to be there and might have been safe on Earth, but we know what happened to him tragically. Plus we see how he is not cowed by Magneto and willing to ask questions no one else is willing to ask. Another reason why Magneto is not the Romantic hero, is that he is mutant MVP in this show, the heir to the X-mansion and the X-men, asked to be king of Genosha, and etc. where Romantic heroes are on the fringes of society like Gambit, who is a hero as a X-man but not wanting fame, glory, or power like Magneto.

Kurt is so observant and sees instantly the connection the two have and calls Gambit out on being theatrical. Gambit calls himself a scoundrel and yet again dismisses the possibility of a happy ending for himself. Then we get that iconic line of "There is no love without sin. Love is best measured in what we forgive." Gambit again falls into the Romantic hero trope of thinking he is too low for love, but isn't going to necessarily change his ways, just accepts that he is on the fringes of society and all that entails. One of the things I love about Romy is their understanding about one another. They both have murky pasts and are filled with self loathing and self doubt. They are strong attractive X-men but they are best friends because they GET each other.

Oof, the breakup scene. How more Romantic and tortured was this? He showed how amazing a man he was by patiently listening to her tell her story and then at the end not blowing up at her or making her feel like shit, but just wanting the truth from her and showing how much it hurt him. He played the Swamp Rat, because a lot of that was a game, a way for her to feel OK with keeping him at arm's length, dangling on a string, never fully letting him in because intimacy was too scary.

It's scenes like this that make me wonder if they have touched before even accidentally because Gambit as a character is so self loathing that if she touched him even by accident, she is holding so much of that loathing in her which may be something contributing to her doubts. A part of comic!Rogue leaving Gambit in Antarctica was because she absorbed him and was filled with self loathing.

He is such a gentleman that he even kisses her hand and agrees to be friends. And granted that the Magneto and Rogue dance was hot, but that must have been torture for Gambit. Then our Byronic hero becomes a man of action and hot damn we get James Bond level action and heroics. He shows his strength and does whatever is necessary to save his lady. Despite his differences with Magneto, he doesn't petulantly sulk but does what is required of him because he is a hero at the end of the day. He is brave and selfless and chivalrous. He is giving old school knight chivalry here and I'm here for it.

Then my heart breaks as does every other viewer at the death scene and the "can't feel you" line. It's very soap opera-y and dramatic to kill him after breaking his heart, but here we are. Rogue is the long suffering love interest and most Romantic stories don't necessarily have a happy ending. He wasn't even meant to be in Genosha and because of love and circumstance ended up dying tragically as the ultimate hero. He died a hero's death dying to save thousands, but more importantly to save the love of his life.

In later episodes, his death is a catalyst for Rogue taking action and even turning darker. Her love for Gambit shows more when he is gone and is going to be a fundamental chapter in her life. One that might make her think twice about being commitment phobic and using her abilities as an excuse not to feel intimacy and how wrong she got it with Gambit. It was love, true love and she didn't see it until she was too late.

This may just be a chapter in their story and we may have more drama and angst with Deathbit in Season 2, but even dead Gambit was the troubled Romantic lead that made X-men 97 work and be so interesting. Episode 5 was my favorite and probably the best episode next to the finale and that's due to Gambit. We relate to him and feel deeply in his pain, self loathing, jealousy, and love of Rogue. I find Magneto interesting and Rogueneto is fun to read and write about, but Romy is the OTP and Gambit is Lancelot.

[pauking5]

Runaway 🏎️ Chapter 1

Pairing: Naozumi Hiyama x fem reader oc

Synopsis: There's no place for women in the world of racing. Let alone rally. Until you show up - the daughter of a racing legend who lost everything out of nowhere - ready to stir the pot of competition and throw fuel to Naozumi's fire, burning wild in more than just one way. Just how far will you go to take your rightful place in the world of rally, restore the team to its glory and change things for the better?

Genre: racing AU, enemies to lovers, rivalry, suspense, a whole lot of teasing, gender power games, dating in secret

Word count: 4.5k+

A/N: Here it finally is. I can't believe I got to write about one of my passions in this way. Though I love rally, getting the technicalities right was rough but I researched as much as I could on it so it feels like the real thing, though there might be some minor inaccuracies, not really affecting the story.

This one has been in the works for a good period of time and though this first chapter is short and fast-paced, there's so much more coming. Trust the process cause god knows I do. I hope I can make Naozumi justice and I can't wait for you to read the next ones. Enjoy lovelies.

Now Playing: Edge of Seventeen - Wuki

Next Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

It's not about how fast you go.

It's about how long you go fast.

Fast like-

A knock reverberated against your helmet, interrupting the pre-race mantra before you even finished reciting it, bringing you back to the chaos prior to the race start. Chaos you wanted to avoid at all costs.

Blinking your eyes open, you took in the smell of burnt rubber and the atmosphere, fully packed with the deafening roars of the crowds in the stands soaring over the music heard all the way to your station. Another voice joined in the noise, demanding your attention.

"Raiko, are you ready?"

Letting out an exasperated breath, you waved off whoever spoke to you and closed your eyes again. "Give me a minute, will you?"

Okay, where was I?

It's not about how fast you go-

A drilling noise came from your right, annoying the living daylights out of you.

Ah, fuck it. Since we keep getting interrupted...

How about I tell you a little bit about me.

Name's Raiko Suruki.

Yes, that Suruki.

Here we go again.

I'm the daughter of the famed Hiro Suruki, five times Japan World Rally Championship winner, consecutively if I may add. Proud podium sitter for thousands of times. Also kind of a living legend of the primetime of the rally world.

The same Hiro Suruki that started one of the best teams in the history of Japanese rally, snatching six more titles under his directory. WRC'S Golden Boy.

After his personal fifth title, he decided he wanted something more. Something that would fulfill him, beside his love for driving at the most insane speeds known to man, and having his first and only child - that's me, in case you didn't know.

Anyway. Without any second thoughts or doubts, he retired from the sport out of nowhere, changing the fireproofs for the laid-back team principal shirt and a cheap very 'dad' baseball cap. At barely 35 years of age, he took the biggest leap of faith of his life and Suruki Racing was born out of fuel and passion for rally.

He poured everything he had into the team and built it from scratch, taking it so high in his prime that everyone wanted a piece of it. Be it driving in a seat for the team, changing parts as a mechanic or simply having shares in it.

It was basically the shit. The pinnacle of rally in the whole of Japan.

The team became a national sensation. So many influential people, from mere businessmen to politicians, even foreigners were so interested in it and helping it expand. It genuinely felt like the only way for him was up, flying like a rocket towards the legends' hall of fame.

It went like that for a while. He was beaming with happiness, unable to understand where all that luck came from. But like everything good, it didn't last. Once he started to question it all, it was like a switch flipped inwards and it all fell to ruins.

Everything started going wrong.

All of a sudden, the cars started missing parts the night before races. They had engine failures mid-race in almost every stage, followed by DNF's on every scoreboard. And those aren't even the most shocking things that happened. You name the tragedy and it definitely happened to Suruki Racing at one point in disastrous, life-changing, career-ending type of things.

The mess piled up more and more, and it showed, despite dad's efforts to stay afloat. Contract deals with sponsors started falling through, losing funding for a lot of parts and investments in equipment. Then the drivers got fed up with the constant failed races and blamed the car or the team if they felt like it. They terminated their contracts way before their terms were up under the pretense that they wanted different things... which were not related to Suruki Racing. The mechanics chose to stay, a few of them anyways, but it wasn't nearly enough to keep going.

The team ripped at the seams and slowly but surely ran into the ground and dad couldn't find at least one reason why it happened. It was like a curse you couldn't get rid of and I saw it happen first-hand.

The late nights he would spend in the garage trying new parts that kept failing with every test on the car. The way he would go as low as begging the drivers to come back offering them money he didn't have because no driver, rookie or experienced, didn't even bat an eye once the name of the team was mentioned.

Lost, penniless and with a heavy heart, he had to sit and watch the one thing he loved the most on earth rust away little by little, no matter what he would do to prevent it.

Mom called it karma for his reckless racing days because as talented as he was, the road forgives no one. That you can be God's favourite and still lose everything. And he didn't want to understand that. He never did.

I was too young to help back then. Too young to understand what Suruki Racing meant to him. Too young to do the only thing I could do to save it.

Until now.

So, let's try that again, shall we?

Name's Rai Suruki, driver for Suruki Racing 2.0.

Another knock to your helmet, echoing in your head louder than the first, brought you back to the real world for good this time. Mechanics rushed around you to finish the set up on the car before you were called up to take your spot in front of the race marshal, which from a quick glance at the scoreboard would be soon.

Looking to your left, you were met with a set of dull brown eyes, messy jet black hair, a funky moustache and an extremely creased forehead for his middle age, all belonging to your co-driver, Don Tanaka. He's another legend of the sport.

Former training coach for some of the current biggest teams in the WRC, with a CV of experiences surpassing most people that have been in rally for longer. On top of all that, he is an even bigger friend of your father's. When he called him up asking for an old favour to train you, he couldn't say no.

But if it was up to commenting, you'd say he was one of the biggest fools for giving up a lavish salary with so many perks for one favour, especially for your old fart of a father. Driving with him was great, but training with him was hell on Earth.

"I was doing my mantra," you reasoned, trying to get him off your case.

"Your mantra sucks."

He is an absolute joy to be around, isn't he?

"Well," you turned to him in your seat with a tight-lipped smile, "you're the one choosing to be co-driver to a young adult at your ripe age of 40. If I was you I would've picked something more calming, like gardening."

Bringing his hand to his chin in thinking, he sat in silence for a moment before he spoke.

"That doesn't sound so bad right now," he went on trying to push your buttons.

"Oh, shush," you waved him off, turning back to the wheel.

If there was one thing he liked doing, it was keeping you in check by poking fun at you. He was like that one uncle you could always go to with your secrets or to ask for extra pocket money, but in return he liked to tease the fuck out of you for it. Every. Single. Time.

As much as you hated his antics, you did kind of owe him a lot. He was the one who caught your talent for racing early on, back when you would drive plastic mini cars made from scraps around the team garage like you had years of experience. A few drifting maneuvers around old tires done like a pro at the cool age of 8, and he was sold on you and your potential.

Amongst all the teasing and the pain of having to train like a man, you've spent enough time with him to know you could count on him for literally anything. He was the best co-driver you could ask for and you wouldn't want anyone else in that seat directing your fate for the world.

He knew what it took to annoy you greatly in order to deliver on the dirt track and prove yourself. Especially now, since you were the only woman on highly occupied male territory.

Racing is a man's world. With as many female advancements in motorsport as there were today, the majority of the community was still not convinced that a woman could drive better than a man or even compete alongside a whole grid of their species. They can regard you, acknowledge your existence, but they would never accept you.

Your father knew your entry to the championship would stir up a lot of unwanted attention, besides the fact that he was basically reviving a cursed team and you happened to be the poster face for it this time around. It sounded like a catastrophe in the making.

Frankly, you were ecstatic to get to drive an actual race car outside of the junior series and helping the team get back to its rightful place, restoring its deserved glory. But you knew it wasn't going to be easy work. Especially, since public enemy number one - the press - was going to try and tear you to sparkly shreds for a lot of reasons. An attack that they started before any official information was out.

A few months ago, when the announcement of Suruki Racing's comeback after ten years of inactivity hit the WRC, the media had a field day with it.

They criticized your father for being a nutjob that didn't know when to quit. They smeared Don Tanaka's name like he didn't make most of the drivers currently selling their dying papers. They even tried to get paid scoops from anyone involved with the team in the slightest.

But the team had one wildcard left to play before pulling the curtains for good and giving them the satisfaction that they ruined it.

You.

The press didn't know about you. No one in the other teams knew about you. Thanks to your father's extremely private life, no one even knew of your existence. The only people that did were your team in the garage that saw your face every single day, from the mechanics to your personal PR agent.

Even walking into the circuit grounds this morning, long hair down over your shoulders, sporting the team gear in plain sight, no one batted an eye at you. Even if they did, they would think you were involved with technical or marketing - though even that was a rarity in this universe - or worse, just another groupie looking to get one of the drivers under your hood.

Your father wanted to give everyone a show they'll never forget by having you drive the first race in the calendar without a proper introduction. No car reveal. No interviews. No pre-race press conference. Just a car and its driver.

This way they would judge your driving before they actually got to judge you for being a woman at the wheel of a three hundred horsepower beast. He trusted you and your judgement on the track far more than the lousy press setting you up for fail. They would get a proper car show and speech after the race anyway. It was out of the ordinary but that kinda summed up Hiro Suruki and his bipolar personality.

The distorted sound of a megaphone, followed by the voice of the race marshal called you to the start line.

"Car 7, Rai Suruki for Suruki Racing, you're up next!"

You could already see everyone turning their eyes to your station, booming cheers going quiet, turning into sharp murmurs.

Time to get this show going.

Rolling up your windows to block the world, you put the car in gear and drove to the start line, waiting for the green light. Looking out at the lines in the road ahead of you spotting the first hazard ahead, the nerves climbed up your spine faster than your engine could pump the pistons for pressure.

You prepared for this for most of your life, but if you were being honest, it all got a little too real now, sitting with your foot hovering above the gas pedal ahead of the moment that could make or break your career before it even started. The very moment that could be a step forward to restoring your father's name, getting the team back on track in a new age of rally racing. The moment for a change.

No pressure, right?

"Raiko," your co-driver called your name, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the road, gloved fingers tightening on top of the wheel with a small snap. "Do you remember the course?"

"Yes."

"Good. All set?"

"I think so."

"Raiko, look at me."

"You're not my style."

"Raiko," his voice turned more serious and deep with warning. With another sigh into the small, cramped space for breathing your helmet provided, you turned to him. "You've got this. Let's prove everyone wrong."

He was right. You could do this.

Let's prove everyone wrong.

The race marshal started the countdown, walking from the front of your car to the side, each number in the count descending with your nerves. You loosened the hold on the wheel, stretched your legs to the pedals and let out a deep breath.

"3."

It's not about how fast you go.

"2."

It's about how long you go fast.

"1."

Fast like lightning.

"GO!"

A soon as the lights went green, you hit the throttle and took off into the dirt, raising the dust behind you. You skidded off to the side a little due to the gravel but you got control of it before anyone could notice.

Tokai was a pretty difficult course to rally depending on which stages got picked for the day. More forest terrain gave way to hard roads, receding in wheel control, gaining insane suspension pressure. This one was more of an open valley terrain, which was a bit safer, but the later you got the okay to race, the more dust and gravel from other drivers would pile up in front of you, making visibility dangerously low. The corners were way too tight and one second off from Tanaka's directions or a mishap of your footing could cost you and put your car on the sidelines.

"5 left over crest," Tanaka paced you for the upcoming hill and you prepared to release the throttle.

"1 left 100."

Wheels back on the ground, you resumed pressing the pedal as a hairpin portion came into view. The cloud of dust in front of you was chalky and you had to get through it before it raised higher. Putting the car in second gear, you got ready for the drift portion. You had to be extra careful here. The mechanic in chief told you to go easy as the rear could send you into oversteer, throwing off the balance of the car and fuck up the race completely.

Listening to your gut, you waited for the right time then tapped the brake, cut the wheels and pressed the throttle, sliding across the portion. Loud cheers and whistles erupted as the crowd in the stands got up to watch you complete a perfect drift.

"3 right don't cut."

Reduce pace and prepare for a possible road hazard.

You slowed down and sure enough a bump in the road came up. If you missed that one and took it at 120 kmph, it would've projected you off the track, crashing the car hard into the rocky wall like a cereal box. Thankfully, you swerved around it, feeling the car lift off the ground on the left for a bit before it fell back down.

"6 right very long."

Hard left into a tight corner.

"Cut 8 left."

Tight corner requiring you to follow a straight line in the curb.

This was the last and worst corner on the track. You were lucky it didn't rain because this is where your car can skid off into the stands. You caught the straight line pretty fast, cutting a few seconds off your lap time without slowing down.

Following the rest of Tanaka's directions and focusing on the rest of the road, the race finished before you knew it. You liked the state you were in as you drove, mind clear of everything else because as soon as the adrenaline in your body decreased, your brain got bombarded by all kinds of issues.

Did I push the new suspensions too hard? God, I hope I didn't scratch the rear in the hairpin. Was my timing too off on that last corner? I should've practiced it more.

Driving back to your team's station, you sent all those worries at the back of your head and got out to watch the screen showing the score board just as it updated to display the new track times since you were the last to go.

1. Akira Shinkai - Sigma Racing Academy - 1.23.40

2. Naozumi Hiyama - Spica Racing Factory - 1.23.59

3. Rai Suruki - Suruki Racing - 1.24.25

"WE BAGGED THIRD PLACE?!" you yelled throwing off your helmet onto the car seat.

"WE SURE DID," Tanaka high fived you, beaming with energy just like you.

"That's 15 points on the first stage! Well done, lightning strike," he ruffled your hair as you snickered, nose scrunching up with a smile at the gesture you were already accustomed to.

"The car held up a lot better today than in testing. Maybe we lifted the curse," you wiggled your eyebrows at him at which he flicked your forehead. "Ow, what did you do that for?"

"Don't jinx it. We still have two more stages to go."

"But-"

Before you could say anything else, you were interrupted by angry shouting coming from the station next to you.

"I told you to not touch the third gear," yelled a strained voice.

You walked to the side of your station, peeking your head by the team banner, and watched the heated exchange between one of the drivers and his mechanic. Your eyes wandered to the car sitting in the middle, not one hand touching it for the regular post-race check up. From the different strokes of sky blue layered over stark white, the red and blue sponsor stickers and the carbon spoiler, you recognized it to be Spica Racing's.

"It doesn't matter now," shouted another voice, so annoyed and sure of themselves as if they owned the place. "I got a good lap record this time."

"What would you do if you had to retire in the middle of the race?" shot the mechanic, chastising the driver for being careless.

He got up in his face, towering over him though the other was much taller than him.

"We won't win if I don't attack!" he yelled back, throwing his hand in the air to make a point. "The moment I think of being scared I will lose. I won't make that mistake. So just do your job and fix the car."

With that final remark, he rounded the car to walk away from the station but his steps halt once he noticed you in the corner, now standing in full sight just at the line between your stations.

Quickly replacing the scowl on his face with what was probably his natural smirk, he came to you, stopping short of the barrier separating you.

"I don't do autographs, but for you I can do more than that," he says, flashing his extremely cocky smirk at you, adding a suggestive wink to go with the whole menu.

Ew.

Taking a small step back hoping his vibes wouldn't envelop you, you uncrossed your arms from your chest and lifted an eyebrow at him.

"I don't want your autograph."

Taken aback at your rejection, he backed up slightly too and looked you up and down, taking in your deep blue and dark gold team fireproofs and the suit tied messily around your waist. The old, way out of fashion colours seemed to ring a bell.

"Suruki Racing...," he starts doubtful, a little too focused on the writing littered over your left breast. "The shithole that revived from the ashes? Are you a mechanic, a co-driver or something for them? If you are, why don't you jump ships? I wouldn't mind having you on my team instead." He finished his speech of intent with another shit-eating grin.

Who the fuck is this guy?

The audacity that wafted off him must definitely make him popular with the ladies.

"I don't think we've met before," you extended your hand out to him, curt and polite, like a normal person would do, introducing yourself. "Rai Suruki, driver for Suruki Racing," emphasizing your role in the team so he got it through his head that you weren't some bimbo. If you were, you'd make sure your fist decorated his face in pretty red bruises before anything else.

He straightened back, smirk gone from his face in all sense of the word. It got replaced by some kind of curiosity. Looking between you and your palm hanging in the air he looked confused to say the least. He's heard about female racers before and seen some working in technical around the place, he's just never seen one stand against him on track.

Tired of being polite to someone who obviously has never heard about manners, you were about to retract your extended hand when he caught it in a firm grip and pulled it towards him, just holding it instead of shaking it. The move sent you forwards, almost barreling into him when your reaction response kicked in to steel you a safe distance away.

Maybe Tanaka's intense survival program pays off sometimes.

"So," he began and you wondered if he was about to say something intelligent or spew more shit with that mouth of his. He decided to choose the latter. "You're the one driving the Beetle dupe right there?"

Eh, come again?

Your eyes widened at him, looking at where his finger was pointed to confirm that he was pointing at your car and not anywhere else, then you whirled your head back at him appalled.

"B-Beetle dupe?!"

"I thought you were a guy."

Wouldn't be the first time I heard that one.

You took your hand back from his hold, wiping it on the sleeves of the suit hanging on your hips in the hopes that it would wipe off the disgust you were feeling too. It didn't but it was worth a try.

"It's the name," you replied through gritted teeth.

He backed up some more to scan you again, though more attentively this time, like you were some kind of illegality, cooked up from the pits of his imagination. You gave him your best front, hardening your jaw and rolling your shoulders backwards, proving you were more than a pair of boobs and a vagina, which was apparently his deranged first impression of you.

You deserved to be here. No amount of stares from the male specimen, surprised or with sinful intentions, could ever make you back down from this. This was yours to take on. No man could take this from you. Not him anyway.

So, you stared him down too, trying to find something else beside the extreme big dick energy and unsurmountable lack of scruples bathing him in the jackass façade he's got going on. Struggling to see anything else but some disdain in the way he crossed his arms over his broad chest, a rich prick attitude from how he shifted on his legs like the world owed him golden lingos every time he breathed, and some leftover rage from the screaming match with his mechanic still present in the tick of his jaw, you let your eyes meet his own in conclusion of your very own analysis.

Yeah, there's nothing else in there. An ambulant douchebag. Just like I thought.

Flashing cameras were suddenly thrown in your faces, interrupting the intense stare-down between you. The press and some people, potentially fans of other teams by their t-shirts, surrounded you from every corner of the plastic barrier around the two stations, pushing each other over the race marshals that tried their hardest to keep them away. It wasn't long until they pushed over the barrier.

Too absorbed in the chaos, you didn't notice he leaned down to your ear but when you did, you stilled in your shoes, all blood draining into your pounding stomach. He spoke close and low, so only you could hear his words.

"Don't get too comfortable around here, rookie," he whispered, his breath hitting the shell of your ear that made hot shivers run down your extremely clothed spine. "Let's see how long you last in here because this season might just be your first and last."

Pulling away with another one of his smirks that were starting to get on your nerves, he regarded you once more before he walked off in amusement to his cool-down room, giving you a full view of his broad back.

Oh, just you wait -

A reporter shoved into the human barrier of orange and green safety vests reaching the railing, yanking it back and forth repeatedly until the poor plastic seal broke off, letting everyone else pool in around you.

Uh-oh. This wasn't good.

They packed around you like wolves on their prey, all shouting different things at you while shoving their big cameras, recording devices and phones in your face. The flashes blinded you, turning the world white and too bright for it to be natural light from the clouded sky above.

Your hands shot up on instinct to cover your eyes from the flaring lights as your ears focused on filtering through the blaring sounds of camera clicks and voices. Then the countless questions registered clear as day, hitting you like a truck at full speed.

"Are you Rai Suruki, daughter of Hiro Suruki?"

"Where did your father get the money to restart the team?"

"Is your car even going to last a season?"

"Do you consider yourself a challenge to the rest of the drivers?"

I guess that was it for mystery, dad.

Some of the other teams passed by the ruckus, sparing quick judgmental glances or sending disgusting sneers your way like that was the way they initiated your welcome ceremony at the gates of the jungle.

If this was any other series, you would've been so welcomed by the rest of the grid and treated somewhat better by the media and the fans. But this was the World Rally Championships.

Driving was dirty. Talk was filthy, full of disrespect and unspoken trials of envy between each driver. The press competed to see who would get your head on a pike first and parade it as the story of the century.

Most important of all, respect was fought for, not earned.

It was a different game. One where you needed to play even if you didn't want to so in turn you wouldn't get played. Survival of the fittest truly.

You steeled your gaze, waving the reporters off and digging a hole through the crowd, successfully escaping away to your pit crew. Helping with packing up bits and pieces and taking your own stuff, you headed back to your team quarters, aware of the intensifying stares belonging to the rest of the teams still around their stations, talking about the first day in this season's calendar being an interesting one.

You had a feeling you and the team were the hot topic of conversation since you could feel their eyes searing deep holes into your back, burning hotter and doing more damage than flame-lit arrows aimed straight at you ever could. Tanaka wrapped an arm around you giving you his curled moustache smile, sympathizing with you.

Looking up at the sky darkening in mauve and pink, you let a small smile grace your lips. At least today was done. Your rally racing career has officially started. The team was back in business.

This first stage was just one of the many challenges still to come. Who knew what else was on the way?

As you trudged on the warm asphalt, warmed by the mid-spring heat of March, there was one thing you knew for sure.

This is gonna be a long season.

Next

Thank you for reading :) As always leave a like, comment or reblog!

[thekingofwinterblog]

Oghren Branka - A Broken Dwarf

Out of all of the original Dragon Age Origins companions, I've always found Oghren to be the most fascinating one in how rare it is to see someone actually do a full breakdown of the alcoholic, berserker dwarf, despite arguably having the most interesting and deep under the surface aspects to his character.

So i'll rectify that here, by doing a full delve into Ogren as a character, and the rather tragic tale of the last member of house Branka.

Oghren was a member of Orzammar's warrior caste, bred, born, and raised to be a warrior, a role that by all accounts he excelled at.

Oghren is famous for being probably the biggest alcoholic in the franchise, but according to lore, this actually wasn't a part of his personality before way later down the line, and came about due to a spiral downwards.

Oghren, like all warrior caste dwarves was raised to be an absolute killing machine, who's life was going to be devoted to killing darkspawn, and killing more darkspawn, and then killing more darkspawn.

This part of his life, Oghren excelled at. He was great at killing his enemies from day one, and won fame and glory.

Unfortunately, the thing that defined Oghren as a person, was the very brutal struggle, of, and Bioware's take on how hard it is for soldiers to reintegratd into societies after their states does everything they can to make them into tools for killing.

And in Oghren's case, this began with his family.

When young, Oghren was interested in a young woman named Felsi.

The two hit it off quite well, only for Oghren to be forced into a political marriage with a certain woman named Branka from the smithing caste, a political match that was seen as mutually beneficial at the time.

This marriage was the single worst thing that ever happened to Oghren and everyone he had ever cared about.

Branka would in very short time rise to become a Paragon, the only one in living memory, a living ancestor in Dwarven Society, making her the most powerful and influential woman in Orzammar, but that part is not the one I want to focus on.

Instead I want to focus on Oghren and Branca's relationship, and how it quickly fell apart.

Their relationship started okay, and in the first year there doesn't seem to have been that many problems. Things would change however.

Branca, as we learn from Oghren's talk had plenty of serious mental issues, like massive and spontaneous mood swings, and a tendency for sudden violence for the smallest offenses.

The innitial target of which seems to have been her her husband Oghren.

Oghren makes no secret of the fact that Branca was pretty violent with him, in particular the fact that she seriously damaged the hearing on one of his ears, and once attacked him for misplacing her tongs.

Also, there is a bit of subtleness to Oghren's design that adds to how bad this relationship became for him.

Oghren has a permanent injury around one of his eyes, which makes it look like he's always squinting. The most likely culprint being his wife hitting him with something heavy and blunt, which never healed properly, giving him his iconic squinty eyed look.

We don't have anything to suggest Oghren ever actually defending himself physically from his wife, but if his own testimony is to be believed, their usual way of making up after one of these outbursts was makeup sex, which suggest that there was a rather sad cycle of spousal abuse, regret, then make up in the form of sex, then another bout of abuse, then rinse and repeat.

The usual cycle really.

Things got more complicated however, once Branka became a paragon, putting her firmly above her husband in rank as far as she could go.

And it's here that Oghren's life really began to take a turn for the worst, and where the drunkard who drowns himself in alchohol to try and forget how shitty his life is really began.

In very short succession, Branka, likely due to the mounting pressure upon her after becoming paragon, turned far worse towards Oghren, and their marriage began to rapidly crumble. But her becoming paragon had other consequences as well, the most obvious being that Branka became the head of the household, and absorbed Oghren's entire family into the new house of Branca under her.

Branka then began to shun Oghren completely, making her disdain for him open for all to see, while also cuckolding him with his own cousin Hespith(though Oghren wouldn't learn about that until years later).

This in turn, made Oghren's entire family follow suit, and he was quickly completely isolated and shut off from his own family, the same family that forced him into this marriage in the first place.

Oghren had already begun drinking to try and cope with his failing marriage at this point, and the way his entire family turned their back on him to please Branka just kicked that dependence off the deep end.

Then Branka committed herself to her great folly, and over Oghren's objections, took their entire family with them on her mad quest into the deep roads for a magical anvil... While forcing Oghren to stay behind so she could get to fuck her lover hespith on the side as she pleased without him around.

Needless to say, though Oghren didn't completely understand the full reasons for why everyone considered him a laughingstock at this point(the relationahip with Hespith was an open secret in Orzammar) , he kore than felt the effects of being alone, forgotten and abandoned by his family in a city that ridiculed him while still demanding he go out and kill darkspawn for them.

It was at this point that the Oghren we all know really began, as Oghren drowned himself in booze, embraced terrible jokes, and became the man with the most inappropriate pick up lines there is, desperate for anyone to give him any affection at all.

It was at this point Oghren for the first time cheated on his declared dead wife, seeking out Felsi. The renewed relationship did not last long. Oghren's downward spiral had already completely changed his personality, and she quickly left him.

At this point, Oghren really was at his lowest. Abandoned by everyone he had ever loved, alone, only having booze for comfort, and still having to regularly go out and fight darkspawn.

It's also here we see some of Oghren's hidden noble side, as at one single point he refused to buckle on, and that was his wife's fate.

Oghren refused(correctly) to assume Branka was dead and would pester the government time, and time, and time again to send out a rescue party to find her and bring her home.

Nobody took him seriously, and instead treated him like a joke... All the way until a young noble mocked Branka in his hearing and made it plain for all to hear that Branka could not possibly have survived that long in the deep roads.

The end result was that Oghren, in a drunk rage challenged the young man to a duel, then killed him, when it was supposed to be a duel to first blood.

Oghren thus changed from drunk pest, to dangerous pest.

In the end he was stripped of his house and the right to bear arms or fight in the city ever again, but was still demanded he fought darkspawn when the time came.

Oghren talks about this in his conversations with the Warden, how the city would turn their warriors into killing machines, strip them of all rules, morals and thoughts except kill and kill, and kill some more... Then put them right back into society, and bind them, and the rage they spent so long training you harness with rules and regulations. Add this with the fact that they will still demand you go out an fight at a moment's notice, it's not hard to see how warriors like Oghren came to be.

It's at this point Oghren has hit seeming rock bottom.

Alone, a joke in a city that will alternate between mocking, and spit on him, no right to defend himself, while still having to go go out and risk life and limb for it.

The only thing that keeps him going at this point, is the desperate hope that Branka and his family might still be alive.

Which brings us to the one soul who might bring him out of his stupor, depending on player choices.

The Hero of Ferelden.

The Hero of Ferelden scoffs at the claims Branka is dead and delves into the deep roads, and takes Oghren along for the ride, looking for her.

It's here that Oghren begins to form some sort of personal bonds again, where he will find the one person who is willing to put up with him, and all his flaws and possibly see him as a friend.

As the team heads into the deep roads however, they discover the horrible truth.

Branka, in her madness and desperate search for the anvil, sacrificed Oghren's entire family to the darkspawn, intentionally creating broodmothers so she'd have a never ending supply of darkspawn pawns to throw at the anvil defences.

It's not really given the full focus it deserves, because Oghren isn't the kind of person who just lets out absolutely everything, but this moment, this revelation destroys Oghren.

It's the moment where he pretty much just gives up on life, and only follows the Warden around to find a place to die.

In the end, regardless of what you do, his relationship with Branka is over at this point, wheter you save or spare her, leaving him with the knowledge that his entire family is dead and gone, and he's the last one.

At this point he becomes what is seemingly nothing more than comic relief, and due to the unfortunate way Orzammar is struxtured, its usually done last before the landsmeet, meanjng most players won't see most of the deeper parts of Oghren, as they require some prodding to see.

Most notably of these is what happens if you bring him to the guardian at the temple, where the old man wants everyone to relay their sins and regrets, only for Oghren to cut him off when his time comes, and say this:

Why don’t I save you some time? Yes, I wish I could have saved my family from Branka. I wish I’d been a better mate. Maybe she’d have stayed at home with a belly full of baby Oghren and never gone for the anvil. Maybe I failed her. Yes, I came to the surface because I’m barely a dwarf anymore. My family is dead. My honor as a warrior is long gone. I’ve lost my caste and my house and I have nothing else to lose.

This display is really, really sad for a number of reasons, not only because of how far down Oghren has fallen at this point, but also because frankly speaking, Oghren did nothing wrong with Branka. He was the victim here, and yet despite that, he still lays all the blame on himself. It was his fault his family died. It was his fault for being a shitty husband. Not Branka's. His.

Beyond this, Oghren has other interesting observations that shows he is quite a bit more impressive than the sorry, alcoholic cassanova wannabe that he acts as.

He's the only character who figures out that Shale actually remembers killing her master, and that she regrets killing him, as rather than a conscious choice, it was a moment of her completely losing control, just like he did in the proving match so long ago.

He also proves himself a bizarrely good brewmaster, impressing Wynne and the warden withouth the proper facilities to make proper alchohol, and he's the only one who offers any plausible counter explanation for the powers of the temple of sacred ashes other than the power of god(which may or may not be on the money.).

He is also learned in history, and knows the andrastian religion and it's historical players very well for a dwarf, even seemingly having a personal disdain for Hessarionz who he calls a pompous prat.

At this point, where he goes from there is up to the PC's choices, but regardless, there is a lot more to Oghren than meets the eye, far more than the stupidly stereotypical dnd dwarf he presents himself as, in a setting where the dwarves are not all the same as Tolkien's.