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kiss-me-muchoo · 1 year ago

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𝐖𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲… || 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠!𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ As a punishment for helping Coriolanus to cheat on the games, you’re sent to serve as a nurse in District 12 for the summer. He had to choose between Lucy Gray and you. He just needed a reason to pick you, luckily the songbird gave him one in time before you were gone. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ evil nurse!reader x peacekeeper!Coryo, very slight canon divergence, jealousy, sexism, stalking, nudity, reader is a little crazy and evil, you can’t trust her feelings, angst, beef with Lucy Gray (I <3 her irl), blowjob lol, buzzcut!Coryo fucks reader in the lake so MDNI 18+, this is so fucked up tbh. 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞_ reader is mentally unreliable. Song of course is liability, I know it won’t work, Will you cry? And buzzcut season lol. All in my playlist, It’s the worst and will disappoint you.

♪ ♫ The worst playlist 4 Coriolanus Snow ✰ Index (+ fics here)

____________________________________________

You’ve made big mistakes.

You accept it looking at the lake, ripping the delicate petals of a wildflower. Having to say goodbye to your summer vacations after graduation was fair. Your parents convinced Dr.Gaul to have some mercy on you. You wanted to die when they convinced her that you did it because you were a girl in love. You helped Coriolanus to find the aisle where the snake's tank was going to be picked up.

You were so in love that you only wanted to help your lover. Coriolanus was far from being your lover. You heard him countless times making fun of you. And you still helped him because your good heart wanted to see him winning the prize.

And what did you get? Serving as a nurse in the worst district for the whole summer.

It’s been two weeks. And the only good thing is the evening, where you like to kill time alone, in the silent woods. The moment to breathe and realize how naïve you had been. You deal with the damage Coriolanus had done to you. And the worst part is that he couldn’t care less. He only had eyes for his songbird after all.

And that’s what boiled your blood. That it was her and not you.

There’s already a little pile of dry flowers around you, from all the previous days you were at the same position as now. The days passed and you weren’t ready to let go. You needed to find a way to forget about him. “Damn it…” you whisper, cringing at all the memories, rage invading you, violently throwing the flower in your hands and wiping away the tears.

When you return to the medical aisle, you need to pass by the military camp. You were obviously a Capitol girl. Anyone with a golden watch and lip tint was. Since day one, many peacekeepers have asked you out. They wanted to spend the night with you. But you weren’t in the mood to lose your virginity yet. You were stressed, angry, embarrassed, but you tried to put your best face.

“Y/N! IS THAT YOU?” You turn confused. Only to find Sejanus Plinth. It genuinely made you smile seeing him.

“Sejanus? What are you doing here?” You ask for a hug. His hair had to be gone, he had the peacekeeper uniform. You were extremely confused.

“The real question is what are you doing here?” You roll your eyes.

“Coriolanus. He cheated on the games.” He sighs, nodding.

“I know. He’s here too.” Your eyes widen. He notices you are uncomfortable.

“Well, I helped him, and Dr. Gaul punished me to serve here for the summer” Sejanus seems surprised to hear it. He sees your nurse uniform, noticing the silver plaque attached in your chest. He knew women of the military with that plaque were on a higher range. In your case, probably because your father paid for you to have some commodities.

“At least you’re here” you add.

Sejanus knew you weren’t on good terms with Coryo. The boy asked for you on the train. But Sejanus hadn’t heard from you. Which apparently left Coriolanus slightly disappointed.

“Yeah. I’m here… we’ll have a good time. Promise” honestly, you were relieved to see him. But just by remembering that Coriolanus was also near you, it made you wish you were still alone.

“Any plans for tonight?” He asks, smiling.

You only had three friends. All girls from District 1 and 2. They were serving just because they were kind and wanted higher chances to get into University. They comforted you and Fridays were for two things. Going to the most famous bar, where Lucy Gray performed. Or going to a secret and elegant club for people with enough status.

“On downtown’s Main Street. A block to the left, the second alley. Tell the guy at the entrance you know me. Use my full name” your friend giggles, slowly moving away.

“You’re unbelievable” as you go back to your private room with your new friends. You can only think of how to avoid encountering Coriolanus for the rest of the summer.

It was enough for him. You wouldn’t even breathe near him. It was you, always offering subtle love. And he gave nothing back.

…

Lucy Gray was such a warm and sweet girl. Her dress with flowers and detailed boots added something to her performance.

Her voice was hypnotizing, her smile so pure and her hair so soft. It was the third night Coriolanus watched her perform. He smiled, drinking something. It was a humble bar, but the most famous one. He looked around looking for Sejanus. Last night he never appeared either. Coriolanus was growing worried, noticing his friend was starting to contemplate rebellious acts to help the people. Always trying to be the hero. As Lucy Gray finished her song, Sejanus appeared. A big smile on his face.

“Where have you been?” The blonde asked.

“You have to promise me you won’t freak out” Coriolanus rolled his eyes.

“Y/n was punished for helping you to cheat. Gaul sent her here to serve as a nurse for the summer.” His eyes almost popped out.

He had completely forgotten about you. He cringed, already expecting to have you all over him.

“Does she know I’m here?” Sejanus nodded.

“Yeah. She wasn’t happy when I mentioned you.” Coriolanus suddenly remembered that the last time he talked to you, you cursed him. You got mad after he didn't even offer a thank you for your help. Coriolanus realized at that moment that you hoped he would choose you over Lucy Gray. Which didn’t happen.

“She has access to the club reserved for high status military personnel. I won’t say this is bad but there is better…” he looks at his songbird. Everyone cheered for her, but…

Suddenly, Coriolanus doesn't like that Sejanus had spent last night partying with you.

“Take me there.” He says, looking at his friend.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. She stated very clearly that-“

“Sejanus… I need to see her. I won’t cause any disturbance.” After a minute of debating, Sejanus stands up and tilts his head, telling Coriolanus to get out of the bar.

It’s a fair distance. Coriolanus has no idea where he is going. Until the end of an alley seems to have some hallway that irradiates red lights.

“Here it is.” Sejanus points out.

There’s a man with a different peacekeeper uniform. He asks Sejanus who invited him.

Coriolanus hears your full name for the first time. He learns you have two names and two last names. At the Academy you only used one of each.

“How do you know her full name?” He asks Sejanus when the man lets them inside the place.

The red lights start changing, mixing with crystal chandeliers and velvet walls.

“Our parents have made some deals in the past.” Coriolanus wants to know more. He needs more details about how you ended up in the same place as him. He doesn’t think you also paid to change districts like him.

“Hey. Whatever you plan to say to her, apologize to her. She’s a girl a million would pay to have. She just wanted to help you, Coryo” he doesn’t know how to take Sejanus. He sure sounded like always, the friend trying to give advice. But he also sounded… like he was one of the millions who would pay to have you. Coriolanus didn’t feel pleased.

Finally, the place is crowded. And the people inside look different than the ones at the bar. These people looked very clean and elegant to be in District 12.

The music is live jazz, the smell of pure tobacco and laughs everywhere. Coriolanus feels like he fits there. And he promises to talk with Lucy Gray the next day. After he left the bar she would ask where he did go.

But for now, his eyes start searching for you. A man in a suit that looked very Capitol started talking. Daring all the beautiful women there to dance, promising to crown one as the star of the night.

He hears a group of females laughing. And when he spots the group, you are being pushed to the dance floor.

Since Sejanus is nowhere to be found, Coriolanus makes his way closer to you.

He sees your natural hair down and wavy. Cranberry lips and gentle purple eyeliner around your eyes. A simple mauve dress, and he almost chokes about it.

Tigris made that dress. You asked her one day at the Academy. If she could make a dress from elegant fabric. Tigris said that she didn’t have enough to make a full gown. You didn’t care, you just hoped she could do something.

Coriolanus remembered Tigris making the dress late one night. And he tolerated you even less for making his cousin work harder. That was long forgotten when you paid her and referenced her to work with a friend of your mother.

You looked totally different. Not the same annoying material girl he knew at the Capitol. This humble version of you was totally attractive to Coriolanus.

He couldn’t tell if you were dancing tap, swing or something else, but you were good at it. A couple of times, he heard you talking with Clemensia and Arachne, about your winter concert or rehearsals. Now, it was evident you were good at dancing.

You laugh and people cheer for you. Mostly men, which for some reason makes Coriolanus tense his jaw.

The mauve fabric shined disguised under the chandeliers, and maybe it was just the sight of seeing you happy, or the way the dress hugged your body. But it made him smile. For the first time, Coriolanus feels a positive feeling about seeing you. He wants to talk to you. But he isn’t sure what he’ll say. So he opts to just see you for the night. He can see a slight layer of sweat on your forehead after two songs have passed. The crowd seemed to want you to win. And it only makes you more eager to do so.

In your head, this was a big distraction. It was the only moment of the week where you felt happy and free. It makes you forget about your pending University admission and all the drama. About your silly actions and disappointments.

The way your friends cheer and joke about making a bet to see who’d win between you and the other girl left. You really are having fun.

Until the remaining girl surrenders. It feels great. Being crowned as the star of the night, leaving the dance floor with so much admiration and looking over you.

Coriolanus sees how you cheer with your friends. You laugh and he swore he had never seen you smile and laugh so much. Maybe you are a little tipsy. He can’t tell, but after some minutes, one of your friends leaves with a man. The other two stay drinking, and you say your goodbyes.

Your dark coat covers everything once you’re ready to leave. And Coriolanus knows he shouldn’t, but he does it anyway. He starts following you.

Internally, he claims he did it because he thought it wasn’t safe for you to go back to the medical aisle in the middle of the night.

It’s not a long way. And Coriolanus notices how close his bed is to yours, literally.

He feels like an animal, following his prey. Only that he doesn’t intend to hurt you. Not more than he already had.

His legs act by themselves it seems. He keeps venturing into the decent building. It’s lonely and dark. Coriolanus notices that probably many nurses were already sleeping. He sees you enter a room, and he memorizes the number. Seconds later, when he’s about to leave, you come out again. A towel in your hand…

It’s his cue to leave. He knows it’s enough. He never should have followed you. Not when he was supposed to be listening to Lucy Gray and The Covey. Not when he paid to serve in District 12 for Lucy Gray.

But it’s too late because he’s already poking his head, and when his eyes meet your body, your coat and dress are on the floor. In a bench near lays a simple but naughty red pair of panties. Coriolanus feels himself getting red at the sight of the underwear, just red, no details, just red. Red like his cheeks, you are naked, under the spray of the shower.

As you’re supposed to be a person he barely tolerates, Coriolanus hates himself for admitting how beautiful you were.

The water coats your body in a gorgeous way. He sees your hair become slightly darker and falls longer across your back.

The shower smells like some summer fruit and it’s all because of your silly shampoo. Coriolanus had seen it before at the Capitol, it was expensive.

Something changes as you massage your scalp, giving Coriolanus a view of your soft and pretty stomach. Your breasts and some moles that are visible are the death of the man. He shouldn’t want to hold your waist and help you clean your body. He shouldn’t want to kiss every birthmark and mole covering you.

It’s the first time he sees a woman naked.

That night, you happily go to bed, soothing the heat wave. Some weight falls from your shoulders. And for the first time, you feel like everything was meant to happen, and it’s okay.

For Coriolanus, he has to touch himself to forget about your naked silhouette haunting his dirty mind. And when he ends, he takes a cold shower and falls into the tiny uncomfortable lower bunk. Sejanus was snoring already, some bunks without a host, probably still at the bars or sleeping with a lover.

Coriolanus is ready to sleep and pretend nothing happens. He would go back to his soft songbird by the morning.

But it doesn’t work. He knows he’s so messed up. Because you are still there, and not only your naked body. Your natural hair, sweet lips and the way you smiled, danced and laughed are there too.

…

When the sun rose, it was imminent that it was going to be a hotter day. The summer in district 12 was bright. Full of light, and green from nature in the surrounding woods. That’s not necessarily the case in the medical aisle. You woke up at 5:00 am to start your shift. Your soft hands had been classifying medicines through shelves.

“Y/n” calls one of your friends from the entrance of the storage room. She giggles after seeing you on top of the stairs, holding onto your dear life.

“Need help?” You smile, shaking your head.

“I’m okay, thanks. What happened?”

“There’s a telegram for you at the mailbox” was unusual. Only your mother called once to see how you were doing. She was still very mad at you.

“Oh, okay. I’ll go now…” with that, you hop off the stairs and leave the little box with remaining bottles on a desk.

After a minute of going downstairs in the building, you get to the mailbox. You give your name to the elder woman in the office and she hands you a cream envelope.

Making a pause in the hallway full of lockers for peacekeepers waiting for mail you open your own.

[The head of the hospital has shared with us you’re doing an outstanding job. This is what we expect from you after your return to the Capitol. Keep going and we might pull some strings to get you back earlier.

Take care, dad.]

You smile. It was enough for you. The anger was undeniably lowering. And going back to the Capitol would make you very happy. Already contemplating the perfect lie. That you went to serve as a nurse for charity, for your kind heart. Everyone would believe you, and the girls would be jealous of your bravery. Nobody would know it was a punishment.

A punishment caused by the man you had just bumped into.

He picks you the open envelope and once he hands it, he sees you.

“Y/n…” you take the envelope from his hand, avoiding the touch.

“Coriolanus” with less makeup than two nights ago, you look even more beautiful he believes. The white nurse cap was so silly, but it was part of your uniform. But he can’t help but blush after remembering how the water fell across your body. And how he touched himself that night.

“I-…Sejanus told me you were here.” Your eyebrows rise, nodding with disinterest.

“Yeah, I’m here because of you.” He sighs, realizing that his friend was right, you were really disappointed to see him.

“This isn’t what I wanted for you.” You roll your eyes. Already sick of wasting your time for him. You had been so scared to encounter him one day. But that you had him facing you, you couldn’t care less.

“Of course. Because you couldn’t care less about me…” he wants to say he actually cares. But the truth is, that before the night he saw you at the bar, he didn’t even remember you. But now, it was like you had put on a spell on him, making him want to know everything about you.

“Just stay away from sight of view and everything is going to be okay” he was shocked to hear you talk to him with much indifference. He was used to your sweet voice, asking him every morning how he was doing at the entrance of the classroom.

You were always at his feet. Helping him and doing everything so he would look down at you. And now, he actually was looking up, seeing how you went upstairs again. And he would do exactly the opposite of what you asked.

He would be everywhere if it meant seeing you again.

…

The bittersweet feeling of seeing Coriolanus stayed the whole afternoon until you finished your shift at 6:00pm. The heat was barely tolerable when the sun was almost gone. You went to the market, as you had promised to cook dinner for the girls that night.

The vegetables were fresh and there was a lot to pick. You carried a little basket filled with carrots, some potatoes and a piece of raw meat carefully folded. You were looking at some pair of earrings. They were handmade. With blue feathers and some tiny pieces of quartz. You smiled looking at them. When you were about to tell the little girl who was selling them, you felt very deep looks. And when you turn to the left, there is Lucy Gray and some of her friends from the band. She was sixteen, you were almost nineteen, you couldn’t pick a fight with her. She could hate you for being Capitol, for being such a bad mentor at the games. But maybe she didn’t knew that thanks to you she was alive. And the most important, she couldn’t hate you because of a man.

Before you can even feel awkward, you had already left the earrings and walked towards the girl.

“Is there anything I did to upset you, Lucy Gray? Because as far as I know we don’t know each other” that was the truth. You had your own motives to dislike her. But you hadn’t even turned to look at her. Unlike the songbird, who didn’t have a problem showing her disapproval of you with her face.

“Did you follow him here too?” You smiled. You didn’t know what Coriolanus had told her, or what she suggested on her own. Based on what happened, probably Lucy Gray believed you were the crazy stalker who couldn’t let go of Coriolanus Snow and his unrequited feelings for you.

“No. I was already here weeks before he arrived.” You simply answer her by looking at the notebooks in the table beside you. Lucy Gray couldn’t be jealous, but she had a bad omen about you.

“I was blinded by him once, just like you now. I helped him so you could win. Hoped he could choose me. And it wasn’t enough. He’s not the boy you think he is, Lucy Gray. You don’t know him like I do. But you can rest knowing I won’t lift a finger to make him notice me anymore” she seems surprised by your answer. But there’s no time for her to throw a rebuttal because you’re gone. Her friends gossip without her, saying how mean you were.

And Coriolanus had seen everything from a hidden corner. He was looking for Lucy Gray, already growing confused. Your words had gotten deep into his mind. While Lucy Gray was the sweetest girl he ever met, she also confused him. She had a rebellious side that he didn’t like. And you, he knew he would never be able to control you now, but he knew you would easily do the same things he did to win.

He stayed far, letting Lucy Gray to pass by with her friends. And when she was gone, out of the market, he came out.

He grabbed the same earrings you were looking at before.

…

It’s another night at the private bar. This time you know Coriolanus is there. He had the audacity to bring Lucy Gray. And you wonder if it was a good idea to tell Sejanus about the bar. Her green dress didn’t match the bar style. However, you ignore them as soon as your friends tell you they befriended a high standard peacekeeper. He had some handsome friends and they made you completely forget about Coriolanus and her songbird. You grew invested in the conversation with the men and your friends, even when one of girls makes fun of Lucy Gray and her visit to the secret bar.

Coriolanus keeps painfully turning to look at your way. He wants to go and get you out of the bar. But he already had a girl beside him. A much younger and innocent one. His anger escalates when a man takes you out to dance. You giggle as he says something in your ear. You had a pretty ruffled pink dress. Red lipstick and matching shoes.

“She looks happy…” Lucy Gray says, also looking at you.

“She isn’t happy. And that’s just an idiot” he spits pointing at the handsome peacekeeper dancing with you. He shouldn’t have said that, especially in front of Lucy Gray. But the way the man twisted you like a piece of the softest fabric, and the way he singed for you, it was taking over him.

It’s his hands that should be holding your hips. It’s his voice that should be making you dance. But Lucy Gray grabs his chin and offers him a sweet smile that makes him get lost on her brown eyes. She’s too good for him.

As he kisses her, he still feels the anger. Cause’ it should be you.

…

The roles had switched up. Coriolanus was infatuated by you. And now, you ignored him as if you never ever thought he was the love of your life.

Maybe is his hair, now short. Or maybe it is that deep sight he always has on you. The sweet boy that didn’t look on your way was gone.

As the days passed, you could feel the air changing. Telling you that your punishment would soon be over.

You flip through the pages, tons of files in the racks perfectly accommodated in the room. You read about all the frauds and corruption of the hospital and the military aisle. Enough to make you a dangerous target. So as soon as the headmistress nurse knows you have a long secret file in your memory, he gives you easy jobs.

And the dirty ones too.

Coriolanus follows you. Thought the archives rooms to the cold storage. He sees how there’s a tray ready to go. Some needles ready to pinch someone. And then you are changing the yellow liquid inside the injections, your face mask covering the small grin on your face. It makes him slightly shocked. He didn’t think you would be capable of doing such a thing. Some rumors flew across the militar camp. About a deal, between the heads of the hospital and the camp. Where they would secretly get rid of sick people from the district to stop wasting expensive medicines and other products.

But you hand the tray with an innocent smile.

And he grows worried. He can’t believe it, but he fears you could end up dead because of your little tricks. You leave early. So, he gains some confidence to follow you. He needs answers. He’s tired of following you to beg for your attention. It’s his lucky day that you chose to take the little trail that crossed the resting cabins of the peacekeepers. You walk past his cabin and his brain makes him walk faster, grab your forearm and push you inside it.

“What the hell?” You ask, startled. Looking at Coriolanus in shock.

The bunks are empty. Everyone is out.

“What were you doing? Switching the shots? You could get hanged or something else!” Suddenly you’re confused, questioning why he was caring now.

“There’s a lot more going on in the hospital than you could ever know, Coriolanus.” He understands it. And he isn’t surprised after all. Injustice happened everywhere.

But he wouldn’t easily let go.

“You could still get in trouble. Who’s making you do this?” You sigh frustrated, shrugging.

“Why do you care so much? Why can’t you leave me alone for once?” As you raise your voice, he grows impatient.

“I DO CARE ABOUT YOU!” Your silence makes him step closer.

“Seeing you dancing with that man, how he grabbed you, it boiled my blood.” Suddenly you feel nervous about his proximity.

And the cheeky asshole decided to step even closer.

“That shouldn’t be a problem for you” you do your best to keep the visual contact. But the way he’s looking at you is making it difficult. Especially after his lips are literally brushing your cheekbone.

“You are the one I desire.” He smashes his lips with yours. Honestly, you believe him. But it isn’t enough to make your heartbeats for him.

“Did you let that man touch you after you left?” You giggle, letting him wander under your nurse apron.

“My virginity is part of my pride and dignity” you answer, kissing his neck, letting his sneaky hands touch you everywhere. His right hand gropes your breast and the other is trying to hold the fat of your hip and ass like a starved man.

Your brain can’t work for some minutes. But you kiss him back. You decide he wouldn’t puppet you. Never again.

As he devours your lips, confirming you gave the softest kisses, yet passionate. You push him gently towards a random bed. And slowly, you get on your knees, dropping your nurse cap and navy blue cape to the floor.

Coriolanus is officially in shock as you drop his belt to the floor.

When he least expects it, you are already licking the tip of his cock. You make a wet mess of him. His head drops back, letting you do whatever you want.

He’s in heaven. Of course, you weren’t the most experienced but to be a virgin, you were quite an addictive lover.

In your head, you just can think about giving him pleasure. Your twisted plan would be effective as soon as he exploded. You put much effort in sucking and licking every vein of him. His length did not disappoint, and you mentally cursed as you realized he could’ve been your first time.

Coriolanus knows damn well it is over for him when his eyes meet yours. His tip met the back of your throat, and he ended up spilling his hot seed inside your mouth. You show him your tongue, covered in white, only to swallow everything. He gulps, feeling the remaining spasms of his orgasm.

“You’ll be the death of me…” he admits, taking a long breath.

As for you, you know it’s just a matter of time. If Coriolanus was so invested in making you look at him now, you would give him more reasons until he broke and admitted he couldn’t live without you.

So you clean your messy lipstick. Your nurse cap and navy cape perfectly in place and you look gorgeous in a mirror near the door.

“If anyone asks where I was, you say I went to drop some letters.” After that you don’t nothing else. He tucks himself inside his pants and stands quickly.

“Wait-” but you had already left.

…

In the night, Coriolanus starts looking out for Sejanus. He was going to ask if he wanted to go to the bar to see Lucy Gray. But he couldn’t find him. He feels his forehead sweating even in the middle of the night.

Near a little training center, he hears two recognizable voices. And when he turns into a little hallway, he sees you arguing with Sejanus.

“No, I’m not defending the Capitol, but these people are not worth risking your life, Sejanus” it’s the first thing he hears from you.

“They deserve better luck, y/n. Something we were born with.” Coriolanus sees you huffing, arms crossed as the slight wind makes your uniform cape lift.

“What’s going on?…” the blonde asks. You turn and sigh, expecting Sejanus to explain. You like to think Coriolanus would make Sejanus to think clearly. Like he did before.

There’s only silence.

“You won't tell him? I will…” you turn to Coriolanus. He can feel you are angry; you disapprove whatever it was happening with Sejanus.

“He’s helping some rebels.” Sejanus only looks down.

“They’re not rebels.”

“Well, they’re definitely not on the right track. And helping them will only lead to trouble.”

“Why are you doing this?” Coriolanus joins. He sounds tired, immediately remembering how he had to literally fight in the Hunger Games to save him.

“They are suffering. They don’t have anyone.” Sejanus replies.

“If you weren’t helping them, they would put a bullet in your head before you could even blink. They are not worth risking your life, Sejanus. I don’t want to see you hanged.”

“I appreciate your worries, y/n. I really do. But this is the least I can do after all the things my parents have aligned for me.” Your eyes water. Even after all the horrible you have done at the Capitol, as a nurse, you cared for Sejanus and Coriolanus. You might have been playing a game of manipulation with Coriolanus, but if he ended up in a mess that threatened his life, you would fear. The same for Sejanus.

“Sejanus…” Coriolanus felt slightly bad after seeing you at the verge of tears. He knew behind that new mask of indifference you were very soft.

“If something happens to you, I’m gonna live mad at you for the rest of my life. Life made us end up here for him…” you say pointing at Coriolanus.

And it’s true, you were sent to the 12 for punishment. Sejanus literally followed him just because.

“That’s enough penitence.” Feeling the tears flow, you start walking away.

Sejanus also feels wrong. But he’s confident. Both men stare at you, and different thoughts run through their heads.

“If anything happens, Coryo… Take good care of her.” Coriolanus looks at his friend.

He thinks you deserve more. He finally accepts there’s more to win by your side rather than following the songbird. Yet, he couldn’t push away Lucy Gray yet.

“I’ll take care of her, Sejanus.”

…

You don’t see the boys for the next two days. Until the night. When for emergency protocol you had to work. A fight in the bar caused some injuries to many men. So, there you are at 1:00 am sending gazes and bottles of alcohol. And when you are about to clean your own space, after a knock on your door, you see Coriolanus and Lucy Gray.

Unbelievable.

“What happened?” You ask as soon as you see him properly. The tray on your hands falls to the ground, making a loud sound. There’s blood on his face, a dark splotch on the right side of his nose. Beside him is Lucy Gray. Wearing one her bohemian dresses with her rural touch of always. You go to inspect his face.

“Got into a fight.” Coriolanus explains. You frown, thinking that is very ignorant and low. Completely disappointed of him for joining the cause.

“You got into the fight? Why?” He sighs, and Lucy Gray only huffs, helping him to sit on a bench. You ignore her, proceeding to take some cotton and equipment to stitch the little wound on his cheekbone. Your fingers are cold, and make him squirm as soon as they touch him.

“Some guy. He got violent after harassing her” of course it had to be for Lucy Gray all the commotion. Everything makes sense, the fight at the bar you listened to less than an hour ago. The songbird must’ve performed, and someone made a mess.

You can’t feel bad for her. While half of the district loved her, there was a considerable amount of people who disliked her, rumors saying she carried problems wherever she went.

“Hmm.” you have a lot to say, but you won’t spit everything at once. Coriolanus sighed, pretending it was because the alcohol was touching his skin, but it was because you weren’t pleased.

Even in his exile, he was between two women again. And while he couldn’t push away Lucy Gray, he couldn’t let you go too.

“Can you give us a moment, Lucy Gray?” he asks calmly. And maybe her reaction wasn’t meant to, but she showed that it made her uncomfortable.

“Sure. I’ll wait outside…” awkwardly she made a smile to the man seated in front of you and left.

Silence took over. You continued to clean the wound, and his deep blue eyes were locked on your face.

Finally, he was able to see your real beauty. Bare amounts of makeup. Hair down and short nails. No crazy looks, ridiculous hairstyles and cat nails. This was the real you.

“I didn’t start the fight…” he started.

“But of course, it had to be for her.” you finish for him. Again, he sighs, trying to avoid any possible irritation.

“It wasn’t her fault what happened.”

“Oh my god. Just listen to yourself! … Everything is her fault!” You burst after finishing with the needle.

“Why do you hate her so much?” He asks irritatedly, shrugging and expecting you to answer soon.

“I don’t hate her. I couldn’t care less for that poor girl. But she’s the reason why you got so obsessed with winning the damn prize. She’s the reason why you cheated and she’s the reason why you’re exiled, and I’m punished” he knows it’s true. In a matter of weeks, Coriolanus repeatedly questioned why Lucy Gray. And until two weeks ago, when he started questioning why not you.

Coriolanus smirks. Finding a way to evade a deeper conversation. He wasn't ready for the time to come where he had to decide. Lucy Gray or you.

“You sound like you’re jealous” he actually thought you would deny it.

“Of course it makes me jealous, Coriolanus!”

His smile fades away. You curse under your breath, moving aside to pick up the nursing equipment. There was no way back, and you wouldn’t lie.

“Ever since I met you, I wanted you to like me. And all I received were mean looks and judgmental jokes. About my hair, my lipstick, my dress, everything” you admit, sounding a little hurt.

“And this girl comes, and in less than two months she has you doing the impossible for her” you mumble. Coriolanus was never the romantic type. He was a man of few words and very analytical. He wasn’t a fan of the districts, so you wondered what could possibly be the reason for him to get obsessed with the songbird.

“Do you love her?” For you, it was a simple question. You always faced your feelings. But for Coriolanus, he tended to avoid his feelings.

He looked at the ground, at your boots before looking up at you.

“Why are you making this so complicated?” He asks, in hopes to avoid the real question.

“You won’t have both girls, Coriolanus.” When you come back at him, he stares directly at his view, at your waist. He focuses on the details of the grey and white fabric decorating you. There’s a tiny spot of blood near your breast, and some dirt near where he thought it was your belly button.

For sure, he knows he won’t have both girls.

“And as much as she tries to make you fit in. You don’t belong here. You and I were educated to live in The Capitol.” He’s well aware that with Lucy Gray, he would be pursuing a humble peaceful life. With you, he would be pursuing a luxurious and firm life.

The harder you are pushing his buttons, the harder you’re manipulating him. You trace his chin and neck, fingers grasping his silver chain. And you know he’s getting soft, vulnerable for your touch.

Maybe he changed his perspective of you after seeing you dance. After seeing you naked in the showers. After realising the type of woman you were.

“I would love to see when realization hits you. You’ll see that she only used you. You’ll notice that I was on your side and could’ve been for the rest of my life” his jaw tenses. He looks you in the eye again. You smile, thumb on his lower lip.

“And pretend as much as you can, selling me that face of I don’t care about you. But I know you do; you’re just blinded by the songbird. Count the days till she uses her singing against you. It’ll be too late.”

He hates losing, missing things. And you know it.

“She makes me want to be someone better.” His best attempt to soothe you makes you laugh.

“The summer will be over, and I’ll leave. She won’t inspire you to grow. She will make you lay still. I’ll be at the top of the Capitol again. And you couldn’t make your house rise…” that hit him in his pride. The fact that your words were true. He thought about Tigris and his grandmother. They deserved better.

“I want you to be someone better. And yet, you’re here. Without the prize, without being home. Just picture it… Where would you be if you had chosen me?” He really wanted to choose you. He just needed a fucking reason. But once again, you have disappeared.

…

He cared. But he cared more for himself.

That doesn't make him feel better though. He had doomed Sejanus Plinth by recording his words.

He couldn’t sleep, knowing that anything could happen the following morning. He has a tiny brown bag in his hand, clutched as if it was made of pure gold. He can’t wait, and he can’t sleep. So, he sneaks out of the camp and goes to your room. He needed to see you, he needed to choose you. That would mean leaving. Concentrating on you and his family. Pursuing the Capitol’s type of future, away from the country life.

Your friends were about to leave to go to the secret bar. And they tell him you were gone to the lake. It makes him realize how much you had to be overthinking. Just by seeing you, anyone could tell you weren’t from the districts. Spending the night in the lake wasn’t pleasant at all. With animals, mosquitoes, and the humid heat of the woods.

But he walks in the darkness. Hearing some crickets and frogs that guide him to the little visible light at the end of the trial. The more he walks towards it, the more he can distinguish you.

There you are sitting over a blanket. Reading a book, wearing a long pastel nightgown. The sight makes him smile.

He steps over a branch and makes you turn worried. But as soon as you spot him, you sigh, closing the book.

“What are you doing here?” You ask.

“I could ask the same question. It’s nearly midnight.” He sits beside you on the blanket, you only shrug, facing away from him, looking at the barely noticeable reflect of the lake under the moon.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither” there’s a lot of things he wants to say, you want to scream it too.

“I wanted to give you this…” he hands you the brown bag. Frowning, you take it, your fingers brushing his, but you opt to ignore it.

When you dig your hands inside, you feel something soft. And when you see what’s inside, you can’t help but cheekily smile.

It’s the feather earrings you wanted at the market. He probably collected the least he could to pay for them. Or maybe he traded something. It’s uncertain, but you can’t deny it warmed your heart a little.

“You saw me?” He nods, watching how you cautiously caressed the pair.

“Then you must’ve heard me too…” Coriolanus heard it. But he would pretend the opposite. Just to avoid the question.

“I didn’t. I was passing by when you were looking at them. What happened?” You tilt your head, putting the earrings on.

“Your songbird is jealous of me… Does she know about the good time we had the other day?” He blushes, closing his eyes out of embarrassment.

“How do I look?” When he opens his eyes, he sees you have the earrings on. The blue feathers looked very outstanding in the middle of the dark. The light you brought did not make any justice to the beauty of your face. Barely highlighting your eyes and lips.

“You look beautiful…” there’s something on your mind. You want to ask so badly. And while you could pry about his thoughts of your new appearance, you don’t. Your voice slightly trembling as you start speaking.

“Did you and Sejanus have anything to do with the death of the daughter of the mayor and the boyfriend?” He closes his eyes.

“No.”

“Coriolanus Snow… Do not lie to me.” his arms come to rest on his bent knees. And you know the truth through his breathing.

“Sejanus went too far. I wanted to keep him alive” you sigh, feeling already stressed. Panic invades you, fearing for both boys.

“What if this is just what you two needed to end up in real trouble?” He looks at you, and he wants to kiss you so badly. He wanted a hug from you. He wanted you to love him like he knew you did during the Academy days. Just to feel some sense of normality. That this isn’t what his life turned out to…

“What if he gets killed. What if you get killed?”

“It won’t happen. It’ll be okay” your nails were going to suffer from anxiety. But he places a hand on your bare shoulder, calming you.

“Why can’t you give me a rest, Coriolanus?” He knows what you mean, and it makes his heart grow soft.

“Honestly. Before the games I barely tolerated you. But after seeing you here and everything that happened, you’re right. I can’t have both girls.” It makes you weak.

“What made you look at me? Why now?” He sighs.

Firstly, it was pure lust, your body. But at this point, he knew he could potentially end up alone. And he refused to let go of the person he had won since the beginning.

“Because I wasn't able to appreciate that I had you. And… I don’t want to be alone.” You nod, analyzing his words.

“But you have her. Since when is she not enough?” Coriolanus had to accept how analytical you were. He can be honest and be in peace with you or lie and keep fighting for you.

“I don’t think she’s ever been enough. We don’t have much in common. Just that we are orphans… if she never came along… I swear I know I would have ended up by your side.” You think you understand him. He just realized what he lost. And now he was trapped to decide. However, you were not going to give your heart again. Only time or a life-or-death situation would make you admit you still loved him.

“I said it before, I’ll repeat it again. I won’t be here forever…” he leaned closer. His hand caressing your chin, appreciating how soft your skin was. He wanted to crown your head with flowers and promise he was yours. Just not yet.

“I know…” his nose brushes yours, the tension grows and this time, you are the one closing distance to kiss him. You are so close to winning, to have him begging for you.

That night, he keeps kissing you, you read him your book for a bit and before realising it, both of you end up sleeping on the blanket.

In the morning, he finds you undressing to take a quick splash in the lake.

When you realize he’s awake, you smile at him.

“Morning…” like a slow striptease, you let the nightgown fall and he just stares at your body with the first rays of sun illuminating you.

“I don’t think this is a dream. Right?” You chuckle before your body disappears under the water.

It’s the perfect invitation. He joins you, and the first minutes of his morning are spent kissing you. Only to end up in the same blanket both of you slept on. With him on top of you.

“Tell me to stop now.” He says in your mouth. Your leg slowly slides through his ankle, sending shivers through his spine.

“I think it’s too late for that.”

He returns you the favor. His head between your legs is the most erotic thing he’s ever heard or seen in his life. It’s so dirty, eating you out in the middle of the wild. You taste better than expected, and it feels simple, even natural to please you. He can see how your back arches when his nose gently touches your clit. He feels so proud, and he can already see how well you two could handle being lovers. He remembers how you sucked his cock and how good you did it.

To you, you felt some insecurity, because he hadn’t decided on you. But you already feel the lead being on your side. Soon that thought fades away, because the pleasure is becoming too much. And you’re ready to receive the upcoming orgasm.

You forget about Lucy Gray, Sejanus, the deaths, your return to the Capitol.

Everything is gone as soon as you feel him. Even the pride and dignity you talked about on losing your virginity.

It just feels like it was meant to be.

“You’re so perfect…” he says, eyes on your stretch marks, fingers tracing them before moving towards north and pinching your nipples.

The way you clench around him, his lips leaving red marks on your breasts that would soon turn purple. Your moans, and your dirty mouth cursing.

“Fuck- oh, Coryo!” He couldn’t believe you just cursed. But he then realized he was fucking you. Maybe he had already chosen.

“More, please-“ you manage to say between moans. And he’s in heaven again. He fucks you harder, faster, already feeling he was close too. The silver chain dangling just in front of your face. You swear he had split you in half, but the pain was nothing compared to pleasure.

“Wait for me. We’ll do it together” you nod, noticing how intimate and passionate your first time was being. He wanted you to wait for him. And it made your heart clench. You need to hold him. So, your arms hug him, and he understands, leaning to end up with your foreheads together.

In a matter of seconds, you both reach climax.

“Promise me you’ll be careful” he nods, kissing you one last time.

“It’s gonna be fine.”

But it isn’t. You run as soon as your friends say Sejanus Plinth was going to be hanged for treason. You run and your feet burn.

When you make it, you have to hear him screaming for Coriolanus. You start reaching the front faster. But you meet his blue eyes, and you are able to see him saying no to you. Your heart beats fast, sweat on your forehead and eyes watering faster than ever.

When you look at Sejanus again, his neck broke and he was already hanging.

Coriolanus sees the shock and terror on your face. The birds flying and repeating the last words of Sejanus make it worse. He holds the rifle firmly, but his eyes water too.

He follows you as soon as he’s able to leave. Too many things happening at the same time. And he really regrets not noticing you before. None of his life would’ve been ruined.

He finds you alone in your room. Your friends were working. But you were crying on the floor, covering your face and sobbing loudly. His heart broke, and he let some tears fall too. So he couldn’t resist it anymore. He went to hug you tightly.

As soon as you felt him, you hugged him back.

“He deserved better…” you mumble between sobs. You say he was a good man. But soon your sobs stop, and Coriolanus can almost hear you plotting.

“Where is the gun you used, Coriolanus?” His heart stops, and that’s his epiphany.

“I don’t know. Lucy Gray must know…” the girl could easily be fast to learn where it was. You remain silent.

After some minutes of crying, he’s still holding your hands.

“Lucy Gray wants me to go with her outside of the districts…” you don’t have the strength to laugh, but you really wanted to.

“One last time. Do you love her, Coriolanus?” He knows it’s time and there’s no going back. So he sighs, feelings the dry tears on his face.

“No.”

Your soul can finally rest.

“In two days, I’m leaving. I got accepted by Gaul into University. I just learned this morning after receiving mail.” He looks deep at your eyes. Trying to understand what you just said.

“Then you are going with Lucy Gray. You find the gun and if needed… Also get rid of her” you knew Lucy Gray was there when the incident happened. You had also made up your mind. And you would give Coriolanus one last chance.

“I’ll wait for you for two days. If you come back, you know I’ll be yours. But if you decide to stay with her, I’ll understand. And your secret will die with me.” He feels you kiss his cheek and after that, you quietly leave. Giving him no choice but to pack to meet Lucy Gray at the Hanging Tree.

…

You wait impatiently for your train. Coriolanus was gone. He didn’t return. So, you wait with your heart full of fissures. Your violet dress makes you a target among the station. You look very Capitol again. But something from District 12 changed you.

And then you hear him. Calling your name.

When you turn, you see Coriolanus almost running towards you. You can feel some tears forming. Your messed up mind was ignoring all the hell he made you feel and see. Like he never killed anyone, like he didn’t take so long to choose you. Like you didn’t know he consciously chose to be a bad person.

He looks agitated, with his peacekeeper uniform intact. His blue eyes look thrilled. Like a lot of emotions were invading him at the same time.

And the first thing he does when he’s in front of you, is to smash his lips with yours.

It takes you by surprise. The way his free hand immediately goes to your chin. In the middle of the train station. Feels like you were meeting your lover who survived war. It feels wrong to be savoring the moment you realize Coriolanus Snow finally chose you.

At that very moment you tangle your arms around his neck, stepping on your tiptoes to deepen the kiss. He feels you smiling, and that’s all he needed.

He needed to kiss you to forget about the cabin, the birds, the gun and Lucy Gray Baird.

And he does, your lips assuring him it was okay.

He isn’t evil, he can’t be when a sweet woman like you was kissing him back.

It was delicate for sure.

“Is it over?” You ask between tears. He nods, smiling, holding you close to him.

“Everything is over now.” You won’t ask what happened. You will just savor the victory.

“I can go to the Capitol. Gaul wants to see me” your eyes shine, relief flowing across you. Knowing you will be able to go back home with him.

“Where does this leave us?” He chuckles.

“We’re marrying as soon as we make it to District 2, dear” he kisses you to soothe your shock.

Almost at the end of the ride on the train, you chuckle looking at the window. He looks with curiosity, still drooling over you wearing the earrings he gave you. They would be his reminder that you had been there since the beginning, when he had nothing to offer. And yet, you stayed.

“What?” He finally asks.

“We’re a liability, you know?” A smile forms on his face. He shouldn’t be smiling, but he does anyways.

“I would repeat everything if it meant ending up here with you” and it was true. Because he would receive the money from the Plinth family, he would be able to study from Gaul, with you. He would get rid of Highbottom, and anyone on his way. But what seemed to be the most urgent matter, was to make you his wife.

But for now, he just takes your hand, kissing it.

….

Soft!Coriolanus fic is next. Hint? It’s gonna be based on Supercut from Lorde. Thanks to my crush with Tom Blyth, I realized Reputation and Melodrama are my favorite albums on earth. If you want to be tagged on the next fic, comment!!!!!!!! <3.

Taglist: @peachyharht @toogardenheart @slytherinholland @futurecorps3 @asapkyndall @speedycashflowerbasketball

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x sejanus #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus smut #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas

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umbrellajam · 5 months ago

Note

Have any Dick & Tim fic recs for us poor unfortunate souls? We’re hungry for brotherisms

I feel you anon, there can never be too many Dick & Tim brotherism fics! 😊 I had a great time wading through my bookmarks to pull some recs (and inevitably lose a bunch of time re-reading things lol), so thanks for the ask!

so I've organized the below first by general time period, then categories like Canon Divergence and Alternate Universe. I've also limited myself to fics that have a clear focus on Dick & Tim as the primary relationship (although some of them include other characters or ensembles).

Hope that you find something new that you enjoy, friend!!

A Thousand Ninjas, by @silverwhittlingknife (100k WIP series) - Silver's fantastic epic that covers the span of Dick and Tim's relationship in preboot canon. Some of the individual works are WIP, others are complete - just read them all, okay, you will not regret

Dick and Tim, through the years: from Lonely Place of Dying, through Tim's Robin years, and beyond Red Robin. "Watch me on the trapeze, Tim. I'm going to do my act - 'specially for you." (B 441) "Who the hell are you?" (NT 60) "Dick Grayson is my brother. My best friend." (R 181) "You're my equal. My closest ally." (RR 1) "I can't see him. You can't see him. But I know Robin. And Robin's always there when you need him." (TT/O Secret Files) "You're my brother. You'll always be there for me." (RR 12) "And then I think... no... it's for Tim. For him, a thousand ninjas is just the start of what I would do." (N 138)

EARLY ROBIN TIM

Brothers Have the Worst Timing, by @havendance (1k) - god I love Tim just popping up randomly to be the most annoying little brother ever, and frankly there's no better time for it than during Nightwing/Huntress, when he can bother both Dick and Helena at once.

Tim crashes Dick and Helena’s ill-advised one-night stand; this is awkward for everyone involved.

A Long Fall with a Sudden Stop, by @eggmacguffin (5.1k) - Interesting and appropriately awful take on fear toxin, with a relatively young Robin!Tim having to manage an incapacitated Dick. Also good Dick & Bruce content.

Dick Grayson was not and never has been afraid of heights. However, there were moments, moments in the wake of tragedy, in the midst of doubt, where he was deathly afraid of falling. — Dick Grayson. Fear Toxin.

Little Brothers and Stupid Ideas, by lazarusfell / @gretahayes (2k) - Tim breaking into Dick's apartment to be a neurotic little dork at him, my beloved.

Dick doesn't think he'll ever get used to his little brother's idiosyncrasies. It's like whenever he thinks the kid can't get any weirder, he decides to just blow Dick out of the water with some new abnormality. It's endearing.

LATE ROBIN TIM

lifeline, by me c: (~700) - just a ficlet, but I'm still fond of it, so. set nebulously post-Infinite Crisis, after both brothers' Really Bad Year.

At a low moment, Dick thinks he needs to catch Tim, and he just - can't. Tim catches him instead.

a soft place to land, by unchosenone / @bitimdrake (3k) - set during the OYL cruise around the world; gorgeous brotherly feels and support and absolutely adopted as personal canon.

Tim rubs the back of his head, trying to affect a joking tone. “I knew I should’ve just gone for the new escrima sticks.” Dick is ready to be a good big brother to his grieving little bro. Tim flips the script.

ribbons just beyond the eye, by silverwhittlingknife (5.9k) - you know how Dick and Tim had their island adventure in NW #143, and afterward they had to swim out several miles to where they parked the Batsub because the remote stopped working, and Dick talked about making a pit stop in Palermo to visit a "great little Italian restaurant that serves a great ciambellone for dessert"? Well, this is what happens when they do, and it's lovely.

Two weeks after their fight over the Lazarus Pits, Dick and Tim go on a trip, and Dick confronts some old memories.

RED ROBIN / BATMAN REBORN (Dick!Bats) ERA

Brothers, by KelpieCodyne (8.5k) - a refreshing and measured look at the divisive events of Red Robin, from Dick’s perspective. bashes no one, hurray!

Bruce is dead, Dick is Batman, and his brother is floundering. In a desperate attempt to save Tim from himself, Dick tries some tough love. It does not go the way he hopes. Or - Red Robin's 'BruceQuest' through the eyes of Dick Grayson.

We've Taken Different Paths, Traveled Different Roads, by Sohotthateveryonedied (2.3k) - brothers 🥺 even in the middle of their Brucequest fight, Tim can show up out of nowhere for a middle-of-the-night pajama party and heartfelt talk.

Dick is suddenly very awake. He bolts upright, staring at the dimly lit figure. “Tim?” “Hi, Dick,” Tim whispers. He isn’t in uniform for once, instead wearing a pair of sweats and a shirt that Dick recognizes as one of Bruce’s. Dick was wondering where that went. “Jesus, kid,” Dick exhales, an uncertain mixture of disbelief and bafflement. “What are you doing here?” Tim and Dick are still in a fight of sorts, or are they? Have they made up yet, or is the terrain still cracked? Dick wants so badly to ask, but just having Tim in the same room as him is already more than Dick could have hoped he’d get.

a conversation at 4:30am, by xscintillate / @scintillyyy (4.6k) - Dick having a nightmare that Tim is dead and checking all of his regular napping spots with increasing paranoia to prove that he's alive, my beloved. such a great look at the brothers, suffused with all of the love they still share post-Brucequest.

dick & tim, post RR#12 because sometimes having a conversation might end up going nowhere, especially if it's one you're not ready for, but it's enough for now

the best of both of us, by @ashynarr (7k) - a lovely pair of conversations between Tim and Dick, working through their conflict in RR and reconnecting after everything.

They used to have a routine, involving shitty take-out, shitty movies, and a bit of shit-talking. Dick wants to restart it, after everything. Tim's not sure if it's that easy. Or: After Harkness' arrest, Dick and Tim have a heart-to-heart. It helps, a little.

there's an endless road to rediscover, by @zahri-melitor (1.2k) - post-RR fic where Dick and Tim skip right to affectionate violence as a gesture of reconciliation, which is so delightfully in-character, tbh.

Sometimes the only way to show that you've moved on and forgiven each other is to take a flying tackle from the ceiling. Dick and Tim know each other's demonstrations of affection. Damian doesn't.

When it Rains, by vellaphoria (5.8k) - an exploration of Tim and Dick's (most recent) experiences with sexual assault, so warnings for past rape. really excellent.

After Cass and Tim return from Paris, something seems... wrong. Dick tries to find out what it is.

nightwing and red robin hit the town (or do they?) by xscintillate / scintillyyy (7.2k) - hilarious reversal of the "Tim is sad Dick never has time to hang out with him because Eldest Daughter Syndrome" trope.

Dick just wants to hang out with Tim on patrol, like old times. It's a shame that everyone else seems to have the same idea. It's fine. Dick'll get him next time.

POST-FLASHPOINT / MODERN ERA

so won't you stay, won't you stay (with me?), by dizarys / @dizaryswrites (1.4k) - beware the ANGST, this one really stomped on my heart 😭 but it's lovely

Dick seized his hands, holding tight. A long moment of silence passed. Tim kept time with Dick’s breathing as it steadily returned to an even pattern. "I'm proud of you for asking for help." His big brother whispered. "But I haven't." "I dunno, TimTam. Breaking into my apartment seems like a cry for help." Tim's having a hard night. So where else does he go but to his big brother's apartment? Whumptober Day 12

go past where our feet could touch, by redboard (Ink) / @upswings (1.5k) - this is such a lovely fic about the brothers having feelings about their long-gone mothers, and Dick seeing himself in Tim and processing things in his own life by being there for him (without sharing his own issues, at least that we see, lol). perfect characterization.

Today Tim was calmer, almost cheerful – as if it was any other Saturday afternoon. But it had also not escaped Dick's notice that Tim had gone on a universe-hopping trip to rescue Bruce, and one of the first things he'd done upon returning was, apparently, unbox a lot of photos of his dead parents. "How was the multiverse?" Dick asked.

WE'RE NOT DEAD (WE WALK)., by orpheusaki / @damianbugs (4.9k) - fantastic whumptober fic. the boys go through it, by god.

Dick is overwhelmed for a moment, filled with clarity and inexplicable confusion as he blinks around him bleary-eyed. There's the familiar itching covering his skin, tiny grains of dark sand invading the cuts that have torn through his suit from the crash. He coughs, throat dry and closing with every gasp of harsh air. The desert is as unforgivable as the last time he was here, an empty expanse of dunes that might just be a trick of the heavy sun against the back of his neck. Dick pushes the panic away behind his eyelids, savoring the darkness before opening his eyes again. Immediately, he sees Tim. Unconscious, hunched over, covered in blood and sand Tim. (Dick and Tim get stranded in the desert, Dick is always moving forward.)

CANON DIVERGENCE

long distance, by unchosenone / bitimdrake (1.7k) - A Red Robin era AU where Bruce is actually dead.

Six months—months—radio silence, and Tim is calling him. Dick doesn’t even know where Tim is. He scrambles for the phone.

Holding the Line, by Birdchild / @birdchildsnest (6.6k) - part 2 of the series and the first part is just as good, but more focused on the Dick&Tim&Damian relationship as a whole. In this, Dick is plagued with nightmares about the people he loves falling, and struggles through the resultant insomnia.

"Dick was used to anxiety dreams, even (or especially) ones about falling and failing to catch people. They weren’t pleasant, but he understood that they were his brain’s way of working through buried fears. The garbage disposal of his subconscious. But these dreams were more like the hyper-vivid nightmares and thrashing night terrors he’d had after his parents’ deaths. And they were constant. Every time he closed his eyes. He didn’t just feel rattled when he woke up; he felt flayed open." (This will make more sense if you've read "Redrawing the Lines," but it takes place before "Season of Darkness, Season of Light," so you don't need to have read that.)

now the little red lighthouse knew that it was needed, by xscintillate / scintillyyy (22k) - beloved Tim never becomes Robin but shows up in Dick's life and becomes his brother anyway fic of my HEART

"Kid," he says, frustration bleeding through, "I don't know who you think I am, but I can promise you, I don't know anything about any companies. You might want to call the police about this, instead." "No, that's just it," the kid says, "I can't trust the police. I think they're in on it. I think I might get arrested soon. I need—I think I need Nightwing's help." in an alternate universe where jason survives ethiopia--dick and tim still find each other.

this also has a WIP sequel, so the little red lighthouse tried to shine once more, which is equally excellent

well, what would you do if you went back in time?, by xscintillate / scintillyyy (3.5k) - yeah, in retrospect Tim's smug know-it-all tendencies would become exponentially worse if he traveled back in time and actually knew everything, lol. of course he takes the opportunity to be a Pest to both Dick and Bruce c:

tim goes back in time, and prevents certain things--but still makes his appointment at the circus with dick and is kind of a menace (aka: snippets from an au where tim goes back in time and makes it so he doesn't become robin...but he's still just having fun going around and preventing everything he can think of regardless and making sure to bother dick)

the time you won your town the race, by silverwhittlingknife (4.4k) - technically WIP, but absolutely works as a (DEVASTATING) oneshot. It's been well over a year and I still have not recovered tbh.

He doesn’t know exactly what Tim would say. But he knows what Tim would do. Tim dies. Dick doesn’t take death for an answer. A Red Robin 12 AU.

the picture frames have changed and so has your name, by zahri-melitor (24k) - a fix-it it fic for Grant Morrison's 2009 Batman and Robin comic run, which infamously has Dick more-or-less forget that he's supposed to have a close relationship with this alleged "Tim Drake" guy. (Little brother who?)

So, in this fic, Dick literally forgets. Tim notices, and investigates. Also wonderfully highlights Tim's relationships with Helena, Barbara, and the Birds of Prey, and sometimes with Damian.

There’s something wrong with Dick. Tim thought everything was getting back to normal. Bruce was alive and back in their timeline, the Birds of Prey were once again operating out of Gotham, Dick had the city well under control as Batman and even Damian had been less obnoxious than usual. And then during a firefight at a warehouse by the docks, Tim was almost hit by a flying boomerang. And Dick never noticed. When something is wrong with your big brother, who else do you turn to but your big sisters?

Dizzy Edges, by Jojo_Squires / @jojosquires (156k WIP)

A Tim-time-travels-and-interferes-to-make-his-family's-lives-better fic which includes the whole Batfam, but is definitely centered on Dick&Tim and the weird itching dissatisfaction of their missing close relationship from the original timeline - which neither of them can even remember that they're supposed to have.

I leap on my email notifs and stuff new chapters in my mouth as soon as they come out.

Tim Drake didn't quite know what he was agreeing to four years ago, but he tried to make the best of it! Using notes from his past (future?) self, he (somewhat messily) tried to help everyone his other self cared for. Now, it's four years later and he can mostly ignore the second set of memories lying in the back of his brain. It'd be much easier if Dick Grayson would just leave him alone. If Tim believed in destiny he might actually think that the universe cared about what was lost. Dick Grayson has spent the last year feeling like he's veered off course. Something keeps itching at the back of his brain. He's missed some clue. Helena Bertinelli's promised to help him crack down on human trafficking, but Dick thinks her foster kid might actually be more help in that department.

First Priority, by avaya29 / @avayarising (6.8k) - okay so Jason does feature prominently in this one but also he's a hilarious outside observer to Dick&Tim's shenanigans. Also, GLUE TRAP.

As the door opened Tim quickly disabled another three separate electronic sensors in the doorjamb by swiping them with a device that looked a bit like a thumb drive. “Walk where I walk,” he said. He took a big step over the doormat, eyed the floor carefully, then took a careful skipped sidestep to another mat against the right-hand wall, where he removed his shoes. “What the hell?” whispered Jason, still standing in the open doorway. Tim pointed up. There was a net rigged up on the ceiling. “Pressure pads under the carpet.” “I repeat, what the hell? After Tim completely derails Jason's beatdown attempt by asking him for a hug, Jason's first priority is to get this touch-starved kid more cuddles. Tim's first priority is to avoid DIck's traps. Jason learns a lot about his brothers and what happened while he was away, and something about himself too.

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

Patchwork Siblings, by Raberba_girl (40k) - fluff and whump and we also get both Talon!Dick and regular!Dick being big brothers, which is delightful.

Years ago, young Dick Grayson was taken by the Court of Owls and made into a Talon. When Talon is flung into an alternate universe where Dick Grayson was taken in by Bruce Wayne instead, he latches onto the first familiar person he sees. (Or: Little Bat-stalker Tim Drake is understandably alarmed to find that an undead assassin has imprinted on him.)

5+1 Night's at Freddy's, by cowboymater (6.6k WIP) - okay so this is only the first chapter of an expected six, but it's already a wildly interesting and entertaining scenario with great characterization. my kingdom for 5000 AUs where young Dick and Tim are thrown together into Trials and Tribulations out of nowhere for their brotherly meet-cute.

The 5 nights Tim spent at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza with Robin and the 1 he spent with Batman, OR, this would be the coolest thing that happened to him ever if the animatronics were trying to kill them less, OR, the "Batman meets Freddy Fazbear" fic I found hidden under a loose floorboard in Tim Drake's childhood bedroom.

darling boy, by deitybird (335k) - Fuzzy and funny de-aged!Tim shenanigans, with Dick as his primary caretaker but the whole Batfam getting involved. Author pulls what plot, character, and relationship points they like and want to explore from varied canon (post-Crisis, New 52, Rebirth, Infinite Frontier, Batman the Animated Series, etc.) and fanon to build out that 335k of story, and it's a very fun time. Toddler Tim is such a gremlin ♥

His comm crackles to life. “RR’s suit is in a pile on the floor,” Jason says, voice grim. “But no sign of him. Something bad must’ve happened if he ditched it all.” “I wouldn’t say it’s bad, per se,” Dick replies, gazing down at the kid nestled against his chest. Now that he’s looking properly, he can see hints of his little brother in those small features. “But at least I can confidently say that he’s not dead.” Or: Tim gets de-aged to four. Dick takes care of him.

Under a Parent’s Wing, by IzzyMRDB. (39k) - YMMV on whether this will be your cup of tea, as this is an AU where Dick comes into a parental rather than brotherly role for a younger, AU!Tim, who is also autistic and abused. But it’s also delightful, heartfelt, and a thoughtful exploration of the complicated, difficult situation as given.

Also I would, no lie, read hundreds of fics based on the premise of kid!Tim discovering that THE Dick Grayson (aka THE ORIGINAL ROBIN) is coaching gymnastics classes and using his sneaky determined ways to finagle himself into said classes.

When Tim found out that Dick Grayson was a gymnastics instructor in Bludhaven, he quickly signed up. After all, learning gymnastics from The Nightwing himself is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Dick Grayson is more concerned at the obvious signs of child abuse he sees in one of his students. AKA Dick Grayson, as a childcare worker, is a mandated reporter who knows how to recognize child abuse in his students. Tim Drake, after a lifetime of fear and confusion, learns to trust adults.

#Dick and Tim #Dick Grayson #Tim Drake #batfam #Nightwing #Robin #fic rec #dcu #Cam posts #asks #anonymous #Dick & Tim

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i-hate-peas · 3 months ago

Text

The Old Guard Fic Recs

So I've been a long time lurker within the fandom without ever getting particularly involved, but I wanted to show some appreciation for some of the super talented people who go here, because I have read a lot of incredible TOG fic.

Most (probably all) of these authors have loads of other amazing fics, but I've tried to just chose one from each, to keep the list a vaguely reasonable length. Although then I cheated and did some honourable mentions.

** just a note to say I started this list year (s) ago and forgot about it until literally today when I saw fic recs going round. Any of these fics I haven’t put a description for it’s because I didn’t do it at the time, and if I go back to reread them all this would never be posted, not through any lack of affection or enjoyment **

If any writers want tagging/ untagging etc please let me know! (i knew/ could find some blogs more easily than others lol)

Within Canon

Old Olives by aeli_kindara

Garden of Gethsemane mention = instant tears

Death in Her Hands by superblackmarket

Nile's growing relationship with Joe and Nicky. All of their fics are so beautifully written, but I especially love Nile's relationship with the boys and her facing her own immortality.

Honourable mention: Station to Station

Between the Hour and the Age by hauntedjaeger (@hauntedfalcon)

Andy! Nile!

Ouroboros by CypressSunn (@cypresssunns)

Set after the film, literally just read it.

compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience by Jack_R

A pair of early days Joe Nicky fics that reminds me of 'my wife is a bitch and i love her so much'

let's give them something to talk about by lacecat

When The Cherries White With Blossoms, Be Ready & Be Brave by chapstickaddict

Unearthed by merle_p

I think this is one of the most kudosed fics in the AO3 tag, but it deserves the hype!

Kidnapping for Dummies by Amiril

Similar to above, already very popular, but great and very funny!

The Last Man on Earth by Survivah (@optimismology)

I will admit I don't normally go for Booker/Nile, but this fic sold it to me. Looking at them and their developing relationship as the newer immortals.

Canon Divergent

Retrograde by Pinkninja

I mean this fic is the Big Bitch of the fandom for me, if you haven't already read this, where have you been? But also if you haven't already read this I am so jealous, read it and take your time with it and bawl your eyes out over it and appreciate the joy of reading it for the first time. The level of detail and planning in this fic is indescribable. It follows Nicky trapped in a Time Travellers Wife style life where he jumps back and forth throughout his own timeline, whilst Joe lives his life in chronological order. Exquisitely written.

If Never Again, If Every Day by gallifreyburning and takiki16 (@gallifreyburning, @takiki16)

Another absolute Titan of the genre. I know you’ve already been recommended this 500 times, what more can I say.

though I'm dying to (fall in love with you) by yusufsmoon (@babygirlyusuf)

Travellers from an Antique Land by kaydeefalls (@kaydeefalls)

Andy, not Quỳnh, trapped under the sea. I love all their fics.

AUs

Makes Me Want You More by Sixthlight (@sixth-light)

Perhaps not the typical favourite choice from Sixthlight, one of my absolute favourite TOG authors, but one that is funny and lovely and sweet that I keep coming back to. Shorter than many of theirs but perfectly formed.

pumpkin gnocci verse (series) by Liadan14 (@bewires)

I mean it's got estranged family, suspenseful chronological structure, cooking, spies, intimate and honest sex scenes, hilarious misunderstandings involving keeping halal, lovely found family moments, and the actual recipes used. What more do you want.

The Reality of Everything by Marbletopempire

One of the fics I desperately waited for each instalment for. Very funny, lots of sexual tension, plenty of Cate Blanchette spotting opportunities.

sine qua non by mellyflori (@werebearbearbar)

One of the first of their fics I read, with a very sweet build up of misunderstanding to friends to lovers, involving growing up, discovering sexuality, trying to be nice about your best friend's bad boyfriend, and a long suffering sofa.

The Brooklyn Verse (series) by GayLittleEarring, yusufsmoon, nicelytousled (@marwankenzarisgaylittleearring @babygirlyusuf @nicelytousled)

I saw the creation of this on Tumblr before it was a fic, and it lived up to every expectation. Very sweet and sincere, with lots of great discussions about art, whilst also very funny (Lamp the free loader, Joe sending thirst traps out of irritation) and hot. ItalianAmericanNickyfromBrooklyn and Joe my beloveds.

a good (eighth) impression by deaniker

I love a good hook-up to 'oh shit I have feelings' fic, and this is even more entertaining because Nicky is Lykon's ex, and Joe has very much seen him at his worst.

You do not have to be good by emjee (MerryHeart) (@emjee)

At one point a tumblr post about Joe the Professor and Nicky the Priest got very popular, and I'm not sure if this fic was inspired by that, but is one of the great fics with similar concepts. Such a lovely, gentle fic about love and also identity, featuring also Nile and a very sweet snail.

it's such an almighty sound (series) by raedear (@raedear)

A secret service AU that goes full enemies to lovers, with lots of tension, plotting, betrayal, frustration, and tenderness.

Honourable mention: take my hand (you got me rockin' and rollin')

fight 'til the day that i die 'verse by incurableromancer

Suspenseful, noir, super hero AU that has such a great writing style and is very atmospheric.

if you do take a thief by knoepfchen (@knoepfchen)

Cluedo style AU with lots of fun twists and slow building of backstories, with the whole gang.

Honourable mention: life is not the things that we do (it's who we're doing them with)

#the old guard #fic rec #champagne?#now I need to go back and reread all of these

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diejager · 1 year ago

Note

Can i make a request?

i thought of this yesterday what about y/n or the reader has been in 141 for 2 years now and one day 141 gets a new member konig but y\n or the reader is 26 and konig is 19 i feel like this has to be done😍😍

also konig: shy,sweet,tall,big,puppy like for the reader

reader: small,short,sassy,mommy🤭🤭

PLEASEEEE!!!!!

Young Cw: major canon divergence, bullying, intimidation, beating, protective reader, tell me if I missed any.

He hated attention, having people stare at him because he was tall —unnaturally so, towering over everyone despite his young age and timid and anti-social demeanour. He was grateful, really, after Laswell called in some favours to have him transferred from his platoon to a British Task Force as a trainee, someone on probation while he trained and learned how to integrate with the team. He worked well with them, the tall and muscular battering ram that opened up a path and shocked the enemy, working flawlessly beside to team, and yet, he couldn’t work up the energy or want to socialise with them, to open himself up and let them see the raw and softer part of his mind.

That, however, was the least of his problems, they were cordial - nice - with him, Soap and Gaz even went out of their way to include him in their banter, throwing jokes and good-minded laughs, Price acted as the protective figure of his team and extended it to him, Ghost - ever silent and glaring - didn’t mind looming over others and growling orders when someone overwhelmed him, and you were no stranger to threats and blackmail to get someone off his back. His problem, the biggest one, were the envious glares and insulting hisses older soldiers threw at him in hushed tones and occasionally glances when he found himself alone, either training or walking around.

Even in a place where he could let out all his aggression and pent up frustration, he was still victim to bullying, verbal rather than physical, no one would dare lay a hand on him when he was the youngest of the Task Force and under their protective eye. Despite the shielding from brutality, other men still found time and places to openly beat him down with demeaning and aggressive words, belittling his exploits, his awards and all his hard work to escape the hell of his little village (his Mutter was the only exception, he willingly went back on Holidays to see her).

“Look at that giant freak. Reckon he’d break if we put too much weight on him.”

“Bastard’s only here because he’s tall, that’s all he’s good at.”

“Aye, makes sense, never liked him. He might be a nepo baby, pop’s probably a powerful man.”

His Vater was a piece of shit that left him long before he was born, leaving his Mutter to fend for herself and rot away to feed and provide for him until he joined the army to care for her.

He didn’t want to give them more fuel, to retaliate meant more bullying, he learned that the hard way as a child. All König could do was take and take until they got bored, walking away from him to busy themselves with something else. That didn’t mean he didn’t get mad, frustrated or insulted, his hands curling into fists to hold itself back from pummelling them, they were his superiors, he’d be discharged or thrown out for hitting his superiors, especially since he was a foreigner and still new.

“Fuckin’ bastard is glaring.”

He was unknowingly glaring at them, he couldn’t help it, then he turned away, his gaze wandering to the floor before they’d escalate it. He heard one of them spit something out before he stomped towards König, shoulders and chest pushed out to seem bigger than they actually were in an attempt to intimidate him. Standing before him, he felt someone raise their fist, ready to strike him for simply glaring at them after months of being subjected to their intimidation. He was ready to stop them if needed, not a pushover or someone who’d take a beating quietly, eyes cued on the raised arm of an older man, but then he fell, moaning loudly as he fell to his knees.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, huh?!” You appeared behind him, yelling out at the man you just kicked.

They were as surprised to see you, their faces draining of colour as the others scrambled to come up with an excuse. You snuck up on him as much as you did on them, using his height and size to your advantage to land your blow. You moved to stand before him, a shield to a man as tall as he was, protecting him with a vicious glare and damning words, and somehow, he found himself gripping onto the back of your jacket, your name printed on the back and the Task Force’s insignia on your sleeve.

“He was disrespecting us, Lieutenant!”

You didn’t hold back your disbelief, scoffing so loudly that other people had turned their attention to your group.

“Disrespecting? Do you take me for an idiot, Corporal? I’m no blind,” your words were silencing, sending them panicking for another reason to excuse their actions, something disbelieving or idiotic, “This isn’t the first time I’ve written you up to HR, Corporal Matt, Davis, Brown. You’ve done this many times with other operators, especially to König.”

“That’s because-”

“Save your fucking excuses and fuck off!” You nodded away, watching them scramble off.

Glee and smugness filled him, a disgusting feeling that he couldn’t help but enjoy, even as you huff and turn to look at him, head craned upwards to meet his eyes with soft adoration. You were always so warm and caring, as if you weren’t made to be the ruthless killer people made you out to be, but he’d seen you kill, the cold and calculated look in your eyes when you were deployed. You patted his arm, a smile gracing your lips as you reassured him that they wouldn’t bother him anymore.

”Time for dinner, yeah?”

He learned the next day that they were transferred to another base, seen packing up their bags with black eyes and bruises littering their bodies. Sparring, he heard from whispers, from one at to another, the word spread and he found his days quiet and anxiety-free.

“Danke, Leutnantin.”

“You know my name, König. I think you’ve earned the right to say it.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig cod #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig #tw: bullying

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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Big chapter for fans of character development paying off. Chapter Title from Ready For It...? by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 22.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Ben, and Butcher meet with Stan Edgar, and everyone adjusts to a new dynamic. Usual warnings, plus some extra smut.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, smut, fluff, light angst, established relationship

Read on A03!

Chapter 23 - Chapter 25

“What the fuck are you doing in my garden?”

Ben turned to find MM glaring at him—arms crossed and eyes narrowed—in the doorway of the room. First off, garden was a generous fucking exaggeration. They were in a sad little greenhouse with peppers, tomatoes, and a weird fucking green thing Ben didn’t recognize. There weren’t even flowers. Gardens should have fucking flowers. And this was a goddamn public space, not MM’s. Ben was fucking allowed to be here, and if he wasn’t, they shouldn’t make it so easily accessible.

“Test,” Ben grunted, scowling at MM and not moving from his place at the wall. “What the fuck are you doing here.”

“Like I said, this is my motherfucking garden. I’m here to check on the cucamelon,” MM pointed to the green thing, still glowering at Ben. “Whatever weird fucking test you’re doing, get the hell out so I can work.”

“No.”

“Soldier Boy, if you don’t get your ass out of my garden-“

Ben rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to fucking stomp on your cuckamelon-“

“Cucamelon-“

“And this isn’t your fucking garden. It’s the BFSI’s, so I’m allowed to be here.”

“It is my fucking garden,” MM sneered. “And until I see any of you assholes stepping up to take care of it, I get the whole monopoly over it. Out.”

Ben scowled, glaring around the plants. “If it’s only you, you’re doing a fucking dogshit job. This looks goddamn pathetic-“

“I’d like to see you do fucking better-“

“I am not a pussy who gardens,” Ben snapped. “I’m a fucking man, and I’ve got other shit to do beside whine about plants-“

“Like your secret test?” MM looked Ben up and down, taking in his rigid stance at the edge of the room. “What the fuck are you testing in here, if you’re too much of a masculine asshole to garden.”

“That’s none of your goddamn business-“

Ready?

Ben paused, keeping his eyes trained on MM as he answered Her in his head. Ready. Be fucking fast. And for the record, I still think this is stupid-

It is not stupid, it’s important. We need to know the limits of this, Ben, and it’s not like we can just google “what to expect when you’ve planted your brain in someone,” we have to figure it out ourselves-

I’m doing it, Sunshine. But it’s fucking stupid.

Cunt.

Brat. Hurry the fuck up, I’m stuck with-

Shut it, Pretty Boy, the whole point is you don’t give me any hints-

“What the hell is happening with your face.”

Ben blinked as MM cut through Her scolding. “My face looks the exact fucking same-“

“You got all puppy-eyed and just stopped talking.” MM scanned Ben’s face with a frown. “Where the hell is the only likable part of you, why’d she leave you unsupervised-“

“I am not a goddamn child, I’m allowed to walk around by my damn self-“

“But you don’t.” MM muttered. “She went to the bathroom at dinner last night, and you looked like you’d gotten goddamn lost. So I’ll ask one last fucking time, why are you in my garden-“

MM’s words were cut off as the door slammed into his back, and Her eyes widened as he stumbled forward.

“Shit, MM, I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be in here except Ben-“

“What the hell is going on-“

“How the fuck did you do that so fast.” Ben grunted, ignoring MM’s glare. “Did you cheat-“

“I didn’t cheat, Benjamin.” She wrinkled Her nose at him. “And you fucking told me to go fast-“

“You barely took a minute, so unless you were running-“

“I was running,” She shrugged. “I wanted to win.”

MM blinked. “Win what-“

“You can’t fucking win this-“

“The fuck I can’t,” She grinned. “You took seven minutes, and I took barely forty-five seconds. I win.”

“I went first, that’s not a even playing field-“

“I offered to go first, and you said,” Her voice dropped into that terrible fucking impression of Ben, a smug look still dancing in her pretty eyes. “No. I’m first, or I’m not doing this stupid fucking test. And I asked why, and you said because I’m not a fucking pussy. I’m first. And I told you that those two things have absolutely no correlation-“

“What the fuck are you two doing?” MM’s voice had risen to a shout, and She and Ben frowned at him. “And why does it have to happen in my garden?”

“Test,” She muttered, looking around the room with a frown. “I didn’t know we had a garden.”

“You don’t-“

“Did you know there’s a fucking pool?” Ben gave MM a glare. “Why the fuck didn’t you pussies tell how huge this place it-“

“It’s not a resort.” MM snapped. “And if one of you doesn’t start answering my question right fucking now-“

“We’re trying to see if we’re like pigeons-“

Ben scowled. “I vetoed calling us pigeons-“

“Shut up. They have a homing instinct, this is a homing instinct. And pigeons are cool, Ben, they’re international and both the males and females produce milk-“

“I am not producing fucking milk-“

“Can you idiots stay on topic for just five goddamn minutes?” MM ran a hand over his face, giving Her a flat look. “Why the hell do you think you have a homing instinct?”

“The Ben Thing,” She tapped her chest, sighing when MM gave her a blank stare. “The part of me that’s in Ben. I have a theory that it’s like a beacon, because I can always tell when he’s near me and I think I used it to figure out how to get home after the whole tower thing-“

“And why,” MM grunted. “Does that mean you have to be in my garden.”

“We’re taking turns hiding, to see if we can just follow the instinct to find each other.” She crossed her arms with a shrug. “Ben found me in one of the empty apartments, and I found him here, I guess.” She gave Ben a grin. “In forty five fucking seconds.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben narrowed his eyes and reached out an arm to try and prompt Her over to his side. Her grin grew—spreading across her perfect face and lighting up her eyes—and she took his hand, letting Ben tug her forward and spin her to lean against his chest. “I didn’t know it was a goddamn race, I would’ve walked a whole lot faster-“

She tilted her head back, smiling up at him. “Did you forget your cane, old man-“

Ben swallowed Her words with a kiss, squeezing her body in his hold and sitting in the comfortable, easy warmth that spread through him when she sighed into his mouth.

Brat.

Cunt. Old, grumpy, cunt.

You know better than fucking anyone that I am not old-

“Can you not mind-fuck each other in front of me?” MM cut through their conversation, and Ben glared up at him as Her face flushed.

“Sorry, MM-“

“Just get out of my garden,” MM sighed, gesturing to the door. “I’ll see you in a few hours for the meeting.”

She nodded, twisting out of Ben’s grip and pulling him to the hall—calling another string of apologies to MM over her shoulder as they left—and when the door closed behind them, Ben leaned down to mutter in Her ear.

“What fucking meeting do we have later.”

“Pre-Edgar, at 2.”

“I thought it was just us and Butcher-“

“It is,” She shrugged, falling a pace back to walk at Ben’s side. “But we’re doing a quick briefing about what to expect with everyone. We don’t know what Edgar wants yet, and if it’s something bad-“

“Doesn’t matter what he wants,” Ben grunted, glaring at the walls ahead of them. “I’ll fucking do it, and that will be the end of this shit.”

She sighed. “What if he tells you to kill Singer, Ben? Or break him out of prison, or traffic something for him? Something illegal-“

“I don’t give a fuck-“

“And that,” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Is why we’re doing the meeting. So you don’t commit a crime.”

“I’ve committed a fuck ton more crimes being payed by the CIA, don’t know when it got taken over by a bunch of fucking spineless pussies who are all uptight and selective about doing their goddamn jobs-“

She snorted. “I don't think anyone has ever called the CIA uptight. They’re just more subtle about their crimes now. And allowing Soldier Boy to assassinate the president for a former corrupt CEO isn’t exactly going to go under the radar.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Smartass.”

“Uh huh.” She paused her steps, frowning at him. “Ben.”

He grunted, watching Her examine his face, listening to her heart hum in her chest.

“Promise me you won’t just do whatever Edgar asks. I know you made a deal, but it could be dangerous-“

“I can handle some fucking danger-“

“I know you can,” She sighed. “I just, I don’t want to lose you because you’re such a weirdly honorable asshole. If Edgar’s demand is something unconstitutional or illegal or borderline impossible to do, please promise me you won’t do it.”

He couldn’t promise that. Ben had sworn on Her life, on her safety, that he’d come through when Edgar called. But he also wouldn’t lose Her. That option wasn’t even on the fucking table, because not matter what Edgar told him to do, Ben wasn’t going to let himself lose her over it. He’d take care of it, fast and quick and brutal, and find his way back to Her. That’s what this whole goddamn pigeon shit was about. Always fucking finding each other.

But Ben couldn’t lie to Her. It made him feel a little fucking sick, and She always knew he was lying, and that made him more sick. Like the part of Her inside him knew he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, and pushing up his throat until he swallowed it with the truth.

So he settled on a truth.

Ben said Her name, holding her gaze. “You aren’t going to fucking lose me. Swear it on my goddamn life.”

“That’s not what I asked you.” Her eyes narrowed, the chew of her mouth turning her lips red, and Ben knew he hadn’t gotten out of this so easy. He wasn’t sure why he’d even fucking bothered. “I’m not fucking losing you to something so stupid, Benjamin, so promise me-“

“No.”

She shoved at his chest. “God fucking dammit, you asshole, just promise me-“

“I am not making you a promise I don’t intend on keeping,” he snapped, catching Her hands. “If Edgar asks me to kill Butcher, right fucking there, I’m doing it. But you will not lose me.”

Why? Her voice was strangled in his head, and Ben felt an ache around his skull. You don’t have to do what Edgar tells you, he’s can’t hurt you-

Ben's jaw clenched, and he forced himself to hold Her sad gaze. He can hurt you. I’m not going to fucking let him hurt you.

He won’t hurt me, Ben. She blinked at him, tilting Her head. He can’t hurt me.

He’ll try-

And he won’t succeed. She gave him a small smile. I’m okay. I’m not losing you either, Pretty Boy.

Ben scowled. It’s a fuck ton more complicated than that-

It’s not. You burn, I burn. She leaned up, kissing Ben’s cheek and pressing her brow to his. Please don’t be a fucking dummy and promise me you’ll draw a line with Edgar.

He scanned Her gentle face, and loved Her even fucking more. Ben got to draw the line. She never misused words—everything she said was carefully calculated and designed, every word stupid deliberate and impossibly weighted—and she was making sure Ben knew she trusted his judgment. That no matter what the team told them, it would be Ben’s call what to do, and She’d stand with him. It was insufferable, how understanding and kind She was, even as she was being a pain in his goddamn ass.

I’ll draw a line. He kissed the top of Her head, and her heartbeat slowed. Swear it.

Thank you. She sighed. I love you, you huge fucking dumb dumb.

I love you too, brat.

She pulled back, giving Ben a smile that was so fucking happy and comfortable it made the whole goddamn world a little easier. It was a little insane, how Her loving him and smiling at him and linking their arms together—dragging him back to their apartment—made Ben’s whole fucking life better. How over the past four days—biding time until Singer got off his fucking ass to give them some V or Mallory got the meeting with Edgar set up—Ben had never been fucking happier. He didn’t know it was possible to be this happy. This was the type of fucking high he’d been chasing his whole goddamn life, and now it was in him.

He could feel it now. She’d insisted on running test after fucking test of their own, telling Ben—with sharp, pretty eyes and a pout that made him want to eat Her—that they needed to figure out how to use this properly. He’d argued that they’d just fucking work it out through trial and error, because it wasn’t like this was a goddamn emergency. They were immortal, they had all the time in the fucking world to work out how this brain bond shit worked. She’d told him that was fucking dumb, but if he need an incentive, She’d let Ben fuck her right after they finished every test as a reward for good behavior.

She’d have let him do that anyway, and they both fucking knew it. Between how She’d been squirming under him in the mornings, climbing on top of him every night, and had almost tackled him to the floor after he’d finished training with Ryan, Ben was starting to think she was hornier than he was. It was fucking impressive, how She didn’t ever seem satiated. She was satisfied, always smiling at him after with glazed, fucked-out eyes that made Ben almost goddamn explode with pride—he’d done that, she was so beautiful and content and blissful under Ben because Her loved her, so he’d worshipped her and touched her right—but she was never satiated. She watched Ben at the dinner table like she’d been wandering the desert for a thousand fucking year and he was oasis, before dragging him into one of the goddamn dining hall bathrooms, dropping to Her knees, and moaning as she wrapped her lips around his cock.

He fucking loved Her. And he’d never be sure how he’d gotten so goddamn lucky, that She loved him. So Ben had agreed to Her terms, and used them to his best fucking advantage. She’d made them stand on opposite ends of the compound to test if there was a distance limit—there wasn’t—and Ben had fucked Her against the door of their apartment. She’d made them sit across from each other and practice selection of what thoughts they shared—it was purposeful, and Ben wasn’t sure how, but he was able to share and withhold thoughts like lowering or raising his voice—and he’d fucked Her on the table.

And, though he’d never fucking admit it to Her, but the more they tested the connection, the more Ben could feel it. More than just a pure instinct of Her, Her, Her, pounding in his chest and guiding his heartbeat, but something fucking tangible. When they’d started the pigeon test—she also could never fucking know Ben had called it that—there had been a strange feeling of go. Something good is calling you forward, so follow it, in Ben, so he’d done just that. It hadn’t wavered or faded in and out, only grown stronger and stronger the closer he’d gotten, and it had felt like home. It had been a magnet, carving out a path he couldn’t see but still understood, singing a bright, powerful song in his head that had been reduced to a hum when he’d found Her. A natural, steady hum that was in key with Her heart, and ran through Ben’s mind whenever he was awake.

There wasn’t any other fucking way to put it. It was Her, it felt sharp and infinite and alight and Her. It blossomed whenever She touched Ben, and left something sweet that lingered on his tongue all the time.

And there hadn’t been a fucking chance he was going to describe it to the team like that.

She’d explained the connection a few nights over dinner, looking to Frenchie for confirmation on the science shit and letting Ben sit—rigid with Her tucked perfectly against him—in silence while she handled questions.

“What the fuck you mean you planted yourself in Soldier Boy?” MM had snapped, shaking his head like they hadn’t all seen much weirder fucking shit over their lives. “Did you put a parasite in him-“

“She’s not a fucking parasite,” Ben had grunted, and shot MM a glare. “It’s just her brain in me, you dumb cock-head-“

“The fuck did you just call me-“

“Ladies,” Butcher had drawled, looking between MM and Ben with narrowed eyes. “You’re both real fuckin pretty, and your balls are massive, but can we answer some real fuckin questions? Like if we,” he’d gestured around the rest of the table. “Are all in danger of gettin a fuckin Anomaly brain infection. No offense, Love, but I’ll shoot my skull in before I feel you all the bleedin time-“

She’d given Butcher a flat look. “There’s literally no way for me to not take offense to that, but no. You don’t have to worry about that. Frenchie said it was surprising it even happened once.”

“It is fucking bananas,” Frenchie had nodded in agreement. “I would even call it batshit crazy-“

“We get it, Mate, don’t need to worry-“

“I have a question.” Hughie had blurted over Butcher, face red as he made an apologetic flinch. “What does, um, feeling each other mean? Like, is it in your head, or physical-“

“It’s both,” She’d shrugged. “It’s sort of an additional sense, I guess. Like I can hear and taste and smell and Ben. It just is. Sorry, I know that’s not helpful, but-“

“And pathetically fuckin sappy-“

“Shut it, Butcher.” She’d shot the man a glare, before turning back to Hughie with a shrug. “It’s all I can offer. I mean,” She’d paused, voice resuming in Ben’s head. Do you want to try to describe it?

Fuck no.

Ben had seen Her lips twitch with a laugh, and counted it as a triumph as she’d resumed. “Sorry, yeah. That's all I’ve got.”

There had been other questions. A truly stupid amount of them, for a bunch of people who were in no way actually fucking part of this. It was for Her and Ben, this connection, and not a single other pussy fucker on the planet. This was about how She curled on his lap every night when they watched TV, making mumbled comments and jokes as Ben traced patterns on her skin, resting his chin on the top of her head. It was about how she kept smiling at him, all fucking day, and Ben got to dance her around their kitchen until she was all pretty and flushed in his arms. How they were still showering together, but now it ended with Ben pushing her against the tile, kissing her neck as he seated himself deep in her pretty cunt and her moans mixed with the steam. How there were still tears and screams in the dead of night that woke Ben up, the scorching heat twisting his skin, but She came down quickly and never tried to tell him that it didn’t matter, or made any attempts to fucking apologize to him.

This was about how Ben could feel Her pain as she sobbed in his arms, and it was grueling and fucking horrible—freezing his blood and lungs and mind to a white-hot fever, running through some deep part of Ben’s head and making something snap around in his gut—but when it faded Ben could hear the steady sound of Her heart and kiss the top of Her head, let her fall asleep with a soft sigh. Her perfect face peace, buried against his chest, and her body relaxed into his. It was about how—for all that fucking torture as the cracks he could feel in Her closed—he also got to feel the best parts of Her. Ben got to watch Her grow wrecked under his touch, feel her nails dig into his skin and listen to her pleas and moans and whine, and feel it. Feel the way She loved him, how he was fucking everything to her. Her love made Ben feel eternal and strong and so fucking alive. It made something in him light up, how this was all them. It was all just Her, scratching his back and moaning his name and looking at Ben like he was good.

It was about how Ben fucking believed it. How, when she smiled at him and teased him and loved him, Ben thought he might be good. That he wasn’t just not Homelander, not Butcher, not a complete fucking waste and failure, but good.

“Do you think we have a movie theater as well?” She was looking up at Ben as they walked, and he frowned.

“We fucking might, at the rate these damn things are popping up. Christ, what the fuck do we need a garden for, they feed us.”

“Seems to make MM happy,” She shrugged. “And gardening can just be to like, relax. I wouldn’t have thought gardening would relax MM-“

“Because he’s a fucking man-“

“Because he’s OCD, dumbass.” She slapped his arm, and Ben scowled. “Gardens are mostly dirt, and dirt is full of, well, dirt. It’s not exactly hygienic. And men can garden, Pretty Boy. You can grow some very masculine potatoes.”

“If you’re about to try and talk me into fucking gardening with you-“

“Not a chance in hell,” She wrinkled her nose at the air. “My mom used to try and make me garden, it was awful. You get all sweaty and dirty, and then you have to wait for months just to pull a sad little carrot out of the ground. Pass.”

“Maybe we should try gardening,” Ben winked at Her, tugging her closer into his side. “I like you all sweaty and dirty, and my carrot isn’t sad or little. It’s huge, and all fucking yours.”

“Shut the fuck up,” She mumbled, trying to hide her perfect flush in Ben’s chest, letting him guide their steps. “Horny cunt.”

Ben leaned down to whisper in Her ear, smirking at the shiver of her spine under his hand. “I think you’ve got the horny cunt, Sunshine. I think you’re already fucking hot and wet, just thinking about how I’m going to fuck you when we get home. Want me to tell you what we’re doing, or you want it to be a surprise?”

She made a small sound, muffled against Ben’s body. Highlights, please.

Of course, my love. That got a high whine, and Ben grinned. Every single fucking time he called her that, the reaction got better. A part of him wanted to see if he could say that in the right tone, at the right moment, and make Her cum on the spot. I’m thinking I fuck you fast. Rough and hard, until we break the fucking bed. I’ll eat you out first, have to take care of you, see if we can finally get you to fucking squirt all over my face, but then I’m going to fucking split you open on my cock. Make your pretty eyes roll back in your damn head, see if I can get you so fucked out you forget your own goddamn name.

She swallowed, leaning further into his body. That it?

He snorted. You want more? So desperate for me that my tongue and cock aren’t enough? Need my fucking hands as well?

Yes.

Who’s fucking horny now-

Shut up, you have nice hands.

Ben grinned. What about my hands do you like, Sunshine?

Fuck you.

Tell me about my hands, and I’ll fuck you till you can’t damn walk.

She sighed against him. They’re big. And rough. And strong. And, fuck- Ben had started to trace his finger over Her collarbone, and smirked as she moaned into him. You’re such a fucking asshole-

Finish telling me about my hands, beautiful. You imagining them inside your pussy? In your mouth? Rubbing on your clit until you make that perfect fucking whine when you cum-

Ben-

Want me to make you all sweaty and dirty with just my fucking fingers? Want them to fuck you until you’re squeezing around me-

Fuck, Ben, you dick-

You are inpatient, Ben chuckled as she started to tug at his shirt. Of course you hate fucking gardening, you love me and you’re calling me a cunt for just damn teasing you. Can’t imagine what you’d do to something you hate, like a slow fucking plant that won’t grow-

I don’t hate plants, Her voice was breathless in Ben’s head, and her heartbeat was so fast it might burst right out of her chest. I like flowers.

Ben made a note—filed in the part of his mind that was completely designated for Her, caring about her and tending to her and loving her—to ask MM to start planting flowers in his pathetic little garden. If MM said no, Ben added some ideas for graphic threats that he—probably—wouldn’t actually follow through on. He’d have to do it later though, because right now She was half slumped against his body, breath heavy and hot on his skin, and they were right in front of their apartment door.

She fumbled with the keycard, and Ben pulled her through the door before it was even half fucking open. She gave a squeal as he hauled her up in his arms, and they were upstairs before the door was even fucking closed behind them.

He’d seen the clock on the stove. They now had an hour until the meeting, and Ben was going to make the fucking most of it. He’d been planning on having them do some training—practicing some punches and working on Her fire until she made a smart fucking comment and he’d pin her under him and fuck her until she was drooling—but now he had to prioritize. They’d been training every goddamn day, and Ben had made himself hard from teasing her, so he made the call that fucking Her was a whole lot more important.

They didn’t make it to the bed. The door slammed behind them, She started squirming in Ben’s arms, and he turned them around to push Her against the wall.

Ben dropped his head to the crook of Her neck, biting and sucking at that spot on her neck, blinding grabbing at her jeans to rip them away.

“Want me to fuck you with my fingers first?” Ben said Her name, grinning against her as she moaned, starting to grind on his torso. “Use my hands like you’ve fucking fantasized about? Fill you up-”

“I have not fucking fantasized-“

Ben shoved his hand between Her legs, running two fingers over her pussy as he kissed along her collarbone. Liar.

Fuck you-

Tell me all the things you’ve wanted me to do with my hands, beautiful. Tell me how to fuck you.

I, fuck, She took a ragged breath, and Ben’s hand stilled over her, pressing against her warm cunt with no friction. Want you to tease me.

Ben smirked, and resumed his movements. Careful strokes over the wet spot on her underwear, light touches up and down until she was soaked through the fabric. Keep going, Sunshine. I’ve got you.

Ben-

Tell me what you want.

Please-

He stopped moving again. Words, my love.

She whined, throwing her head back as Ben nipped at a pulse point. I, God, I want you to play with my clit until I’m close, then finger fuck me until I scream.

He hummed, gliding his hand over Her clit, flicking it once, then resting his hand at the hem of her panties. That it?

You fucking asshole-

Ben grunted Her name, aloud against her skin, and she moaned.

Fuck, I, good. Call me good, please, Ben, fuck-

He didn’t waste another goddamn second. Ben pushed his hand under Her underwear and pressed two fingers against her clit, rubbing slow, large circles. Was that so fucking hard?

You dick, fuck, Ben-

My dick is hard as well, Ben angled his hips up, pressing his erection against Her core and smirking at the whimper that escaped her throat. But you just look so fucking good, all wrecked on my hand. Gets me fucking going, when you say my name-

Ben-

He groaned on her skin, and tore off her panties, slapping her dripping pussy once before running his thumb over her clit, dropping it to trace between her folds, over her slit. Good, beautiful, just like that.

She made a loud, strangled sound and Ben chuckled, rubbing his palm against her, faster and faster until she was panting, clawing at his neck.

So fucking good. Love how fucking wet you get, love how you sound, Christ, I fucking love you-

Please, close-

Ben pushed two fingers in Her at once, and started to pump as fast as he fucking could. Her pussy was contracting around him already, her arms around his neck loose, and when Ben pulled his head up to meet her eyes, She looked fucking ruined. Eyes unfocused and fluttering, pretty lips parted with tiny moans, whole face slack with pleasure. She was so fucking perfect, so fucking beautiful, a goddamn work of art-

Benjamin, Her head dropped forward, nose bumping with his as her lips brushed across his beard. You, need you, need to cum-

Scream, beautiful. You’ll have to fucking scream-

Ben almost came in his fucking pants when—just as his fingers hit the deepest part of Her—She let out a deafening, high and needy scream of his name.

“Good girl,” his voice was hoarse, and Her hands were tugging at his head, trying to move his mouth to hers. “Want to cum?”

“Please-“ Ben slammed Her head back to the wall with a bruising kiss, and she moaned down his throat. God, yes, Ben-

He scissored his fingers in Her pussy, pressing on that button inside her, and groaned as she dribbled down his palm, the most sinfully wet sounds echoing in his head as he fucked her through her release, only drawing away when she gave an airy, happy sigh.

Ben looked down, between their bodies, and examined his hand. “Closer.”

“That one wasn’t even that small-”

“You can do more,” he grunted, reaching up to press his thumb against Her lips, smirking at soft whine that escaped her. “Taste.”

She opened for him, and Ben felt his jaw clench when her tongue ran over him, sucking long and hard, humming around his fingers in her mouth.

“Fucking Christ,” he shook his head as she pulled off of him with a pop. “You’re perfect. Fucking love you-“

Ben groaned as she leaned forwards, hands curling on his head as she kissed him. Long and rough, and he could fucking taste Her in her own mouth. Proper fucking pussy, the best thing in the goddamn world, all Her, and what Ben fucking did to her.

They pulled apart with quick, uneven breaths, and Ben felt something soft and bright swell through his chest at She smiled at him. “Hi.”

“Hi, Sunshine.”

“That was,” she took a deep, slightly ragged breath, and Ben could hear Her heart, still running in her chest. “Fuck.”

He snorted. “I know. You like me calling you good girl, huh.” Ben winked at Her. “That do it for you more than brat?”

She whacked his arm. “Shut up, Mr. Say My Name and Beg.”

“You like fucking begging-“

“And you like calling me a good girl. And brat.” She ground against him, and Ben hissed as she rubbed right over his cock, straining through his pants. “Want some help with that, Pretty Boy?”

Ben didn’t need to be asked twice. He didn’t really fucking care for these pants anyways, and certainly wasn’t going to mourn them after he ripped them off his body—boxers gone in the same movement—and angled himself against Her.

She gasped—nails digging into his skin and eyes wide—as Ben ran his cock between her still dripping pussy, holding Her gaze. “Want me to fuck you, beautiful? Want to get my dick all fucking wet in your pretty cunt? Make you fucking scream again?”

Yes, please, fuck yes-

He bite Her lip as he pushed into her, eating her moan and squeezing her perfect fucking ass until she was melted against him. Until Her body was fucking falling forward, letting Ben support her carefully against the wall as he bottomed out. He couldn’t move yet. She kept goddamn squeezing him, and all her moans were rolling down his throat, so if Ben started moving now he wouldn’t fucking last.

Relax, he grunted Her name in his head, and she whimpered. Need you to fucking relax, my love-

She squirmed around him, and Ben groaned, pushing her further against the wall.

Christ, Sunshine, you’re going to fucking kill me-

Ben, please, just move-

He took a long breath, pulling Her tongue between his teeth and smirking at her moan. Not until you fucking behave and stop moving, brat. Be fucking good for me-

It was amazing how fast She listened. Every bit of tension left her body as she relaxed against him, her heart running out of Her chest, and when all her love pushed into Ben’s body it was like he’d been fucking shot. Everything in his body became boundless, and the world felt sharp and safe and warm. Everything was Her, wrapped around him and fucking perfect.

Please, Her voice in Ben's head came in time with a soft, small, needy sound that fell from her lips. Fuck me.

He swallowed, kissing her once, gentle and careful to ground himself in Her body. Want it fast, beautiful? Want to me to fucking break you, make your knees fucking weak, make you fucking dizzy-

God, yes-

Ben couldn’t deny Her if he tried. Not when She was molded against him like she belonged there—which she fucking did—or when she was so fucking beautiful. Not when She loved him like this, and he got to fucking feel it. So he braced an arm against the wall, pushing her further up his body, and started ramming himself into her with a fucking purpose.

He’d known he could die like this for a while. Go fucking insane from how beautiful she was, how She touched him and moaned Benjamin in his ear. He’d been real fucking certain that She’d be the end of him, of his fucking sanity, and that he was more than goddamn okay with it.

He still hadn’t fully anticipated just how correct he’d been. How, when she threw Her head back and whined, when she started to roll Her hips around Ben’s cock and a hazy, golden smoke started to fill the room around them, he felt like he’d found fucking heaven.

“Like that?” He grunted Her name in her ear, emphasizing every word with another rough thrust of his hips into her. “Tell me how it feels, how much you fucking love my cock wrecking your perfect fucking pussy-“

Ben, fuck-

“Aloud,” he sucked on Her low lip, drawing one of those perfect fucking whines from her throat. “Use all your smart fucking words, beautiful, talk to me-“

“Feels good,” Her words were choked, breathed into Ben’s mouth. “Feels so good, you’re so fucking big, feel so full-“

“Like being full of me?” He muttered, giving her ass a gentle slap, and she nodded frantically against him. “Think you can be real fucking good for me, fucking drench my cock, fucking squeeze me-“

She moaned, cunt tightening around him, and Ben almost fucking lost it.

“Good girl,” he growled Her name, smirking at Her whimper. “You’re real fucking closer, aren’t you. Ready to fucking cum, darling?”

“Fuck,” She gasped, and Ben leaned back to see her fucking glowing. Burning and burning without flame, Her love coiling tight in his gut as she watched him with pretty, glossy eyes. “Close, Ben, I’m close, need more-“

“I know, can fucking feel it.” Ben grunted, dropping his head to Her shoulder as he started to lose control, but fuck she was perfect, felt like fucking paradise around him, moaning his name all desperate and fucking loving him, and fuck-

“Please, Ben-“

He groaned, tracing his tongue over her teeth, and felt release slam into him like a goddamn train. She screamed again—fucking screamed, loud and desperate and perfect—and Ben almost fell over as Her own orgasm pushed his further. Everything was blinding, his vision growing blurred as he twitched inside of her, holding her carefully until they both came down.

She hummed softly in his ear. “Darling?”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say it was bad.” Ben pulled back to glower at Her, and found her pouting at him, light dancing in her eyes. “I liked it.”

He nodded slowly—adding darling to growing list of things he, and not a single other fucking person, got to call Her—and looked to where he was still sheathed inside Her. “You didn’t squirt.”

She shrugged. “I don’t always squirt, and it usually requires some clit stimu- Fuck-“

Ben had pressed his thumb over Her, rubbing small circles and examining her perfect features. “That better?”

“We,” Her breath hitched as Ben moved faster, and he chuckled at her glare. “Benjamin, we’ve got the, fuck, we’ve got the meeting-“

“They can wait-“

The door slammed downstairs, and Ben’s body moved faster than his brain. Pulling himself out Her, tossing her—carefully, but quickly—onto the bed, and ducking down to grab his gun from under the mattress.

“Ben, slow down-“

“Stay there,” he snapped, shooting Her a glare as she started to scoot off the bed. “Don’t move until I come back.”

“You are not my boss, you cunt-“

He didn’t have the fucking time to argue. Whoever was in their apartment—heavy steps, even, almost lazy heartbeat—had climbed upstairs, moving closer to their room. Ben drew up, pointed a finger at her, fucking stay, and raised his gun.

Benjamin, you paranoid asshole-

He yanked the door open, clicking the safety off, and slammed the door behind him as he stepped into the hall.

“Bloody Christ, Gov, where the fuckin hell are you trousers?!”

Ben looked Butcher up and down, and lowered his gun with a scowl. “Why are you in my house.”

Not a house, Pretty Boy. And I fucking told you-

Shut the fuck up. He paused, hearing Her shuffle around in the bedroom. What are you doing.

Getting dressed.

I told you to fucking stay-

It’s just Butcher-

And we don’t know why the hell he’s here-

“Oi,” Butcher gave Ben a sarcastic wave. “I can see your fuckin semi, mate, stop sending each other nudes and bloody pay attention-“

The door opened behind Ben, and She stopped at Ben’s side with her arms crossed, frowning between him and Butcher. “We weren’t sending each other nudes, Butcher. Answer Ben’s question, why are you here.”

Butcher looked Her up and down—her lips still slightly swollen, face still flushed, and her shirt, Ben’s shirt, inside out—and smirked. “I’m sorry Love, was I fuckin interrupting somethin-“

“Yes-“

She stomped on Ben’s foot, Shut up, and glared at Butcher. “Not your business-“

“It’s my business if Soldier Boy’s flashin me his half-hard dick-“

She sighed, side-stepping in front of Ben, blocking him from Buchter’s view. “Tell us what the fuck you’re doing here.”

Butcher scowled. “We’re takin off now. Need you twats at the elevator in five.”

She blinked. “What about the briefing-“

“Mallory fucked up. Got the wrong time for Edgar’s transport. He’s gettin there at 2, not leavin from the fuckin penitentiary.”

“Oh, shit,” She swallowed, and Ben heard the tapping begin. “We’re supposed to be there before him-“

“So we’re leavin now. Get some bloody pants on your fuckin idiot, and meet me at the elevator.”

She nodded, not bothering to say goodbye to Butcher as she grabbed Ben’s arm and tugged him back into the bedroom.

When the door closed behind them, She marched over to the dresser and fucking chucked Ben’s supe suit at his face.

“What’s wrong with you-“

“Nothing.”

Ben scowled. “You’re lying,” he grunted Her name, watching her take off his shirt and flip it to the right side. “Your going to fucking bite through your mouth, and won’t goddamn look at me-“

“That’s because you’re being an asshole.” She snapped. “You are not my boss, Benjamin, and I am not a child-“

“What the fuck are you talking about-“

She turned to him with a look that almost made Ben flinch. “I love you, and I trust you with my life, but you are not allowed to tell me what and what not to do. I’m fucking serious, Ben, I can take care of myself-”

“But you don’t,” he held Her glare, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t fucking take care of yourself, and I’m not losing you again-“

“I keep telling you’re not going to lose me.” She sighed, and a flash of something sore and sour and rotten ran through Ben’s body. “I just, can you please fucking trust me? I’ve got a handle on my fire, and Homelander doesn’t even know where I am. I’m okay. I’m really okay.”

Ben’s fists curled at his sides, and he scanned over Her face. Her gaze was sharp, edged with something hot and pained, but her heart was even. And he didn’t feel sick. He felt a little fucking bitter, that rotten feeling growing, but Ben didn’t feel like something was wrong. Fundamentally wrong. She was fine.

“Fine.” He grunted, picking up his shield from the door and extending his hand for Her to hold. A silent gesture of peace that, fuck him, he goddamn needed Her to take. If she didn’t, he’d probably spend the whole stupid fucking meeting with Edgar trying to figure out how to make this shit up to her.

She tilted Her head at him, examining Ben for the longest fucking minute of his life. I do love you, Benjamin. You’re just an overprotective dick sometimes.

I know. He gave a small nod, and flexed his outstretched hand. I love you too.

Her smile was soft, and something loosened around Ben’s lungs when her fingers folded through his. She was wearing the sunglasses on her brow, so Ben had lean over her slightly to kiss the top of her head and coax a small, easy sigh from her pretty mouth.

Ready? She let Ben loop his arm over her shoulders, and he pulled her—safe and content and perfect—into his side.

I was damn born it. He winked down at Her, and everything got a little better when she grinned back. Let’s feed Edgar his own fucking balls.

Gross, Ben. Her nose wrinkled at him, but a small giggle escaped her throat, and she was letting Ben guide her downstairs, out the door.

His body was relaxed, eased by Her presence at his side, but Ben still felt fucking sore. As She and Butcher exchanged short words about the drive and plan before they stepped into an incredibly fucking awkward elevator ride, Ben’s head was circling around Her words.

You’re not going to lose me.

He wouldn’t fucking lose Her. That wasn’t even in the goddamn cards. Ben wouldn’t lose Her because of his sheer fucking dedication. Because if Homelander came for her again, Ben would beat his fucking face bloody and raw, make him beg for mercy and offer none. He did trust Her, but that wasn’t the issue here. No matter what She said about the tower or the Believe Expo, Ben had still lost Her. Left Her alone. She’d been put in danger because he’d failed, and stayed in danger because nobody was willing to step the fuck up and protect Her.

She’d never be in that godawful fucking position again. Ever. Ben would never let Her break and crack under Homelander’s hands, never make her fight on the front fucking lines alone. Ben wouldn’t lose Her because he’d resolved not to. And now he had to figure out where the line was between protecting Her, caring for Her, never, ever fucking hurting Her and respecting that She was, and always fucking would be, a piece of work.

He loved that She was a piece of work. She was a shattered, marred, clever fucking menace and threat to Ben’s sanity, and every part of Her fit perfectly in with him. He wouldn’t want to love someone who was boring. Who didn’t smack him and yell at him and match his every step without even breaking pace or falling behind. Fuck, sometimes Ben couldn’t keep up with Her. He had the time of his goddamn trying to, and loved Her at every bullet the world shot at them, every hurdle they had to burn through, together.

But Ben wouldn’t let Her stubborn, perfect fucking ass take her away from him. If She walked away, left Ben a million steps behind and took off to where he couldn’t follow, he’d find a way to keep living. He had to keep telling himself that, because he’d technically fucking lived before Her. A hundred goddamn years.

He didn’t want to live without Her, though. Not when he could feel Her like a crown on his head. Something beautiful and perfect that had chosen to stay within him, that he had to keep safe. Wrapped around him, resting within him, curled into his side in the backseat of Butcher’s car as they violated several traffic laws. She was relaxed and warm and happy in his arms, leaning Her head on his chest and turning his fingers over in her hands, and Ben didn’t ever want to live without this again. Ben couldn’t ever really breathe again—not in a way that fucking mattered—if he lost Her because he’d made the part of her that lived in him wither and die. He’d live, but he wouldn’t breathe.

And if he lost Her because of another fucking failure, the world wouldn’t survive his wrath. Ben wouldn’t survive it.

So he had to find the fucking line.

The safe house looked the same. Ben wasn’t exactly sure what the fuck he’d been expecting—it wasn’t like the CIA was going to budget a new paint job—but it was still deceptively suburban, generic, and easily ignorable.

“Huh,” She mumbled, looking around the street with a frown as Ben helped her out of the car. “This is weird.”

Ben grunted an agreement, half draping his body over hers. If it’s too weird, we can just fucking go home-

She gave him a flat look. We’re already here, Benjamin. And Butcher won’t let us get away that easily.

I’ll hot wire his stupid fucking car, all you’ll have to do is stand guard and punch him if he gets to close-

I am not punching Butcher. She stuck her tongue out at him. Head in the game, Pretty Boy. We’ve got an old man to wine and dine.

He snorted, and let Her pull him to the door, where Butcher was waiting with a scowl.

“Takin our sweet fuckin time, ain’t we-“

“Shut up and open the door, Butcher.” She snapped, ignoring Ben’s pointed smirk and not punching Butcher. “We can’t be outside for too long.”

Butcher rolled his eyes, but entered the code—same one as before, which was probably some sort of security risk that Ben couldn’t be fucked to point out—and pushed the door open.

Neuman was waiting for them in the hall with crossed arms and a glare. “You’re late.”

“Blame Mallory, Vicky-“

“Don’t call me that.” Neuman cut Butcher’s sneer off with sharp words, attention turning to Her and Ben. Ben got a short nod and mutter of, “Soldier Boy,” and She got a tight smile, and less venomous greeting of Her name. “I suppose you two are to blame for Zoe and I not having a dining room?”

She flushed. “Sorry. We used to use it for training-“

“And not the living room?”

“Not enough space,” She mumbled with a shrug. “And we’d already broken most of the chairs. It felt like a good idea at the time-“

“It was a good fucking idea.” Ben snapped, shooting Neuman a glare. “She’s a fuck ton stronger now, and it’s not like the CIA pussies can’t just buy more goddamn chairs-“

“Can we try to keep you asshole’s trademark swearing to a minimum?” Neuman snapped. “Zoe’s upstairs-“

Butcher scoffed. “You ain’t able to ask us to stop swearing and call us assholes in the same bloody sentence, and then expect us to listen-“

“Just,” Neuman sighed, shaking her head. “Tone it down. No pussies or cunts or bitches-“

She raised Her hand. “Is shit still on the table?”

“Does it have to be-“

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.“

Neuman frowned, looking their group over, and gave a curt nod. “Fine. Shit is allowed, along with minimal assholes and fucks. I would say use your best judgment, but you’re all idiots.”

Butcher frowned. “Oi-“

“Actually, I amend that.” Neuman pointed at Her, still pressed into Ben’s side. “She’s smart. You two,” She glared between Ben and Butcher. “Are dumbasses.”

She leaned back, grinning up at Ben. Take that, Pretty Boy. I’m the smart one.

I could’ve fucking told you that-

“Are we just gonna be fuckin standin here until Edgar comes knockin, or are you gonna let us out of the hall?”

Nueman rolled her eyes—with a mutter under her breath of asshole that only Ben heard—but nodded. “Follow me, I turned the spare bedroom into an office. It has chairs,” Ben and Her received sharp glares, and Ben sent one right fucking back. “So we’ll be meeting Stan there.”

Apparently, Neuman’s spare bedroom wasn’t the same as Her and Ben’s spare bedroom. Their spare bedroom was currently Zoe’s, and Neuman had taken Her room—it had become Ben’s as well, but that wasn’t really important to point out right now—which meant that the office was Ben’s old room.

It looked clean, and he couldn’t smell any lingering cum, so Ben figured he was in the clear as they settled around a small table. Ben squished himself at Her side, Butcher took the head, and Nueman dropped across from them with a frown.

“So.” Neuman watched them carefully, voice clipped. “Is anyone going to tell what’s going on outside of Mallory’s very helpful you’re hosting Stan Edgar for the Boys, non-negotiable?”

She sighed, finger’s tapping against Ben’s knee as she spoke. “We made a deal with Edgar for evidence of what Homelander did to me-“

“I remember,” Neuman’s voice was dry, expression flat. “I thought blasting Zoe and I was the deal with Edgar. What, are you here to finish the job with all three of us?”

“No,” She mumbled, and Ben pulled her a little closer against him. Neuman noticed—eyes flicking with a frown to his arm over Her shoulder—and he felt his jaw clench. “I’m sorry about that, really, but we were backed into a corner-“

Neuman shook her head, gaze moving back to Her. “I know. I’m mostly just being a bitch about it, but I think I’ve earned that.”

“I thought bitch ain’t allowed in the kiddie zone-“

“I can say whatever the fuck I want, Butcher.” Neuman snapped. “You’re a guest in my house, and, from what I understand, you don’t have to be here for the meeting. Be quiet, or wait in the car.”

“You ain’t gonna want to do that, head-popper.” Butcher drawled, leaning back in his chair. “Those two cunts will start fuckin on the table if I ain’t here to stop ‘em.”

“Stop calling me head-popper, I’m not-“ Neuman paused, head snapping the Her and Ben. “What does he mean you two will fuck on the table.”

“We won’t fuck on the table,” She shot Butcher a glare, and the pussy winked back. “We have self-control Butcher, I think we can keep from jumping on each other for a few hours-“

“Tell that to Soldier Boy’s fuckin boner in my face-“

“You were in our apartment, that’s where sex happens-“

“Holy shit,” Neuman shook her head, voice filled with a disbelief that Ben did not fucking appreciate. “Are you two dating?”

“Um, we haven’t-“

“Yes.” Ben snapped, and felt a warm, strong feeling explode across his ribs as She swallowed, but didn’t correct him. “You’ve got a fucking problem with that?”

“I mean,” Neuman gave a sarcastic, incredulous laugh. “Yes? Even if you ignore the whole age thing, you’re Homelander’s dad-“ She paused, looking at Butcher. “How did you let this happen?”

Butcher shrugged. “Ain’t a night gone by where I don’t ask myself that, but you adjust. Better than when they were by their bloody fuckin selves, and once you get over how gross they get, fuckin in the bathroom and makin heart eyes-”

“Can you stop talking about us like we’re not here?” She snapped, leaning out of Ben’s hold just enough to glare between Neuman and Butcher. She looked murderous. Ben loved Her so fucking much. “I am aware, Neuman, of how fucked up it is. But I’m also about to meet with the adoptive father of the woman I blasted with my,” She paused, and Ben caught the split second frown that crossed Her perfect face, before vanishing as she continued. “Ben’s bomb, which was put in him by Russian scientists after he was sold to them by the same man we’re about to have lunch with. Over lunch, we’re going to talk about the favor we owe Edgar for providing evidence of my rape and torture to prove to Ben’s grandson that his dad is a piece of shit. Also, that asshole,” She jerked her head at Butcher, and he shrugged. “Is the step-father of Ben’s grandson. Side-note, Ben did try to kill his grandson once, but everyone is kind of over it. We’ve all tried to kill each other at least once, it keeps life exciting.” She took a heavy breath, holding Nueman’s gaze. “So, with that in perspective, being in love with a hundred year old grump, who loves me back and treats me well, isn’t really that big a deal, right?”

She loved Ben. That warmth spread through his whole body—growing bloody and hot from how he did fucking love Her, he did fucking treat her well—as he gave Neuman a smug grin. She loved him. He’d never get tired of hearing it, but every time She said it again it was like someone was shooting ecstasy right into his fucking body. He wanted to fuck Her. Butcher could suck Ben’s dick, because he loved Her and he needed to fucking prove it, to whisper adoring praise in her ears and hear her whine as he showed her how good she was. How fucking perfect and beautiful, how she was a goddamn force of nature and Ben would always fucking love Her. How, with Her face flushed—twisted in anger and sneering at Nueman—and her hands on his leg were starting to smoke, she was a fucking miracle and deserved the goddamn world-

Someone was knocking downstairs. It was terrible timing for Ben—who had been seconds away from finally fulfilling a handful of fantasies about fucking Her on the wall behind them, or on the bed Neuman had somehow turned into a damn couch—and amazing timing for Neuman, who was still gaping at Her with a dumb fucking look of surprise.

Neuman shot to her feet, giving Her a weary glance and walking in wide steps around Her and Ben’s chairs, muttering something about greeting Edgar, and checking on Zoe.

Butcher coughed. “I ain’t ever seen Neuman speechless before. Bloody good work, Love.”

“Shut the fuck up, Butcher,” She muttered, face falling to a look that Ben knew meant guilt.

He’d be fucked backwards if he was going to let her sit in it. No apologizing to Neuman, Sunshine. She doesn’t fucking deserve it.

I wasn’t going to. She looked up at Ben with pretty, gentle eyes and a soft smile. I meant everything I said, and I’d probably say it again. I just, I’m tired.

He frowned. If you need to go home, we can take Butcher’s car. I’ll knock him out and we’ll just go-

No. We’ve got to do this. I’ll be okay.

Ben grunted Her name in his head, scanning her features for some sort of fucking clue for how he could fix this. I’m fucking serious-

I know you are. She sighed, leaning back into Ben’s arms. So am I. I’ll be okay, promise.

He didn’t get to push it. She was okay—her heart was steady and Ben didn’t feel that sense of wrong that wracked his body when she was in pain—but Ben needed to know why she was tired. He needed to ask what she needed, why she was being so goddamn vague about it, maybe just remind Her that he loved her and would stay right fucking here until she needed him. He didn’t get the chance to do any of that, though, because footsteps sounded up the stairs, and Ben barely had time to tuck her further against him before Neuman was pushing the door open, and Edgar was following her into the room.

“Victoria,” Egdar hummed, surveying Ben, Her, and Butcher as he sat down. “I thought I was attending lunch with friends, not sitting at a table with William Butcher.”

“I’m part of the fuckin decor,” Butcher leaned back in his chair with a shrug. “Pretend I ain’t even here.”

“Or, you could simply not be here. I am sure Zoe would be absolutely entranced by your adventures-“

“Do not go near my daughter,” Neuman snapped at Butcher, before turning to give Edgar an exasperated look. “Please just make this easy for me, Stan. I’m not exactly thrilled by it either.”

“I can promise I will not be the issue here. As for our company,” Edgar turned to give a snake-like smile to Her and Ben. “I hope we can all remain civil, but they are not known for their manners.”

“You can eat my civil fucking asshole-“

Ben cut himself off with a grunt as Her elbow slammed into his gut, and she shot him a glare before turning to Edgar. “We’ll be civil. Are you going to be a cryptic fucking James Bond villain?”

Edgar made a small huff of amusement. “I will do my best to make my intentions clear, but forgive me if there are gaps you’ll have to fill in for yourself.”

“Awesome,” She mumbled, heartbeat stuttering, and Ben pressed his thigh into hers, keeping his glare trained on Edgar. She took a slow, steady breath, and tilted her head at Edgar, voice bored and even. “So, Edgar, how was your day? Anything fun happen?”

She was playing the game. Ben glanced down at Her—sharp eyes, narrowed on Edgar and paired with a too sweet smile—and knew whatever the fuck She and Edgar were about to do was Her battlefield. If Homelander crashed through the roof, or the Deep crawled out from under the fucking bed somehow, Ben could take care of it. His shield was exactly a half step away, and he could call the drums in three seconds if he needed to. But right now, Edgar’s cold, skin crawling smile was spreading across his face—Neuman and Butcher silent in their seats—and this was Her place to tear Edgar’s still-beating heart out of his evil fucking chest.

Metaphorically. Ben was pretty damn sure it would be metaphorically.

“Well,” Edgar hummed, holding Her gaze. “I did get up earlier than I would have preferred, but there is only so much one can do in prison. However, I was able to get a fairly decent nap on the drive, even with the two brutes Grace sent watching my every move. And you? Any exciting news from the Merry Band of Savage Imbeciles?”

“Nothing I’d write home about, or share with you.” She shrugged. “MM has a garden, he’s growing cucamelons. I made twenty dollars on a bet with Frenchie that he couldn’t get Hughie to say a bad word about Billy Joel, and thirty dollars on a separate bet with Annie that I could switch my food with Frenchie’s while he was focused on Hughie, and nobody would notice. I’m going to buy some new underwear, all of my old ones,” She kicked Ben under the table. “Keep disappearing under suspicious circumstances.”

Ben coughed. I don’t see you fucking complaining-

I’m not. But don’t expect fancy wrapping paper when you’re just going to tear it off.

“And how are things between you and our beloved Benjamin? I called you quite early last week, and despite what he may think,” Edgar nodded at Ben. “I was able to hear your riveting argument and pillow talk.”

Ben was going to break Edgar’s fucking face. Slam it on the table, rip his heart in a way that wasn’t at all a damn metaphor-

“We’re good.” She gave Ben a smile of don’t kill him, it’ll be gross, and said, “He’s an idiot sometimes, but I love him.” She turned back to Edgar with narrowed eyes. “But something tells me you knew that.”

Edgar didn’t spare Ben a glance, giving Her an innocent shrug. “I had suspected for quiet a while that your relationship was no longer just business. I would be lying if I said I didn’t expect better from you, though-“

“You shouldn’t,” She shrugged. “I’m only a woman, Edgar. Look at his face, you’d have come around on him as well.”

Ben scowled as Edgar gave him an overdramatic once over. I am not a piece of fucking meat-

Yes, you are. You’re a very handsome, grumpy piece of meat whom I love very much.

I’m hot as fuck, Sunshine, but I did not come here to be talked about like a common fucking whore-

She kept her eyes on Edgar, but Ben could see her lips twitch up. Objectified, Benjamin. The word you're looking for is objectified.

I don’t give a fuck what word-

“And is it his sparkling, warm personality that makes you share his bed outside of disappearing underwear?”

Her face didn’t lose its amused, casual expression, but Her voice became venomous. “It really is. I have a lot of nightmares, Edgar, and he’s like a Teddy Bear.”

“It may only be the way he’s glaring at me,” Edgar’s voice was fucking bored, and Ben glared harder. More fucking violent, more furious, and maybe Edgar might just explode. “But I would have called him just a regular bear. Although I will acknowledge my bias, we have not been on the best of terms since his return from Russia.”

“Yeah, well.” She narrowed her eyes. “I wouldn’t call either of us your biggest fans. Forty years off his life, three off mine, overall we’re looking at about a combined 50% decrease in years of our lives where we weren’t being tortured. I’d glare as well, but Ben’s better at it.”

Edgar didn’t even goddamn flinch, just offering them a fake fucking simper. “He was unstable, a liability. I would make the same call again in a heartbeat, and not have a single regret. You, however,” Edgar looked Her over, and Ben heard the table crack under his fist. “I must offer my most sincere apologies. If I could’ve stepped in, I would have, but controlling Homelander is a delicate surgery, and sacrifices must be made. What happened to you was, is, tragic, but, as I have told you before, you are the greatest weapon I have ever seen. And I’d would like to strongly encourage you to take advantage of your gifts, so we can all be out of this circus before the fourth of July.”

Ben could feel the cracks in Her along his skull and twisting in his gut as She swallowed. I can just fucking kill him, and we’ll go home-

I’ve got this. Her voice was measured and smooth in his head, but Ben still felt fucking sick. She was leaning across the table, tilting Her head at Edgar with a glint in her eyes that would’ve made Ben fucking flinch, and her voice was syrupy. Slow, calculated, and fucking furious. “Do you know why I was at that Vought party, Edgar?”

“I am afraid not-“

“I was celebrating. I’d just gotten my PhD, that day, and I’d finished it in record time. I paid for it all myself, and it had been so much work, but I’d done it. I was officially a doctor. I already had offers from Columbia and Sanford, but I’d still scheduled a meeting with a rep from the UN on Monday. I’d been recommended to him by one of my favorite professors, so I was a shoe-in for the job, and I wanted it so bad. I’d get to travel the world and help people. Maybe I’d meet someone, and we’d settle down somewhere peaceful to have a family. My friends were proud of me, and one of them worked for your analytics team. She had an invite, to this real fucking fancy Vought party, and brought me as a plus one. She paid for my dress, and drove me home after I got drunk. She said, even though I’d started flirting with the bartender to try and get extra drinks when I got cut off, that I’d still managed to sing Moon River perfectly. Said I hit every note, and even Homelander looked impressed. I woke up in a cell the next day. Missed the meeting with the UN rep. Missed three years of my life, being locked up in the name of controlling Homelander. So I don’t want your apology, unless it’s that time back. Unless you can make Homelander un-kidnap me, fucking save it.”

The room was silent—even fucking Butcher had gone pale—and something was ringing in Ben’s ears and eating at his lungs. He hadn’t know that. He hadn’t know half that she’d been celebrating, or that she’d literally just gotten the fuckin degree. And it was rattling around inside him like a fucking bomb. This wasn’t Ben’s bomb, driven by drums and wrath and fury. This was Her, screaming in his head with a voice that was starting to grow raw and cracked.

Edgar looked surprised. Like She’d just shot him, but he’d manage to recover without thought. There wasn’t a hint of fear in his cold eyes, but there should be. He should be fucking shaking, because She was forgiving. The part of Her in Ben was wailing and twisting in pain, but she’d kept controlling every breath as her eyes glazed over, and the fabric of Ben’s suit under her hand started to blacken. She was angry, but clever and kind, so she wouldn’t kill Edgar.

Ben would. He’d do it for Her, because there wasn’t a single thing in the world worse than this fucking pain that Homelander had festered inside Her, planting fear in her like a goddamn parasite, and all Edgar had done was stand by and watch.

Now wasn’t the time to kill Edgar. His gaze was still locked with Hers, Ben merely an observer, but the moment the chance was offered he’d take it. Bash Edgar’s brains in on his shield, make him fucking hurt in repentance, then never let a single fucking pussy hurt Her again. All She’d be was loved, and Ben would hold Her against his body until all that fucking pain faded into something that ached, but didn’t burn.

Later. Now, Ben just had to squeeze Her hand, remind her that he’d never fucking lose her again, and stay at her side.

“May I ask,” Edgar’s voice was slow, like she’d exploded if he treated her like anything less than a feral fucking animal. “How you plan to make up for those three years in the infinite amount of time now available to you? I cannot offer the time you’ve lost back, but I imagine immortality will have its perks in the years to come.”

“Save the riddles, Edgar.” She snapped. “Tell me what you want.”

“I simply wish to know your plans for when this is over, should you emerge victorious. If Singer hands over the V, and you can outmaneuver Sister Sage and her gas, will you have a family with Soldier Boy? Travel the world? Perhaps both, or contract with the UN, maybe get a book deal? I’d like to hope peace for you, as a world without Homelander is an exciting prospect, but I don’t doubt there will be quite a mess to clean up after him. Will you be picking up a shovel, or leaving it to people such as myself?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yourself.”

“Indeed. I am well versed in handling the many insecurities and reckless behaviors of the super-abled. If my services to the clean up effort, when it comes, were needed-“

“Is this the favor?” She cut Edgar off with a glare, and Edgar chuckled.

“It is only an offer. I’ve found it is never too early to throw one’s hat in the ring.”

“Keep your hat,” She leaned back against Ben, and her breathing relaxed into a more easy, natural state. “We’ll pass.”

Edgar shrugged. “My hat will remain on the table indefinitely, and it will be there when you realize you need it. I suppose all that remains is business, though I was hoping to discuss official matters over lunch, Victoria.”

Neuman rolled her eyes. “The kitchen is downstairs, Stan. You’re not so old I have to walk with you.”

“When I do reach that age, I expect a nice retirement home.” Edgar gave Neuman a smile, and it might be the only genuine one Ben had ever seen on the man’s callous face. “Nothing with golf, I am afraid I never quite got the appeal.”

“I think prison will do that shit for her, Stanny.” Butcher grinned from across the table. “Government funded retirement. Comin right out of Neuman’s bloody paycheck either way.”

“It’s tax funded, asshat.” Neuman shot Butcher a glare. “And I’m not the Vice President anymore-“

“I ain’t an American, popper, not my fuckin problem-“

“I know you’re a dual citizen, you dick-“

Ben coughed—as loud as he fucking could—and all eyes turned to him. “The fuck do you want from us, Edgar. Now.”

“Well, Benjamin, I never pegged you as someone to be driven by urgency-“

“You ain’t ever pegged ‘im at all, he’d be a lot less fuckin uptight- Fuck!” Butcher’s mocking was cut off by a lick of flame, flying past his ear. “Bloody hell, Love, coulda takin my fuckin head off-“

“But I didn’t.” She shrugged. “Shut up and listen, or I won’t miss next time.”

Edgar sighed, giving Ben an exasperated look like they were fucking buddies. “As I was saying, I understand your urgency. Anticipation can be tantalizing. But I promise, this is nothing that will cause you any grief.”

“Christ, you pussy, just spit it fuck out-“

“There is something I need collected,” Edgar said, attention entirely on Ben. “Some possessions I left in the care of someone I trusted, who will have them should you ask. I would like you to retrieve them.”

Ben frowned. “That's it.”

“It is. Straightforward, and relatively simple. Despite what you think, I am not a total monster-“

“Where are they.” She interrupted Edgar with a glare, her body tensing under Ben’s arms. “The possessions. Where are we going.”

Edgar hummed, giving Her an amused look. “I have said it before-“

“Yeah, nothing gets past me, I know. Where.”

“Red River.”

Neuman’s mouth fell open. “What? Stan, why the fuck are you keeping something at Red River-“

“It is an impressively safe storage space. It is kept almost entirely off the record, most of those at Vought are not made privy to it, and those who are have almost no interest in sparing it a thought. I have always thought that to be a waste, but I would not let my opinion get in the way of an opportunity.”

“What the fuckin hell would you need to be hidin at Red River,” Butcher snapped, leaning forward with a glower. “That you ain’t able to just hide in a villa in the bloody Caribbean.”

“The CIA raided almost all my villas, Butcher.” Edgar’s voice was dry, and his gaze turned back to Ben. “All you’ll need to do is pay Red River a visit, ask for Vanessa, and tell her you are collecting the Cornucopia. She will provide my property, you will return it to me, and our transaction will be complete.”

She blinked. “Is it a weapon?”

“I’m afraid,” Edgar said Her name with a small, cold smile. “You will have to find that out for yourself.”

“Stan, it’s not a weapon, right?” Neuman’s heart was fast—Ben had never heard her heart move fast, it was a little fucking weird—and her eyes were wide as she watched Edgar. “It can’t be a weapon-“

Edgar patted Neuman on the arm, his smile a little less snake-like than usual. “It is not dangerous to Red River, Victoria, nor its occupants.”

“But everything is dangerous at Red River-“

Ben nudged Her shoulder, keeping a careful eye on Neuman and Edgar. Is anyone going to tell me what the fuck Red River is.

It’s like a supe orphanage. She blinked. Actually, it is a supe orphanage. It’s literally a supe orphanage. Neuman was there, it’s where Edgar adopted her from.

Is that why she looks like she’s about to explode?

Probably.

The fuck happened to her parents.

She killed them. You and I became supes in adulthood, Pretty Boy. We had the luxury of motor control and a developed prefrontal cortex to learn how to control ourselves. She didn’t.

Ben frowned, but didn’t have time to dwell on the image of tiny versions of himself and Her—exploding and burning down buildings before fucking nap time—because She was talking to Edgar again.

“Is there a time limit on this? If we don’t get your shit by the end of the week are you going to explode New York?”

Edgar chuckled. “New York will remain intact. I would prefer that the package be returned to me as soon as possible, but I also recognize that our lives are quite hectic. Let’s say, before June ends.”

“Hm,” She examined Edgar, crossing her arms over her chest. “And what about that generosity you mentioned. For our time.”

“That is also something you will have to wait for, I’m afraid. But, this has been a lovely trip, so I give you my word that it will arrive. And be fruitful.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Gross. Is that it?”

Edgar sighed. “I am afraid so.” He turned to Butcher with a frown. “Though, I was promised the afternoon with my family, for good behavior-“

“That ain’t my fuckin problem,” Butcher snapped, rising to his feet. “Call Mallory. You two,” he pointed a finger at Her and Ben. “Let’s hit the bloody road. I want to be home for dinner, and bein here makes me fuckin itch.”

She hummed in agreement and stood, pulling Ben with her as they followed Butcher out of the room.

Butcher was—thought Ben would never fucking tell him—not entirely wrong about the safe house. It was goddamn weird to be here, to see most of the same furniture they had used, but rearranged or in no danger of being accidentally set on fire. There was still a scorch mark on the wall downstairs, from when she’d almost taken off Butcher’s head, and the kitchen had been clean when they’d passed it, but that felt wrong. Ben had almost never seen that kitchen spotless, and it made him feel all fucking bitter and soft. He didn’t want to come back here—not in a single goddamn universe—but he’d be lying if he didn’t look at the couch and feel something stab at him. He’d kissed Her on that couch for the first time. She’d punched him a lot in that dining room, and it had been fucking hot. She’d cried in almost every single fucking room, and Ben had held her.

He’d kiss Her on other couches, though. And She’d probably punch him in a lot of different locations. She’d keep crying, and Ben would always fucking hold Her. The house didn’t matter that much, Ben decided, because She was the only reason he was being a pathetic fucking pussy about it. And he still fucking had Her. She was right at his goddamn side, leading him down the stairs, and giving him a small smile over her shoulder as they exited the safe house.

Ben opened the car door for Her—he loved Her, and no matter what she said, he was a goddamn gentleman—and had barely sat down himself when She grabbed his face between her hands.

“What the fuck-“

I need to tell you a secret, Ben.

He blinked. The hell do you mean, a secret.

I mean you can’t tell anyone. Not Butcher, not MM, not Mallory or Annie.

I don’t tell those pussies shit. I love you, not them-

You don’t have to love someone to tell them things-

Good thing you’re also my best fucking friend, and they’re not. He winked at Her, and she relaxed slightly. What’s wrong.

Edgar is playing both sides.

What.

He’s hedging his bets. He’s working with us and Sage.

How do you-

He said Sage has gas. Did you, Annie, or Hughie tell Mallory about the gas?

Ben frowned. They hadn’t. They’d lost Her, and in the chaos nobody had thought to bring it up. It hadn’t seemed that fucking important, when She was in danger. No.

Sage, Homelander, and I are the only other people that know about it. And Edgar didn’t just say gas. He said Sage and her gas. So he defiantly knows about it, and I sure didn’t fucking tell him.

So he’s a cowardly fucking pussy backstabber-

No, he’s a cowardly fucking pussy liar. He said if Singer hands over the V. Nobody knows we’ve asked for that but Singer, his cabinet, Mallory, and the rest of the team. No one in the Boys would trust him enough to tell him, so Singer or Mallory must have. Her eyes narrowed, and her fingers began to tap along Ben’s jaw and beard. She was thinking, her brow drawn in that pretty fucking glare at nothing, and Ben had still his body and wait for her to finish.

Her eyes widened, and Ben frowned. Sunshine-

Or, Her eyes focused on Ben’s. There’s a leak. And someone told Sage. And Sage told Edgar.

Ben glanced at Butcher in the driver's seat, and looked back at Her with a frown. You think one of us-

No. She shook her head, teeth peaking over her lips. Not one of us. We’ve been on lockdown, in close confines, with CIA monitored phones. It would have to be a leak in the CIA. Or within Singer’s cabinet.

Fuck.

She sighed, slumping on Ben’s chest. Fuck.

—————————

You were starting to equate your life to a hydra. Whenever you solved one horrible problem, two even worse ones would pop up to replace it.

Ben found a way to knock Homelander down, but now you have to actually get the V, and figure out to bide time and keep the world from erupting as you search. And once you manage to find some V, you’ll have to figure out how to physically get it into Homelander, and how to outmaneuver Sage so the whatever plan you make goes right.

You got Ryan out, but now you have to keep him out. You have to never let Homelander near him again, and come to terms with the fact that Butcher’s probably going to be in your life forever now. You’ll get over it—and it will make for several entertaining thanksgivings—but it’s still weird.

You told Ben you love him, and he loves you, and that’s that. He’s a protective asshole, but he’s trying. Ben’s trying, he’s always trying, and you can feel how all his resolve and rough adoration stems from his love. The hydra isn’t Ben’s love—that within itself is a haven, an oasis within the sandstorm of the world—but how you have to love Ben and keep your head on your shoulders. Have to deal with the fact that, when it really comes down to it, you will burn the world and blow the mission for him, and he’ll do the same for you. And, second head, the fact that you now have to justify your love to everyone. You have to keep yourself together when Nueman or Edgar sneer about your poor decision making, like you’re not a full grown woman who’s well aware of her actions. You’d meant what you told Neuman, every last word of it. It was fucked up to be in love with the biological father of your abuser, who was old enough to be your great-grandfather, didn’t know how emails really worked, and had definitely killed a lot of people. But you’d come to terms with that a long time ago, and in the grand scheme of things it was just another Tuesday. A really fucked up Tuesday, that you loved so much it made you feel high, and that gave you the best orgasms physically possible.

You’d escaped Vought, gotten back to Ben, and now you have to try to fix the parts of you that had broken and deal with all the fallout of your actions. You’re working on the former—it’s slow, but you’re only cold in the dead of night now, and it’s easier to mend the cracks when you’re surrounded by Ben’s warmth, when you can feel safe and loved as the pain starts to leak out of your body—but the latter might take a long time. Edgar had been right about that. Even when you kill Homelander, the world won’t heal. He’s not just a symptom, but he’s also not the virus. You’ll have to burn that bridge when you get to it, though, because right now there are other heads to fight

Like how you’d finally managed to get rid of Neuman as a danger, but Ben had still owed Edgar and there’s a very dangerous vacancy in Singer’s cabinet. Edgar’s called in his favor, and now you have to figure out if it’s just as simple and easy as it sounds—it’s probably not—and keep an eye out for a federal leak.

You and Ben had agreed in the car not to tell Mallory, and to keep it from the rest of the team until there was some more solid evidence. That was another Hydra head. You’d managed to get everyone to trust you, but now you had to figure out how and when to share game-changing news with them and feel the guilt of withholding it.

This had become a pattern, and it was fucking exhausting.

Butcher had barely spoken on the ride home, only grunting that you’d be going straight to a debrief, and that Mallory was finally back from wherever she’d gone off to.

Ten bucks that she was at a fucking orgy.

You blink at Ben as you both follow Butcher into the elevator. There’s literally no way that’s where she was.

Fine. Thirty bucks.

You don’t have thirty dollars, Benjamin.

He scowls. You don’t fucking know that-

Okay. You shrug, leaning against his chest and tugging his arms to rest across your stomach. Where did you get these thirty dollars from? Are you running a side hustle I don’t know about?

What the fuck is a side hustle.

A smaller job to make some extra money. It’s a byproduct of the gig economy-

I don’t need an extra fucking job, this one is already too goddamn complicated-

Well, as you’ve bitched and whined about many times, we don’t get paid. So unless you’re selling feet pics on the internet-

The fuck are-

Pictures of your feet. For masturbation, I assume.

Nobody is jerking it to pictures of my feet, that’s fucking disgusting-

Then where are you getting thirty dollars from?

When you tilt your head back to grin at him, you catch the tail end of his eye roll. Shut the fuck up.

You giggle, leaning up to press a small kiss under his jaw. Grumpy.

Ben’s hand shoots up, angling your chin further back, and begins to leave light kisses everywhere but your mouth. You’re real fucking lucky I love you, Sunshine.

Not luck, you smile at him, and he pulls back to meet your eyes. It’s just my magnetic and irresistible personality.

He snorts, and you were being sarcastic, but when Ben brings his lips to yours the kiss is tender and sweet. Soft, long, making your knees start to shake as all of Ben’s love slams into your body and he holds you upright, smirking against your mouth as you start to squirm. Not just that, darling. I love your smart fucking mouth, and all those pretty sounds you make, and that adorable little pout you do when you’re being a fucking brat.

Darling. That’s good. You like darling, and maybe a little more than my love. It sounds so right, rumbling around your head in Ben’s deep voice, and it makes something gooey and molten spread through your stomach. Molds you like putty in his hands, clears your head to a breathless song that isn’t just Ben. Ben, I love you, but something deeper. It’s in a harmony with his love, with the fact it’s such an overly-sweet pet name that Ben probably would have scoffed at before—or called a stripper in a condescending tone, if you’re being truly honest with yourself about the man you’ve chosen to love—but he’s using it for you so genuinely. He says darling in such a low, hungry and fond voice, and it makes you want to do something domestic and stupid and easy with him. To forgo the meeting, completely ignore Butcher’s glowers and muttering about no bloody respect for his refined fuckin sensibilities, horny fucking cunts, and drag Ben back to your apartment so he can spin you around until you’re dizzy and you can sing to him while you make dinner together. Then you’ll let him carry you upstairs, and you’ll finally convince him to let you wash his hair in the shower—you’re pretty certain you’ll be able to sneak conditioner in there, and the results might give you a heart attack in the best way possible—and when he carries you to bed you’ll let him fuck you until you’re so blissfully wrung out from pleasure you pass out in his big, warm arms.

You can’t do that. But you will. Right now you’ll wiggle out of Ben’s hold as the elevator doors open, looping your arm through his and following Butcher to the dining room to deal with the many, many problems life has presented for you to fix. And after, when Homelander is buried deep underground in an unmarked grave—a small bullet hole is his horrible fucking brain and his body rotting into a flower that will bloom on the grass and never cause anyone pain—you’ll dance and laugh with Ben, and he’ll call you darling, and it will be everything.

After. You make a promise to yourself, that after this is over, you’ll entertain a world where you’re just happy, and make up for all those lost years. Until then, you have a lot of work to do.

Everyone is waiting for you when you enter the dining hall. There’s no A-Train—he rarely attends these meetings unless Annie or MM make him—but Ryan is here, looking up from a book with wide, hopeful eyes.

“You’re late, William-“

“You’re back!” Ryan’s smile makes your heart ache a little. It’s so weightless and bright, purely the kid he’s supposed to be. Even Mallory doesn’t push her scolding, just sighing and shooting you, Ben, and Butcher a sharp look as you reach the table.

“Keep your head on, lad.” Butcher stops behind Ryan, giving him an impressively awkward shoulder pat as he returns Mallory’s glare. “And Jersey traffic delays ain’t my fuckin fault, Grace. We’re all in one bleedin piece, and we got news.”

Mallory starts to chide Butcher about proper planning, and something wired and shy shoots through your body, causing you to jolt and blink.

Ryan’s tapping your arms—resting on the table as you lean forward to see past Ben, hale-hunched over you and blocking your view of half the table—and mumbling your name.

You’ve tried to tell him not to touch you, explaining your empathy in the most layman’s terms you could manage—emphasizing how you can’t control it, and aren’t quite sure what it’s fully capable of—and Ryan had told you he didn’t care. He’d looked eerily like Ben in that moment, frowning at you in an almost frustrated confusion and telling you—in a manner much nicer than Ben had—that he didn’t really care what you felt from him. That he wasn’t afraid you’d feel anything you shouldn’t, that as long as you were comfortable with it, he was as well.

You’d put an end to it there. Ryan was allowed to tap your arm, and hug you, and he should never have to deal with feeling unwanted again. So you smile at him, and he gives you a nervous grin in return.

“What’s up?”

Ryan matches your whisper, shooting Butcher and Mallory a weary look as their argument continues. “I finished Frankenstein.”

“Did you like it?”

“I think so,” Ryan frowns. “I, um, I want to talk about it. If you want to, MM says the meeting is important-“

“I’ll still be here after the meeting, we can talk then.” You glance down at the book, turned over on the table. “What’s next?”

“Catcher in the Rye, Aunt Grace says it’s classic-“ Ryan pauses, and you realize you’d started to involuntarily scowl at the book. “Do you not like it?”

You sigh. “I’m not a catchall for literature opinions, but no, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

You glance down to the end of the table—MM and Frenchie have joined the argument, and you’re not even sure what it’s about anymore—before you continue. “It’s a very,” you paused, choosing your words carefully. “Pointless book. It says things that many other works say, loss of childhood is frightening and society is fake, but it offers the reader to believe that it’s okay to be an asshole, because you have issues and nobody cares. Salinger might have intended the book to be a critique of that idea, but it's still a common interpretation, and I think that within art, the artist’s intention becomes irrelevant once it’s in the hands of the public.”

Ryan nods slowly. “Okay, I just, um,” he glances down at the book on the table, then sheepishly back at you. “I don’t have any other books to read. I’ve finished everything in Butcher’s apartment.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah, I’ve been bored-“

“Oi, Ryan.” Butcher snaps, and you realize the fight has concluded. “She’ll be here for fuckin dinner, you can talk all you bloody want then. We got a meetin. ”

Ryan nods, scrambling out of his seat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“I ain’t mad, kid.” Butcher sighs, shaking his head. “Just the sooner we finish, the sooner you two can chat about,” he glances at you with a frown. “Whatever the bloody hell you chat about. I’ll drop out and get you when we’ve got all our ducks in a neat fuckin line.”

As Ryan leaves and Butcher takes his vacant seat, you decide you’re going to get Ryan some more books. A few off Mallory’s CIA-approved middle school reading list, some that are just good books that you think he should read, and some that are just entertaining. Ryan should be allowed to read the Hunger Games, a few comics that aren’t about his family members, and Twilight. You could even try and rope Ben into that last one, just for your own entertainment-

You’re a fucking marvel, Sunshine.

You blink, frowning up at Ben. I didn’t do anything-

I was listening to you. You’re real fucking hot when you talk all smart.

That’s how I always talk-

And you’re always fucking hot.

You roll your eyes. Kiss ass.

If you’ll let me. He winks, and you stick your tongue out at him.

Horny cunt.

Smart fucking brat.

Grumpy old man-

You’re into it. He shrugs, pulling you closer to his side. If I get turned on by how goddamn brilliant you are, you get turned on by how fucking grumpy I am.

You don’t manage to suppress the flush of your face. Fuck you.

You’d like that, wouldn’t you, his voice mutters your name in your head, and everything is suddenly very warm. You love it when I fucking toss you over my shoulder and-

“If you two motherfuckers want to come back down to Earth and contribute to the fucking conversation, I think we’d all appreciate it.”

You give MM a mumbled apology, cover Ben’s mouth with a hand to stop any sneers of pussy or suck my hairy fucking balls, and turn to watch Mallory at the head of table.

“Now that we’re all paying attention,” Mallory shoots you a thin-lipped glare, and at this point they’re just starting to bounce right off of you. “The only thing currently on the table is the meeting with Edgar. Soldier Boy, I’d like to speak to you after this, alone, about your jurisdiction and reckless-“

In an act of mercy to Mallory—you can hear the grinding of Ben’s teeth as his jaw clenches, see his fists start to curl on your shoulder—Butcher interrupts. “You ain’t got nothin for us about the V? Been almost a fuckin week-“

“The President,” Mallory’s words are clipped, glower redirecting to Butcher. “Is busy, and still working on our request-“

“He can just take it, non?” Frenchie frowns, looking around the table for affirmation. “There is no need for him to ask for permission, nor forgiveness, he holds the highest office-“

“Not that simple, Frenchie.” MM sighs, shaking his head. “We’re asking for something that’s probably buried in classified documents and locked behind a titanium door. Singer can’t just walk in and take it, and I doubt his Defense Secretary loves the idea of contracting some V out to us, of all fucking people.”

Butcher scowls. “Fuck that cunt then, we’re a bloody delight-“

“You,” Mallory glares around the table. “Are not known within the government for cleaning messes up. You're known primarily for causing them, and costing us millions.”

“That’s not fair, we try really hard.” Hughie frowns. “And it’s not like Vought-“

“Vought lines half of congress’ pockets. Pays for their kids to go to college. All you do is raise their blood pressure, and make them take an early retirement.” Mallory sighs, and her voice becomes the closest thing to sympathetic you’ve heard. “I don’t like it either, but there’s nothing I can do. I’ve backed you up to Singer, but if Muller keeps pushing-“

You blink. “Muller?”

“Singer’s defense secretary,“ Mallory’s voice is almost toxic, and you have a sickening feeling you know why. “He’s an eel of a man, no military experience, but he managed to charm his way into the position. And he doesn’t trust your intentions-“

“Todd Muller? Governor Todd Muller?”

“Secretary Todd Muller, he resigned the governor position in favor of Singer’s cabinet.” Mallory narrows her eyes at your gaping expression. “Why.”

“I, um,” you swallow, searching through your pockets with frantic movements. “Fuck, where’s my phone-“

Ben nudges you. You gave it to me in the car, said your pockets were too small. What the fuck-

I’m fine. You reach into Ben’s pants, grab out your phone, and ignore the traded looks of concern over your head as you type.

Annie says your name slowly, and you barely hear it. “Are you okay-“

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You mutter, scanning over the article on your screen before looking up to meet the concerned eyes of your team. “That’s my step-dad.”

The table is dead silent, and if you weren’t about to start crying or breaking things, you’d be proud of yourself. It’s not easy to shut everyone up, let alone for ten, long, painful seconds.

MM breaks the silence. “Your fucking step-dad is Singer’s defense secretary.”

“Evidently, yeah.” You snap, turning the phone around for everyone to see. “Spouse, Monica Muller. That’s my mom.”

Ben’s arm tenses over your shoulders. The bitch?

The bitch.

Hughie coughs, scratching the back of his neck. “Are you, um, are you sure? I mean, I believe you, but the chances are a kind of fucking crazy that-“

“It’s him. Positive.” You mutter, leaning back into Ben and frowning around the table. “Has Muller been briefed on, uh, me? I mean, I bet he watches the news, but does he know I’m here?”

“Do you believe it would matter if he had?” Mallory asks, words tight and cautious. “If you’re implying a bias-“

You sigh. “Not implying it. I’m outright suggesting it. If Muller knows I’m on the team, that the V is my plan, our chances are lower and we’re going to need to adapt.”

“If he is a professional-“

“He’s not.” Mallory blinks as you cut her off, and you realize you’re half-shouting. “He’s just,” you take a long breath, and feel Ben’s foot press against yours. The world grows sharper, you become a little warmer, and your voice returns to normal. “Muller’s not my biggest fan, and he’s an asshole. I wouldn’t put it past him to block us just because of me.”

MM frowns. “Not your biggest fan how.”

“We haven’t spoken in thirteen years.” You mutter. “And last time we did speak he called me a leech, and told me he was changing all the locks on the house. So, when I realized that independence wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be, I couldn’t come crawling back.”

“Holy shit,” Hughie mutters, giving you a sympathetic frown. “Sorry, none of us knew-“

You shrug. “I didn’t tell you. I was dead to him and my mom for ten years before Homelander. We don’t have the same last name, I’m not in the will, and they didn’t even release a statement when I ‘died’. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing to tell. It didn’t matter.”

Ben frowns at your side, but any grunts of didn’t fucking matter, my ass, are stopped by Mallory’s clipped words.

“But you would say it matters now.”

“If Muller knows that I’m involved in this,” You swallow. “Yeah. It does.”

“And you were completely unaware of his position in Singer’s cabinet.”

Your skin starts to itch—smoke rising under your fingers on Ben’s leg—and you give Mallory a sharp glare. “Fucking obviously.”

“How.”

“What do you mean, how. I just didn’t know.”

“You have been out of Homelander’s captivity for over a year,” Mallory holds your glower. “But you have never managed to notice-“

“This is a new cabinet! I’ve had bigger things to worry about since January, sorry I wasn’t googling Robert Singer Defense Secretary pick while I was being fucking kidnapped-“

“Grace,” Butcher grunts, shooting Mallory a glare. “Lay of her. Just a shit fuckin coincidence.”

“William, you of all people know that we don’t deal in coincidences-“

Butcher shrugs. “Once in a blue moon. All we can do now is figure out how to stop the cunt from screwing us and the rest of America over cause of a bloody little family spat.”

Mallory relents with a long, pained sigh, but her eyes on you don’t soften. There are no apologies, or offerings of peace.

She still doesn’t trust you. Mallory is glaring at you, and you know that you’ll never be able to fully prove yourself to her. You can make sacrifice after sacrifice, throw yourself in front of every train and under every tower, but you’ll always be an unstable liability. You’re not weak to her, but you are dangerous. Still a weapon, still barely within her control, now with compromised judgment. You hadn’t missed Mallory’s scowl at Ben—at his arm over your shoulders and the way you’re resting your head back on his chest—or how her lips had curled in disgust.

The feeling is mutual. You don’t trust her. And you think, to a degree, that Butcher doesn’t either. If he did, he’d have told her about the V. Told Malloy you’d lied, the V hadn’t broken, and that you’d given it to him for use.

But he hadn’t. And when you meet his eyes briefly, he gives you a small nod. You don’t know what it means, but you know it’s for you. Butcher’s backing you up. Siding with you over Mallory.

And, strangely, it doesn’t shock you.

“I can speak to Robert about a possible,” Mallory swallows, lip twitching. “Issue with Muller’s judgment. Until then, our hands remain tied. Now,” she looks between you, Butcher, and Ben, crossing her arms. “What did Edgar want.”

You sigh. “Surprisingly little. We need to get a package for him, and that’s all.”

“A package.” Mallory repeats, doubt dripping from her voice. “From what I understand, Soldier Boy’s incredibly ill-conceived deal was that Edgar could request anything, but all he wants is a package.”

Butcher snorts. “That ain’t it. Tell ‘er where the package is, Love.”

You shoot Butcher a glare, before muttering, “Red River.”

“Red,” Hughie swallows. “Red River? What could Edgar need from Red River?”

“Wish I could tell you, Lad, but Old Stan was bein a real fuckin mysterious asstwat. Wouldn’t say anythin but Red River and pick up the package.”

Now you know Butcher doesn’t fully trust Mallory. It’s not just a package, it’s Edgar’s property. Purposefully hidden, away from federal and corporate eyes. You’d said it passively, without thinking, but Butcher’s words were purposeful. You’re picking it up. It’s not there now.

You won’t be correcting him. Mallory might override the favor, raid Red River and just take what Edgar wants. Ben would still owe him, and you don’t think losing whatever the fuck the Cornucopia is will do Edgar’s generosity any favors.

“He said it was being delivered there in a few days, and we just needed to pick it up and bring it to him.” You double down, holding Mallory’s gaze. “That’s it.”

That’s not what he fucking said, Ben grunts in your head, and you can feel his glare peeling you apart. The hell are you up to.

Can’t trust Mallory.

Butcher-

Doesn’t either. Trust me-

“I assume,” Mallory’s glower turns to Ben. “Soldier Boy will have to deliver it himself.”

“Would seem like it,” Ben drawls, giving your shoulder a small squeeze. He’s in. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t know why or what he’s in, but he trusts you, so he’s in. “Be a little fucking pointless if I didn’t.”

“Did he say anything else?” Annie cuts in with a frown. “Edgar could just have the package delivered to the prison, why Red River? What if it’s a weapon-“

“Ain’t a weapon, Starlight.” Butcher grunts. “Like I said, we ain’t got a clue about anythin but our instructions.”

Mallory shakes her head at nothing. “And yet you intend to go through with this, William. Despite our lack of intel.”

Butcher shrugs. “What’s the worst that could bloody happen.”

“It could be a large bomb-“

“It ain’t gonna be a bomb, Frenchie, how the fuckin hell would that even work-“

“He’s got a point Butcher, it could easily be a fucking trap-“

“MM, if it’s a trap, it’s a real bloody stupid one-“

“Traps don’t have to be smart, they just have to work-“

“It, uh, it could be a set up? No Homelander, but Edgar’s trying to frame us for something-“

“Petite Hughie, we are already very much criminals, Edgar would not need to frame us-“

“We aren’t all criminals-“

“Oui, just half of us. Myself, Butcher, Kimiko, and Soldier Boy-“

“I am not a fucking criminal you pussy-”

“You might be the most criminal motherfucker here-“

Even if we ignore all the outright war crimes and murders, I’ve seen you steal a car, Ben. You nudge his shoulder, pulling his attention from MM. That’s not exactly law abiding citizen behavior.

I’ve been fucking pardoned for everything-

Mallory slams a fist on the table, and the arguments die off. “This is not,” she snaps, glaring around at your team. “Winning you any points to make me approve this. Give me one good reason that I shouldn’t just let Soldier Boy deal with the consequences of his horrible, stupid actions.”

“Because we ain’t got another option.” Butcher leans back, hands in his pockets. “I’m not the biggest fuckin fan of this shit either, but we’re in a corner Grace. And we don’t got much else to do, what’s the worst a little bloody field trip could do. Get us some fresh air-“

“This would not be a field trip, William-“

“He’s right, though.” MM mutters. “We’ve got to back each other up on this, and Edgar’s a conniving dickhead, but he’s also not reckless. I don’t think he’s a sick enough motherfucker to put a bunch of kids in danger by sending us there.”

“And he adopted Vicky from there,” Hughie looks around the table with wide eyes. “I mean, they have a super fucked up relationship, but he does care about her. I don’t think she’d forgive him if he put kids like her in danger.”

Frenchie shakes his head. “It may not be a trap for the Red River, mon amie. Edgar plays a long game, we may think we are out of the woods, and then,” he smacks his hand on the table, and you flinch slightly. “Bomb in our ass.”

Hughie frowns. “How would the bomb have gotten in our ass?”

“I do not know, but Edgar has ways-“

“Of putting a bomb in our ass?”

“It is a metaphor-“

Kimiko whacks Frenchie’s arm. We can’t live our lives in the service of metaphorical ass-bomb.

Frenchie shakes his head. Mon Coeur, I am not in service of the ass-bomb, I am working to avoid it so I may continue to live.

There are ass-bombs everywhere, Kimiko shrugs, turning to you. Do you think it’s a good idea?

I do. You sigh, signing slowly. But I’m probably bias, I just want to help Ben-

But you want to do it?

You nod. I don’t think it’s a trap. I think there might be an ulterior motive, but we’re not marching to the gallows if we go.

“Oi,” Butcher snaps, glaring at you and Kimiko. “We ain’t all fluent in fuckin crazy sign language. Someone translate.”

You glance at Kimiko, and she gives you a small smile, signing, I am on your side. Frenchie too.

Frenchie sighs, but nods, and you turn to Mallory.

“I’ve got five votes pro-Red River-“

Mallory scowls. “I don’t see five-“

“Ben and Myself are givens,” you shrug, and glance up to see Ben’s gaze locked on Mallory with a murderous glare. You okay?

I’ve got your back. Keep talking, Sunshine.

You take a long breath, and return your attention to Mallory. “And Butcher’s already said he’s with us. Frenchie and Kimiko make five.”

“I’m in,” Annie says, shaking her head at nothing. “I don’t trust Edgar, but this could’ve been a lot worse. We should take advantage of the fact that he’s just being suspicious, and not an outright psychopath.”

Hughie nods. “I’m in too. That’s seven-“

“Eight,” MM grunts, and Mallory blinks at him.

“Marvin, you can’t be serious-“

“You’re outvoted, Grace.” MM sighs, saying your names as he frowns at you and Ben. “You’re sure about this?”

You don’t hesitate. “Positive. It’s our best move. If Edgar wants that package, he’ll get it. We might as well let him cash in the favor.”

MM nods. “Then I’m all in. We’ll need a few days to make sure we can go to Red River without Vought noticing, but-“

“I still haven’t approved this.” Mallory snaps. “It could still be a trap, and I don’t see any benefit to complying with whatever Edgar really wants.”

“I don’t like it either, but I’d rather we do it with those two idiots,” MM gestures to you and Ben, and when Ben goes rigid, you feel something heavy wrapping around his lungs. “Then let them turn around and do it alone.”

Mallory’s eyes turn to you. “What would you do,” she says your name in a cold voice, and your eyes narrow. “If I vetoed this.”

“You won’t.” You make your voice flat and bored, even as your blood starts to feel cold, moving faster in time with the scratch of flame under your skin. “If it was MM, or Annie, you wouldn’t fucking hesitate, on this. But we’re still a part of this team, whether you like it or not, and Ben being in debt to Edgar isn’t doing anyone any favors.” You raise your chin, holding Mallory’s glare with a sneer. “You are outvoted. Unanimously. We’re doing this.”

“Understand that you’ll be taking the fall, if this blows up in our face-“

Your blood is white hot, pushing around your lungs and wrapping over your heart. “I always do.”

Mallory’s face twitches. “You don’t get the whole team-“

“Don’t need the whole team. It can be Ben, me, and Kimiko.”

“Please,” Mallory scoffs. “I’m not sending you with just Kimiko-“

Hughie raises his hand. “I can, uh, I can go too. I’ve been there before, and I’m kind of responsible. Not that you and Kimiko aren’t responsible,” he gives you an apologetic grimace. “But I think I’ve killed the least people here, besides Annie, and she can’t go because of security-“

“I get it, Hughie,” you offer him a small smile, and he nods as you turn back to Mallory. “I’ll take Hughie as well.”

You feel something jerk in your chest, and look up to find Ben scowling at you. You’re not fucking going.

Ben-

No. You can’t go out in public, Homelander-

Homelander won’t be looking for me at Red River.

You don’t fucking know that-

Benjamin, I’m going. That’s the end of it.

The hell it is-

I’m so fucking serious. Your glare at him, and that broken part of you twisting and curling inside your gut. You are not doing this shit alone.

I can handle my goddamn self-

I fucking can as well! You’re half screaming in silence, the fire mixing with your blood and clawing out of your hands and tongue. I’m going with you! Stop trying to bench me-

Ben grunts your name, and you can’t tell if it’s in your head or not.

I’m not delicate! Why don’t you fucking trust me-

I do trust you, but I’m not putting you in fucking danger for this-

For what?! To help you like you’d help me! Can you honestly fucking tell me, Ben, that if I was in debt you wouldn’t do whatever it fucking took to help me pay it?!

That’s not the same goddamn thing-

It is! It’s the exact same fucking thing. Your eyes are stinging, your whole body is stinging. Aching and stabbing at that flailing piece of you, slamming on the cracks inside of you and splitting them further, aching and stabbing at everything. Everywhere. I want to help you, I need to help you, just let me fucking help, you fucking asshole-

Big, warm hands are cupping your face, and Ben starts to drag everything in you back together. Your fury at him doesn’t lessen, but falls back into your blood. Only your blood, twining with the familiar feeling of Ben. Still a part of you, still loving you, and full of a weighted, almost painful force. Sheer, grounded will, covering over something bitter, taut, and rabid that lived everywhere in his body. Breathe.

You swallow, everything coming back into focus. I’m still fucking mad at you-

I know. He’s watching you. The world is clear, and Ben’s eyes on yours are tearing you open, the sore, bitter thing eating him alive. But you still need to fucking breathe.

It’s quiet, you realize. Dead quiet.

When MM speaks, his voice is hoarse. “What the fuck just happened.”

Your tongue still feels a little numb, but you can’t punch and scream at Ben, or fall forwards into his chest and cry. Your voice is a little too flat when you speak, but you let the words push themselves out. “Sorry, it was, um.” You take a shaky breath. “It was the empathy. I think it’s getting stronger, and I still can’t really control when that happens. I’m working on it, I’m really sorry.”

An apology doesn’t feel like enough. As you scan the faces of your team, everyone is bloodless and frozen, and you know they felt you. Felt the cracks, felt the sting, felt all of that cold, burning fear and anger and pain that always sits somewhere inside you like a sickness.

“What happened to the suppressant.” Mallory hisses, and you flinch. “To avoid this very problem affecting us.”

“I’m not taking it anymore,” you mumble, staring at the table. “It felt, it felt wrong. I couldn’t do it-“

“This is not about you.” Mallory snaps. “It’s a precaution for everyone’s safety-“

“Mallory,” Ben grunts. “Shove it up your fucking ass and eat my dick. She’s not taking it.”

He’s pulled you a little closer against him and, as furious at him as you are, some instinct in you still goes Ben. Safe. You think it’s because you can still feel that weight on his chest, and how it’s been dropped there by his love. Because you know that none of that fear was fear of Ben. That you’re going to have time to shove his chest and yell at him later, but right now you’re just tired again. You’re cold again—unable to look your team in the eyes, unable to control yourself, weak—and right now Ben is warm. And he’s got your back.

“You do not speak for her, or control her actions-“

“I am well fucking aware of that.” Ben drawls. “But she already said her damn self that we’re working on it. You’re fine, you bitch, so fucking shove it.”

Mallory says your name, and that rabid ache in Ben flares. “I do not care what Soldier Boy has told you, this is a security measure. Do not compromise yourself for whatever this is.”

That makes your head snap up, gaze landing on Mallory as your exhaustion morphs back into fury. When you speak, your voice is careful, venomous. “Whatever what is.”

If Mallory senses the danger in your voice, it doesn’t show on her face. “I recognize that you and he,” she gives a dismissive gesture to Ben, and you see Butcher wince in the corner of your eyes. You have a feeling everyone but Mallory knows where this is headed, and none of them are stepping in to stop it. “Have developed an odd kinship. But you are a smart woman, do not lose sight of the mission or your team for it.”

“This had nothing to do with the mission.” You’re not in danger of losing control again. This isn’t prodding at something broken or cracked in your body, it’s only measured anger. “The suppressants were detrimental to my health-“

“Did he tell you that?” Mallory snaps, giving Ben another jerk of her head. He’s still silent, still there, still letting you handle this. “Did Soldier Boy tell you they were detrimental-”

You’re not entertaining this. “He did. Because we live together, and sleep in the same bed. He was bound to notice that I wasn’t exactly doing well, what with all the nightly mental breakdowns.”

“And you trust his judgment-“

“Always.” You hold Mallory’s glare, leaning across the table. “I always trust him.”

It might not be entirely true, but this isn’t about the truth. Ben is an asshole—a loud, abrasive, infuriating piece of shit—but you’re still going to defend him to the end of the earth. You’ll stand by his side always, even when you’re angry at him. You’ve earned being angry at him. And Ben might not be allowed to tell you what to do, but he’s also earned his own lenience. He still grounds you when you’re spiraling, and loves you all the time. Mallory isn’t a part of your fight with Ben. Mallory isn’t a part of any of this.

“You are not as intelligent as I thought,” Mallory hisses. “If you are willing to forsake everything for Soldier Boy. It would recommend you re-evaluate, if you truly believe that he is worth risking your lack of control.”

Your vision is red. Not your vision. Ben’s vision.

Can I fucking kill her-

No. “Is that it? I should call things off with the only person in my life who loves me, and take the experimental drug?”

Mallory scoffs. “He does not love you, girl. He may be infatuated, but-“

“He does.” You’re done with dancing around it. It’s been a long day of playing the game, so this has to be plain and brutal. This has to be the last time Mallory questions your judgment, the last time she pretends that she’s in charge of you. That she has any idea what you’ve gone through—from Homelander, from Vought, from her—or any authority over your choices. She doesn’t even fucking pay you. “Ben does love me. You’ve even used it to your advantage, with that fucking stay in line and you’ll put me in danger shit. I also love him, and if you actually viewed us as people, you probably would’ve noticed it. Everyone else certainly did. I am not a child, Mallory, with a school girl crush. I am an adult, who is allowed to make my own medical decisions, and fuck and love whomever I chose. And I chose Ben.”

“I would not endorse that choice-“

“I don’t fucking care. And it is truly insane to me,” you drawl. “How everyone is so incredibly comfortable telling me what to do with my life. I’m getting a little fucking tired of it, but I’m getting tired of a lot of this. Maybe I’ll let Ben steal Butcher’s car, and we’ll just leave. Maybe we’ll go to Canada. Maybe Mexico. But no matter what, we’re going together. And I don’t think you want to lose your two most valuable weapons at the finish line, Mallory. So watch it when you try to tell me how to think, or what to do outside of the mission.”

You don’t wait for her response, standing to your feet, taking Ben up with you, pausing only to glance at MM.

He speaks before you can ask the question. “Three days.”

You nod slowly. “That’s it?”

“Should be. I’ll have a more concrete number by breakfast tomorrow, I’ll tell you then.”

You hear the implication. You’ll be welcome at breakfast. You’d exploded—at Mallory, by pushing your blood into everyone else—but you’re still part of the team. They might be afraid of you, and you understand that, but they don’t hate you. They still trust you, and if you want to come to breakfast tomorrow, you can.

“Thank you,” you give MM a weak smile that’s mostly just a grimace, and when he returns it with a small, curt nod, you leave. Pull Ben behind you—both of you silent, his sore, bitter, rabid weight still in your chest and lungs and gut—not looking back. Your team, somehow, isn’t trading you for Mallory. And you have an odd feeling that after you leave, they’ll back you up. Ben does love you, your judgment isn’t compromised, and they trust you.

When Mallory leaves, you’ll have to share the Edgar news with them. They won’t turn around and tell Mallory—you’re sure of it—and they should know. Maybe this hydra head won’t grow back.

You have a different one to deal with now, anyways. Ben does love you. If you know anything, you know Ben loves you. You’d cut off the head of judgement, and now you have to deal with the fact that you’re going to fucking kill him, and that—in the end—you don’t want to. You don’t want to fight with Ben, you want to fall apart just a little in his arms, but you can’t. You have to fight with him now, so you can crumble into him later and only think about how warm he is. About how much, even in the wrath eating at your muscle and heart, you love him.

You wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t. You’d just stomp upstairs when the apartment door closed behind you. Instead, you whirl around, and slam your fists into his chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Ben doesn’t stumble, glowering down at you. “What the fuck is wrong with you,” he hisses, the words pushed through his teeth. “If you seriously fucking think I’m going to put you in any goddamn danger for something so fucking stupid?”

You scoff. “You’re not putting me in danger, I’m telling you that I’m going, and there’s not a single fucking thing you can do about it.”

“The fuck there isn’t. Christ,” Ben growls your name, holding your glare. “What if it is a goddamn trap? What if Homelander’s waiting for you?”

“I know the risks, Benjamin, and that’s why I’m going. I’m not letting you do this alone-“

“I can fucking take care of myself for an afternoon, you’re not going-“

“You would never let me do this alone-”

“I told you, that’s different-“

“It’s not!” You scream, shoving at his chest again. It’s futile, he’s built like a fucking mountain, and when he catches your hands you almost sob. You don’t want to fight, and you can feel that rabid ache in him, making everything so focused and loud, making something blister in your chest. “Why are you being such a dick about this?!”

“Because I can’t fucking lose you again!” Ben’s roar cuts through your ribs, and suddenly the sore feeling is unbearable. It’s not just eating him, it's spreading through him and taking root like a mold. “It fucking killed me, I failed you and it fucking broke you. I’m never fucking failing you again-“

“You didn’t lose me-“

He doesn’t hear the softening of your voice, and you’ve only felt him like this once. With everything in him wrathful, but inverted to tear apart his guts and nerves. Beating him until everything is his body is in a horrible, sunken agony. His face looks just like it had the first time as well—clouded and heavy, every feature looking like it’s uncertain of how to express the pain you can feel within him—but you can’t lean forwards and take his face in your hands like you had at the Believe Expo. You can only let Ben’s hands hold yours, grip tight but his strength controlled, his thumb running over your knuckles in a way that you’re not sure he’s fully aware of. Like it’s an instinct for him, pushing through the haze of his wrath.

“I did fucking lose you! It doesn’t matter how forgiving you are, I didn’t fucking protect you and you got hurt! Homelander fucking hurt you, because I failed you, and I’m never letting that happen again!”

“Ben-“

“I’ll never lock you up, I’ll fucking throwing myself in front of a goddamn bomb before I do that shit to you, but you’re not allowed to be in danger. And this is fucking dangerous-“

“Ben-“

“I’m never losing you again, I’m never failing you again, and there’s not a goddamn chance in hell I’m letting you get hurt again-“

“Benjamin!” You raise your voice, and heat your hands just enough to make his skin raw, to get his attention. “I’m okay, I’m really okay. Homelander wasn’t your fault-“

“It was,” he’s not shouting anymore. It’s worse, to hear the hopelessness in his voice, and the mold is spreading further and further, over his bones and into his muscles. “I fucking failed you-“

“You didn’t fail me,” you whisper. “You couldn’t fail me. You won’t always be able to protect me-“

“Not if I have a goddamn say-“

“You don’t.” You give him a sad smile, slowly moving your hands out of his grip, up to cup his face. “Our lives are really dangerous, and that’s just the way it is right now. And you won’t always be there to protect me, because there will be things we can’t handle together. But we can do this one together, and if it goes south, I’ll come back. I’ll burn the whole fucking world to get back to you, if I need to.” You run a hand over his beard, feeling the wrath fade, leaving only the ache. “And you’ll be waiting.”

“Of course I’ll fucking wait.” His voice is low, hoarse, and sad. It’s so sad, rotting inside of him and making your heart turn in your chest. “I’ll always wait, I fucking love you-“

“And that’s enough,” you tug him a little closer, keeping his eyes on yours. “It’s more than enough that you love me, and that you’ll wait. I literally live in you, Ben. You’re the safest place in the world to me, and I’ll always come back. But I need you to let me do this with you. To trust that I can take care of myself.”

“I trust you,” he mutters, hands moving up to hold your wrists. “But I can’t fucking help you. I need to fucking help you, to make sure you’re safe-“

You tug his head down, pressing your foreheads together. “I’m safe. If you’re staying here, I’m safe.”

He lets out a ragged breath, but doesn’t keep pushing.

“You’re hurting yourself.” You say, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. Narrowed on yours, so fucking sad. “You’re really hurting yourself, Ben.”

“I’m fine, I’m not a fucking pussy, this shit isn’t about me-“

“You’re not a pussy,” you trace a hand over his cheekbones, down to the line of his jaw, and he stills. Watching you with wide, reverent eyes as the mold starts to melt, burning away as a pious warmth blooms from his skull, down his spine. “But you’re still allowed to be in pain.”

“I’m fucking invulnerable-“

“Emotional pain, Ben.”

“I’m fine-“

You give him a flat look, and he rolls his eyes, voice still heavy and tired.

“It’s not the fucking same.”

“Because I’m a woman.” You raise your brows at him, and he scowls.

“No, because you have an actual goddamn reason to be in pain. You-“

“I know what happened to me,” you sigh. “And I know you, Ben. You didn’t fail me, but no matter how much I tell you that you’re never going to not blame yourself for what happened.”

“Who fucking cares, I’m more than goddamn capable of feeling a little fucking sad and pushing through it-“

“It’s killing you. I can feel it. Right,” You point to his chest, where the mold has almost overtaken his lungs and heart in a suffocating, lead-like feeling. “There. And I care. I love you, and I hate that you’re doing this to yourself. It’s hurting me.” You swallow the lump in your throat, running your hands through Ben’s hair as the warmth starts to ache as well. It’s a better ache, like rain or sparks landing on bare skin, but it’s being pushed around inside him, as if his body doesn’t know what to do with it. Like it’s been thawed out and is unsure what it’s supposed to do within him. “Even when you’re being an ass, I still love you. And I don’t want you to kill yourself to protect me, Ben. I just want you.”

His head falls to your shoulder, arms wrapping around your body and pulling you half off of the ground, and the ache washes over your body like a wave.

Ben’s first sob is choked, against your skin and strained. His whole body tenses, the ache tightening around your lungs, and you think he expects you to push him away.

It’s okay, you hold him against you carefully, gently, and start to hum. You’re not sure it will help Ben, but he always does it for you, so you hum and run your fingers through his hair, letting a hazy, rainbow light fill the room, a warm breeze drifting around the apartment. Everything smells like flowers and honey and chocolate, and Ben’s relaxing against you, so you keep going. It’s okay, Ben. We’re okay.

It’s the same sound again. Pushing itself out of him, muffled in your neck as he tugs you closer, and you let him. You keep humming, let Ben hold you as tight as he needs to, and stay.

You’re not leaving. Nothing can take you away, and you know Ben realizes that when the wave turns into a storm. Crashing from Ben into you, all that aching, caring warmth. He almost falls forward, and his sobs are desperate as he shakes against your body. There’s an occasional, strangled roar, but it’s mostly just tears. Wet against your skin as Ben folds further down over you, like maybe he can pull you into him and keep you safe like that.

It takes slow, careful steps, but you guide him across the room and onto the couch without ever disturbing him. When you lower your bodies down—Ben’s head now buried in your sternum, half slumping onto and half on his knees—his arms drop to your waist, and he screams. It’s loud, echoing through the room and racking his whole body as he chokes on his tears.

I can’t fucking lose you. He’s still crying, his voice barely a croak in your head. Not again. Not when I could’ve fucking done something to stop it-

You couldn’t have done anything-

I’m supposed to fucking protect you. Ben’s hold on your body is almost bruising, but you don’t flinch. Nothing he does will ever hurt you, not really. Not permanently. I promised you I’d fucking protect you-

I don’t need you to protect me, Ben. You sigh, half-petting his head as the tears start to slow, and the storm begins to pass. I just need you.

You fucking trusted me. You shouldn’t fucking trust me, you shouldn’t keep forgiving me, you shouldn’t love me, I goddamn failed you-

You didn’t fail me. And I don’t love you because you protect me.

Ben looks up, and your humming falters. His eyes are red, and his expression is slack, and tired, and sad. Just so, so fucking sad, even as the warmth starts to spread once more. Why.

You understand what he wants. His love for you is almost cowering in your chest, and for once you know exactly how to feed it. I love you because you’re safe, Ben. Not because you keep me safe, but because you’re safe. I trust you because you don’t lie to me, and you don’t treat me like I’m a problem, and you stay. I’m not easy either, but you stay. You put up with how intense and reckless I can be with myself, and you never stop pushing against my worst decisions with my own life, and you make me feel important. You make me feel valued and heard and cared for in a way that I didn’t know was possible. Even when I didn’t think you loved me, I knew you cared. You always care, and you always stay, and I love you. I’ll alway crawl back to you because I know you’ll pick me up and take care of me, and I won’t be afraid because you’re there. And everything is better when you’re there.

The tears are gone, and his voice is hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, brushing hair away from his brow. “I love you, Benjamin. And I’m not mad.”

He huffs a dry laugh, resting his head onto your stomach as the tension starts to leave his body. “Of course you fucking aren’t,” he mumbles into you. “You should be.”

You smile down at him. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Ben chuckles, and even though it’s still low and gruff, it’s warm. “Couldn’t if I damn tried. You’re a piece of fucking work, Sunshine,” one of his hands find its way to yours, squeezing it once. “You’re fucking perfect.”

I love you.

Ben smiles against you, and all his care and affection hums in your body. I love you too, darling.

Your heart flutters a little bit, and you decide that, as long as Ben wants to stay molded against you—his chest rising and falling with ease, every part of him only love—you’re going to let him. He’d been right, you probably should be mad at him, but you’re not. He’d apologized. He wouldn’t do that if he hadn’t understood, because Ben didn’t do things he didn’t mean. And he was trying. He was always trying. And you can’t blame him for the fight, because you'd be lying if you said you’d be any better—if Ben went back to sleep, you hadn’t been there to stop it, and all you could do was wait for him to wake up—and it wasn’t like either of you were winning any emotionally stable and well-adjusted awards. All that really matters is he’s here, and he’s trying. You’re both always trying. Loving each other and losing your mind and burning together and trying.

Ben’s love is alive and content in your chest, easy and warm as you hold him, and it’s still so holy. It feels inevitable, loving each other. Not like soulmates, but something bigger. Something that’s made of more teeth and blood, and had been feral and lonely for so long, wanting for something it didn’t know was missing. A deep craving that had been there so long it felt natural, and you'd both learned how to live with it stuck in your bodies, and didn’t really want or need it to be satisfied.

You’re satisfied now. Both you and Ben have melded yourselves together, against every single odd and force trying to pull you away. And you did it. Nothing made this happen, you love Ben because of him, because of you, and because you don’t want to ever be wanting again.

And when you look at Ben, his face still buried in your stomach, chest rising and falling in a steady pattern, big hands rubbing circles on your skin, you know you won’t be.

Ben is here. He’s safe, he’s everything, and you love him, and you’re never going to be craving for anything again.

End Note: I know it’s far too late to turn back now, but I hope all the OCs and reader lore doesn’t throw you guys off. It’s hard not to do, just for this story, but let me know if it’s hard to track and/or read.

Thank you for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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sidekick-hero · 4 months ago

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First Love, Second Chance

(steddie | teen | tags: exes to lovers, canon divergence (Eddie lives), future fic (set 2001) | Part 2)

Next part to this one.

Eddie was standing near the entrance, a little uncertain, like he was looking for someone. His hair was a bit shorter than Steve remembered, but the wild curls still framed his face in that familiar way. He was dressed up, too — not a suit or anything, but in a crisp black button-down that looked like he’d borrowed it from someone with more of a taste for formal wear. Eddie’s fingers twitched at his sides, the way they always did when he was nervous, and he looked around the room with those same dark, intense eyes that Steve had memorized years ago.

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. No way. No way, no way, no way. This had to be some kind of joke. A cruel twist of fate. Robin had sworn up and down she hadn’t meddled beyond signing him up, but this felt like exactly the kind of thing she’d do to yank him out of his shell.

Eddie hadn’t spotted him yet, and Steve had a second — just a second — to decide if he was going to slip out the back door and pretend this never happened. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t move. His feet felt glued to the floor, and his heart was doing that weird fluttering thing it hadn’t done in years.

Eddie’s gaze finally swept the room and landed on him. For a moment, it was like nothing had changed — like all the years and all the hurt had vanished, leaving just them, two boys in a small town with big dreams and bigger fears. Eddie blinked, then a slow, cautious smile spread across his face, the kind that used to mean he was up to something.

Steve felt the air shift, his chest tightening. “Holy shit,” he muttered under his breath. He wasn’t ready for this. But maybe he was. Maybe this was why he’d come — some part of him still hoping for a miracle, still holding on to something he couldn’t quite let go of.

Eddie walked over, and Steve stood up without thinking, his legs moving before his brain could catch up. Eddie stopped in front of him, close enough that Steve could see the tiny silver hoop in his ear, the one he'd always worn after they'd let him out of the hospital in '86, when he'd had his ear pierced as a way to get his body back, as Eddie had said. All the scars that littered his body hadn't been his choice, but this little hoop had been. Eddie looked at Steve with a mixture of surprise and something else - something that looked an awful lot like hope.

“Steve Harrington,” he said, his voice a little rougher than Steve remembered, but still the same. “Is this… Are you my blind date?”

Steve swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Looks like it,” he managed to say, his voice steadier than he felt.

Eddie laughed, a low, nervous chuckle that tightened something deep in Steve’s chest. “Well, this is… unexpected,” Eddie said, his voice trailing off before he added, “I didn’t know you were… I mean, I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Steve shrugged, aiming for casual but feeling closer to panic. “Yeah, I didn’t think I’d see you either,” he admitted. “But… here we are.”

Eddie’s smile softened, and for a moment, they stood there, two people with too much history and too many things unsaid. “Yeah,” Eddie finally said, “here we are.”

Just like that, the room seemed to shrink, the noise and strangers fading away, leaving only the two of them. That was, until a voice cut through their little bubble.

“Sir, can I ask your name so I can find your table for you?”

Steve blinked, startled. Joanne had slipped up beside them, unnoticed, while they were lost in each other’s presence.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Eddie replied, flashing that familiar, disarming grin he always used when he was trying to charm someone. “Eddie Munson.”

Joanne gave him the same appraising look she had given Steve earlier and then beamed back at him. But as if suddenly remembering her actual purpose, she glanced down at her clipboard, her manicured finger scanning for Eddie’s name.

Steve’s heart pounded as he watched her. He wasn’t sure what he hoped for more: that she’d announce Eddie was, in fact, his date, because it would mean that on paper, at least, they still fit together perfectly. Or that she’d say Eddie was here for someone else, because maybe that would prove what he’d been telling himself all this time — that they were never right for each other, that they’d only been a disaster waiting to happen. Yet, the thought of watching Eddie charm someone else tonight, someone new, made his stomach twist into knots.

He held his breath, waiting for Joanne to decide the fate of whatever this moment was supposed to be.

Part 3

#steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #my writing

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selarina · 1 year ago

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Tracing Scars

→ Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k words

Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, megumi mentioned, canon-divergence, smut, oral sex(m!receiving), shower sex, choking Minors DNI

Read on AO3

The first time you see your boyfriend crying, you feel uneasy. You want to leave and never come back to this house again, but you stay. You sit down next to him even as he pushes and grunts himself away from your touch. You sit down on the dirty floor and you stare at the wall in front of you.

It takes an hour or maybe two, you haven’t been keeping track. For all you know you spent a whole day here. But he finally slithers his way over to you to seat himself next to you. You don’t look at him but you feel the warmth of his shadow against your own.

You don’t speak and neither does he but you know. You know this has to do with his old life.

He never speaks of it and you’ve never cared for it. Not truly. Not when that allows you to not talk about your old life.

It’s been so nice, you just worry now — now that his tears have dried up, if he’ll want to go back to that life.

From what limited information you have — it had been rough for him. The remnants of the scars you trace your hand over, the calloused rough hands that hold your cheek, the hallow part of his heart you can never seem to fill. It’s evidence enough.

“Toji,” your words come out hushed. It’s only loud enough to reach his ears.

“Yeah,” he speaks up, his voice hoarse and broken. Broken in different way from all the times you’ve heard him talk.

“What’s wrong?” you say.

He doesn’t say anything, and you expected as much.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you continue. “I can come back when you’re ready. I can leave.”

“Don’t,” his word is immediate, and it’s firm. But mostly, you think it’s scared. Even through the deep baritone of his voice, you can feel it.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll stay. You can talk about it if you want.”

He doesn’t say anything again and you find that it doesn’t frustrate you. Maybe it should but it never does.

“I’ll stay even if you don’t want to talk,” you say, hoping that’s enough.

He doesn’t say anything again, but his hand reaches for yours and you spend a good few minutes just playing with them. Tracing soft patterns and letters as he sits rigidly next to you. With every trace, however, he softens.

Melting, and melting until you notice that his shoulder is hunched over, just a little.

You smile, and the room goes quite again but it doesn't last long this time.

“I saw my son,” he speaks up, and your smile fades its away.

“You did?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “I saw him. He’s grown now.”

“Yeah?” you ask. “How does he look?”

“Like a scrawny little thing. He looks like he eats nothing. He looks weak,” he tells you. “But you know the strangest thing happened — he started beating the shit out of this other kid. Big guy, muscles and all. And then another after another. They all fell to the ground, crying for their mothers,” he says, almost proud.

“Like father, like son. I guess,” you say with a soft chuckle.

“Yeah,” he says, and you sense some pride in his word. “Maybe he’s eating well then.”

“I’m sure he is,” you smile. Your hand encloses around his, as if to whisk him away you pull and he lets you, and that’s when you know — it’s time. “Let’s go take a bath.”

—

Not a minute later, you were walking into the bathroom just outside his bedroom. Inside, he glanced at himself in the mirror. His hand card through his dark hair.

"Do you want me to get a haircut?" he asked.

You smiled and shook your head. "Not yet. I like your hair like this. Do you like it?"

"I like what you like," he says nonchalantly as he swiped aside the shower curtains. He leaned over the tub, to turn the the water on, and switched it quickly over to the shower head.

The water usually takes a while to heat up so the two of you just wait.

"You want me to stay over today?" you ask. "I brought my car so I'll be fine going back late."

"You should stay," he says. "If you're not busy."

"Well, I have work but I'll set an alarm and close the door on my way out."

He nods, as he pulls his tshirt over his head, throwing it in the laundry chute that was next to the sink.

"I forgot my toothbrush at home," you say all too suddenly.

"I have the one you used last time," he nods towards the the second toothbrush placed in a stand. "Forgot to throw it out."

You don't respond instead you just pull your top over as well.

Your hand reaches out, placing itself under the shower head, feeling the water. Immediately, you drew it back.

"It's hot now," you say.

He hums, his hand reaching for your hips and you almost yelp at the touch of his cold hands.

"Your hands are cold," you say.

"Yeah?" he asks, as his move up to your bra strap.

"Yeah," you say as he undoes the clip. You discard your bra as you turn to face him.

You reach over to meet his lips for a kiss. The kiss — it's slow and steady but as most things with Toji go, it turns into rough and desperate venture instead.

His hands grab your hips, as he kept kissing you. He gives your lips a tug before he starts sucking them. His hands move from your hips to your ass, reaching down, reaching underneath your underwear to give them a squeeze as he continued to place kisses all over your lips, all over your neck.

And finally, after it felt like the two of you had been kissing for a millennia, you manage to pull away from his greedy lips, as you lower your knees down to the cold tiled floor.

Your hand make quick work, to reach under his sweatpants and his boxers, and it doesn't take long for you to find his cock hovering just a few centimeters away from your face.

He smacks the plump of your cheek with his cock, leaving it stained. In response, you rub the skin of your cheek is soft against him, not unlike a cat.

He groans, and your hand moves to hold him at the base as you start stroking his length. Both your hands continue stroking in opposite directions, so that every centimeter of him is within your touch.

You open your mouth wide and let the tip of cock sit on your tongue, before you begin to trace your tongue up and down, as his hands come up, over your head, to pull you in, urging you to do more.

And so you do, with the push of his hand, you move yourself forward, your throat swallowing up the full length of him.

And then, he thrusts further up, managing to choke you on the bare centimeters left of his cock. A few hard pumps, and then his cum spurted down your throat as you made quick work to wait and swallow it all whole.

"Come on," his hand reaches down to you. You take it and stand up. He urges you to jump. He walks inside, stepping beneath the shower head as he turns it on.

He toggles with the setting with one hand, making sure it's not too hot, or too cold, as you stay steady in the hold of his other hand. You don't move much, but you do leave soft kisses, leaving a mark every now and then on the slope of his neck.

It doesn't take long for the shower to reach a suitable amount of hot, and just after, you find your legs reaching to wound themselves tighter around his waist, as his cock makes its way into your pussy.

Your hips meet with a loud smack, cock pressed up and into your stomach. He is rough as he pulls out, and he's rough when his glides back in. Your legs dig deeper into his back at that, they tighten as if to keep him there with you like this all the time.

He reaches for your mouth, soaking up your cries and your growing moans. And it hasn't been too long, but Toji isn't surprised that he's coming already. He feels a certain softness for you today. You generally bring it out of him but today your arms tighten and your face crunches in pleasure, he starts thinking about a life with you. A new one, a brand new one, not this temporary state of limbo he's in. He thinks about a stupid picket fence house, not that you'd want that. You'd probably want something eclectic and strange, and so, his vision changes. He imagines a slew of strange items and trash. Trash he would willingly build a shelf for.

He groans at the thought of it all.

"Toji, I wanna cum," you moan into your words, into his neck.

"Yeah? You wanna cum?” Toji grits out, as he pushes you up against the wall behind you. You don't get time to feel the coldness of the tiles, it lasts for a moment, before the sensation of him inside you comes to the forefront once again.

"Yeah," you say. "Make me cum."

His hands reach up to your throat, he doesn't press on it, he simply keeps it there for a moment before finally, he begins to squeeze. You ease your mind into the sensation of being choked and help like this. And soon, your brain starts to slacken just little by little, until all you can see and feel is him — his hands, and his cock.

His hands looosen, as they come back up to support you by the waist, easing you up and down his cock as you feel the sensation of the slew of air reaching into throat.

“Cum for me, baby,” Toji groans, his lips up close to your neck.

And so, you do. Your cunt pulses and clenches before he pulls out. The white essence reaching the tiles below before the make its way into the drain.

You reach up, still drained from the orgasm but wanting to kiss him. Your lips meet in a tired kiss.

You pull away, patting his shoulder with no force in particular. "Let's actually take a bath now," you chuckle.

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goodlucktai · 7 months ago

Text

too well tangled

rise of the tmnt post-movie / canon divergent word count: 1k characters: disaster twins

this was my bonus piece for the digital @turtlestogetherzine !

title borrowed from atticus—“you will never be unloved by me / you are too well tangled in my soul”

read on ao3

So it turns out that sixteen minutes in the prison dimension is about six months outside it. Give or take.

Donnie calls it a temporal differential. Leo’s third day back was spent being gently interrogated within an inch of his life. For every answer he gave, Donnie’s face got a little darker.

He seems a lot older than the last time Leo saw him. Everyone does. They all look at Leo like he’ll disappear into thin air if they blink too many times.

He expects it to wear off eventually. He’s only confined to the infirmary for a week and a half, and on bedrest for a week after that, but even a month later Raph and Mikey continue to stick to him like glue.

“I’m okay,” Leo tells them, when his bad leg seizes up and he staggers on his way to the breakfast table and Mikey’s face crumples horribly. Raph just huffs and lifts Leo clean off his feet to carry him the rest of the way. Swallowing past the uncertain lump in his throat, Leo adds playfully, “I mean, I’m not one to complain about the all-star treatment, but—”

“Good,” Raph rumbles, “then don’t.”

“Sorry if we’re being annoying,” Mikey says with a brightness in his tone that doesn’t sit quite right. He’s said that like fifty times since Leo came back. “We just—we missed you, Lee.”

And what is Leo supposed to say to that?

“Annoying? Please,” he scoffs. “I’m the king of everything obnoxious. You couldn’t annoy me if you tried.”

When Raph lowers him into a seat, Leo lifts his arm in invitation for Mikey to scoot his chair up right next to his, and then wraps him up in a tight hug. Mikey slots into his side like he belongs there, and he does, he always will, but it’s just a bit different than Leo remembers.

Mikey is still his little brother. But only by a few months now. Leo’s seventeenth birthday came and went without him.

And a part of him—this nameless little part that lives in the back of his mind, that’s lived there ever since dad made him team leader and ripped the rug out from under his feet—thinks that’s why Donnie doesn’t know how to be around him anymore.

He’s a constant presence. He’s a solid pillar for Leo to lean against when his legs don’t want to hold him up. But they don’t know what to say to each other. That unspoken understanding, that twin thing—it’s gone.

Or so Leo thinks.

Big Mama is more of a weird estranged relative than a mortal enemy these days, but she’s an entrepreneur first, eccentric wine aunt second. When she gets a big business idea, all bets are off. Leo can kind of respect that. It’s really thrilling and a little fun trying to match wits with a criminal mastermind, like high-stakes 5D chess.

But her invitations could use some work. Sending a bunch of burly yokai in Grand Nexus uniforms to intercept the turtles on their way to Run of the Mill for dinner is a scheme that could have used a bit more time on the workshop table.

Immediately Leo’s brothers close ranks around him. He’s allowed to run around in his leg brace at this point, but he has, in no uncertain terms, NOT been cleared to fight. He can tell from the set of Raph and Mikey’s shoulders that they’re beyond ticked off, but he can’t read Donnie’s posture at all.

It’s bad timing, but suddenly Leo is preoccupied with those dark little thoughts he’s been having recently. Maybe Donnie isn’t happy to have him around. It’s been a lot of extra work, right? Dealing with the prodigal brother’s physical therapy and night terrors aside, now Donnie can’t even pick up some pizza without having to play bodyguard.

So Leo is distracted—sue him. He’s got a lot going on. When an owl guard grabs him by the arm, he’s not ready for it. The yank backwards causes him to stumble, bad knee bending underneath him.

The guard seems to loom over him for a moment. The evening gloom of the alleyway and the lurid glow of a nearby neon sign makes Leo’s brain sprint right back to the prison dimension. A distressed chirp works its way out of him before he can fully reorient himself. Add that to his ever-growing list of Good Reasons To Fake His Own Death.

Big Mama’s goon looks surprised by the sound, grip relenting on Leo’s arm immediately. He wouldn’t do that if he were here for villainous reasons. So Big Mama probably actually considers kidnapping via sudden ambush to be a halfway decent method of picking her nemeses-slash-nephews up for an evening visit.

Leo only has a second to think, Okay, I can work with this, turning up the charm and pretending like he can’t still feel the aftershocks of panic, before he’s being yanked again.

This time he’s pulled right in against Donnie’s side, a strong arm around his carapace. There’s a burst of light and warmth—bright purple and overheated electronics, he’d know his brother’s ninpo anywhere—and they’re surrounded by a gleaming, glowing arsenal.

The owl guard didn’t have a chance in hell. Donnie still doesn’t really look at Leo, not once as Mikey and Raph rush over, not even on the empty-handed trek back home.

But he sits next to Leo on the couch while Mikey enlists Raph and papa’s help with dinner since their pizza run failed. The bickering and Mikey’s cooking playlist create a familiar, comfortable backdrop where it swells out of the kitchen. Donnie’s shoulder knocks against Leo’s. It feels like how it used to.

Before he can lose courage, Leo blurts, “The thing I miss most from before is being twins with you.”

As soon as he says it, he wants to take it back. This is more mortifying than all of those initial grueling physical therapy sessions combined.

He’s scrambling for an escape route that isn’t just hobbling away as fast as he can, or portaling to the bottom of the ocean, when Donnie suddenly says, “Draxum said we hatched together. We’ve been together all our lives. You’re pulling our twin card just because I'm finally taller than you?”

Leo sputters. “By an inch!”

Donnie raises an eyebrow at him, waiting with uncharacteristic patience for Leo to catch up. Maybe that’s what he’s been doing this whole time.

Eyes stinging, Leo slouches into Donnie’s side. The softshell matches him, his cheek coming to rest on the top of Leo’s head. It reminds Leo of hugging Mikey earlier that morning at the breakfast table.

Leo still fits here. There’s a good chance he always will.

“Guess this finally makes me the older twin, huh, Nardo?”

It surprises Leo into laughter, maybe the first big loud laugh to come tripping out of him since well before the invasion. Conversation in the kitchen grinds to a halt and Mikey and Raph come barreling out a second later all covered in flour, eager to catch him in the act, to get in on it.

“Sorry, Tello,” Leo says, grinning, not very sorry at all. “Not in this lifetime.”

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #hamato leonardo #hamato donatello #disaster twins #my writing #tmnt fic #turtlestogetherzine #the only older twin leo fic i will ever write

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mononijikayu · 7 months ago

Text

for us — gojo satoru.

From childhood, everyone knew that he was bringing the world on a rollercoaster of emotions. From all his action films to his most popular TV show, Jujutsu Kaisen—he had found himself adored, applauded. Satoru can admit to himself that he enjoyed what he did. Satoru knows he’s very good at what he does. He had all the accolades that the world needed to prove it. But now, he has been burned out.

GENRE: cursed womb arc, 2018;

WARNING/S: alternate universe - canon convergence, friends, friends to lovers, domesticity, fluff, romance, young love, humor, first love, first love, flirting, slice of life;

LISTEN: for us by v of bts

NOTE: so, this was a copium of mine for a while. i keep seeing people's art for jjk actor au and i just, this has got to be something that has to happen. give me top star actor gojo satoru starring in a shojo slice of live adult romance next please </3

masterlist

kayu's playlist — side 700;

HE NEVER REALLY EXPECTED IT. In the whirlwind of bright lights and red carpets, actor Gojo Satoru found himself embarking on an unexpected journey, one unlike any he had experienced before. As he navigated the frenetic pace of the entertainment industry, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was uncharted territory, a path diverging from the familiar roads he had traveled in the past.

For years, Satoru had honed his craft, gracing screens both big and small with his undeniable talent. He had become accustomed to the hustle and bustle of the industry, the endless cycle of auditions, rehearsals, and premieres. But amidst the glitz and glamor, there was a newfound sense of uncertainty, a whisper of possibility lingering in the air.

As he stood beneath the glare of flashing cameras and the roar of adoring fans, Satoru couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement mingled with apprehension. This journey, unlike any other, was filled with unforeseen twists and turns, leading him down paths he had never dared to tread.

But amidst the uncertainty, there was also a sense of liberation, a freedom to explore new horizons and embrace the unknown. With each step forward, Satoru felt the weight of expectation lifted from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of exhilaration at the endless possibilities that lay ahead.

As he gazed out at the sea of faces before him, Satoru knew that this journey was just beginning. And though he couldn't predict where the road would lead, one thing was certain: he was ready to embrace the adventure with open arms, eager to discover what lay beyond the bright lights and red carpets of his past.

And now on a break from filming Jujutsu Kaisen, Gojo Satoru wanted a change of pace. He craved a new challenge, something that would reignite his passion for acting. He wanted to see what emotions he could evoke in others and what surprises he could find within himself.

Sitting in his study, scripts piled high around him, he sighed in frustration. One after another, he skimmed through them, barely finishing some. Nothing was sparking anything within him.

Then, he saw it—a script bound in beautiful purple. Intrigued, he picked it up and opened it. His cerulean eyes went wide as he began reading. The characters leapt off the page, their emotions vivid and real. The dialogue was sharp, the plot both heartwarming and complex. For the first time in weeks, he felt a thrill of excitement.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his phone and dialed his manager. "Hey, Sho, can you get me information about this rom-com role?" he asked, his voice brimming with anticipation.

There was a pause on the other end before Shoko replied, "Which one are you talking about, Satoru?"

"The one with the purple cover. It's called 'Love in Full Bloom.' I want to know everything about it—who's directing, the production company, and especially who's playing the female lead." he explained, flipping through the pages eagerly.

Shoko chuckled. "I'll get right on it. You sound pretty excited about this one, Satoru. Never seen it before.”

"I am." Satoru admitted, a smile tugging at his lips. "There's something special about this script. I can feel it."

As he waited for more information, Satoru continued reading, already envisioning himself in the role. The male lead, a charming yet flawed character, was unlike any he had played before.

And the female lead—her character was layered and complex, someone he could see himself having great on-screen chemistry with. His mind raced with possibilities, the scenes playing out vividly in his imagination.

When his phone rang again, he answered it immediately. "What did you find out?"

"Well, the director is a rising star in the industry, known for their fresh take on romance films. The production company is solid, and they're putting a lot of resources into this project. As for the female lead, it’s still up in the air. They’re auditioning some big names, but nothing's finalized yet," Shoko informed him.

"Great!" Satoru said, his excitement building. "Let's set up a meeting. I want to discuss this role in detail and see if I can get an audition."

"Will do. I'll arrange it and get back to you with the details," his manager confirmed.

As he hung up, Satoru felt a renewed sense of purpose. This was the spark he had been looking for, the change of pace he needed. With 'Love in Full Bloom,' he could explore new facets of his craft and bring a fresh perspective to his acting. The thought of delving into this character and the story filled him with a sense of exhilaration he hadn't felt in a long time.

The meeting was scheduled for the following week, and Satoru spent the days leading up to it immersing himself in the script. By the time the day arrived, he was more than prepared. He walked into the room with confidence, his cerulean eyes alight with determination.

As the director and producers listened to his thoughts on the character and the story, they nodded in agreement, clearly impressed by his passion and insight. When the meeting concluded, Satoru felt a surge of hope.

Weeks later, he received the call he had been waiting for. "Congratulations, Satoru. The role is yours, ’toru." Shoko announced.

A wide grin spread across his face as he absorbed the news. "Thank you, Sho. I’m excited for this one.”

“Oh, by the way, they announced who the female lead is.”

“Hm? Who is it?”

It was you. The world’s darling. You have always been on the screen since your childhood too. Pretty quickly, the world fell for how sweet you were, and how beautiful you were. You started at the same time as Satoru, he was pretty sure. But somehow, your worlds didn’t cross until now. You were after all focused on your own body of work—where of course, you were always the lead.

Little did he know that this role would not only reignite his love for acting but also lead him to someone who would change his life forever. As he prepared for the first day of filming, he couldn't shake the feeling that 'Love in Full Bloom' was just the beginning of an extraordinary journey.

He had signed on to film a romantic comedy, a genre he had yet to explore fully in his whole career and met you, his co-star. During the first table read, it was somehow inevitable that Gojo Satoru's eyes met yours. And he felt an instant connection, you waved at him enthusiastically. He felt his face turn bright red, he cleared his throat and greeted you and went back to his script.

It was too much somehow, the way you looked at him. Your radiant smile and the sparkle in your eyes were captivating. As you read your lines, your natural charisma and wit shone through, making him feel as though the two of you had known each other for years. Satoru could feel the intensity of it.

"Wow, you’re amazing there." Satoru said, unable to hide his admiration as he looked at you. “I haven’t seen someone do that before, cry on cue? Not even Yuuji could do it!”

You grinned at him, a twinkle of mischief in your eyes. "Likewise, Mr. Leading Man. You’re so cool with how you can just go line for line. It’s why you’re so perfect in Jujutsu Kaisen!”

He could feel himself being bashful, rubbing the nape of his neck. “Ah, you think so?”

“No, I know so, Gojo. You’re so cool like that.”

“Thank you so much. You’re just as cool to me.”

“Oh, I doubt that!” You giggle at his words. He thinks your giggles are cute. “You’re always going to be cooler.”

“Hey, uh….I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Your eyes were tender when they gazed at him. You smiled. “I’m looking forward to working with you too, Gojo.”

“You can call me Satoru.”

“Oh well, call me by my name too.”

When you looked at him and told him your name, he just felt lost. You were so beautiful at that moment. It’s like time slowed, it's like god had given him some time to marvel at the wonder of you. He could feel how his heart was thumping. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this before. You grinned at him, raising a thumb up at him.

“Let’s make some movie magic, okay?"

He chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through him. "Absolutely."

As filming began, the on-screen chemistry translated seamlessly into your off-screen interactions. This was the most relaxed he’d ever been on a set. He’d love Jujutsu Kaisen’s set because he’d become good friends with everyone — that had made everything easier. But it just felt different with you together.

Between takes, the two of you would exchange jokes, share stories, and find yourselves lost in conversations that lasted long after the director called cut. Sometimes you eat on your trailers together, you even go out to drink some times and explore the sets together, talking about the mundane.

But lately he would catch you watching him from afar on set. Sometimes, you would often catch him stealing glances at you, his cerulean eyes filled with genuine affection.

One day, during a particularly challenging scene, Gojo Satoru found himself struggling to stay in character. He was not feeling it today, and he doesn’t know why.

He’s trying so hard, but he keeps making mistakes. The lines felt forced, and he couldn't seem to connect with the emotions. You noticed his frustration and pulled him aside.

"Hey, what's going on?" you asked, your tone gentle but concerned.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I just can't seem to get into it today."

You smiled, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "Let's take a break and come back to it. Sometimes all we need is a moment to reset."

Your understanding and support meant the world to him. He’d worked with people who were horrible at being understanding about off days. But you were different. You were kind and perceptive, noticing his struggle before he even said a word.

"Hey, let's take five," you suggested softly, taking his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Satoru nodded, grateful for your intervention. You walked over to the director together, and you spoke up before he could. "We need a break. Satoru's having a tough time today, and I think a little rest will help us get back on track."

The director looked from you to Satoru and then sighed, nodding. "Alright, everyone, take a ten-minute break."

As the crew dispersed, you led Satoru outside to a quiet spot. The cool breeze was refreshing, and the tension in his shoulders began to ease. He looked at you with a mixture of gratitude and admiration.

"Thank you," he said, his voice sincere. "I’ve worked with people who wouldn’t have given a damn about how I was feeling. But you…you’re different."

You smiled, a gentle warmth in your eyes. "We’re a team, Satoru. If one of us is off, it affects the whole production. Besides, I care about you. I want to see you at your best, and sometimes that means taking a step back."

He felt a swell of emotion in his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. "You’re amazing, you know that?"

You laughed softly, a sound that felt like a balm to his frazzled nerves. "I will try. Now, let's take a deep breath and reset. We’ll get through this scene together."

Satoru took a deep breath, feeling the fresh air fill his lungs and clear his mind. Standing there with you, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. You were right. This was a team effort, and he wasn’t alone in it.

When the break ended and you both returned to the set, there was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere. Satoru felt more relaxed, more connected to the scene, and it showed in his performance. The lines flowed naturally, and the chemistry between you two was palpable.

The director called cut, a satisfied smile on his face. "That was perfect! Great job, both of you."

Satoru turned to you, his eyes shining with gratitude and something deeper. "You really are my good luck charm." he said, his voice filled with affection.

You shrugged playfully. "Just doing my part. Now, let’s wrap this up and go celebrate finishing the scene!"

As the day came to a close and the crew packed up, Satoru felt a contentment he hadn’t felt in a long time. That night, as you both walked out of the studio together, he realized just how much he had come to care for you.

The lines between on-screen romance and real-life feelings had blurred, and he found himself hoping that this connection you shared would continue to grow, both on and off the screen.

As the weeks passed, he realized he was falling for you. The way you made him laugh, the way you understood him, and the way you brought out the best in him—it was all becoming impossible to ignore.

One evening, after a long day of filming, you both found yourselves alone on the set. The crew had packed up, and the stars were twinkling above, casting a magical glow over the scene. Gojo Satoru decided it was time to tell you how he felt.

"Hey," he called softly, walking over to where you stood, gazing up at the night sky.

You turned to him, a curious smile on your lips. "Hey yourself. What's up?"

He took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. "I've been wanting to tell you something. Working with you has been incredible. More than that, it's made me realize how much I care about you."

You blinked in surprise, your cheeks flushing slightly. "Satoru…"

He stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. "I know we have a job to do, but I can't pretend that I don't feel this way. I think…no, I know that I'm falling for you."

Your eyes softened, and you reached out to take his hand. "I feel the same way," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But what do we do about it?"

"We take it one day at a time," he replied, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. "We keep it between us for now, and we see where it goes. What matters is that we're honest with each other."

You nodded, a smile breaking across your face. "I'd like that."

From that moment on, your relationship blossomed in secret. The stolen glances, the shared whispers, and the quiet moments away from prying eyes made your connection even stronger. Every day on set became a delicate dance of professional focus and personal longing. The chemistry that had sparked between you on screen spilled into real life, creating a bond that felt unbreakable.

During lunch breaks, you'd steal away to a secluded spot on the studio lot, sharing sandwiches and laughter. In the evenings, you’d slip into each other’s trailers, finding solace in each other’s company. The more time you spent together, the more you realized how deeply you had fallen for each other.

Despite the mounting affection, you both decided to keep your relationship a secret. The media's scrutiny and the inevitable gossip seemed like obstacles you could do without. So, you reveled in your private moments, finding solace in the fact that your love was your own, untainted by public opinion.

"Hey, do you think anyone suspects?" Satoru asked one evening, his hand entwined with yours as you lay on the couch in his trailer.

You chuckled softly, resting your head on his shoulder. "Maybe. But they won’t say anything. We’ve been careful."

He kissed the top of your head, a tender gesture that made your heart flutter. "I don’t want this to end."

"Neither do I," you admitted, looking up at him. "But we both know what happens once filming wraps up."

Satoru's expression softened, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of longing and resignation. "I know," he murmured, his voice tinged with sadness. "But that doesn't mean we can't cherish the time we have left."

You nodded in agreement, the weight of impending separation settling heavily in the pit of your stomach. "I just wish things could be different," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru tightened his grip on your hand, his touch a silent reassurance in the face of uncertainty. "Me too," he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "But for now, let's make the most of every moment we have together."

The trailer, once a sanctuary of laughter and shared secrets, now seemed tinged with a melancholy air, the walls echoing with the soft whispers of unspoken fears and unshed tears. Outside, the world carried on its bustling pace, oblivious to the quiet turmoil that gripped your hearts.

Wrapped in each other's arms, you and Satoru sought solace in the familiar warmth of your embrace, clinging to the fleeting moments of closeness as if they were the only lifeline in a sea of uncertainty. The soft glow of lamplight cast gentle shadows across the room, illuminating the contours of your faces as you gazed into each other's eyes, silently communicating the depth of your shared longing.

The silence between you was palpable, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams. Every breath felt like a sigh, every touch a bittersweet reminder of the inevitable parting that loomed on the horizon. And yet, in the midst of the impending farewell, there was a quiet strength that bound you together, an unspoken promise to hold onto each other for as long as you could.

In those precious moments, time seemed to stand still, frozen in the embrace of your love. The world outside faded into obscurity, its chaotic rhythms muted by the gentle cadence of your heartbeat as it echoed in sync with Satoru's own. And for a fleeting instant, you dared to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, love could conquer all, even the relentless march of time itself.

Satoru's hand tightened around yours, a silent reassurance that spoke volumes of his affection and devotion. His words echoed the sentiments swirling in your mind, a shared desire to prolong the fleeting moments of happiness you found in each other's arms.

Your heart ached at the thought of bidding farewell to the warmth of his embrace, the familiarity of his touch. Yet, even as the specter of separation loomed on the horizon, you found solace in the depth of your connection, a bond that transcended the confines of time and circumstance.

As you gazed into his eyes, you found yourself echoing his sentiment, a whisper of vulnerability in your voice betraying the depth of your emotions. In that moment, amidst the quiet intimacy of your shared space, you were acutely aware of the ephemeral nature of your love, a fleeting flame that burned bright against the backdrop of uncertainty.

As the final scenes were shot and the film neared completion, the reality of your situation began to set in. You were due to return to California, while Satoru would stay behind, continuing his work in Japan. He had a commitment to Jujutsu Kaisen, a series that had skyrocketed in popularity and demanded his attention. You didn’t want to cause him issues. And you knew he was thinking it too. But he just doesn’t want to say it.

You had other projects lined up, your career flourishing in the vibrant and competitive world of Hollywood. The thought of being apart filled you with a sense of dread, but neither of you wanted to bring it up, fearing it would shatter the fragile happiness you had built.

During the last days on set, there was a palpable tension between you two. Your conversations were still filled with laughter and teasing, but beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of sadness and uncertainty. Satoru's cerulean eyes often held a distant look, as if he was already missing you before you had even left.

One evening, as the crew was packing up for the day, you found yourselves alone in the dressing room. Satoru was seated on the couch, staring at the script in his hands, though you could tell his mind was elsewhere. You walked over and sat beside him, placing a hand on his knee.

"Satoru," you began softly, "We need to talk about what's next."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions. "I know," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've been trying to avoid it, but we can't ignore it any longer."

"I don't know if I can do long distance," you confessed one night, your voice filled with sadness. "I care about you so much, but our lives are so different."

He cupped your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours. "We can make it work. We have to try."

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. "I don't want to hold you back, Satoru. You have your career here, and I have mine in California. Maybe…maybe it's best if we end things now, before it gets even harder."

His heart ached at your words, but he understood. "If that's what you want, darling." he said softly, his voice breaking.

"It's not what I want." you whispered, tears streaming down your face. "But it's what we need."

With one last kiss, you said your goodbyes. Satoru watched as you walked away, his heart heavy with the loss. He knew he would never forget you, the one who had shown him what true connection felt like. And as he returned to his life, he carried the hope that, one day, fate would bring you back together.

He turned to you, his cerulean eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and understanding. "I get it." he replied, his voice tinged with sadness. "But it doesn't make this any easier."

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "I care about you so much. This has been incredible, but we both know how tough it will be."

Gojo nodded, squeezing your hand gently. "I don't want to lose you." he admitted, "But I also don't want to make this harder on you."

He let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. "You're right. It would be too hard, with our schedules and the time difference. But that doesn't make this any easier."

"I know," you said, tears welling up in your eyes. "But we have to be practical. We can't hold each other back."

He reached out and took your hand, his grip firm and reassuring. "I'll never forget what we had. These past few months have been some of the best of my life."

You leaned in and kissed him gently, savoring the moment. "Me too, Satoru. I'll always cherish our time together."

As days were settling down to your departure, each moment seemed to carry the weight of inevitability, mingling joy and sorrow in equal measure. The wrap party, intended to be a celebration of the film's completion, became a poignant reminder of the impending separation.

Laughter echoed through the room, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the lively beat of music, yet beneath the surface, there lingered an undeniable sense of melancholy.

Amidst the swirl of activity, you found solace in the presence of Satoru, seeking refuge in the comfort of his familiar company. Together, you navigated the crowded room, your gazes often meeting in silent understanding.

In those stolen moments between conversations and laughter, there was a depth of emotion that transcended words, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had grown between you.

As the night wore on, you found yourselves drawn to each other, seeking solace in the warmth of shared affection. Amidst the flickering lights and the gentle sway of bodies on the dance floor, you found a fleeting respite from the weight of impending farewell. In those stolen moments, amidst the backdrop of celebration and camaraderie, you clung to each other, unwilling to let go of the fleeting moments of happiness that remained.

That night, you found yourselves back in his trailer, the air heavy with unspoken words. As you lay in his arms, you felt a sense of finality, knowing that this would be your last night together.

"I wish things were different," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

"Me too," you whispered, your voice trembling. "But we'll always have these memories."

He held you tighter, as if trying to imprint the feel of you into his memory. "Promise me you'll take care of yourself."

"I promise," you replied, tears slipping down your cheeks. "You too, Satoru. Take care of yourself."

At the terminal, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "No matter where you are, I'll always be thinking of you."

You blinked back tears, kissing him one last time. "And I'll always cherish our time together," you replied, your voice breaking.

The soft hum of the airplane engines filled the cabin as you settled into your seat, the familiar sensation of takeoff sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. As Japan fell away beneath you, the city lights gradually dwindling into tiny specks against the vast expanse of darkness, a sense of melancholy settled over you like a heavy blanket.

With each passing minute, the distance between you and Tokyo grew, stretching across the horizon like an unbridgeable chasm. The memories of your time together with Satoru lingered in your mind, haunting you like echoes of a dream long past. The laughter, the tears, the whispered promises exchanged in the quiet moments of intimacy—they all seemed like distant echoes of a reality that now felt impossibly far away.

Outside the airplane window, the world rushed by in a blur of lights and shadows, the landscape below shifting and changing with every passing mile. And yet, despite the constant motion, a part of you felt rooted in place, anchored to the memories of your time in Japan and the bittersweet ache of saying goodbye.

Meanwhile, back in Tokyo, Satoru stood at the terminal window, his gaze fixed on the dwindling speck of your departing plane as it disappeared into the night sky. A sense of longing gripped his heart, a yearning for the warmth of your presence and the comfort of your touch.

As the final traces of your plane vanished from sight, Satoru made a silent vow to hold onto the memories of your time together, to cherish them like precious treasures tucked away in the deepest recesses of his heart. For even though the miles now stretched between you, he knew that your bond transcended distance and time, a love that would endure even the greatest of challenges.

Now you're in California

And he’s still waitin' for ya

Will you change your mind?

Satoru thinks would give it all up

As long as you both become an ‘us’

IT WAS HARD TO BELIEVE A YEAR’S PASSED. As the final scenes of Jujutsu Kaisen wrapped up for Satoru Gojo's character, he anticipated a much-needed break to unwind and rejuvenate. After all, the relentless filming schedule had left him yearning for some solitude and relaxation.

So, when he found himself concluding another exhausting day on set, he didn't expect any interruptions. However, the sound of a knock on his door piqued his curiosity, stirring a faint sense of intrigue within him.

Approaching the door with a mixture of surprise and anticipation, Satoru swung it open, revealing the unexpected yet delightful sight of you standing on his doorstep. A small, enigmatic smile played upon your lips, instantly lifting the weight of fatigue from his shoulders. In that moment, he felt a rush of warmth flood his being, a welcome reprieve from the demands of his hectic schedule.

Despite the weariness lingering in his bones, Satoru couldn't suppress the spark of curiosity that ignited within him. What could have brought you here, he wondered, in this moment of respite? As he gazed upon your familiar face, he found himself drawn to your presence, eager to unravel the mystery behind your unexpected visit.

With a gentle smile and a twinkle of curiosity in his eyes, Satoru welcomed you into his home, ready to embrace the unexpected turn of events and the company of a cherished friend.

"Hey," you said softly, your voice filled with warmth. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," Satoru replied, stepping aside to let you enter. He watched as you made your way into his apartment, taking in the familiar surroundings with a sense of nostalgia.

As you settled onto the couch, Satoru couldn't help but feel a rush of emotions wash over him. It had been so long since he had last seen you, and yet the sight of you sitting there felt oddly comforting.

"I've missed you, Satoru." you said, breaking the silence that hung between you. “I really did.”

Satoru's heart skipped a beat at your words, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of longing and regret. "I've missed you too, darling." he admitted quietly.

As the hours passed in the comfortable embrace of conversation, the atmosphere between you and Satoru grew increasingly intimate. Words flowed effortlessly, weaving tales of shared memories and dreams for the future. Laughter mingled with moments of quiet reflection, creating a tapestry of shared experiences and aspirations.

However, as the conversation delved into more serious territory, a solemn undertone settled over the room. In the gentle glow of subdued lighting, you found yourself unable to suppress the weight of regret that had long been weighing upon your heart. With a hesitant breath, you voiced the thoughts that had been gnawing at your conscience, allowing vulnerability to seep into the space between you.

Each word carried the weight of unspoken emotions as you bare your soul, laying bare the regrets that had lingered in the recesses of your mind. Memories of past mistakes and missed opportunities surfaced, casting shadows upon the present moment. Yet, in the quiet stillness of the night, you found solace in the act of confession, seeking redemption in the honesty of your words.

As you spoke, Satoru listened with unwavering attention, his gaze filled with empathy and understanding. There was no judgment in his eyes, only a profound sense of compassion that enveloped you like a comforting embrace. In that moment of vulnerability, you found solace in the shared intimacy of confession, unburdening your heart of the regrets that had held you captive for so long.

"I wish I had been willing to try being with you," you confessed, your voice tinged with sorrow. "I was so scared of getting hurt that I pushed you away."

Satoru reached out to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I've never changed my mind," he said earnestly. "I've always wanted to be with you."

You looked up at him, your eyes searching for any sign of doubt. "Would you like it if I came to stay with you?" you asked hesitantly. "To try and fix what we broke?"

A smile tugged at the corners of Satoru's lips as he reached out to take your hand in his. "I'd like that," he replied softly. "More than anything."

You pulled you close and let his lips press on yours.

You smiled against his lips as you returned the favor.

You were the happiest you were in a very long time.

Because now you could truly be together, an ‘us’.

epilogue

The press tour was supposed to be a straightforward affair, a chance to promote your film together and engage with fans. But little did you know, it would turn into a hilariously chaotic adventure thanks to Satoru Gojo's inability to keep his feelings for you under wraps.

As you and Satoru made your way to the first stop on the tour, you couldn't help but notice the mischievous glint in his eyes. "Remember, Satoru," you whispered, trying to keep a straight face, "We agreed to keep our relationship on the down-low during the interviews."

Satoru flashed you a grin, his signature smirk bordering on outright mischief. "Of course, darling," he replied, his voice dripping with faux innocence. "I'm the epitome of discretion. Don’t you worry about me.”

But as soon as the interviews began, it became abundantly clear that discretion was the last thing on Satoru's mind. He couldn't resist sneaking affectionate glances your way, his gaze lingering a beat too long and his smiles a tad too fond.

At first, you tried to play it cool, offering subtle nudges and warning glances whenever Satoru's antics threatened to give away your secret. But as the day wore on, it became increasingly evident that Satoru was a lost cause when it came to hiding his feelings.

As the interviewer leaned in, her eyes gleaming with anticipation, she posed the question that had been lingering in the air like a tantalizing secret. "So, tell us about the incredible on-screen chemistry between you two. What's the secret?"

Satoru's eyes lit up with an almost mischievous sparkle as he leaned forward, ready to deliver his response with all the dramatic flair he could muster. "Ah, the chemistry," he began, his voice dripping with theatricality. "It's like the universe conspired to bring us together, like two celestial bodies destined to collide in a glorious explosion of... of... chemistry!"

You couldn't help but stifle a laugh at his over-the-top theatrics, trying to maintain a facade of professionalism as you exchanged a knowing glance with the interviewer. But Satoru was on a roll, his enthusiasm impossible to contain.

"It's like when you mix sodium with water," he continued, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. "Boom! Instant chemistry! Except, you know, without the explosions and potential loss of eyebrows."

The interviewer chuckled nervously, unsure whether to be amused or concerned by Satoru's increasingly elaborate metaphors. "Um, right," she said, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "So, how do you two prepare for those emotionally intense scenes?"

Satoru's grin widened, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, you know," he replied, his voice laden with innuendo. "Lots of... uh... method acting exercises. And plenty of off-screen... rehearsals."

You nearly choked on your water, desperately trying to suppress a snort of laughter as Satoru winked at you with a devilish grin. It was clear that keeping a straight face during this interview was going to be a lost cause, but hey, at least it made for great entertainment.

The interviewer leaned in, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and mischief. "Oh, there's a story to tell between you two, Gojo-san. I can feel it!"

Satoru threw his head back with a hearty laugh, his infectious chuckle filling the room. "Oh, you have no idea!" he teased, shooting you a playful wink. "But I'm keeping it hush, hush, okay? Only I get to enjoy what my precious darling here, hm? None for any of you!"

You could practically feel the collective eyebrow raises from the rest of the cast and crew, their knowing glances leaving no doubt that they knew it all too well. Some were even trying to hide their laughter, some were just plain stunned.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his theatrical declaration, trying to stifle a giggle as you shook your head in mock exasperation. "You're impossible, Satoru." you teased, unable to hide the fondness in your voice.

But Satoru simply grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned in closer. "Ah, but that's why you love me, darling," he quipped, his tone filled with playful arrogance. "Now, let's keep the focus on the show, shall we? We wouldn't want to give away all our secrets just yet."

The interviewer nodded eagerly, though it was clear that she was already mentally drafting headlines about the mysterious off-screen romance between the two of you. But as the interview continued, punctuated by Satoru's irreverent humor and your shared laughter, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the chaos he brought into your life. After all, who else could turn a simple press tour into a riotous adventure filled with laughter and love?

By the end of the day, it was clear that your attempts at discretion had failed spectacularly. But as you and Satoru collapsed into fits of giggles backstage, you realized that maybe, just maybe, keeping your relationship under wraps was overrated. After all, who could resist the charm of a man so hopelessly in love?

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greenerteacups · 4 months ago

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Hi GT. I hope this message finds you well. I am sending all the good vibes and we'll wishes your way! ♥️♥️♥️ I hope you've had a wonderful summer.

I'm such a big fan of your work. Lioneheart is amazing and has stuck with me for such a long time.

I was wondering if you had any other stories you'd like to explore one day (even if you never get the chance to write them.) Whether it be fanfiction or original work, I was just curious because sometimes I feel as if I have hundreds of stories inside that I could tell, and I am not sure how to pick just one and see it to completion.

First of all, thank you! This is a fun one. I have a few enduring ideas for longfics I may or may not ever write (i.e., ideas that would have been projects already if I didn't have an ongoing longfic). I don't get stuck in them mostly because I try to remind myself that the idealized story you imagine when a concept occurs to you will never actually exist as it does when it's unshackled by the constraints of execution. What you'll get if you actually sit down and hack it out is (1) a real and imperfect piece of writing, and (2) the satisfaction of having written it, which is by far the more reliable source of motivation, if we're being honest. That being said, here are some ideas I've always wanted to explore, if and when I finish Lionheart:

I've always wanted to write a longform canon-divergent Tomione fic about Tom Riddle's 7th year at Hogwarts. Big honking political melodrama ft. the original Knights of Walpurgis, a Triwizard Tournament, and realistically functioning time travel (hence why this one's always been kicked down my list of projects, because writing a time-travel plot is like running through a minefield made of trampolines). I've already got character concepts sketched out for the Hogwarts cast — sooooo many fun ideas for the teenage Walburga. But I'd still need about a week of solid fic preproduction on the plot alone before I was ready to boot up and start writing, and it'd take at least 250k words — closer to 300k, if I'm being honest about myself. So this probably won't see the light of day anytime remotely soon, if ever.

A canon-compliant Dramione war fic, diverging from the Malfoy Manor chapters in Book 7, picking up from a speculative thread I read once about what would happen if the war didn't end after Voldemort died at the Battle of Hogwarts. I've always thought it would be fascinating to see who Hermione and Draco would become if they were actual soldiers in the war (and my disappointment with how Book 7 handled the "war" of it all has been established). That being said, Book 7 of Lionheart will probably give me a lot of similar ideas to chew on, so I don't know what my appetite for this one will be once I'm finished with it.

Durmstrang AU. This one's barely a fic concept so much as it is a mental moodboard — I just want to worldbuild the hell out of Durmstrang. And the international wizarding world, generally. It's a delicious sandbox.

A longform canon-compliant fic or series of fics about the previous generation of Blacks (Sirius/Bellatrix/Narcissa, namely). If you look at the books, there's a huge amount we don't know about the fall of the Blacks. I always found it bizarre that the sisters and Sirius seem to be the only ones left by 1995. No one else has a claim? No one else from this all-powerful wizarding family wants to step in and claim this big honking townhouse in the middle of London? Or its attendant fortune? Dude, what happened? Also, we don't see nearly enough of the Black family melodrama in canon. They lose 4/5 children of a generation in the span of almost single decade. And then (presumably) all of their parents die in the span of another. Goddamn. Just imagine the character work you could do there.

A No Chosen One/Voldemort Wins (The First Time) AU where Hermione never gets her letter, and meets Draco much later in life as a self-taught witch. The dynamics I have in my head for this are really enjoyable, and it would be a chance to finally write Hermione POV, plus the Draco I've cooked up for this universe is [chefs kiss]. I also just love the idea of Hermione as a feral witch-child running around muggle London. I love it a lot.

#greenteacup asks #dramione

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kaitsawamura · 7 months ago

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🪞 🔮 🍅 🧺 🍯 🌱 The Farmer & The Wizard

❦ SUMMARY ❦

You need a change, a big one. When your estranged grandfather passes away and bequeaths you his farm in a little town just south of the middle of nowhere, you take it as the sign you needed to make a change instead of waiting for one.

The farm, while having fallen into a state of disrepair, is just the thing to cure your modern-world ailments. The people are kind and always ready to offer help, if a bit unusual. They have old superstitions, a haunted community center, and a resident wizard. Spoiler alert: those last two on the list take some getting used to.

Yes, things are different here but you have a sneaking suspicion that the slow pace and a certain alchemical practitioner are going to remind you that sometimes, all you need is time and a little bit of magic.

THIS SCROLL WAS LAST UPDATED: 6/1/24

❦ STATS ❦

Pairing: Wizard!Gojo Satoru x Farmer!Reader

Rating: M for Mature, 18+ only minors do not interact

Warnings: Fantasy/Stardew Valley violence, sexual content, angst (maybe like just a tiny lil bit)

Tags: Stardew Valley AU, strangers to friends to lovers, red thread of fate, soulmates (kinda) eventual smut, fluff focused, canon divergent, more tags to come (literally am too excited, I need to get this masterlist post out in the world lol)

Projected Word Count: 100K

Author’s Note: In unsurprising news, I have still been in the trenches with my Stardew Valley hyperfixation. Then, along comes this lovely PC Gojo mod and the fate of this fic was sealed. It's going to be inspired a touch by that mod (which I will link below, full credit to that amazing modder) and will heavily follow a standard Stardew Valley play through timeline. I'm a lil nervous to write Gojo since he doesn't fall neatly into the character type I normally am drawn to but I have WRITING HANDS (like jazz hands but for writers :P ) and so I'm adding another fic to my WIPs list.

Important Note: This fic is part of this blog's contribution to the @ficsforgaza initiative!

❦ LINKS ❦

Fics for Gaza Masterlist <- now linked! ->

GOJO MOD FOR PC'ERS

JJK Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Playlist

Moodboard

❦ TABLE OF CONTENTS ❦

SPRING

Part 1: In Which You Unexpectedly Receive The Deed to A Farm

Part 2 | In Progress | TBL

SUMMER

Placeholder

AUTUMN

Placeholder

WINTER

Placeholder

This work and its digital elements (credit for pixel art to ConcernedApe) are © Kait of @kaitsawamura 2020-PRESENT. I do not own any rights to Stardew Valley and any subsequent settings/characters, but this work is heavily inspired by that amazing game. Please do not alter or copy this work. Please do not repost this work to other platforms without my express permission.

#fic: the farmer and the wizard #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #stardew valley #stardew valley au #stardew valley fic #kait writes

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harmonic-intervention · 12 hours ago

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You're killing me with chemistry - Chapter 2

Buck knows he’s bi. He knows what he wants. And what he wants, right now, is Tommy. Maybe his hand in marriage, because he’s getting desperate. Because, despite all of his attempts, and all of the positive responses from Tommy, for some reason, Tommy just … doesn’t act on anything.

Tommy knows Evan is straight. He asked both Howie and Hen about it, and he trusts their word on it. It doesn’t stop Evan from pulling him in, and making him fall head over heels for him anyway. Tommy knows better than to fall for a straight guy, he does, but … he can’t change it.

Everything would be easier if they just talked to each other, but where’s the fun in that?

Round 2 of the story based off on this post by @disaster-j After this, we have one more chapter, so I hope you'll like it.

Word count: 11,784 - canon divergence, bi disaster!buck & oblivious!tommy, sexual tension, bit more angst than the first round

Excerpt:

Tommy was in hell.

No other way to put it. He was in hell, and he couldn’t even really blame anyone, because he really should have known better and yet, here he was.

Evan Buckley. Simultaneously the best and worst thing that had ever happened to Tommy. It was the sweetest kind of torture, and Tommy didn’t put an end to it. He could. He couldn’t.

It normally took more for Tommy to find interest in someone. He was a guarded person, cautious. But from the first time they met, Tommy already knew that things were different.

When they got introduced to each other, Evan smiled so brightly it almost blinded Tommy for a moment. He was immediately taken by that gorgeous smile, by those big, sky-blue eyes. By the way that Evan practically fell into Howie’s words, cutting the intended introduction off with, “Evan, Evan Buckley,” as he held his hand out for Tommy to shake.

Tommy couldn’t be distracted that night, so he pushed all thoughts of Evan’s strong grip or pretty face away, spent the night tensed up and trying not to let the others notice how close they actually came to dying several times.

He felt horrible when he had to call it, like he had failed them all. But he really brought it down to the last second, and if they wanted to make it back to shore in one piece, they had to go. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach because he couldn’t deliver what Howie had asked of him, and because he knew once he was back on Californian soil, he’d be out of a job.

He’d risked it all. He’d lied to the fire chief. For nothing.

Only, by some miracle, a flash of red and Evan’s voice brought Tommy out of the downwards spiral of worries for his future before he could even start, and then he was immediately back in professional mode to call the discovery in. And then, they were there, ready to start the rescue before backup arrived.

Tommy had to bring out his best piloting to date, because despite all of the things he’d done, all the maneuvers he’d successfully executed, they were nothing on landing a helicopter on the slippery underside of a capsized cruise ship while it was being pelted by intermittent showers.

He made it. Despite the adrenaline rushing through him, despite his pulse fluttering like a bird under his skin, his hands were steady. There was not a single shake, not a single shiver. They had too much to lose, and Tommy had always been calm under pressure.

Only once they made their last flight to bring Tommy’s former captain and a missing child to safety and Tommy climbed out of the chopper did he allow himself to feel the emotional turmoil of the last couple of hours. His knees shook as he made his way down.

A bit of the residual fear left him as he watched Bobby reunite with his wife. And then, there was a hand on his shoulder, and he turned his head to find Evan there, the start of a smile pulling on his mouth. Tommy couldn’t help the answering grin.

[continue on ao3]

#bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #tevan #kinley #bucktommy fic #harmonic writings #harmonic posts

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libraryofneith · 4 months ago

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Old Dog, New Tricks (Sandor Clegane x Female Reader)

Summary: After Sandor Clegane is rescued from the Stranger's door, he is forced to consider a future without violence, without abuse, and without servitude. Can he find a new purpose? Can he help more than he has harmed? And can he share a purpose with anyone else?

Fic Tags/Warnings: whole fic is 18+, minors DNI, cursing, violence and gore, eventual smut, some serious smutage, takes place season 6 onwards, canon divergence, last season what last season?, reader has a name, third person POV, grumpy x sunshine reader, sunshine character x sunshine protector, i am a sucker for the "grumpy old man who's mean to everyone except this one special person to whom he is unbelievable sweet" trope

Notes: this is not my first time writing game of thrones fanfic, nor my first time writing for this character, but it is my first time uploading for this character on tumblr. Those of you familiar with my work will know I've got another WIP and don't worry I've not forgotten it! I've already got 12 chapters for this so hopefully won't keep you waiting too long for updates. And won't keep you waiting too long for the smut which let's be real is why most of us are here, smut kicks in at chapter 11 and then we do not stop till dawn, I started this years ago, like pre pandemic years ago. Largely forgot about it until I discovered an old memory stick with a bunch of unfinished stories and now i'm back on my game of thrones bullsh!t. Might even re-upload an old AO3 fic of mine that I deleted years ago because I stopped liking it. Who knows? Anyways, that's enough rambling from me. On with the story, and as per, like and reblog to increase visibility and let me know if you want to be tagged when this story updates.

Fuck. Buggering fucking hell. Buggering shitting seven hells this hurts! I. Hurt. Everywhere. There’s something… something I need to think about. I said I’d watch over it… what is it? Eyes. I can see eyes. Someone’s here with me. Is it that big bitch? Bugger it all I can’t see properly! Who are you? What do you want? I can’t fight. I can’t fight. What the hell am I going to do? Bloody hell! What is it I’m forgetting? They. Whoever they are… they’re giving me something. A drink. Probably poisoned. Fuck I’m thirsty. But I can’t. They want to kill me. Shit I can feel it. I can’t fight them. Leave me alone! I don’t want your poisoned piss. Oh. It’s water. Fuck. Shit me. I feel like lead. I need to sleep. I can’t. They’ll run me through first chance they get. I’m drifting. I can’t stop. Maybe that water was poisoned after all. To hell with it. I’m ready. At least I’ll die in a bed. At least I think this is a bed. If only I could remember what I’m forgetting. Fuck.

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I know. Eloquent right? Not to worry dearest reader, by the time you're done with this chapter I'll have the next one up which has more content.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #sandor clegane #the hound #sandor clegane x reader lemon #sandor the hound clegane #sandor smut

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moeitsu · 29 days ago

Text

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 22 - Had But Our Loving Prospered Well

Summary: As Dutch readies the gang for their next big score, Arthur is sent to Saint Denis to settle unfinished business, only to face a ghost from his past. Meanwhile, Kate's come down with an illness, but a vivid dream sparks a newfound resolve to secure her and Arthur's future—no matter the cost.

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AN: About 10k words. I really enjoyed how this one turned out. I think it does a good job at setting up what's coming next while also keeping you on your toes. Guess you'll have to read and see ;)

And Happy Thanksgiving to all those who celebrate! I am so thankful for all my readers <3

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw @yallgotkik

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Story Tags: Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Caretaking, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

Been a while since I put pen to paper. Feels like there ain’t enough time in the day anymore, though Lord knows I’ve been wasting plenty of it trying to keep my head above water. We’ve moved again. Ran from the law again. Stirred up more trouble. Same damn story, just a different setting. This time it’s Saint Denis—a place I heard was one of the seven wonders of the world. Well, if this is what they call a wonder, I reckon I’d be just fine never seeing the other six. It’s crowded, loud, and full of people who’d stab you in the back soon as they look at you. One of those people bein’ Angelo Bronte. Slimy, conniving bastard who’s got this whole city dancing to his tune.

He’s the same one who took Jack from us, but somehow, he’s also got us rubbing elbows with the mayor at some swanky garden party. Don’t ask me how that makes sense. Dutch’s idea, of course. Or maybe Hosea’s, hell if I know anymore. What I do know is he insisted Kate come along, dressed us all up like damn peacocks. I felt ridiculous, but then I looked at her. My Kate. She took my breath clean away. Lord help me, there’s nothing in this life I wouldn’t do for that woman.

The party itself? A circus. Drunks, phonies, and clowns as far as the eye could see. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have some fun. Hell, I think Kate might’ve even enjoyed herself. It’s a memory I’ll carry with me, no matter how all this shakes out.

Still, this place ain’t sittin’ right with me. Dutch and Hosea keep goin’ on about opportunities, but I don’t see much besides folks with too much money and too little care for anything else. I better keep my head down while I can.

I introduced myself to a couple of Indians, father and son. The son is so angry and the father is; I don’t know exactly what. Something both impressive and frightening. And kind too. He’s a great man being defeated by powerful, awful forces. I don’t know why, but I agreed to help them. Seems they, like us, have a problem with that ape Leviticus Cornwall.

And then there's Dutch, always in the middle of it all. He’s pushin’ Kate into things I’m not sure she should be a part of. Keeps talkin’ about loyalty, like I ain’t proven mine a thousand times over. Says Kate could help with this new scheme coming up—some high-stakes poker game on a damn yacht in the harbor. Wants to dress her up like some famous singer to get us in. The idea makes my skin crawl. She’s too good for this kind of life, and Dutch knows it.

I’ve been trying to keep her close, tellin’ her to stick to camp, help with the girls. But she ain’t the type to sit still. She’s got this fire in her, this restless spirit that makes her want to be out there with me, shoulderin’ the same burdens. And I love her for it, but it scares the hell outta me too. This gang is a powder keg, and when it blows, she’s gonna get caught in the blast.

John said something the other day that stuck with me—never thought I’d be takin’ advice from him, yet here we are. He told me I gotta start thinking about what happens after all this. If there’s even gonna be an "after." I don’t know what that looks like, but I know Kate deserves better than this life. Problem is, I ain’t sure I can give it to her. Not yet. Not while there’s still so much to fix, so much to make right.

I guess we’ll see what the day brings.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur closed his journal with a soft thunk, the familiar leather creaking as he slid it back into his satchel. Stretching, he winced as his muscles protested—stiff from too many sleepless nights and too many hours in the saddle. Dawn was just beginning to break, but Arthur had been awake long before the first hints of sunlight painted the horizon. Not that it mattered much. These days, the weeks were a blur, the days bleeding into each other with each task, each job, and every damn mission Dutch insisted on. No end in sight, just more running, more scheming.

He sat on an old, weather-worn chair perched at the front of Shady Belle, the crumbling manor they called home. Its once-grand façade was faded and cracked, much like the gang itself—held together by little more than stubbornness and dwindling hope. The morning fog clung low to the ground, curling around the gnarled tree roots and the broken fence posts, giving the place an eerie stillness.

It was mid-September now—Arthur only remembered because Sean’s birthday had passed a few days back. Some of the gang had stayed up late, passing a bottle around the campfire, trading stories about the fiery Irishman. Arthur had stayed longer than most, his heart heavy with memories of laughter now silenced by a bullet.

The chill of fall was creeping in, carried by the night and lingering in the shadows, though the sun would soon burn it away. Arthur inhaled deeply, the crisp air filling his lungs, chasing away the stale dampness of the manor. For a fleeting moment, it felt good—clean. He let himself savor it, knowing the day ahead would likely choke him with its demands.

Dutch had a plan, as always. This time, a high-stakes card game aboard a river boat in the Saint Denis harbor. Every detail had to be perfect. No mistakes. No run-ins with the law. Not this time. That meant a shopping trip to the city with Trelawny, of all people, to gather supplies and scout the area. Dutch wanted every angle covered, every loose end tied tight.

And then there was Kate. Dutch had insisted she play a role in the job, her part pivotal to getting them through the door. Her cover? A famous Italian singer, the kind who’d catch the eye of the city's most elite. Arthur had protested—loudly. But Dutch was unyielding, Hosea backing him up with reassurances that it’d be fine, just like the mayor’s party. Arthur didn’t care much for that; polished shoes, fake smiles, and too many lies—but Kate had taken it all in stride, and she was confident she could do it again.

Arthur wasn’t so sure. He didn’t like the idea of her standing in the middle of it all, surrounded by strangers who wouldn’t think twice about exploiting her if things went wrong. But she was stubborn, determined to help the gang any way she could. Arthur had no choice but to pray he could change her mind in the next two days. If he couldn’t, he’d be right there beside her. No way in hell would he let her face it alone.

Lately, though, his worries stretched far beyond jobs and plans. He’d noticed the signs—Kate sleeping more, eating less, missing chores because of her headaches. The girls had told him as much, and Arthur knew the cause. Shady Belle was no place for someone like her. Sure, it had walls and a roof, but they were cracked and rotting, letting the rain and wind slip through. Mold crept up the corners, and the damp chill seeped into your bones at night. Arthur did what he could—pulling her close when the nights grew too cold, letting his body heat shield her from the worst of it. But it wasn’t enough. It ate at him, watching her put on a brave face, pretending she wasn’t struggling just to keep his worry at bay.

But he always worried. Now, with Dutch’s plan looming and Kate’s involvement hanging in the balance, the concern gnawed at him, heavy and relentless, like a stone pressing against his chest. He sighed, shifting his weight in the creaky old chair, debating whether to head back inside and kiss his woman goodbye before the day’s chaos swept him away.

Before he could move, the door creaked open, and Mary-Beth stepped out onto the porch. The young woman was wrapped in a heavy wool coat, her night chemise peeking out from underneath, and she held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a white envelope pinched between her fingers. Her other hand clutched her coat tightly against the morning chill.

“Mornin’, Arthur,” she greeted softly, her voice warm and familiar. “Figured I might find you out here.”

Arthur smiled, tipping his head in acknowledgment. “A fine mornin’ it is, Miss Mary-Beth.”

She handed him the coffee, and he accepted it with a grateful nod. The warmth seeped through his fingers, chasing away the lingering chill. If there was one thing about running all these damn jobs, it was the way the girls showed their appreciation in small but meaningful ways. It reminded Arthur why he kept going—why he fought so hard. Not just for himself, but for them, too.

Mary-Beth lingered as Arthur took a tentative sip of the bitter black coffee. Then, almost hesitantly, she extended the envelope toward him. “Letter came for you,” she said, her tone light but with a hint of something else—curiosity, maybe. “I think it’s from that woman.” The last two words carried a subtle edge.

Arthur chortled, raising an eyebrow as he took the envelope. “That woman, huh? You mean Mary Gillis?” He turned the letter over in his hands, the elegant script on the front unmistakable.

Mary-Beth pursed her lips. “Gillis? Thought you said she was married to some Linton fellow?”

Arthur sighed, suddenly feeling like he’d been cornered. “She um— well she was. Barry Linton. But he passed not too long ago.” His fingers found the edge of the envelope, ripping it open as he spoke.

Mary-Beth folded her arms, her gaze sharpening with interest. “Then tell me, Mr. Morgan, what’s this widow doing still writin’ to you?”

He huffed, shaking his head. “I don’t know, darlin’. That’s what I’m fixin’ to find out.” He unfolded the letter, but he could feel her eyes lingering.

“You best get along before Miss Grimshaw catches wind you’re up,” he added pointedly, trying to nudge her away without sounding outright rude.

Mary-Beth narrowed her eyes at him, clearly unimpressed by his attempt to dismiss her, but after a moment, she relented, turning back toward the door. “Alright, fine. But I’ll be keepin’ my eye on you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

He chuckled under his breath as she disappeared into the manor, shaking his head at her audacity. Then, finally, he let his gaze fall to the letter in his hand, the words waiting for him like the clouds on the horizon:

My dear Arthur,

I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to thank you for your help with Jamie. He and Daddy are still arguing, but I understand that Jamie is thinking of going back to college. Whatever happens, I believe you saved his life, and we are all truly grateful.

Oh, Arthur. I have made such a mess of my life, time and again. Why can I not change and be the woman I want to be? Why couldn’t you change and be a man and put down all those fantasies that cloud your judgment? Life is very confusing, and I see now that I am not very good at it.

I am afraid we have got ourselves in another mess. It’s not my fault, but I need your help. I’m staying at the Hotel Grand in Saint Denis. Oh, Arthur. I know it is wrong of me to ask you, but I have nobody else, and for what we had together, I beg of you, even though I am ashamed to do so.

Yours,Mary

Arthur sighed heavily, folding the letter with a deliberate care that belied the storm brewing inside him. He slid it into his satchel, the weight of it feeling heavier than any of the supplies or ammunition he carried. His jaw tightened as his gaze drifted out over the misty swamps, the sluggish waters reflecting a pale, muted sunrise. Mary Gillis. Always finding a way to haunt him, always pulling at the loose threads of a life he’d tried to leave behind.

The first time she’d called for his help, he’d nearly ignored her altogether. He’d wrestled with the question, torn between letting old flames die and doing what he thought might be the decent thing. It was Kate who’d convinced him in the end, her soft-spoken wisdom guiding him to answer the plea. "Helping others isn’t a weakness," she’d said, resting her hand on his, heart full of understanding. And so he’d gone. He’d helped Mary with her brother, with her troubles, and with it, he thought he’d finally put the past to rest.

But that was months ago. Months filled with battles, with losses, with a love that had rooted itself firmly in his chest and refused to let go. His heart belonged to Kate now, the woman who lay sleeping just upstairs, wrapped in the meager warmth of their shared cot. Whatever dreams Mary might still cling to, whatever fantasy she still entertained of what they once were, Arthur knew better. She’d signed the letter “yours,” but the truth was she had never truly been his.

They’d been just a couple of lovesick kids, foolish and reckless, trying to carve out a life in a world that seemed determined to keep them apart. Her father had despised him, calling him poor, unworthy, a scoundrel who’d ruin her. Maybe the old bastard had been right, in his own way. Mary, for her part, had always wanted him to change—begged him to leave his ways behind, to live a cleaner, safer life that had no place for a man like him.

He’d tried, God knows he’d tried, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. Her rejection of his proposal had shattered whatever hope they’d built together, and they’d gone their separate ways, two hearts too stubborn to meet in the middle. At the time, Arthur had been furious, heartbroken. But with the years came clarity. She’d done the right thing by walking away, as much as it had gutted him. He’d have ruined her, and she’d have resented him for it.

Now, though, her reaching out again felt like opening an old wound that had barely scarred over. She must’ve been desperate to dredge up the past and call on him once more. Still, Arthur had made her a promise all those years ago—a promise to be there if she ever truly needed him. And damn it all, he’d meant it. But that didn’t make him regret those words any less now.

He sighed again, the sound heavy in the stillness, and turned back toward the house. His boots creaked softly on the steps as he ascended to the bedroom he shared with Kate. The air inside was quieter than the swamp outside, a hushed calm broken only by the occasional murmur of the gang stirring below.

Kate lay curled beneath their blanket, her hair splayed across the pillow in a tangled mess that caught the pale morning light. The sight of her tugged at something deep inside him—a mix of love and guilt that settled in his chest. She looked so peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, a stark contrast to the restless energy she carried during the waking hours.

Arthur knelt beside the bed, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. He leaned in close, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. Her skin felt warm against his lips. She stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent before settling again.

“Be back soon,” he whispered, his voice low and smooth.

For a moment, he lingered there, his hand resting on her shoulder as though drawing strength from the simple touch. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he straightened and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Whatever the day held, he’d face it. But as he made his way back down to the waiting world, he knew his thoughts would stay rooted here, with her.

Always with her.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate was lost in the throes of a feverish dream, her mind teetering on the edge of consciousness. Somewhere in the haze, she felt Arthur's lips brush against her temple—a fleeting touch that tethered her briefly to the safety of Shady Belle. But like water slipping through her fingers, she drifted away again, into a world both foreign and familiar.

She was standing in the bayou, its dark, twisting mangrove trees reaching like skeletal fingers toward a starless sky. Their roots dive far below the depths, peeking out in gnarled braids. There was no moon, yet the scene was bathed in an eerie glow, as if the shadows themselves emitted a pale, unnatural light. The air was thick and heavy, like the fever clinging to her skin, and she felt the weight of unseen eyes watching from just beyond the edges of her vision. Every time she turned, they vanished, retreating deeper into their dark spaces.

The cold water lapped at her thighs, the chill seeping through her soaked nightdress as it billowed around her legs like dissolving smoke. Shady Belle was nowhere to be seen, and she felt untethered, as though the world itself had abandoned her. She wanted to shout, to call Arthur’s name. But her mouth and tongue betrayed her, remaining silent in the oppressive quiet. Her mind grappled for meaning, but the logic of dreams offered no answers, only the inexorable thrill of what came next.

In a blink, the scene shifted, and she stood before an ancient, tortured looking willow tree. Its massive branches drooping low, their weight seeming to bow toward the water as if in devotion—or coercion. Devoid of color and leaves, it looked barren yet beckoning. The tree loomed impossibly large, its roots poking up through the earth as if it was trying to pry itself from the ground. They spread wide and deep, cradling something small and swaddled in a yellow fabric.

Kate’s body moved without her permission, her feet splashed forward sinking into the muck with every step, her hand outstretched toward the bundle. It pulsed faintly, as though alive, the fabric inexplicably dry and pristine despite the muddy water lapping at its edges. She knelt, her fingers trembling as they brushed the delicate cloth.

The earth beneath her began to quiver, a slow, rhythmic tremor that she realized was a heartbeat. It echoed in her chest, though strangely out of sync with her own, as if it belonged to something other. The sound grew louder, resonating in her bones, drowning out the hum of the bayou. It was steady and strong unlike her own, which began to falter under the pressure of uncertainty.

This heartbeat was mighty.

With a deep breath, she peeled back the fabric. Expecting some fragile, living thing, she froze when all that lay within was a seed. Small, unassuming, nestled within the soft blanket—a peach pit.

A strange disquiet settled over her. What’s this doing here? she wondered, turning it over in her hand. She couldn’t explain why, but her mind immediately thought of Arthur. Before she could rise, a flash of light caught her eye. Looking up, her breath hitched.

Sunken into the tree’s ancient trunk was a mirror, its frame gnarled and alive, twisting like the roots that encased it. But the reflection that met her gaze wasn’t her own—or at least, not as she knew herself.

The woman in the mirror was her, but different. Healthier, fuller. Her hair was smooth and pinned in an elegant style, and she wore a fine dress—proper and clean, with no trace of the rough life Kate knew so well. But her expression was strained, her face marked by some deep, unspoken sorrow.

In her arms, the reflection cradled the same yellow bundle Kate had just unwrapped. The fabric was clean and vibrant, glowing softly as though untouched by the bayou's darkness. Kate looked on, and the image began to fade, its yellow hue leaching into dullness before her eyes.

"No," she whispered, a surge of desperation clawing at her chest. The mirror seemed to flicker, the image trembling as if on the verge of breaking apart. She dropped the seed into the water, her hands reaching out toward the reflection, pleading with it. Tears blurred her vision as her knees sank into the mud.

She clawed at the bark of the tree, her nails scraping against the wood as the mirror began to dissolve into the surrounding fog. The woman in the reflection lingered for just a moment longer, her pained eyes softened, and she smiled at Kate, before vanishing entirely.

As the last wisp of light faded, Kate’s gaze dropped. There, floating in the water before her, was the peach pit. It was glowing now, faintly golden, radiating outward as it nestled into her lap. Reaching down with cupped hands she felt its warmth, pulsing with the steady beat of her heart. Harmonizing, as if they were one.

A soft whisper reached her ears, though no voice could be seen or placed. The words were indistinct, like a lullaby carried on a distant breeze. Yet they filled her with an overwhelming peace, soothing the ache that had gripped her chest. Kate clung to the warmth, holding the seed close to her chest.

The water began to rise, enveloping her body. But she held onto the tiny pit, clinging to the hope it offered her. Shielding it from the darkness as it swallowed them both.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The rhythmic clatter of Belle’s hooves against the cobblestone echoed through the bustling streets of Saint Denis, a steady cadence that drowned out the city’s chaos. The sharp clang of the trolley on its tracks, the overlapping shouts of merchants and passersby, even the piercing cry of a seagull overhead—all of it faded into the background. Arthur’s mind, however, was far from quiet. His thoughts churned, replaying the morning’s work, scanning for anything they might have missed. Anything that could tip their carefully planned mission into disaster.

Arthur and Trelawney had spent the better part of the day digging into every detail of the high-stakes card tournament scheduled aboard the Grand Korrigan the following evening. Trelawney and Strauss were confident they could fix the game in Arthur’s favor, but there was still much to learn. Who were the players? What were the stakes? And how could they infiltrate the riverboat without raising suspicion?

Trelawney, ever the charmer, had already secured the proper attire and spent hours mingling in the city’s seedier poker dens, listening to whispers and picking up useful scraps of information. Meanwhile, Arthur had taken to scouting the boat itself. He’d memorized its layout, noted its docking schedule, and kept a sharp eye on the captain and crew as they moved about their business. Every detail mattered, and Arthur was determined not to leave any stone unturned.

Lost in thought, Arthur rode back toward the heart of town to meet Trelawney at their arranged rendezvous. The weight of the mission sat heavy on his shoulders, his focus narrowing in on the steps ahead. So much so, he almost didn’t hear the voice calling out to him.

“Arthur!”

The shout was sudden, cutting through the din. Feminine, familiar.

He pulled Belle to a halt, glancing around until his eyes landed on a balcony just above street level. There she was—Mary Gillis, leaning eagerly against the railing, her face lit with a mixture of relief and excitement.

“Oh, Arthur, you came!” she called, waving as though the years between them had never passed.

Arthur stiffened in the saddle, his hand tightening slightly on Belle’s reins. He’d forgotten about her letter, about her request for help. Hell, he’d barely had time to think it over, let alone discuss it with Kate. The mission had consumed his every waking moment, and he’d figured he’d have a few days to sort it out—if he even decided to go at all. But now, fate had a way of forcing his hand.

He sighed deeply, the sound barely audible over the city’s noise. “Yeah, I, uh—I came,” he called back, the words tasting like regret the moment they left his mouth.

The smile on Mary’s face faltered slightly as she saw the frustration etched into Arthur’s expression. Her enthusiasm met the weight of his weariness, a stark contrast to the nostalgic hope that had brought her to this moment. She leaned on the hotel railing, her eyes fixed on him as though they could will away the years and pain between them.

"Wait right there, I’m coming straight down!" she called, disappearing into the building before Arthur could even open his mouth to protest.

He dismounted Belle with a heavy sigh, hitching her to the post outside. The doors of the Hotel Grand swung open moments later, and Mary rushed out, her steps hurried, her face alight with nervous energy.

"Arthur," she said again, softer this time, her tone steeped in wistfulness.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tightening. "What is it you need this time, Mary?" His voice was steady but edged, cutting straight to the point. He didn’t want to linger, didn’t want to open doors he’d shut long ago.

Her expression faltered. "I can’t believe you came," she said, ignoring his question. Her voice carried a strange mix of gratitude and regret. "After everything…"

Arthur’s patience was thinning. He looked away, his gaze following a passing wagon down the street. "Sure, seems whenever you call, I come," he muttered, his tone clipped. "Now just tell me what’s goin’ on. I don’t have all day."

Mary took a hesitant step closer, clasping her hands in front of her. "It’s my daddy," she began.

Arthur let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Your father? Christ, Mary, I must be an even bigger fool than I thought."

"Please, Arthur," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "I know my daddy was always hard on you, but he was just trying to protect me. Can’t you see that? He wanted better for me than—"

"Better than me," Arthur interrupted, his tone sharp, eyes narrowing. "That’s what you’re sayin’, ain’t it? Your father was never kind to me. He thought I was trash. Made damn sure I knew it, too."

Mary flinched but pressed on. "Your choices—Arthur, they—"

"What choice did I have!" he barked, rising with an anger that had been simmering for years. "You knew who I was, what my life was. I never left you, Mary. You walked away."

Her eyes welled with unshed tears, but Arthur didn’t let up, the wounds of their past bleeding fresh. "You think I don’t know why? You made the right call, I’ll give you that. But you don’t get to come back now and act like I’m your knight in shinin’ armor. I’m not. And I can’t be."

"Arthur, please," she begged. "You’re still the best man I’ve ever known. I wouldn’t be here asking you if I didn’t believe that."

He shook his head, his frustration boiling over. "You don’t know a damn thing about me anymore. You’re livin’ in some fantasy, Mary. Always have been. This pure life of yours? Your daddy’s still drinkin’ and whorin’ and gamblin’ away your money. Jamie’s nearly run off with some cult, and here you are, beggin’ me to fix it all."

Her lips quivered as she reached for him, but he stepped back, keeping the distance between them. "I’m sorry," she said quietly. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just—I didn’t know who else to turn to."

Arthur sighed, his anger giving way to something softer, but no less resolute. He stared at her for a long moment, his voice low but firm when he finally spoke, feeling defeated. "This is the last time we meet like this Mary. I’m done doin’ your family favors."

Her eyes widened as she grasped the weight of his words. "Oh, Arthur…"

"I’ve got my own life to worry about now," he said, gentler but unwavering. "My own family. A woman who’s stood by me, who I’ve got a future with. That’s where I’m puttin’ my focus. Not on what might’ve been."

Mary’s breath hitched, and she turned away. "It wasn’t that I didn’t love you, Arthur," she whispered, thick with emotion. “You know that.”

"Don’t," Arthur said quickly, voice tightening. "Don’t bring that up now. It’s done. We’re done."

She turned back to him, her expression desperate, but he didn’t waver. "Think of what we had," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Of what could’ve been."

Arthur shook his head, his voice firm even as his heart throbbed. "I’ve spent enough time thinkin’ about that, Mary. Now I’m thinkin’ about what I’ve got. And I’m not gonna throw it away for somethin’ that’s long gone."

Mary lowered her gaze, her fingers twisting together nervously. For a moment, silence fell between them, save for the distant clatter of wagon wheels and the murmur of city life around them. Arthur could see it—the shadow of the young woman she’d been, the glimmer of the love they once shared. That flicker hit him like a punch to the gut, stirring memories he’d buried deep.

He sighed, running a hand over his jaw, trying to shake the ache in his chest. Damn it all to hell, Arthur thought. Why was it always her?

Finally, he let out a long breath and stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. She flinched slightly at his touch, then turned to meet his gaze, her eyes hopeful and fragile all at once.

"Fine," Arthur muttered, his tone gruff and tinged with resignation. "But this is the last time, Mary. You hear me? The last damn time."

Her lips parted in surprise, and for a fleeting moment, her face lit up, though the weight of her troubles quickly returned. "Thank you, Arthur," she whispered.

He dropped his hand and crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. "Don’t thank me yet. Just tell me what kinda trouble your daddy’s dragged himself into this time."

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Stealing back the Gillis family brooch had proven to be an unseemly task, though far easier than Arthur had expected. The brooch had found its way into the hands of a pompous collector named Mr. Hugo Abernathy, a well-known figure in Saint Denis. Abernathy had a reputation for exploiting desperate gamblers, trading their losses for heirlooms and sentimental trinkets to add to his collection of gaudy treasures. Arthur didn’t know whether the man fancied himself a cultured gentleman or just another leech, but it didn’t matter. He’d made the mistake of crossing paths with Arthur Morgan. As satisfying as it might’ve been to rob the man blind, this wasn’t about profit—it was about keeping his word to Mary, no matter how reluctant he’d been to give it.

By the time Arthur handed over the brooch, the sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the bustling streets of Saint Denis. He walked Mary back to her hotel, his boots echoing dully against the cobblestone as he turned his thoughts toward camp. Toward Kate.

As if sensing his distraction, Mary broke the silence. “So,” she said lightly, “tell me about this woman who’s tamed your heart.”

Arthur huffed a quiet chuckle. “She’s far from taming it. Hell, I can’t even tame her sometimes.”

Mary laughed softly, but there was something wistful in her tone. “She sounds... spirited.”

“She is,” Arthur said, a rare softness creeping into his voice. “She’s somethin’ else, Mary. She don’t back down from nothing. She’s kind, too, in her own way. Got a way of makin’ me believe I might just be better than I’ve been.”

Mary hesitated, a flicker of something unspoken crossing her face. “And... she doesn’t mind what you do? The outlaw life, I mean. Doesn’t it... bother her? I can’t imagine it’s the life any woman dreams of.”

Arthur’s steps slowed, and his jaw tightened as the words sank in. He stopped, turning to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mary’s eyes widened, realizing her misstep, but she pressed on, perhaps emboldened by old familiarity. “I just mean... I tried to love you, Arthur. I really did. But that life you lead—it consumes everything. I just don’t see how anyone can truly be happy with it. Or with you.”

Arthur’s lips parted slightly, as though the words had struck him like a blow. They pained him deeply, he already struggled with feeling unworthy of Kate’s affections. But it stung especially after what he had just done to save Mary’s family, again. A slow anger began to simmer in his chest. “Kate don’t see it that way,” he said firmly. “She sees me. For who I am. Not for what I’ve done or where I come from.”

Mary faltered, searching for the right response, but her silence said enough.

“That’s the difference, Mary,” Arthur continued, his tone sharpening. “You were always tryin’ to fix me, tryin’ to make me somethin’ I’m not. Kate... she doesn't ask for that. She just—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “She loves me as I am.”

Mary looked away, a flush creeping into her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Arthur. I just... I suppose I wanted to understand what she sees in you. What I couldn’t see.”

Arthur let out a breath, long and heavy. “Maybe that’s just it,” he said quietly. “We were never meant to see eye to eye. You were always lookin’ for somethin’ I couldn’t give, and I was too stubborn to realize it.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the distance between them suddenly feeling insurmountable.

“Thank you,” Mary said finally, her voice soft and resolute. “For everything.”

Arthur nodded, his expression unreadable. “Take care, Mary.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, the sound of his boots fading into the din of the city.

As Arthur mounted Belle and rode back toward camp, a strange weight lifted from his shoulders. It was as though he’d finally closed a door he hadn’t realized had been open for far too long, letting the past linger like a ghost. Mary had been a symbol of what had always been out of reach—a life of quiet respectability, a pure life. A fantasy where he could be the man she thought he should be. But with every step Belle took, the clarity of his feelings grew.

That life had never been meant for him. Mary had never been meant for him.

Mary had wanted a version of him that didn’t exist, a man who could walk away from the outlaw life and become something proper in the eyes of society. She’d seen his flaws as barriers, challenges to be smoothed over or removed entirely. That his past was something he could simply erase from his identity. She loved the idea of him, not the man himself.

Kate, on the other hand, had never tried to change him. She had seen him at his worst—bloodied and bruised, hardened by the choices he’d made—and still, she’d chosen to love him. All of him. The good, the bad, and the downright ugly.

Kate didn’t just stand by his side; she rooted herself there in devotion. She didn’t demand perfection or moral absolution. Instead, she accepted the man he was and encouraged the man he was trying to become. She saw the good in him, even when he couldn’t see it himself. Kate understood that his scars, both visible and hidden, were part of what made him who he was. Where Mary had always sought to mend or reshape him, Kate simply held space for him to be, flaws and all.

As the city lights of Saint Denis faded behind him, Arthur let out a deep breath, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The ache of old memories had dulled, replaced by something warmer, steadier. He thought of Kate’s laugh, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief when she teased him, the strength in her voice when she pushed him to keep fighting for what mattered. She didn’t coddle him or let him wallow in self-pity. She challenged him, called him out, set him straight, and still, she stayed.

The realization struck him like a punch to the gut: Kate was his future. Not some imagined version of himself or a life he could never truly live. Kate was real, and she was waiting for him back at camp.

Arthur urged Belle into a faster trot, eager to leave Saint Denis behind. The past had its place, sure, but it wasn’t where he belonged. Not anymore. For the first time in a long while, Arthur felt certain of his path. His future lay ahead with Kate—and he could hardly wait to seize it.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The camp was alive with the warm hum of camaraderie as Kate sat cross-legged at the poker table, her cheeks flushed from laughter. The early evening sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over Shady Belle as the group settled into their game. Hosea, ever the charming rogue, shuffled the deck with a flair, his mischievous grin growing as he eyed Kate's rapidly increasing pile of poker chips.

Charles leaned back in his chair, sipping from a tin cup while Javier and Lenny exchanged jabs, their banter bringing easy laughter to the group.

“Now, Miss Kate,” Hosea drawled, dealing the cards with the finesse of a seasoned cheat, “you’d best not let that pretty smile fool us into thinking you don’t know what you’re doing. Although,” he added, nodding toward her hoard of chips, “I suspect the smile ain’t needed.”

Kate smirked, tossing a couple of chips into the pot. “Oh, trust me, Hosea. I don’t need my pretty smile to clean you out.”

A ripple of laughter swept over the table as Lenny slapped it. “She’s got you there, old man! She’s ruthless.”

“I’ll show you ‘old man,’” Hosea grumbled, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

Charles leaned in, his tone faux-serious. “Or maybe she’s just cheating.”

Kate gasped, placing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “The slander! Lies on my good name!”

“Good practice for tomorrow,” Javier said with a sly grin. “Maybe we should put her at the table instead of Arthur.”

The group erupted in laughter as the game continued, the teasing punctuated by moments of concentration. Kate reveled in the lightheartedness, the warmth of her companions easing the dull fatigue that had lingered all day. The strange dream she’d had still nagged at the edges of her thoughts, but the laughter and camaraderie helped soften its weight.

The sound of hooves approaching broke through the chatter, and all heads turned as Arthur dismounted Belle and strolled toward the group. Kate’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“Arthur!” she greeted warmly, setting her cards down. “You’re back early. I thought you’d be out until dark.”

Arthur tipped his hat to the group, his gaze softening when it landed on her. With a small, fond smile, he bent to tilt back her hat and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, completely unbothered by the amused stares from the others.

“Figured I’d better get back,” he said, his voice low but full of concern. “How’re you feelin’? Grimshaw ain’t been ridin’ you too hard, has she?”

Kate waved him off, trying to mask her weariness with a smile. “It’s alright, Arthur. Just needed a little rest, that’s all.”

Arthur stepped behind her chair, folding his arms as he watched the game unfold. “You want me to deal you in, son?” Hosea asked with a knowing smirk.

Arthur shook his head. “I’ll pass. Looks like y’all’ve got enough trouble at the table already.”

Three hands later, Arthur couldn’t help but notice Kate placing a high bet despite her lame cards. He frowned, leaning forward. “Hold on. Are you whipsawin’ Hosea?” He whispered loudly.

Kate froze, turning to glare at him with mock indignation. “Arthur Morgan, I cannot believe you right now.”

The men at the table groaned as Charles threw his cards down. “Told you she was cheating,” he said, laughing.

“How’s she even doing it?” Lenny asked, his curiosity piqued. “You can’t squeeze a player by yourself.”

Kate rose with a huff, tossing her cards on the table and dramatically pointing across at Javier. “Ay, pequeño diablo!” Javier threw his hands up in mock innocence. “I swear, it was her idea!”

Lenny leaned back, shaking his head with feigned annoyance. “Can’t believe you’d do Hosea dirty like that. Poor old man.”

Arthur burst into laughter as realization dawned. “You two teamed up on Hosea? Of all people?”

Hosea chuckled, putting a hand to his heart. “I’m touched, truly.”

Kate grinned, collecting her chips and dumping them in her satchel. “No hard feelings,” she said, pushing in her chair, and flicking her hat in a playful farewell.

“You’ve learned from the best,” Hosea replied with a laugh.

Kate looped her arm around Arthur as he wrapped a hand around her waist. “I think it’s time I turned in,” she said, her voice softening as the laughter behind her began to fade.

“Goodnight, Kate,” Charles said with a small nod, echoed by Lenny and Hosea.

Javier smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Sleep well, card shark. Don’t let Arthur keep you up too late.” He winked playfully, “we got a big day tomorrow.”

Arthur shot him a warning glance but chuckled, steering Kate toward the house. “They’re gonna have your name runnin’ through camp by morning,” he teased.

“Good,” Kate replied with a smirk. “Keeps things interesting.”

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The climb up the creaking, weathered staircase to their bedroom was quiet, the kind of silence that wrapped around two people who didn’t need words to fill the space between them. Arthur walked just behind Kate, his gaze focussed on her every movement.

Up close he noticed the faint pallor in her cheeks. She was good at hiding it, but he could tell she was still feeling unwell. He ran a hand over his jaw, searching for the right way to bring it up without discouraging her mood. Listening to her laughter and the childish banter with Hosea and the other guys struck a chord in his heart. He didn’t want anything to ruin her happiness. But this next job, coupled with her abating strength loomed over his consciousness. Arthur couldn’t let it go.

As they reached the landing, Arthur cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. “Darlin’, I gotta talk to you about somethin’.” He was soft, cautious, but it was clear this wasn’t something he could brush aside.

Kate stopped just shy of opening the bedroom door, turning to face him with an arched brow. “That sounds ominous.”

Arthur gave her a crooked smile, his hat in his hands, but before he could continue, Kate pushed the door open—and gasped.

Hanging from a shelf inside the room was an elegant black and gold dress, the fabric catching the dim light like liquid fire. Beside it hung a sleek black suit and a matching golden ascot tie—Trelawney’s handiwork, no doubt. Arthur recognized the attire immediately, part of the plan for the riverboat job, and an uncomfortable weight settled in his chest.

This wasn’t the first risky scheme they’d run, but something about involving Kate this time gnawed at him. The mayor's garden party had been a simple play to gather information. It had gone smoothly enough, but this felt different. The stakes were higher, the dangers more evident. Kate would be shoved in the spotlight. Open, and vulnerable.

This wasn’t just another job with the gang. In the past, Arthur would dive into missions headfirst, guns blazing and ready to handle whatever chaos came his way. He’d learned to adapt, to put on a show when things went south, always prepared to claw his way out of trouble. But this time was different. This time, he had something to lose.

Kate wasn’t just another member of the gang. She was a light in the darkness, a reason to hope in a world that so often felt too heavy to bear.

Arthur's unease wasn’t just about her safety—it was about what her involvement represented. Every lie, every con, every dangerous move Dutch made, Arthur could swallow it. It was a part of the life he'd chosen. But dragging Kate into that world, risking her for the sake of their schemes, felt like a line he was dangerously close to crossing. One that gambled with her life.

She deserved better than this, Arthur knew it was not the future he wanted for her. Yet here she was, caught up in it all because of him. Because Kate is too stubborn to let him take on the world alone. The thought of something going wrong made him feel sick.

Kate stepped forward, running her fingers lightly over the dress, her expression equal parts awe and amusement. “Well, I’ll be damned. Trelawney certainly has an eye for style,” she murmured.

Arthur crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah, an eye for flair and trouble. This don’t change how I feel about you being involved in it.”

Kate turned to him, her playful grin fading as she caught the concern etched into his face. “Arthur,” she began softly, already sensing where this was headed, “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure about that?” he pressed, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “You ain’t been feelin’ fine these past few days. You think I don’t notice how pale you’ve been lookin’, or how you’ve been tryin’ to hide it from me? I’m worried about you.”

“I told you, it’s nothing serious,” Kate said, though the edge in her voice betrayed her.

“Darlin’, it’s serious to me.” Arthur stated.

She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Arthur or herself. Her thoughts drifted back to the dream she’d had that morning, the edges of it now hazy, like a half-remembered melody. She could recall flashes—shadows moving like whispers, an overwhelming warmth, and a sense of being drawn toward something she couldn’t quite remember. The dream’s meaning eluded her, slippery and incomprehensible, but it left behind a strange, fluttering feeling in her chest, like the stirrings of anticipation or fear.

Maybe it was just the lingering effects of the fever, or perhaps something more. Kate had noticed subtle changes in her body—a creeping fatigue that left her feeling weaker than usual, a loss of appetite, and persistent headaches that seemed to come and go. She brushed it off as nothing serious, likely just a common cold. After all, a little sickness had never slowed her down before.

She squared her shoulders, meeting his eyes. “I can pull my weight, Arthur. I always have.”

Arthur sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “It ain’t about pullin’ your weight hon. You’ve got nothin’ to prove to me or to anyone else. I don’t want you pushin’ yourself too hard, not for something like this.” He gestured toward the dress, his voice softening. “If somethin’ goes wrong on that boat…”

Kate crossed the room and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “It won’t. Hosea’s got this all planned out to the last detail. I just have to sing a few songs while you win a couple rounds. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

The fact that Kate rehearsed things with Hosea brought him a sense of calm, but still his anxiety festered. Arthur held her gaze, his deep blue eyes searching hers for any hint of doubt.

“I just hate that Dutch is puttin’ you in the lion's den while your vulnerable. You mean everything to me, Kate,” he said quietly. “I don’t want a future without you in it.”

Kate smiled faintly, her fingers brushing against his cheek as his warm hands enveloped her waist, squeezing them like he was testing if she were real or just his wild imagination.

“I’ll make you a deal, alright?” she resolved. “After this, I’m done. No more schemes, no more jobs. I’ll tell Dutch I’m out of commission.”

Arthur’s lips quirked into a soft smile, though the worry didn’t fully leave his face. She had made up her mind. “I’ll hold you to that,” he muttered, pulling her into a gentle embrace.

She rested her head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding her. “I know you will,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

As they stood in the quiet room, the soft glow of the lantern illuminated the dress and suit like relics from a story neither of them wanted to live, an unwelcome reminder of the weight of the world outside. Arthur tilted his head, his lips brushing against Kate’s hairline with a tenderness that belied the tension coiled in his chest. His hand traced slow, deliberate circles along the small of her back, grounding him as much as it soothed her.

For a moment, Kate closed her eyes and leaned into him, the warmth of his body chasing away the lingering unease of her dream. Flashes of it teased the edges of her mind—a heartbeat, a pull she couldn’t quite explain. She opened her eyes and pulled back slightly, her hands resting on his chest where she could feel his heart, steady and strong.

“You’re too good to me, you know that?” she teased, though the mischief in her eyes couldn’t entirely hide the vulnerability beneath.

Arthur let out a soft snort, his lips quirking into a smirk that made her stomach flutter. “Darlin’, I think you got that backward.” He leaned down to nudge her nose with his, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. “I don't know what a man like me did to deserve a woman like you.”

Her laughter was quiet, intimate, the kind that warmed Arthur to his core and chased away the heaviness he carried. She moved her hands to his shoulders, her fingers tracing the lines of his shirt like she was memorizing him. For a moment, all the worry and fear melted away.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a playful whisper, “you could try on the suit—” She bit her lip, her lashes lowering as she glanced up at him, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.“And recreate that night we had in Saint Denis.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, giving her a skeptical look, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. “What, you’re tellin’ me this doesn’t have it’s charm?” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to his body and clothes. His tone was laced with mock arrogance, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed his act.

Kate pressed herself against him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Absolutely,” she murmured, her voice softer now, her lips hovering close to his. Her eyes flicked down to his mouth, her breath mingling with his. “I want you just as you are.”

Arthur’s grin widened, his hands sliding up her sides to cradle her face. His thumbs brushed her cheeks as he leaned closer, his voice a rough murmur. “Then what are we waitin’ for, to hell with the suit.”

Kate didn’t give him a chance to say more. Standing on her toes, she captured his mouth in a kiss, slow and deliberate. Arthur stilled for only a heartbeat, then surrendered, his hands tightening on her waist as he kissed her back with a fervor that made her knees weak. The world outside the room seemed to vanish, the faint sounds of camp life fading into nothing. All that mattered was the way her lips moved against his, the way her fingers tangled in his hair, the way her body molded perfectly to his, like they’d been made for this.

His tongue brushed along her bottom lip, and Kate moaned softly, her hands sliding to his collar to tug him closer. Their movements grew more eager, more desperate, as they peeled away layers of clothing, discarding them without breaking their connection. Arthur felt his need for her aching between his legs, and he couldn’t stop himself from guiding her backward to the cot. He followed her down, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he ground his hips against hers, drawing a breathless gasp from her lips.

Arthur broke the kiss to trail his lips down her neck, his stubble scraping lightly against her sensitive skin. Each kiss was unhurried and reverent, as though he were memorizing her taste. He reached the curve of her collarbone, then lower, his mouth finding a peaked nipple. He captured it between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub, and Kate arched into him, a soft cry spilling from her mouth.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as his kisses continued downward, his warm breath ghosting over her stomach. She shivered beneath him, flashes of her dream surfacing again—the heartbeat, the magnetic pull, the sense of inevitability. When he kissed her navel, she swore she could feel it again, that same unshakable connection.

Arthur paused, his lips hovering over her skin as he looked up at her. “You alright, sweetheart?” he murmured, his voice thick with concern and raw desire. His hands caressed her thighs, grounding her in the moment.

Kate laughed breathlessly, her heart racing so fast she thought he might feel it. “I am now,” she whispered, her voice trembling with affection and longing.

Arthur chuckled, low and warm, the sound vibrating against her skin. His hands slid down to lift her thighs, spreading her open for him. She gasped softly as she felt his warm breath against her most sensitive spot, her fingers tightening in his hair.

“I think I can help with that,” he drawled, his grin turning devilish before he lowered his head and pressed a kiss where she needed him most.

Kate’s body tensed at the first touch of his tongue, her head falling back as a moan escaped her lips, unrestrained and raw. That sound, coupled with the sensations Arthur was drawing from her, made her chest tighten with something beyond pleasure. The rhythm from her dream returned, steady and certain, like a heartbeat resonating deep within her soul. It wasn’t just her body responding to him; it was her heart, her entire being. Arthur’s mouth moved with a precision that wasn’t hurried but deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world to explore her, to love her in a way that felt eternal.

Every touch was a silent vow. A tangible expression of holy devotion, a sacred need that left her trembling beneath him, utterly lost yet feeling more whole than ever.

As the pleasure surged and overwhelmed her, Kate swore she could feel that heartbeat echo in her chest, pulsing with a meaning she didn’t fully understand but instinctively trusted. This moment wasn’t just an escape from the dangers of tomorrow; it was an anchor, a reminder of what truly mattered. What they were fighting for; their future. Kate cried out his name, the sound trembling with passion and something deeper. Hope. In Arthur’s touch, in his unspoken promises, she knew that whatever lay ahead, there was hope for a future beyond this. For now, she let herself fall into his love, into the steady rhythm that promised her not just comfort but a forever she hadn’t dared to dream of.

AN: I know this chapter and the last one probably feel a little repetitive in the way they're structured; Arthur goes out, Kate is left at camp, and then they come together at night. But I promise the next chapter will include them together. I think you all know what mission is coming up....

Suffice to say, I think I've got the rest of this fic laid out. Well at least I have the bones, I've just been adding the meat as I go along. But it will be 35 chapters, with 2 epilogue chapters (37 total). It feels so far away, yet close at the same time. I wonder if I'll finish this before it hits the one year anniversary in March! ♥️

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #ao3 fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fandom #arthur morgan x oc #fic update #rdr2 community #red dead redemption oc

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