#holy shit it feels so good to finally be able to tag that

[hellfirenacht]

Candygram

Summary: It's Valentine's day and you shoot your shot with Eddie by sending him a Candygram.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, fluff, sfw

4.8k Words Master List

“Just do it.”  Robin said, following your line of sight to the booth in the corner of the Hawkins cafeteria. It was a simple table with a red cloth thrown over it and a handmade banner that read ‘CANDYGRAMS $1’ and was decorated with tacky hearts. 

Every time you glanced over at the booth, your heart would start pounding and your stomach would twist in knots. You had never considered yourself to be shy before, when you first moved to Hawkins a few years ago, Robin had joked that you didn’t need a welcome wagon because you had thrown yourself into band and had introduced yourself to everyone with ease. 

You had masked your anxiety over being the new kid with an overinflated sense of confidence and it had worked out really well for you until you caught feelings for the freak who sat next to you in remedial science. 

“I think... I would rather chug formaldehyde.” you said slowly, staring so hard at the offensively pink and red booth that Robin was sure it was going to catch flames. 

“Either go up there and buy a candygram or I’m going to do it for you.” Robin said. “If I have to hear you waffle about this for one more day I’m gonna rip my hair out.” 

“But if I send him one, then he might actually acknowledge me and realize I might have something resembling a feeling for him, and that’s just not really cool, you know? Goes against my chill and mysterious personality.” you said, leaning back on your chair with a cocky grin. 

“Last night I saw you and Steve cry over Bambi.” Robin deadpans. 

“Okay, so we were drunk and also shut up.” you snorted, rubbing your face. 

“How are you going to know if there’s anything there if you don’t even take the chance?” Robin scolds. “Come one, I’ve seen the way you look at him. I’m surprised the whole school doesn’t know-”

“Again, cool and mysterious personality.” you tried again. 

“Plus I know he’s just as weird as you.” Robin continued, ignoring you. “I mean, last week I saw him get Jason Carver to back off one of the freshmen by pretending to exercise a demon out of him!”

You stared at Robin for a beat before thunking your head on the lunch table. “I’m going to marry him. Holy shit, he actually tried to expel the demon lurking in Carver?” You were laughing at the thought. 

During your first senior year and his second, Eddie Munson had caught your eye when you had the same lunch period. He was loud and energetic and so fucking weird you couldn’t help but to be drawn to him. Had your parents not forced you to stick with band, you would have considered joining Hellfire. Unfortunately even with this last go-round as a super senior, they still made you stick with it despite your senioritis reaching terminal levels.

You never had a good opportunity to talk to him, and the more time passed the harder it became to justify just randomly approaching him. This semester you finally had your opportunity when you’d been put in the same class and sitting next to each other no less. Still, the most you’d been able to say was “yeah, sure” when he’d asked you for a pencil once. 

Four weeks sitting next to Eddie, and you had barely spoken to him while noticing every little thing about him. He read a lot in class when he could get away with it, and doodled in his notebooks constantly, especially dice and dragons seemed to be the biggest theme. His school notebook wasn’t nearly as filled in as his Hellfire notebook, and he was always fidgeting in class. He also didn’t talk much, and at least once a week he’d end up falling asleep in class with his head in his hand. 

“There’s not gonna be a wedding if you can’t even talk to the guy.” Robin said. “He’s not even scary! Dustin comes in to talk to Steve all the time about Hellfire. He’s just a dork.”

“I know and that’s the problem.” your voice was a strangled laugh mixed with a groan. 

“You showed up the first day of band and introduced yourself to everyone, even if they weren’t in your section. What is the hold up with you talking to Eddie?” Robin pried. 

“Because back then, it didn’t matter.” You looked over at Robin, poking at your mystery meat. “When I first got here it didn’t matter if anyone liked me or not. I was only supposed to be in this school for a few months and then graduate. Then I didn’t. I could handle it if someone didn’t like me. None of you were really supposed to matter to me. No offense.”

Thankfully, Robin didn’t seem offended. “You were just making nice with the inmates until parole.” she joked and you nodded. 

“Yup, and then when I realized that I was going to have to actually have a full other year of school, that meant that I was going to have to care if I was ever gonna graduate.” You continued. “Luckily you saw through all my bullshit bravado and started dragging me to movie nights with you and Steve.” 

“Yeah yeah, we love friendship. So what does any of this have to do with Eddie?” Robin said, not needing you to explain the backstory that she had been present for. 

“It means that with Mr. Munson, I unfortunately, care so fucking much what he thinks of me.” you relented. “He’s the biggest freak in school, and the dorkiest loser, and if I try and talk to him and he’s not interested in talking back I won’t be able to take it. Robin, I will simply lay down and be dead for the rest of my life.”

“That’s not how that works, you can’t be dead for the rest of your life.” She shook her head, her brows furrowed. “Because if you’re dead then... you’re not alive”

“Schrodinger's corpse then. Alive and dead at the same time.” 

“Look, just send him the stupid candygram. The worst he can do is say no.” She stood up from the table and grabbed your hand. “Let’s go.”

And that’s how you ended up at the booth, jotting down Eddie’s name on a piece of paper and shoving a few quarters in the till with Robin looking smug. “I doubt he’s ever gotten one anyway, if anything he should be thrilled that someone wanted to send him one.”

“If this kills me, Steve’s in charge of the music at my funeral.” you sighed. 

---

Candygrams were being handed out and delivered through the week. You weren’t paying attention to what period they were supposed to be handed out, and so when two students in obnoxious heart shirts and fake wings burst into your science class with Eddie right next to you, you were about ready to throw yourself out a window. 

No one was surprised when Janet and Charlie were tossed a few candygrams, but everyone’s head whipped around when the red heart shaped lollipop and card was set on Eddie Munson’s desk. Eddie himself seemed more surprised than anyone. 

He had the lollipop in his mouth before he even opened the note attached and you were seconds away from bolting out the door. With any luck, maybe he didn’t know your name even after weeks of sitting next to each other. 

“Who’s it from, freak?” asked Patrick, the basketball jock who sat a few rows ahead. That earned a few snickers from the class. 

“It’s from your mom.” Eddie said without missing a beat and taking out the lollipop. “Tell her I say thanks.”

More laughter from the class as Patrick stood up as if ready to fight, but the teacher quickly told him to sit down. 

Shit, this wasn’t supposed to happen. You felt a bit guilty that your candygram had kicked up a fuss, but at least Eddie didn’t out you as the person who sent it to him. In fact he wasn’t looking over at you at all. 

You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he flipped the card around, as if looking for something. All that was written was his name and “YOU’RE SWEET!” written in cheesy font and his name scribbled in your handwriting. 

And nothing else. 

You didn’t know if you should laugh or cry at your stupidity. You’d been so jumbled and nervous that you’d forgotten to sign the damn thing. Robin was gonna have a field day with this one. 

Eddie kept fidgeting with the card through the rest of class, twisting it and bending it until it was as crumpled and torn as your heart felt. He shoved it in his pocket and didn’t even glance at you as the bell rang and he stood up and tossed the eaten lollipop stick in the trash. 

It’s not personal. You told yourself. He has no idea who sent it to him.

That’s when you had a horrible idea, so stupid it might actually work. 

---

“Explain how this is going to work again?” Robin asked. “You’re going to keep sending him lollipops this week until he notices you?” 

“Sort of.” you said, buying another candygram. “I’ll just send him a few joke ones as a feeler and if he responds positively I’ll come clean. If not, I keep my dignity. It’s a win-win.”

“Since when do you care about your dignity?” Robin sorted. 

“Since I caught feelings for the least dignified guy in school, I guess.” You knew it was stupid, you knew it was ridiculous, but you already messed up once so you might as well lean into it. You scribbled his name down, this time signing it with a satisfied giggle. “This is so dumb.”

Oh, but it was so worth it. You had bought it before school started, guaranteeing that it’d be delivered the same day, handing over a crisp dollar to Nancy Wheeler who had volunteered for the booth. If Eddie had been surprised the first time, he looked almost shocked now.

Eddie, sorry I forgot to sign the first one! This card said, once again not giving away any sign of who it was actually from. You saw his eye sparkle in amusement as he ate his lollipop, and this time the card was read over a few times before being carefully tucked into his dungeon master notebook. 

By the third day, the novelty of Eddie Munson getting candygrams had worn off with the rest of your class, but Eddie’s grin only grew wider each time. 

“Anything for me, Cupid?” Eddie asked as the student council members walked back in to hand out more lollipops. 

He whooped as another one was dropped on his desk and he snatched up the card quickly and you had to cover your face and bite your lip to stop yourself from giggling at his excitement. 

Eddie, sorry I’m so bad at remembering to sign these things! I just get way too excited about sending them out that I lose focus. So anyway this card is actually from-

You had carefully spaced out your writing on the small rectangle of paper so that it left absolutely no room for you to sign your name. Eddie looked downright giddy as he read the note over and over. Seeing him so happy made your stomach burst into butterflies and even if he decided after this he wasn’t interested, this was enough. Knowing that he was smiling because of you was enough. 

Someone said your name and you looked up, surprised to see one of the student council members standing next to you and handing you a candygram. Your eyebrows shot up as you took it with a thanks and opened up the card. 

Who had sent one to you? You’d been so wrapped up in your little scheme you didn’t even consider that someone would try and send you one either. 

A smile tugged at your lips as you saw your name and a small drawing of what looked like an egg in a nest as the sender. Robin, of course. Probably making fun of you for sending candygrams to Eddie without signing either. 

You tucked the candygram in your own notebook safely and dared a glance over at Eddie again. You hadn’t expected for him to be looking back at you, and your heart jumped in your chest. He unwrapped his lollipop and lifted it slightly as if he was trying to toast. You held yours up as well to him, an off sense of camaraderie between two people who had their day temporarily disturbed for commercialized love. 

Thursday came around, Valentine's day proper, but they’d be doing one last day of candygrams on Friday as well. This was a fundraiser after all, and capitalism trumps any semblance of real sincerity. Well, you said that but that wasn’t exactly going to stop you from continuing your little plan. 

Today was the day you were going to pull out the big guns. You handed over a full $5 to have a carnation sent to Eddie, as well as a return to sender card to Robin for being a good friend. 

“Shouldn’t he be the one sending you a flower?” Nancy asked, handing you the card to write on. You wondered how Nancy had time for all of the extracurricular activities she had going on, working with the student council and the school newspaper. 

You just shrugged at the question, not realizing how wide you were smiling or how obviously warm your cheeks were. To anyone with two eyes, you were glowing and to anyone with one eye, you were phosphorescent. 

The disinterest that your classmates had from the last two rounds perked back up with a flower was delivered to Eddie that afternoon. 

“For little old me?” Eddie said, batting his eyelashes at the delivery boy as he took the carnation. You giggled to yourself as he opened the card again. 

Man, I’m bad at this aren’t I? Don’t worry, this time I’m writing very small so I have room to sign this card. Seeing you light up when these get delivered has made my whole week, and totally worth it. Anyway this is from- 

To be fair, you had actually signed your name this time. However this time you had made an attempt to erase it with one of those erasers. The horrible stiff ones that only made big smudges and made the mistake worse and nearly tore through the paper. You had carefully looked at your smudged signature for a long time before deciding it was illegible enough to send. 

Eddie faked a swoon in his seat, nearly toppling over onto the floor. “Come on!” he laughed, pushing himself back upright, smiling with his whole face. He looked over the note again, something clicking in his brain and you quickly looked down at the book you were currently pretending to read. 

“It’s someone in here.” you heard him mutter to himself and your heart started pounding in your chest. You focused on your breathing to try and stop yourself from giggling and giving yourself away. 

“Stop sending yourself stuff, Munson. It’s pathetic.” Patrick called out. 

“If you wanted me to be your Valentine, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask nicely.” Eddie said, but he sounded distracted as his eyes scanned the room for any hint of who this mysterious person is. “And next time, I’m more than happy with just the lollipop, it’s saving me on smokes.”

You didn’t even notice the lollipop on your desk until class had started back up. Unfolding the card you smiled to yourself, seeing that it was from Robin again. This time the egg in the nest had a crack in it and seemed to be hatching. You’d ask her about it later. 

Nothing said during the rest of class even registered with you, every word was in one ear and out the other. This had been a fun week sending Eddie all the lollipops and flowers but tomorrow was the last day to have something sent to him. 

Were you going to sign your name? That’s the million dollar question. You had told Robin that you would if Eddie seemed interested, and he had made it clear he was enjoying the attention. 

But would he still enjoy the attention if he learned it was from you? You two weren’t exactly friends, but not complete strangers either. He didn’t seem to dislike you, after all he’d raised a toast with you with your lollipops the other day. 

Well, if you were gonna put yourself out there, you were gonna do it on your own terms.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Robin said that Friday morning as you dropped a handful of ones on the table for one last hurrah. 

“Nope, I’ve committed.” you said, taking the small stack of cards and getting to work. 

“I’m going to have you committed.” Robin shook her head. “I mean, this is actually insane, you know that right? There’s no reason to go through all this trouble, when you could just talk to him.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that, Buckley?” you asked, as you added one letter of your name to each of the cards. “Gotta make him work for it.”

“So you’re gonna give him a Valentine's themed word jumble as your big sign off?” 

“Yup.” you confirmed, adding his name to each of the cards. He’d get them all in one go and then it’s up to him to unscramble your name and figure it out. 

After that... well, the ball is in his court. 

Besides, if he liked the lollipops enough that he’d reach for one instead of a cigarette then that’s good enough. 

“You’re such a weirdo. You deserve each other.” Robin went on. “The Weirdo and the Freak. It’s like Beauty and the Beast except.. Not.”

“Robin, don’t you know three languages?” you snorted finishing up your stack and handing them over to be sent. “You are so much smarter than me, but this is where you lose words?”

“It’s Friday and I haven’t had coffee.” she pointed out. “Oh, thanks for sending me one by the way.”

“Yeah, of course. I mean you sent me one so I wasn’t gonna leave you hanging.” you nudged her playfully. 

“I didn’t send you one.” Robin looked at you, confused. 

“What?” You reached into your backpack and pulled out the notebook where you had placed the card and handed it to her. “But that’s a robin’s egg...?”

“It’s an egg, probably.” Robin agreed. “But I’m broke. I didn’t send any out.” 

You stared at the card with new eyes. If she didn’t send it, then who did?

---

“Holy shit.” Eddie muttered as a bag of lollipops was dumped on his desk with no rhyme or reason, earning a round of laughter and snickers from the class. The teacher had long since given up on trying to keep the class’s attention when the Cupid’s showed up. 

He sorted through the cards, a puzzled expression on his face as he looked at the different letters on the cards until he found one that had real words on it. 

Figure it out, Sucker <3 Eddie’s face was a wonderful mixture of amusement, bewilderment, and mild offense. 

One of the Cupid’s handed you another two lollipops as well. One was actually signed by one of your friends in band, and the other had another doodle of an egg. This time the egg was completely hatched and there was some sort of weird bird flying off. 

Not a robin. You decided, trying to figure out what it was supposed to be. 

You barely paid attention in class for the rest of the hour, your attention split between the three egg Valentines you received and the man next to you. Eddie had pulled out his Dungeon Master notebook to try and decode your message. You felt flattered that he was using his favored notebook to try and figure out your puzzle. 

Eddie was sucking on one of the lollipops diligently as he scribbled down random letters. Now that you thought about it, you’d never seen him look so studious in class before. You wondered if this is what he looked like when he was working on his campaigns and your brain decided to give you a treat of a daydream where the two of you were sitting around in your room while he explained his campaign and how he’d love to have someone like you join Hellfire-

It was three minutes before the bell, and that meant just a few minutes until your last period and the weekend. With Valentine’s day falling in the middle of the week, most of your friends were going to be off doing things with their partners. Maybe you, Robin, and Steve- no wait, Steve actually got dates. Robin worked on the weekend. 

Maybe Eddie- NOPE. Not going there, you were not about to get your hopes up for this. 

You glanced over at him again, looking at his notebook to see if he was anywhere close to decoding your name. Eddie had the worst handwriting you’d ever seen and so you would be surprised if he could even figure out his own notes. Between unjumbling your letters, he had started doodling in the margins. You assumed that they were D&D monsters from the look of it, since none of them looked like actual animals except for the bats in the corner. 

The only other thing you recognized was a dragon, drawn in a larger scale on the side of the page. It’s wings were expanded and it was flying off, and from this angle it looked like a weird...

It looked like some bird

Some sort of weird bird

Your head snapped back down to the card in front of you. This wasn’t a weird bird. It was a dragon. A dragon hatching from an egg. An egg that hatched a dragon. A dragon that was drawn with the same pose as the one in Eddie’s notebook. Eddie’s notebook had your dragon no wait, your card had his dragon-

Eddie Munson had sent you the cards. 

Eddie had-

“Oh.” You said out loud. You were nearly fighting back hysterical laughter at this, and you pressed your hands against your face, with your shoulder shaking with repressed laughter. 

Why the hell had Eddie sent you those cards? The two of you had barely spoken to each other!

 You did the same damn thing, dipshit. You reminded yourself. In fact you had gone way harder than he had. But what did this MEAN? 

The bell rang and everyone scrambled to get out of the classroom, and before you could say anything, Eddie was off and running out of the classroom at the speed of light. 

What was that about?

Robin was right. If you were ever going to have a chance with him, you were going to suck it up and talk to him, even if it meant possibly embarrassing yourself. Plus, finding out why he sent you three candygrams was currently trumping any fear of rejection. Curiosity killed the cat, but at least he died satisfied. You’re pretty sure how that saying went at least. 

You knew that Eddie had Hellfire today, it was Friday and he and all of his friends had been running around in their club shirts. With a deep breath you...realized you had no idea where the hell they actually met. 

This whole thing could have been planned better, actually. 

You started walking around the school blindly for any sign of the signature baseball tee that they all wore. If you found one of them, they were sure to lead you to Eddie. God, you felt like a stalker. 

There. Long dark curls against a stark white shirt with black sleeves. Your heart leapt in your chest, and you had to make the choice now. 

“E... Eddie! Wait up!” you called out, walking quickly towards him. 

When he turned around to look at you, you felt the air disappear from your lungs. How was it possible for him to be so beautiful and why the fuck did no one in this school seem to notice? 

Eddie pulled the lollipop he’d been sucking on out of his mouth, surprised to see you. 

“Hey.” he said. “Uh... you sit next to me in class.” 

He was either playing dumb, or you were about to make an ass of yourself. But, like Robin asked, since when do you care about dignity?

You reached into your bag and pulled out the candygrams that had been sent to you and holding them out. 

To your relief he gave you a bashful smile. “Guess you caught me, huh?” he asked. “You solved my Valentine’s puzzle.” 

“I have a pretty high intelligence when I apply myself.” you said, which only made him grin wide. “But I gotta say, Munson. I’m actually a little disappointed. I mean, sadistic and scary dungeon master of the Hellfire club, and this is the best puzzle you could come up with?”

He crossed his arms and took a step towards you. “Well, I don’t know you as well as I’d like.” he said, and your stomach erupted into butterflies. “Had to start somewhere.” 

“I guess I had to be sneaky and pay attention to you to figure it out. You’re hard not to notice, you know.” you admitted, crossing your arms as well to mimic him. 

“Being The Freak means I fail most stealth checks.” he shrugged. 

“High charisma though.” you threw out there, hoping that line would land and to your delight it did.

“It’s the Munson Magic. I come by it naturally.” Eddie’s smile was so wide it was cheesy but shit, it was working on you. 

“Not great intelligence though.” you smirked at him. 

“Oh? And how do you figure that?” He looked a little offended now, and you saw his shoulder stiffen as if he was waiting for this to suddenly go south. 

“Spell my name, Eddie.” 

You could see the lightbulb go off in his mind and his eyes widened. 

“You- wait, you were the one who kept sending me the cards?” Eddie looked nothing short of bewildered and ecstatic. You had a feeling that if things went well, you wouldn’t have to worry about ever knowing what he was thinking as he wore every emotion on his sleeve. 

“Surprise?” you asked, playing with the strap of your backpack. 

Eddie licked his lips, chasing the last of the flavor of the sucker he’d been eating. He looked at you, as if searching for something, and you cut in before he had the chance to find it. 

“Do you want to hang out sometime?” you asked, a little louder than you meant to. “Like, just us.”

“Do you think you can handle a date with The Freak?” Eddie asked, standing a little straighter. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, and I promise the worst of them are true.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Eddie, I’ve always wanted to join Hellfire.” you smirked. “I’m sure there are worse things for a first date than sacrificing someone to Satan, or summoning demons, or joining a cult.”

“I’m a gentleman, I would never ask a lady to summon demons on the first date. That’s at least a third date activity.” Eddie held his hand to his heart and raised a hand as if making an oath. 

Oh yeah, you were going to marry him. You were already picturing proposing to him and taking him away from this town. 

“Then how about dinner at Benny’s?” you suggested. “Burgers and shakes on me and you can tell me more about Hellfire and dragons and I can give you a spelling lesson.”

Eddie ran his ringed fingers through his hair and you giggled as the rings got snagged and he struggled to untangle them. 

“It’s.. a date then.” he said, but it came out as more of a question, as if he was asking if this was really happening. 

“A date.” You agreed, handing him your number, having come prepared. 

As you began to walk away, he called out after you. 

“Wait! You said you wanted to check out Hellfire, right?” Eddie said and you turned to look at him. “I’m... I’m actually running a one shot tonight. Kind of beginner friendly enough. I don’t often do this in the middle of the semester but one of our usuals dropped out because he had a date so... we have an open seat at the table. If you think you can handle it.”

Your smile widened as you walked over to him. “I think I’ll take you up on that.”

Eddie offered his arm to you, as if he were a gentleman which you took eagerly. 

“So... how do you actually spell your name?” 

---

Dear Reader, I hope you have the easiest name to spell because that would make this fic at least 3% funnier. Also, I'm proud I got this done before Valentine's day because I never even finished my Halloween or Christmas fic. Be proud of me.

Please reblog if you enjoyed it <3

Tag List: @gagasbee, @ihaventgotaclue-really @tastefullyferal @anonymouskiwi @hellfiredarling

[astonmartinii]

nonsense... or is it? | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem singer!reader

face claim: sabrina carpenter

based on this request: sooo, anyways,,, i was thinking maybe a smau where Charles is playing the guy who Milo was and this obviously breaks the internet even more and this leads to them dating ??? idk, just like a really wholesome one where she was his celebrity crush and now they're dating bc of them getting know each other more bc of the music video. sorry if this is all over the place but yeah. - @whoreks

MASTERLIST | BUY ME A KO-FI?

yourusername

liked by taylorswift, charles_leclerc and 1,200,441 others

yourusername: holla babes !!! the feather music video is heading your way fast xxx if only my real boyfriends were like my music videos ones ...

view all comments

user1: MOTHER

user2: finally music videos are back baby !!

taylorswift: you can still make the whole place shimmer ✨

yourusername: thanks to you baby

user3: oh to be able to call taylor swift baby

user4: y/n's shade is so underrated - i too wish her boyfriends were as good as her mv ones

user5: she's got such a good eye for casting why can't she do this in her actual love life

user6: okay but he's hot based off a single shoulder i'm excited

user7: you got that from a SHOULDER?

user8: he's TALL?

user9: babe y/n is like 4'2 she makes everyone look tall

user10: say what you want about the catholic church, they got the aesthetic down pat

yourbff1: so we aren't asking the mv boyf out? boring.

yourusername: we have lil things called phones? USE IT HOE

user11: charles leclerc in the likes

user12: so true of him

user13: unless he's... the guy

user14: babe he's way too short lol

user15: have yall seen the sky ad? baby aint acting any time soon

yourusername

liked by yourbff1, charles_leclerc and 1,763,550 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: OMG you guys blew the feather music video up !! i'm sure it had nothing to do with this random guy i found off the street? jokes, thank you charles for being the perf mv boyf xx

view all comments

user17: HOLY FUCKING SHIT

user18: celeb crush inception no one touch me

charles_leclerc: thank you for my music video debut, maybe you can return the favour one day?

yourusername: i'll return any favour you want

yourbff1: dial down the desperation babe

charles_leclerc: what if i want her to dial it up please?

yourbff1: do NOT encourage her

yourusername: please encourage me :)

user19: Y/N STAND UP PLEASE

user20: actually y/n is so real have yall seen that man YUM

liked by yourusername

user21: y/n is a genius for fancasting her future bf in her music video

danielricciardo: THIS IS HOW I FIND OUT? SHARL WHEN I CATCH YOU

pierregasly: and me :( i thought our friendship meant more ....

charles_leclerc: it was a secret

yourusername: he doesn't kiss and tell xoxo

alexalbon: WHAT ??????

charles_leclerc: okay we can stop joking now

yourusername: fine...

user22: the way charles was defo typing that through tears

user23: y/n make the move we believe in you

user24: believe in her? she can get anyone she wants he's gotta STEP UP

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, yourusername and 2,099,441 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: had a blast filming for my first ever music video, thank you y/n !!

view all comments

user25: i'm feeling a new unhealthy attachment forming

yourusername: feel free to come back any time soon

charles_leclerc: or maybe you can come to me?

yourusername: is this my paddock debut?

charles_leclerc: make sure you're wearing red and it sure can be

yourusername: let me check the wardrobe

user26: i will pass away if we get y/n at a race... in the ferrari garage ???

pierregasly: let it be known i am still angry that you didn't tell me, especially after all the weird rants i've listened to

alexalbon: me too

georgerussell63: me too

landonorris: me too

danielricciardo: me too

carlossainz55: me too

maxverstappen1: me too

charles_leclerc: why is max here?

maxverstappen1: that's what you're taking from this?

charles_leclerc: yeah why are you in my business

maxverstappen1: you make it my business you talk about her all the time

yourusername: oh really ???

charles_leclerc: HE'S A BIG FAT LIAR HE'S ALWAYS BEEN A BIG FAT LIAR ALL HIS LIFE INCLUDING WHEN I MAYBE ACCIDENTALLY PUSHED HIM IN A PUDDLE

maxverstappen1: YOU DID PUSH ME IN THAT PUDDLE

yourusername: what is going on here?

user27: poor y/n being thrown into the grid drama

user28: poor charles with the grid trying to expose him

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 1,334,661 others

yourusername: clearly was feeling myself this week

view all comments

user31: lol why is max here

maxverstappen1: doing my due diligence as an investigative journalist

charles_leclerc: choke.

user32: is that charles? are we in the soft launch?

user33: let's not get ahead of ourselves, we know charles doesn't dress that well

user34: consider this: girlfriend effect

user35: girlfriend effect is gonna have to do some heavy lifting when it comes to charles' wardrobe

yourbff1: you think you're so slick don't you

yourusername: maybe. maybe not?

yourbff1: you're so annoying

yourusername: annoyingly cute?

liked by charles_leclerc

yourbff1: keep your nose out of women's business leclerc

charles_leclerc: SLANDER

user36: i mean they seem to have the same sense of humour

user37: not to sound insane but they are perfect for each other and i will be passing away if they are not together

pierregasly: interesting

danielricciardo: add it to the folder

charles_leclerc: folder ???

maxverstappen1: leave us journalists be

charles_leclerc: can you even read?

yourusername: GET HER JADE

maxverstappen1: add that as well

charles_leclerc: why can't we win?

user38: what is going on in the house of commons

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, yourusername and 2,331,663 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: i don't believe in soft launches

view all comments

user39: we been knew... but OMG PARENTS

user40: i am crying they're so hot

yourusername: hawt bf obtained

charles_leclerc: sexy gf in my inventory

yourusername: you're such a cute patootie

charles_leclerc: i cannot speak my mind or instagram will censor me

yourusername: ...oop hurry up and come back :(

charles_leclerc: about to break all US speeding laws xoxo

yourusername: not you in your charli xcx era

user41: he's with her ... in the US ... could we get y/n paddock debut in vegas ???

user42: would only be right i fear

user43: the scheduling just about makes sense before she has to go back to opening for taylor in south america

user44: now why did vegas not get in their bag and get y/n to perform at the opening ceremony?

pierregasly: way to ruin the investigation

danielricciardo: yeah we were in our sherlock holmes era

maxverstappen1: have to spoil everything don't you charles 🤨

charles_leclerc: i thought you guys wanted to know who my girlfriend is?

alexalbon: yes, but we wanted to expose it :(

yourusername: CORNY

pierregasly: oh no. he has someone on his side now

yourusername: damn right frenchie. i can hear your asshole twitching from here

pierregasly: WHAT ???

charles_leclerc: idk what that means but YEAH PIERRE TAKE THAT

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 2,114,762 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: gutted not to be on the top step but an overall great weekend in vegas. glad to have y/n by my side this weekend before she's off again to slay the stage xx

view all comments

user48: charles unironically using the word slay, the girlfriend effect knows no bounds

user49: the sky camera zooming in on y/n watching the podium

user50: i think we watched her fall in love in real time

user51: i mean look at the material... podium charles hits so different i think I FELL IN LOVE

yourusername: you're a winner to me babe

charles_leclerc: and that's all that matters

yourusername: NOPE STAY HUNGRY GET THEM POINTS AND DESTROY THE REST OF THE FIELD

charles_leclerc: okay :)

yourusername: good boy

pierregasly: never say that in public again

maxverstappen1: is this why he's blushing so much in the press conference?

charles_leclerc: NO. NO REASON

yourusername: you sure?

charles_leclerc: i am the unluckiest driver ever and am screwed over at every turn sue me if i like a lil praise

user52: charles is so real for that i also want y/n to tell me i'm doing a good job

alexalbon: enough time has passed. @yourusername can lily get some extra tickets for the eras tour

yourusername: of course. anything for my new bestie

lilymunhe: thank youuuuuuuuuuuuuu. charles you have amazing taste

charles_leclerc: i know :)

yourusername: i mean i got you, so who's the real winner here?

yourusername

liked by taylorswift, charles_leclerc and 1,667,982 others

tagged: charles_leclerc & taylorswift

yourusername: my leg of the eras tour has come to an end :( this was such an insane opportunity, thank you so much taylor xx but this also means i can go annoy charlie until he has to go back to work !!

one last nonsense outro:

i met this lovely boy named charlie,

he races round the world for ferrari,

giving it to me everyday like ari

view all comments

user53: i think y/n might actually be winning in life

user54: is she referencing everyday by ariana grande which is literally just a song about having constant sex?

yourusername: yes and what about it? f1 drivers have great stamina

arthurleclerc: DELETE ASAP

yourusername: no can do baby leclerc

user55: fave outro for real

charles_leclerc: i am blushing !!

pierregasly: she just told millions of people all you do is fuck and now you're blushing ???

yourusername: i don't think mr doggy emoji is talking right now

charles_leclerc: at least y/n did it in an artful way

pierregasly: believe me i know YOU WON'T STOP SINGING IT DOWN THE PHONE YOU MENACE

yourusername: you sing my songs :) ?

carlossainz55: ALL THE TIME

yourusername: i don't like your tone mr 🤨

charles_leclerc: i am just showing my love :(

yourusername: @pierregasly @carlossainz55 you made him sad APOLOGIZE IMMEDIATELY

pierregasly: sorry?

carlossainz55: sorry i guess?

charles_leclerc: thank you :) i shall continue to sing to my heart's content

yourusername: good.

taylorswift: you were amazing !! i'll see you soon my love xx

yourusername: i'm hearing double date ??

taylorswift: i'm sure that can be arranged

charles_leclerc: OMG

user56: charles and travis are really the top tier himbo bfs and i love them for that

fin.

note: i really loved writing this so i hope this was everything you imagined and more!! i'm just getting into sabrina's music but i was a girl meets world stan so... i hope i did the nonsense outro justice xxx

[onlyangel4]

Are you able to do a lando smau. Where the reader is a singer and she releases a song, dress by Taylor swift, pretty much admitting that’s she’s in love with lando and they’re like childhood friends or something. If you aren’t that’s ok👍🧡

dress. ln4. smau.

lando norris x best friend!reader

a songwriter puts every life experience into their songs, it is no different for you. but putting out a song that is about how you are in love with your best friend might complicate things. especially when you know he is going to hear it.

faceclaim: dylan

y/nfan posted a story

written: y/n just played an unreleased song at her show in birmingham. i will not spoil the song but it is steamy af. sounds like mother might have a man.

ln4updates

liked by user1, user2, user3 and 56,092 others

ln4updates: we are getting lando y/n crumbs this weekend. an interviewer just asked lando what he thinks about y/n's rise to success and he said, "i am so incredibly proud of her, i feel like we have been supporting each other so much throughout the years. she used to come help me set up for karting races and i went to small pub gigs that she performed with. i am so glad that she is finally living her dream like i am."

view all 582 comments

user1: lando y/n admit you are madly in love with each other challenge

user2: he always lights up whenever he talks about her it is the cutest thing ever

user3: i am new to f1 and i had no idea that lando knew y/n and now i am finding out they have known each other since they were ten year old omg

user4: my fav f1 friends

y/ninsta posted a story

written: what do we think? do you guys deserve new music this week?

landonorris replied to your story: you have a new song coming out that you haven't shown me?

y/ninsta: i wanted this one to be a surprise

y/ninsta

liked by landonorris, sabrinacarpenter, gracieabrams and 765,283 others

y/ninsta: i am delighted to tell you that my new song, dress will be yours at midnight. this is a song that i wrote at 2am on a sleepless night. i am incredibly proud of this song and i hope you guys love it as much as i do.

view all 12,739 comments

landonorris: can't wait to give it a listen

comment liked by y/ninsta

sabrinacarpenter: so proud of you

y/ninsta: thank you my love

user5: we all know this is about lando right?

user6: finally someone is saying what i have been thinking

y/nlandofan

liked by user7, user8, user9 and 23,485 others

y/nlandofan: chat are we all thinking the same thing?

view all 176 comments

user7: i fear we might be

user8: it has to be about him

user9: it is her best song yet but she has deffo outed herself for having feelings for lando

f1wags

liked by user10, user11, user12 and 45,983 others

f1wags: singer and childhood friend of lando norris y/n y/ln spotted in the paddock ready for race day. this is the first time she will be spotted with lando after releasing her new song, dress, which fans are speculating is about lando

view all 862 comments

user10: i really hope they are dating

user11: y/n is in the paddock, maybe lando does actually have a chance at winning

user12: mclaren's good luck charm is back

ln4updates

liked by user13, user14, user15 and 168,981 others

ln4updates: holy shit what a grand prix! lando won with a 22 second lead and we have lando y/n confirmed. at the end of the race lando's radio message said, "y/n i know dress is about me, i love you" and then when he got out the car he ran straight over to her giving her a hug before throwing his helmet off and kissing her. my heart is so full i love this couple.

view all 3,495 comments

user13: omg omg omg

user14: war is over

user15: that radio message made me cry

user16: y/n just sobbing into his chest omg

landonorris

liked by y/ninsta, mclaren, oscarpiastri and 1,283,723 others

tagged: y/ninsta

landonorris: stream dress

view all 39,837 comments

y/ninsta: omg that pool party picture is from my 21st birthday

landonorris: that was when i realised i wanted to be more than friends

mclaren: mum and dad

user17: the fact that the official mclaren account is commenting this is so funny to me

user18: the couple we all need

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

TAGLIST SIGN UP SHEET

taglist: @formulaal @formulaonebuff @danielshoe @noooway555 @dilflover44

@peterholland04

@sunshinedaisy21

@nikfigueiredo

@fall-bambi

@mel164

@lando-505

@charllleclerc

@paigem00

@heavy-vettel

@pseudoyo

@simple-soul-searcher

@lyannesworld

@wordesthatics

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@sltwins

@aquamariene-me

@justarandomfamdomblog

@janeh22

@kol67-t

@gr3yhues

@luckyladycreator2

@nichmeddar

@multi-fandom5

@whatthefl1p

@stradlingmrstradlin

@notpeachybby

@kikiki04

@marknolee

@asparklysoul

@sleutherclaw

@stinging--nettle

@holybatflapexpert

@gothicwidowsworld

@pear-1206

@scorpiodiosa

@charlesgirl16

@marshmummy

[toruro]

— ✧ flight of the stars

"It’s funny; Minghao’s whole career is about being in the driver’s seat but somehow when it comes to you, he doesn’t know when to press on the gas or hit the brake."

you go following flights to the stars, and these cars can get us home (zayn)

genre: smut (18+ / mdni), f1 au, brief high school au, angst, fluff

description: being a doctor, you think you should feel guilty when you start to enjoy the presence of a “regular” a little too much, but who can blame you for missing your patient when he's xu minghao. you know—the xu minghao: crown jewel of SECTOR Racing, top pick of the season, and possibly the one person who knows more about you than anyone else in the world.

tags: character death (not reader / hao), discussion of medical issues, descriptions of pain, pining, racer minghao, physiotherapist reader, probably inaccurate representation of physiotherapy, also featuring kwannie, sollie, cheol, wonu, & hannie

w/c: 13.3k

fic playlist

a/n: oh. always thank u to @gyuswhore for helping me w this, and special smooches to han for going over this w me too ^^

smut tags. oral (m receiving), pet names (baby)

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Cheol is going to kill Minghao when he finds out he somehow managed to screw himself over while training. Well, only if Minghao doesn’t kill himself first.

It was just supposed to be a regular session, doing some standard neck exercises with Wonwoo, his training partner. General training shit—you know, the stuff Minghao needs to do so his neck doesn’t snap in half the next time he races and then—pang! Pain flares up in his muscles when Wonwoo adjusts the controls on the harness around Minghao’s head a little harder, the latter losing his form in a moment of unexpectancy.

His hand flies up immediately Wonwoo stops, shutting off the controls and loosening the tether attached to Minghao’s harness, releasing all the tension. “Are you good?” he asks, taking a step closer as he takes in the sight of the racer.

Wonwoo’s heart sinks into his chest when he finds Minghao’s head and neck unmoving, staring straight down as his breaths begin to grow shaky, and—crap, his eyes are glossy and—oh fuck, Wonwoo might just shit his pants.

“Hao—” Wonwoo calls out again, this time his voice drenched with worry as he reaches out to try and untie the harness from around his friends head, but as his hand brushes over the back of his neck, Minghao shifts a little and that’s when Wonwoo hears it—a sharp gasp following by Minghao muttering under his breath:

“G-get the medic.”

His voice is labored and Wonwoo knows exactly what to do and nothing at the same time. His mind is racing because holy crap, SECTOR probably just lost their best racer for a few months, if not the entire racing season, and it’s all because of this stupid neck training session, and—Wonwoo stops himself from thinking about what this means for Minghao’s work and forces himself to scramble back, running out of the training room and down to the nursing hall.

Five minutes and several phone calls later, Minghao is being loaded into a stretcher. He doesn’t say a word though, doesn’t know what to say.

Five hours and even more phone calls later, Minghao is sitting up with a brace around his neck, and his manager and friends around his hospital bed (Wonwoo and Hasnsol are to his left while Seungcheol stands on his right).

“So you’re telling me I won’t be able to compete for the rest of the season?” Minghao finally scoffs out after a couple minutes’ worth of silence in tense air.

“We don’t know that yet,” Cheol responds, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches the racer carefully. Minghao’s lips are curved down in a heavy frown but his eyes remain unwavering as he finally looks up at his manager.

“Fuck,” he breaths out.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Hansol asks worriedly, and Minghao knows that his friend is only just concerned for him but all the pain and frustration is already starting to bubble up inside of him.

“Like a bitch,” he mutters bitterly.

Seungcheol sighs deeply, stepping closer to the bed. He knows the situation isn’t easy for Minghao—it isn’t easy for anyone—and he’s aware of the stakes involved for the team. “Hao, you know we’ll do anything to get you back on the track as soon as possible.”

Minghao scoffs, not meeting the eyes of his manager. “Yeah. I know.”

Wonwoo nearly flinches at the stillness of his friend’s voice. “I’m sorry,” he finally says loudly, causing the other three in the room to look at him. “I messed up with the controls—it’s my fault, and I—”

“It’s fine,” Minghao huffs, tearing his eyes away from his friend. “It was an accident.”

It’s not fine. It’s not fucking fine at all and—

Deep breaths, Minghao reminds himself, but when he actually starts to think about the ache that blooms from his neck and down his spine, it gets harder and harder to keep his cool. He feels like he’s ‘bout to pop a vein from all the blood that’s rushing through his body, the only thing snapping him out of his trance being Wonwoo’s voice.

“You’ll start seeing a physiotherapist tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Best to start the recovery process early, Minghao thinks to himself, mildly calming his irritation. He purses his lips, trying to navigate the cluster of thoughts that plague his mind until he finally musters up the courage to ask, “How long is it gonna take? T-to heal?”

His friends look at him solemnly, and Minghao feels his heart sink right down to his stomach.

“We don’t know.”

“You already sa—” Minghao stops himself from saying something he might regret. “Could I actually be out the whole season?”

There’s silence until Cheol finally decides to speak up.

“There’s a chance.”

Minghao thinks he might scream.

“Hey Seungie!” you chirp, walking into the reception of your office with a bright smile. Your best friend greets you with only an eye roll as you approach his counter at the front, peeking at him from over his monitor.

“I told you to stop calling me that in public!” he whines, nose scrunched up as you laugh at the way he’s pouting.

“No one’s even here, no one’ll hear anything,” you try to reason as he huffs and turns away, refusing to look at you.

“Still!”

You sigh, putting down a brown bag on the floor before raising your hands up in surrender. “Okay fine, I’m sorry.”

“Are you really?”

This time, you roll your eyes. “Yes … Seungie—”

“I hate you!” Seungkwan roars as you double over laughing. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! I’m officially disowning you as my best friend.”

You gasp, stepping back and picking up the brown bag again. “Are you kidding me? And here I thought I would’ve liked to share one of my Americanos with you but I guess not …” you sigh dramatically, starting to walk away as you lift the bag to wave it in Seungkwan’s face.

“I was just joking! Come back! How could I disown you as my best friend—c’mon, you know I was just joking,” he pleads from behind you.

You grin as you turn around and walk back to him with a grin. “You’re horribly unpersuasive. Like your acting skills are actually an abomination,” you tell him, pulling out one of the cups of the cold drink and handing it to Seungkwan. “You’re lucky I love you,” you continue, laughing a little as Seungkwan snatches the cup away hastily with a bashful “thanks” under his breath.

“Okay, well ditto to you too,” he barks back. “Who else would put up with you and your ugly crying over Taylor Swift music videos?”

“Hey! Wildest Dreams is a lyrical, musical, theatrical, melodcial masterpiece! ”

“Okay, first of all, melodical isn’t even a word, and even if it was—” Seungkwan is cut off by the ringing of the office phone line. “I probably need to answer this but we are not done with this conversation,” he shoots at you.

You giggle, waving him off and heading down one the hall to get to your office, barely catching what Seungkwan is saying, or who he’s even talking to. It vaguely crosses your mind that it’s a bit too early in the morning for your office to be getting work calls, but you brush it off as you slip past your door and into your little room.

It’s a nice little space you’ve made for yourself; your physiotherapy firm was set up a few years back, and you’d even recently gone through a certification process to belt yourself as one of SECTOR’s physiotherapists. Pretty exciting stuff when you think about it—being able to work with such top-notch racers (albeit under rather unfortunate circumstances), and you get to do what you love at the same time.

Now, you haven’t actually gotten any big-shot patients yet, and you’ve started to appreciate that more recently. It’s not as stressful, and you don’t have to navigate a possibly awkward doctor-patient relationship with someone who’s dealing with what might be a career-changing injury.

You wonder when you’ll stop forgetting that your luck ran out years ago.

Just as you set your bag down and slip into your chair to answer some emails, Seungkwan is knocking on your door and walking in. “Hey, uh, this is kinda important,” he tells you, pointing behind him at his desk where he was taking the call.

“What’s up?” you ask, slightly worried by Seungkwan’s quick change in demeanor from playful to serious.

“Some doctor at SECTOR’s facility just called and—” Crap, you know where this is going already. “—Xu Minghao just fucked up his neck. Like yesterday. And he’s getting discharged from the hospital in a few hours hopefully and they’re gonna send him over right away so you can take a look and start working with him.”

You press your lips together tightly, head going slightly dizzy at the mention of his name. Of course, when you finally got yourself licensed to practice under SECTOR, you were aware of the possibility of working with him, but this feels a little too real and a little too fast.

“You good?” Seungkwan asks, snapping you out of your haze. “Lost you for a second—it looks like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Sorry, just zoned out,” you laugh stiffly, turning on your computer and taking a shaky breath. “I’m a bit nervous I guess. I’ve never worked with a professional like him—at least not yet,” you continue to say, and it’s not entirely a lie.

You are nervous, and in any other situation you would try your best to just not think about the situation but given Xu Minghao is going to step into your office in a few hours, you figure you should get to work right away.

Seungkwan steps out soon, saying, “You got this. Seriously, you’ve been working so hard for so long and you finally get to work with one of the big shots!”

Chuckling at his optimism, you finally open the email application on your monitor. Your inbox is flooded with emails, most of which are a series of X-rays and MRI scans of your soon to be patient, and so taking a deep breath, you dive in.

“Hey Hannie, did you sanitize Room C?” you ask one of your (few) employees as he steps out from the supply room behind the reception.

“Shoot, was it supposed to be C? I’m sorry, I cleaned up B, but I can go to C and get it sanitized right now—” he starts to say, turning towards the supply room at the end of the hall.

“Hey wait no it’s okay, I just asked for C ‘cause it’s a bit bigger but it doesn't really matter. Don’t worry about it—have you had your lunch break yet?”

“Nah not yet, I was just about to step into that with Seungkwan, but he’s taken a moment to grab coffee from the cafe across the street.”

You chuckle, “Already? I got him an Americano only a few hours ago …”

Jeonghan laughs out loud at that, slipping off his cleaning gloves and patting his hands down on his scrubs. “You know how Seungkwan is with his Americanos.”

“Don’t remind me—he’s crazy. I don’t know how he ingests that much caffeine and still functions like a normal human being but—”

Seungkwan’s voice cuts you off. “I know you guys are talking about me but I’d suggest you take a break and go get ready because I swear I just saw a car with SECTOR’s logo on the back pull up onto the street right up front.”

Oh fuck. You’re already starting to feel awfully nervous.

“Shit, really? I didn’t think they’d be here as early as noon,” Jeonghan says quickly, tossing the gloves and turning to you for instruction. “Anything we need to do?”

“Guys, just chill,” you say casually. Ironic, you think to yourself, because you feel like your heart might pound right out of your chest any second now. “Just handle this like you would any other patient. I’ll probably have to talk to his manager, but while we’re doing that Jeonghan can take Xu into B and just ease him into things. Lay off the tension, you know? He’s probably stressed out as is.”

“Noted,” Jeonghan nods as he walks down the hall, and then you turn to the door of the reception where you see a group of three people walking up.

You try to make out their figures; that one on the left’s probably one of SECTOR’s health directors, and the one on the right is … that’s Choi Seungcheol isn’t it? The one who sent you the emails? He’s Xu Minghao’s manager, you’re pretty sure of it.

You straighten your back when the front door opens, clutching the clipboard full of prints of the scans you were sent earlier. Setting your eyes straight, you take a deep breath and finally take in the sight of the three people filling into the reception.

Yup, there’s Choi Seungcheol … and then Cho Miyeon following behind and she’s pushing a—shit, it’s Xu Minghao in all his glory.

Well, you’re not sure how wondrous he feels right now in that wheelchair, eyes cold as he stares at the floor. His neck’s held up in a thick brace that you can see reaches down under his shirt and over his shoulders; he doesn’t look up, and for a moment you’re grateful.

It puts off the question though, the words that linger in the back of your mind.

Will he recognize you? Well, more importantly …

Does he even remember you?

You rid yourself of the personal thoughts when Choi Seungcheol approaches you, holding out his hand to you. You shake it, strong and firm as he smiles awkwardly. “Nice to meet you, thanks for making time for us today.”

“No problem,” you reply with a nod as Jeonghan comes in from the hallway. “My assistant, Jeonghan here can take Mr. Xu to one of our rooms while I talk with you two about a few things. Does that work?”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Seungcheol nods, motioning Jeonghan to Minghao in his wheelchair behind him. The racer keeps his head down as Jeonghan brushes over and starts pushing him down the hall to Room B. You wonder if he’s even noticed you.

As Jeonghan goes off, you turn back to the other two still in the reception and point at your room. “Shall we?”

Once the three of you settle down, Seungcheol and Miyeon sit across from you, the former speaks up. “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice—this all happened really quick and if you can't already tell, we’re kind of desperate to get him back in the driver’s seat as soon as possible.”

“No worries, please. These kinds of situations are exactly what I’m here for,” you tell them, and they both seem to crack a small smile of relief. “Now I spoke with the doctor that examined him at the hospital, and then briefly with Ms. Cho,” you say, motioning towards the woman on your right, “And there’s a general understanding that Mr. Xu’s suffered a pretty serious strain in his neck muscles.”

“Yeah, uh—how long is this going to take to heal?” Seungcheol pops in, and you sigh.

“I can give you a range, but it’s not so definite … I’d say between three to five months,” you tell him. “But again, it’s different for every patient. Muscle strains aren’t like a clean break or fracture where we can determine almost exactly when it’ll be healed … this stuff is going to take more time and it varies from person to person as well. It all kind of depends on Mr. Xu’s body, and that’s what I’m here for—to help figure out what works for him.”

“We understand that, thank you,” Miyeon nods, sitting straighter in her seat. “How often should he be coming in?”

“Hm, I’ll give you a definite answer after checking in with him today, but to estimate, I’d say around 2-3 times a week, while also using my suggestions outside of our sessions.”

You finish the conversation with the two after that, excusing yourself as you let them back into the reception before knocking on the door to Room B. Jeonghan opens the door from the other side and quietly closes the door behind him before pushing you a little deeper into the hallway.

“He seems like, really sad, so—”

“Well, duh. It’s a serious injury,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Jeonghan clicks his lips and nudges your shoulder.

“Whatever. I’m just telling you to tread carefully,” he says as you make your way to the door. You don’t respond to Jeonghan as you slip in. Minghao’s turned away from you as he sits on his wheelchair in the middle of the room you purse your lips before taking a deep breath and nodding.

You got this. Seungkwan was right—you’ve worked too hard for too long to be rendered anxious ‘cause of a silly little overlap of your past with your patient.

“Hi Mr. Xu,” you greet, making your way to the table right by where he sits, finally seeing him up close. He doesn’t look at you. “I’m pretty sure you already have heard enough about what’s wrong with your neck right now, so let’s talk about how we can make it better, yeah?”

You hear a gruff, “Sure,” escape his lips, and you figure that given his circumstances, it’s understandable.

“The report says that when you first started feeling the pain you couldn’t move your right arm even a little without it hurting in your neck, right?” you clarify as you sit at the chair between him and your table.

“Yeah.”

“Is it better now?”

“A little. Can move my forearm but moving my shoulder still hurts.”

“Okay, this is a good sign actually—you’re getting through the initial stages of healing just like normal. The first week or so of strain like yours might be pretty painful, but it’s over quickly and the pain after that should be pretty bearable, although it’ll take more time for it to heal.” You tell him, looking away to glance at the scans.

As he stares at the ground, Minghao wants to scream. Good sign? What the fuck are you talking about—he can’t even lift his goddamn arm without it feeling like there’s daggers plunging into his neck, and you’re here sitting all calm faced, pristine, acting like this isn’t his fuckin’ career on the line. Acting like your words are gonna make a difference as long as he’s in this stupid ass brace with this stupid ass injury in this stupid ass room with—who the fuck even are you?

His head hurts, and Minghao thinks it’s partly because of his neck, but it’s mostly because he can’t stop thinking. Thinking about the worst possibilities, thinking about everything that could go wrong and—well shit, he chides himself for letting his anger get the better of himself, even if it was just in his head.

Shamefully, he presses his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before finally lifting his gaze and turning to face you. When you look up from your paper and finally turn back to him, you’re met with the sight of pretty brown eyes staring right back at you.

“I—” Minghao starts, but it sounds like the air got stuck in his throat as he finally takes in your figure, and then he purses his lips together and turns back away. “Nothing.” the possibilities of what he could have been thinking ruins your mind just a little.

You can see it in his eyes—Minghao remembers. Still, he doesn’t say anything about it, and you wonder if you prefer things to stay that way.

“What time is Xu scheduled for on Wednesdays? He’ll be coming in on Wednesdays, right?” Jeonghan asks as he steps into your office.

“Uh, he’s coming in for a session from 11-2 today—which, by the way, could you set up Room C for that? I can’t remember if I already put that on the to-do list.”

“Yeah I did it yesterday after our last patient of the day, I was just wondering. You’re gonna lead it with him this time, right?”

“Yeah, since it’s the first session. You were right about him being … apprehensive—”

“Sad,” Jeonghan corrects you. “A sad, sad boy.”

“Yeah well, go figure,” you sigh out of sympathy. “Anyways, like I said, it’s understandable for him to be frustrated, so I’ll work with him at first to ease him into things and stuff. You can start taking over more of the sessions once he warms up to the whole process, and once we figure out and set a routine.”

“Okay great. Does this mean I can go out for my lunch break at 11:30?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” you reply with a casual shrug as Jeonghan thanks you and slips away. You shift your attention back to your monitor before glancing through the initial medical reports you were sent by the hospital, and then the results of your own tests you ran during your first session with Xu Minghao.

It’s a shitty injury, you’ll have to admit. A neck strain on the muscles closest to his right shoulder, not only rendering his neck immobile for a period of time, but also hindering his abilities to move his right arm.

Must hurt like a bitch—physically and mentally—and the image of him staring down at the ground burns in the back of your mind.

With a sigh, you silently wonder if you could offer him the same solace he gave you.

Xu Minghao shows up to your office two hours later with Choi Seungcheol pushing him inside on his wheelchair, and you’re thankful to see that his stature looks much more relaxed than before. “I’ll come by at 2, right?”

“Yeah, that’ll be great. Thank you,” Jeonghan tells Mr. Choi with a smile before taking control of Minghao’s wheelchair and strolling him into the room. You’re already there and waiting for him, standing up to greet him with a smile.

“Hi Mr. Xu,” you say, thanking Jeonghan as he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

“Morning,” he says quietly, not quite meeting your gaze. The air isn’t as thick as it was the first day, but there seems to be some invisible barrier between the two.

“How’s the pain right now, Mr. Xu?” you ask, pulling out a notepad on your computer to jot down some notes.

Your patient’s eyebrows furrow, and for a second you have a feeling this might be harder than you thought, but his next words are more comforting than anything. “Uh, can you just call me Minghao? Mr. Xu is … it’s weird.”

“Y-yeah of course, sorry about that, Minghao,” you nod with a half smile. “So could you tell me how things are feeling?”

“I guess it hurts less. I don’t really move that much so I can avoid hurting myself though—kinda in this thing most of the time anyways,” he replies gruffly, hitting the left side of the wheelchair with his palm.

“Do you stand up? Walk around at all?”

“Not often.”

“Okay so I think we’re going to try and change that soon,” you tell him. “We’ll do some mobility checks today but if it doesn’t hurt to move your shoulder a little, then I think it’s best you move as much as you can without pain. Honestly, you’re going to be injured for a while and—”

You pause when you hear Minghao inhale sharply at that, making a mental note to soften your words a little.

“—and we don’t want you to be immobile. If you can move, try to. We’ll try and get you out of the wheelchair within the next two weeks, how does that sound?”

Minghao’s ears perk up at that. “Two weeks? Only?”

You nod happily at his sudden energy and the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Yeah, you know the wheelchair is just so you don’t move your upper body too much but like I said the last time we met, the initial stages are pretty painful but once it’s over, you’ll be more mobile. Of course, you won’t be able to get back to racing and training right away, but you’ll be able to be a lot more active than you are now.”

“How long will it take before I can start training again?” Minghao asks curiously, finally looking you straight in the eye with parted lips.

The desperation is painful to watch.

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, watching his shoulders deflate. “At least two months.”

“Two months?”

“At the least,” you say with a held breath.

“At the most?” Minghao asks hopefully.

You purse your lips. “At the most? … A year?”

“A year? That’s more than a whole racing season!”

“Yes but neck strains are fickle and we can’t let anything go wrong, and due to the nature of your sport, you really—”

“I think I know the nature of my own sport,” Minghao scoffs, and with the way he says it, you don’t know if you should be mad or sad or disappointed or a mix of all three.

“I—” you pause, “I understand your frustration Mr.—Minghao, but my job is to make sure you’re one hundred percent healed before you set foot on the track again, so please be patient and allow yourself to heal.”

Something about those last few words rings in Minghao’s ears, and he zones out for the rest of what you’re saying.

Allow yourself to heal. Fuck.

Minghao stays pretty much silent for the rest of the session, and you’re not quite sure if it’s out of complacency or indifference. You go through some slow mobility exercises, and figure out a good range for him to stay in for the next few days.

“Make sure you practice those movements every day,” you note once you near the end of today’s session. “I’ll send you an email listing all of them with instructions so you remember. Please try and do them every day, and it’ll hopefully speed up the recovery process.”

“Thanks,” Minghao murmurs as he carefully sits back down in his wheelchair.

“Is there anything else you’re doing in your free time right now?” you ask, trying to make casual conversation as you start to type up your list.

“Not really. I watch practice videos and stuff, I guess.”

You hum, not really responding until you finally finish the list and send it to his email. “I sent the list, you should start using it tomorrow. Anyways, I think you should try crocheting,” you tell him casually.

Minghao gives you a sideways glance as he raises an eyebrow. “… Crocheting?”

“Yeah,” you say with a shrug, finally turning around to face. “You know, with yarn and stuff.”

“I know what crocheting is.”

“I-I know,” you say awkwardly, slightly thrown off your game by his bluntness. “You won’t have to move your shoulders, only your forearms, so it’s fine.”

“But why?”

“It’s fun. And a nice way to pass time, especially when you can’t move around a lot. Plus, it’s always good to have something to distract yourself from—” You pause, thinking about how to finish your sentence. “—from shitty stuff, y’know?”

Minghao chuckles, and your heart swells a little when you finally see him break a smile. “Yeah, I guess.” There’s a long pause. “Shitty stuff, huh?”

You laugh, nodding. “Yeah. Shitty stuff.”

“You and your stupid Americanos,” you sigh, watching Seungwkan grin as the barista hands him his drink.

“Stop acting like you don’t indulge in me too. Getting me all those Americanos in the morning … I should blame you for this addiction!”

“So you admit it’s an addiction!” you exclaim triumphantly, waving your hands in the air. Seungkwan rolls his eyes, leaving you to sit at a table in one of the corners of the cafe. Laughing at his silent admission of defeat, you wait for your drink patiently.

It’s only a few more moments before the barista is back at the counter, calling out, “Honey lavender latte!” With a smile, you walk over, about to reach for the drink before a hand beats you to it.

Frowning, you look up at the man who’s holding your drink before you say, “Hey, I’m sorry, I think that’s my drink.”

“Uh, honey lavender latte? I’m pretty sure I ordered this,” he says. You look at him with a funny expression on your face, eyes darting between the drink you ordered and the drink that’s in his other hand. He catches your suspicion and shakes his head quickly. “It’s for my friend, I ordered for the both of us so I could get us a spot.”

“Oh,” you breath out, figuring that it probably isn’t a lie. “S-sorry for the misunderstanding. I just—” you chuckle, watching some of the tension from the man’s shoulders wither away. “I ordered the same thing—”

“Oh sorry, I—my friend isn’t here yet so you can just take this and I’ll wait for the other to come out,” he offers, watching your face, and you see something in his expression change. “Hey wait, you look really familiar,” he murmurs.

Your eyebrows furrow as you silently thank him when he hands you the drink. “Uh, are you sure? I’m sorry, I just—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” you admit with an awkward chuckle.

The man shakes his head and laughs quietly to myself. “No, I swear I’ve seen you somewhere, but I’m just blanking on it right now—sorry this is probably so weird but—” The bell of the front door rings and he shoots his head to see who’s coming in, eyes lighting up. “Oh hey, Hao! Was just waiting for you!”

Hao? Mingh—

You lock eyes as soon as he walks in.

The man from before beams as he walks up to him as your eyes finally break away, and Minghao turns to his friend. “Hansol,” he greets with a small smile, and it’s a pleasant sight to see your patient—who’s more often monotone than not—seem a bit more at ease than before.

“How’re you doing? Was just waiting on your drink and—” the man—Hansol—points at you with eyes as wide as saucers, “—oh by the way, doesn’t she look really familiar?”

You chuckle nervously, breaking out an awkward smile and waving at Minghao who returns you by raising his left arm in a sort of half-wave before turning his attention to Hansol to give him a blank stare. “Yeah, she’s kinda like my physiotherapist dude.”

This time, you chuckle a bit more genuinely, eyes darting between the amused smirk that’s just barely there on Minghao’s lips, and Hansol’s agape stare.

“Ohh shit, yeah that’s where I saw you! Cheol and Miyeon were talking about you when they were booking you for Hao at the hospital, and I saw your picture on the screen,” Vernon explains as the realization hits him.

“Oh,” you laugh lightly. “That’s funny,” you reply as you turn your attention to Minghao, “Good to see you’re getting out of that wheelchair. I bet it feels nice to finally stretch your legs and stuff,” you say. If Minghao could move his neck without eruptions of pain, he’d nod his head.

For now though, he settles on smiling and saying, “Yeah, it’s refreshing.” His eyes wander around you, taking in how you aren’t dressed in your usual work attire, but rather clad in a cute outfit. “Is that my drink?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed as he points at the coffee you’ve just taken a sip of.

Hansol laughs and shakes his head. “You two got the same drink so when it came out, I just let ‘er have it, since you weren’t here yet.” He glances around before putting his drink down at a nearby table. “Shit, I think I left my laptop in my car,” he murmurs, looking at his friend. “I’m gonna go get it so I can show you those videos I was talking about.”

“Yeah, that’s chill,” Minghao agrees. Hansol smiles at you and then his friend before quickly retreating from the cafe to get to the parking lot, leaving you and the tall man standing in silence. It’s a few passing moments where you awkwardly sip on your drink before something pops in your mind.

“Hey, it’s actually really funny that you’re seeing me right now because—well it’s not funny funny, but it’s a nice coincidence so I guess that counts as funny but—anyways, look, I crocheted this cardigan.” You smile, lifting your arms a little so he can see the dark, navy blue fabric you made yourself, before turning around to show off the light blue, striped pattern on the back. “Cool, right?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty. Nice color scheme and all,” Minghao agrees.

“Thanks. Have you started crocheting? I can send you some videos to get you started,” you offer. Just as Minghao is about to reply, the barista from behind you calls out another order of your drink, causing both of you to glance back. “Oh, you wait there; I’ll get it,” you say, putting your drink down on the same table Hansol did before walking over to grab Minghao’s drink and hand it back to his left hand.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to,” he says as your fingers brush over each other before falling back to your side. “Isn’t your friend waiting for you?”

“Of course I have to. I’m your doctor! I can’t make you do that,” you reason before pointing back at your best friend. “And are you talking about Seungkwan? Looks like he’s having the time of his life doing—” You turn your head around to glance at him before looking back at Minghao, “—doing god knows what on his phone and—”

“Are you talking about me?” you hear Seungkwan’s voice calling from a few meters away, and the way you cringe has Minghao stifling a giggle. “All good things I hope!” he continues.

“You know it!” you shoot back sarcastically, only to be followed by Seungkwan’s rolling eyes. “That little shit. I pay his bills!” you exclaim, a faux frown making its way onto your face.

Minghao laughs, his head throwing back a little. The small movement flares up a bite of pain in his neck, causing his breath to get stuck in his throat, eyes widening as he slowly shifts back into a comfortable position.

“Sorry,” you murmur sheepishly.

If Minghao could shrug without feeling like his neck would snap in half, he would. Instead, he raises his eyebrow playfully when he says, “Are you seriously apologizing for being funny?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m retracting my apology.”

It’s been around three weeks since you started working with Minghao. He’s warmed up to you a fair amount, and ever since you saw him at the cafe, the air around you two has been lighter.

It’s still a bit awkward at times—skitting around the moments where you wonder if you should say something about the elephant in the room before shaking your head and biting your tongue. Then again, given how often you see Minghao, you’ve gotten used to it.

Seungkwan stops by your office this morning when he walks into work. “Morning,” he greets, dropping a small brown bag by your desk as you file through some papers.

“Ooh, thank you,” you tell him gleefully, taking a break from your task to glance at the chocolate muffin that sits inside of the bag. “I’ve been craving this,” you admit, reaching in and picking out a small piece to stuff into your mouth.

“Your welcome,” Seungkwan sighs, sitting down on the seat in front of you. “Anyways, I found something cool that I don’t think you told me.”

You raise your eyebrows at him skeptically. “Yeah? What is it?”

“You and Xu Minghao are from the same hometown!”

You roll your eyes. “Why do you still keep calling him Xu Minghao? He’s told us to just say Minghao, and even if he didn’t, it’s awkward when you say his full name like that.”

Seungkwan scoffs at you, reaching his hand over to try and flick your forehead but you dodge. “Because he’s Xu Minghao. I can’t believe you aren’t still jumping up and down for getting to work with him, seeing how much you love SECTOR.”

“You want me to be happy that the best racer from my favorite team is injured?”

“Ugh, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Whatever,” you shrug, a small hint of a smile peeking from your lips.

“Anyways, you didn’t answer what I actually said. Why didn’t you tell me you guys are from the same area? That’s so cool!”

“I mean I guess,” you say with a shrug.

“And you guys are the same age so—wait, did you go to school together? Oh my god, are you guys like—I don’t know, long lost best friends or something?” Seungkwan’s eyes widen. “Oh, that’d be so cool—I could totally see a movie on this and—wait! If he’s your long lost best friend, where does that leave me? You better not replace me with him!”

You laugh at the progression of his thoughts, almost choking on your second bite of the muffin. “We did go to school together,” you admit. “It’s not like we crossed paths though. He kinda just, I don’t know, existed back then. So no worries for you, you’re not getting replaced any time soon … unfortunately,” you add with mischievous giggle.

“Better not …” Seungkwan huffs.

Minghao comes in a few hours later for his afternoon session. Jeonghan works with him for the first two of the three hours, and you walk in for the last hour. You go over some more mobility exercises, before finally sitting down so you can discuss his progress.

“So things are going really well,” you start to tell him, beginning to list off a couple signs of development which stood out to you. You’re about to commend him on keeping up the exercises everyday, when you notice him staring at the floor with a blank expression. “H-hey, Minghao?” you ask, clearing your voice when he doesn’t respond. “Minghao.”

His eyes shoot up to yours, shoulders tensing for a second before he lets out a deep breath. “Sorry, zoned out for a second.”

You chuckle nervously, wondering if it’s okay if you probe just a little. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Minghao replies casually, but you catch the way he doesn’t meet your gaze. “Just thinking about last night’s race.”

“Oh, Singapore?”

“Yeah.”

“I was able to catch a bit of it last night, but I passed out. It seemed intense though—you see Kim’s pit stop?”

“Yeah, it was kinda insane,” Minghao says breathily. His expression is unreadable, but he’s continuing to respond and so you choose to let things go on naturally. “He’s been living up to his talent now that his shitbox is back to what it’s supposed to be.”

“Can’t imagine how frustrating it is.” Fuck, when Minghao’s shoulders drop, it feels like you said something you probably shouldn’t have.

I can imagine, Minghao thinks after hearing your response, but he bites back the words. “Yeah,” he says dejectedly instead.

Silence. This seems like a good chance to change the topic.

“Uh—” Sorry, you want to say, but you choose to hold your breath instead. “I have good news.”

“Oh?”

“We can get you out of the neck brace today,” you tell him happily.

Minghao’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yeah, your progress has been great. Didn’t want to tell you earlier to get your hopes up, in case something went wrong, but everything has been looking really good and you’re at the point where we usually take any supports like braces off.”

Minghao grins, and it’s a stark contrast from the grim shadow cast on his face just moments earlier. You take a few moments to go over the procedures with him, helping him out of the foamy, firm brace with gentle hands and watchful eyes.

“How’s it feeling?” you ask, setting the brace down by one of your counters so you can dispose of it later.

Minghao lets out a low groan of what you can only assume is relief when he looks up. “Like my skin can finally breathe,” he sighs heavily, a bright smile taking over his features as you turn to face him.

“I’m happy for you,” you tell him, before beginning a quick examination process of the area under the brace and going through some quick motions.

“All done?” he asks. When you nod, he continues. “Kinda early, huh?” he say pointendly, and you both quickly glance at the clock on the wall: his session is supposed to end in 43 minutes.

“Oh yeah, uh—actually … I was wondering if you wanted to try something?” you ask tentatively, and Minghao senses your hesitation. “If you have the time.”

Raising a brow, he nods. “Yeah I don’t mind, what is it?”

“One second,” you tell him, getting up and leaving the room to grab something from your office. Shyly, you walk back in and to your seat, all while holding up a brown bag. “Just some old crocheting supplies I thought you might like,” you murmur, placing it down on the counter.

Minghao presses his lips together tightly, not expecting your words. “Oh, uh—I haven’t really … I haven’t taken up crocheting yet. Sorry, uh—”

“Oh yeah,” you say quickly, holding a hand up, using the other to show him the contents of the bag. There’s some balls of yarn and hooks in a little mess, and you reach in to take some out. “I figured—it’s pretty intimidating to take up by yourself but,” you sigh. “I think it’ll be really nice for you. I recommend it to a lot of my patients who can’t do their regular activities and hobbies … and now given your brace is off, your vision will have more range and it might be really fun for you. No pressure if you don’t like it, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to show you the ropes,” you admit, holding up a ball of blue yarn.

Catching onto your pun, Minghao chuckles and replies, “Sure, why not.”

“Okay great,” you say excitedly, dropping the bag and pulling your chair up in front of him and next to the table, pulling the supplies out.

Minghao is patient as you show off the different yarns and hooks, explaining the very basics in great detail. You can’t quite tell if he’s being so obedient out of genuine interest, pity, or simply polite compliance, but for whatever reason, you’re thankful. Soon, you’re showing him how you do it yourself before handing him one of your spare hooks and the ball of yarn, letting Minghao test the waters for himself.

“Yeah, just do that and—wait,” you mutter, reaching over to adjust the way he’s holding the hook. Your soft fingers gingerly brush over his knuckles, and Minghao finds himself getting lost for a moment. As you innocently fix the position of his fingers, his stomach churns in a manner he can’t quite name. “You got that?” you ask him suddenly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Sorry, zoned out again. What was that?”

“Singapore really got you thinking, huh?” you muse before shaking your head and laughing it off.

“Sorry, I—”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, I was just saying you should position your thumb like this or else you might start to cramp up really fast. Happens to me like crazy but I didn’t fix my habit and now I just gotta crochet through the pain.”

Minghao looks at you with an odd expression. “Crochet … through … the pain?”

“That sounded cooler in my head, my bad.”

Minghao laughs. It’s not a tight chuckle, or a soft giggle, it’s a laugh. And it’s bright and full and tugging at your heartstrings in a way you’d rather ignore. “It’s okay.”

“Anyways … here, I’ll show you how to start off with a slip knot and then we’ll take things from there,” you instruct.

Slowly, you walk him through the steps. You learn that Minghao is a good learner. He’s intuitive, but it’s not that you expect much different—you figure no one can get to the level he’s at without being quick to pick up on things.

You’re soon showing him how to start a simple chain, the yarn and hook still in his hands as you work him through the process. “Yeah, now you just gotta yarn over like this—no, the other way, just like that … and—yeah … yeah!” you exclaim excitedly when Minghao slips the hook right through, lengthening the chain. “You got it!”

“Really?” Minghao asks. “Simpler than I thought,” he admits aloud, and you nod vigorously.

“Yeah … crocheting looks hard from afar but once you actually get the hang of it, it’s as easy as breathing,” you explain, softly taking the yarn and hook from his hands and showing how it looks once you build in more loops.

He watches you carefully—the way your fingers so gently, with such precision; how your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly as you focus in on the task at hand, tongue unconsciously sticking out from the corner of your mouth, and— 

“You’re really good at this,” Minghao murmurs quietly, and you swear he’s so close, his warm breath fans down on your cheeks. You gulp, pausing what you’re doing to look up at him.

“My mother taught me. It’s been a casual hobby ever since.”

You feel Minghao’s eyes bore down on yours intensely, wondering if he’ll respond. Something is screaming at you to pray he’ll keep his mouth shut.

Minghao doesn’t say a word, thankfully. Still, the possibilities of what could be running through his mind haunt you.

You think you should start feeling guilty. You think you should already be feeling guilty when you start to look forward to seeing Minghao. He’s your patient for fuck’s sake—you should be happy he’s not holed up in here everyday.

Still, there’s a weird feeling that festers in your chest when you think about him.

Minghao, and the way he’s so persistent, so patient, so attentive with all the exercises and information you tell him. Minghao, and the polite smile he throws your way at the beginning of each session. Minghao, and the way his eyes light up.

“We’re going to try some new mobility exercises today,” you tell him today with a grin, standing up from your seat. Minghao’s ears perk up as he catches the bright look on your face, and something inside of him swells with hope.

“Really?”

You smile and nod in return. “Yeah! I mean your recovery has been really great so far and I think this is a good point to move on and see if we can test out an even wider range of motion.” Minghao doesn’t really say anything in response, but the way his eyes light up when he watches you explain the exercises tells you enough.

In the hour that follows, you two walk through the exercises, trying out each one, and you’re almost three quarters through all the motions you planned today right before you show him how to angle his shoulder before a new exercise.

“How are things feeling? Anything hurting? Anywhere?” you ask anxiously as Minghao comes out of the last stretch you showed him with a pleasant look on his face.

“No, not like pain pain,” he says casually, leaning back into the chair. “Not the kinda pain from the strain, but I feel a bit of tension on my shoulder from keeping it in that position for too long.”

“Okay great,” you say, typing it down onto your digital notepad. “We’ll try and switch up that one next time so your body is completely relaxed from now on.”

“Thanks. What’s the next exercise?” Minghao asks curiously upon taking in the information. You vaguely think to yourself about how you enjoy his growing warmness—he’s been a lot more positive these past sessions with his rapid progress, and it’s bringing a much lighter atmosphere to Room C.

You explain the movement to him, explaining to him how to lift his shoulders just enough to circle them backwards without too much movement. It’s going pretty smoothly like the other exercises; you explain, Minghao listens, you adjust, Minghao lets you.

Right now you’re about to lean in, hands brushing over his shoulder blade to guide them to a more steep angle, explaining to Minghao how to fix his posture. Your fingers brush over his collarbone and jaw a few times in the process, your eyes keeping steady on making sure he doesn’t make any abrasive movements.

“There we go,” you tell him after showing him how to do the circular movement with his shoulders. “Why don’t you try it by yourself?”

Shooting you a thumbs up, Minghao complies, lifting his shoulder forward first slowly. He’s going through the motions of everything pretty normally—after all this is just like any other exercise so he doesn’t really worry that much until—fuck.

Holy shit, that quick but sharp pain stings so bad.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask worriedly when Minghao stills, his eyes widening.

So much. So fucking much, Minghao thinks to himself.

“Talk to me,” you say, moving closer to him so you can move your hands over his shoulder and lead them back down to a natural position.

“It h-hurt for a second. Really bad, but then it was gone,” Minghao says breathily. You purse your lips together and Minghao feels his heart sink to his chest when you turn around and type some stuff he can’t read from where he sits. “Is this like—” He needs to pause to collect himself so the nerves don’t get to him. “—is it bad?” When you hesitate to respond, Minghao already knows his answer. “Fuck.”

“Look, it’s just hurting in that spot for this exercise. The rest of your progress is amazing, but we’re just going to need to take it slower since you’ve probably just overexerted the muscle a little bit.”

“So I’ve been set back, basically,” Minghao says bluntly, his tone doing a full 180 from just a few moments earlier.

“Not a setback …” you sigh. “Just a sign that we need to go slower right now.” You watch him worriedly when he presses his lips together and doesn’t meet your gaze.

“So a setback.”

You gulp. “You can’t think of this like that. I told you from the start that progress is never linear and—”

“I don’t give a fuck, okay?” Minghao breaths out, and something about the way he says it with such a curt, tense tone almost makes you lose your composure. “This is—fuck, this my career okay? I can’t afford any setbacks.”

“I know that and that’s why I’m your doctor, okay?” you say, a bit more harshly than you intended.

You don’t understand why you’re letting his hostility get to your head all of sudden—it isn’t like you haven’t had frustrated patients before. Fuck, you’ve had people cry, sob, break down in this same room over slow progress but something about the way he looks so disheartened has your heart clenching.

“I’m here to help you,” you reiterate, your tone more composed than before. “But I can only do that if you let me.”

Minghao eyes flicker between your wide eyes and his hands in his lap. There’s a growing knot that ties in his throat, and he’s too afraid to open his mouth to speak, too afraid of what he might say. Instead, he just huffs and stands up.

“Sorry,” he finally musters up, eyes trained on the ground as you watch him carefully for his next move. “I’m leaving.”

You don’t stop him as he walks away.

When Minghao walks into the reception a few days later, he’s not surprised to see that you aren’t the one greeting him. He thinks back to the way your lips were pressed into a tight line when he walked out last week. It was the last time he’d seen you in the past few days, and some weird mix of worry swirls in his stomach.

Were you avoiding him? He wouldn’t blame you if you were, but he feels guilty for thinking that way. You wouldn’t let something personal get in the way of your work, Minghao knows that for sure.

Still, he bites his tongue when he briefly considers asking Jeonghan where you are. Would that be overstepping? It’s not like there haven’t been sessions where you weren’t there, but something about the thickness in the air around him tells Minghao that there’s something he should be worried about.

As if he could read Minghao’s mind, Jeonghan speaks up. “Doc’ll come in around the end. It’s her mom’s birthday so she’s out for most of the afternoon, but she’ll be back for the last half an hour,” he says casually, not really expecting to turn around to see Minghao looking at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“H-her—” Her mom? Minghao wants to ask but something stops him from saying it. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not here. Something feels wrong. “That’s fine,” he mutters, pursing his lips before looking at the ground.

He can feel Jeonghan’s curious gaze burning into the back of his skull, but Minghao only doesn’t move as he keeps quiet. They soon fall into the regular pattern of starting off with mobility exercises before doing a check of his range of movement.

It’s nearing the final hour of his session when Jeonghan excuses himself for a moment. Only two minutes passes before there’s a knock at the door, and then some footsteps leading in.

“Good afternoon Minghao,” you greet softly upon walking in. The man glances up at you, eyes widening when he takes in your figure.

“Oh—uh, hey.”

Minghao wants to bash his head into the wall. Hey? Seriously? That’s all he could muster up? Hey?

“Jeonghan gave me the rundown,” you tell him, looking away as you lift a clipboard and squint to read the tiny text. “No more sharp pains … returning mobilily …”

You hum slowly as you read off the notes your assistant left for you, not meeting Minghao’s gaze. He wonders if that’s what you intended. “Seeing as things are going smoothly for now, we’ll continue with the low-risk exercises and—”

“I’m sorry,” Minghao blurts out. He wonders what compels him to do it, but when you finally meet his gaze, he realizes that he just wanted you to look at him.

“Mi—”

“I’m sorry for how I acted last time. I shouldn’t have said that stuff to you. I was frustrated and took it out on you, and that wasn’t okay. I’m sorry.”

Your lips are pursed by the time Minghao is finished. He’s said enough, but when he peers up at you, his eyes speak a story of their own.

“It’s okay,” you respond with no hesitation, before turning back to your clipboard, scanning over it a few more times and then setting it down.

You smooth your hands over your lab coat, and for a moment Minghao wonders what it would feel like to have your palms run down his neck, pressing into his skin so gently yet with such fervor, fingertips ghosting over—

Minghao shouldn’t think like this.

“Jeonghan told me that it’s your mom’s birthday,” he finally breaks the silence. It’s the first time either of you have actually brought it up, and the reality of it all—fuck, it’s hitting you so hard that there’s already tears pooling in yout lashline.

You silently curse yourself for forgetting to tell Jeonghan not to tell Minghao anything. It’s okay, it isn’t like he knew any better, you tell yourself as you blink rapidly, trying to shoo away the tears.

“Mhm,” you hum, hoping he doesn’t probe any deeper. You aren’t sure what you should say.

You’re silent, and Minghao itches to reach forward, to rest his hand on your shoulder, to smile at you, to say all the things he’s been thinking about you but he just can’t. All he can manage is to clear his throat, causing you to look up at him expectantly.

Fuck, what should he say? “I’m um—I’m glad. Glad that she’s uh—that everything worked out.” That’s fine, right? There’s nothing wrong with that statement, Minghao’s almost sure of it so … so why in the world are you crying?

Shoot, did he fuck up? You’re sitting in the chair right next to him, head in your hands as you cover your face and turn away; your cries are soft but just loud enough for Minghao to hear over the rush in his ears, just loud enough for him to feel the ache, just loud enough for him to get the message.

Oh.

The first time you meet Xu Minghao, you’re in middle school. Seventh grade and walking into Algebra, going to sit down on your regular seat. Five minutes into class and a new boy walks into the room, handing your teacher a slip before being directed to sit down at a spot a few tables over.

He’s got short, dark hair, cat-like eyes, and a bit of tall, lanky figure as he slinks down into the chair. Your teacher claps her hands together and announces that there’s a new student in class. His name’s “Xu Minghao,” she said.

You don’t really remember his name at first. It isn’t uncommon for there to be new students on campus. He’s not in many of your other classes you realize as the day goes on, and so he slips your mind. Maybe you work with him for a few assignments throughout the year, but not enough for you to wave at each other when you pass the other in the hallways.

Five years later and you’re in your final year of high school. Time has passed, you have changed, Xu Minghao has changed, but what remains the same is what you are to each other. Strangers.

You’re paired with a stranger for your final senior Literature project.

“Do you want to write a paper, or do the poster?” you ask as he sits down next to you once the pairing assignments. Your teacher had given you two options on how to go about the project. “I don’t really mind either or,” you admit.

Minghao hums, setting his copy of Macbeth on the table before turning to you. “Poster? I think I’ve done enough writing in this past year to last me a lifetime,” he tells you with an obvious sigh.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Were you in Biology?”

He nods. “Regretfully.”

“Oh so you also had to write that whole research paper. Damn, that thing had to have shaved at least ten years off my life.”

“Ditto,” Minghao grumbles, running his hands over his face. “Oh god, just thinking about it is making me queasy. I’m so happy we’re in our final semester.”

“So we agree on no paper, just the poster?” you finalize.

Minghao agrees, “Yeah, that’s great.”

One week later and Minghao is at your doorstep. “Cool set up,” he notes, stepping into your room, looking down at the poster splayed out with markers all over.

You grin. “Thanks—I kind of like being artsy and stuff sometimes so I was pretty happy to do this when you said you also wanted to do the poster.”

“Seems like I made a good choice then,” he replies, sitting down on the opposite end of the poster and pulling out a notebook and his book. “I did some work and got a bunch of lines that we could use as citations in different parts.”

“That’s great,” you say, picking a pen. “Let’s get started then?”

You two get straight to work, and all goes smoothly. Minghao is a good worker, you’ve noticed. His friends are quite fun—you’ve seen him with them in the hallways sometimes—but you start to realize that Minghao doesn’t let himself sacrifice his work ethic for fun.

You make quite some progress over the next hour or two, and you’re just about to bring up one of your ideas. “So over here, I was thinking we could write out the context of the play and then—” You’re cut off by the voice of your older brother at your door. He’s looking down at his phone with his lips pressed into a tight line as he speaks.

“Mom’s starting another cycle of chemo this Thursday so—oh, sorry,” Beomgyu says quickly upon looking up and seeing you have a visitor. “Come to my room when you’re done,” he mutters before turning on his heel.

The silence that envelopes your room is deafening.

You don’t say a word as you take a deep breath and pick up a different colored marker. You clear your throat. “So back to what I was saying …”

The next time you work on the poster, it’s at Minghao’s house.

You wear a blue gown at graduation. It’s a sunny day in June, and you’re sweating a little through the silk fabric, but it’s okay.

Your father and Beomgyu are there in the stands, but your eyes can’t help but be pulled to the empty seat next to them. Your mother said she’d try to make it, but broke the news last night that it was a dream too high up to reach.

It’s okay, you had told her, but as you clutch your diploma close to your heart, all you can think is, no it’s not, no it’s not, no it’s fucking not.

You sit through the rest of the ceremony with a silence and all around you, you see your peers’ smiling faces, the encouraging words of the dean, the cheers of the crowds, and somehow you feel so lost in it all. When you’re finally dismissed, everyone claps and revels once more, but somehow you can’t find the voice in your throat to join them.

Slipping through the crowds of people who line up to take pictures with their friends, family, and all the sort, you slip out of the small stadium and into some hallway.

“Fuck!” you finally cry out, raising your hand up and whipping it forward towards the brick wall. You wince, bracing yourself for the pain, but the sting never comes. Something warm envelopes your wrist, and when you finally blink your eyes open, you see a stranger.

“I don’t understand what you’re going through,” Minghao finally says. “I won’t pretend I do either, but it’ll be okay.” He hugs you and your face is pressed into Minghao’s own blue gown that is about to turn a few shades darker.

You cry. You cry harder than you think you’ve ever cried before.

You don’t know what it is about the way he speaks. Maybe it’s the way he holds you. Maybe it’s the way he smells. Maybe it’s everything, but whatever it is or isn’t, you don’t stop crying and for a gracing moment, you bask in catharsis.

And then, you hear Beomgyu’s voice calling for you from a nearby hallway, so you pull back. Minghao presses his lips together and lets you go, hands dropping to the side as you wipe away the tears. There’s a darker blue splotch in the middle of his chest, but he says nothing of it.

You don’t say a word as you step back—the only communication you share is a nod, but you swear on every last star in the sky that he has said more words to you in that moment than anyone has told you in your entire lifetime.

You don’t see Minghao’s face until it’s seven years later and he’s plastered on the screen as SECTOR’s newest recruit. He’s got phenomenal potential as an F1 racer—greatest new talent in a while—you hear the host of the channel say, but as you look at his picture on the screen, all you see is the face of a stranger who’s held you tighter than anyone before.

The last time you saw Minghao, it was through tear-blurred vision as you scurried out of Room C—you had to tell Jeonghan through broken sniffles to wrap up the session with Minghao—that the weight of the day had gotten to your head and that you needed to take a breather.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. You retreated to your office soon after, staring at the photo of you and your mother that sat at the corner of your table, and then you cried a little more.

It’s the next day when you’re back in the office. Two patients had just finished up, and you’re sitting in your office, filing through some emails when you hear the familiar ringing of the front door opening. You furrow your eyebrows to yourself, not recalling having any other patients scheduled for at least another two hours.

Had Jeonghan and Seungkwan taken their break earlier than you thought? No, that can’t be possible because they always let you know when they’re heading out and—

“Doc!” you hear Seungkwan’s voice call out to you from down the hall. “Could you come here for a sec’?”

Frowning, you close your laptop and stand up, walking out the doorway and down the hallway towards the front entrance of the clinic. “What is i—oh.” The question dies on your tongue when you see Minghao standing in the reception.

Something in your stomach churns at the sight of him—eyes slightly blown out, lips parted but somehow curved downward in a way that has your own lips frowning. The events of the past few days crashes down on you, and you bite down on your bottom lips in hopes that it’ll ground you in reality.

Seungkwan stands behind the main desk, looking at you with some sort of awry expression, and you catch Jeonghan coming down from the other hallway to catch the odd situation. Minghao doesn’t seem to mind though, eyes zoning in on you.

“I need to talk to you,” he says. You feel Seungkwan and Jeonghan’s gazes burn into the back of your skull.

Glancing at them, you point to the door. “You guys can take your lunch break now,” you tell them before turning your attention to Minghao. “Let’s go to Room C?”

He follows you in an instant, slipping into the seat that he always does as you close the door behind you and walking up to stand in front of him.

You can hear the words already coming together on his tongue—I’m sorry—and so you open your mouth before Minghao can even say it.

“I’m sorry,” you say, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have stormed out like that.”

“No, I—I shouldn’t have said anything. I had no idea you—” Minghao stops himself. He doesn’t know how much is too much.

It’s funny; Minghao’s whole career is about being in the driver’s seat but somehow when it comes to you, he doesn’t know when to press on the gas or hit the brake.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he says. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since graduation.”

“Me too,” you respond in an instant. “I see so much of myself in you,” you tell him.

“Stop, I—our situations aren’t comparable and—”

“Let me be the judge of that, yeah?” you cut him off with a small smile and through tears, cupping his face. The skin over his cheek bones are soft when you run your thumbs over them. “When everything is going wrong and you’re so angry, and you’re blaming all the wrong people but you can’t help it, and it makes you feel worse and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.”

“Yeah.”

You inhale steadily, feeling hot water meet your hands and trickle down to your wrists. Minghao is crying, and suddenly you are hit with waves of deja vu. “I get it, okay?” you tell him, even though you know that Minghao already knows. You get it better than anyone. “It’ll be okay.”

The echo of his words from all those years ago crashes down on you, and suddenly Minghao pulls your arms down causing you to hunch over so your face is right in front of his.

“I’ve thought about you everyday since then.” The words come out of your mouth in a soft whisper. “Even when she passed away a few months later.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mutters, eyes closing and head titling forward so that your foreheads press against each other. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, stroking his cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry—you were right. Everything’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“I—I’m sorry, I just—”

Something about the way Minghao says the word sorry not from his throat, but from his stomach, has your mind twisting in ways that you can’t comprehend. The sound is so guttural and heart-wrenching, and this time you want to cry because he’s got nothing to be sorry for. Not a thing.

And so you kiss him.

You kiss Minghao because he is no longer a stranger. Because he is crying for you and you might as well cry for him. Cry for him, but you have done enough crying to last you a lifetime and so you kiss him instead, because they speak the same words: I love you.

And his lips are soft, his tongue warm, his hand ghosting over your arm is gentle, and you can hear it. You hear it in the way he moves against you—he understands and you want to cry again because he’s always understood, and so you don’t cry but only kiss him deeper.

“I made you something,” he admits. “It’s in the car.”

You’re thankful you sent your two coworkers out when you did, sparring all four of you the awkwardness when you and Minghao slip out of Room C and out the clinic towards the parking lot and to his car.

He pulls a blanket out from the passenger seat. It’s hardly big enough to cover your lower half but it’s bright and blue and warm, and somehow you feel your eyes well up with tears that you can’t seem to stop this time.

“Did you—did you make this?” you choke out as Minghao stands in front of you, handing the cloth over as you run your palms over the loose threads and yarn that poke through.

“Crocheted it myself,” he tells you, standing from a couple inches above, as you marvel over his work. Minghao thinks he’s done a poor job—you could probably do better—but you clutch the blanket with such vigor that he doesn’t have the heart to tell you. “You’ve helped me so much,” he says instead.

“Fuck,” you mutter over harsh breaths. “Y-you made this.”

“You taught me,” he corrects, and that’s when the dam breaks.

And this time Minghao hugs you, and you can tell he’s being careful about his neck and in all your frenzy you almost want to push him away and say, “Don’t move so much!” but then his arms fold in on you like a blanket of their own and you crumble.

You crumble into happiness because through everything you’ve ever been through, Minghao still holds you tighter than one holds onto life itself.

“I don’t think I can come here on Sunday next week,” you tell your boyfriend as you peer down at your phone. You’re leaning over his kitchen counter going between looking at some emails and glancing at the screen.

Minghao groans, and you bite back a smile. “Are you serious? Why?”

“Yes I’m serious,” you huff, rolling your eyes playfully. “My brother’s visiting town for a bit.”

“And I can’t meet him, why?” Minghao asks with a raised brow.

You laugh. “Good point. I haven’t told him I’m dating yet though. Might be too big of a ball drop if I tell him I have a boyfriend right away. A boyfriend who’s SECTOR’s best racer, might I add,” you say, pouring yourself a glass of water from the fridge before joining Minghao on the couch.

“It would be a good surprise though, right?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah yeah, whatever floats your boat,” you shoot sarcastically. “But seriously. I’ll see if I can get you two to meet, but I really can’t see you on Sunday. I have to pick Beomgyu up from the airport.”

“Got it,” Minghao agrees, shuffling closer to you as you both focus on the TV. A live interview with Kim Mingyu plays on the screen, the young man talking about his recent rise in recognition. You two sit in silence for a couple of minutes before Minghao speaks up.

“I fucking hate not being able to do anything,” he groans, shifting onto your shoulder slightly. His condition’s gotten exponentially better in past couple of weeks, but you instructed for him to wait at least two more weeks before fully getting back to training.

He’s been restless ever since, you’ve started to notice. “Do I really need to wait?” he mutters, lips close to your ear as you cuddle into his embrace.

You pull back slightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yes! I told you—it’s a part of the process.”

“Fuck the process, I wanna drive again!”

“Too bad I guess,” you say with a shrug, turning your attention to the TV. The channel moves on from the interview to talk about some updates, and eventually somewhere in the mix, Minghao’s name comes up, and you hear the man next to you curse under his breath.

Chewing on your tongue, you debate for a few moments on what to do before reaching for the remote to shut the TV off.

“Hey! I was watching th—”

“Do you ever stop complaining?” you huff, stepping out of his embrace much to Minghao’s dismay. “Stop moving,” you order him, sliding down onto your knees in front of his legs.

“What are you do—oh.” You hear the words dry on his tongue when you nudge your body between his thighs, inching closer to his groin.

“You’re so restless,” you hum, trailing your fingers from his knees, over his thighs, and finally let the ghost over the growing tent under his sweatpants. “Let me take care of you, yeah?” you suggest, toying with the elastic waistband of his pants and boxers.

“O-okay,” Minghao agrees, and you grin at the way you see his cheeks flush pink when you inch the fabric off of his pants. His cock springs out, hardening under your gaze as it slaps against his lower adobe that’s still covered by his shirt.

You think for a moment to help Minghao out of his shirt too, but with the pretty pearl of precum dribbling off his slit, veins pressing up all against the length of his cock—all of him aching just for you—you start to feel your mouth water, forgetting about anything that isn’t having Minghao’s cock in your mouth.

“Careful with the right arm, ‘kay?” you tell him, a sly smirk tugging at your lips when you bring them down, dragging them over the base of his length all the way up to the glossy tip where you place a wet kiss.

“Y-yeah—fuck baby,” Minghao grunts when you envelope your lips around his throbbing tip, tongue swirling over the slit at the top as you do so. His left arm makes its way into your hair, fingers digging into your scalp when you pull back to take a deep breath.

Saliva drips down the corner of your lips, and as you look up at Minghao with wide, glossy eyes, he thinks he might bust in on the spot. “Go on baby,” he murmurs, using his firm grip on your head to nudge your lips closer to his pink tip. “Put it in …” he instructs, and when you grin and open your lips wide once more, Minghao knows he’s too far gone to be saved.

“You’re so hard Hao,” you whisper against him, tongue tracing constellations over the base of his cock when you reach to cup his balls, massaging them under your palms.

“Fuck, just like that baby,” Minghao moans, and the sound is so guttural it has your own pussy clenching around nothing. Your skin burns when you take him into your mouth again, cock sliding further down your mouth than before.

He’s so thick, and you feel every last curve of his cock, every last vein, against your cheeks, pressing against your tongue—Minghao is all you can taste, and you might go drunk on the sensation alone.

And he isn’t faring quite well above you either—his hand in your hair has got a firm hold but if anything, Minghao is losing touch with reality. Your mouth is so soft and so warm, your tongue so meticulous with the way it’s swirling around his tip when you slip off his cock before pushing your mouth back down on him—he’s going fucking crazy.

“Baby—oh baby,” the words rumble at the base of his chest, egging you on. With every bob of your head, you start to take him down further until his fat tip is battering against the back of your throat and yeah, it’s got tears pricking at the corners of your eyes but he’s moaning and grunting and squirming all for you and you just can’t seem to fucking stop.

“Shit, shit, shit—baby, ‘m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” he warns when you deep throat all of him, your nose nearly pressing against his pelvis as you press your eyes tight and revel in the sound of his moans, the feeling of his hands in your hair.

You take his slice of warning as a token of advice, pulling back for only a breath before attempting to do the same thing again, shoving his cock into your mouth and down your throat, rubbing whatever you can’t with your palms as wetness smears all over your lips and cheeks.

“Oh—fuck, I’m—”

When Minghao cums, it’s with his chest singing your name. Breathy moans—calls for you—as you suck him through the high, hot white painting the inside of your cheeks and tongue. You pant heavily when you finally pull yourself off of him, swallowing all that is left of him in your mouth, and then he looks at you with flushed cheeks and you both grin.

And when you climb up, Minghao hugs you. He hugs you like a blanket—like the blanket he made you, the blanket you taught him to make—and you two bask in this moment because Minghao is no longer stranger, but he is here and he is in your arms and you are in is, and there isn’t any other place you’d rather be.

a/n: mika ramble time! whatever demonic sickness has been haunting me for the past 5 days will NOT get the best of me. i have been aching to get this fic out since like september and it was initially supposed to be posted on hubbie's bday but :/ unfortunately i was a bit late bc life gets in the way ;c overall i'm really happy w it! personally, i think this is among the most emotional fics i've written, and i am extremely proud of myself for some parts of this so !! yea !! if u enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it, pls feel free to leave comments / reblogs >_< they mean the world to me ^^

[metranart]

“I know it sounds weird” Hawks chuckled breathlessly, “—but it's something instinctual....” You frowned at his lame explanation. You were a little sick of that excuse. “Right now, I am very overprotective of you, baby bird.”

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader.

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 8)

- Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut. -

Finally, finally! Hawks was back, peering at you, unrestingly worrying about the whereabouts of his feathers. 

There could only be two options, one: there was a nest, an actual bird nest built out of his feathers somewhere in the house waiting for you to inhabit it along with him, and two: his feathers were scattered in every inch of the house, acting as motion detectors to keep you safe from any possible threat.

Either option was a nightmare to Hawks, the hero, and a blessing to Keigo, the mate.

Gaze less foggy, Hawks could see the damage he’d done. You were covered in bites, scratches, bruises. The mark of his fingertips was printed all over your young and delicate skin like a brand of his felony. 

Dammit! DAMMIT! he grimaced.  

He should have stop sooner- he just hadn’t thought you could infatuate him this badly. He could have avoided this sort of damage, but you were just so fucking inopportune, not to mention awfully tempting and mouthwatering for someone who possessed a rut. He wasn't even able to be gentler. It was your first time. He was legitimately a piece of trash! The number two piece of trash because without a doubt he knew the number one on that category and compare himself to the incinerator was too much to handle right now.

Even now, Shit! Even now, he itched to grab you, keep you close to him, inside his greedy grasp-... where you belonged— Ugh! he couldn’t avoid thinking of you as HIS. The rut was over, and the next one was half a year away, so, you were supposedly safe or at least, that was what he was trying to force himself to believe... because, HOLY SHIT! was really having a hard time seeing you as someone other than his partner, his mate.... he had a mate. Takami Keigo now had a MATE, someone to call his, someone to care for and pamper and HIS.

He had never had anything, much less someone. God! please protect you from him, because right now he was dangerous... dangerously close to hug you against his chest and kiss you till air ran out, at risk of sweeping you off your feet and take you straight to his penthouse to never be allowed to leave ever again, in hazard of becoming your willing slave, you wanted someone dead, you got it! Just say the word and he’ll do it. Belonging, excited him a lot, skyrocketing him to cloud nine but now had to dial it down and try to keep his mind at ease. 

Breathe Keigo! Focus Hawks! 

Finding you sticking to the other side of the tub really broke his reverie, you looked distrustful, nervous, hurt.... he did that.... there weren’t words to describe how sorry he felt for what he had done to you. He was torn between his blinding happiness and the shameful way he got it …. he couldn’t… he couldn’t even begin an apology because didn’t even remember your name. Somehow, he knew baby bird, love, sweet thing, or darling wasn´t appropriate right now, but you´ll have to bear with him. 

“Ehmm—…. I feel like a jackass for having to ask this…. But….” Hawks could not look you in the eye as he spoke. “What was your name again, baby bird?” 

You blinked at him in disbelief. Wow! you nailed it, Keigo! You nailed making you feel like a whore. Nevertheless, you refused to let the hurt show on your face, instead taking in how sheepish and miserable he actually looked, and somehow, you felt less uncomfortable... just a thad.

“Y/N.” You conceded, looking elsewhere except him.

“Y/N.” He repeated, each syllable rolling down from his tongue like if he was memorizing the secret code to disarm a bomb. “T-Thank you, (y/n).”

Your eyes rose to stare at him from the other side of the tub, bubbly semen floating on the water in between the two. You could only stare. Watchfully waiting for him to snap again. He told you that you were safe now, but you had heard those same words before and yet had inevitably woken up in his arms, naked. So, you still wouldn't fully trust.

“Baby bird—”

“Please use my name.” You brusquely cut him off, ignoring the withering look that flashed way too fast over his features to then soften. He hid a heavy sigh under an awkward chuckle and hoisted his elbow over the edge of the tub to rub his chin with his palm.

“Sorry-…(y/n), I can't seem to stop apologizing...” he muttered, burdensomely but quickly recover clearing his throat, “o-okey.... as far as I remember we are at your house-” 

“My parent's house—If we are being specific, I already live in the UA dormitories." Quickly corrected, very prone to interrupt him and him very prone to let you, never dropping that infuriatingly stupid sympathetic grin.

“Right.” He nodded, “-Is there anyone else in the house besides my mother-in—” 

This time he cut himself off, -if he were a cartoon, you would be able to see a drop of sweat run down his forehead- it would be funny, but it wasn't, the glare you shoot at him felt like a hot knife slicing through his skin and he hurried to apologize, yet again. 

“Sorry, sorry baby bird-…. Oh dammit! Sorry about the baby bird too! God! I´m really sorry, is just that my mind is still a beating mess-”

You didn’t like that statement one bit. It made you feel in danger, on high alert. Was he going to get out of hand again?! Your body reacted automatically, lunging out of the tub, wet and slippery straight to the floor, desperately trying to get away.

Hawks watched the whole thing from his spot, didn’t move to stop you, only restricted you with the feathers still adorning your wrists and ankles trying to prevent more damage on your body. He knew that any sudden move from him would be misinterpreted. He wanted to swear for his life that you were safe.... but if he was honest, he wasn’t sure... still didn't trust himself, wasn't sure what he would do if your naked figures got close again.

The raw power of your scent was imprinted on every cell of his body, every breath he took was filled with you. It was intoxicating to smell like you or smell you covered in HIM. You were still ovulating, still ready to be breed.

He could tell, he could even hear your heartbeat-... far too fast for comfort. You were making him anxious, unknowingly activating in his mind a mate-response from his body.

“Your heart is pounding.” Hawks pointed, soberly, doing the extra mile for you not to notice his hands clenching the rim of the bathtub, tightly “I need you to try and calm down, (y/n), or you’re going to make me—” 

“Stay away from me!” 

You did not know where that roar came from, you had never heard your voice so fierce. Everything was getting out of hand. 

“I didn’t mean-” He interrupted, calmly. You were not listening. He sighed, hanging his shoulders. If you weren’t so fucking terrified, you would’ve been impressed by how in control he actually seemed.

“Just stay away from me, Keigo!” You grumbled, for a moment forgetting you were awfully naked and at his utter sight. His name had slip out of your mouth so naturally, that even the biting tone wasn’t enough to stop Hawks from feeling a delicious tingle ravish his skin, wishing to hear it again. 

“Fine-” he said under his breath, standing up and stepping out of the tub. Wingless back displaying powerful muscles that could crush a little thing like you without even blinking. You rushed to take whatever you could find and saw how he had to bite a giggle when turning around found you threatening him with a deadly toothbrush.

“Easy there, baby b-” he cleared his throat soundly to cut out the petname that insisted to slip out, “-As lethal as that toothbrush is for the cavities, I still need you to calm down.” Hawks spoke slowly, he was forcing himself to stay calm. You weren't making it easy on him. 

Your little body trembled, cold or fear, he didn't know, and it was driving him insane. He wanted to hug you and nullify either option, the heat of his body and his feathers could warm and dry you better than any cloth and the devotion of his claim... well, it was useless to think about it.

“.... Are you calm?” He ventured taking a step closer and hearing the clear drumming of your heartbeat going wild, stepped back and waited. Once you seemed less tense, he mused. “So, I'll ask again. Is there anyone else in the house? besides your mother, perhaps.... another male?”

Your eyes squinted at his weird word selection. “Another male...?” You repeated, “which cave did you come out of?” you continued, bitingly.

“I know it sounds weird” Hawks chuckled breathlessly, “—but it's something instinctual....” You frowned at his lame explanation. You were a little sick of that excuse. “Right now, I am very overprotective of you, baby bird.” You snorted at the use of the petname but he ignored you, apparently it was here to stay. “I'm not even sure how to explain it but...” he scratched the back of his head sheepishly to then continue.

“If another male so much as looks at you, I’m liable to hurt him, BADLY. Like `straight to emergency´ badly, I won´t be able to control myself or my actions,” his tone was soft, apologetic. “Keeping you safe, comfortable and close are my priorities right now, that's why I fed and bathed you and now I need you to sleep.... hopefully with that-” he seemed nervous and that push you to pry.

“...Yes?” 

“Hopefully with that I'll be able to... leave.”

He was telling the truth. He was fucking telling the truth, you could tell. Holy Fuck! He´ll leave you alone. YAS! 

“REALLY?!” you were unable to control the volume of your excited howl.

“Shhhh!” Hawks pressed a finger over his lips. “(Y/N), you're being too loud,” he cautioned in a low voice, back turned to you while searched for something to cover up. “At any time, your mother can—” 

“—Sweetie, is everything okay?” 

FUCK! Now he was one hundred percent sure where his feathers were because unless your mother was a trained ninja, he would have felt her approaching.

You both froze, even the toothbrush slipped from your hand and without preamble, Hawks rushed to your side hovering behind you as if your petite figure would cover him from your mother. His warm breath right next to your ear.

“Answer her, baby bird.” He said in a whisper too low. “Do you think she knows I'm here?” He stressed, hands absentmindedly squeezing your shoulders the longer you took to reply.

“Sweetie...?” you heard your worried mother call again. 

The heat emanating from Hawk´s body was very distracting, not to mention nerve-wrecking, especially now that his uneasiness made his limbs forget about your number one rule: ‘hands off’. 

Neither of you could stop him from wrapping his hands around your waist or pressing his hips distractively against your bottom. Keeping you anchored to him, as if he was trying to protect you from the intruder on the other side of the door.  

That closeness, the heat of your skin under the pads of his fingers was more than enough to throw him back to the memory of him knocking the breath out of you as you received him. As he slammed inside that haven between your thighs, like knocking on heaven’s doors. The way you squeezed so tightly around him, desperately trying to push him out... just as now.  

“Let go...” you choked out as quite as you could, peeling his hands off, but he was stronger than you. He’d always be so much stronger than a little, helpless student like you. You feared him before he even did anything more than breech your personal space.

“S-Sorry,” he spelled, being thrown out of his musings, sweat rolled down his forehead and he shook his head, trying to calm his own blood pressure, he needed the blood to go north, not south. 

In a studied motion, stepped back. Enough to be at arm’s reach but gift you as well a sense of freedom. “Answer-… go on.” He breathed out. 

“E-Everything’s okay, mommy-” You hurried to reply in an even tone. Trying to ignore how close Hawks still was, invading your personal space as if were nothing wrong. “I just slipped... but I didn’t hurt myself.” You openly lied, the last thing you wanted was to alarm your mom. As Hawks claimed to be overprotective of you, you knew yourself the same to your family.

“Ummm... are you sure, sweetie?”

“Yes, mommy, I'll be out soon.” You faked mirth.

“Ok, if you need anything, call me.” Your sweet mother offered and then you heard her go downstairs.

Hawks sighed, long and soundly. “Hell, this is wrecking my nerves—….” he said, “and your heartbeat is not helping either.” This time he had to bite at his lip, “TRY, please, try! to slow down your heartbeat, dammit.” He almost growled.

“Can you blame me?” you to spat out, “why did you have to touch me...?” you grumbled, quickly stepping away, ignoring his hands reaching out, “—being this close to you certainly isn’t helping me to lower my goddamn blood pressure!” You fumed, and Hawks snorted, loud and childish. It pissed him off, how you avoided him. How you repelled your own mate. He had marked you, but you had marked him as well. Did you know that?

Right now, he was at the loser’s side, he wasn´t allowed to play the victim. He had already done too much to you. So, swallowed his frustrations like a big boy and chuckled, uncomfortable and fake. 

“I´ll do my best to stay away from you.” He forced those toxic words out, it felt wrong, like corrosive acid burning his throat.

“You better do.” You sulked.

It was awful to Hawks -the number two hero of the whole country, the player, the golden boy, the number one bachelor- to be denied of something he deemed his. To be this near you, cock out and half-hard already without the power to slide inside his own partner. Helpless to start any kind of affection, intimacy or familiarity... shit! even a simple brush of his hand was out of the question.

“What´s that slipping down your thigh?” you suddenly asked, curiosity making you squint your eyes at the viscous, jelly-like fluid that turned watery the more it dripped.

Hawks peered down, finding the big stain dripping down his thigh and gathering the weird substance on the tips of his forefinger and thumb, smelled it. It was slippery and he was accustomed to see his lovers covered in it. It was cum, his cum being pushed out by gravity's force from your tight and recently deflowered pussy— How many times did he have to come inside you for it to still come out, even after you took a bath? He lost count when passed from five.

“ ‘s fine…” He cleared his throat uncomfortably- God damn it, you were waiting for an answer. “Not- ah, not your f-fault.” He stuttered, hips twitching before hurry to clean himself on the sink. 

“—Why would it be my fault?” you mused, and then it hit you. 

The moisty sensation between your legs wasn´t water or soap as you wrongly believed, you slipped one finger inside and it came out dripping till the knuckle. 

“Gross-s...” your mortified whine made Hawks glance back over his shoulder. 

His fists tightened, too embarrassed, too pleased as well. Splashing water over his chest and face to lower the temperature of his body, struggling to keep the blush from spreading, and as soon felt the shove you gave him to take his spot on the sink, it felt like a breeze more than a shove, but he still moved aside, to let you wash yourself the evidence of his crime.

He had stuffed you—had left you full of possible chicks, his brood swam inside your belly. It didn't matter how far you pushed him. He lived inside of you, that was his actual residence.

“Why- Why are you smiling about?” 

Hawks stared at you, blankly. He had been caught daydreaming about his happy family. The day he could get to come home to you, his pretty lovely wife making dinner for him, a bunch of kids bouncing excitedly to his arms, eager to receive him and talk to him about their day at school. Yes, he wanted that.

“N-Nothing...” he stuttered, absentmindedly. “I-…. I just space away.” He said way too fast, disturbingly stretched grin and ashamed golden gaze betraying his jovial tone.

“Sure,” you scoffed.

For the first time you were both as calm and docile as you could be around each other, you finished cleaning up what you could, but you were still too tight so most of the day you would be dripping. You sighed in defeat and leant against the sink, letting your eyes wander, without knowing some golden eyes were wandering as well.

The nakedness that your bodies sported became impossible to ignore. Hawks was shredded as hell-... he was unfortunately a handsome bastard, his body was muscular and strong and so thick in a good way, not lean muscle like the boys at your class, but well-defined. A bunch of well-developed muscles aimed that way to be strong, fast and lethal. His hero costume really dwarfed him, and even so, he was immensely popular among the female population.

You saw his hands suddenly came together over his crotch and your face lit up, damn it! you had been absentmindedly staring at him! You spat out a quick apology and immediately turned away, hiding your face with your hands.

Hawks choked down a giggle, it was nice to be on the side you apologize to for once. 

“—Could you... could you please cover up with something?”

“No.” 

“No?!” you repeated, incredulous. Hugging yourself tight.

“There’s… there’s nothing around, baby bird, I-I already looked.” 

His throat felt dry. The heat wasn’t subsiding. It was hard to breathe, let alone speak coherently while having you all naked and pretty in front of him, you were unquestionably custom made for Hawks, every bump, every curve, every dent was mind-blowingly gorgeous to his eyes, you were sculpted just as he liked woman. Your breast was still developing but damn! Didn´t you have a nice rack already? Once fully developed, he´ll be unable to keep his hands away for even a second.

FOCUS HAWKS! You stupid horny bird!

Clearing his throat, turned on his Hero side. He needed to look for options, but none would work without having his feathers, sighing, resigned to ponder out loud.

“We need to get out of this bathroom, your mother will begin to suspect that something strange is happening if you keep stalling...” Hawks mused, deep in thought “I'm afraid our most plausible option is to run to your room... there we will surely find our clothes-”

“Why are you talking like you don't know what YOU did with our clothes? You were the one that stripped me naked.” You blasted, feeling quite vexed with the development of things and his lack of acknowledgment to his actions.

“Because I don't know, (y/n), my rut—”

“STOP! Just stop with the rut bullshit!” your voice rose, and Hawks hand itched to cover your mouth, but he refrained. “Why are you making up this kind of lies-”

“I'm not lying to you, baby bird!... is this, the RUT... won't let me get away from you for long enough, I know it sounds ridiculous but I'm being one hundred percent honest with you.” Hawks swear, he sounded genuine enough. Perhaps, he was a victim of this series of unfortunate events as well... but the throbbing stretching sensation coming from your crotch refused to accept that truth.

You blinked back the tears of frustration that pricked your eyes and breathed. Now was not the time to argue, time was running low. The longer Hawks stood in your house, the dangerous it was for your family.

“My room is at the beginning of the hallway next to the stairs,” you instructed, “I'm going to peek out to see if there’s no one around and when I give the signal, we run.” Hawks nodded.

You carefully opened the door and making sure it was desolated, both ran down the corridor, entering your room to slam the door behind. You pressed your forehead against the door feeling your heart hammering hard. Only one mistake was needed, and the situation would be easily misinterpreted. Your parents would think you were toying with the Number Two Hero in the country, running naked around the house like an easy gal. 

You slammed your fist against the door, and it shook beneath your hand. 

“-Baby bird?”

You heard him call but there was something different in his tone, something sweeter and mellow. So, you opened your eyes, you hadn't even realized that you had closed them in the first place and glancing at Hawks you noticed a strong blush covering from his neck to his ears. At least, his pants were back on, even so, he looked more sheepish than when was naked.

“I really hate myself for having to keep asking you to do things.... you don´t owe me anything, far from it.... but—I need you to lay down....” your eyebrow arched, incredulously, “PLEASE, lay down inside the nest with me!”

COMING SOON PART 9....

⭕️ In my PATREON you will find NSFW art of this story and more spicy MHA NSFW art and exclusive smut fanfiction. ;)

@wtvbabes @dreamlessnight @naomi1247e @alicecil87

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 31 - I'd Do It All Again

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: It’s Joever.

Chapter Title from The Kids Aren't All Right by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 33.6k (good luck soldiers)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: The finale. Usual warnings, plus a little angst and heavy smut.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 30

The whole world was moving too fucking fast. The storm began to pass—small fires flickering out as only water was left to wash them away—and when it did, light fractured through the clouds and reflected off the melted wreckage along the highway. MM had found them when there was still mist shrouding the destruction from the world, and every fucking cop and suit and doctor in existence arrived only minutes later. Homelander’s unrecognizable husk of a body—all twisted scars and flesh falling off bone, blood pooling behind his head from Butcher’s killing shot—was covered in a tarp and carried away, a knocked out and pale Butcher was loaded into a car, and a shaking Ryan was wrapped in a blanket and pulled into Annie’s arms.

And Ben didn’t fucking move.

He should be revealing in this. In the look he’d seen in Homelander’s eyes, of pure, weak fucking fear as a Butcher raised the gun to his head. In the echoing bang as Butcher had pulled the trigger and the pathetic, ragged sound of Homelander’s last breath. Ben should be sitting in the world where Homelander was finally fucking dead and celebrating it, but he couldn’t fucking move. He couldn’t do anything but replay the image of Her collapsing over Homelander’s body and look at Her beautiful face, cradled between his hands and drawn in pain.

She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t fucking allowed to die, and She defiantly wasn’t dying because Ben would be able to feel it. If it was more than pain—lit up and stabbing and ripping in deep parts of his heart and lungs—Ben would. know. He’d never died before, but this wasn’t, couldn’t, be it. Death would feel small and withering, and She was alive inside of Ben’s body. In so much fucking pain that was only just dulled by her sleep, but alive. Her chest was rising and falling in an even pattern, and Her heart was still fucking beating, so She wasn’t dying.

But there was so much goddamn pain. Pain Ben could fucking feel. There was Her pain—the feeling of wrong and sick and fucking horrible rooting and twisting in his body—that had passed between them during the fight and almost knocked Ben out, but that had faded into only a screeching sound in his brain and over his spine as She’d fallen to the ground and he’d rushed to Her side. There was the pain of watching Her eyes flutter and her hands go slack, of roaring Her name and only getting shallow breathes in response. There was the pain of the storm in his body, tearing him apart because Ben should’ve fucking done something. He shouldn’t have let Her fight alone, he shouldn’t have let Her fight at all, he should’ve destroyed all the leftover original formula V in the fucking world, he should’ve never fucking allowed any of this to happen. Ben should’ve never fucking enlisted, never gone into Dr. Vought’s trials, never done any of the shit that had lead Her to getting hurt.

She’d tell him that was stupid. That She didn’t blame Ben, thaat it hadn’t been only him, and if he’d never taken the V, they’d have never met. Ben would’ve died a long fucking time ago, and She’d probably be halfway across the damn world, dating someone just as smart as she was, safe and happy and loved.

Not loved in Her whole body, where She could feel and find and always sense them, but loved. Not loved like She deserved, because every single pussy on Earth combined would never be what she deserved, but loved. Not loved like Ben loved Her, because the love that lived in Ben’s body was holy and powerful and immovable, but loved.

And She’d say she didn’t want anything that wasn’t Ben, or how he loved Her. How he tended to and cared for and devoted every single fucking part of himself to Her in a way no one else could. How She was a fucking menace and he wouldn’t ever want Her to be anything else. How when She woke up—because She would wake up—Ben was going to fucking kill her, then spend eternity worshipping her. He would go where She went and do what she asked, and when she cried he’d hold Her just like this—reverently, but with an ease he lacked now, because She’d be shaking and screaming and sobbing, but Christ, anything would be better than this hollow fucking silence—and She’d fall asleep in his arms. He’d make Her pancakes for breakfast, then watch Her look so fucking beautiful as She ate them before fucking Her right there, on the goddamn table.

Until then, Ben couldn’t to do anything but stay at Her side, holding her in his arms, and hanging onto every soft, steady beat of Her heart as her body pulled itself back together. He’d remain right here—blocking Her bare skin and pain from the world—until Her sharp eyes opened and she smiled at him. Until a hand moved up to hold his face and a teasing voice like a song said so grumpy, Benjamin. No force on earth would take him away from Her, because the world was moving a mile a minute but it wouldn’t start turning again until she woke up and smiled at Ben. Until the sky began to fall and he had to drag them both to safety, Ben was going to stay right goddamn here.

People in white uniforms with red crosses on their chests kept trying to touch him, to check if he was okay. Ben was fucking fine, because Her heart was still beating in his head and under his palms. And those same pussies kept trying to touch Her, to take her away from Ben, and the next sorry fucker that called him sir and asked for him to move was going to get their skull bashed in. They didn’t know how to hold Her, not right. Not like Ben could. Ben needed to be here. He needed to be at Her side when she woke up, because he needed to drop his brow to Hers and tell Her that Homelander was dead. That it was fucking over, and Ryan was safe, and Ben fucking loved Her and they were going to be okay.

She didn’t need to be poked and prodded and studied, she needed to be kissed and held in Ben’s arms. She didn’t need a cot or hum of a machine, She needed a bed and Ben just saying whatever the fuck he needed to say for Her to open her eyes.

Because Ben needed Her. He needed Her to look at him, and talk to him, and touch him and love him and want him. He needed Her to stay, to smile, to finally just be fucking happy because this was over. This was finally done, and it wouldn’t mean a single goddamn thing if She didn’t wake up. Ben needed Her to wake the fuck up, right goddamn now, or he’d track down Homelander’s body to kill him again.

“Sir-“

Ben’s eyes shot to the small, nervous woman—reaching for Her body with shaking arms—and his voice sounded damn near feral. “Don’t fucking touch my wife.”

“She’s, um,” the woman swallow, glancing over her shoulder to the rest of the medical pussies, watching with wide eyes. “She appears to be in critical condition, sir, it could be crucial we get her the treatment she needs-“

“And what the fuck do you think you’ll be able to do?” Ben’s grip on Her tightened, his words strained through his teeth. “You know how to suck a V overdose from her body? Stop her DNA from fucking exploding?”

The woman paled. “No, but, um-“

“Can you fucking feel her? Can you feel how much pain she’s in-“

“If she’s in pain, sir, that could be a warning that she needs immediate medical attention-“

“She doesn’t need shit from you-“

“Sir,” the woman’s voice became all weak and sympathetic, and Ben was going to fucking stab her. “I understand that this is distressing, but if you want to save your wife’s life-“

“She’s not fucking dying!” Ben roared, clutching Her like he could force her life to stay in her body. “She isn’t fucking dying, so back the fuck off before I fucking crack your head open-“

“Hey!” MM pushed through the crowding medics, stopping at the woman’s side and glaring at Ben. “No more murder. Not,” he ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Not today. Just, fucking cool it.”

“They’re trying to fucking take her-“

“They’re trying to help her, you caveman-brained motherfucker. But,” MM raised his hand, and giving Ben a firm trust me look. “I get it. I do. So let me handle this shit, and we’ll get her inside. Get her in a bed, somewhere quiet. All you have to do is shut the fuck up and let me deal with this. Got it?”

Ben’s jaw clenched, and he glanced down at Her in his arms. She looked so fucking small, and She was in so much fucking pain, and if She got help it wouldn’t be from these pathetic fucking nurses. It would be from Ben, or Frenchie, or MM, and that’s what somewhere quiet meant. Somewhere for them, and Ryan, and their team. Somewhere that news vans and cops weren’t watching them like fucking vultures, somewhere She’d be safe.

“Fine.” Ben grunted, and what was probably relief flashed over MM’s face. “But be fucking quick about it.”

MM nodded, and turned to the anxious woman, still watching Ben with fearful eyes.

“You’ve got clearance to move on, and attend to other victims.” MM crossed his arms, and Ben wasn’t sure what other victims he could be referring to, but he wasn’t going to question that. Whatever the fuck got the woman away from Her. “Understood?”

“Um, sir,” the woman looked between MM and Ben, her voice unsteady. “I, I can’t just leave a victim, I have to-“

“I know, I was a field medic. But she,” MM gestured to Her, still in Ben’s arms. “Is an exception. She’s a supe.”

The woman blinked, but still fucking pushed. “Sir, I’m still expected to provide aid to the super-abled-“

“You aren’t gonna be able to help this one, I,” MM glanced at Her, then Ben, and let out a long, labored sigh. “I don’t have a clue what’s going on with her, but if she’s not waking up, that shit’s above your pay grade-”

“Sir, I-“

“Listen.” MM’s voice dropped, growing stern as stress Ben could see on his face began to leak through. “I know it’s your job, but you try and take her away from that asshole,” MM jerked his head at Ben. “And someone’s going to have to scrape your guts off the pavement.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “If, if this is an unsafe environment for the victim-“

Ben felt something vengeful and bloody shoot through his body, the radiance in his body turning outward, growing bitter and furious. “What the fuck did you just say-“

“Goddamnit, no.” MM shouted over Ben, taking a sidestep to block the woman from his view. “That’s her husband, he’s an overprotective dick, and now is not the fucking time to work on that. I got some guys who will take care of her, you need to move on. Now.”

The woman finally seemed to get that MM wasn’t fucking asking, but ordering, and walked away. MM moved his gaze back to Ben, scanning over Her body.

“I got a car,” MM said, his words short and tense. “We’re staying at the farmhouse until all this shit blows over. Got Butcher back there-“

“No press or suits?”

MM glanced over his shoulder—where people with microphones and useless fucking badges had started to try and fucking sneak up on them—and looked back to Ben with a curt nod. “No one but us.”

Ben hauled Her up his body—hooking one arm under her knees and making sure her head was resting comfortably on his shoulder—and stood. MM understood the silent agreement, turning and walking without another word, and Ben followed. He kept him slightly hunched, kept Her face hidden in his neck, and shot glares that held a violent promise every time some pussy fucking dumbass raised a camera in their direction. This wasn’t for the public, or media, or any sort of goddamn history book that would want evidence of Her defeat of Homelander. Ben didn’t have a single damn doubt that the world would sing Her praises for a million years after this, because She had fucking earned that. She’d sacrificed and fought and dragged herself through mud and guts at the cost of her own sanity, all to make the world safe. She deserved every parade Ben had been given, all statues and holidays and glory, because She goddamn deserved it.

And She wouldn’t want it. She’d just want to rest, and for Ben to stay. And he always would, and he’d always protect Her, and that was the goddamn end of it. Because She didn’t deserve this. For Her pain to become just another part of the show, for it to be consumed like a goddamn product. She trusted Ben with her goddamn life and happiness, and if one single fucking pussy thought they’d make a profit on how she was curled into him—how she naked, and covered in ash and blood and wasn’t waking the fuck up—they’d find their limbs ripped from their bodies and scattered through the wreckage.

They seemed to get that, because Ben would look at them and they’d cower, dropping their cameras and hiding their faces. Ben and MM made it to the car—a shit old truck MM must have grabbed from Edgar’s farm to reach the scene—and only a single, idiot suit tried to stop them.

“Um, Soldier Boy and Mr. Milk-“

Ben couldn’t stop the snort at Mr. Milk, and MM’s had an expression of damn near disgust as he cut the man off.

“It’s MM,” he snapped, looking the suit up and down. “What do you need.”

“We’re just collecting statements, and neither of you have given yours-“

“We don’t need to give fucking statements,” Ben kept his words low, and made sure She remained hidden from view as he spoke. “Just use your damn eyes and common sense-“

“With all due respect, sir,” the suit looked Ben up and down, his voice weak and unsteady he—very fucking stupidly—pushed. “We really need yours, given that you were involved in the event. I’d advise you come with me, as it will be for your own benefit to cooperate-“

The suit cut himself off with a flinch as Ben to a step forward, dropping his voice to a hiss.

“Listen very fucking carefully.” He growled, ignoring MM’s eye roll and groaning sigh. “We’ll talk when we’re fucking ready, and until then I’d advise you shut your goddamn mouth and let us leave.”

“Um,” the suit swallowed, glancing to Her. “And the, um, the Anomaly-“

Ben snapped Her name, because nobody should ever fucking call Her the Anomaly again. “Is coming with me.”

The suit looked like he was about to protest. To try and argue that She needed to stay here for a goddamn statement, or medical assistance, or some other pointless shit that Ben would not fucking allow. But his eyes darted to somewhere past Ben, his mouth snapped shut, and he gave a small, awkward bow of his head with a cautious step back.

“Understood, sir.” The suit mumbled, glancing between Ben and whatever the fuck MM seemed to be doing to make the suit back off. “Just, we’ll contact you later for your statement.”

Ben turned as the suit stumbled away, and saw MM pulling the truck door open with a scowl.

“MM.”

The man stopped, turning to Ben with raised brows and waiting for him to continue.

“Thank you.” Ben muttered, and the words didn’t taste wrong on his tongue. “For, that. And-“

“I got it.” MM gave a half shrug. “And you’re welcome.”

Ben clenched his jaw as he nodded, and knew he probably wouldn’t ever be able to thank MM enough. For Her. For not pushing Her to stay away from Ben, for reluctantly accepting that Ben would either fucking burn the world or stay at Her side, as long as She wanted him there. For realizing that She did want Ben there, and that she was always fucking right, so Ben needed to be near Her all the goddamn time. 

He’d never thank MM enough for knowing that. Knowing Ben had Her, and loved Her, and was really fucking trying. That he’d be trying for a while, and was going to keep trying, and never fucking stop. That all both She and MM seemed to ask was that Ben tried, so he’d keep fucking earning Her—even when She’d say he’d done enough, he’d always want to do more—and working to build some sort of real trust with Her friends.

Their friends. Ben had somewhere found himself in a life where these assholes were people he could tolerate, and didn’t loathe the company of, and wanted to be around Her and Ryan. And that seemed to be what friends were.

Friends like Annie, who told Ben they were happy She had him. Friends like Kimiko, who were excited for them getting married.

Whatever the fuck Butcher was, who told Ben he’d done well. And he had. Ben had done goddamn amazing, because he’d loved Her enough to try, and tried enough to repent.

And MM, who helped Ben keep Her and Ryan safe. Who muttered to Ben that Annie and Hughie were with Ryan, and that he was being taken care of until She and Ben could get to him. Who got Her away from the chaos and cleanup of Homelander’s death, and knew that Ben would rather fucking die than be kept away from his wife. Who didn’t push Ben for words or explanations, because they both seemed to know that what mattered was what Ben did. How he carried Her like the sacred thing she was, and didn’t hold Her like she was breakable—She fucking wasn’t—but still touched Her like she deserved to be touched. Like a star or work of art or something bigger and more important than anything else in the universe.

Like the god she didn’t want to be. Like an alter Ben didn’t need to kneel at, but was the only one who seemed to know how to.

Ben fucking got Her. He’d always fucking got Her, and MM could see that, and that was why explanations weren’t needed anymore.

And it’s why words were easier. They didn’t feel owed, and Ben thought MM needed to hear them, so it was so fucking easy to break the silence and speak over the hum of the engine.

“It’s an overdose,” Ben said, keeping his gaze on the gray of the world around them. “Or some shit like it.”

“What-“

“You said you didn’t know what was going on with her. It’s the V, it’s fucking-“ Ben had to cut himself off, because he’d use the wrong word. This wasn’t killing Her, because She wouldn’t fucking die. “It’s hurting her.” He muttered, staring at Her beautiful, perfect, bloodless face. “Our V isn’t like the normal V. Most pussies don’t survive one. I got knocked down by two. This is,” Ben swallowed, tracing his hand over her cheek as his voice began to hurt, sounding hoarse and rough as a rock-like lump grew in his throat. “This is her fifth.”

There was a long silence, and when MM spoke his words were low and cautious. “You can feel it.”

It wasn’t a question, but Ben nodded anyway, because he could. He could feel every nerve trying to sink into Her bones and reshape them, all while trying to escape Her body. Ben could feel how hostile her blood and muscles and organs were, and how they felt like they were fucking collapsing. “I can. All of it.”

“You felt the shot?”

“Yes.”

“And she,” MM glanced at Her body, her hands curled into Ben’s burnt shirt, even in sleep. “The V, it worked on her? She got something new?”

It had. Ben wasn’t sure what exactly had fucking happened, but the V defiantly goddamn worked. He’d felt how every possible fucking way to be in pain had pushed through Her body, then settled deep, deep down somewhere in Her skull or heart or womb. Somewhere fundamental that Ben didn’t have a name for, somewhere that had called forward all the radiance and resolve from his body to move into Her. She was somehow more goddamn powerful, and it was going to fucking rip Her to pieces. The V couldn’t find a place to settle, and it was making everything in Her fucking burn, but She wasn’t fucking allowed to burn without Ben, so she’d have to be fucking fine-

MM cleared his throat, and Ben realized he’d never actually answered the damn question.

“She did.” He pulled Her a little tighter against him, as if he could drain all the fucking pain into only his body, where she’d somehow never have to feel it. “Some sort of fucking power copier-“ Ben cut himself off, searching for what word She’d probably use to describe it. “Mimicry.”

“Mimicry.” MM repeated, raising his brows. “Like a chameleon.”

Ben nodded, and did his best to put to words what he’d seen. What he’d felt from Her, in Her, with Her. He wasn’t fucking good at this shit—She was, and Ben loved her for it, and had no goddamn clue how she was so fucking perfect that she was able to do damn near anything—but he had to try. For Her, for how this might be critical to her pretty eyes fluttering open and her attention on Ben being adoring and soft, Ben had to talk like he had a goddamn clue what he was saying.

He could try and talk like Her, but that never fucking worked for him. She’d probably laugh if she heard Ben talk like her. So Ben had to get this across, his way.

“Like a damn chameleon.” He said, every word scratching at his throat. “When we got there, she looked fucking exhausted. I threw up a barrier around us while Butcher dealt with him,” Ben didn’t want to say Homelander’s name, not when She might be able to hear it, and there wasn’t a damn chance MM didn’t know exactly who he was talking about. “And she touched me and it felt like she was fucking calling something. Like some part of me was supposed to go to her, and it did.”

“Something.” MM glanced at Ben with a frown. “The hell does something mean.”

“Just fucking something.” Ben grunted. “I’m not a goddamn poet, it just was. Something was being told to go to her, and it wasn’t,” he let his words grow a little harsher as MM opened his mouth. “The fucking brain connection shit. This was all me, and it belonged to her, and then she was strong and glowing and that was the damn end of it.”

There was a long stretch of silence, MM parking the car outside the farmhouse, and neither of them moved.

“You,” MM shook his head at nothing, pressing his palm to the wheel three times without setting off the horn. “You motherfuckers have no right to be so goddamn romantic.”

Ben’s scowl deepened, his brow drawing together. “Say whatever the fuck you mean-“

“I mean you really goddamn love that woman.” MM nodded to Her, and Ben’s hand moved to run through her hair on instinct alone. “And she clearly fucking loves you, and I’ve never seen any shit like it.”

“Of course I fucking love her-“

“How do you know she’s not dying.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “Watch what you’re fucking-“

MM raised his palm in mock surrender, but his glare on Ben didn’t waver. “I’m not saying you’re fucking wrong. I’m asking why the hell you’re right.”

The answer was so fucking simple that Ben couldn’t really understand why it needed to be said. He didn’t have an idea what MM was trying to fucking get at either, but the man was watching him expectantly, so Ben looked down at Her and muttered, “Because I’d fucking know. If she,” he couldn’t fucking say it, he hated even damn entertaining the thought. “Did that, I’d know.”

“How.”

“I just would.”

MM rolled his eyes, giving Ben a flat look. “How, motherfucker. Use your words-“

“Because I’d fucking die.” Ben was half shouting, and MM didn’t even flinch. “If she was doing that shit, I’d go with Her.”

There was silence, and Ben knew he hadn’t said a single lie. She was going to live, because Ben didn’t feel like he was dying. She had to live, because Ben wanted to fucking live. He wanted to spend a lifetime with Her, and if she died neither of them would get that. If it wasn’t Her brain—rooted so deep in Ben, tangled into every single part of him—withering and spreading like a disease into Ben’s, it would be the pain of Her death. The physical pain—dragging him down and pulling him after Her—or the pain of his fucking heart. The way Ben didn’t know how he’d lived before Her, and how he had no interest in living after Her. In how he was pretty damn certain that if he lost Her, his whole fucking body would just give up. It would search for Her, and not find Her, and decide that Ben just needed to be wherever the fuck she was.

“She won’t.” MM muttered, and Ben turned to fully face him with a frown. “She’s not going to die. She’s the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, and she’s not going go down without you. And I know for a fact you’re not going down that easy.”

Ben wasn’t. He wouldn’t. And neither would She. She’d be furious at Ben for the very idea that he was useless without Her, that if she died he’d simply have no choice but to follow He. She fucking hated that tragedy shit.

But this wouldn’t be a tragedy, because MM was right. She was a spiteful, perfect fucking problem, and she’d probably rather leave Ben than let them both die in a way she’d hate. She’d hold onto the world she loved so much by Her fucking teeth and nails and will, hold onto Ben by that part of them that had become fundamental and bigger than the whole goddamn universe, and She’d wake up.

Ben just had to wait for Her to wake the fuck up. And he’d waited for Her longer. He’d waited for Her his whole life, without a single thought that she was what he was waiting for. He’d waited for Her for three fucking months, knowing she needed him but would refuse his help every single goddamn time he offered it. And that had be far fucking worse than this, in the end, because he hadn’t been able to touch Her then. He’d only been allowed to ache for Her, and sit in how he’d failed Her, and grip onto everything single roaring bit of his love for Her in his chest, trying to prevent it from spilling out of his mouth and breaking Her.

But She hadn’t broken. She simply wasn’t goddamn capable of that, and Ben fully got that now. She’d wake up, and Ben would be here, and this time it would be easier to wait because he was able to hold Her. To pick Her up, and carry Her carefully inside the farmhouse, up the stairs to where MM had directed him. Into one of the bedrooms, where Frenchie could take a proper damn look at Her, and Ben could stay by her side and hear that She’d be okay.

And She would be. Ben was still fucking here, so She’d be okay.

It took almost an hour for Frenchie to arrive, but MM had said it might be two, so Ben was more than damn fine with it. The hour had been time for him to care for Her. For Ben to wrap her in a warm, clean sheet until he could find her a shirt, to wipe all the ash and blood from her beautiful face. For Ben to hold her in bed, to kiss the top of Her head and mutter promises that sounded more like blood oaths or prayers against Her skin.

“We’re going to buy another fucking house,” he told Her, running a thumb over her lips to feel the warmth of her breath, to test if Her mouth would still slightly part at his touch. It would. “It can be wherever the fuck you want, and as big or small as you think we need, but we’re buying another house, Sunshine, and that’s that.”

Her heart stumbled slightly in Her chest, but she still didn’t wake up, so Ben dropped his brow to Hers as he continued.

“You’ll find somewhere good. Somewhere that Ryan can get a proper fucking education, and prove that he’s smarter than any other damn pussy idiot kid in his class. Where we can get stupid fucking jobs, and have neighbors that we hate and make fun of together, and go on proper dates. I’ve,” Ben paused, shaking his head against Hers as his voice dropped so fucking low he could barely hear it. “I’ve never taken you on a date. Planned something, helped you dress up, driven you somewhere fucking stupid just to do it. And I don’t care what the fuck people do now, or if you’ll call me old, I’m getting you flowers, because I’m a goddamn gentleman. And I’m opening your door, and paying the bill, and you’re going to be beautiful and happy, and then we’ll go back home and have sex that shakes the foundation of the fucking house-“

Someone cleared their throat, and Ben looked up to see Frenchie standing at the end of the bed, a guilty look on his face.

“Excuse moi, Monsieur, ah, Ben,” Frenchie gestured to Her, giving Ben a weary look. “But MM asked I examine her. See if I can help.”

Ben nodded, sitting up against the headboard and adjusting Her in his lap. “Fine.”

Frenchie paused, realized that was all Ben was going to give him, and shuffled forward. He didn’t have any medical equipment—or fucking experience—but Ben still trusted him more than any random fucking pussy in a white coat. Frenchie knew Her, and he probably had some damn clue what he was looking for, because he didn’t hesitate as he began his work. Checking Her pulse, feeling her temperature, testing Her healing factor with a cautious, gentle prick of Her skin.

“And it was only a fifth V shot?” Frenchie glanced at Ben, taking a long step back from the bed. “No, say, gas?”

“Didn’t fucking see any,” Ben muttered, tracing patterns on Her hips as he glared at Frenchie. “She just fucking collapsed, and I felt it. The V.”

Frenchie nodded slowly. “Can you feel it now?”

“Yes.”

“Is the same as the beginning?”

It took Ben a second, but he realized it wasn’t. The dull of the pain wasn’t just muffled, but blunt. Not trying to push through him in the same way, not wrapped around his lungs like iron. There was less ringing in his ears, less blood pounding in his head, less electricity shooting up and down his spine. It was still fucking torture, but just the smallest fucking bit less consuming.

“No,” Ben said. “It’s,” he didn’t want to say better, but he couldn’t think of anything else, so he just scowled and shrugged.

Frenchie understood, and sighed. “Bien. That is, that is very good. It is only time now, I am afraid. We will just have to let her wake herself up, it is the easiest, safest way.”

Ben grunted an acknowledgement, and Frenchie didn’t move from the edge of the bed.

“What.”

“It is just, ah, Monsieur Butcher wishes to speak to you. Soon.”

Ben scowled. “Butcher’s awake.”

“Oui.” Frenchie swallowed, glancing at Her and lowering his voice as he said Her name. “Her blast wiped the V, and there were many injuries on his body that will now not heal. Along with his DNA experiencing many changes too quick, he is not in good health. There is no promise that he will ah, see more.”

There was no promise Butcher would live, is what Frenchie meant. No promise that this wasn’t the fucking end of that asshole, that he’d finally pushed it all too far and was going to pay the goddamn price.

“What the fuck does he want to talk to me for-“

Frenchie cut off Ben with a shrug. “I do not know. He only told me he wished to.”

Ben pulled Her a little closer as he glowered into the air. Butcher probably wanted to just fucking gloat. To jerk each other off about how they’d finally gotten Homelander, how everything was fucking better in the world and they’d done the mission.

She would tell Ben to go, because Butcher was dying and he had given his whole damn life to get to this moment.

But Ben didn’t give a single goddamn fuck. He wasn’t going to leave her side, fucking walk away just to celebrate Homelander’s death with Butcher. Ben wasn’t going to offer Butcher a single thing when nothing was better, because She was still in pain. When She’d also tell Ben that killing Homelander hadn’t fixed their dogshit government. That there was still work to do, even if Ben had not goddamn interest in doing it. He’d help Her do it—he’d help Her do fucking anything—but every single fucking part of him didn’t want Her to get mixed up in fixing the world anymore.

Ben wanted Her to rest. To finally just fucking rest, and let someone else take care of this. To make someone else deal with this mess, because She’d fucking killed herself for this and now she needed to rest. She needed to wake up in Ben’s arms, and know she was safe, and let Ben do whatever the hell it took to make Her happy.

Ben wouldn’t give a fuck about anything—let alone Butcher—until She was happy. So he looked back to Frenchie, and made his voice firm and clear.

“Not until she’s up.”

“He may not make it until she’s-“

“Then the pussy better fucking pray it happens soon.” Ben hissed. “Because I’m not fucking leaving her.”

Frenchie swallowed, nodded, and did the smart thing. He walked away, and carefully closed the door behind him.

The day bled on in slow hours, and the pain continued to morph in Ben’s body as he waited. Waxing and strong, then fainter and fading, then bright and hot and unbearable. He was silent, hanging onto Her every heartbeat and soft, humming breath, tending to Her in every way he could. Frenchie had dropped their clothing outside the door, so Ben pulled one of his shirts over Her body, kissing her brow before crawling back over Her, holding her until she returned to him. She would return to him. She fucking had to wake up, because there wasn’t a goddamn chance Ben would manage if she didn’t-

He heard Annie first. Shifting outside the door, holding the doorknob but never just fucking turning it. 

“Annie,” he raised his tone, tucking Her face carefully against his neck in an almost fucking desperate hope she’d be close enough to his voice it would drag Her awake. “What the fuck do you want.”

The door creaked open, and Annie shuffled inside with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I didn’t want to bother you if you were sleeping-“

“I’m not.” Ben grunted. “I won’t.”

Annie glanced at Her, and nodded as she heard the silent part of Ben’s words. He couldn’t fucking sleep. Not until She was really, fully okay.

“I, yeah.” Annie signed, rolling on Her feet  in the middle of the room. “Is she, is she better?”

Ben nodded, looking down at Her beautiful face. A little less twisted in pain, a little more peaceful in his body. “She will be.” She had to be.

“Okay, good. I,” Annie paused, taking a nervous step forward. “I actually wanted to talk to you?”

She said it like a question, so Ben muttered an agreement and jerked his head to the edge of their mattress. “Fine.”

Annie nodded, lowering herself down with a care Ben appreciated, not speaking until Ben rolled his eyes and shot her a glare.

“What-“

“Thank you,” Annie half blurted, looking a little shocked with herself. “For your help. With the Deep. I don’t, it really means a lot. More than you probably understand-“

“He hurt you, didn’t he.” Ben cut Annie off with short words, because he didn’t have to time or patience to pussyfoot around this shit. “Like Homelander-“

“No.” Annie shook her head. “Not like that. I mean, a little like that but, um,” Annie said Her name, and Ben could fucking swear Her heart stuttered in response. “It was different for her. Similar, but not as fucked up.”

“But he did.” Ben frowned. “Hurt you.”

Annie swallowed. “Yes. And you helped me kill him. So thank you.”

Ben shrugged, carefully not to shake Her in his arms. “Don’t. She,” Ben kissed the top of Her head, letting the small, something easing in his body at Her small, breathy sigh, “Would fucking kill me if I didn’t. She’d kick my ass.”

Ben loved Her so fucking much.

“I know, but thank you anyway. It’s,” Annie sighed, looking back to Her. “It’s hard. It’s going to be hard. For a while.”

“The hell-“

“I’m still angry.” Annie muttered, looking at Ben with one of the saddest fucking expressions he’d ever seen on her face. “The Deep is dead, and I’m still really, really angry at him.”

Ben frowned. “Why the fuck are you telling me that-“

“Because,” Annie said Her name, hand drifting up the bed to rest near Her’s. “She’s probably going to be angry for a long time too. And I just, I think you should expect that. She’s going to need you, and you should know it’s going to be hard for a long, long time.”

“I fucking know that.” Ben grumbled. “And I’m not going to goddamn leave her-“

“I don’t think you will, asshole. I’m just, I’m angry because it’s over, but it still hurts. And I want to help her, because she’s my friend, so I’m telling you because you’re the person that loves her the most. You’re,” Annie sighed. “Ben, you’re the only person I know she’ll let help her. That’s why I’m telling you.”

They were both silent for a second, and Ben’s eyes fell back to Annie’s hand. Resting near Her’s, scratching at the mattress but never inching any further.

“Hold her fucking hand.”

Annie looked at him with wide eyes. “I don’t-“

“You want to.” Ben shrugged, because he understood that more than damn anything. Everyone should always want to fucking touch her. Not like Ben touched Her—though Ben was pretty goddamn certain nobody could touch Her as well as he did—but for comfort. There shouldn’t be a goddamn person on this plant that didn’t understand that She should always be loved and cared for in every fucking way, and if Annie wanted to hold Her hand while she was in pain, Ben wasn’t going to fucking stop it. “She’s your friend. Hold her goddamn hand.”

Ben would admit that the words sounded almost like a threat, but they fucking worked. Annie held Her hand, and Her breath slowed just a little damn more, and the world got a little fucking better.

“I,” Annie paused, looking at Ben with an expression he didn’t understand. “I meant what I said. I’m really glad she has you.”

Ben nodded, moving one hand to trace the beautiful features of Her face, and muttered, “I’m fucking lucky I have her.”

Annie scanned over Her, voice only a whisper. “I don’t know what you guys have planned after this, outside of marriage, obviously, but-“

“Whatever the fuck she wants.” Ben raised his voice, because maybe She’d hear and wake up to smile at him. “As long as she’s fucking happy and safe, whatever the fuck she wants.”

There was another moment of silence—both of them watching Her, still fucking asleep—before Annie broke it.

“She’s strong. She’ll, she’ll get through this.” Annie’s gaze dragged to Ben, and her tone became almost goddamn strict. “And she’d tell you to go talk to Butcher.”

“I don’t have a goddamn thing to say to that pussy-“

Annie fucking scoffed. “Of course you have something to say to him. We all have something to say to that dick, he changed our lives.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Maybe your life-“

“And yours. He was the one who made us go to Russia. And,” Annie looked pointedly between Ben’s glare and Her perfect, sleeping face. “He was the first one to vouch for the idea to wake you up. To back up that plan.” To back up Her plan.

“I’m not leaving-”

“Won’t you feel it?” Annie’s asked, watching Ben carefully. “If she’s waking up?”

Ben needed to stop letting these people know shit about him. Letting them see how he knew every single way She breathed and bled and moved, how he fucking adored and loved every single fucking thing about Her, how he would fucking feel it, because there wasn’t a goddamn world where he didn’t.

“You can come right back,” Annie continued. “When she does, if you’re still talking to Butcher. But he’s really,” Annie sighed. “He’s in bad shape. Hughie and I were talking to him, and I’ve never seen him like that.”

“Like what-“

“Mortal.” Annie said, and Ben somehow knew exactly what she fucking meant. Ben had always been able to fucking kill Butcher, but something about the asshole made it seem like that would be pointless. He was like one of those fucking immortal bear things she’d told Ben about. The ones that just didn’t know how to fucking quit, and survived every extinction in history.

Butcher was either like that, or a fucking cockroach. But either way, Ben understood why the dick seeming mortal meant something.

And he could just run right fucking back to Her, if he felt her waking up.

And he did have shit to say to Butcher.

And She would tell him to say it.

“Fine.” Ben grunted, narrowing his eyes on Annie. “But you have to fucking stay here. You can get Hughie, or Ryan, but no more than three people, because I don’t want her freaking the fuck out when she wakes up. Make sure she has blankets, and if she kicks them off get me, because that means she’s burning, and if she’s burning she’s probably having a nightmare-“ “I’ve got it, Ben.” Annie looked almost amused, shifting further up the bed as Ben moved Her head to rest on a pillow. “She’ll be okay, I promise.”

Ben knew she would. He’d lain her down the way she liked, moved all the hair from Her face, and when he kissed the space between Her eyes he could feel something light bloom in along his ribs—Her ribs—so she’d be okay until he got back. Annie would take care of Her, and Ben would break through the fucking walls if she started to wake up while he was with Butcher.

Now all he had to do was get it the fuck over with, and talk to Butcher.

It was a short walk. Butcher was on the same damn floor, a few doors down, and Ben could hear the weak, stumbling sound of his heart right before he pushed open the door.

Butcher did look fucking awful. His face was sunken, his breathing was ragged, and his smirk at Ben looked like it hurt his goddamn face.

“Well, look who finally decided to pay a dyin man a visit.” Even Butcher’s voice sounded like shit. It was barely a fucking croak as he said Her name. “Did she wake up? Got on your fuckin ass to be a good lad and fulfill my last fuckin wish?”

“She’s still asleep.” Ben muttered, glaring down at Butcher. “You can thank Annie for this, but you cross one fucking line and I’ll kill you my goddamn self.”

“The fuckin hell did Starlight say to get you to listen-“

“That you’re fucking finished.” Ben narrowed his eyes, keeping his tone flat. “And I might have something to say to you before you kick the damn bucket.”

“Well then,” Butcher gave a weak shrug, settling into the bed. “Better say it, Gov.”

Ben didn’t bother to look for his words or be gentle. That shit would be wasted on Butcher, and if Ben knew anything about the asshole, it was that he’d appreciate the honesty.

“You’re a backstabbing fucking dick, and dogshit excuse for a man.” Ben said, standing tall and not stopping at Butcher’s snort. “You tried to fucking bury me, you treated my wife like she was garbage, even when you owed fucking everything to her. Ryan’s only safe because she made that shit happen, and you only fucking won because she sacrificed fucking everything to make it happen. But,” Ben’s first clenched, and he pushed on. “If you hadn’t been such a fucking asshole, I wouldn’t have gotten her.”

He paused, because Ben wasn’t a damn liar, but this might be the most horribly true thing he’d ever fucking said. Ben owed everything fucking good thing in his life—in some way—to Butcher. He owed Butcher for freeing him from Russia and getting behind Her idea to wake him up, but he also owed him for Ryan. For keeping the kid alive, so Ben could be proven fucking wrong—he’d be more pissed about how being wrong had become a damn pattern if it didn’t mean he finally got a fucking family to love and care for, if he wasn’t really fucking happy for the first time in his goddamn life—and Ryan could get the hell away from Homelander. Ben owed Butcher for fighting alongside Her, helping her kill Homelander, because Ben had been able to keep Ryan safe and She hadn’t been forced to do that shit alone.

And Ben really did owe Butcher for Her. In a really fucked up way he’d never say aloud, Ben would be in debt to Butcher for the rest of his goddamn life for carving a path where Ben got to find Her. Because She’d point out that, that if Butcher hadn’t betrayed him, Ben would’ve killed Homelander and Ryan and She would’ve rotted away at a graveyard in Boston. If Butcher hadn’t tracked Her down, She never would’ve even thought about Ben.

And She and Ben had forged their love together, without a single damn thing to do with Butcher. But Ben never would’ve even fucking met Her without Butcher, and he’d never be able to repay that.

“I won’t forget that.” Ben muttered, watching Butcher carefully. “I have her now, I’m never going to fucking lose her, and I won’t forget how that happened.”

Ben had never seen that look on Butcher’s face. Almost soft, almost covered in a real damn emotion. Almost fully fucking human. Eyes that were brimming with something, and lips that were pulled, and studying Ben in a way that didn’t feel cruel.

“You finished, Gov?” 

Ben nodded, and Butcher sighed.

“Take care of em.”

“What-“

“I ain’t stutterin. Take care em. And tell Ryan that he’s a good kid. Give him,” Butcher’s jaw clenched, and he was looking at something Ben couldn’t see. “Give him a childhood. Like Becca woulda wanted, where he’s safe and got a fuckin stable family. And tell him I’m sorry. And I shoulda tried harder for him, for his mom.”

Ben frowned. “You’re not going to fucking talk to him-“

“He don’t need to see me like this.” Butcher muttered. “He seen enough shit for a fuckin lifetime. I ain’t lookin to add to that list.”

“You think you’re done?”

Ben wasn’t sure why the fuck he said it like a question. Butcher was right damn in front of him, and he looked fucking done. But Butcher only huffed a low laugh, and a gave Ben a flat look.

“I ain’t stupid, Gov. I never died before, but this sure fuckin feels like it.” Butcher sighed, and he was staring at that point just past Ben again. “There’s only one hope in bleedin hell for me now, and I ain’t gonna ask that.”

Her. She’d be the only thing—beside maybe fucking prayer, but both Ben and Butcher knew that was fucking stupid—that could save Butcher. If She woke up in time, She could press a hand to Butcher and stitch and mend his every wound.

 And Butcher was, for once in his sorry life, right. He had no goddamn right to ask that of Her, especially because She’d do it. She’d glare at Ben when he tried to convince Her that she was still in fucking pain, and then take another goddamn bullet for Butcher. She’d heal the asshole, not ask for much—if anything—in return, and then fall back into Ben.

He’d hold Her, grumble that she was too fucking good, She’d say she really wasn’t, and Ben would shut Her up with a kiss because he could. Because She’d whack his chest but still moan in his mouth, and mumble in his head that he was such a fucking ass, and he’d grin and tell Her that he was. He was Her ass, and She loved him.

And She did. And Ben owed a fucking part of that Butcher.

Who was dying in front of him. Who She’d heal without question, because She’d say he deserved a second chance.

Ben would tell Her that was fucking idiotic. That Butcher didn’t deserve shit, and Ben might owe him but She didn’t, and nothing was ever going to make up for how Butcher had treated Her.

And She’d give Ben a soft smile, and half whisper I think some people might have said the same about you. And look at you now, Pretty Boy. Just a grumpy old man that loves me. She’d kiss him, long and sweet and fit so fucking perfectly against him, and hold his face between Her hands as she whispered against his lips. You’re an amazing husband and father, Benjamin, my love. And you only get to be that because-

The door pushed open—cutting off Ben’s thoughts and making the vague smell of flowers and smoke vanish into thin air—and Hughie stumbled inside, shouldering the door closed behind him as he stared at something in his hand

“Butcher, I’m not sure-“ Hughie’s mouth fell open as he saw Ben, and he locked his hands behind his back as he began to stutter. “Um, Ben, hi, I don’t, I didn’t expect to see, uh, you-“

“Christ on a cross,” Ben muttered, raising his brows at Hughie’s red face. “What the fuck is wrong with you.”

Hughie glanced at Butcher, shaking his head slightly. “Nothing. I just, I’m making the rounds? You know, big day, we should be, uh, there for each other, and I wanted to check on Butcher. And, you know, speaking of being there for each other, Ben, uh,” Hughie mumbled Her name, scratching the back of his neck. “She’s, um, I heard she’s asleep, which is like the fucking worst, but don’t you want to go, uh, sit with her-“

Ben looked over his shoulder to Butcher, and found his own expression—a scowl and drawn brow—mirrored on the asshole’s face. They exchanged a brief look that Ben decided meant one of us should shut Hughie up before he starts confessing to crimes he’s never committed or gives himself a fucking heart attack, and Ben turned back to Hughie, raising his voice to a damn near bark.

“Hughie. Stop fucking talking.”

The kid paled, mouth snapping shut, and nodded nervously as Butcher coughed, shaking his head.

“What are you doin here, Hughie.”

“I’m just, I’m checking on you-“

“Annie said you were just in fucking here.” Ben snapped, and Hughie swallowed.

“I know, but it’s not like we have visitation limits-“

“Ain’t no way in bloody hell you’re just here for a fuckin visit.” Butcher drawled. “We had our words, Hughie. I don’t need some sort of fuckin pity-“

“This isn’t pity!” Hughie blurted, his arms tensing slightly behind his back. “I’m just, I-“ Hughie glanced at Ben, and took a nervous step back. “I’m actually, I think Annie needs my help with something, I’ll come back later-“

“Annie doesn’t need fucking shit right now. She’s doing me a favor.” Ben said Her name, clinging to the way something pounded in his chest and hummed over his skull like a fucking beacon guiding him home. “Down the hall, Annie’s watching her. And you,” Ben’s voice dropped to a hiss, and Hughie’s eyes widened. “Better start making some damn sense about why you’re here, and show us what the fuck is in your hand.”

Hughie looked at Butcher—still looking so strangely fucking human on the bed—and sighed. “I, I wasn’t sure if you’d want it, Butcher. Or if it would even work, but I needed to try, you know? I mean, we’ve lost so many people, and I needed to try-“

“Spit it out, lad-“

“It’ll heal you!” Hughie half shouted, his arm shooting out to present one of Frenchie’s drill bullets. “It’ll probably, it’ll fix you! And you’ll live, and get a second chance! We all, I think we should all get a second chance!” Hughie looked at Ben, his face almost desperate. “I know you’re not like, friends with him, and it’s complicated, but-“

“Hughie.” Butcher muttered. “You don’t need to fuckin lie, lass. This ain’t my second chance, it would be my fuckin,” he chuckled to himself, and it turned into a long spitting cough.

“Millionth,” Ben provided as the coughing faded, and Butcher nodded.

“Bloody right, Gov. And like I said, I don’t want fuckin pity-“

“And I told you this isn’t pity!” Hughie protested. “And Homelander’s dead now! We’re done! We all get to move on, and that’s different than before. You get a chance, Butcher, a real one where if you go down there’s nobody to blame but yourself, and you can see Becca’s son grow up, maybe, I don’t know, join a book club-“

Ben snorted at that, because there was no fucking universe where Butcher was happy in a goddamn book club.

But something was also tearing and mending inside of Ben at the same time. Something that was half bitter and resentful, and half glowing. That half was made of whatever the fuck made Ben all soft and pathetic, lined with his love for Her and Ryan and filled with how fucking wrong Butcher looked like this. The cockfuck wasn’t supposed to cough, or be unable to sit upright. He was the only person Ben had ever known that rivaled Her for being an uncontrollable pain in the ass. And while Butcher wasn’t nearly as goddamn hot and adorable and perfect in his brand of annoying, he still felt certain. Something about how She and Butcher never fucking stumbled or quit made Ben find them to be fundamental in the world.

And She was fundamental in Ben, where Butcher wasn’t, but Butcher might be real fucking vital to Ryan. To the kid not thinking he was somehow responsible for another death, for knowing he wasn’t responsible for any of this shit, for having someone stay just for his own damn sake.

But that’s where the bitterness came in. In how Butcher would stay for Ryan’s sake, but fuck, the asshole didn’t deserve that shit. Butcher had spent damn near half his life making everyone around him fucking despise him, making every wrong choice fucking available, being too blinded by vengeance and hatred to even goddamn try to be better. Ben was pretty fucking sure Butcher didn’t think he needed to be better. That this life was shit, but it was his, and he’d be goddamn fine dying in some sort of blaze of goddamn glory.

And—more than a second chance—Butcher sure as Christ’s blue balls didn’t deserve to die a fucking hero. To leave them all in the aftermath of a world without Homelander, and never have to say any apologies or fix a single damn thing he’d broken. To never need to hug Ryan and tell him that none of this had been because of the kid, and that Butcher knew his mother would be real damn proud of him. To never be forced to look Her in her beautiful, sharp eyes and say that he’d been a manipulative ass, and was going to buy Her and Ben a fucking kitten or some shit to make up for it.

Ben should get Her a fucking kitten. She’d like a kitten, because she liked stupid, cute things.

But he had something else to do first.

“Hughie.” Ben grunted, raising his voice enough to drown out Hughie and Butcher’s continued argument. “Give me the V.”

Hughie shook his head, his grip on the vial becoming white knuckled. “I, I really think we should help-“

“I don’t need your fuckin help, Hughie-“

“Both of you shut the fuck up.” Ben’s jaw clenched, and he reached out an arm to Hughie, flexing his fingers. “Give me the fucking V. Now.”

“But I-“

“Now.” Ben hissed, and Hughie shoved the V into his hand with wide eyes. “Good. You,” Ben turned to Butcher, pointing at the pathetic fucking asshole as he raised the V into clear view. “Are going to shoot this up-“

“Ain’t no bloody way you’re puttin that shit in my body-“

“No way you’re going to able to damn stop it.” Ben drawled, giving Butcher a flat look. “We’re saving your life, you piece of shit. Be grateful.”

Butcher frowned, his voice growing almost fucking soft as he looked between Ben and the vial. “Why.”

“Because you don’t get to be done. You’ve got to live this shit life with the rest of us.” Ben paused, holding Butcher’s glare. “For Ryan.”

That fucking did it. Butcher grew somehow more fucking pale, and he gave a short, curt nod. “Fine.”

Hughie smiled, small and nervous, and mumbled, “Thank you, Butcher. I know it’s hard, you’re a dick, and I know why, but I don’t want you to die-“

“Don’t get all fuckin whiny and emotional on me, Hughie.” Butcher muttered. “Good of humanity and all that shit, I fuckin got it.”

Hughie nodded, walking over to the side of the bed and glancing down at Butcher’s arm, resting on the mattress. “It’ll, it’ll probably hurt, but I can do it. And get you some painkillers-“

“I’m not a child, lad, just fuckin do it-“

“Not yet.” Ben walked to Hughie’s side, gripping the V and looking down at Butcher with a careful glare. “I got some terms.”

Butcher rolled his eyes, sputtering another cough before muttering, “Course you fuckin do-“

“Shut the fuck up, you pussy-“

“Ben,” Hughie mumbled, attention still on Butcher. “I don’t, I’m not sure we’re in a position to make demands-“

Ben scoffed. “Course we fucking are, Hughie. He’s dying, we’re saving his sorry ass, and I’ve got some shit to say-“

“But he’s already not really on board with being saved-“

“Can you cunts stop talkin like I ain’t able to hear you?” Butcher snapped, holding Ben’s glare. “Spit out your bloody terms, Gov. You want a fuckin iPad?”

Ben wasn’t sure what the hell an iPad was—She hadn’t taught him that yet—so he just pushed on.

“We’re going to shoot you up,” Ben shook the V in his hand. “And that’s it. No wiping the V with my bomb, no trying to figure out how to flush this shit out of your system. You’re a supe now, and that’s the end of it.”

Butcher’s jaw ticked, but he nodded. “Fine. That it-“

“Hughie and I,” Ben jerked his head at Hughie, who turned red again. “Are going to come up with a bullshit excuse for the V reappearing in your body, to make this all real damn simple. Then we take this to our fucking graves-“

Butcher scoffed. “Like you ain’t gonna tell your wife, Mate-“

“She doesn’t count.” Ben grunted. “I’m fuck-buddy-brain-connected with her, she’d find out no matter what. And I,” Ben narrowed his eyes, dropping his words to a hiss. “Don’t lie to my woman.”

There was a moment of silence as Ben and Butcher glared at each other, and Hughie cleared his throat.

“Okay, cool. We come up with a lie,” Hughie said Her name, bracing his hands on his hips. “Uh, she gets to know too, and Butcher stays a supe for… reasons.“

If Ben was being honest, there wasn’t a real reason he wanted Butcher to stay a supe. It just felt fucking right. Like something She’d do, a smart move that was all artful and brilliant, and that She’d explain to Ben with bright eyes and a smirk, hanging off his arm as he reveled in how She might be an evil mastermind, but he fucking adored Her anyway. Butcher having to be a supe was something She’d do, something she’d say was-

“Repenting.” Ben muttered, and Hughie swallowed, nodding.

“Yeah, uh, okay. Butcher stays a supe to repent, and we, we can shake on not telling anyone. I can hold Butcher down while you do the shot, Ben-“

“Fine.” Ben leaned down, bracing Butcher’s arm against the bed as he lined up the V. “But-“

“Fuckin Christ, Mate, just get it over with-“

“You need to be 50% less of a fucking dick.” Ben snapped. “And remember, if you start to be a problem for us again, I can and will fucking kill you.”

A look flashed in Butcher’s eyes that Ben knew meant he’d gotten who us was. That Butcher understood that, if he ever made Her or Ryan even a little fucking sad, Ben would bash his goddamn brains in.

“You got a deal.” Butcher grunted, curling his hand into a fist on the bed. “Do it.”

Ben nodded at Hughie, who moved to pin Butcher down, and set the needle into the crook of Butcher’s elbow. Butcher’s eyes squeezed shut as the V was pushed into his blood, and when Ben rose back up he was already fighting against Hughie’s hold and groaning in pain.

There was a long moment where every sound in the room was Butcher bucking and twisting in the bed, then the asshole passed the fuck out.

Ben frowned. “He didn’t do that last time.”

“Well, I think,” Hughie paused, turning Butcher’s head to the side to expose his neck. “Yeah, there. No burn scar.”

Hughie was right. Butcher was knocked down, but his body was healing, and they’d done it.

“Do we, um, do we want to figure out what the fuck we can tell everyone else-“

“I’ve got that.” Ben muttered, because he’d come up with some ideas while he waited for her to wake up, then She’d pick the perfect fucking one, and probably make it better. She made everything better. “You got him?”

Hughie sighed, looking over Butcher with a half-hearted shrug. “Yeah. I think we just have to wait. You can go.”

Ben nodded, moving to leave the room—to go back to Her, where he belonged—and his hand was on the doorknob when Hughie coughed.

“Ben?”

He scowled, turning back around. “What the fuck-“

“Thank you.” Hughie said, watching Ben with weary eyes. “I know he’s a dick, but I, I think we all deserve a second shot-“

“Don’t. I,” Ben sighed, pushing his words through his teeth. “I get it. You don’t need to fucking explain it. It’s done anyway.”

“I know.” Hughie gave Ben a close-lipped smile. “But thanks.”

Ben scowled, but nodded, and left. He didn’t have the fucking energy to deal with the teams fucking emotional shit right now, he needed to save anything he had to offer for Her. For kissing Her and loving her with every fucking fiber of his being when She woke up. She was growing less painful in his body by the minute, and the closer he got to Her room the more Ben could fucking swear she was stirring and glowing around his brain-

He stopped dead in his tracks outside their room, frowning down at Ryan. Curled up in the hallway, staring at the floor and looking too goddamn sad.

“Ryan.”

The kid’s gaze shot up to Ben with an almost panicked look.

“Ben, I, I didn’t, I’m sorry-“

“Shut up.” Ben glanced at the closed door, where he could hear Her heartbeat—just a slight beat more unsteady than when he’d left—and Annie’s, and looked back to Ryan. “Why the hell are you outside.”

“I, um, I didn’t want to bother her. Or wake her up-“

Ben let out a dry chuckle—even as everything ached in his heart and behind his eyes—and dropped down to one knee. “Kid, she needs to wake the fuck up. And she’d get real fucking pissed if she heard you say you’d be bothering her.”

“But-“

“No fucking but.” Ben extended a hand to Ryan, giving him a pointed look. “Let’s go.”

Ryan still looked so damn uncertain, but he nodded, and took Ben had. Let him pull them both up, shuffling closer to Ben’s side as he moved a hand to clasp Ryan’s shoulder, guided him into Her room.

She was still fucking asleep. Ben had known she would be, he’d expected it, but that didn’t change how everything single part of his body roared and twisted at it, how he felt bruised just from the goddamn sight of Her. She still looked so fucking small—Her pain flaring in Ben’s body, almost seeming to reach out to him—and his fists curled when he realized She’d rolled over in her sleep. Buried Herself where Ben had been before, and tucked her whole body into itself.

“How was Butcher?” Annie asked, and Ben had fully forgotten she was there. She’d dragged a chair up to the bed, and was still holding Her hand.

“Fine.” Ben muttered, taking a slow step towards the bed and moving Ryan at his side. “Didn’t look bad. He might make it.”

Annie blinked—Butcher had looked on the brink of damn death and they both knew it—but let it go, giving Ryan a small smile. “How are you, Ryan?”

“I’m,” Ryan’s words were soft, and when Ben glanced down at him, the kid was just fucking staring at Her with a pale face. “I’m not-“

“Annie.” Ben grunted, and he didn’t need to elaborate for her to understand.

“Okay.” Annie slowly stood—Ben didn’t miss the last squeeze of Her hand—and made her way out of the room, only briefly stopping before them to offer Ryan a gentle expression and words of comfort. “She’s going to be okay, Ryan. I promise.” Annie’s gaze turned to Ben, her words growing a little firmer. “She’s responsive. I was talking to her, and she was reacting at really weird times, but she was reacting. And she moved there,” Annie nodded to the bed. “Pretty much right after you left. So she’d not lucid, but she’s okay. She’s going to be okay.”

Annie sounded more like she was trying to convince herself, but Ben understood that. They all needed to think She be okay—because She would be—otherwise the world would fucking burn.

But Ben just nodded, grunting an acknowledgment, and Annie gave him one last, small smile before shuffling out of the room.

Ben dropped onto the bed, grabbing Her hand and carefully turning her perfect face to the side. She looked better. She was still goddamn asleep, but she looked better. There was more color on Her face, and when Ben started to run his thumb over Her knuckles, she let out a small sound of content, so she’d be fucking fine.

“Ben.” Ryan whispered, frozen at the end of the bed, his gaze locked onto Her. “I’m, I’m sorry”

Ben scowled. “Don’t be fucking sorry, Ryan, this shit isn’t your fault-“

“But it is.” Ryan’s voice turned pleading, his desperate gaze turning to Ben. “I, I was the reason she had to fight my dad, the reason he shot her with the V, I, I hurt her-“

“You can’t fucking hurt her-“

“But I did!” Ryan was shouting, backing away from the bed and shaking his head franticly. “You told us to take care of each other, and I lasered her. I was trying to help, but I made it worse, I hurt her, but I didn’t mean to-“

“Ryan.” Ben stood, crossing the room to Ryan’s side in two long steps. “This isn’t your fucking fault. Listen to me.” He grabbed Ryan’s face between his hands, forcing the kids gaze away from Her and onto him. “You are not Homelander. If you hurt her, it was fucking temporary-“

“No, no it wasn’t, she won’t wake up, Ben.” Ryan’s voice was so fucking sad—weak and choked and nervous—and Ben could see his eye grow glossy. “What, what if she doesn’t wake up? I don’t, I didn’t mean to, I promise, and if she doesn’t-“

“She’ll wake up.” Ben kept his voice firm and steady, raising it so maybe She’d fucking hear him. Hear how Ben needed that be a goddamn order, how he needed her body to respond and just fucking wake the hell up. “She will. I fucking swear it, son. She will.”

Ryan’s body started to shake as the first sob left him, and his arms wrapped around Ben, clinging to him like a goddamn baby as he cried.

“I’m, I’m sorry-“

Ben didn’t have to think to react. His arms moved to hold Ryan, to rub his back and keep this kid upright as he continued to cry. “Not your fault, Ryan.” He muttered. “You didn’t shoot her with the fucking V, and whatever the hell happened on the highway wasn’t your fault-“

“I hurt her-“

“Ryan.” Ben made his voice stern, glaring at Ryan until he moved his head back, watching Ben with nervous, red eyes. “That was a goddamn disaster. If you hurt her, I know it was not on purpose, and that she will not fucking blame you. Whatever the hell happened, she doesn’t blame you.” He paused, holding Ryan’s gaze and softening his tone. “I don’t blame you. That,” he jerked his head slightly to the bed. “Is not because of a fucking laser. And even if it was, I wouldn’t fucking blame you.”

“I,” Ryan’s voice was weak and hoarse, his arms tensing around Ben. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, I didn’t-” 

“I know.” Ben muttered, moving Ryan’s face back into his chest as the kid started to cry again. “I know you didn’t. And this isn’t your fucking fault.”

They stayed there for a long while. Ryan crying against Ben, and Ben just fucking holding him until he tired himself out. Until Ryan slumped slightly in Ben’s arms, sobs turning to heavy, long breathes, and Ben could pick him up and carry him carefully outside, into a spare room.

Ryan’s eyes fluttered open as Ben set him down in a bed, his hands curling into Ben’s shirt before he could draw back up.

“Can you,” Ryan swallowed, whispering Her name and searching over Ben’s face with a pleading expression. “Please tell her I’m sorry. If she wakes up-“

“Not a fucking if.” Ben grunted, pulling the cover’s over Ryan’s body. “She will, Ryan. And you’ll tell her your damn self, and she’ll tell you exactly what I did.”

“That it’s not my fault.”

Ryan said the words like he didn’t fucking believe them, so Ben made his voice strict.

“Yes. Because it’s fucking not.” Ben paused, looking over Ryan’s sad expression. “What’s the rule about her.”

“She’s always right.”

“Damn right, she is. And if she says it’s not your fault-“

“It’s not my fault.” Ryan mumbled, his eyes starting to droop. “Not my fault.”

Ben waited until Ryan was passed out—breathing even, heart slow, hands flopped on the bed—before he moved. Kissing the top of Ryan’s head, over his hair like a dad fucking should, and turning off the lights so nothing would disturb his rest. This sleep wasn’t like Her sleep, it was needed. Ryan needed to sleep, to stop his head spiraling until She was awake and could tell him it’s not your fault in a way the kid would believe. It blew Ben’s mind a little, how at the end of the day Ryan was a hell of a lot more like Her than Ben. Her was certainly more like Her than fucking Homelander, because Homelander wouldn’t have fucking apologized, and Ryan wouldn’t stop apologizing.

Ben had gotten Her to stop apologizing. To cry and break in Ben’s arms, but never fucking tell him she was sorry. And now Ben would have a lifetime to get Ryan to stop as well. To give the kid a firm look every time he said sorry for something fucking stupid, until everyone Ben loved understood that they weren’t fucking burdens or problems. They were his whole fucking world, and he never wanted to hear them apologize to him. To apologize to anyone who didn’t really damn deserve it, and very few people did.

He’d get Ryan to understand that. Until then he just had to wait for Her to wake up. Until She made good on Ben’s promise, and woke up.

She needed to fucking wake up, because Ben would be damned if he’d just lied to Ryan. She needed to be okay, because she didn’t have a choice. This was going to the one goddamn thing in the world he wouldn’t bend to Her will for.

Ben would do anything for Her, in a way that he’d come to terms with a damn long while ago. That he’d always put up a fake fight—glaring and muttering and scowling—and then give in, because She’d smile and kiss him, and nothing could really be that bad if She was happy. And She’d never ask too much of Ben, because that simply wasn’t who she damn was. She was the only person in the fucking world that could make Ben turn on his own fucking principles, and it was because she’d never asked him to. She’d just been fucking perfect and beautiful, and now Ben was Her’s.

He’d move mountains and burn countries and level cities at her word. Ben would get Her whatever she wanted and go wherever she went, and she wouldn’t need to fucking lift a finger. But She wasn’t allowed to die. If She wanted to get away from Ben, she’d need to fucking say it to his face. If She tried to just die, Ben wouldn’t let her. He’d find Her wherever she went, and bring her back. And—even now, when She wore the ring on her finger and Ben could feel every stab and wrench of pain in her body, all growing by the second—Ben would walk away when S he was safe, if she asked him to.

But She’d have to fucking ask. To look Ben in the eyes and tell him she didn’t want him anymore, and he needed to go.

And She’d never fucking do that. Fuck, She’d get all pouty and sad at the damn idea of Ben leaving. She’d grab his face between Her hands, pull him down to her eyes level, and whisper I don’t want you to go. Please don’t go, Ben. Please.

He’d nip the tip of Her nose, and mutter against Her skin I’m not going a damn place without you, Sunshine.

Good. She’d mumble, and give him a soft smile. Please don’t.

I damn said I wouldn’t, and I’m not a-

Pussy fucking liar?

Shut up, brat. He’d roll his eyes, and smirk down at Her. And you’re only supposed to beg when I fuck you, beautiful.

She’d giggle, and drop Her head to Ben’s chest. I think that’s a problem that’s easy to solve, Pretty Boy.

Ben had dropped back down on the bed—moving Her carefully onto his lap and holding Her head against his neck—and felt something start to push against his throat. It was an early sign of the storm, and Ben was too fucking exhausted to hold it back. Not when She was still asleep. Not when he’d fucking meant it. That he’d do anything for her, do whatever she asked of him, but he wouldn’t let Her not be okay.

Ben said Her name, his voice barely a rasp, and hoped She could feel him. Feel how the ache was alight in his mouth and eyes, how the world was starting to blur and everything fucking hurt because She wasn’t okay.

“I need you to wake up.” He muttered, and every word was impossible to say. “Now. I don’t want to be a graveyard coke snorter, I want you. I fucking need you. You need to wake the fuck up, because you’re not allowed to die. If you’re trying to, you won’t. I’ll stop you. I’ll find you, I’ll always fucking find you, and I’ll bring you home. You-“ Ben choked slightly, and there was something wet on his face that he didn’t bother to wipe away, because it would mean moving his hands away from Her. “You’re going to be okay. I got there in time, because you called me, and now you have to be okay. You need to be fucking okay, because Christ, I can’t do this without you.” His voice had risen to almost a shout, and Ben didn’t fucking care. Maybe then She’d fucking hear. “You burn, I burn, Sunshine. You die, I’m fucking done with you. So you can’t fucking die, for me. I don’t want you to fucking die, so don’t.”

Ben dropped his head against Her brow, taking long, deep breaths as he closed his eyes and tried to grab onto Her inside of him. She was so fucking close, but so goddamn far, and Ben needed Her to really feel him. To feel that he meant every goddamn word, and that he loved Her. Ben really fucking loved Her, and She’d hate all this tragic, dying together shit, so She simply wasn’t allowed to fucking die.

Wake up, he muttered Her name between their heads. Please.

He felt Her. For the first time since Homelander, Ben really fucking felt Her. All around him, everything was a little fucking infinite and beautiful and holy. Her love was alight in Ben’s head—bright and burning and ancient and vast—and it made him fucking high. And he only felt higher as hands that he’d recognize if he was buried in the core of the earth moved to hold his face, and a heartbeat he’d find in the vacuum of goddamn space fell into time with every single good thing in the world.

Love bellowed in Ben’s chest—attentive and pious and bloody and all fucking hers—and hurled into Her body. And he could feel Her love grow—endless and sacred and singing a vital, ancient song made of something powerful—as She matched it.

And when Ben opened his eyes, She was smiling.

—————————

You can’t hear him. He has a voice that’s calling to you like a song, and you seem to know it—know him—but you can’t pull it out of the millions of other harmonies around you. There are songs in your body, and they’re vital to everything breath and movement, like they’re ingrained in the very fiber of your life. It’s all something like a bird or drug, something thicker than water, and something under your skin that crackles and hisses and hums but mends some cracks up your spine and over your skull. Then there’s the music bouncing around your brain. The countless patterns like searchlights, and the loudest song that’s only one noise, over and over. That one is deep and fundamental, keeping you right where you’re supposed to be.

But this voice, his voice, in from outside. It’s not in you. It’s like the creaks and whistles and shuffling that’s a little far away, but it seems to be more important than anything else. It’s louder, and safer, and makes every other piece of you reach out, trying to follow whatever it says because that feels like what you should do.

You can feel him. Every second that the world is muffled and distant—as if you’re in a cage made of gentle darkness as a cloth covers whatever lies outside—you feel him. You feel the pain in his body that’s probably born from you, you can feel the mold and rot eating at his heart as time stretches on, and you can feel all his love. In every muscle and aching pound against his ribs, there’s something a little deeper and more innate. Something that feels right in your body. It morphs and turns as you sit in this strange between, becomes sour and straining and white-hot and bloody, but it’s always love.

It’s aimed somewhere that feels like it’s deep in your brain. It’s alive in your every nerve and fiber, and you think it, in a way, belongs to you. That it’s as old the earth around you and more holy than whatever is tugging on a strange, deep part of you that you don’t have a name for.

You don’t have a name for most anything right now. It’s almost all just pain, and the terrarium, and him. The pain is inescapable. It’s sunken so far into your body, and it’s ripping you apart. Trying to make you scream for mercy with words you don’t have, feeling a little sick. As if it’s rooting around for a place to live inside you, but everything is so raw and unstable that it can’t find somewhere to stay and keeps leaving everything else broken in its wake. The pain is driving on that tug, and the tug doesn’t feel like it would break you out of the terrarium, but it would help you escape it. You’re not sure where you’d go after that, but you wouldn’t be here anymore. Here, where you’re so slightly removed, so deeply in pain. It would be really nice to not be here anymore.

And then there’s him. You don’t know who he is, but you know he’s part of you, and you know he’s yours. You know he’s big and strong and warm and made of that arduous and rough song that you can’t work out the meaning of. You know he really doesn’t want you to leave. That you don’t know what he’s saying, but you can feel that it’s made of don’t leave. You’re not allowed to leave, Sunshine. I don’t fucking want you to leave, so don’t.

You think you should listen to him. He says every word like it’s a prayer, and he calls you Sunshine—you’re not sure what that means, but it sounds right when that deep, rolling voice says it—and he feels safe. Your whole body seems to like him, more than it really even likes you, and you think there’s something in your chest that is him.

It’s how you know he loves you.

It’s how you know you love him.

Whoever he is, you love him. He’s a little more than anything else, he might be everything, and he doesn’t want you to go. He’s calling you back to his side—he’s begging for you to be there, and nothing about him seems like he’d ever beg, so that’s probably important—and that feels like a place you’d fit perfectly, so you think you’ll go. You’re still in pain, but you think you’ve been in pain for a while before this, and you’ll probably be in pain for a while after. And every part of you seems to agree that you’d rather be in pain with him than anywhere without him, so you grab onto that thing in your chest, scream in a place without noise that you’d really, really like not to go, and the terrarium breaks. 

Ben’s love crashes into you before you’ve fully opened your eyes. It’s hot and pious and ravenous, consuming but never taking, wrathful but never harmful. It drags your eyes open because you need to see him, and pulls a smile onto your face because God, everything hurts but Ben is here so nothing’s really that bad.

It won’t ever stop making your whole body malleable and molded into Ben’s, how fucking handsome he is. How his jawline is sharp, and his beard is soft when you move your hands to touch it, and his lips are full and will always belong on your skin, wherever he decides to put them. His arms are holding you against his chest, and it makes his love flow right into your body, and every breath and shift makes his muscles flex around you. His body is firm and tangible and permanent against you, and his love is immovable yet weightless in your chest, and he’s already watching you.

Ben always watches you. His gaze is always reverent, and it’s always on you. Following you and caring for you and moving your whole body with just how he looks at you. How nobody has ever looked at you like that before, and how nobody will ever look at you like again.

They couldn’t. Nobody would ever be able to know you like Ben does, and if you searched for a million years, you’d never find eyes like Ben’s. Green and boundless, full of a power you can feel in your heart and filled with an adoration that makes you warm everywhere. Eyes that have an attention you’d happily receive for the rest of your life, and that you’ve never worried about straying because they seem to like watching you more than they like anything else. They look at you like you’re the only reasonable thing to look at, as if they’d be wasting time on anything else.

Neither of you speak for a long time. It could be only seconds, or it could’ve been a lifetime, but you don’t really care to know. The world is spinning around you, and there might be empires rising and falling and cities being swallowed in water, but Ben is here so you’d be safe from any threat, and you’d burn the water away together. You just need to stay here, a little longer, with Ben. You need to feel the relief in him wash down into his stomach and throat, and the fury under his every muscle make him hold you as if you’re going to vanish from his arms, and the mold in his heart die, burned away as the glow begins to bloom.

He looks so tired. There’s that storm wracking through his chest and head that tells you he’s been crying, and even as it’s chased away by the glow, the glow is still wrathful. Still ripping open and moving through Ben’s body far too fast, still trying to stay contained within him but seemingly unable to not riot and crash into you. There’s still a hurricane in his body, but it seems to mostly be moving the concrete resolve of his body by shaking and fracturing a low, angry part of him into shards like glass.

They’re jagged and rough, but nothing in Ben is fragile, so they’re mostly just golden. Atomic and raw, not painful but strange and unsure where they belong in his body. Ben isn’t moving, only watching you, and the shards are starting to carve into his bones, so you kiss him.

It’s barely a movement, you’d already been sharing a breath, but it’s enough. You pull him a little closer with a gentle tug of his jaw, brushing your lips together, and the glass bursts up his spine and sinks into that same, deep concrete part of him, and everything comes back together. Whatever the hurricane had broken in Ben is repaired in the same moment, and now it catches the light of the glow and illuminate everything within him like a prism or star. His hands start to knead on your skin as he deepens the kiss—pressing his tongue on your lower lip, making a deep, rumbling sound when your fingers move to tangle in his hair—and he rolls you both over until your back is flat on the mattress and he’s wrapping you in his warmth.

Ben starts to leave small, gentle kisses down your neck, and when he reaches the base of your throat he lets out a long, heavy breath, grunting your name against your skin.

“Don’t ever pull that shit again,” he braces his arms on either side of your head, rising back up to glare at you as something clenches in his chest. “Got it?”

You give him your softest, sweetest smile, and the glow in Ben seeps into his bones as his body relaxes above you before you’ve even spoken.

“Got it.” You whisper, picking your head up off the bed, just enough to bump his nose with yours. “Hi, Benjamin, my love.”

He sighs, and drops his brow to yours. “Hi, Sunshine.” 

You kiss his cheek—just an easy way to remind him you’re here, and real, and love him—and a low, strangled noise leaves his chest as he turns his head, capturing your lips back into a full, long, slow kiss.

I fucking love you, he mutters in your head, and you wrap your arms around his neck with a high, happy sigh.

Ben pauses, and pulls back to look at you with a scowl.

“Say it back.”

Your smile spreads as you trace fingers over his cheekbone, not bothering to hide the amusement in your voice. “I was going to, you massive baby-“

“But you didn’t-“

“I was literally about to-“

“But you fucking didn’t-“

“Benjamin.”

Your firm, sharp tone gets him to shut up, and you let all the blood in your body—everything in you made of holy an eternal, bright, easy love for Ben—fly into him as you pull his brow back to yours.

I love you, Ben. I love you a fuck ton. You’re a grumpy, old cunt, and I really, really love you.

That seems to satisfy him—his whole body relaxing over yours as his grin becomes wide and unrestrained—and he drops to your neck, speaking against your throat.

“Fucking brat.” He leaves sloppy, wet kisses along your collarbone, his voice rolling through your body. “Such a smart fucking mouthy, beautiful, so fucking good-“

You gasp slightly as he begins to suck and bite at that one spot, your hands tugging slightly at his hair. “Ben-“

“You’re goddamn perfect.” He says, and then as his hands tighten on your body, his movements still.

You have to wait for him to speak. He’s not tearing himself apart inside of you, but there’s an almost blinding heat behind his eyes and ringing with his every heartbeat, and it’s made of the glow and ache and all his bright, atomic love. And when he does speak—after a long while of Ben just squeezing your body and breathing against your skin—his voice is low and gravelly, like he hates the very words leaving his mouth.

“I’m fucking serious, Sunshine.” He doesn’t look up at you, but he doesn’t need to. You can feel his love finding another place to live inside you as this strange heat spreads, and now it’s buried in somewhere bruised near your lungs, somewhere you know is fogged with pain, that tightens when you’re afraid. “Don’t fucking do that. Ever. Swear you won’t.”

You’re not sure what that he’s referring to, but you’re not planning to do any of it again. So, it’s easy to hum an agreement that calms everything in Ben and know that you mean it.

“I won’t.” You whisper. “I promise.”

He nods against you, but doesn’t make any effort to move, so you’ll let him stay. You’d let Ben do almost anything he wants to you, and this—his face staying buried in your neck as his familiar weight traps you under his warmth—isn’t much of an effort to give him when you love him like that. When you love him in a way that every single part of him just being here is making the whole world better, because you can comb your fingers through his hair and breathe in pine and gunpowder and strawberries that tell you you’re really safe.

You can just watch his chest rise and fall, and hear his every low breath, and feel his muscles move as he shifts so slightly above you. You can sit in this moment that’s so peaceful and realize that you’re wearing one of Ben’s shirts and a pair of his boxers, and that you can’t have been asleep that long, because Ben hasn’t even changed his clothing. He’s in exact same monotone shirt he’d been wearing when you’d left, although it’s now wrinkled and burned and covered in even more blood than when you’d been fighting Homelander-

Homelander.

You don’t know what had clouded and fogged over your brain, but you’d entirely forgotten about Homelander. You don’t know what happened. You think he’s dead—you have a memory of empty, blue eyes and a body going limp near yours—but you don’t know. You don’t know what happened to Butcher, what happened to your team, where everyone is and if the world is falling apart while you’re not there to fix it. You haven’t been here to fix anything. You haven’t even checked on Ryan-

Ryan. Ben had been taking care of Ryan, and you trust Ben with anything, but what if Ryan needs you. What if he’s scared or confused or distressed in the wake of Homelander’s maybe death, what if he needs to talk to you and you’ve been asleep, what if Butcher’s dead and now all Ryan has is you—and Ben—and you’re not there-

Ben says your name, and you hadn’t even realized you’d frozen, your body beginning to rise with smoke as the world blurred.

He says it again, and his face is level with yours, one hand moved up to angle your chin, forcing you to hold his gaze.

“What’s wrong.” Ben’s words are urgent, almost an order as he scans over your every open feature. “Words, darling-“

“Ryan.” You whisper, and your fingers curling in Ben’s hair. “Where’s Ryan, is he-“

“He’s okay.”

“Where-“

“Asleep, few rooms over.” Ben traces his hand over your cheek, brows drawing together. “Kid is freaked the fuck out, but alive.” He pauses, and the glow flares in his chest as his gruff words grow a little softer. “He’ll be real happy you’re awake.”

You exhale, your words still soft as you mumble, “Ben.” 

He grunts, and you have to swallow down a foul taste of fear. Cold and paralyzing and lingering until you know for sure. 

“Is, is he-“

“He’s dead.” 

For a really long time, long enough for it to go dormant and feel like it’s a part of your body, there’s been an extra weight living at the base of your neck. It’s made it turn and strain, made your whole spine feel tight and hot and brittle, made your head feel too crowded and your whole world feel small. Made everything in you feel so fucking small, because there had to be space for that weight. How it could move to your throat and lungs and make breathing the most difficult thing in the world, but also knew to look in which shadows, and what key dangerous fans hummed in, and what smells meant wrong.

And it’s not gone. It might never be gone.

But Ben says he’s dead, and it withers. It shrinks and cowers, and everything feels clear. Light moves into you easier, and parts of your body you hadn’t realized were tense relax, and one last thing in your breaks.

Your whole body shakes as you begin to cry, and it’s long and loud as everything becomes overwhelmed with something that feels like the sun breaking through the clouds, but you don’t sound weak. Every ragged breath is taken with the knowledge that this is air Homelander will never breathe again, and every tear shed is easy because you know Ben will wipe them away and Homelander will never fucking touch you again.

Ben holds you so carefully the whole time. Drawing you both up until you’re slumped forward onto his chest, one hand tangled in your hair as the other traces patterns on your lower back, and taking deep, even breathes that lull you down and back into ease. You probably have things to do. People to talk to and problems to solve and steps to take as aftershocks of Homelander’s death ripple out, but right now you just need to stay here. The world will likely be the same when you move, and you’re not weak but you’re still exhausted. Still so, so tired as it hits your bones and sinks into your skin that he’s dead. You’d done it, and Homelander’s gone. His hands are harmless, because he’s just a body, and his voice will only carry in the harsher winds because he can’t speak. You’ll never have to worry about the sky again because Homelander will never fly through it, will never see you, never hunt you, never hurt you. 

And you’ll probably have to talk soon. Recount every story a million times for records and trials, explain what happened over and over until it’s mostly mechanical and rehearsed. But here, with Ben, you don’t have to. You don’t need to say Homelander aloud, because with Ben this is about you. Just in this exact moment, you can be selfish and exhausted and relieved and hide in Ben’s arms until you’re ready.

It takes a while, but soon you’re only breathing heavily, and your fingers start to play with the hair at the base of Ben’s neck as he draws back, presses a kiss to the top of your head, and lingers there until your speak.

“Did,” you look up at Ben, and try not to drown in how caring and warm and his eyes are. Green and pretty and unwavering, his gaze alone resetting your heart back to where it’s meant to be. “Did Ryan, did he see the body?”

“No.” Ben shakes his head, and another wave of relief hits you right in the gut. “Gave him to Annie, she brought him back here.”

There’s a second where you wonder why Ben hadn’t brought Ryan back himself, and then a fresh burst of Ben’s own exhaustion cracks over your bones. He’d stayed with you. He’d gotten Ryan to safety—just as he’d promised—but Ben had waited at your side. You’d been sick, and Ben had stayed, and Ryan…

“What about.” You swallow, dropping your head back to Ben’s chest. “What about me. Did Ryan-“

“Yes.”

You think another wave of pain is about to push through your lips and eyes and nose, but a big, warm hand cups your cheek as Ben pulls your gaze back to his, and his voice drops to a low, firm tone.

“He’s okay,” Ben says your name, and you don’t think you have any choice to not believe him. Not when he sounds like that, or looks like he does, or touches you like this. “I fucking swear it. He’s just down the hall, and he’s a strong kid. He’s okay.”

You nod in Ben’s hold, your hands gliding down his chest to curl in his shirt, and he lets out a long, heavy breath.

“You want to go see him.”

It’s not a question—Ben’s rough, deep words rarely are—but you���ll always answer.

“Yes, please.” You mumble, fidgeting with the charred fabric between your fingers. “I, I trust you, I just need to make sure he’s-“

“I know.” Ben mutters, and you give him a small, gentle smile.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t-“

You lean up, kissing Ben in a soft, easy way that you hope he feels, somewhere in his heart or skull or lungs. Feels that you’ll never be grateful enough, because he’d found you, and done what you asked every step of the way, and now you’re safe.

“Thank you, my love.” You repeat, never pulling away from Ben’s soft, parted lips that always fit perfectly against yours. “For everything.”

Ben just makes a deep, rumbling sound that’s probably meant to be annoyance, but his touch is so careful, his ribs and arteries glowing, and his attention so reverent and devout, you know he understands. Ben always understands you, and you’ll never need every word to express your love for him, because he’ll feel it and push it back into you a million times over, right up until the world burns out.

He carries you to Ryan. After he helps you change into your own underwear and pull on pants you try to push off Ben’s chest, but your legs are still unsteady and a fresh rush of pain shoots over your skin and under your feet, so Ben’s grip tightens as he hauls you up into his arms with a stern glare.

Ben-

No. He rises slowly, adjusting you in his hold until you’re fit perfectly against him, your head on his shoulder and his arm under your knees. I fucking felt that, Sunshine, don’t lie to me and say you don’t need help-

But you don’t need to carry me, dummy, you could just hold my hand-

He gives you a flat look. You couldn’t even get off the fucking bed.

You wrinkle your nose at him, weakly slapping his chest as he dips down to open the door. You didn’t give me a chance-

Because you were going to fall over, and I’m not going to goddamn let you fall-

You don’t let me do shit, Benjamin-

If you think I’m just going to fucking stand here while you hurt yourself-

We were two feet off the floor, I think I would’ve been fine-

I don’t give a fuck. No hurting yourself.

Or what, Pretty Boy? You’ll leave me?

Ben rolls his eyes. Shut the fuck up.

You fight your grin, giving him a fake pout. Why? What did I say?

I said shut up-

Someone’s grumpy-

Ben stops abruptly, smashing his lips to yours in a brutal, rough kiss that turns you into putty in his arms. You don’t bother to push back, just grabbing at his shirt and giving him whatever piece of you he asks for—opening up for him to go deeper, moaning into his mouth without shame, saying his name between your heads in a way that’s still somehow breathless—until he pulls back with a smirk.

“Fucking brat.” He nips at your lower lip, and you think you whimper. “I am never fucking leaving you, so shut the fuck up.”

“Fuck…” You have to take a deep, steadying breath, because Ben’s scanning over your flushed face with a dark, heavy gaze, and his hunger is alight in your body. “Fuck you-“

He chuckles, leaving one mockingly innocent kiss on your cheek as he slides you down his body, looping an arm around your waist to keep you upright. “Not in the damn hall, beautiful. But,” his voice drops to a deep promise you can feel between your legs, and you have to bite down a moan. “Once this shit is sorted, I’ll fuck you until we break every bed in this damn house.”

You nod, and it’s a little pathetic, but Ben just keeps smirking at you and being handsome, and his muscles keep flexing around you, and God, you love him so much-

It’s a good thing he guides you into Ryan’s room when he does, because you’d been seconds from trying to tackle and ride him on the floor of the hallway. Your brain refocuses itself almost immediately as Ben flips on the lights, because you know every bit of thirst in your body will return when you have time to let Ben throw you around and bury himself where you’re always aching for him, and Ben’s never not hungry for you—you can always feel it, molten in his gut and pounding in his chest—but Ryan is more important than anything else in the world.

He’s still asleep, as Ben guides you fully into the room. Ryan’s passed out, his face slightly twisted in distress, and when you sit on the edge of the mattress—right at his side—and slide your hand into his, he’s mostly just full of tension. Every single bit of him is wrapped in taut, wired nerves, and you can feel something aching in his chest that rolls around and seems unable to rest.

But he’s not in pain, and something in him does begin to ease as you squeeze his hand, as Ben drops at your side, so you don’t wake him. You’ll wait, because you have time.

You have all the time in the world to stay at Ryan’s side, leaning your head on Ben’s shoulder as he pulls you into his side and kisses your brow, both of you sitting in comfortable silence until Ryan’s ready to wake up.

It takes a while, but nothing’s really been rushed since you woke up. You think you’re developed a sense of everything can wait. This needs to be sat in, this knowledge that nothing needs to be urgent because there’s nothing to run from anymore.  It’s why Ben just rests his chin over your head, and traces small circles on the skin of your waist, and you tuck yourself half into his body as you both just watch Ryan. Watch the lines fade off his face—everything in him falling to a natural, simple hum—and remain in this moment where it’s just you, Ben, and Ryan, and nothing’s going to come and try and take that away from you.

When Ryan’s eyes do open, it’s slow and unsure, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to wake up. You can see the sleep still lingering in his gaze as he blinks around the room, and how fast it fades as his eyes land on you.

He says your name in a quiet, almost fearful breath, and you can feel an uncertain haze clouding over his brain. He’s not sure you’re real, that this isn’t a dream and it makes your heart split in two.

You smile at him, making your every feature gentle and open as Ben’s hands on your body tighten slightly, waiting for you to tell him how to proceed.

“Hi,” You whisper, reaching out to brush some hair from his eyes. “Are you-“

You don’t get the chance to finish your question, because Ryan surges up, wrapping his arms around you in a hug that would bruise your skin and crush your bones if things like that could be permanent on your body. But there’s no real pain, even as Ryan’s grip grows impossibly tight, because it’s all lined with the mind-numbing relief and choking guilt in Ryan’s body. Your arms had already moved to return the hug, and you fall back into Ben’s chest as he holds you and Ryan up in silence.

You start to hum, Ryan’s body shaking in your arms, and the room fills with colorful mist and leaks with soft light. There’s a warm breeze drifting through the air, and it carries the smell of vanilla and pine and coffee, and everything is glowing a little golden as Ben presses a kiss on the top of your head and Ryan takes an uneven, but full, breath.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan’s voice is quiet, muffled on your skin, and you stop humming to make sure you hear every word. “I, I didn’t mean to-“

“Ryan.” You don’t try to pull him back watch his face, but you wait for him to make a strangled nervous noise of acknowledgment before you continue, because he needs to hear this. “You didn’t do anything wrong-“

He shakes his head frantically, still hiding his face against you. “I hurt you, I lasered you and I, I couldn’t fight my dad-“

“Fighting him wasn’t your job.” You say, keeping your tone soft. “And I’m okay. I promise, I’m okay.”

“You, you wouldn’t wake up-“

You feel something like iron wrap over Ben’s throat in almost perfect time with a rip in Ryan’s chest, and you sigh.

“I know, but that wasn’t anyone’s fault but Homelander’s.” You lean back slightly, giving Ben a pointed look as you continue “Okay?”

“Okay,” Ryan mumbles—he believes you, at least for now, because there’s a sense of easy defeat in his voice—and Ben’s face drops into a scowl.

I never fucking said it wasn’t-

I can feel you, Benjamin. You turn around head just enough for your lips to brush over his jaw, and the iron in him starts to melt as the glow spreads to his hand, stilling them on your body. If it’s not Ryan’s fault, it’s not yours either.

Ryan’s a fucking kid, it’s not his job to protect you-

No. You glance back to Ryan, who’s still clinging to you like a baby, even as his grip begins to relax. But it’s still not your fault.

I should’ve-

Not listened to me? Left Ryan alone while I fought Homelander? Taken us both away and left Butcher to get his ass kicked? Your voice is dry in your head, and you can feel Ben’s eye roll.

Butcher would’ve fucking deserved that, the pussy-

Maybe. But Homelander would still be alive.

He’s silent for a second, and when you look back up his brow is drawn in a glower. Shut up.

No, I’m right-

He angles his head over yours, giving you a long, careful kiss that’s filled with unyielding adoration and wrathful love, all directed into your chest and making you sigh into his mouth.

You’re always fucking right, brat. He pulls back, looking between you and Ryan with a painfully strong affection. So shut the fuck up.

You smile at him, and Ben tugs you a little further back into his chest as you both wait for Ryan to move once more.

It’s sudden when he does, his head shoot back to stare at you with a wide, frantic gaze as he starts to grab at his jacket. Ben’s jacket, still wrapped on his body, slightly blackened, and covered in mud that nobody seems to be bothered by.

“Ryan,” you grab his wrist, slowing his wild, too-fast movements, but that just makes his feel wired in your body. “What’s wrong-“

“You, you gave me your ring,” his free hand is still digging into his pockets, even as he leans into your touch. “You said to keep it safe, and I, I did, I promise-“

He pulls it out, almost shoving it into your hands before scooting back on the mattress and curling into his body.

“I, I hoped you’d wake up to get it.” He mumbles, not meeting your eyes as you slide it slowly back onto your finger. “I’m sorry, you probably wanted me to give it to Ben-“

“Well, I did wake up, so it worked.” You reach out, squeezing his hand and offering him an easy, gentle smile. “Thank you for keeping it safe for me.”

Ryan returns your smile with his own, smaller one, and you feel Ben’s hand move to cover your free one, his thumb running over your knuckles as his clears his throat.

“How you feeling, kid?”

Ryan looks up, over your head to where you can pictures Ben’s sharp gaze peeling him apart.

“Better.” He says, and Ben’s makes a grunt of satisfaction that rumbles in his chest. “Are you, are you okay?”

Something like shock, hot and electric and jarring, in Ben’s chest as he grumbles, “I’m fucking fine, Ryan. I’m good.”

Ryan glances at you, and you make a half shrug, rising your brows in an amused look of he’s grumpy.

It makes Ryan’s face relax, his smile growing to be a little more real, and Ben tilts your chin back so you can sit in his attentive, completely fake glare.

“What the fuck did you tell him.”

“I don’t know what on Earth you’re talking about, Pretty Boy-“

His frown deepens, his attention moving to Ryan. “What did she say.”

“Nothing.” Ryan matches your look of complete innocence, and Ben scoffs.

“I know she said something, kid-“

“You’re losing your mind, my love.” You sigh, turning back to Ryan and dropping your voice to a mock whisper. “The old age is getting to him, Ry. I didn’t say anything.”

Ryan’s grin is full and toothy now, and you know Ben’s playing into it just as much as you are, because his eye roll is the most dramatic you’ve ever seen and his whole body is made of only a fervorish love.

“I am not fucking old-“

“He’s so old.” You shake your head, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “He doesn’t even know how to text me-“

“I don’t need to fucking text you, I can use-“ He cuts himself off, and you look back with a bright, amused expression.

“Use what?”

Ben scowls. “Shut up.”

“Use what, Ben? What can you use instead of texting?”

He says your name in a low warning, and you know it’s not real because that’s the exact same voice he uses during sex, or when you’re tired and he’s trying to take care of you. The voice that overrides all the willpower in your body, because it’s deep and rough and powerful, and every word he says sounds like scripture.

If this wasn’t about Ryan—keeping him happy and bright-eyed and not traumatized—you’d have melted right into him or rolled onto your stomach to lean down and worship him with your mouth. But now, all you do is look at Ryan and shake your head in faux defeat.

“He can’t even remember the Ben’o’phone. I just hope he can remember that we’re married-“

“We’re not married.” Ben grumbles. “You wouldn’t let me marry you.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Because we didn’t have time, Benjamin. We have time now, but-“

You cut yourself off, scanning over Ben’s deeply serious expression, every handsome feature slowly moving from fake annoyance to genuine concern at your silence. 

What-

Let’s get married. Now. You smile at him, trying not to be too amused at the almost adorable look of confusion on his face. We have time.

All his love starts to pound against his chest, trying to burst in you and wrap over your skin as his voice in your head becomes barely a rasp. You said you wanted the whole fucking thing. We do it now, you don’t get that.

We can still do the fancy party. But we can also get married now.

Ben practically growls your name in your head, and you really wish he wouldn’t do that when Ryan’s in the room and you’re not allowed to jump on him and beg him to fuck you. Are you fucking positive-

Yes. We’ll do the big ceremony that costs too much money, but we’ll get married now. You pause, a small frown pulling at your lips. I mean, if you want to-

Of course I want to, don’t be fucking stupid-

So are we getting married?

Christ, woman. He smirks, wrapping his arm over your stomach and pinning you to his chest. You’re that fucking desperate to marry me-

You wrinkle your nose at him. Big words from the man who tried to spontaneously marry me in an attic.

It wouldn’t have been in the attic, brat, we would’ve gone downstairs. But if you really are that fucking needy, he winks, and you feel your face flush. I’d be more than happy to get married right damn now, or just go back to that attic and skip to the honeymoon-

Fuck you, Benjamin, you shove his chest, and turn back to Ryan before your Ben-addled brain can fully register his promising, hungry grin. “Ry, Ben has a question for you.”

Ryan looks at Ben with a wide expression, and Ben pinches the skin of your hips, sending small sparks of very unproductive, pure want through your body.

Ben, your voice between your heads is meant to be strict, but Ben’s pulled you to sit right over his half-hard cock, and you’re not sure how to focus on anything else. You need to ask him-

I’ve got it, Sunshine. Ben’s voice is rough and amused in your head, his attention remaining on Ryan as he splays his hand on your lower stomach, and you have to force down a breathy moan. You just sit there and look beautiful.

“Ben-“

Ryan’s nervous prompting is cut off by Ben’s low, firm words. “Listen, Ryan, I’m going to ask you something, and you don’t need to say yes if you don’t want to. Got it?”

Ryan nods, and Ben pauses. You can feel something shifting at the base of his throat, and you think he’s trying to find the right words before he speaks, his tone gruff and steady.

“You’re my best man.”

You have to swallow a giggle, because Ben says everything like a fact or order, and the man is lucky Ryan knows it’s meant to be a genuine question. His whole face is lit up with joy, even as his words are uncertain.

“Are you, are you sure-“

“Of course I’m fucking sure.” Ben leans over your body, and when you glance up his brows are drawn in concrete focus. “Yes or no, kid.”

“Yes!” Ryan almost yelps, like Ben might take it back. “I, um, thank you-“

“Don’t, it’s the obvious fucking choice. We can get you cleaned up, and then go.”

Ryan frowns. “Go?”

“To get married. Now.” Ben says, and Ryan’s mouth falls open, and his gaze darts to you.

“Now? Like, today?”

“Today.” You smile a Ryan, even as you slap Ben’s hand in a silent message of you are very bad at explaining things, my love. “We’ll find a spot on the farm, and I’m sure someone will be certified-“

“MM.”

You give Ben a flat look. “We don’t know that-“

“There’s no damn way he’s not-“

There’s a loud cough from the doorway, and you twist in Ben’s hold to see MM looking between you and Ben with his arms crossed. “There’s no damn way I’m not what.”

You sigh. “Ben thinks you’re a minister-“

“He’s right. Got certified while I was in the corps.”

You feel smug pride inflate in Ben’s chest. “I fucking told you, Sunshine-“

“But,” MM cuts Ben off with a snap, walking up to the edge of the bed. “I’m Episcopalian, so I don’t know what you motherfuckers want, but-“

“Marry us.” Ben says, and MM freezes.

“Marry you.” He repeats Ben’s words slowly, looking to you. “What the fuck is he talking about.”

“We want to, um, to do it now?” You mumble, turning your ring on your finger. “Just so we are married. It’ll be small, because we still want to do the party, but we’d like to be married soon, and if you can, that would mean a lot, but I understand if you don’t-“

“Fine.”

You blink, gaping slightly. “Really? Are you sure?”

“We could use a celebration.” MM shrugs, shooting Ben a glare. “And as long as he’s agrees to not be a massive fucking asshole, I’ll do it.”

“You, you really don’t have to-“

MM’s gaze turns back to you, and softens slightly as he says your name. “You’re my friend. And like I said, I accepted this insane shit,” he waves a hand between you and Ben. “A long time ago. I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” your grin is wide and relieved, because if MM said no you wouldn’t have pushed it, but there’s an undeniable, comfortable feeling of relief in him agreeing. “That, it really means a lot. Are you,” you look MM over, his posture still stiff and something about him a little wired. “Is everything okay?”

MM sighs. “Depends on what you mean by okay.”

Ben’s arm tightens around you, and he shifts your bodies so Ryan’s fully behind you. “What the fuck is happening-“

“Singer’s here.” MM grunts, glancing over his shoulder to the hallway before giving you an apologetic look. “And he won’t go until he talks to you.”

“Well, tell the asshole to fucking wait, we’re busy-“

“Not you, Ben.” MM runs his hand over his face, grimacing as he mutters your name. “Just her.”

“There’s no goddamn way-“

Benjamin. You squeeze his hand, keeping your voice even as you speak aloud. “Just me?”

“You, as well as a select group-“

“Who.” Ben leans over you, and you think he’s trying to move you into his body so you can’t leave without him. “Fucking names-“

MM says your name, shooting Ben a glare as he continues. “and me. Singer and his new Defense Secretary. Annie if she finishes her press statement in time, and Butcher if he swears not to be a dick-“

“Butcher’s okay?” Ryan’s voice is almost a squeak, and guilt twists at your stomach as you realize how close he’d been to losing two out of the three important people in his life. “I, I saw him, he looked bad, I don’t, I was worried-“

“Asshole made a miracle recovery. All of a fucking sudden,” MM gaze moves to Ben, his words becoming clipped and sharp. “The V came back. Hughie said he found the motherfucker fully healed and healthier than he’s been for a decade.”

Ben shrugs, and you feel something odd shut pulse in his body, somewhere that’s and screwed shut. “Christ, that dickfuck is lucky.”

MM hums, his eyes narrowing. “Or something.”

Ryan asks another question about Butcher—something very sweet about if he’s okay, how he’s feeling on the V—and you don’t hear it at all, because you’ve twisted in Ben’s hold to scan over his handsome, stupid face.

He smirks at you, brows raising. Need something, Sunshine-

What did you do.

You’re not allowed to lose your shit.

Benjamin-

Swear you’ll keep your damn head on your shoulders, and I’ll tell you not. Otherwise you’ll have to wait until I can tell you somewhere you can hit me.

The way that he’s still holding you so carefully against him begins to mix with the way he already seems set on telling you—how it didn’t seem to even occur to him to keep it a permanent secret—and it all makes you unfairly vulnerable to his pretty eyes and low words as you pout at him. I’m not going to fucking hit you-

He says your name between your heads, giving you an adoring, rough look of amusement, and you have to actively stop yourself from shoving his chest.

Fuck you, cunt. Tell me.

Swear it.

I promise, I won’t freak out. Ben-

I injected him with V.

You stare at him for a second, your own voice high with shock between your heads. You what-

I injected him-

I heard you, you fucking dumbass. Why? Why did you do that?

Ben gives a small half-shrug. He looked fucking pathetic, I was giving the dickwad a second shot. You’re always on about the stupid good in goddamn humanity, and I fucking listen to you. You’re the one gave him the damn Solider Boy V to use in the first place-

And you told me that was stupid!

And it fucking was, but the ship goddamn sailed, Sunshine. Butcher’s a supe now, and, Ben grins at you, something prideful and bright growing over his ribs. We made a deal where he’s going to 50% less of a cockfuck.

You doubt that deal will last more than a week, but Ben looks so pleased with himself, and you’re a little swept up in how he did it because he fucking listens to you, so you just sigh, drop your head to his chest, and shake your head slightly. You’re such a fucking dummy, Benjamin. You move to kiss at his jaw, smiling slightly. I love you.

He pauses, and his voice becomes low in your head. You’re not mad.

No. I mean, we’re going to talk about it more later-

MM clears his throat, muttering your name. “Singer. Sooner rather than later.”

“Okay, just,” you peel back, giving MM a slightly pleading look over your shoulder. “Can I have a minute?”

MM grunts an agreement, and you turn back to Ben, playing with the hair of his beard as you sit here just a moment longer, where everything is warm and good and easy, and Ben’s real beneath your fingers and strong around your body.

“I’ll be back soon,” you mumble. “You can wait, if you don’t have anything to do-“

“We’re getting married today,” Ben mutters your name, tilting your chin up so you fully meet his gaze. “I’ll take Ryan and get it ready.”

You blink at him, glancing at Ryan. “Do you, I mean do you know what you’re doing?”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Of course I know what I’m fucking doing, it can’t be that hard-“

MM snorts from the doorway. “You’ve obviously never gotten married before, because there’s no way you’d think it’s easy to just throw that shit together in a day.”

“I’ve never wanted to get married before, you dickhead-“

You cover Ben’s mouth with a hand, tapping your fingers along his bicep as you think. “Benjamin.”

He grunts, and you give him a sweet smile as you continue.

“I love you very, very much, and I think we can do this, but you have to listen to me. Okay?”

He nods. Fine.

Good. You drop your hand, wrapping your arms around his neck. All you need to do is find a spot on the farm that doesn’t have media or government agents. Be careful, and if you take Ryan don’t let him out of your sight. We’re in the woods, and I don’t want him tripping or running into a fucking bear, but I think he needs to stay with you. Just, keep him with you, and distract him, please-

Breathe. Ben mutters in your head, kissing the space between your eyes. I’ve got him, Sunshine. We’ll find a spot.

Okay. You nod, leaning back to give him a gentle, easy smile that’s so fucking real it makes you a little high. I’ll find you when we’re done with Singer, and we’ll get married.

Ben frowns. Don’t I need a fucking shower, or some shit-

No. You flush slightly, scanning over his bloodied clothing, messy hair, and big, warm, dirtied muscles. It’s, objectively, disgusting, but it’s also so fucking hot you can’t look at him for very long or you might start to short-circuit. He looks a little wild, and animalistic, and handsome, and real, and Ben. You’ve had wet dreams where he’s looked like that, and it’s so purely, entirely Ben that marrying him like makes you feel a little high. He’s alive and brutal and covered in grime but it’s all for you, so you can’t really imagine wanting him another way. I, um, I like it.

A cocky grin creeps over his face, and he lowers down to brush his lips over yours. You fucking like it? You like me all dirty, Sunshine? You think that’s fucking hot? Want me to damn marry you like this-

You stick your tongue out at him, but it’s not convincing because you’re also trying to subtly shift in his lap to relieve the ache between your legs without outright grinding onto him. Fuck you-

You want me to. His smirk turns a little feral, and MM might have to drag you to Singer if Ben doesn’t stop teasing you and kneading at your hips and looking so primal while being all yours. You want me to throw you around and fuck right now, don't you, beautiful. He starts to kiss along your neck, sloppy and shameless and Ben-

“Singer!” MM practically shouts, and Ben chuckles as you all but shove him away from you. “The president of the country is right downstairs, so can you horny assholes stop brain-fucking each other for five minutes-“

“Keep your damn head on, MM.” Ben tugs you back against his body as he turns to Ryan, and MM scowls. “Kid, we’re going for a walk.”

You can’t see Ryan—you can’t look away from Ben—but his voice sounds hopeful, and it makes your heart feel a little more full. “Really? Why-“

“Finding somewhere to get married while you,” Ben’s attention turns back you as he drawls your name, and you might have let out a high whine only he could hear, because something wild bursts through his body and flares in his eyes. “Kick Singer’s fucking ass.”

“I can’t kick Singer’s ass, Ben, he’s the president, that would be a crime-“

“Who gives a fuck-“

“I do,” MM calls from behind you. “I’d really prefer not to start another fucking conflict with the government right now.”

“Whatever.” Ben rolls his eyes, dropping his brow against yours.

You say the word, Sunshine, and I’ll kick his fucking ass for you. Nobody will ever even damn know what happened-

People will obviously know what happened. You’re not exactly a sneaky, covert guy, my love-

I can be, Ben shrugs, bumping his nose with yours as he grins down at you. To defend my wife’s honor, if Singer says some fucking bullshit about her.

How noble, you give Ben a soft kiss, holding his face between your hands. I’ve always wanted to have a husband who’d commit high treason for me.

You’ve got one. Ben chases your lips as you try to pull away, shoving his tongue down your throat and devouring you until he’s all you can feel and you’re limp and writhing in his arms.

Ben-

He pulls away with a long suck and nip of your lower lip, smirking at you likely pathetic, wanting expression. Go kick Singer’s pussyfuck ass, Sunshine. He leaves one last, gentle kiss on the space between your eyes. Then we’ll get fucking married.

You nod—a little stupidly—and force yourself to crawl off Ben’s lap, give Ryan a tight hug, and follow MM out into the hall.

You stop him at the top of the stairs with a light touch to his arm—hot tension and an almost cutting vigilance shooting through your body—and he turns around with a frown.

“What-“

“Thank you, MM.” Your voice is uncertain, and you try to ground yourself by wrapping your arms around your body as you offer him a nervous smile. “For, um, everything. And doing this for us.”

MM sighs, glancing downstairs before clasping your shoulder. The tension you’d felt before isn’t gone, but it’s wrapped in certainty. A feeling like worn-down stone, that’s heavy in your chest but not hard to breathe with.

“Listen to me,” he grunts your name, running his free hand over his face. “I meant what I said before. He’s good for you, and I can’t,” he pauses, shaking his head at nothing. “If I hold onto this shit for the rest of my life it’ll kill me. So believe me when I say we’re good, and I’d be happy to marry my friend,” he offers you a small smile, and the feeling of certainty grows. “And her asshole boyfriend, because if I know one thing in the whole damn universe, it’s that the old motherfucker really loves her. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, and MM nods, releasing his hold on you.

“Good. Now let’s get this over with so you can go marry your idiot.”

Your smile grows into something more real, because Ben is your idiot. All you have to do is talk to Singer—which should be daunting, but you’re a little done with being afraid—and you get to marry that idiot. That massive, vulgar, horny old man who makes you feel safe and happy, who’s as much a part of you as your hands or head or legs. Who’s tangled into something fundamental in your body that’s changed the whole world from beauty that’s too much to hold and not enough to have into Ben. It’s all Ben, because he’s everything and he’s powerful and permanent and you could love him until everything was just ash and it still wouldn’t be enough.

It’s going to be so, so easy to get through this, because once you do, you’re going to marry Ben and it’ll be over. That knowledge carries you down the stairs and into Edgar’s shitty dining room, drops you at MM’s side. and never allows anything cold or paralyzing into your body.

Annie arrives shortly after, her eyes lighting up when they find you at the table, and before you know what’s happening you’re wrapped in a tight hug and your whole body is a dent of guilt and sorrow that wanes by the second. You don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around Annie, returning the hug, and it makes the depression in Annie’s throat evaporate faster. Turning into airy, high joy, her voice near your ear soft and relieved.

“Holy shit,” she says your name, squeezing you tighter. “You’re awake, you’re really awake, do you-“ Annie cuts herself, pulling back to scan over your face. “Do you feel okay? Do you need to lie down, or rest-“

“Annie.” You give her a reassuming, calm smile, your voice firm as she almost fusses over you. “I’m okay-“

“You don’t feel sick-“

“I’m good, I promise. You’re worse than Ben, you know-“

“Sorry, I’m just…” She trails off giving you a sad look that twists in your gut. “You looked really bad. I was, I felt bad. I got focused on the Deep, and we didn’t stop to think about where Homelander was, or what he was doing-“

“The Deep?”

“Yeah, I,” Annie draws back, giving you a slightly sheepish look. “I kinda killed him.”

“Fuck, Annie.” You grin, bumping her shoulder with yours and feeling a rush of something turning in and out inside Annie’s body. It’s hot and aching, spreading over her gut like shame, but then twists and becomes like water, fresh and light and cooling into a simple ease over her skin. “Do you,” you frown, tilting your head. “Do you feel guilty about it?”

“Maybe?” Annie shrugs, seeming to shrink into herself. “I, I’m not sure-“

“Don’t.” MM cuts in from your other side, his attention mostly on the doorway. “The Deep was an idiot and a monster. You did everyone a favor, Annie.”

You hum in agreement, and Annie sighs, giving a small uncertain nod.

“So, um,” she looks back to you, and you don’t miss the sudden subject change. “What are Ben and Ryan doing, while you’re here-“

“They’re going for a walk.” You can’t fight the wide, bright smile on your face as you picture Ben scowling at trees, having grumbled conversations with Ryan about not enough fucking sun. Too much fucking dirt. We’re not getting married near a fucking tractor, kid. “Looking for a, um, spot. For us to get married.”

Annie’s eyes widen, her mouth falling open in slightly shock, but before she can say anything Butcher appears in the doorway.

“Butcher,” you watch him sit down, scanning over his body for any obvious signs of the V. “You look healthy.”

“Thanks, Love. Nearly fuckin dyin always gives me a glow.” Butcher grunts, frowning around the mostly empty table as he sits down. “Where in bloody hell did Singer go?”

“Phone call.” MM mutters, leaning forward as his tone becomes low and firm. “Good for us, though. Gives us a chance to brief.”

“Mate, ain’t nothin to brief about. We killed Homelander, and Singer can shove it up his arse if he’s got a fuckin problem with that-“

“We need to all be on the same page.” MM snaps. “We got the V from an undisclosed source, and if they want to know it they’re going to have to serve us a fucking subpoena. Our mission went sideways, but all civilian loss of life was Homelander, and we can get A-Train to testify to that if we need it-“

You blink. “A-Train’s okay?”

MM lets out a long, slow sigh. “He’s alive. Might never walk again, but he’s alright. Got him to tell me where he took the others, so I’ve got a guy going after them. They can testify as well, just like we planned. What we’re going to have to focus on is that we got Homelander. If Singer gets on you two,” MM nods between you and Butcher. “Using the V, just bring it back to killing Homelander. If he wants more details, tell him you’ll be willing to cooperate later, after we get our shit back together and sorted. We’re almost done, motherfuckers.” He looks around the group, something heavy and almost desperate in his voice. “Let’s stick the landing.”

The room fills with an abundance Secret Service agents only seconds later, and when Singer and a tall, long-haired man—who looks like he could be Ben’s brother if you squinted and tilted your head—arrive, they mostly just look tired. It makes you hopeful, because if they don’t want to draw this out, you could be done in an hour, and—if nobody picks a fight—married before the sun sets.

All you have left to do is get through this.

“Alright.” Singer drops across from you, the tall man at his side. “You idjits got some nerve with this shit, so you better have a damn good explication.”

“Sir, we’d won’t be able to explain ourselves until you and…” MM trails off, frowning at the tall man, who sighs.

“Secretary Campbell.” The man moves like he’s going to extend his hand, but then thinks better and flinches back. “I replaced Muller-“

“Well, Mate, you have her,” Butcher jerks his head to you, smirking at Campbell. “To thank for your fuckin promotion. But I ain’t clear what you’re doin here-“

“He’s here,” Singer snaps, shooting Butcher a glare. “Because you dumbasses destroyed his department’s property, and might be a goddamn threat to American security! I don’t know where you got the V in those bullets we confiscated, or what the hell you were plannin to do with it-“

“It was to kill Homelander.” Your voice is bored and flat, and you pretend you can’t see MM’s glare as you continue. “We told you that, when we made our request-“

“Which you ignored my fuckin answer to!” Singer barks, and you don’t flinch. “You disobeyed a direct command from the White House and continued of your idiots warpath, got Grace Mallory fuckin killed, as well as who knows how many other civilians-“

“Nine.” Your voice is cool, and you hold Singer’s glare as something like surprise flashes in his eyes. “The only additional civilian deaths were at the gas station, and there were nine people.”

Most everyone is silent, and you know you’re right—you’ll be haunted by every face in that gas station for the rest of your life, and then a little while after—but you wish someone would speak. You keep feeling something sticky on your hands and hearing screams in your ears, and it’s a little too much to bear as it grows and grows.

You know Singer’s only here for you. It’s why Ben isn’t in the meeting, why there are so many agents, and why Campbell is watching you as if you’re a bomb that might detonate at any moment. You’re the threat. You killed Sage. You’re the one who mangled and burnt Homelander’s corpse. You’re the reason he had to replace Neuman, the reason he lost Muller, the reason the country is in chaos as Vought crumbles and the public demands answers.

But you’re not going to waver. You’re done bending and folding in on yourself, done shattering and imploding, and fucking finished with breaking. You won’t apologize for this, and you won’t be Singer’s weapon, or scapegoat, or experiment. All you need to do is call for him and Ben will come, and nothing is going to hurt you or use you again.

“I’ll pay for their funerals, because they were lives pointlessly lost in Homelander’s rampage. But Mallory got herself killed, endangering Ryan Butcher in the process, so if you plan to pin that one on us,” you gesture between yourself and your friends. “I suggest you begin collecting evidence.”

Singer scowls, but Campbell clears his throat, leaning forward on the table.

“Speaking of Ryan Butcher,” he says. “Both of his parents are dead, which makes him a ward of the state-“

“You are not going anywhere near Ryan.” You hiss, sitting up a little straighter as you hold Campbell’s gaze. “New York law states that custody of an orphaned child will be offered to closest living kin. Ryan’s grandfather is still alive.”

“There’s no way we’re handing the kid over to Soldier Boy,” Campbell snaps. “Just one well-structured court case and we can have him declared unfit to parent-“

“On what grounds?” You raise your brows, looking between Singer and Campbell with a mock interest, and Singer scoffs.

“Maybe his damn war crimes-“

“That you pardoned him for?”

Singer narrows his eyes. “He’s broke. Given the circumstances, no finances will be more than enough-“

“Ben is broke.” You shrug, your face curling into an almost manic grin. “But his wife is fucking loaded, and she’d be more than willing to adopt Ryan. She’s already really close with him, so it’ll play really well in court.”

There’s a beat wired silence as your words sink in, and when Butcher clears his throat, his face is blanched. 

“When the fuckin hell did you twats find the time get married-“

“Tonight.” You wink at Butcher, and you’d be more worried about him having a heart attack from shock if you didn’t know about the V in his body. “You’re invited by the way. Wear your fanciest Hawaiian shirt.”

Before Butcher can respond, Singer cuts back in with a low, cold voice.

“You’re just as legally dead as that geriatric asshole, and if you’re planning to capitalize of this mess you’ve made-“

“I think it’ll be pretty easy to get my death reversed, given the fact that my face and name are about to be in every breaking news story for about a month.” You snap, tapping your fingers on the table. “And don’t worry, I’m not about to write a memoir. But I did recently come into a small fortune, and once I’m declared alive, I’ll be happy to provide finical statements as proof. But Ryan is staying with Ben and I, so back the fuck off my family.”

Campbell’s smart enough to flinch, but Singer only sighs.

“I don’t think you know what you’ve done.” He mutters your last name, scanning you over with a look you don’t quite know how to read. “You aren’t going to just be able to fuck off. America wants answers, solutions, something clean to wrap this shit up. And Ryan Butcher is Homelander’s son, he won’t be safe in public-“

“He’s not just Homelander’s son.” You hiss. “And he’ll be safe with us.”

He pushes on. “You’re going to have even more to answer for. You killed Homelander, but Vought ain’t gone, and they won’t just fall without a fight. Hell, there’s a whole population of super-abled idiots who just became unemployed, and are going to be looking for a new leader or martyr. You’ve made a mess, girl, and if you leave right now without fixing what you damn broke, the world’s going to give you hell to pay-“

You let out a dry laugh. “It’ll give you the same, Mr. President. Almost appointing Homelander to the VP slot, withholding vital information about his nature and crimes from the public? I’m not sacred of other supes, but you should be scared of your constituents. We both know this doesn’t end with Homelander, or you, or me. And I didn’t break this, but I’d be willing to help you figure it out. I did write my thesis, for my doctorate, on repairing broken cultural systems, after all, I’d be the most qualified idiot in the fucking room. But I will not be your toy. I am done being a fucking toy or tool. I could endorsee you for your aid, and understanding the complexities of this situation. I could help you put Neuman back in the VP slot, which would be an excellent gesture of goodwill, and back you up for the entirety of the absolute circus of media and lawsuits and senate hearings about to begin. I could help. Or,” your face twists into a sweet mocking smile, and the words begin to spit out of you, and you don’t look away from Singer as every Secret Service agent draws their gun. “You could go after Ben or Ryan, and I could tell the world you plotted to kill Victoria Neuman, and withheld weapons from the effort to take down Homelander, or fell for the words of Sage’s fucking puppet. I could become your worst fucking nightmare, and then clean up everything myself. It’s your choice.”

You wish you had your phone, because Ben would love to see a picture of Singer’s face as you finish. Slightly gaping and shocked, looking like a fucking dumbass cockhead, and mostly furious. Furious because you’re right, and he knows it.

“Now.” You stand up, giving the Secret Service agents flat looks as their guns follow your movement. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get married, you pussyfuck. I’m sure you can find your own way out by yourself, but don’t wander. This was Stan Edgar’s farm, and he’s a careful, vigilant man, so we’ll know.”

You nod to your friends, who blink at you for only a second before scrambling up and following you out of the room. Butcher shuffles up the stairs, Annie grabbing out her phone and moving outside, and before you can follow her, chasing after the instinct of Ben—warm and bright and everything good, calling you back to his side—MM grabs your arm.

“That,” MM hisses. “Was fucking stupid-“

You know that was stupid. Sage would’ve called it emotional. Too human, too tired to your love of Ben and Ryan to negotiate and keep a level, clever head.

And Ben will call it hot. He’ll grin at you and tell you that you did the right fucking thing, putting that old cockfuck in his place. We’re not his fucking weapons, and unless he starts paying us what he goddamn owes he’s doesn’t get a say in what we do.

“He doesn’t get to use us, MM. I’m,” Your voice has lost almost all its venom, because the adrenaline is faded, and the heat of the afternoon is dry, and you’re so fucking tired. “I’m really done being used. Besides,” you give MM a sad smile, and his grip on you loosens as you let a little bit of your blood pass into his body. Just the tiniest amount of your exhaustion and love and desperation to just be happy. To spend the rest of your life helping people in a way that doesn’t put blood on your hands, and singing love songs to your handsome husband, and teaching Ryan—and nameless other children, with sharp eyes and wide, confident smiles—everything you can about the beauty of the world. “There’s nothing Singer can do to me that’s worse than what Homelander did.”

MM nods slowly, releasing you entirely, and mutters, “Just be careful with this. There will be consequences-“

“There always are.” You shrug. “And we always get through them together. As a team.”

“Fine.” MM looks between you and the door outside, the whole world cast in a blue glow as the sun begins to set. “Ben find a spot for you?”

“I don’t know.” You sigh, hanging onto that strong, loud beat of Ben in your chest. “He’s out there somewhere, but I haven’t had a chance to Ben’o’phone him-“

MM snorts, shaking his head. “That’s a dumb as shit name, I hope you know that.“

“I do.” You smile at the horizon, because everything is starting to glow with gold, and you can feel Ben calling you forward. “But it makes me laugh, and that makes him happy. And it’s really good when he’s happy. I’m not,” you turn to fully face MM, your tone becoming slightly apologetic. “I’m not sure what the plan is? And I know you’re not a fan of that, but-“

You cut yourself off, because the feeling of Ben is drawing closer. You know he’s coming—you always know he’s coming—before you see him, and when he appears over the hill you can’t stop the wide, stupid smile from over taking your face. You think, if he wasn’t guiding Ryan with a hand on his shoulder, you might have run outside and leapt into his arms.

You’ll have time for that later, though, and what you have now is more enough. Ben grabs one of your hands as you approach, tugs you forward as he wraps his free arm around your waist, and kisses you until your knees are weak and your brain is just a blissful haze of Ben. Pine and coffee and strawberries and Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben.

He chuckles—the sound rolling through your body and prompting a loud moan to fall from your mouth—and his voice is deep and teasing in your head. I’m here, Sunshine.

You flush, realizing you must have been chanting his name for him to hear, and find it impossible to preserve any dignity as he pulls back and gives you a cocky, wide grin that makes his love flare in your body as you all but fall into him.

“Did you,” you have to take a heavy breath, because Ben’s so big and strong and hungry, and you’re so warm and needy and thirsty it might all drive you mad. “Did you find a spot-“

“Ryan did.” Ben says, pride glowing over his ribs. “Bunch of fucking flowers and grass, you’ll love it. We’ll get everyone there when Frenchie and Hughie get back-“

“Frenchie and Hughie get back?” Annie walks up behind Ben, glancing down at her phone with a drawn brow. “Where did they go?”

“Hughie said we need rings and papers,” Ben shrugs, slinging his arms over your shoulder. “Frenchie’s going to a pawn shop-“

You shove Ben’s chest. “A pawn shop-“

“For metal,” he drawls, giving you a glare that’s mostly just rough amusement. “To make the rings. You have such little faith in me, beautiful-“

You sigh, burying your face in his side, muffling your words against his body. “Sorry-“

“Shut up.” Ben kisses the top of your head, and you feel him shift to address Annie. “Hughie’s getting papers. Said that if it’s too late notice, he can do his fracking shit and steal them-“

“Well, bloody hell.” Butcher reappears at this top of their stairs, wearing a new, bloodless Hawaiian shirt. “Didn’t know the lad had it in him, stealin government property-“

���Technically it’s hacking government forms.” Annie jumps, her voice defensive, but you can see the doubt on her face. “And I don’t, I’m not sure it’s illegal. But I guess we’ll find out.”

Turns out it’s incredibly illegal, and none of you seem to really fucking care. Considering your lives up until this point—the past two weeks alone consisting of at least four outright murders, several car thefts, countless blatant felonies, and you maybe committing light treason by vaguely threatening Singer—document fraud is just another Tuesday. When Hughie and Frenchie get back—driving a car that’s almost certainly former federal property—Frenchie grabs several odd, metal trinkets and disappears into the basement, and Hughie sits you and Ben down in the kitchen, pulling out the form.

Hughie says you name, sliding the form across the table with a pencil. “I filled out most of yours on ride here, you just need to do your parents full names and birth state, your social security, and what you’re changing your name to. Ben,” he gives Ben an apologetic look, scratching the back of his neck. “I kinda just put that you were the groom and born in Philly. I don’t know any of the other stuff.”

“What other stuff.” Ben frowns, leaning over your shoulder as you scrawl all the missing information on your page. “How many damn questions do we have to answer for this.”

“Normal stuff, Pretty Boy. Our names and information, our parent’s names and information, if we’re…” You trail off, frowning at the form. “We haven’t talked about if we’re changing our names.”

“Changing them to what.”

You sigh, trying not to giggle at Ben’s almost adorable look of confusion. “When people get married they usually change their last names, dummy. You won’t even tell me your last name.”

“And I’m never damn going to-“ 

“You’ll need to.” Hughie mumbles. “You have to write it on the form.”

“That’s fucking stupid.” Ben grumbles, grabbing the pencil as you slide the form in front of him, and shooting you a stern glare. “I’ll writing it, for you, but you’re not allowed to look and you’re never fucking taking it. Got it?”

You nod, your smile wide and bright as you whisper, “Grumpy,” and Ben rolls his eyes, moving his hand to your thigh as he writes.

“So, um,” Hughie looks between you, frowning slightly. “No name change? I mean, Ben’s going to need a last name if you want to be part of like, society. For paychecks, and bills, and, uh, kids-“

“Fuck," you lean into Ben’s side, tapping your fingers on the counter. “I mean, I could be Mrs. Boy-“ You cut yourself off with a frown. “Actually, no. I’ll die before I’m Mrs. Boy.”

“Fucking Christ,” Ben grumbles, practically stabbing the paper as he writes. “I’ll just take your name, it’s the only one we’re damn using anyways.”

You and Hughie exchange a surprised look, and you swallow. “Ben-“

“What.”

You study his face, feel all his love steady and alive in your chest, and smile. “Nothing.” You kiss his cheek, and mumble between your heads. I love you, Benjamin.

I love you too, he scowls, even as his love flashes and glows along your ribs. What the fuck is going on.

Nothing.

It’s not fucking nothing, Sunshine, Hughie looks like he’s seen a damn ghost and you’re being fucking weird.

Marry me and I’ll tell you?

Ben grunts, tucking you closer into his side as he slides the form back to Hughie, and kisses the side of your head. Deal.

It’s a little amazing how prepared everyone is for a last second wedding. Hughie takes the forms with mumbled words about how—given the whole legally dead thing—he won’t be able to put them into the system immediately, but today will still be your recorded marriage. Frenchie returns upstairs with a proud, smug look, telling you that the rings will be ready in about ten minutes, MM tells you Ryan and Annie have cleaned up the spot a little, and suddenly this is happening. You don’t have doubts—you love Ben, you’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected to him, and you’re pretty sure he’d been dying with you just this afternoon—but there’s still something electric under your skin. Something that doesn’t make your stomach twist, because you have no need to be nervous about the most certain thing that’s ever been a part of your life, but something that makes your fingers tap against Ben’s arm and your body refuse to move from his side.

There are superstitions about seeing the groom before the wedding, but you don’t really fucking care. When you do the larger, fancier party you’ll have all the time for pointless traditions. You’ll wear something old—you might just use Ben himself and call it a day—and something new, and something borrowed, and something green because fuck the color blue. Maybe your sunglasses. You’ll sleep in separate beds the night before, and cut a cake, and wear a dress that’s fancy and white and gets ripped off your body the moment Ben gets you behind closed doors.

But right now, walking across the farm as the sun makes the whole world golden, all you need is Ben half holding you up with an arm around your waist and every bit of his own wrathful, burning joy in your body. You need to look at how handsome and dirty he his, and feel how it sets off something wet and hot in your core. You need to be able to bury your face in his side—drowning in warmth and pine and something deep and earthy and strong that’s just Ben—as he guides you forward, never once worrying about if he’ll let you fall. Ben would never let you fall. He won’t even let you stumble.

This is the most important place to be right now. In Ben’s arms, so painfully safe and happy and loved. You don’t think you ever could’ve even dreamt of being loved like this. Loved in a way that feels a little more real than the lingering mud beneath your feet, or the hot air in your lungs. Loved in a way that he adjusts to your every movement like it’s just as much muscle memory as walking, drawing circles on your hips and breathing in a pattern that’s in perfect time with your heart. Loved in a way that you can feel him, feel him everywhere, and never doubt that he’s everything. Never doubt that Ben loves you, because you’re not sure either of you remember how to not love each other. You don’t think it’s something you’ll ever be capable of forgetting, because Ben’s planted so deep into some vital piece of your very existence, and every step on dirt and rustle of leaves sounds like Ben.

The spot is a clearing, near the back of the property, where everything is clean and peaceful and green. There are flowers at the edge of the forest, and the last minutes of sunlight flooding the world, and it’s perfect. It’s so fucking easy and bright it makes you a little high, because there’s water clinging to grass that makes it shimmer, and nobody to watch you but your friends. It’s just you, the people you love, the forest, and a tall barn cresting the hill behind you, and the world seems to be glowing and singing in the wake of the storm.

Everything is glowing and singing, and this is going to be the easiest thing you do in your life.

MM gives you a small smile as you stop in front of him, and there’s no order to any other this. You’re already clinging to Ben, your alter is haybale covered in pink flowers that’s been moved to the center of the field, and nobody seems to be bothering with standing anywhere that makes sense. Kimiko, Annie, and Hughie are smiling next to you, and Frenchie is fidgeting with what looks like a firebox a step behind MM, Ryan’s shifting on his feet next to Ben, and Butcher keeping a firm hand on Ryan’s shoulder with one of the most unreadable expression you’ve ever seen on the man’s face. There’s no malice or hatred, but there’s no joy. Just something reluctantly yielding, as if he wants to grumble and be cruel, but can’t find the willpower to do so. It’s more than you could’ve asked for, Ryan seems happy he’s here, and the asshole did change into his best Hawaiian shirt, so you let it go.

You have more important things to focus on anyway.

“This shit is weird.” MM’s arms are crossed as he begins, his voice slightly exasperated. “We’re gathered here today because you’re two impatient idiots who can’t stand to not be married, you motherfuckers can’t get sick or die, so death do you part feels like we’re just wasting time, and you haven’t had time to write vows, but-“ He raises his hand, and you close your mouth. “I know you’ll have something to say about each other, so we’ll let you improvise. Just try to remember that your fucking son is here, and I don’t want to have to clean my ears with soap after this. That said, we ready?”

You’re not sure you remember how to breathe, but you nod all the same, and Ben grunt of acknowledgment rolls through your body, making your knees a little weak. He must feel it, because he squeezes your waist and pulls you up a little higher.

“Alright.” MM claps his hands together, letting out a long breath. “The sermon is usually about commitment and sacrifice and what love means, but I don’t think you two need the reminder. There’s nothing more committed than planting your damn brain in someone, and I can’t think of a bigger sacrifice than how you seem to be constantly trying to die for each other. And I,” MM runs his hand over his face, looking between you and Ben with something like admiration. “I have never seen two people love each other like you do. It’s disgusting, and annoying as hell, and one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in my goddamn life.” His expression softens, and he shakes his head slightly. “I’ll be the first to admit I thought this would be a fucking disaster. But,” MM says your name, offering you a small grin. “I met you when you were a fucking shell. You were mean and bitter and angry, and you had every right to be, but it was painful as hell to watch. I never saw you cry, but I thought it was because you couldn’t anymore. But you cry with him. You’re alive with this asshole, and that’s what matters. You’re one of the kindest, smartest, strongest women I’ve ever known, and if you’d told me when we met that fucking Soldier Boy was the person who’d make you happy I’d have laughed.” MM turned to Ben, his voice becoming almost stern. “And I’d have been wrong. Ben, you make her smile and laugh. You care about her, and you’ve worked to be different, which is more than almost any other motherfucker does in his life. You got a second chance, and you didn’t waste it, which takes guts. Better men than both of us have.”

The glow in Ben’s body is overwhelming, and later you’ll tease him about how prideful he is from MM’s acceptance.

Later.

Right now MM is prompting you for the vows, and Ben’s boundless eyes are on yours, and the rest of the world has fallen into a blur as everything becomes Ben. Just pine and strawberries and green and strong and warm, just a deep, gruff voice that sounds like your heartbeat and says your name like it’s calling you home.

“I love you,” Ben says name again, pulling you apart under his attention in that way you’ll always crave, and everything in him is love. White-hot ardor and devotion, focused care and resolve, and love that feels so pure you’d never know it had been forged in fire and washed in blood. “I love you more than fucking anything. You’re beautiful, and brilliant, and have a smart fucking mouth and a habit of driving me goddamn mad, and you’re fucking perfect.” He takes a deep, slow breath, lowering down to hold your gaze, and his voice drops to something that sounds like a hymn or an oath. “ You’re the best thing that’s ever fucking happened to me, Sunshine, because you’re the first person I’ve loved and liked. Where it’s not about lust or coincidence, it’s just fucking you. You’re my best fucking friend, I love you so much it makes me a pussy, and I wouldn’t trade that for the goddamn world. You burn, I burn.”

“You burn, I burn.” You echo, and when Ben takes the ring from Frenchie’s box and slides it onto your finger, you realize the metal is still molten and hot. That if you and Ben weren’t you and Ben, you’d be worried about getting burned. But you are you and Ben. And you’re probably supposed to wait for MM to prompt you, but you can’t stop the words from falling out of your mouth like a breath as the whole world becomes just you and Ben.

“I love you, Benjamin. And I could say it in a million different ways, but in the end it’ll still just be that I love you. I love how much you care, and how hard you try, and how you can always make me smile and laugh and feel safe. I love how you’re always there, and always listen, and you’re never anyone but you.” You hold Ben’s face between your hands, your smile wide and easy, and when Ben leans into your touch it makes everything hazy and high. “You’re an old, grumpy, stubborn asshole, and you’re the best man I’ve ever known.” You tug him slightly, and Ben drops his brow to yours without another word. Ben, I love you. And I’ll never be able to tell you that enough.

MM clears his throat as you slide Ben’s ring on, and doesn’t bother to try and guide or prompt you and Ben away from each other as he says your full name. “Do you take Benjamin to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” you whisper, and MM needs to start talking faster or you’re going to pass out from the sheer force of Ben’s love and hunger in your body.

“Benjamin, do you take,” MM says your full name again, and Ben’s grin is the most feral, consuming one you’ve ever seen on his handsome features. “To be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“Fuck yes.” Ben’s voice is growl, and MM sighs.

“Great. I now pronounce you husband and wife. I’d say kiss the bride-“

You don’t hear the rest of MM’s words, because Ben crashes into you like a hurricane and you can’t hear or smell or feel anything but Ben. Alive and devout inside you, big and solid around you, devouring every single piece of you until it’s just Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, he’s your husband and you’re his wife and Ben.

You’ve kissed him a million times. You’ve touched him a million more. You’re going to kiss and touch him for the rest of your life.

But no kiss has ever been better than this one. Nothing has ever been better than Ben. Nobody has ever been as permanent and critical and sacred as Ben, and your love for him, and his love for you. And that’s why the kiss is like this. Why it’s all teeth and spit and bruising force, but still filled with a raw, infinite love and care. Ben’s mouth fits perfectly against yours—everything about Ben fits perfects against everything about you—and his hold and touch are reverent on your skin, and you know you’re going to dedicate the rest of your life to worshipping him but it won’t be enough. Because you’ve never been more satisfied, and you’ve never been more desperate. One of Ben’s broad hands is kneading at your skin as the other tangles in your hair, and his tongue is shoved down your throat as he groans you name between your heads, and you’re his wife.

And that’s that.

Most of the night passes in a blur. Frenchie smashes Edgar’s wine cabinet—he could’ve just opened it, but you and Kimiko are the only ones who see and neither of you are about to snitch—and Hughie finds a grill in the basement that Ben carries outside, grumbling about how it’s rusted and old as fucking shit.

“Older than you?” You tease, hanging off his arm as he starts to clean it off, your smile growing as he shoots you a glare.

“We’re married now.” He grumbles, tugging you closer to his side. “Fucking watch it with the old jokes, Sunshine, because you’re the one who’s going to have to tell everyone I’m a hundred when they ask.” 

“A hundred and six,” you hum. “And I’m not too worried. You don’t look a day over eighty.”

Ben rolls his eyes, but you feel amusement flash through his body. “Brat.”

“Cunt.” You smile up at him, and it’s pointless to fight how fucking high you are. How Ben makes everyone burgers, and you’re surround by people that care about you, and everyone is laughing and happy and there’s no fear or wired tension in the air. MM’s started a fire—Frenchie tried to but got yelled at by almost everyone—that you’ve all gathered around, and the world feels peaceful. There will be more work to do, but right now is so fucking peaceful. Even Butcher doesn’t look like he’s all that worried. His face is cast in the shadows of the night and fire, and he’s only really talking to Ryan and Hughie, but there’s nothing hateful on his face.

You can’t actually read the look on his face. It’s the same one from the actual wedding, and it’s strange, and you’re about to ask if he’s okay when he suddenly moves to stand in front of you and Ben, his voice low and firm.

“Got you cunts a gift,” he snaps, and you feel Ben sit a little taller as you only gape.

“A gift.” Ben grunts, and you’re not sure he knows that he’s starting to pull you half onto his lap. “We don’t fucking need anything-“

“Ain’t that the whole point of gifts, Gov?” Butcher drawls, raising his brows as he shrugs. “And don’t worry, it’s not from just the kindness of my fuckin heart.”

You frown. “What is it?“

“Don’t worry, Love, you’ll like it plenty.”

Butcher winks, and you sigh. “Butcher-“

“There’s a motel bout ten minutes down the road. Two stars, continental breakfast, ain’t no pool but-“

“Did you,” you pause, frowning as you scan over Butcher’s too passive face. “Butcher did you get us a hotel?”

He nods, his face twisting into a scowl made of mostly frustration. “No one here is interested in listenin to you twats hump like rabbits all night. You slide on out whenever the Gov’s dick starts twitchin, and I’ll keep Ryan for the night.”

Ben’s hand tenses on your waist. “What’s the catch.”

“No catch. Fuckin gifts don’t got catches, you old ass-“

“Thank you,” you whisper, squeezing your hand over Ben’s in a silent command to stay silent. “I mean, it’s a really fucking weird gift, but thank you. I think,” you lean to look around Butcher, watching where Ryan and Kimiko are locked in a silent conversation. Ryan yawns mid-gesture, slumping slightly, and you smile. “We’ll wait until he’s asleep, just make sure he doesn’t have any nightmares and tell him we’ll be back, please-“

“I got him, Love.” Butcher mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Room is under my name, sent you the confirmation code earlier.” Butcher pauses, looking between you and Ben, and when he speaks the words sound painful, but not venomous. “Congratulations. And I fuckin meant it, I’ll watch Ryan cause I got stake in the kid, but you cunts start makin mini-Soldier Boy’s and you’re on your bloody own.”

You nod, fully shifting onto Ben’s lap to distract him from shouting at Butcher about hypothetical babysitting. “Thank you, Butcher.” You say it again, offering Butcher a smile that might be realest you’ve ever given him. “I mean it.”

Butcher grunts, shuffling back to Ryan, you think you need to make sure Butcher knows he’s not losing Ryan. That you and Ben might have to take custody to keep him away from the government, but Butcher is the last reminder Ryan has of his mother, and you’d rather die than take that away from him.

That can be another conversation for tomorrow, though. Tomorrow you’ll talk to Butcher about Ryan and his new status as a supe, and talk to Ryan about how you can keep homeschooling him, or, if he really wants, you can figure out how to get him into a public school, and talk to MM and Annie about how you’re all suddenly unemployed.

But it was all wait for tomorrow. Tonight—as Ryan drifts off and all the chaos of the past five years finally starts to drift and fade like smoke into the night sky—you’re going to go lock yourself in a hotel room with Ben and fuck him until you pass out. You’re going to do whatever he asks, and let him touch you wherever he wants, and scream his name until your voice somehow finds a way to be hoarse.

The drive is short and silent, Ben’s hand resting in its rightful place on your thigh and both your rings flashing in the streetlamps as he drives. You mostly just watch him, because he’s yours to watch and fuck he’s handsome. His muscles shift when he turns the wheel and you want him to pick you up and throw you around, and his lips are slightly parted and you want them to make yours swollen, his hair is shifting slightly in the wind—you’d rolled the windows down, everything becoming impossibly hot the moment Ben had started to rub patterns on your skin—and you want to pull at it as he splits you open on his cock- 

You’re staring, Sunshine.

You flush, wrinkling your nose at him. Am I not allowed to stare at you, Pretty Boy?

It’s fucking rude-

Not when you’re staring at your husband. You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder as you take his hand between your own, playing with his big, broad fingers that you want shoved and pumping inside you-

Christ on a fucking cross, Ben says your name with low amusement between your heads, his eyes flashing as he glances at you. I can hear your heartbeat, beautiful, feel how fucking needy you are-

Fuck you-

You’d love that, wouldn’t you-

You can’t dignify his smirk and burning, prideful hunger with any words, because they’ll come out pathetic and breathless, so you move one hand to palm Ben through his jeans, and he cuts off his own words with a hiss of your name.

Fucking- He groans, ripping his hand from yours to move you off his growing bulge. You’re a horny fucking problem, woman, stop trying to make me crash the goddamn car-

You’re going to pout at him, and say something about how neither of you can die if he drives off the road, and giving Ben a hand job in the car doesn’t really feel like a terrible way to go anyway, but then his voice drops an octave and nothing else seems important.

I’m going to fuck you stupid, darling. Don’t fucking worry about that. But, he squeezes your hand, bringing it up to his mouth so he can kiss your knuckles. I want to do something else first.

You nod, unable to use pointless things like words as all of Ben’s love riots and blooms in your body, and he smirks, keeping his hand in yours for the rest of the ride.

The hotel room isn’t anything special—a king bed, a small couch, a TV and table—but it might be the best place you’ve ever been, because Ben hooks the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle, slams the door closed behind you, and bolts it shut before crashing his lips onto yours. And it’s just you and Ben in the world, from this moment until the world burns out. Just Ben Ben Ben, tasting like vanilla and wine and strawberries, biting and sucking on your neck as he walks you backwards. Warms under your hands and so fucking real as his beard scrapes your skin, hooking an arm around your waist to keep you upright and tangling his hand in your hair, touching you like you’re holy and stopping in the middle of the room-

Ben’s stopped. He’s drawing back from you with a wide, cocky, adoring grin, pressing one last kiss to your brow as his hand moves to trace over your cheekbones and lips, then dropping it to grab yours as he adjusts his grip on your body.

Sing. Ben’s mutters the order in your head, and your mouth and voice obey him before you even know what’s happening.

The room fills with colorful, glowing mist, the sky seems to open up above you with stars and warm breeze, and you let Ben guide you. He starts slow, in the easy, simple steps you’ve have a half-hold on, but then he starts to spin you around and dip you down and half carry you around the room, and all you can do is keep singing and smile as you dance. You get breathless and dizzy, the illusions from your voice fading as you start to giggle—high on the smell of pine, on the heat and thirst growing everywhere in your body—and Ben takes over. Slowing down as he hums—low and deep and terrible but still Ben, so the best song you’ve ever heard—swaying you back and forth until you’re half fallen on his body and starting up at him with an open expression made of adoration as you just sit in at him.

He’s so inhumanely beautiful, and he’s yours. You can feel the cooled metal of his ring as he holds your hand, and you can feel that imbedded piece of him always, and Ben is all for you, forever. He’s grinning at you—wide, bright, and toothy in a way that would’ve made you a goner if you weren’t already so rawly and eternally his—and you couldn’t make yourself look away if you wanted.

This time he doesn’t tease you for staring. Ben just slows to a stop, and angles your head back until his lips can press to yours. It’s long and deep and gentle, his tongue tracing over your lips before pressing into your mouth, and you’re going to collapse.

Ben pulls back, and time doesn’t really feel real anymore. You’d be happy here for a lifetime, just staring at Ben as he holds you, smiling at each other like there’s never been any other choice. You’ve clawed and screamed and fought for this, for Ben, and now you think you might want to just stay here for a while. Stay where you’re loved, stay where you’re safe, stay where Ben’s looking at you like someone’s dropped the sun into his hands and it’s shining just for him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters, his thumb pressing onto your lower lip, hunger flaring in his gut and chest when your mouth opens on pure instinct. “Christ, Sunshine, you’re perfect.”

You lick the pad of his finger, your legs almost giving out just from his low groan. Ben-

“Going to take such good care of you, darling.” His words are rolling through your body, and he can’t keep looking at you like that—with an awe and devotion that would be pure if his eyes weren’t dark with lust and desire—or you’ll pass out from want before he even starts kissing you. “Going to fuck you stupid for a million goddamn years, and you’re not getting out of that bed until you’re fucking full of me.”

Please-

“Please what?” Ben’s grin begins to grow wide and cocky, his thumb pushing further into your mouth, his eyes flashing with something almost feral as you start to suck on him. “Fucking- You’re such a fucking brat,” he growls your name, and you start to grind onto the air. “So fucking perfect, going to be the death of me, going to fuck you until you can’t even damn walk-“

Lot of talk, Pretty Boy. You pop off of his thumb with a low moan, clinging to his arm as you give him a wide, sweet, teasing smile. Think you’re going to prove it?

His jaw clenches, his hunger almost intoxicating, and you’re amazed he hasn’t hauled you up and tossed you onto the bed already. But Ben just keeps smirking at you, wiping your own drool on your cheek before fisting his hand in your hair, forcing your gaze to stay on his.

“You know damn well it’s not just talk.” He drawls, and you whimper as his arm unwraps from around your waist, his hand slipping into your pants, allowing his big, broad fingers starting to play with your clit. “And I fucking know how desperate you are for my cock, beautiful.”

Ben’s face drops to your neck, his lips latching onto the one spot until you’re clinging to his arms in desperate attempt to not fall over. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the asshole, and you’re a wet, needy, moaning mess before he’s even gotten inside you. You’re growing dizzy and a little lightheaded as Ben sucks and bites and licks at your neck, then your jaw, then your throat, then your collarbone, and every sound you make becomes a strangled, pleading whine of his name. Your fingers scratch pointlessly at his arms as your pants get ripped of your body and Ben presses his palm to your clit, continuing to rub as his fingers start to tease over your dripping slit, and your legs are barely hold you up anymore as you grind down onto his hand, drowning in how fucking powerful his hunger is, how his cock keeps twitching whenever your thigh bumps against it, how he keeps groaning your name onto your skin like it’s a prayer.

Ben-

Going to be a good girl and beg for me, Sunshine? Ben presses the tip of his middle finger into you, pulling back to watch your flushed, gaping expression. Ask me to fuck you until you’re screaming? He pushes the finger a little further in, groaning as you squeeze around him. Fuck, beautiful, you’re so fucking tight-

Please, Ben. You drop your head to his chest, your legs shaking as he adds another finger, both of them not nearly deep enough. Please, I need you, please-

Words, darling-

Those are fucking words- fuck! Your mouth falls open as Ben shoves his fingers knuckle deep and crooks them against that deep, soft, sensitive spot. God, Benjamin, you’re such a cunt-

I know, he kisses the curve of your ear, his groan sending a shiver up your spine as you feel him start to throb against your lower stomach. Hold on.

You do on pure instinct, your arms wrapping around his neck as you all but hang off his body, and it’s all the warning you get before Ben’s fingers start to scissor and pump inside you. He knows how to work you like an instrument, pushing so deep and twisting and hooking at the exact right moment, his palm still bumping and pressing onto your clit until your panting and dripping down his wrist.

Ben, fuck, I need you, need to cum-

He growls near your ear, and tugs on your hair just enough to pull your face back and kiss you with a fervor as he goes faster. You’re dizzy and a cock-drunk and you haven’t ever touched him yet, and he’s released your hair to hold you upright, his mouth devouring yours as he walks backward, half carrying you with him. You’re not entirely sure what’s happening—your whole existence focused on the feeling of Ben’s lips on yours, his fingers plunging in and out of you until you’re squirming on his hand—until he suddenly pulls away. Ben pulls your lower lip between his teeth, changing the rhythm of his movements to shallow, small thrusts, and then his mouth is gone.

Your eyes shoot open as you whine in protest, but it falls to a choked sound of pure need as Ben drops onto the mattress, his fingers stilling for only a second, and shoots you a wink before latching his lips to your clit and sucking.

If Ben wasn’t gripping and pulling at your hips, you’d have fallen over. Your orgasm hits you like a train, something warm gushing out of your pussy as Ben’s fingers push fully into you and press on that one spot, and all you can do is scream his name and pull at his hair.

When Ben pulls back, your legs shaking as he leaves your fluttering cunt empty, his beard is shining with your mess and his eyes are flashing with lust and want.

You’re a damn miracle, he mutters your name, running his fingers between the lips of your pussy. So fucking good, taste like fucking heaven-

Ben-

Want my cock, Sunshine? He smirks up at you, slapping your pussy once, and you fall forward onto his chest with a moan. Fucking Christ-

You can’t wait for him to start fucking you. You need Ben now, or you might die. You’re aching and empty and he’s everything and all yours and there’s that glowing, atomic feeling inside him that’s calling you again-

Ben lets out a grunt of surprise as you shove him onto his back, a sudden rush of strength overtaking you as his power sinks into your body. You rip off his pants, taking his boxers with them, pull off your own shirt with slightly more care—it’s Ben’s, and smells like him, and you want the chance to wear it later—and drool slightly as you take in Ben’s huge, throbbing cock, standing at attention and already dripping with pre-cum.

Ben grabs at your hair as you crawl over him and take him in your hand, and he tugs you back to meet his gaze as he grunts your name.

“What the fuck-“ He’s scanning over your face, and you feel it when he realizes what’s happening. You could’ve seen it—his dick twitches in your hold, his nostrils flare, and his throat bobs as he swallows—but the feeling is incomparable. It’s primal and ardorous and starved, pulsing and burning and bellowing in your body. Ben says your name, his voice a low warning of need, and you don’t waste any more time.

You bend over, taking Ben into your mouth in one smooth movement that bumps him against the back of your throat, press your thighs together at his groan, and start to suck on him like your life depends on it, because it might. Every sound Ben makes is like oxygen, every buck of his hips making his strength in your body grow, and you own thirst is somehow like water. Ben’s hissing your name through his teeth, his hand fisted in your hair as he starts to guide you up and down his cock, and fuck, you’re strong enough to steady yourself with only one hand so the other can play with his balls, and it earns you a moan.

“Fucking, fuck,” Ben says your name, and you can feel the coil of his orgasm building in your own gut. “You’re, fuck-“ Ben grunts your name, and you whine around him. “So good, so, fuck-“ 

Ben’s still just a little stronger than you are, and you’re starting to lose any remaining sense of even fake resistance as the ache between your legs becomes unbearable and wetness drips down your thighs, so when he yanks you off his cock and hauls you up his body, you don’t resist.

He’s looking up at you with awe and adoration, his hands pulling and rubbing at your hips as you straddle him, and all you manage is a pleading whimper as his cock pushes into the back of your thigh.

“Christ on a cross,” he mutters your name, and you squirm in his hold. “You’re a menace, Sunshine. Suck my cock like a fucking vice, being all goddamn strong and perfect, looking like a fucking painting,” he groans as you grind above him, moving one hand to palm at your breasts. “Need me to fuck you, darling? Need me to pound that pretty fucking pussy until you squirt all over me?”

Yes, yes, please, Ben- You moan as Ben’s free hand snakes around to your clit, flicking and teasing you as your nails dig into his abdomen. God, fuck, please, please fuck me-

He hums, pinching your clit once and smirking at your whine. Since you asked so nicely, darling- he grabs you by the hips, pulls you into the air, and spears you down onto his cock in one, mind-numbing movement. I’ll let you ride me.

You don’t hesitate. Ben’s as deep in your body as possible, the head of him pressed firm against that overly-sensitive spot, and his hands have started to roam over every inch of skin he can reach—leaving trials of fire and care in their wake—so you roll your hips and throw back your head, riding Ben and drowning in his low, filthy praise.

“You’re so fucking good,” he groans, playing with your nipples and rutting up into your cunt. “Fucking made for me, Sunshine, goddamn perfect, fucking beautiful, so fuck-“

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest, and start to bounce up and down. Ben’s hands shoot your ass, squeezing and pulling at your skin, and his every word rolls through your body.

“Fucking, Christ, you’re so fucking perfect, tight as goddamn sin, so pretty fucking yourself stupid on my cock, darling-“ Ben groans, and you’re just lucid enough to notice the room suddenly flooding with golden light as you moan.

“Ben-"

“That’s right, Sunshine, say my fucking name-“

“Ben,” you whimper on his command, feeling yourself build back up to the edge. “Fuck, you’re so big, Ben, please, need to come-“

“Come for me, beautiful, fucking squirt all over my cock-“

That’s all it takes, and you scream as you fall back into blissful, high pleasure, the world blurring around you as your breathing becomes ragged and your whole body lights up with fire that might be real, or an illusion, but is all born from Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben, still hard inside you and looking animalistic and staring at you like you’re his god and fuck, you feel so fucking good-

Ben surges up without warning, knocking you onto your back with a brutal, rough kiss, never pulling out as he shoves your thighs apart and hooks your knees around his waist.

Fuck, Ben, please-

Need more, brat? He makes a small, rough movement that hits your cervix, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. Need me to fill you up? Fuck you until it fucking sticks, fuck you until everyone knows you’re mine, until the only word you know is my goddamn name?

God, yes-

Beg. Ben pulls almost fully out, smirking down at your dumb, slack expression, and slams back into you with a grunt. Fucking beg for it, Sunshine, tell me how bad you want my cock-

So bad, Ben, fuck- Your eyes rolls back slightly as he repeats the movement, your whole body burning, and you slap his chest weakly. God, you’re, you’re such a fucking dick, please-

You love my fucking dick. Ben presses a mockingly sweet kiss to your lips, wrapping one around your waist to pull you up off the mattress, pushing himself deeper until you’re no really sure where Ben starts and you stop. You love me.

You nod, wiggling under him. I do, please, please fuck me, please-

Ben groans, making a shallow thrust that leaves him pressing right against that spot, but still doesn’t give in. Say it.

I love you, please, Ben-

Full thing, Sunshine. He rolls his hips, grinning at you with a reverence that feels vital in your heart, and slaps your clit once. Say the whole fucking thing.

I love you, Benjamin, I love you, please-

Good girl, he mutters in your head, crashing his mouth back into yours, kissing you into the mattress and pushing his tongue down your throat, groaning into you as you squeeze around him, sucking and biting at your lips before he draws back and admires his work. Ben peels you apart under his devout gaze, moves his hand to lazily rub your clit, and looking like a fucking angel again as the light of your fire—the real fire, searing into the sheets and casting shadows over Ben’s handsome face—fills the room.

You make a strangled sound that might be his name, reaching up to try and pull him back over you, and you feel the snap in his will. Feel it echo through your whole body as he turns into something that’s only made of love and hunger and care for you, and Ben starts fuck into you at a brutal, unforgiving pace that would break your bones if you weren’t filled with his borrowed power. Still, all you can do is moan his name, scrape as his arms and chest and back as he drags you higher, and take it.

So fucking good, beautiful, so fucking tight and wet for me. Ben groans, and you whine as he rolls his hips at the deepest point, making you dizzy and your head only a drunken haze of pleasure. Christ, fucking made for my cock, made for me, such a pretty fucking mouth and perfect fucking pussy-

He’s plowing into you, the bed creaking and world seeming to shake around you from the force of Ben’s worship, and fuck it’s so good. It’s heaven, being split open and fucked by Ben’s huge cock, being praised by his deep voice. Being fucking used and tended to all at once, Ben’s movements feral and rough, but his hands still rubbing at your skin, his words still filled with affection and love.

Gonna fucking fill you up, make you squirt all over me and smell like my cum for a year, so fucking beautiful when I make you feel good. Ben’s movements are starting to grow uneven, and over the lewd slapping of his skin against yours and the song in your head of Ben, you think you hear a crack as the bed breaks under you. Only one who fucks you right, fucks you like you deserve, fucks you all stupid and pretty and gets that smart mouth to fucking beg-

Ben-

Fuck, darling, so goddamn perfect-

You moan, Ben’s mouth return to yours as his orgasm begins to build in both your bodies. Ben, please. Fuck, Benjamin, so fucking good, feel so fucking good, please-

When Ben cums—wet heat bursting inside you as he fucks you through it—he roars your name, and it sets off your own orgasm. Color and light explode across the room, mirroring the bliss in your body, and it’s overwhelming, and dizzying, and so fucking good. You’re so full and high and fucked out, all you can think is Ben.

“I’m here,” you hear him say your name as he pulls out of you, and you let out a long moan as he slaps your pussy. “So perfect, Sunshine, fucking love you.”

You moan, grabbing at his shoulders without fully being able to see them, and tug his weight down over your body. Ben stays right where you need him to be—draped over you and solid and warm, humming off-key and brushing hair from your eyes as you fall back to earth—and when you blink away half-evaporated tears of pleasure, he comes into full focus. Handsome and grinning, pressing a light kiss to the space between your eyes and muttering your name against your skin.

“You’re okay-“

“I’m good,” you mumble, tugging his gaze back to meet yours. “Really, really good. So fucking good.” You let out a blissful sigh, tracing your hand over his cheek. “Hi, Benjamin.”

He chuckles, falling slowly onto you in another dizzying kiss. Hi, Sunshine. Fucking Christ. Ben’s voice is low and gruff in your head, his brow dropping to yours. We’re married.

You let out a small, breathy laugh. That is how weddings work, Pretty Boy.

He snorts, squeezing his hand on your waist. Smartass.

You love it.

Ben nips at your upper nip, smirking at the small whine that escapes you. Of course I fucking love it, Sunshine. I love you.

I love you too. You smile at him—grinning and handsome and covering you in warmth—and this is real. Ben is real, and yours, and you are married.

It’s not after anymore, it’s now. And it’s yours to have.

You’re going to do the fancy, stupid wedding, even if it’s only all the same people who were at your real one. You’ll convince Singer to give you and Ben real jobs, or just do something yourself.  Use most of Vought’s fortune, now yours, to help people. Start a non-profit, where victims of Vought can have support, and supes can get help figuring out what to do with their lives, and you can really try to fix what’s things that have been broken for a long time. You’ll use the rest of the money to buy a house that’s somewhere suburban—on the outskirts of DC or Boston or Philly—and stupid. You’ll vacation in Rome, but you’ll want a home here. Somewhere with good schools, and at least five bedrooms, and within driving distance of your friends. Nobody’s going to want to stay in New York, so maybe you can all live on the same street and piss of your neighbors as a collective, having loud cookouts where Ben makes burgers and Frenchie gets everyone drunk on homemade liquor that’s probably a bioweapon. You’ll need to keep yourself a little sober, though, because eventually there will be babies you need to stay responsible for. Ryan will like them, because you’ll make sure he never feels any less loved, and Ben will be an amazing father. He’ll spoil them, and help them with all their problems, and make sure they’re never afraid.

You’re never going to be afraid again. You’ll be scared—haunted by nightmares and the sky, not able to see certain colors or smell certain smells—but you won’t be afraid. You’ll sleep in Ben’s arms every night, and his legs will always be tangled in yours as his snores lull you to easy sleep, just like now. You’ll wake up the same way, and put on coffee while Ben makes pancakes for you and a house full of children that only ever really smile. You’ll go to work with him in the day, and make him and your family dinner in the evening, then watch TV with him as your children shuffle off to bed.

Then it will just be you and Ben, and you’ll start to pout and shuffle onto his lap as he smirks at you.

Can I fucking help you, darling? He’ll ask, already grabbing at your ass and waist, and you’ll wrinkle your nose at him.

I think, you’ll grind down onto him, already half-hard and prodding against your thigh, and he’ll groan. You need some help as well, my love.

It’ll go back and forth for a minute, because that’s what you and Ben do, and then someone will give in, and something will snap, and Ben will carry you upstairs and fuck you into the mattress. His brow will drop to yours when it’s over, and his voice will be a low, rough sound in your head that’s just as natural as your heartbeat. 

I love you, Sunshine.

And you’ll smile, holding Ben’s face between your hands as you play with the hair of his beard and take a long, deep breath of pine and coffee and vanilla. I love you too, Benjamin.

Then you’ll fall asleep like this again, and wake up again, and live a peaceful, happy life with Ben by your side every step of the way.

Everything will get to be love.

And you will never have to fight another war again.

End Note: I can't believe it's done. I’d like to thank my cat, Pete Wentz for writing baller lyrics that make up 20% of our chapter titles, Jensen Ackles for his face and the rizz he gives every single character he plays, and you guys. Thank you everyone who stuck to the end, now and any future readers, and for being so supportive of my silly little (little in the silly way. this thing is longer than fucking Les Mes) story. I never imagined this would be met with the love you guys have shown it, and I am unspeakably grateful for all of you. Thank you again, and if you’re sticking around, see you soon!

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods @ahoytothestorm @silverwingxox @criminalyetminimal @solsborg

@generalmoonpolice @ifyouwerethemoon @leavli @imsiriuslyreal @ambientcryptidsounds

@ej13928

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen make the shot after saying "this one's for you"

requested by anon! im actually terrible at basketball so even if none of them made the shot then id be impressed at them for trying lmaoo. also chan is in 2 bc i think he fits both!

masterlist

seungcheol, hoshi, mingyu

makes the shot, is endlessly pleased with himself. will not shut up about it. it's going to be the story he tells during nights out with the others for the next five weeks straight. he's so genuinely delighted and he's all “did you see that? you saw that right? it's because i did it for you babe that's why it went in—” pls give this man a pat on the head and tell him that he did well bc otherwise there's a chance he'll keep pestering you until you compliment him. no but in all honesty, it really is quite sweet how excited he gets about it, and it does make you feel all kinds of loved.

jeonghan, minghao

makes the shot, and looks at you all weird when you're genuinely surprised. he knows how to handle a ball, okay? why are you so shocked? is the teensiest bit pleased on the inside though bc your reaction genuinely helped fuel his ego hugely. takes about 5 more shots in a row and is now grinning a little bc the wowed expression on your face does not fade. he has to eventually stop because he is starting to get a little embarrassed at how genuinely impressed you are.

joshua, junhui, dokyeom

doesn't make it, but he's so adorably embarrassed that it has you collapsing into a laugh and automatically going over to him to squish his cheeks, endeared. there's that tense moment where you think the ball is gonna go through the hoop, but when it ends up just bouncing off the side and shooting far away to somewhere else, he's turning away in embarrassment and you're grinning and reaching over to hug him and coo that it's okay because he made the shot into your heart long ago, and that's a shot that he definitely did not miss

woozi, seungkwan, (chan)

isn't able to make the shot right up until you finally drag him out of the court. he's normally good at this, but he swears that it's bc of the pressure he put on himself by declaring that he's gonna do it. woozi doesn't make it bc he gave up after three times. seungkwan doesn't make it bc he keeps talking between every shot and eventually you laugh and drag him home. chan tries his best, but apparently the ball must have had an argument with the hoop or smth bc it just refuses to go in and it's definitely not his fault

wonwoo, vernon, (chan)

either misses the hoop by miles or makes the shot and then gets all surprised at his own abilities. “holy shit did you see that? i'm basically a basketball god now. woozi can be the god of music and ill be the god of basketball” he is not basically a basketball god, but it was a good shot, and you laugh at how proud he is for making it as he gestures to the hoop and re-commentates the entire act for you like you weren't watching him the whole time. his reward for successfully wowing you is head pats and the promise of whatever ice cream he wants once you finally leave the court and go home.

request guidelines

reactions tags: @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @yonabutnotyuna @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @jeonride @kellesvt @hanniehaee @astrozuya @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @all-american-fangirl @f1uffyjun @jeonghanfr

[show-your-fangs]

I request very politely, you better continue the camgirl story with all the smut there is or I'm suing 😫 Some proper thigh action would be nice 🤭

there's no thigh riding in this one, but it will happen i promise my darling, i owe you and i will deliver.

The Contract | Sugar Daddy!Aaron Hotchner

The Secrets We Keep (a Bunny and Clyde story) - Part Two

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Aaron Hotchner x BAU/cam girl!Reader

Words: 5.6k

CW: 18+, mdni, nsfw.

Tags/warnings: D/s relationship, master!hotch x sub!reader, sex work (is real work), power imbalance/play, reader works at the bau and is a secret cam girl, hotch is a customer, pet names (bunny, sweet girl, good girl), (semi public) mutual masturbation, cum play, aftercare (is important istfg).

a/n: this fucking series and i...holy shit i cannot get enough of it. it's all i think about every day, i just can't stop thinking about them. my apologies to moments, it has been dethroned in my heart.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

His lips were on you just as quickly as his hands. 

It was overwhelming, your legs practically going numb as he pulled you into his room, all you could think to do was desperately try to deepen the kiss. He didn’t hold back, he couldn’t hold back, even if he wanted to, and thankfully you didn’t want that either. 

You opened your mouth for him as his hands ran down your back to grab your ass, greedy, possessive, as if it had always belonged to him. He pulled you off the ground, maneuvering your legs to wrap around his waist. You obeyed without question, your legs holding onto him tightly as your arms hooked behind his neck. 

It was a fervor of tongues clashing, teeth grazing, hands digging into soft skin. His finger nails dug harshly into your plush ass, eliciting a squeal from your throat. He groaned into the kiss in response, swiftly walking back towards the king size bed in his room and slamming you down on it. 

You moaned into his mouth, the roughness only getting you going even more. He was sure he was living a dream, his heart beating so fast it was sure to explode. He pressed his body down over yours, enveloping you whole with his weight, keeping you trapped between him and the mattress.

It wasn’t that he thought you would escape, it was more that he didn’t even want to give you the option. You ground your hips into his crotch then, desperate hands trying to rip his shirt off his back. 

He pulled back from the kiss, making sure to bite down on your bottom lip and tug as far as he was able before you tensed under him. Only then did he let go, swiftly pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere in the dark room. 

You were panting hard, your ears were ringing, your chest and face were most definitely flushed crimson. You could feel him press his crotch into yours, hard, stiff, warm. So warm it almost made you melt into him. 

Your hands immediately traced over his back, fingers gliding over every muscle, every ride, every dimple. His own returned to your body just as hungrily, his fingers gently tracing down your chin, your neck, your arms, your sides, before they made their home on your hips, squeezing them experimentally to gauge your reaction.

You hummed, running your own arms down his chest to pull him closer to you once more. This was everything, it was too much, having your boss so close, so warm against your core, so desperate and needy for you, just like user1102, was making your head feel dizzy with pleasure.

“Please, Master,” you whined. “I need—”

Your stomach growled loudly then, reminding you that you were actually starving.

You couldn’t help the giggle that erupted out of your mouth and into his, his own lips curling into a soft smile as he pressed them to yours one final time before he detached himself completely from your body. 

You sat yourself up, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. He turned on the light, the faint glow from the one at the entrance of his room not enough as he now needed the entire room to be bathed in it, to sober him up enough to be able to restrain himself from taking you right then and there. 

He turned to face you the second that it did, to fully take you in, to make sure that it hadn’t been a dream. You were still there, still panting softly, still looking at him with those round, expressive eyes he adored. 

“When did you figure it out?” you asked him softly, clearly eager to fill the overwhelming silence that had taken over the room. 

He walked over to the mini bar and poured a glass of water before he finally addressed you. 

“I started to suspect the day you hit your foot at the office.”

Your eyes widened immediately, your cheeks flushing in response as you remembered that you’d seen him that same night…privately. You fell back on the bed, hands covering your face in embarrassment. 

“No!” you whined. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You felt him walk back over to the bed and sit on the other side, far away and yet incredibly close. 

“I wasn’t sure,” he replied, gently nudging you to look at him. 

You took a short, steadying breath before you let your hands slip away from your face, eyes finally adjusting and making out the glass of water and sandwich he’d bought for himself in his hands. 

You smiled brightly, the prospect of Hotch, of your boss, of user1102 taking care of you, made your heart flutter. You got up to your knees, carefully taking the two items before you settled criss cross on the bed in front of him. 

“What about now?” you asked him in between gulps of water, remembering all the other times he’d watched you drink it diligently after a particularly demanding scene. “What do you want now that you know?”

He took the glass back from you and placed it on the bedside table once it was empty. “Good girl,” the words spilled out of his mouth out of habit and you immediately stilled, the heat in your lower belly slowly starting to build back up.

He noticed your reaction, subtle and yet it made him feel like the most powerful person in the world. 

“We shouldn’t,” he stated as a matter of fact. “Not right now.”

Your face immediately fell into a deep pout, almost unconsciously looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. He sighed deeply, looking down to break the spell you clearly had him under, his hands clutching onto the bed covers tightly. 

“The things I want to do to you, sweet girl,” his voice was strained, hoarse, heavy on his chest. You were practically buzzing with anticipation, one second away from allowing your judgement to lapse and leap across the bed into his arms. 

But you knew he was right. You knew you shouldn’t rush into this, as much as you trusted him, as much as you knew him, as much as he made your heart practically leap out of your chest with a simple glance.

You didn’t have a lot of time, your mind already racing with excuses to give Emily if you found her still awake when you got back to the room. 

“I want,” he started, voice calm, collected, clear. “I want to be your Dom, bunny.” He watched your reaction to his words like a hawk. Your entire body tensed, all the memories of your encounters over the past few months crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Only you weren’t drowning, but rather being filled with so much air it was overwhelming.

Your gaze met his, the rest of his face devoid of any emotion, and yet his brown eyes were overflowing with them. He was terrified, positively horror-stricken about how you may react, about losing not only your friendship but also the outlet of release he’d grown to depend on. 

But instead, you just beamed at him. You threw your things on the mattress before you shot back up to your knees and shuffled across the bed towards him. 

He let you, his heart going so fast he couldn’t feel his arms or legs. You sat yourself over his lap, arms wrapping around his neck again before your lips were on his. It was a soft kiss, so soft he almost thought it hadn’t happened. But then it did again, and again, and again, and again, and soon enough you were devouring him in the sweetest kisses he’d ever experienced.

His heart swelled, his hands shooting up to wrap around your back, pressing you tightly against him once more. “Is that a yes?”

“Enthusiastically,” you smiled before leaning back down to place another kiss on his now puffy lips. 

And just like that, he had everything.

You returned to your room soon after, sandwich in hand and dizzy with happiness. He’d asked you to text him when you made it back, a small test to gage just how enthusiastic you were about this, and you hadn’t disappointed him, going as far as to reassure him that you really, really, really wanted this.

Aaron couldn’t sleep that night, he couldn’t get his mind to stop racing, his heart to calm down, his excitement to dwindle enough for him to even close his eyes. The adrenaline coursing through his veins was more powerful than after he’d run a marathon, and he needed to channel it into something or else he was going to go crazy.

He thought about touching himself, about relieving the ache in his crotch, but he’d told you not to even think about touching yourself, wanting to frustrate you just enough until the two of you entered an official agreement. And so he didn’t do it either, it was only fair.

Instead he sat himself at the small desk that came with the room and he wrote. He wrote everything he could think of, everything he wanted to do to you, how he wanted to take you, how he wanted to take care of you, how he wanted to punish you, how he wanted to dominate you. 

He wrote until his alarm sounded and the sun started to fill the world outside in a faint warm glow. He wrote until Dave was knocking on his door to make sure he was alright. It was only then, when he’d finished writing everything, that he snapped back into reality, got himself ready for the day, and stepped out to meet the rest of the team. 

He’d made sure to keep you as far away from him the entire day, not trusting himself to not linger, to not lose focus, to not give himself a single reason to take you in the precinct bathroom. 

You had a suspect in custody by early afternoon, and he’d made sure to keep you in the precinct with Reid, where you were safe. He was sure you knew why he’d made the call, it was pretty obvious and would definitely be one of the things that the two of you had to discuss. 

But it didn’t matter, at least not right now. You didn’t even think to disobey, didn’t even think about the fact that he was definitely doing this because of everything that had happened the night before, didn’t even begin to let the new dynamic between the two of you settle. You’d been distracted all day, desperately trying to not allow your feelings for him to show. 

It was dark by the time you boarded the plane back to Quantico, everyone pretty much determined to get some rest before you made it back. The couch was the first to go, Morgan and Reid fighting over it like children until Morgan won out, immediately plopping down on it and turning his headphones on high. 

Rossi and Spencer took up the single seats facing the bathroom and kitchen while Emily and JJ took up a double seater, leaving you and Aaron at the head of the plane alone. You sat next to the window by yourself, as far away from JJ and Emily as you could just in case he had other plans than sleeping. 

It took everything in him to not sit down next to you right away, the action would’ve been too obvious with all the empty seats around. And so for the first twenty minutes of the flight, you sat alone, waiting, trying to distract yourself by looking out the window. 

He’d been staring at you relentlessly, impatiently waiting for the plane to stabilize in the air before thinking about approaching. He’d sat himself down at the perfect angle to watch you, his laptop light being the only one illuminating the otherwise pitch black plane. 

He’d been reading the contract again, making sure that whatever he’d written in his sleep deprived and incredibly horny state was actually coherent, and properly worded before sending it to you. 

Once he was sure everyone else was asleep, once he made sure that everything was worded as clearly as possible since there was no need for any twisted legal jargon, once he made sure that he was calm and collected enough, he hit send and watched as your phone lit up on the table beside you. 

Your attention was finally brought back to the room, your hand shakily picking up the device before you saw what he’d sent you. He’d been smart to send it to your encrypted chat instead of to your official email, but it didn’t make it any less daunting, the lines between you and Aaron, and bouncingbunny1 and user1102 officially blurring. 

You didn’t even dare glance in his direction, terrified of what it would do to you when you caught a glimpse of just how pent up he was. Instead you opened the file and began reading. 

To say he was thorough was an understatement. You knew Aaron never did things halfway, never did things without thinking them through, and he’d clearly been thinking about this for a while. 

He’d confessed early on in your private sessions that he’d never done anything like this before, never demanded complete control over someone in the way that he wanted over you. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious, willing to put in the work and learn. 

You’d spent the entire first month just learning each other’s limits, him learning yours and discovering his own. By the second month he was more confident, eager to try things he’d found, determined to start having fun after setting up the foundation of trust between the two of you. 

You had been enthusiastic from the start, never actually having someone exert this amount of dominance over you before. Sure, you’d had a few partners who were rough and liked to sometimes use you in the way you truly craved, but it had never been like this. You’d never gotten to explore the lifestyle this fully, with rules and requirements and clauses in place to protect yourself and your partner.  

By the third month you’d gotten into a very comfortable routine with user1102, knew what to expect from your sessions, and it was through that knowledge that you somehow became even more excited to meet with him.

But there was just so much you could do, so much he could do to keep things interesting, to fill the ache in your chest, to fill the ache in your core. Your fingers had quickly become not enough so you’d started to use toys, and after a while even that wasn’t enough. You wanted him, needed him, craved him, in the flesh, to do the things he’d been making you do to yourself.

There had been a particularly tough case few weeks back that had you aching and desperate. You’d made it back home worked up, almost as badly as the first time you’d met him, and all you could think about was needing to be fucked so hard you forgot your name. 

You were so close to biting the bullet, so close to asking him to meet face to face, so close to begging for him to come use you. But you knew you shouldn’t, knew that no matter how much you trusted him, you’d never seen his face, didn’t even know his name, and that could’ve been disastrous. 

You didn’t realize you’d started rubbing your thighs together until you accidentally tapped your clit against the rough hem of your underwear. Your mouth was watering, your chest was practically heaving, your eyes clouded in lust as you read through the list of kinks that he had so thoroughly provided. 

It was long, from calmer ones like spanking to the rougher ones he’d told you he fantasized about like collars and leashes. He was so perfect, your kinks lining up so perfectly that it almost felt like he’d been made just for you…or maybe you’d been made just for him, for each other. 

You knew he was watching you from across the aisle, knew he was making sure to catch every reaction, every thought, every time your breath hitched. He needed to see it all, needed to know that you were consenting enthusiastically every step of the way, because even an ounce of hesitation and he would put a stop to it immediately.

bouncingbunny1: Master?

You bit down on your lip as you watched him pick up his phone, his attention off you and back on you virtually exhilarating. 

user1102: Yes, bunny?

bouncingbunny1: May I please please please please pretty please touch myself?

He fought the urge to slam his laptop and cross the aisle towards you. Instead he took a steadying breath, daring to look at you, your puppy eyes and disarming pout barely visible in the low light of your phone screen. 

But the little that he saw was enough to make him lose it, to finally realize that it didn’t matter just how much he wanted to be in control of you, you would always be in control of him first. Whatever you wanted, he would give to you, and the thought didn’t scare him, instead it only made him want you more. 

user1102: Go to the bathroom and wait for me in there.

He watched as you locked your phone, plunging you in darkness once more before you slid out of your seat and made your way to the back of the plane. He waited impatiently for a few minutes, the anticipation of what he was about to do, to make you do, to see, finally in the flesh, made his heart beat rise like bile up his throat.

He finally stood, slowly yet surely walking across the plane, carefully making sure that no one had woken up, that no one knew what was happening. He didn’t need the looks, didn’t need wandering eyes to put two and two together, wanted to keep this just between the two of you, the privacy you deserved to figure whatever this was out the most important thing in his mind. 

He stood in front of the unlocked bathroom for a second, steadying himself, getting out of his head and allowing him to slip into the role he’d been dreaming of playing for so long. 

The bathroom was barely big enough for two people, but he squeezed in there regardless, his back pressed to the door tightly so that he didn’t touch you. You were just as overwhelmed as he was, your chest rising and falling deeply, your eyes glossed over with desire, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. 

He smirked to himself, the knowledge that you had gone to the bathroom before you left the precinct and changed into a skirt because you knew some version of this exact thing would happen almost enough to make him want to deny you of the pleasure. 

He wanted to keep this professional, like it had been every time he called. One last time for old time’s sake, one last time before you were both responsible about this and discussed everything that he’d just sent you, one last time before you signed your names on a piece of paper that made you his officially. Only then would he allow himself to touch you, to worship you, to give you everything you wanted. 

“On the counter,” he told you, eager to put some space between the two of you. 

He watched you like a hawk, starving eyes following every twitch, every breath, every movement diligently. Your brain processed his words and you stepped forward, jumping on the vanity and waiting patiently for his next command. It had been like this for a while, this understanding of each other, of receiving and accepting.

He moved to face you, so close to you, to your open legs, to where he desperately craved to be. And still far enough that you were starting to get desperate, needy, whiny with each second that his hands weren’t on you.

“Bunch your skirt around your waist,” he continued, his strong hand coming up to rest over his growing erection. 

You did as he said, eyes never leaving his. Your hands shook over your sheer tights, almost eagerly hooking under them and pulling them down your legs. But you stopped yourself, returning your hand back to its place against the sink to hold you up. 

“Good girl,” he praised, his hand squeezing himself through his pants. That’s when you caught onto his game, caught onto what he was going to ask you to do since that was exactly what you had asked after all. “You can take them off now.”

You’ve never taken off your tights faster. There was always an issue, always something they got hooked on or an area where they stuck to your skin. But tonight they slid off your legs without so much as a beat too late. You tossed them to the side hurriedly and were met with an amused chuckle from the man in front of you. 

But as much as he was trying to appear calm and collected, his hand had tightened his movements, his grip on himself clearly eager as well. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, clearly enjoying the sight, the sight that he’d never allowed you to see, the sight that you’ve been fantasizing about for months. 

“Go ahead, make yourself cum, bunny,” he groaned, back pressing against the wall farther to hold himself up. 

Your cheeks immediately flushed crimson, embarrassment washing over you in burning hot waves. It was silly, you knew that. You’d done that and so much more for him, because of him for months. He’s probably seen you in as many positions, with as many toys, cumming in just as many ways — and yet this is what got you. 

Make yourself cum. Make yourself cum while your boss watched you, make yourself cum while user1102 touches himself, make yourself cum while Aaron held your stare in his and completely shattered whatever platonic friendship the two of you have built for the past year.

“Don’t get shy on me now, sweet girl,” he cooed, his hand stilling its movements as an incentive for you to start yours.

You took one final steadying breath before you plunged, damning every self conscious thought you had into the darkest pits of your brain.

Your left hand slid down your stomach, teasing, making him pay for what he’s doing to you, as you pulled your legs up on the vanity, knees bent towards your chest.

His eyes glimmered in the light of the bathroom, his mouth slowly hanging open in anticipation, practically salivating for you. 

You pressed your back against the mirror as your fingers hooked into your panties, pulling the completely soaked material to the side, exposing your slick folds to him. You watched him eagerly as he took in a sharp breath, his eyes darting between yours and your heat. 

He was quick to reward you, his own hands unbuckling his belt unbearably slow. Two could play at this game, but neither of you had the patience for it right now. Your right hand flew right to your pussy, fingers quickly tracing the length of your folds, gathering your wetness towards your clit. 

You moaned, just for him, just to remind him of what he should be doing as well, and he wasted no time sliding his zipper down and greedily pulling his cock out of his underwear. 

You forgot how to breathe for a second, your brain struggling to process what it was seeing. He was big, bigger than your fantasies had concocted, bigger than you ever though he could’ve been, bigger than you knew what to do with. He smirked at the attention, stepping forward to bring it back to his face. 

“Spit in my hand, bunny,” he extended his open palm to you and you could’ve sworn your head had exploded. 

It took you a second to decide what to do. Your right hand returned to your aching entrance, gathering as much of your arousal as you could before you slapped your slick covered fingers against his palm. 

He groaned loudly, so much so that it made your walls clench around nothing as even more leaked out of you. Before he could pull back, you brought his hand forward. You gathered as much saliva as you could in your mouth before leaning forward, eyes staring up at him filled with innocence, and you let the spit fall through your pursed lips onto his hand, mixing with the rest of your juices. 

“Oh bunny, you’re killing me,” he moaned, his now drenched hand wrapping around his cock swiftly. 

You smiled up at him, prideful, filthy, lustful, before your hand returned to its previous motions. You focused your energy on your clit now, slow and tight circles, matching the pace he subconsciously set. 

As much as Aaron had revered to watch you pleasure yourself through his screen, that had been nothing compared to the real deal, to having you displayed in front of him, to knowing that he could reach out and touch you if he wanted. 

“Finger yourself with your other hand,” he said through gritted teeth, the roughness of his hand around his sensitive tip almost pushing him over the edge. But he wasn’t done, he didn’t want to be, at least not yet.

You did as he wanted, making sure to open your legs wider so that he could watch as your fingers slid in and out of you. He moaned then, the sound practically vibrating in tandem with the airplane around you, making you almost feel him all around you.

He picked up his pace, strokes becoming more and more aggressive as he encouraged you to do the same. He was close, you could tell, and it swelled your chest with pride.

Usually you had to hear him closely, listen for those grunts that always let you know he was getting there. But seeing how his jaw tensed, how his breathing strained, how his hand squeezed harder around himself — you could not take it, your own tension building.

He knew that reaction well. He’d seen you wear it many times before. Your fingers were curling meticulously against your g-spot, your other ones picking up their pace over your clit while your thighs began to close together, seeking to relieve the tension. 

But what made it even sweeter was the way he could now see your desire plastered all over your face, like you were the easiest book he’d ever read.

You looked at him, pleading, a broken shell of the confident agent he’d gotten the chance to know, turned into the slut he knew you could be. He took another step forward, his erection unbelievably close to your entrance, one more step and his tip would be in you. 

You let out a gasp, your gaze frozen on the minuscule distance between your bodies. You wanted him to move forward, needed him to fill you up and relief the ache inside of you. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t and you knew it well.

Even then, in your desperation, you admired his determination to do things the right way. You both needed release, both craved it desperately, but he was not about to jeopardize your future relationship, one that needed to be built on of trust and communication and respect, for a quickie in the jet’s bathroom.

“Cum for me, bunny,” he told you, his voice gruff. You whimpered, allowing yourself to tune into the wave and ride it until it exploded within you. 

You moaned loudly, your fingers not letting up their movements as you rode out your orgasm. Your walls clenched around your fingers, a gush of wetness pouring out of you to coat them in your slick. 

His own strokes stilled for a moment, watching you come undone, savoring the fruits of his labor, waiting for you to come down from your high. It was only when your fingers slid out of you and you stilled your moments completely that he returned to his own. 

“Can I cum in your panties, sweet girl?” he asked, his words getting tangled up in the unholy sounds spilling out of him. 

You were hazy, your mind desperately trying to hold onto reality, onto your wits, onto the sound of his voice because you were terrified that if you didn’t, this would all disappear into thin air, back into the dream that you’d had for so long. 

“Yes,” you managed, your shaky hand lifting up the front of your panties so that he could spill his seed over you. 

His movements became erratic then, strokes became tugs, and just as quickly as it had began, it ended. He fully stepped into your personal space, his other hand wrapping around your thigh to keep you in place as he emptied himself into the wet cotton of your panties. 

Your slick mixed with his spend, hot and heavy on your skin, clearly meant to mark you as his. He moaned into your ear, low, unhinged, euphoric, and you couldn’t help but whimper in return. 

You were so far gone, so little and malleable, so much so that you knew that whatever he asked you to do then, you’d do it without question. Your head fell on the crook of his neck, labored breaths filling the room as he gently unhooked your fingers from your underwear to place it back to cover you. 

He couldn’t stop looking at the white substance seeping through your panties, the squishy and lewdly wetness against your skin making him excited to fill your pussy up until you were leaking him everywhere. 

You stayed like that for a few minutes. He knew he couldn’t keep you like that, couldn’t ask you to walk back out there and act as though nothing had happened, couldn’t risk you getting a rash because of his own ego. 

At some point he tucked himself back into his boxers, getting himself back to the pristine put together image that he always was. He waited until you’d calmed down a little more before he cupped your face with his hands, pulling you to look at him again. 

“Bunny, I’m going to get you all cleaned up, alright?” 

You nodded, eyes sleepily blinking shut longer and longer. He set you back against the mirror, grabbing one of the towels and wetting it before he gently ran it over your hands and the inside of your thighs. 

He set the towel to the side before he hooked his index fingers in your panties, pulling them down your legs before tossing them into the sink. He cleaned your pussy gently, making sure to get every last bit of the two of you off your delicate skin. 

Once he was done, he patted you dry with another towel, reaching over to where your tights had landed to pick them up. He got on his knees, a sight that had you perking up just enough to catch him staring up at you with so much adoration you honestly didn’t know what to do with it. 

It took everything in you not to melt right into his tough, to stay awake enough even though his warm finger riding up your legs was enough to lull you to sleep. It was only when he needed to hoist your tights over your ass that he picked you up, placing you back down on your shaky legs.

“Can you do me one last favor, sweet girl?” he whispered and you did your best to nod. “Can you pee for me? I don’t want you getting a UTI.”

You sighed deeply, being diligent not something you were looking forward to in that moment. But you nodded again, and he rewarded you with a soft kiss to your temple before he stepped outside of the bathroom to give you some privacy.

Once you were done, he walked you back to his seat on the plane, not caring if anyone saw because he knew that even if they did, they wouldn’t say anything at all. He made sure you were comfortable, wrapped in a blanket, buckled into the seat for safety, before he made his way back to the bathroom. 

He cleaned everything up, going through his own routine before he washed his hands, pocketed your still damp panties, and made sure nothing looked out of place. He then grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before making his way back to you.

He sat beside you, his hand softly grazing your cheek to wake you up long enough to press the bottle on your lips, silently urging you to drink. 

You did without question, almost as if you’d done this all your life, the motion nothing more than routine, easy, normal. 

“Master?” you whispered sweetly after he deemed you’d drank enough. 

“Yes, bunny?”

“Can I have a kiss please?”

“Of course, sweet girl,” his nose tickled your own before his lips landed on yours, gentle, kind, perfect. You hummed against him, eyes closing for the final time before sleep overtook you. 

He smiled proudly, his heart so full, so content, so excited for what the future had in store for the first time in a very long time. He watched you sleep the rest of the flight, watched you curl further into him, watched you reciprocate all of the feelings that had been plaguing him since the night before.

You wanted him just as much as he wanted you, and that was all he needed to lay the self-sabotage to bed, to allow himself to drift off to sleep, even if it was just for a few minutes so that he could fully take you in, because all he really needed was you curled into his side like you belonged there all along.

fucking hell i am oN MY KNEES for this man. honestly what a fucking jOY it is to write them.

send me more requests for bunny and clyde!! i don't really have a series planned for them so i'm down to just write requested scenarios and play around with where their story goes.

tags: @canuck-eh, @ssamorganhotchner, @xladyxdreamer, @gr3enflowers, @lilyviolets, @howabouticallyou, @shadowmemory, @simp4f1, @honeylovemoon, @powelvr25

[faust-the-enjoyer]

The Best Mentor

Synopsis: Keegan teaches Logan how to fuck the reader.

Tags/warnings: MDNI, gn!reader, gender neutral anatomy, poly relationship, pre-established poly relationship, pre-established consent, use of condom, praise (m receiving), consensual exhibition?, Threesome, age gaps (reader is 21+, Logan's canon age (25/26), Keegan's canon age (38)), Logan gets called "Kid", spanking once (m receiving), nipple play (m receiving), impact play??? (Thigh slapping, reader receiving), mentions of aftercare.

A/n:...holy shit. Also, this is based off of this post of mine.

Tags: @milkteaarttime

Divider by (@/saradika-graphics)!

You're lying on your back while your lover, Logan, is inside you, and he has your two's other lover, Keegan, right behind him, back pressed up to his chest and stomach, Keegan's face is resting on his shoulder.

"You gotta take it slow in the beginning, alright? C'mon, move your hips.", Keegan spanks him from behind, causing Logan to lose his breath for a moment and start moving his hips again, they've both prepared you quiet well for this, so it doesn't hurt, rather it's all...smooth.

As Logan slowly moves his hips, Keegan kisses his neck, "That's my good boy...pull one of their legs over your shoulder, it'll make 'em feel really good.". Logan's mouth opens a little, small breaths leaving it as he nods and pulls your leg over his shoulder. You let out a moan and close your eyes, he feels deeper now, "It feels good, it feels so good...", they both smile at you, that's exactly what Keegan wanted, communication between the three of you, so you all know what to do and what not to do.

He turns his head to whisper in Logan's ear, "You're such a good boy, making them feel so good...you can go a little faster,", he turns to look at you, "Right R/N?", and to both of their delight, you nod your head frantically and moan, "yes! Yes! Please! Please Logan!", you take one of his hands in yours, intertwining your fingers with his as he starts moving faster, his cock filling you up just the way you wanted, his grunts making both you and Keegan hungrier for him.

As Logan fucks you, Keegan turns his head and kisses him, then moves his hands from holding his hips, up to his chest, fingers slowly running over his nipples as Logan's breath hitches, his hips move faster, "Fuck...I'm gonna cum, shit...", he breathes heavily, his legs shake a bit as he gets closer. "Gonna make R/N cum before you do, kid?", Keegan chuckles a little, fingers now pinching Logan's nipples as he nods feverishly. He gulps, "Gonna make them cum before I do...".

As pleasure overtakes you, you moan and sink your head deeper into the pillow it's resting on, you feel close, so close...you just need that little push..."I-I'm so close!", Keegan moves to the side on the bed now, getting a better view of the two of you, and he starts lightly slapping your thighs...so, so close to your crotch, it doesn't hurt, but it's enough to have you hold onto Logan AND Keegan's hand as you cum and moan, legs shaking over Logan's shoulder and around his hip.

Logan, on the other hand, still didn't manage to cum, so he pulled out, laying his hard cock on top of your crotch as he tried to catch his breath, pulling your leg off of his shoulder and lowering it on the bed now. But he's not done and you three know it, that's why Keegan takes his condom-wrapped cock in his free hand and starts jerking him off, hand squeezing at the base as he goes up, quickly making him groan and cum hard. As he lets go of him, he kisses his forehead, and you can feel both of their fingers tighten around yours, "Fast learner, huh kid?", they both chuckle.

At this point, you finally caught your breath, and you're finally able to speak, "God...I love you two so much, so fucking much...", your eyes soften as you see the sight in front of you, the two men who consider each person in this relationship their home, one way or another. Keegan gave the both of you aftercare, and you three had dinner afterwards.

[eebeewrites]

Taleisin One-Shot: Camping

dumb idea i had that ended up being kinda hot

Tags: Public sex, light somno, earbiting, this is mostly smut

You looked over Taleisin’s shoulder as he scrolled through the team’s group message. After many debates, it seemed they had finally decided on what to do for their trip over summer break.

🟡: so we’re all good with going camping? 🔵: ya 🔴: yeah 🟢: 👍 🧡: yea

He let out a groan before putting his phone down. “This is gonna fucking suck,” he mumbled, resting his head on your lap. “I hate camping.”

You played with his hair as he spoke. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I don’t wanna be a dick. Everyone else seemed excited about it, and it always takes us forever to decide on something. I don’t wanna be the one person that causes an issue.”

“I don’t think anyone would’ve been upset. What are you worried about? Maybe it won’t be that bad.”

“I’m gonna feel gross, and there’s gonna be bugs. I hate both of those things. Plus, we’ll all be sleeping like…incredibly close together. So…ugh.”

You giggled, “and why is that an issue?”

“Because, and I know this makes me sound like a loser, but we are not gonna be able to do anything the whole time.”

“And that’s what really makes it an awful idea?”

“Yeah.”

You leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to survive. Besides, you never know,” you smiled. “But if you’re really upset, you should say something.

He sighed, “yeah, you’re probably right. I just hate confrontation.”

“It’s not a confrontation, you’re just giving your opinion.”

He put his face between your thighs and let out another groan. “It’s fine. I’ll live. It’s fine.”

“Taleisin, give me your phone.”

He handed his phone over to you, and you started to type into the group chat.

🧡: tbh on second thought I don’t know if I’d be down for that, I dont rly like tent camping

🔴: we don’t have to do tent camping if you don’t want to

You handed his phone back to him. “See? It’s fine. They’re your friends, they don’t want you to be miserable.” He looked over the message, and continued what you started.

🧡: I’m gonna be so real with you I’m not going a week without showering 🧡: I will literally crash out 🔵: I can get us an rv 🟡: the fuck you mean you can just ‘get’ an rv 🟡: also who the hell is gonna drive it 🔴: I can it’s not hard 🔵: I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy 🟡: shit ok you guys have it figured out 🟢: if we all split the cost it wouldn’t be that expensive 🔵: nah I got it dw 🟡: how the fuck can you afford that 🔵: shoutout to my dad for dying inheritance money babeyyyy 🟡: holy shit

“Feel better?” You asked.

“Yeah, I do.” He leaned up and kissed you on the cheek, smiling. “Thank you. Hopefully, it won’t be that bad.”

————

The RV had 4 beds; the master bedroom, then 3 couches/chairs that converted to beds. Callon and Alex took the master bedroom, which no one argued with; after all, Alex drove, and Callon paid for it.

You and Taleisin were still able to sleep next to each other, although you didn’t get the same luxury of privacy. Still, it wasn't that big of a deal.

Taleisin felt much better about the experience once everyone was together. The RV was certainly much fancier than everyone anticipated. There was a shower, functional plumbing, and air conditioning; all things Taleisin had taken for granted before faced with the idea of not having them. It was fancy enough for him to relax, most of his qualms about the trip having disappeared.

Most of them.

At first you thought he was joking about not being able to go a week without fucking you. After all, you managed to make it through winter break. This couldn't be that bad.

This time was different; he’d wake up with your thick ass pressed against him, your warm body in his arms, your tits in his hands, and could do nothing. He’d simply hold you, wait for his hard-on to go away, and that was that.

He didn’t want you to think he only wanted you for sex, so he didn’t bring it up. There weren't that many opportunities for you two to be alone anyways, so he figured it'd be best to just focus on enjoy spending time with you and his friends. However, you weren’t making that easy.

He was always fun to tease under the sheets; you’d grind on him, move his hands under your shirt or under your pants, and if you were feeling bold you might even touch him, stroking his cock under the covers. It was something, but far from enough to satiate either of you.

It was the middle of the night when you woke up. Everyone was asleep, He sounded like he was still asleep, but you could feel his hands wandering as he slowly thrusted against the curve of your ass. For a moment, you just...let him. The way he yearned for you, even in his sleep, made you want to give him what he so badly desired.

“Taleisin?” You looked behind him, his face buried in your neck as he kept going.

“Hmm?” He responded quietly, not even opening his eyes. Was he still asleep? Was he dreaming? You weren’t sure.

“Tali, what are you doing?”

“Please,” he said softly, still grinding his bulge against your clothed pussy. “I need you.” His voice was low, yet desperate. You wanted to give in, you wanted to feel him, but...

“I-I don’t know, we can’t wake anyone up…” you mumbled. Yet as the idea went through your head, you could feel yourself getting wet at the thought.

“I need you so fucking bad,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “We’ll be quiet, no one will know.” You hadn't ever heard him sound so insatiable.

You looked around; everyone still seemed fast asleep. You were considering it more and more. You slipped off your shorts, your underwear the only thing separating the two of you. He took his cock out, pressing the tip against your covered pussy, “you’re so wet, fuck,” he mumbled, regaining his pace.

He was so close to just pulling your panties aside and slipping inside you. At this point, you wanted him to. The more he grinded against you, the more you were willing to throw caution to the wind. The feeling of his length rubbing against your clit, your wet panties pressing against you. You couldn't take it anymore, you needed him inside you.

“Just…just be quiet, okay?” You slipped your panties off, and even just the touch of your naked, wet pussy was enough to make him stifle a moan.

He grabbed your hips, pulling you closer as he pushed inside you. “Fuck,” he moaned into your neck, biting his lip to stay quiet. He took a moment just to hold you there on his cock, the feeling of your pussy after so long (a week) an intoxicating respite. You were in no rush; you took the time to adjust to his size, trying to keep from breathing too loudly.

“You feel so good...Can I move?” He asked.

You nodded, "mmhmm."

You felt him start to slowly thrust in and out of you, keeping a tight grip on your soft body, caressing your hips as he moved. You did your best to stay quiet; you didn’t realize how much you missed the sensation of his thick cock inside you until you felt it again. You could feel his shallow, warm breaths against your neck.

“You feel so fucking good…” he whispered in your ear, gently biting it. It was as if he wanted to devour any part of you he could. He hadn’t ever done that before, but the sensation almost made you fail to keep quiet.

He started to move faster, pulling your leg up just a bit further so he get deeper. He pulled you closer, and you leaned over to kiss him. You noticed the sound of the sofa bed starting to get louder as his speed increased. You pulled away, “Tali, Tali slow down,” you whispered, terrified of being caught.

He slowed, fully stopping for a moment as you both listened out for any movement. You looked across from you, his friends still asleep. You let out a sigh of relief.

He slowly started to move once more, feeling every inch of him move in and out of you. His hands wandered up to your breasts, squeezing both of them as he regained his pace. One of his hands wandered down, starting to rub your clit as he fucked you.

You did your best to hold in another moan, but were unsuccessful as you whimpered his name. “Taleisin, please, I can’t-”

“Yes you can,” he whispered, moving as fast as he could without making any noise. He kept rubbing your clit, “I wanna feel you cum, I want you to milk my cock,” he moaned into your ear. He had always been vocal, but the quiet intensity with how he spoke was a welcome addition.

You felt yourself getting closer, your breaths getting quicker. You couldn’t hold back, almost crying out before feeling his fingers in your mouth. Almost instinctively, you sucked on them, keeping you quiet. One hand on your clit and another silencing you, he managed to keep fucking you. “That’s it, good girl,” he whispered. “Fuck, you feel so good, I’m gonna cum. Come on, cum on my fucking cock,” he begged, taking the risk as he moved even faster, the sofa bed starting to squeak as he fucked into you.

You gripped his cock tight, cumming onto him as you felt him slam into you one last time, holding you down as he came inside you; after all, you wouldn't want to make a mess.

He held you close, kissing your neck and moving to kiss you on the lips. “Holy shit,” he mumbled. “You’re so perfect, you’re so hot. I needed you so bad, you have no idea.”

“I have a bit of an idea,” you smiled, kissing him once more.

He pulled your panties and pants back up, his hand resting on your ass. He put his cock away, getting comfortable as you both relaxed. “I love you,” he said sleepily.

“I love you too.” Before long, you fell back asleep.

When you woke up the next morning, it seemed no one was aware of your late night rendezvous.

i always forget to use my taglist for one-shots BUT I REMEMBERED THIS TIME

TAGLIST: @sketchlove @madam8 @shimadalluvia @crimsonflameproxy @mimi-sanisanidiot @damnitimasimp @dlikesdandelions @skeletonea

still working on the next chapter of tali's thing but wanted to write him being absolutely down bad and desperate teehee. enjoy!

[fategoflatass]

I used to be so against the slow burn trope. Not because I thought it was shit; it's just, I usually don't have the patience to wait whatever-amount-superior-to-three damn chapters for my dear ship to finally be able to look at each other without blushing and/or hold hands. Thus why you often times see me reading oneshots or fics with the "Established Relationship" tag on them.

So you can imagine just how surprised—or maybe not, maybe I just didn't think enough about it—I was when I realized my newest fixation's main pairing is—canonically—the embodiment of slow burn. Because holy shit they're taking their time.

Nothing against how Kusuriya develops its love story—quite the opposite, actually. The relationship between Jinshi and Maomao, two characters that are written as beautifully as their romance, is a rather realistic approach as to how the same or a similar dynamic would developed in real life. In such a complicated situation, with such complex feelings about emotions—both external and their own—and attachment, makes sense that it takes so long for the relationship to finally sail.

The problem is, I didn't know I was signing with the Devil the moment I decided to pick up the light novel. Ten volumes and nothing has happened. Nothing.

And you can say that technically things have happened, because they have. I mean, Jinshi is just so desperate for Maomao to give him the time of day, you know what I mean? And even that isn't enough anymore and thus he has committed some of the craziest shit I've seen in any romance. Which okay, I don't usually read these type of romances but still.

What I mean by "nothing" is just, their relationship hasn't changed status. I could also say that it seems to go nowhere, but that'd be lying. Since, you know, it has changed quite a lot—just not in the way my impatient ass wanted it to. Because he can be as honest with his feelings as he pleases, and those around them might be heavely conscious of the tension and thus constantly tease those lovebirds (as they should), but babygirl's not helping, you know?

And I get it, Maomao's not the best at expressing and understanding herself, and she's also way too busy worrying about going as unnoticed as possible (she should give up on that one already, tbh) while keeping her head where it should be. But like, I can't help feeling frustrated over it like ‼‼

GIRL, FUCK THE RULES. TAKE THAT PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A MAN AND RUNAWAY SOMEWHERE NO ONE WILL BE ABLE TO IDENTIFY YOU. YOU THEN CARRY THAT BITCH BRIDESTYLE TO THE CLOSEST CHURCH AND MAKE HIM YOUR WIFE. PROCEED TO FROG AROUND, EXPERIMENT WITH YOUR UTERUS AS MUCH AS YOU'D LIKE, AND THEN TEACH THE PRODUCTS OF YOUR PRACTICES AS YOUR OWN GUINEA PIG THE WAYS OF HERBAL MEDICINE. AS EASY AS THAT.

But she won't. She'll take her sweet ass time being in denial about both Jinshi's and her own feelings, then maybe she'll proceed to analize herself and find out that maybe, just maybe, that affection that she'd been feeling for that loser became something else. Did said affection also become something more complicated? Absolutely. Does she know how to deal with it? Hell no, but fuck it. If I learned something from school is that you always leave the hardest parts for later.

Now you see why I was so against reading slow burn?

And you wanna know the worst part? I loved it—I loved every second of it, every word, every page. Every scene that seemed to help the relationship advance, only for Maomao to say nope and leave like she owns the place, which at this point she fucking might.

It feels like I, as the reader, am in the middle of a heatwave and some sadistic bastard won't stop teasing me with ice cream—they put it in front of my face, close enough that I can smell the cold. Then take a spoon and eat little by little while staring directly to my eyes. At times they seem to show mercy and feed me a spoon, only for it to be a rather small quantity of serving—serving that tastes so damn good at first, only for it to have such a bitter aftertaste. But if I gotta have something in common with Jinshi is that I'll never be able to beat the masochist allegations, so I'll wait patiently for the next spoon and its corresponding and seemingly enless teasing from that faceless being.

So yeah, I'm still against it, only that now I understand the appeal—even if I have yet to find out about the whereabouts of my sanity while still mananing with the little I've left.

[dickgraysongirlie]

When Jason Finally Comes Back (Smut)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Tags: smut, light angst, afab!reader, use of words describing vaginas.

A/N: short and sweet smut w/ a little, light angst. Jason's been out of town for a long while, and you really missed him.

It had been over two months since Jason left on his mission. You had known he’d be gone for a while, but this was beyond the pale. The first few weeks, you´d been able to throw yourself into work and see friends and fill your days. Then, a month had passed with minimal contact with the man you loved more than anything, and life was dragging. As much had you had worried before the fourth week came, it became overwhelming. For the past five weeks, all you could do was worry about Jason. It had begun affecting nearly every aspect of your life.

But, then, suddenly and beautifully he was back in your apartment, making it look all small again.

From the moment you flung yourself into his treetrunks of arms when he walked through the door, it had been like you were on cloud nine.

“Jay,” you breathed into his collarbone, unable to get another word out of your choked-up throat.

“Hey, darling,” he murmured back. “I missed you.¨

That's all it took for the dam to break. You became a babbling mess in the crook of his neck as he cradled your body against his like it was nothing. It was an incoherent mash-up of I missed you, I love you, and I was worried all paired with his name over and over again like some prayer

Jason let out a watery chuckle, “It’s okay, darlin’, I'm right here. I got you; I’m not going anywhere.”

That was a good hour ago, and now another type of reunion was about to happen.

Jason and you were getting hot into your makeout, his hand finally slipping into your panties, and you felt like you could already combust.

¨Aw, darlin', you’re already so wet. Been missing me that much?”

All you could do was desperately nod as his fingers began running through your folds  “Yes, Jay. Missed you so much, please.

“Please what,” he asked with that devilish smirk of his.

 “Please this?” Jason asked, finally dipping one of his massive fingers into your dripping cunt.

Had you been in a different state, you'd probably feel embarrassed by the fact that you immediately started convulsing around his digit, cumming as hard as if he’d been edging you for hours  Which, in a way, he’d been doing much worse over an even longer period of time. It was just, so big, so much, and too fucking long since the last time Jason had touched you.

“Holy shit doll, did you just cum?” Jason gasped before pulling you into a bone-melting kiss. “That's so fucking hot.” 

As you caught your breath, he immediately stole it away again by beginning to move that one digit around your still-fluttering pussy.

“Jesus Christ, baby, you're so tight, it feels like you haven't been touched since I left.”

You clutched his arm as it went in and out of you as you vehemently shook your head. 

“No? No what darling?”

“N-no..I haven't t-touched myself since you left. Co-couldn't.”

Jason stopped, looking at you gobsmacked as you writhed against his still finger, begging for more, “What did you just say?” He couldn’t look away from you. Your face all twisted with pleasure and he’d barely done anything to you at all. There’s no way you really, for two months, didn’t cum once.

But, you nodded, still trying to get him to touch you more. “I tried but it was too hard. Not as good as you. Made me think of you. Made me miss you too much.”

Jason pulled his finger from your core but before you could whine at the loss, he has both hands on your face and pulled you into a searing kiss as if he was trying to kiss you all the way to your toes.

When he pulled away, his eyes were filled with reverence as his thumbs stroked your cheeks. How did he, this Lazarus-filled murderer, get such a sweet thing like you? “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I love you so much.”

Tears started to fill your eyes again, and you werent surorised to se the emotion mimicked on Jasons. But, he pushed past the feeling of his heart bursting with love. After all, he had a very needy girl to please.

Quickly he pressed one last loving kiss to your lips before giving you a look that was pure filth. that almost had you cumming again. “Well, if my poor girl’s pretty pussy hasn't been getting enough attention, I have my work cut out for me. After all, I have to make up for all those lost orgasms, don’t I,” his voice that teasing kind of condescending that had you burning. “Let's see if we can get four more out of you, how about that, pretty girl?”

He didn't give you a chance to respond before his fingers descended back to your cunt.

[i-am-ir0n-maiden]

It's Not What It Looks Like

for @msdjsg7

Welcome to Chapter 2 of my first fic, first Loki fic, and first char x reader fic, Taking Chances! You can find Chapter One here.

Warnings/tags: a little bit of strong language (shut it, Steve), good!Loki, fluff, soft!Loki, Avenger!Loki, you and Loki are friends (maybe eventually more, oops that could be a spoiler), Loki's in a stabby mood for about half a scene

No age limits

Fandom: MCU movie Loki

You blinked awake slowly after the best sleep you'd had in weeks to find yourself in a bed not your own. Too much green.

Then you noticed that you were in someone's arms.

Loki's?!

You shifted a bit, embarrassed, trying to remember how you got here. Oh, right... in your exhaustion-hazed brain last night, you thought getting your Jotunn best friend to cuddle you to cool you down in place of the air conditioning was a good idea. Yeah. That's right.

Loki stirred a bit and woke up at your movements, that malicious smirk creeping onto his face as he looked down at you. He didn't need to say anything - his face said more than words could. He thought this was funny.

You glared at him. "Shut up," you growled as you shifted away, trying to put some distance between you two. Anything to make this less awkward, oh Norns why did I ever think this was a good idea, I need to get away from him I don't like the butterfly feeling I'm getting right now because it's starting to transition to turning me on...

He actually smiled at you. "I haven't said a word, darling." He paused for effect. "You, on the other hand, were... rather demanding last night." The smile became his trademark smirk once more. "It's not often a woman forces herself into my bed and orders me to hold her."

Your glare intensified as you pulled away, out of his grasp, and slipped out of the bed entirely.

You didn't expect long, cool fingers to wrap around your wrist and keep you from taking another step.

Loki had moved faster than you'd ever seen any being move before to grab your wrist and prevent you from leaving.

You froze for a second, barely able to believe your ears at what he said next. "Did I tell you that you had to leave?"

You finally snapped out of your holy-shit-is-this-really-happening trance, not making any more moves to leave, as you said "I should... It's dawn."

"I see that. What I do not see is how the sunrise has any bearing on your staying with me or leaving. It's quite rare that anyone chooses to be near me." He attempted to pull you back.

You sighed, but let him pull you off-balance so you landed back beside him. "If the others see me sneaking out of your room, they might, well... get ideas." You said as you settled back in beside him.

He chuckled softly at that. "Mm. Perhaps we shouldn't allow that."

"Then why do you want me to stay?"

"Simply because I desire your company, is that a problem for you?"

It was once again your turn to be shocked. "N-no. It's not. But you only get five more minutes."

He pulled you close enough to put his arms back around you. "I shall not keep you a second longer than you wish."

You two laid there a few more moments, simply existing together and listening to the sound of one another's breathing. When the five minutes were up, you reluctantly slipped out of Loki's grasp, eliciting a small, sad whine from him. "Already?"

"Yeah, Lokes. I really need to leave now." You said softly as you headed for the door. "See you at breakfast?"

"Won't miss it, since you asked me." His reply was barely audible through the blankets he'd burrowed back into.

What the fuck was that all about? You thought as you headed back to your own room for a shower.

________________________________

When you walked into the kitchen after sneaking back to your room to get ready, Natasha grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side without even giving you a chance to say a word. "So. You and the iceman, huh?" She whispered, looking at you with a conniving smirk.

"Wh- what are you talking about?" You said, trying to feign innocence despite the blush creeping onto your face.

"You went past my room last night and this morning."

"So?"

"Loki's is the last. Mine's next to his."

"It- it's not what it looks like, Nat, I swear..." You managed to say, looking away from her piercing gaze.

"Sure. We've all seen the looks you two give each other, haven't we, Clint?" She called over her shoulder to her partner in crime.

Clint, in the middle of shoving waffles into his mouth, glanced up and said something unintelligible due to his mouth being full.

"See? He agrees." Natasha locked that intense stare she uses during interrogations onto you, daring you to lie again.

"Oh my Gooood..." you moaned in exasperation, rolling your eyes while you frantically formulated a lie.

"Yes?" The smooth voice beside you shocked you, and you glanced over to see Loki smirking at you. "You called?"

"You're not helping, Loki!" You shot him a glare. "Tell Nat why I was in your room last night." You attempted to communicate with your eyes that he needed to lie to her to un-incriminate you both. Tell her anything but the fact that I demanded you cuddle me.

His eyes lit up for a split second - you could practically see what he was thinking. 'This is going to be fun.'

"Well, Miss Romanoff, she walked into my room, forced herself into my bed and demanded that I hold her because it was "too hot everywhere but with me."" He put little air quotes around the last six words - he must have picked that up from Thor.

"God damn it, Loki, why -" your protest was cut off by Natasha's "HA! I KNEW IT!" She triumphantly high-fived Clint and you noticed her surrepititiously being handed money by Sam, Steve, and even Bruce. Thor looked pleased.

She turned back to you with a satisfied look on her face. "JARVIS, you can fix our changes now."

"With pleasure, Miss Romanoff." the AI replied, sounding almost... teasing?

"You see, we've all seen the looks you and Reindeer Games here give each other. So lady triple imposter and her birdbrain decided to do something about it. We actually were all in on it." Tony added from the coffee machine.

"I had JARVIS crank up the temp in your room, the hall, and a little bit in Loki's." Clint said around his fork.

"I obeyed, but made certain that your thermostats showed no change." JARVIS added from the ceiling.

"I went along with their grand scheme and made it believable, didn't think it'd work though." Tony chipped in again from behind his coffee mug.

"I orchestrated all this because you two clearly are all heart eyes for each other." Natasha said, looking satisfied.

"And we bet them it wouldn't work." Bruce, Sam and Steve added sadly.

Thor now looked confused. "I.. was told to ignore everyone else and keep quiet."

You and Loki exchanged identical infuriated glances and took a simultaneous step forward, reaching for your favorite weapons - Loki conjuring a dagger out of thin air, you drawing the one he gave you from its sheath on your hip. "Lot of planning just for it to backfire on them, huh?" you said as you and Loki advanced on the others. "Mm." Loki agreed.

"See? You even reacted the same!" an unfazed Natasha managed to say through her laughter.

Sam's eyes got big and he stood up, tugging Steve and Bruce, who was getting nervous and looking a little green veined, with him. "Thor, should we run?" he asked, already heading for the door.

"I advise it. My brother rather enjoys stabbing people who get on his bad side." Thor replied.

"Relax, Dr. Green Bean. Don't go smashing the place." you said as you passed Bruce being tugged along by Sam. "We won't touch you three."

Loki paused and touched your wrist with his free hand. You glanced at him.

"Perhaps we should give them what they wish?" he whispered just loud enough for the others to hear.

"How... do you propose to do that?" you replied, confused.

His free arm slipped around your waist. "Is this okay?" He looked pleased with himself.

Why not, you thought, and said as much as you leaned into him.

"We've changed our minds." Loki said as he lowered the dagger in his hand and you sheathed yours. "However, conspire against me again and you will see why I am called the god of mischief." He, without warning, threw his dagger, embedding it in the wall a few inches from Nat's head.

"HEY! You WILL be fixing that, and by hand, not with magic!" Tony complained at the hole in the wall that appeared when Loki made the dagger disappear, and reappear back in its place in his room.

Loki pulled you a bit closer and led you along with him as he stepped around Tony and towards the cabinets to find something to eat. As you moved beside him, one thought ran through your mind.

What the fuck is happening between us.

[harrywavycurly]

At First Sight Part 6: Socks

Masterlist: Here

CW: None

Tag List: @ali-r3n @blckburd @comeonatmebruh @sweetmoonlove0214 @heydreamchild @mrsjellymunson @marshmallowgem @sofaritsalrightt @josephquinnsfreckles @micheledawn1975

A/N: I know this isn’t going to go the way lots of y’all imagined it would but just remember Eddie has a lot to say but can’t say it quite yet and you’re just only slightly freaked out, so enjoy😂✨

“Eddie?” “Holy-” “please stop greeting me with holy shit…” “sorry you…just are…perfect.” “Uh thank you…so how’ve you been since-” “since I saw you last? Honestly miserable.” “You’ve been miserable? Why? Did…something happen?” “Yeah I fell in…uhm…a hole.” “You fell in a hole?” “Yeah but I’m uh..fine…so is anything like…happening for you? Right…now?” “The only thing happening is you’re kinda sorta freaking me out…” “I’m sorry! I swear I’m not usually like this…I just…I can’t explain it but you’re sure you’re not like seeing hearts and fireworks aren’t uhm…going off in your head?” “Fireworks? Uhm no more like…alarm bells.” “I’m sorry…let’s just start uh..over? Can we do that?” “Okay…uhm it’s nice out tonight…you can see the starts really well.” “I like your socks.” “Oh thanks…I figure life is too short for boring socks…I like your rings.” “You can have them if you want?” “Oh that’s okay…thank you though..so uhm…how long have you worked on cars?” “Oh uh since I was old enough to carry a wrench…my uncle taught me everything I know.” “That’s awesome…I just work at the library.” “I love you… I mean your job.. yeah your job…libraries hold so much uhm…knowledge and that’s…cool.” “Eddie I’ve got to be honest…you’re uh…kinda-” “don’t say freaking you out…please don’t say it.” “Okay…I won’t say it but just know that’s kinda how I’m…feeling.” “Robin said you liked my hair…is that true?” “Yeah you uh have nice hair..I’ve always liked it.” “Tell me again when you said we met?” “Oh it was in high school…I walked up to you and said hello and you didn’t even turn to look at me…you just kinda…looked in my direction but not….at me.” “I’m so sorry I was a bit of an asshole in high school.” “It really is okay…so did you drive here?” “I walked.” “You…walked?” “Yeah I needed the fresh air…” “right….that uhm makes…sense…where did you walk here…from.” “Family Video…Steve’s been holding me hostage for the last two days.” “Holding you hostage?” “Yeah he hasn’t let me out of his sight until now…I finally was able to escape.” “Oh my is that the time? I should get going…I have…uhm…an early day tomorrow.” “Want me to walk you-” “I got it…my car is right over there so it’s fine…enjoy the rest of the night and uhm…get lots of fresh air…” “You’re never going to talk to me again are you?” “What? No…no I’ll uhm talk to you again the…next time I see you.” “When will that be?” “I’m uh…not sure…have a goodnight Eddie.” “You too sweet…uh I mean you too…have a good night…too…” “Thanks.”

[rosearcanaeum]

(Ten) people I'd like to know better

Tagged by: @screechingfromthevoid <3

Last song: Far From Me by Chase Noseworthy is just on repeat. Sad boy Vax and perfect for my range!

Favorite color: it really depends on context honestly. But the most general is soft pink.

Last book: 😅 I've been struggling through Nein Eyes of Lucien for a while.... more honestly its Call of the Netherdeep and Explorers Guide to Wildemount. I truely read far more fanfic than anything else.

Last movie: I watched Night at the Museum for the first time this week. It was waaaaaay better than I ever imagined. I knew it was good and funny. It was also incredibly sincere and I can't get enough of that.

Last show: speaking of sincere, I'm about halfway through Frieren: beyond journey's end. And holy shit! I have never seen any media with a character who views and interacts with death the way i do. Its pretty heavy as shows go but its trustworthy. (I have a hard time with new stuff most of the time. Cr is one exception and this is too apparently)

Sweet/spicy/savory: no joke I've eaten salt before lol. But i prefer combos or all 3. Sweet spicy is underrated.

Relationship status: I live with my queer platonic partner. Its still just buckwild to me. As a kid i hated the idea of living with a partner cuz i didnt want so many aspects of what i was told that looked like. But hey guess what, y'all can decide what your relationships look like. We have separate rooms, are not sexually involved, rarely even touch tbh. And we love each other very much and want to grow old together in a house with cats.

They're touch averse and I'm sensory seeking. My fun Sunday night (out dancing) is their nightmare. But because we are who we are and how we understand and communicate in our relationship we rely on each other for only things that are available. I'll tell them all the dumb shit i see and do on Grindr and we'll sit on the couch and knit together.

Also my brain nearly explodes everytime I realize not only do we do couple stuff, we have couple friends we do couple stuff with. 18 year old me would have never believed you if you told them.

Last thing I looked up: I looked up the caffeine content of the thai tea concentrate I got my partner to see if i could try it. And shockingly i should be able to. Still gonna eat first and be careful though.

Current obsession: I'm pretty spread out rn, unusually. Ive got a sweater im excited about. And I'm on my 3rd attempt at a dorym water bottle sleeve I'm designing. This one should work now. Honestly dorym is probably no. 1 on my list. I shipped that back in exu, along with a bunch of stuff cuz I'm a delightful multishipper. So i feel particularly excited about dorym finally taking off. But also that while dorian was always looking to orym if anything else had come along he was there for the ride. I love robbie so so much. He is such a good character storyteller!

Looking forward to: today im hanging with 2 friends im usually in a larger group with so thats gonna be fun. Looking forward to baking off the beef wellingtons i made for my partner for xmas. And im looking forward to being able to work full time again in the new year. Ive been on part time for health reasons and stayed because i was spending hours on the phone fighting for insurance coverage. Now that both a done i can work more. I love my job and its a particular kind of boredom that i get when i cant work. Lol speaking of, im looking forward to the holidays being over. The office closures normally screw us but now im only working thurs fri for the next 2 weeks and I'll have try really hard to keep busy enough. At least my partner has 2 of the days off with me!

No pressure tags; not sure I can get to 10 and please dont feel obligated but I'd love to see yours (if you havent already. Ive been avoiding spoilers a lot recently so may not have seen it): @vigilante-apologist @standbyyourmantis @soedblackchaos @forestthechonkykitty @corrrvid @local-redhead-bookworm and luddles looks like you did already do this.

Thats all i got. If you see this and want to do it, consider yourself tagged!

[takaraphoenix]

Camping & Bonding (Part 1)

Tags: m/m, Erica Lives, Boyd Lives, Jackson Doesn't Leave, Pack Mom Stiles, Pack Feels, True Mates, fluff, camping, mutual pining, m/f

Main Pairing: Derek/Stiles

Side Pairings: Scott/Allison, Boyd/Erica, Jackson/Lydia

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski, Derek Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd III, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Cora Hale, Scott McCall, Allison Argent

@writersmonth Prompts Part 1: destiny + creek

Summary: Stiles thinks the pack should go camping, as a bonding exercise. Much to his surprise, Derek agrees with his plan. So the pack goes off into the mountains to camp together.

This Fic on AO3 | This Fic on FFNet

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

Part 1: The Proposal

Over the summer, the pack had rebuilt the Hale House together. That had been an excellent bonding experience, something they'd really desperately needed. Because Boyd and Erica had attempted to leave the pack, though they'd changed their minds and returned after their little torture stint in the Argents' basement. Because Scott had used Derek in his little ploy against Gerard and hadn't even told Stiles about it. Because Allison had temporarily lost her common sense when her mom had died. Because Jackson was now a werewolf. Because Stiles had had a little torture stint in the Argents' basement and he was done not being protected.

So Stiles had dragged Scott and Allison to the growing Hale Pack, because of course had Jackson and Lydia joined it now that Jackson was an actual werewolf and him and Lydia were back together, and Stiles put his foot down. Maybe it'd been a cheap shot to use the torture as an argument, but it had earned him the sad puppy-dog eyes from Scott and had finally made the beta cave into fully joining the Hale Pack. If not for his own sake, then for the protection of his best friend. Because Stiles only had Scott to rely on, in their little pack of two to three (what with Allison's alliances having been a bit skewed lately) and in a real pack, the breakable human would be better protected (Stiles could not believe that he had to play damsel in distress, but hey, it go the job done).

But things had needed to be mended between them all and the summer had been spent doing so, by all of them working together near daily on rebuilding the Hale House into a place where Derek and Isaac could actually live in. That had done so much in building bonds and trust between them all.

At one point though, the summer ended and the house was fully rebuilt. And sure, the pack still did weekly meetings at the Hale House, every Friday, but it wasn't the same as it had been during the summer when they had spent nearly every day together. And school wasn't the same. They were all there, but they weren't all in the same classes, and school wasn't bonding, wasn't having fun together. And considering they'd come across Cora Hale – Derek's baby sister, Derek's baby sister was still alive, Derek still had family left beyond his creepy uncle, holy shit – Stiles thought they needed some more proper bonding. He already had a solid plan too.

As October rolled around with nothing currently trying to murder them, Stiles' plans grew more concrete. A camping trip during autumn break, just the pack and a bunch of tents. The wolves would be able to run wild without running into people, there could be barbecues and bonfires.

Stiles made a plan. Not just for the trip, but also for convincing their Sourwolf leader. He'd made a whole power point presentation on why this was a good idea and why they should do it, fully bracing himself for a long debate with the grumpy, stubborn Alpha.

"Stiles," Isaac smiled brightly as he opened the door for him. "Hey. What are you doing here?"

Stiles grinned. He loved how much more at ease Isaac was these days, ever since him and Derek had moved into this house, since Isaac got a proper sense of family and home. A small laugh escaped him as Isaac pulled him close and nuzzled his neck, the blonde curls tickling him.

"It's not Friday," Cora noted from the couch in the living room.

And that, precisely, was why they needed this bonding exercise. The Hale siblings both struggled with how this pack had to work, because they'd grown up in a pack that was family, a pack that lived together in one home. Rebuilding the house together had done a lot in teaching Derek that this pack was different but it was still pack. Cora, she still needed to find her place in it all. Peter had tracked her down in South America and it had been a tearful Hale reunion, but Cora was struggling with all the new people, this new pack – she'd had a different pack where she had lived before.

Stiles offered her an offended look. "Oh, we so need to stop by and bother you Hales more often outside of pack meetings if that's the kind of greeting I am getting in this household."

Cora just raised an eyebrow before she turned her attention back to her book. Stiles had one hand in Isaac's neck, knowing that for some reason, Isaac really liked that. Though Stiles hadn't figured out why yet, since the betas usually only let their mates or their Alpha touch their necks. Which maybe was part of why Stiles had decided on this camping trip too, because he planned on cornering their Alpha and confronting Derek about the betas' weird behaviors. The neck thing wasn't the only one.

"Where can I find our sour leader?"

"His office," Isaac jerked his head a little. "If you're here, does that mean you'll make dinner? Please. It's been take-out the past three nights."

Stiles had to grin when he saw Cora perking up at Isaac's words too. So Derek was kind of culinarily challenged, and that was no surprise. It had kind of become a thing that Stiles cooked for the pack, it had started out with sandwiches during the rebuilding and then evolved into him cooking full family meals every Friday for their pack meetings. And Stiles loved it! It reminded him of cooking with his mom, real family dinners with mom and dad. Nowadays, his dad worked so many shifts, they didn't get to spend too many dinners together. Pack nights were the best.

"Depends on how long I'll take convincing Der," Stiles grinned. "But sure, if I have enough time left, I would be kinda hungry too. How about you two go through the fridge to pick something."

His grin grew when he saw Cora get off the couch immediately. The girl was slowly warming up to Stiles too. The Stilinski charm could wrap every werewolf around his fingers! Well, their fearless leader was still a work in progress, but there had been less death threats lately so Stiles booked that as on his way to success. Then again, there had been… less Derek, lately. Ever since the school year had started. Stiles only saw Derek during pack meetings or when something tried to kill them. And Stiles tried not to take it personally or feel hurt by it, but there had been a weird bond of sorts between Stiles and Derek, or maybe he'd been imagining that.

"Hey, Sourwolf," Stiles plastered on his broadest grin as he entered Derek's office.

The Alpha scowled when he looked up, first at Stiles, then at Stiles' laptop and somehow, his scowl got even darker. "What's trying to kill us this time."

"It is, genuinely, so sad that you assume it must be a threat when a pack mate comes visiting you outside of pack nights," Stiles heaved a sigh and let himself fall onto the couch like he owned it. "Nothing is trying to kill us. I have an idea. And I bring my laptop because that's where my very well put together presentation lives that will absolutely convince you."

Derek crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at him. "What idea."

"It's nearly fall break and I think that we, the whole pack, should go on a trip together. A camping trip, in the mountains," Stiles sat up straighter, trying to convince Derek. "The wolves could chase and hunt, without running into people. We could barbecue whatever you hunt and eat together and-"

"Okay," Derek interrupted with a short nod.

"-and I found the perfect spot too, it's a creek… What?" Stiles blinked doe-eyed at Derek.

"Okay," Derek nodded. "I think that's a good idea. I've been thinking about what to do to bring the pack closer together since Cora moved here. This is… It's a good idea, Stiles."

Huh. Stiles continued blinking at Derek. He had made a whole presentation! He'd hiked up there to take pictures of the damn creek for that presentation. It was quite beautiful and it ended in a lake, so they could also do some swimming. Derek had never just agreed to anything without needing serious convincing. But Derek hadn't even let him finish a whole sentence.

"Okay," Stiles nodded, very pleased. "Well then, that means I'll have enough time to cook dinner after all, I guess. So, I'll be in the kitchen with the pups. Once you're done with whatever you're doing there, you can join us and help too."

/break\

Derek stared after Stiles' retreating form when the human headed to the kitchen to make dinner for them, like he owned the place. And, in a way, he did. The kitchen had somehow become Stiles' territory. He cooked for the pack during pack nights, he fed Derek and his betas. Stiles, this infuriating, loud, snarky, brilliantly clever human, had just walked into Derek's pack, claimed a spot for himself and somehow taken over the role of Pack Mom like it was natural.

Heaving a sigh, Derek rested his head against the back of his chair. There was a bond between them and it had steadily grown with every time they'd saved each other's life. When Derek had trusted Stiles to chop off his arm after Kate had shot him, when Derek had rushed to the hospital to save Stiles from Peter after they realized who the Alpha was, but the tipping point for Derek had been when Stiles had kept him afloat in the pool for two hours, instead of running off to safety himself. That was when Derek first realized that Stiles was a potential mate for him. And every time after had only solidified that potential bond between them. The summer had been worst, because Stiles had so naturally taken over the position usually reserved to the Alpha's mate.

It was like this sarcastic little shit had waltzed into Derek's life and declared himself Derek's destiny, not leaving any room to argue. He kept saving Derek's life, he brought Derek's pack together and took care of them, he… made this house feel like a home, to Derek. Stiles was his mate, not just a potential mate anymore, the bond between them was so strong at this point, Derek could not imagine ever finding anyone as perfect as Stiles.

Which was why he'd kept Stiles at an arm's length ever since he realized. Breaking into Stiles' bedroom suddenly felt risky. Pinning Stiles against walls only made him want to kiss his mate. But he couldn't burden Stiles like that. Stiles was human, they didn't have mate-bonds, he couldn't feel that call of destiny. He had a choice and Derek wasn't going to take that away from Stiles.

However, he now found himself unable to deny his mate. Quite frankly, Stiles could have asked any ridiculous thing of him and Derek would have agreed. But a pack camping trip? That really was a good idea. A small smile played on Derek's lips as he imagined hunting with his betas and bringing whatever he caught to his mate. He hadn't dared do that yet, thought it would be too obviously an act of courting. But if they went camping, if they went hunting…? Surely, he could get away with bringing Stiles the biggest, juiciest deer he could catch. This was going to be torture.