#how to start an online business without money

[jichanxo]

how it started:

how it's going:

[joshua--12]

[nanaslutt]

welcome to my smau list!! ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

౨ৎ feel free to send an ask to my inbox if u have an idea for a smau (no suggestive prompts for under 18 characters) ౨ৎ

jjk smaus

✿ asking jjk men if you can hold their 🍆 while they pee

✿ showing the jjk men ur new piercings

✿ asking the jjk men if you can peg them

✿ changing “babe” to autocorrect to “whore” in their phone

✿ “shes busy rn”

✿ leaving without telling the jjk guys

✿ “he’s busy rn”

✿ getting ur nails the color of their tip

✿ forbidden relationships

✿ drawing a heart with their tip

✿ baby fever

✿ drunk texting the jjk men

✿ jjk men having a wet dream about you

✿ asking them for a hand pic

✿ jjk mean reacting to their contact name

✿ asking jjk characters what their fav sex act is

✿ telling the jjk guys you spent $200 on tire air

✿ “wrong person” nudes prank

✿ jjk characters reactions to you getting harassed/ hit in

✿ jjk characters finding out you got injured

✿ ass or tits

✿ giving them suprise flowers

✿ asking the jjk characters to take your virginity

✿ telling the jjk characters you want to get them pregnant

✿ getting flowers from someone else and thinking it was from them

✿ getting jealous of you hanging out with someone else

✿ stealing your panties

✿ cuddles after sex

✿ innapropreate package mixup

✿ wax my 😽

✿ sending them porn you wanna recreate

✿ when they drunk text you

✿ them asking you on a date for the first time

✿ sending nudes in the middle of an argument

✿ getting a necklace with their initial

✿ being a woman/man for a day question

✿ controlling your bluetooth vibe

✿ when you leave a kiss mark on them

✿ asking you to stay the night for the first time

✿ the call ending after you fall

✿ “they just left you can come over now”

✿“if i gave you a pass to call me a bitch how would you use it”

✿ “i didn’t finish last night“ prank

✿“i got arrested”

✿ when they find ur smut

✿ editing them to look bad in a photo

✿ accidentally sending them nudes (pre relationship)

✿ the jjk characters sending you gym pics

✿ getting scared watching a scary movie

✿ finding out they punched ur stuffed animals

✿ when they see you in someone else’s jacket

✿ asking them their fav pet name is in bed

✿ when you start your period unprepared

✿ when you see them with another girls belongings

✿ asking them if they like having sex with you

✿ asking them for happy trail pics

✿ when they ask for nudes and you send an unsuggestive pic

✿ asking them if they have a crush on you

✿ when they find ur toy

✿ anxious before ur wedding

✿ taking pics of you when you fall asleep

✿ asking them for a whimper audio

✿ when they cheat on you

✿ having a dream they cheated on you

✿ when they get hit on/harassed

✿ the morning after ur first time having sex

✿ accidentally saying i love you for the first time before ending the call

✿ asking them if they only like you for sex

✿ offering them head to relax them

✿ asking them to kill a spider for you

✿ their reactions to a sexy picture you posted

✿ pregnancy scary

✿ ”sex has been boring” prank

✿ their card declined prank

✿ getting lost in public

✿ asking them if you can stack donuts on it

✿ asking them to pick out a new toy for you

✿ waking up in their body

✿ them reacting to you crying over a dumb video

✿ catching them masturbating

✿ getting a noise complaint

✿ when they catch you masturbating

✿ when they catch you singing

✿ finding a hair that isn’t urs

✿ telling them their nut tastes bad

✿ trying anal

✿ comforting you when you’re burnt out

✿ when they take an aphrodisiac

✿ asking them to find ur 😽 in a lineup

✿ asking them how much money they have

✿ asking about a threesome

✿ what’s their sexual fantasy?

✿ asking them if they’ll put it in soft

✿ slapping their ass and running away

✿ asking them for their friends number

✿ selling their stuff online prank

✿ asking if they’d get a genital piercing

✿ making them sleep on the couch

✿ asking what their body count is

✿ asking them to give you a hickey

[online-earning-method]

Top 10 Online Earning Method

Here are 10 of the easiest methods for online earning:

Freelance work. There are many websites where you can find freelance work, such as Upwork, Fiverr, and Freelancer.com. You can offer your services in a variety of areas, such as writing, editing, web design, and social media marketing.

Take surveys. There are many websites that will pay you to take surveys. Some of the most popular survey sites include Survey Junkie, Swagbucks, and InboxDollars.

Become a mystery shopper. Mystery shoppers are people who go to stores and restaurants and report back on their experiences. You can find mystery shopper jobs on websites like IntelliShop and Market Force.

Test websites and apps. There are websites that will pay you to test websites and apps. This involves giving feedback on the usability and design of the websites and apps. Some of the most popular website and app testing sites include UserTesting and UserZoom.

Sell your photos or videos. If you have a good camera, you can sell your photos or videos online. There are many websites where you can do this, such as Shutterstock, iStockphoto, and Adobe Stock.

Create an online course. If you have expertise in a particular subject, you can create an online course and sell it through a platform like Udemy or Teachable.

Start a blog. If you have a passion for writing, you can start a blog and make money through advertising, affiliate marketing, or selling your own products or services.

Start a YouTube channel. If you're creative and enjoy making videos, you can start a YouTube channel and make money through advertising, affiliate marketing, or selling your own products or services.

Dropshipping. Dropshipping is a business model where you sell products without actually stocking them. When a customer makes a purchase from your store, you simply purchase the product from a supplier and have it shipped directly to the customer. This is a great way to start an online business with little upfront investment.

Invest in cryptocurrency. Cryptocurrency is a digital currency that uses cryptography for security. You can buy and sell cryptocurrency through online exchanges. If you're willing to take on some risk, you could potentially make a lot of money by investing in cryptocurrency.

It's important to note that none of these methods will make you rich overnight. However, if you're willing to put in the time and effort, you can earn a decent amount of money online.

Here are some additional tips for earning money online:

Find a niche. When you're first starting out, it's helpful to find a niche market that you're interested in and knowledgeable about. This will make it easier to find customers and build a reputation.

Be consistent. If you want to be successful at making money online, you need to be consistent with your efforts. This means posting new content on your blog, creating new videos for your YouTube channel, or taking new surveys on a regular basis.

Network. One of the best ways to find new opportunities to make money online is to network with other people who are doing the same thing. Attend online conferences, join relevant Facebook groups, and connect with people on Twitter.

Don't give up. Making money online takes time and effort. There will be times when you feel discouraged, but it's important to keep going. If you keep working hard, you will eventually start to see results.

[corollaservant]

Night in the Net // Shigaraki x f! reader (18+)

Synopsis: You find yourself stranded in one hell of a sexist environment: the small town's internet café. Shigaraki's on the night shift. (3.6k)

Warnings: sex with Shiggy basically, mild degradation and misogyny from our fav incel, dom!Shiggy with a twist (no quirk obviously), use of “dollface” (i like it)

A/N: No dark themes here, peace n luv. Also.. yeah he is always linked to some gaming/electronic business ik!! but I like the trope/hc/almost canon.

You'd never imagine this was how your night would end.

Why are you there again? Right, your friends wanted to go to that after party, as if the club wasn't enough. What was supposed to be a night out ended up with you in the local internet café (the only after hours spot) while your friends decided to go to a house party with loud techno music, which definitely wasn’t your vibe. You and your friends lived close and would often call a taxi on your way home, money wasn’t enough for you to ride solo today though—you prayed in times like these that you at least had a job; you wouldn’t have to rely on anyone then. 

You knew pretty much everyone there, it’s not like the town had more than ten thousand residents and considering the age group and schools you’d all gone to, the internet café only had a few unknown members. On today’s shift was none other than Tomura of course, that guy was taking up as many shifts as his body would allow him to, apparently there was this rumor a family member was in crucial condition and they were in need. Tomura Shigaraki was one of these people you had branded as incel. Though hardworking (he kept a house of his own, cleaning and doing all chores by himself while providing for whomever he had), you still considered the guy as one. Now—you know the term is heavy, matter of fact, quite offending and serious as an allegation but it’s not like there weren’t rumors. Rumors he’d bash women and call them prostitutes, try to sleep with girls and trash them to his friends a day later, hating them for anything they did and claiming true love didn’t exist nowadays because “all women are sluts, who need money and validation.” Plus, he worked at the local internet café (should be enough reason), engaging in heated conversations with his friends and fellow streamers. God, one look in their chats and you'd get as violent as possible— (not much, you'd discovered it the hard way). Thus, it was no surprise that when you enter the place, you hear whispers and scoffs.

‘’The hell are you doing here?’’ A voice was heard from within, the café had the computer screens up front, a bar and a couch with TV in the back. Tomura was occupied in the designated bar the place had (you often wondered what kind of needs these people had—all they ever consumed was energy drinks and pre-packaged meals, takeouts were for reasons of competitive market prohibited).

‘’Just dropping by for a couple of hours, will leave soon.’’ You sigh as you take a seat on the couch, not bothering to talk to anyone, it wasn’t like they cared anyway. Loud noise and laughter can be heard all around, a couple of guys swearing and some younger boys excitedly standing above their screens. The store had a 16+ policy, but of course, no one ever checked so kids could practically stare unattended. Tomura also encouraged younger boys to play, such a piece of shit, you think, getting them to learn young. 

‘’Oh my fucking God, a slut just joined!’’ You hear some guy swear, presumably because a girl joined their online server. These guys were so disgusting, you cringe, it was no wonder they were celibate without wanting it. You stand up, you need to kill some time and you're feeling bored, you think about starting a fight with Tomura, how else could you have a little bit of fun?

You weren’t ever necessarily afraid of the guy, even though you had to admit, he looked intimidating. Quite tall with a pale complexion, ashy, dull hair and scars across his face; no one actually knew much about him and whether he was troubled, it’s not like he ever showed to work beaten up or high and usually kept a low profile. The only frightening thing this man had was his smile, it terrified you sometimes as it looked downright evil. 

‘’Getting them to learn young, huh?’’ You ask him, he’s washing up some cups from the previous round of gross gaming guys, who have now left.

‘’What?’’ He responds, not bothering to look up. 

‘’How to not get women, I mean.’’ You sigh as he huffs in annoyance.

‘’You should be grateful I let a female in my store in the first place.’’ He retorts, but doesn’t seem very angry, just ironic. Usual.

My store (you decide to skip over 'female') sounds funny but you choose not to comment on it. 

‘’So how long until you guys close?’’ You don't bother with the vocabulary—it’s routine at this point. It also never ends well and you had a great night so far, why ruin it now?

‘’Two hours.’’ 

‘’Mind if I sit on the couch? I’ll be quiet I promise’’ You ask—technically beg, as you see no other options.

‘’Ugh.. yeah I mind. There’s some guys wanting to use it, I have a group for GTA on the PS5.’’

‘’Seriously? People still play that?’’ You whine but force yourself to continue.

 ‘’Can I sit with you then?’’ It takes strength—but you say it regardless. You came to terms with the fact he was your last resort minutes ago.

‘’Sure. But you need to make yourself useful. Here, take this.’’ He hands you a wet sponge, ‘’Wash these up... carefully, while I go clean the floors.’’ He orders, as if you’re part of the staff (and new on the job apparently.)

‘’Do you actually want me to wash freaking dishes? I just came here to chill, I don’t even bother anyone!’’ You start feeling annoyed with the chores, you aren’t 16 and he isn’t your mom.

‘’You can always leave.’’ The running tap stops and he turns to you, practically shoving the wet gloves on your chest. 

‘’Or...you can stop being a brat and be of use during your stay, I have two hours left.’’ He smiles, that same smile that makes your skin crawl and blood boil as he moves away.

‘’Fuck! My dress, you asshole!’’ A wet patch now covers the too short dress as you glance at the time on your phone. 

Two hours. Two hours until your friends leave and he closes up anyway.

-

Tomura was at least true to his words. Within two insufferable hours of having to listen to appalling conversations between men (hardly to be considered as such), plate washing and the toilet being constantly occupied, the last customers get up to leave. 

You dry your hands and plop down the couch exhausted.

‘’Finally.’’ You exhale checking your phone, your friends hadn’t given you any life signs in the meantime, so you decide to patiently wait, they’d message eventually. Tomura is done sweeping the nasty floors from crumbs and dried Monster remnants, which he still has to mop (for the fourth time, you note and you've only been there some hours). You notice how restless he seems—the guy has been running the whole night after ignorant customers, who had not once shown basic respect for the order of the place yet never complained. Truly a shame he has such a misogynistic mindset, you think. He could get women, if he wanted to. 

It’s around 6:30 AM, when he presses a button to close the store's roll-up shutters halfway. Small light outside makes its way in but the place is still relatively dark, as he places the mop near the wall and takes a seat next to you.

‘’Fuuck, I’m so tired.’’ He sighs, making sure to spread his legs on the couch as much as he can, not caring (of course) about you also sitting on it. 

You always branded Tomura as an incel, that you knew about. But despite that, you now can’t help but feel for him, not knowing much about him at the same time. Sure, he technically isn’t the nicest guy but a look around would show you that he tries enough for a job kicking his ass. You find yourself sympathizing with a man, whose ideals you hate and try to brush these thoughts off.

‘’And why the fuck am I an incel anyway?’’ He asks, his head rests on the couch and his eyes are closed, he is scrunching severely—almost threatening to fall down. And he manspreads. A lot.

‘’W-well– I..’’ You never thought he’d caught on to that, stammering to stand your ground as you continue. ‘’Well, there have been rumors about you.’’ You say, but it doesn’t come off as confident as you’d hoped for. You also realize, it sounds kind of stupid.

‘’Reaaally? And you made sure to believe them, right?’’ His tone’s laced with irony but the way he talks like he whispers in a raspy voice doesn't annoy you anymore. It makes you more... uncomfortable? On the edge? Excited?...what?

‘’It’s not like you don’t claim it yourself.’’ You retort, finally finding some courage. You notice him looking at you as you awkwardly shuffle in your seat.

‘’All I’ve ever said was that I think women are good for nothing. And I still believe that, but I wouldn’t waste more of my time on that.’’ The statement makes you roll your eyes.

‘’How can you generalize a whole group of people, who are literally in no way inferior to you, you can’t tell me you’ve tried—’’ 

‘’Listen dollface, unless you want to change my mind there’s no reason to fuss that much, my opinion won’t change.’’

Unless you want to change my mind?

‘’I-I don’t.’’ You stammer, because the answer and pet name (dollface??) takes you by surprise and he laughs.

‘’Relax, you branded me an incel.’’ He jokes, ‘’don’t want the rape allegations on me too.’’ 

The more he talks, the more your mind races and you curse yourself. He seems..funny? He has a mole under his lips—fuck, it looks cute...He also looks good so (stupid as it is, yes!) you silently want his attention. Why can’t he just look you in the eyes more?

This is so wrong. He must've noticed your lost gaze as he speaks up.

‘’Wanna watch a movie?’’ He proposes and you nod, anything is better than the silence hanging in the air. Silence you caused. For thinking... things about him. 

Of course Tomura ends up choosing the most depressing film anyone can possibly watch in an internet café at 6 AM, Fallen Angels, and the dramatic cuts make it hard for you to concentrate. He at a certain point leans closer to you but you justify it, how else would he be able to see?

During this one scene, the woman pleasured herself with her legs closed, rubbing together and that’s when you feel a soft hand touch on your thigh. The dress you wore rode up, because your legs rested on the table ahead so it gave him the space he needed. The movement made you tingle and your core involuntarily contracted. The smooth fingers teasingly trailed up and down your leg, from your knees to your inner thighs. You didn’t want to look at him—he was too close and the scene seemed endless. But…he went on about it as if nothing was happening. 

Without saying a word, he carried on. A pad of his finger tip dangerously close to your now heated entrance, the images flashing before your eyes lewd, his hand tempting and threatening to reach your already soaked cunt—all this while the two of you hadn’t even shared a kiss. But he doesn't stop, looking ahead and acting like everything’s fine, until he touches your lower lips and you hiss, his finger traces the wet spot over your underwear while you try to move and speak up. 

‘’W–what are y—’’

‘’Shh..’’ is all he says. 

You want to tell him no. But no to what? You like the feeling of his two fingers against your folds. His palm moves your panties to the side and he stuffs them inside—they dampen from the fluids. How is he that quick? You can’t form a response but you’re about to ask him why—

‘’All that and I haven’t even kissed you.’’ He murmurs, gaze still fixated on the television ahead as you moan, when he slowly pumps them within your walls. Fuck, are you turned on by this?

‘’P-please..’’ You whisper, turning to look at him and for the first time, his eyes are removed from the stupid TV, a sly smile on his features as he tears away his hand.

‘’What is it? Want the incel to kiss you? Maybe even fuck you to prove a point?’’ He says and you frown.

‘’I—no, I have to go.’’ You get up, fixing (lowering) your dress—you have nowhere to go but you’ll figure it out eventually. You think staying longer only plays into his cruel intentions and whilst you can’t deny the pleasure he could give you, your pride’s in the way.

‘’You’re not going anywhere.’’ A wet hand clasps around your wrist and brings you on his lap, as he grins; you seem confused at the sensation. You are hiding the TV screen but he couldn't care less, he never paid attention to the movie.

‘’Feel the stain you left, too?’’ He says as he brings your face closer with the sticky palm grabbing you by the hair. You softly moan, noticing the small mole up close and feeling a bulge poke where your bodies meet. You sway your hips in a silent effort to have him initiate a kiss, you feel desperate and curse yourself again internally. He can only smile.

(You were so clueless, walking around in that slutty dress earlier—making him hard like that, did you even know it?)

He’s quick to kiss you, eager for more already, as mouths clash, teeth collide, the need you both have exceeds proper manners. You sloppily grind against him, the friction from a long outline beneath you makes it hard to think.

‘’I’m guessing, you’re really fucking the incel then.’’ He half smirks as he grabs you and repositions you to sit on his now fully hard cock that throbs in his pants; he lifts your dress above your ass and guides your hips sluggishly back and forth—he’s tormenting you and he enjoys it to the fullest.

‘’T-tomura..p-please.’’ You whine, the urge to have him inside you makes you blabber.

‘’Please what?’’ He slides a hand behind your waist, lowering it to find your slit from behind, his fingers pet your cunt and you moan. Loudly. He is tugging at your panties, the fabric annoys him and he wants full access and the words. The words to prove his point.

‘’P–please...fuck me already!’’ You breathe out and he groans to the sound of your voice. 

The ironic remark he prepared evaporates as he quickly pushes you back, just enough to not fall off his lap and quickly unzips his pants, thanking god for not wearing a belt. 

His pants and underwear are sloppily moved down his knees, as his cock jumps with a pop on his lower abdomen, stiff with a weeping tip. Pretty veins throb around it as your eyes widen.

Shit, he’s big, can you take him?

‘’I’d ask for a nice blowjob, dollface, but wouldn’t want the feminists after me.’’ He says as he brings you close, kissing you yet again, a string of spit runs down your jaw, as your hands roam his tangled, uncombed hair. 

He positions you on his cock, one hand snakes around your waist while the other one clings to the back of your scalp and you’re swiftly lifted by the head and pushed down on him, as you let out a scream.

‘’Shut the fuck up.’’ He hisses, quickly looking around, the sensation from almost his whole length makes you tremble, he feels too full, too painful...too good.

‘’Shit, c’mon now you got this.’’ He encourages as you hesitantly move up and down his cock, gripping his shoulders and looking at him; he seems more concentrated on the sensation than your body, staring at you while you wrap around his length.

‘’Fuck...dollface, this too much for ya?’’ He tries not to grunt and you give your best not to cry, each moment that goes by turning the initial pain to pleasure—your cunt adjusts slowly and bit by bit to his girth. 

‘’T-tomura... y-yes..it’s too much!’’ You whine, sweat forms in your forehead as his hand finds your swollen clit and circles it while your nails dig deeper in his shirt.

‘’You can take it.’’ He says, he feels you squeezing him in, you bounce with dedication on his legs, making the couch squeak as if on some sex tape—you want to bring yourself even closer. So nasty, aren't you? Acting righteous, only to fuck yourself on his cock like a desperate whore.

‘’I-ugh-p-please..’’ You try to speak but he secures his hand around your torso and sinks (lower than before) down the couch. Two strong hands force you to stay still in the air while he drills himself into you at a steady pace, kind of sloppily too. Both of you moan, the position gives equal pleasure, your clit bumps on his groin and his cock reaches your g-spot with ease.

‘’S–Shit, you’re squeezing way too much, haven’t you been fucked like this before?’’ He sounds annoyed but the stammer in his voice betrays him.

Not like this, you want to say but can’t really speak the words. Your weight falls entirely on him, he doesn’t mind one bit—he loves it actually, this skin on skin contact as he guides you on his cock, it feels surreal. He hits soft and spongy spots inside while you slowly fall apart. 

‘’T-Tomura right there..I ugh—I'm close!’’ The sensation overwhelms you, his eyes are still fixated on your face, yeah I can tell, he thinks. He gets off on your desperation, mouth parted all for him? Your eyes threaten to spill by the way he tears apart your cunt and morals bit by bit.. it’s–

‘’Tomura, aren't you closing yet?’’ Someone asks from outside, interrupting the moment. The shutters only reveal a pair of shoes. 

‘’Yeah, I’m on it.’’ Shigaraki stops composed, cockwarming you in a funny way, while a hand, his hand covers your mouth. Your eyes widen as slick trickles down his thighs in silence.

‘’Alright, see you then.’’ The man leaves and he cusses him out. (''Cunt.'')

‘’We’re not done.’’ He turns his attention back to you and seizes your face, bringing your mouth closer.

‘’Open up.’’ He orders and you do, clenching around him in anticipation.

He spits in it and closes the gap with his index finger. 

‘’Swallow or I won’t continue.’’ You quickly gulp down.

‘’So obedient all of a sudden, aren't you?’’ Sarcasm evident as he gives your ass a solid hit, before starting to get back on his pace, only more rough this time, he longs for your release on him. You’re moving up and down his length, trying to grab anything accessible really, his hair, the back of the couch, under his shirt and you feel your orgasm resurface stronger; the delay highlighted all of your senses.

‘’T-Tomura—’’ You shudder, as his cock hits your g-spot expertly–fuck, this guy wasn't some incel–and your swollen clit has to brush one last time past his groin before you feel an overwhelming orgasm take over. You clamp down his length and moan embarrassingly (Fuck Tomura! I–I'm...too good!) This time he lets you, he needs to hear this.

‘’Fuuck—agh, look at you dollface.’’ He hums, a feminist creaming herself on my cock, he wants to add but it’s too many words and you just came so he wastes no time. He brings your neck close to his mouth and bites on it, teeth sink into your flesh and hands force you all the way down. His cum spills inside and he groans, trying to stifle his moans by biting down the sensitive skin even harder. 

And fuck if that isn’t hot.

He keeps you on him, arms fasten around your waist with cum dripping onto his lowered pants but neither of you bother to care; ragged breaths and the sounds of the film still playing are audible as more light enters through the rolled shutters.

God must’ve been on your side that day because a message appears on your screen moments after you both wordlessly got up and cleaned yourselves in the bathroom. Tomura would have to clean again, you think, as the message on your phone signals your time to leave.

You turn to look at him, he has removed his shirt and small nail scratches decorate his pale back and you..smile. What the hell? Was this..? Oh no—You try to find an appropriate goodbye.

See you soon? Thanks for the mind blowing dick? You aren’t the incel I thought you were? Everything seems embarrassing at present time. 

‘’I-I’ll be seeing you soon.’’ You opt for that, stupid as it is, you still look at him in anticipation. He turns to you, hands on the mop cleaning near the couch and nods. 

Great, you think, that was a disaster. You defeatedly walk (actually stoop to get past the almost closed door) feeling like a hooker after a client, miserable and kind of used. This is always the worst part. 

You feel an arm touch your shoulder, you’ve only taken a few steps in the daylight.

‘’Take this in case you revoke your incel statement.’’

Tomura hands you a piece of paper and quickly disappears behind the store’s shadows.

[tarotwithavi]

I get money, I am a star

How can you make more money? How can you attract abundance into your life?

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

How to choose a pile?

Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask the angels to show you the right pile for you and open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is the right pile for you.

This is a general reading, so take what resonates and leave what doesn't.

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THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVE AND SUPPORT 🫶🏻❤️

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

PILE 1

You have a special ability to attract people, and that's because the way you see and understand life is very different from everyone else. I'm also getting the message that you can use your unique perspective and appearance to earn more money. For example, you could become a social media influencer or start your own blog where you share your opinions with others. You might even consider writing articles or books to share your knowledge, which could also help you earn more.

You have a talent or skill that could lead to great financial success. All you need to do is focus on developing it. This might seem like a random message, but I sense that some of you have hacking skills that could be used to catch online predators. You could make money while also doing something good for society, and you can do this without revealing your identity.

I also heard the phrase “secret superstar,” which might have special meaning for some of you.

You can attract abundance into your life just by being yourself. You don’t have to follow strict instructions on how to manifest things. You are fully capable of discovering new methods that work for you when it comes to manifestation. Remember, sometimes you need to "fake it till you make it." Don’t worry about what others might think or say; be the most confident and imaginative version of yourself. Believe in the impossible, and you’ll see it become reality. Dream big, and don’t hesitate to manifest the most outrageous things, even those that seem out of reach.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

PILE 2

I see that some of you are thinking about choosing a business major in college, and I want you to know that this is a great choice for you. I got the message that you have the potential to make more money by helping others learn how to manage and grow their own money. You could become a freelancer, offering advice on how to use money wisely, or you might even start a course where you teach people how to invest and handle their finances.

You have a special knowledge or skill that could be valuable to others, and you could exchange this knowledge for money. Some of you might also be excellent teachers, guides, gurus, or counselors. You hold the key to success—your ideas, inspirations, and whatever thoughts come to your mind right now could be what lead you to success.

I also see that some of you don't feel the need to make a lot of money; you just want to earn enough to live a good, comfortable life. You don't necessarily desire a luxurious lifestyle. Some of you could even become great spiritual teachers.

You can attract abundance into your life by growing spiritually. However, I also notice that some of you have been slacking on your spiritual practices. For example, something you used to do regularly, like manifestation, meditation, or journaling, you now barely do once every two weeks. These practices help keep you emotionally stable. If you start doing them regularly again, you'll notice a significant change in the energy around you.

At this moment, you need to focus on your studies and avoid chasing temporary pleasures. Concentrate on the things that will bring you long-term fulfillment and happiness.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

PILE 3

You need to break free from the cycle you're currently stuck in, and I'm getting the message that this may be connected to your ancestors. It’s possible that your family has experienced a fluctuating cycle of wealth and poverty over time. As a result, you might be afraid of making more money because you fear that you’ll end up facing the same ups and downs as your ancestors did.

I also see that you have a mindset of lack when it comes to money, and this needs to change. If you don’t shift your thinking, you may struggle to manifest more money in your life. Another issue is that you tend to overspend on things you want but don’t really need. Then, when it comes time to spend on something you actually need, you might find yourself short of money. It’s important to learn how to manage your finances better so that you have enough money for both what you want and what you need.

Some of you might be thinking about starting a business or entering a partnership with someone. This could be a good opportunity, but you need to be very careful about who you choose to partner with. For others, starting your own business could be a great option. I see that some of you are considering businesses related to jewelry, clothing (especially thrifted clothes), or decorative items.

You also need to let go of habits or memories that are no longer serving you. You can attract abundance by releasing an addiction or behavior that is holding you back. For instance, I see that some of you may be spending too much time on social media or on your phones. You need to be mindful of how much time you’re wasting on these activities. Instead, invest your time in something that will benefit you. If something isn't adding value to your life, don’t waste your time on it.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[piratefishmama]

Just ONE chance

Stephanie Harrington never intended to be a whole presence online.

She hadn’t even really understood the whole thing at first, it didn’t exist when she was a kid! An if it did it sure as hell wasn’t in every nook and cranny of the globe like it now seemed to be. Kids with iPads, hands glued to phones, six year olds who simply had to have the latest Apple thing.

It was all Dustin’s idea. King of the Gadget. Overseer of all things technology. Gargantuan nerd. Stevie’s little brother.

Not biologically, Claudia, Dustin’s mother had basically adopted Stevie when her own parents had tragically lost control of the wheel during a storm and wrapped their car around a tree back when Stevie was still a teenager. Back when Stevie was still Dustin’s regular babysitter and very suddenly found herself alone having been babysitting when the news reached her.

They’d been coming back from a business trip that she hadn’t been able to go with them on because of school. They’d been so close to home. She’d heard the sirens. They’d been that close.

It was fine though, in one fell swoop, yes she lost her parents, but she gained Claudia, and Dustin, and that was enough, because she sure as hell didn’t get anything else from them. It was all swallowed up, snatched away by her parents business partners because people are sharks and she just… wasn’t prepared to fight them on any of it, especially not when her parents had stupidly left her without a will.

Apparently they believed they’d live forever! The money vanished, the house was sold, she was left with nothing.

With growing up in the Henderson house, came choices, some great, some really stupid, and some that’d led to the very happy accident of Rosie.

To be fair to herself, she’d been in quite a long term relationship at that point! It was a happy one too! She’d thought he’d be it. Sure he’d been a lot rough around the edges, at the start, it’d been a shame cycle at the beginning since he was in fact, a colossal prick, but he was also the hottest guy she’d ever seen. Like, unfairly attractive considering his personality, and he knew exactly how to touch her to melt her icy resolve into a watery mess.

But once he’d gotten away from his dipshit of a father, his step mother dragging him with her when she escaped the man too, once Stevie had laid down the law of how little of the bullshit he’d learned from said father she’d personally tolerate before he’d get a boot out the door, he’d come around.

The racism had stopped immediately. The attitude had ebbed bit by bit as feelings set in, and he’d become a regular ol handsome teddy bear, he’d allowed himself to soften after he’d escaped the only reason he’d had to protect himself.

He’d even started getting along with his step sister, one of Dustin’s friends.

Then stupidity happened when they ran out of condoms, her cycles stopped, and three months in, two drunk idiots in a pickup ran a stoplight while he was getting her some ice cream. Doctors said he probably hadn’t felt a thing.

Rosie came along, a beautiful little thing, had her dad’s soft cheeks, his stormy eyes, thick dark lashes and soft curls, but she took after Stevie in everything else.

Stevie didn’t date after that. A personal choice really. She’d lost her parents, lost her love, and now she had a little girl to focus on, she was done. She felt herself complete! So what if she was still in her mid-twenties. Life had dealt her a hand, she was going to run with it.

Rosie would always come first, and she didn’t like explaining where Rosies father was, she didn’t like the look of pity on people’s faces, the apologies, the rinse and repeat cycle, and so she just. Didn’t bother!

It was easier! She had Rosie, she had her adoptive mother, she had Dustin, she had Billy’s sister Max and her other half Lucas, she had Susan, she had Robin, her co-worker and platonic soulmate from that dumb job at the mall she’d picked up to help Claudia with the bills, she had a whole support network, and she was fine.

Soon Rosie was in preschool, and then middle school, and the internet became a household thing, houses had computers, kids had phones, then smartphones, laptops, tablets, and suddenly the internet was everywhere and everyone had to be on it.

So there she was now. Mid-thirties, with a little girl, and a house paid for by her little brother.

Dustin had struck gold with a job at NASA, he’d put the downpayment on a little two bed house with a cute picket fence lined garden for her when Rosie was born without consulting her, just did it and “SURPRISE STEVIE, now get the hell out of mom’s basement, Jesus Christ.” Kept paying until it was all hers, and that was that… until he came round with computers and gadgets and then she had the internet because Rosie would need it for school because while libraries were awesome he’d had to suffer the five books at a time, Dustin rule one too many times and the internet had UNLIMITED books.

And now Stevie had a smart phone, and apps, and Instagram was fun! Doomscrolling the FYP took up chunks of her days off work while Rosie was at school! She never intended to be a name on there. She’d heard that people could become known for stuff, go viral or whatever.

She never intended to do that. She was a mother. Not even a hot young mom either. She was in her thirties! She remembered when the world didn’t have internet, she was there.

She posted work out videos, never having lost the competitive streak she’d always had as a teenager, sports were her thing back in high school, Gymnastics specifically, which led into cheering. She’d done some competition once with the team but nothing huge, she was fit, healthy, and the subject of many a thirst comment that she pointedly ignored.

She’d posted the occasional rant about Sally the PTA bitch with the self-proclaimed “best potato salad in the State” while doing her morning makeup, still never paying much mind to the comments section, the little rapidly climbing number that signalled followers, or the occasional DM from brands wanting to ‘collab’.

She didn’t care for that, she just wanted to post her little videos in peace. In retrospect, if peace was what she wanted, the lunch trend… probably wasn’t the best one to pick up. It was just a trend though! She’d seen a few moms doing it! Just posting little harmless videos online of what they’d pack their kids for lunch every day!

Harmless, fun! She loved making Rosies lunches, she saw no harm in sharing the fun!

They were always affordable, packed with healthy options, and creative too! She tried her hand at sushi, Rosie hated it, Robin loved it, so Robin got the sushi rolls in her lunches instead, picked up every morning when she grabbed Rosie on the way into work, they were both going to the same place after all, Robin taking on the music teacher role at the Middle school Rosie attended.

She tried noodle jars, cool wraps, made shapes and fun little animals out of fruit, she got creative, but they were all very cookie cutter videos, they all had the same vibe, similar content, it was something to fill her free time that she enjoyed so never in a million years would she have ever predicted that ONE of them, would cause so much chaos.

It started with the beeping.

The incessant pings sometime in the early hours of the morning. Notifications on her phone going off one after the other until she was forced to sit up, bleary eyed, and stare with squinted eyes at the far too bright screen of her phone, then she silenced it and went back to sleep.

With the chaos of the morning routines, getting Rosie up, washed, dressed, packed up for school, and out the door, she didn’t think about the incessant little beeping she’d silenced. It was a distant memory buried under the fog of a heavy sleep and continued to be a distant memory right up until Dustin appeared at her doorstep at around one in the afternoon midway through her afternoon workout, ruffled, stressed, flustered, and frankly just a little too sweaty.

He bypassed all niceties, as usual, bulldozing straight to the point, he pinpointed her phone, which sat comfortably on the countertop, seemingly oh so innocent, grabbed it, brandished it up as if to highlight its very existence and just “Woman, do you LOOK, AT YOUR PHONE?!”

Now, Stevie was not in the business of accepting a tone like that, especially not from her little brother. No matter how much he’d shelled out for the house, the attitude had to go. “Tone problem you little shit, fix it now or get the fuck out of this house and try again later.”

To his credit, he took a breath, and fixed it “Sorry, I’m sorry, but—look! Look at it, please, for the love of Christ, the internet is freaking out.”

“What?”

“Your video yesterday! The one with the like… teddy bear thing you did? With the rice an the—”

“Rosies lunch?”

“Yeah! Have you seen the comments on it?” Stevie rolled her eyes and went about picking up her things, workout sufficiently disrupted, she wouldn’t be able to pick that pace back up now. “Stevie?”

“You know I don’t look at those, people get weird on the internet, it’s like it gives weirdos the perfect place to be their weirdest selves and not in a good way.” She’d looked at them once, curiosity had gotten the better of her once upon a time and wound up having to ask Max what ‘OF?’ meant. She’d taken the win, let it momentarily boost her self-confidence, and decided to never look again. She was done with all that.

“Stevie, this time… one of those weirdos, is famous.” Since it was the age of the internet, Stevie regarded him with a look of disinterest, ‘famous’ could be anything, it could be some dweeb behind a computer screaming obscenities at a mic hooked up to some ridiculously overpriced gaming PC for likes. It could be a podcast bro with half a brain cell kicking its long since dead other half, it could be—“rockstar famous.” Dustin clarified. “One of the guys from that band I like? Corroded Coffin, they just—” he swiped the phone, letting out a soft scoff as the screen just flicked to life, no security pin to be seen of course, no matter, he’d probably berate later, he had a video to find and—“Ah-hah! Look!” and a phone to once again shove into his big sister’s face.

“That’s not even my video!”

“I know! They took the comment down already, but it’s EVERYWHERE, look!” Someone had screenshots. It wasn’t just one video covering it, Dustin scrolled, another popped up soon after, someone getting a little too excited about what was probably the most unfortunate of accidents.

“Don’t they have like… I dunno, people running their accounts? A person? Maybe their internet person just forgot to log out of that account?”

“No! Eddie runs it! The guitarist? Eddie Munson, he usually runs it all himself so everyone thinks it’s him, AND—AND LOOK!” Dustin clicked on the Corroded Coffin’s account, then tapped on the most recent post. Just a big black square, with the word ‘Whoops’ in big bold white lettering, captioned ‘I regret nothing. Just ONE chance, sweetheart, just one.’ With a little prayer hands emoji. “He’s ASKING you out!”

“He’s being a freak on the internet” hands found her hips, the classic mom pose. Immovable, stubborn.

“He’s always a freak! But he’s really cool! He does like, Make A Wish stuff, and—and visits children’s hospitals dressed up like fantasy characters, and he runs DnD things on the account every few months an he’s just REALLY cool, I mean they’re all really cool but Eddie is really cool maybe—maybe you could—”

“Upend my life, Rosie’s life, for a guy I don’t know, who has a job that takes him all over the world, who probably has his pick of whoever the hell he wants so what exactly could I bring to the table to keep him around? I’m done with all that shit, Dusty… I had my time, I have Rosie, I have everything I need. What makes you think I’d even like him?”

“You liked Billy.”

“Get out.”

“No, wait, not like that, I mean, they’re the same! Well, okay, not the same, Eddie didn’t start out a giant prick an he’s never been racist, but they’re sorta similar, similar music tastes, shit fathers, he’s rough round the edges, lil scary looking sometimes but he’s just a big softie when you get past the whole, scary dog thing. Eddie’s like… if Billy never had a shit dad. I just think that maybe… if you looked him up, maybe you’d… I dunno, you’d like him… maybe he’d be your kind of guy… maybe you could finally find someone who appreciates you… you’re not supposed to be on your own, Stevie.”

“Yeah well, I’m not. I have Rosie, and Robin, an you guys… an y’know. Bob.”

“Bob?” One of her patented looks told him all he needed to know, he jerked back in revulsion “ew! God! Fine, could you just! I dunno, look him up or something? Just think about it, I swear he’s really cool an I’d—”

“You’d love free tickets to their next concert.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Alright then, nice to see you Dustin. Always a pleasure to have you round, please get the hell out of my house.” 

“UggGGGGGHHHHH, STEVIIIIEEE!!!”

“Uggghh, DUSTIIIIN! You interrupted my work out for internet pervert nonsense.” She began shooing him toward the door “Shoo, shoo. I have a family sized bar of chocolate to work off my hips before it gets stuck there.”

“He’d love your hips! With the addition of chocolate bars or not!”

“Weird! Out!” Out the door he went, it closed behind him.

That of course didn’t stop him from yelling through the door, “Just look him up!! I promise you won’t regret it!” But she mostly ignored him, until he went away.

Mostly because… Dustin never spoke up in favour of men before. He’d even gone through a period of hinting at maybe just switching sides and dating Robin when he found out Robin was a lesbian, but both women had promptly shut that down every single time he tried bringing it up.

He wasn’t a huge fan of men.

He’d been raised by a strong independent woman, he’d had a strong female role model in Stevie who’d pushed through every trauma life had thrown at her, he had Robin, he had Max, Jane, Erica, he had Nancy his friend Mike’s older sister, one of his friends had also been raised by a strong independent woman, he’d been surrounded by strong women his entire life with only one real solid male figure.

And that was his middle school science teacher, Scott Clarke. Which was kind of sad when you thought about it.

For him to really vouch for a man, it meant something! It wasn’t something to ignore, even if every instinct Stevie had told her to just. Leave it. What kind of man could a rockstar lifestyle have created. What kind of red flags could Eddie Munson be hiding that Dustin couldn’t (or didn’t want to) see.

Did he really even mean it?

Was it actually Eddie, and not someone else from the band? Would she be seen as foolish for even entertaining the thought? It wasn’t like she’d ever paid attention to the bands Dustin liked, so surely nobody would see her as a weird fan for thinking about it, right? She didn’t even approach him!

He approached her!

Shit like that didn’t just happen though. Or did it? Could it? Was she stupid to even entertain the thought?

Before she knew it, it was time to pick Rosie up, and she hadn’t even finished her work out. it was fine, her hips could handle a chocolate bar. For now. Its days were numbered.

[ceruark]

liquid courage

synopsis: aventurine leaves your drunk boss on your doorstep. notes: ceo! sunday x gn! personal assistant! reader. modern au (he's still an angel though, don't ask me how or why. the wings are important to me). fluff. cw: none! (implied aventurine/ratio, but nothing major) words: 3,147 inspiration: every kdrama ever

It was, for the first time in several months, a relaxing night.

After weeks of traveling between worlds and meeting with various business partners, you finally landed back in the place you called home: a rather luxurious unit in Golden Hour's finest apartment complex. It was far too big for one person and beyond what you dreamed of affording growing up, but it was necessary.

Not only were Golden Hour's Platinum Terraces a fifteen minute drive away from Dewlight Pavilion, but they also had the best security Penacony could offer. As the personal assistant of Halovian Corporation's esteemed CEO, you had a rather large target on your back. So, despite your initial hesitations, you'd agreed to live in the flashiest building in Golden Hour.

It wasn't like your wallet was suffering because of it. The astronomical cost of rent hardly put a dent in what the Oak Family deposited into your account every other week.

You sighed and stretched out leisurely on your couch, flipping through the channels until you settled on a showing of one of your favorite movies. You let it play in the background while you responded to messages from friends you hadn't had the chance to get back to during the trip. In between enthusiastic conversations and pictures of the fancy meals and hotels you'd stayed at, you scrolled through your social media accounts, grimacing at your feed when it recommended a picture taken of you without your knowledge.

It shouldn't have surprised you that being around Sunday constantly would put you under the same spotlight he grew up in. Heir to the Oak Family's fortune and beloved by Penacony's citizens, the only person on the planet who could complain about having more cameras shoved in their face on a daily basis was his darling sister. As his assistant, you showed up in almost every photo his fans snapped of him. Over the past four years, his fanbase picked apart everything about you: your appearance, your upbringing, your interests, and your lifestyle habits. You weren't quite sure what spurred them on— sheer jealousy at your proximity to him, or their infatuation for him extending to you— but they had all reached the same conclusion: you were rather unremarkable.

You were raised by your parents in a suburb about 30 miles out from Golden Hour. You performed well enough in university, graduating in the top percent of your class, but not as valedictorian. You managed to get hired at Halovian Corp out of college, and you'd been consistently promoted each year since then, moving from secretary to administrative secretary to personal assistant of a high-ranking director, until eventually, you ended up at Sunday's side.

Though your career was impressive, your life lacked intrigue that news outlets and Sunday's fans vied for. You didn't come from money, you weren't dating anyone famous, and therefore, you weren't worth thinking about. You preferred things that way, but it still didn't make seeing pictures of yourself floating around online any easier.

(Especially when people began overanalyzing how Sunday spoke to you in this video, or looked at you in that photo. Their theories had substance to back them up, and you didn't like to think about it. It took damn near two years to perfect the professional front you kept up with your gorgeous boss, thank you very much, and it had only been about a year since he started actually acting himself around you— you couldn't afford to start slipping up now.)

As you scrolled past a fancam of Robin, a message notification popped up at the top of your screen. You tapped on it, and raised an eyebrow at the sender.

Aventurine: hey. you in?

The IPC director was an unlikely friend, but after dealing with Sunday for years and becoming the unofficial point of contact between the IPC and Halovian Corp, you'd started seeing him often enough that you agreed to go to a bar with him one night when you were off the clock. He was good company, and the two of you kept in touch.

One day, after finding out you'd been talking with Aventurine outside of business ventures, Sunday was oddly insistent that he join you two on that night's excursion. You were hesitant to agree, given that Sunday and Aventurine were civil at best and downright antagonistic at worst. But, Aventurine had readily agreed to letting Sunday attend, so you said yes as well. The night had gone better than expected, and after a few more impromptu meetings, Sunday had started talking to Aventurine regularly as well.

You were glad to see your overly cautious boss make a friend, even if he would never admit that they were.

You: yeah, what's up?

His response was instantaneous.

Aventurine: great. let me in, will you?

Your eyebrows drew together. You'd mentioned you lived in the Platinum Terraces, but you'd never brought Aventurine back to your apartment. How did he know where you live?

You leaned off the couch and toward the coffee table to pick up one of the screens hooked up to the alarm system. You tapped a few buttons on the screen until the feed from the camera facing the hallway came up.

Aventurine stood in front of your door, talking animatedly to your boss, who was propped up against him. You couldn't see his face, but you didn't need to to know he was inebriated. He probably wouldn't be so close to the blonde otherwise.

"What the hell?" You muttered, rushing over to the door. Sunday hardly ever drank, and if he did, it was never enough to get him past the point of tipsy. You quickly undid the bolts and threw it open.

Aventurine and Sunday looked up at you. Amusement danced in the former’s eyes, and for whatever reason, he seemed to be very pleased with himself.

Sunday blinked slowly, adjusting his vision to the sudden disappearance of the door. His eyes scanned your face for a moment before his features lit up with recognition. His wings twitched a bit as he tilted his head to the side. The slightest of smiles pulled at his mouth, and your name fell from his lips in the form of a whispered question.

You flushed red. You suddenly felt very self-conscious of your Hanu themed pajama pants.

Your gaze snapped back to Aventurine, who smirked back at you. You ignored it. "What happened?"

"We went out drinking and someone—" He turned to Sunday, whose gaze still hadn't left you. "—got a little carried away."

"And you didn't think to take him back to Dewlight Pavilion?"

"I think you and I both know there would be consequences if he returned there in this state."

You grimaced. He was right. Undoubtedly, there would be paparazzi camped outside of the Oak Family's estate. There always was.

"Okay, you didn't think to take him back to your place?"

Aventurine moved his free hand to his chest in mock offense. "Bringing a drunken man home to my brilliant boyfriend who's already waiting for me in bed? You must be praying on my downfall."

You glowered at him, but before you could respond, the rustling of feathers caught your attention. You turned, watching your boss sway on his feet. He watched you with a frown, appearing more upset than you'd ever seen him.

"You don't want me here?" He pouted, and his wings fluttered dejectedly.

Your stomach flipped over, and you reached out to grab his other arm as he stumbled away from Aventurine.

"No, no, that's not it." He moved away from the blonde completely as you reassured him, leaning into your touch. You grunted as you struggled to keep him upright. "I'm just worried about you being somewhere you don't feel comfortable."

He hummed, leaning forward and nuzzling his face in your hair. "I'm far more comfortable with you than the gambler."

Aventurine watched the two of you, smugness rolling off him in waves. "Yeah," he laughed, "we can see that."

You were going to kill Aventurine. You were going to tuck Sunday into your bed, leave a glass of water and an Advil on the nightstand, and then you were going to hit the blonde with your car.

You shot him another glare before turning back to Sunday. You pulled one of his arms around your shoulders and wrapped one of yours around his waist to steady him. He turned bright red suddenly and you opened your mouth to ask him if he felt sick, but his wings started flapping again. This close, a few feathers smacked into your mouth, and you sputtered.

Aventurine's unrestrained laughter brought your attention back to him. You snapped at him. "Can you make yourself useful and get the doors for me?"

It took everything you had left in you to get Sunday into your bedroom and withstand Aventurine's teasing, but eventually, you managed to get there. You eased Sunday down on the bed, keeping a hand on his back to ensure he stayed sitting upright.

"Are you feeling sick?" You asked.

Sunday shook his head. He leaned over and rested his head on your shoulder. Fighting down another blush (you refused to give Aventurine more ammunition), you tried to pull yourself away from him, but he wrapped his arms around yours and held on.

"Sunday," you said, "I need to go get you water. Can you let go of me, please?"

His voice was muffled by your shirt. "Aventurine can get it."

Said man huffed, but he was too entertained to be truly annoyed, or to decline. "Sure I can," he agreed, before addressing you. "Where are your cups?"

"Top right cabinet," you answered, and he set off.

Sunday's head lolled to the side, rolling off your shoulder. His pout was still there, and it set your face aflame. "It's too hot," he complained.

And then he started to take his coat off.

Well, he tried to. His clumsy movements caused it to get tangled in his arms.

"Here, let me help you," you offered against your better judgment. You stood and reached behind him, carefully guiding his arms out of the sleeves. You turned around and walked over to your closet, hanging the coat on a nearby hook.

When you faced him again, he already had his shirt halfway off.

Xipe, give me strength, you thought to yourself, tearing your gaze away from his bare skin. Your gaze lingered on the wings sprouting from his lower back, which sat curled around his abdomen. When he managed to get the shirt over his head and onto the floor, he unfurled the second set of wings. They spanned the entire length of your bed and were much darker than the ones by his hair. He gave a few languid flaps before settling down, causing them to droop. You closed your eyes and pressed your palms against them. So much for keeping up your professional front. You had no idea how you were going to face him when he sobered up.

A choked gasp prompted you to drop your hands from your face. Aventurine almost dropped the glass in shock when he returned. 

"Well," he said as he placed the glass down on the nightstand. "Seems like it's time for me to leave."

You sent him one last scathing glare. "I can't believe you."

Faux innocence crept onto his face. "Whatever do you mean? I haven't done anything."

You crossed the room and shoved at him. "Out." You pushed him back down the hall and to the open front door. "Get out of my house."

"Wow. Eager aren't we?" He winked at you.

"Eager to get my revenge. Veritas will love the video I have of you drunk and blubbering about how much you miss him," you said. Then you slammed the door in his face.

As soon as the door shut, Sunday called for you from the bedroom. You'd heard him use a sickly sweet tone with clients before, but this one lacked the venom that usually accompanied it. It was like he was singing each syllable of your name, savoring the way each sound rolled off his tongue.

"I need to type up my resignation," you muttered to yourself. You could handle Sunday in the beginning when he was standoffish and paranoid, but there was no way you were making it through this.

You walked back to the room, willfully overlooking the way his hanging wings straightened up when you reappeared in the doorway. You stopped a few feet in front of him, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

"Hey," you said softly. "Let's get you to bed, alright?"

Sunday blinked at you, then looked down at the comforter under his fingers. "I am at the bed."

You snorted. "Well, we should get you under the covers."

His nose scrunched in displeasure. "No. It's too warm for that."

You sighed. There was no point in arguing with him in this state. "Alright, then. Lay down, and make sure to stay on your side. If you feel sick, there's a trash can right here by the bed. If you need anything else, I'll be down the hall."

You turned to leave, but his hand caught your wrist with surprising speed. He stared up at you with wide eyes. "Where are you going?"

You tilted your head at him. "Um, to bed?"

His brow furrowed slightly, the way it usually did when he was in deep thought. "But this is your bed."

"Yes, it is." You slipped your wrist out of his grasp, but he caught you again by the fingers. "I'm going to sleep on the couch. I won't be far."

The hold he had on your fingers was tighter than you thought. You pulled away, expecting to be freed, but tripped a bit when the rest of your body didn't follow your legs. He pulled you toward him and tumbled forward, falling onto the bed. He moved over and drew you closer to him, draping one of his wings across your waist and legs.

You didn't know if your heart had stopped, or was just beating so fast you couldn't feel it.

"Um, Sunday," you said, the rest of your words coming out as a babbled mess. You tried to untangle yourself from him, but he just clung on to you, refusing to let go.

"Please don't leave me," he mumbled.

You finally managed to put enough distance between you two that you could look him in the eye. "Sunday," you said, "you're drunk. You're going to regret this in the morning."

He frowned. "I will not regret something I've dreamed of doing for months."

In the end, it was neither. You were certain your heart was beating so hard it burst, and now you were dead. When you tried pulling away again, he placed a hand on your cheek, freezing you in place.

"Please," he whispered. "Just give me five minutes."

The desperation in his voice whittled away at the rest of your resistance. You settled down on the mattress, allowing him to hold you but not getting close enough for it to be considered cuddling. Staring at the ceiling in silence, you mulled over his words.

He was dreaming about cuddling, or intimate touch of some sort. It shouldn't be surprising that a twenty-seven year old man longed for that kind of companionship, but whenever other members of The Family had brought up him not having found a partner yet, he always shrugged them off. You figured it was because he generally wasn't interested in finding someone, but maybe it was just that he didn't want the rest of The Family involved in something as personal as his love life.

"I can talk to Robin about suggesting eligible suitors for you, if you want," you said. "We can even outsource their background checks to the IPC. Aventurine will be annoying about it, but I'm sure he'll agree to do it."

There was a long stretch of silence. Sunday finally spoke just as you'd begun to regret your words. "Why would you do that?"

You looked at him, confused. "You said you've dreamed of this."

"Yes," he said, "I did say that."

Was he really going to make you spell it out for him? Well, it had to be more embarrassing for him than it was for you. "If you desire... intimacy, it's only natural we start looking for potential suitors for you."

His eyes darkened, and a slight scowl pulled at his lips. At least this face was familiar: disappointment.

"I just told you I've dreamed of this," he muttered.

You nodded in agreement. "You've dreamed of holding someone."

"I've dreamed of holding you."

Oh. That complicated things.

You swallowed back a fit of nervous laughter. Your face felt like it was going to melt off. "I'm sorry." Your voice came out as hardly more than a croak. "I wasn't aware that's what you meant."

He leaned forward, eyes earnest. "Do you still want to look for other suitors for me?"

You considered your words carefully. "Not if it's something you don't want."

He hummed, then laid his head against the pillow. His breath fanned over your face as he spoke. It smelled like mint and whiskey. "Do you want to be my suitor?"

You pulled your gaze away from his lips and to his eyes. You didn't even know how your eyes got there. "I think you should ask me again when you're sober."

He studied your face for a long moment, then let his eyes flutter shut. "Fair enough," he said.

You laid there for a moment, allowing your heart rate to come back down and letting yourself take him in. His lips were slightly parted, even breaths slipping through them as sleep claimed him. His face wings twitched ever so often, usually followed by a twitch of the larger wing still wrapped around you.

You weren't certain how long you stayed there, just studying him, but at some point your blinks had grown heavier and you were fighting to keep your eyes open. You gave one last shove against Sunday's arm and wing to try and free yourself, but even unconsciously, his resolve could not be shaken. He huffed at the disturbance and buried his face further into the pillow. His wing tightened around you as he tried to curl in on himself, dragging you closer to him.

You sighed and rested your head on the pillow again. It was going to be impossible to get away from him now that his limbs were heavy with sleep. Knowing it was futile to try again, you let your eyes slip shut. You shifted into a more comfortable position, moving one of your arms to rest on top of the wing.

Five minutes, you lied to yourself. I'll try again in five minutes.

[theambitiouswoman]

Wealth Building: Money Topics You Should Learn About If You Want To Make More Money

Budgeting: This means keeping track of how much money you have and how you spend it. It helps you save money and plan for your needs.

Investing: This is like putting your money to work so it can grow over time. It's like planting seeds to grow a money tree.

Saving: Saving is when you put some money aside for later. It's like keeping some of your treats for another day.

Debt Management: This is about handling money you owe to others, like loans or credit cards. You want to pay it back without owing too much.

Credit Scores: Think of this like a report card for your money habits. It helps others decide if they can trust you with money.

Taxation: Taxes are like a fee you pay to the government. You need to understand how they work and how to pay them correctly.

Retirement Planning: This is making sure you have enough money to live comfortably when you're older and no longer working.

Estate Planning: This is like making a plan for your stuff and money after you're no longer here.

Insurance: It's like paying for protection. You give some money to an insurance company, and they help you if something bad happens.

Investment Options: These are different ways to make your money grow, like buying parts of companies or putting money in a savings account.

Financial Markets: These are places where people buy and sell things like stocks and bonds. It can affect your investments.

Risk Management: This is about being careful with your money and making smart choices to avoid losing it.

Passive Income: This is money you get without having to work for it, like rent from a property you own.

Entrepreneurship: It's like starting your own business. You create something and try to make money from it.

Behavioral Finance: This is about understanding how your feelings and thoughts can affect how you use money. You want to make good choices even when you feel worried or excited.

Financial Goals: These are like wishes for your money. You need a plan to make them come true.

Financial Tools and Apps: These are like helpers on your phone or computer that can make it easier to manage your money.

Real Estate: This is about buying and owning property, like a house or land, to make money.

Asset Protection: It's about keeping your money safe from problems or people who want to take it.

Philanthropy: This means giving money to help others, like donating to charities or causes you care about.

Compounding Interest: This is like a money snowball. When you save or invest your money, it can grow over time. As it grows, you earn even more money on the money you already earned.

Credit Cards: When you borrow money or use a credit card to buy things, you need to show you can pay it back on time. This helps you build a good reputation with money. The better your reputation, the easier it is to borrow more money when you need it.

Alternate Currencies: These are like different kinds of money that aren't like the coins and bills you're used to like Crypto. It's digital money that's not controlled by a government. Some people use it for online shopping, and others think of it as a way to invest, like buying special tokens for a game.

[bitchesgetriches]

{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Saving Money and Being Frugal

We’re all in this together. Don’t give up.

On food and groceries:

How to Shop for Groceries like a Boss

Why Name Brand Products Are Beneath You: The Honor and Glory of Buying Generic

If You Don’t Eat Leftovers I Don’t Even Want to Know You

You Are above Bottled Water, You Elegant Land Mermaid

You Should Learn To Cook. Here’s Why.

On entertainment and socializing:

The Frugal Introvert’s Guide to the Weekend

7 Totally Reasonable Ways To Save Money on Cheap Entertainment 

Take Pride in Being a Cheap Date

The Library Is a Magical Place and You Should Fucking Go There

Your Library Lets You Stream Audiobooks and eBooks FOR FREEEEEEE!

What’s the Effect of Social Media on Your Finances?

You Won’t Regret Your Frugal 20s

On health:

How to Pay Hospital Bills When You’re Flat Broke

Run With Me if You Want to Save: How Exercising Will Save You Money

Our Master List of 100% Free Mental Health Self-Care Tactics

Why You Probably Don’t Need That Gym Membership

How to Get DIRT CHEAP Pet Medication, Without a Prescription 

On other big expenses:

Businesses Will Happily Give You HUGE Discounts if You Ask This Magic Question

Understand the Hidden Costs of Travel and Avoid Them Like the Plague

Other People’s Weddings Don’t Have to Make You Broke

You Deserve Cheap, Fake Jewelry… Just Like Coco Chanel

3 Times I Was Damn Grateful for My Emergency Fund (and Side Income) 

When (and How) to Try Refinancing or Consolidating Student Loans

The Real Story of How I Paid Off My Mortgage Early in 4 Years 

Season 2, Episode 2: “I’m Not Ready to Buy a House—But How Do I *Get Ready* to Get Ready?”

The Most Impactful Financial Decision I’ve Ever Made… and Why I Don’t Recommend It

On buying secondhand and trading:

Almost Everything Can Be Purchased Secondhand

I Am a Craigslist Samurai and so Can You: How to Sell Used Stuff Online

The Delicate Art of the Friend Trade

On giving gifts and charitable donations:

How Can I Tame My Family’s Crazy Gift-Giving Expectations?

In Defense of Shameless Regifting

Make Sure Your Donations Have the Biggest Impact by Ruthlessly Judging Charities

The Anti-Consumerist Gift Guide: I Have No Gift to Bring, Pa Rum Pa Pum Pum

How to Spot a Charitable Scam

Ask the Bitches: How Do I Say “No” When a Loved One Asks for Money… Again? 

On resisting temptation:

How to Insulate Yourself From Advertisements

Making Decisions Under Stress: The Siren Song of Chocolate Cake

The Magically Frugal Power of Patience

6 Proven Tactics for Avoiding Emotional Impulse Spending

On minimalism and buying less:

Don’t Spend Money on Shit You Don’t Like, Fool

Everything I Know About Minimalism I Learned from the Zombie Apocalypse

Slay Your Financial Vampires

The Subscription Box Craze and the Mindlessness of Wasteful Spending

On saving money:

How To Start Small by Saving Small

Not Every Savings Account Is Created Equal

The Unexpected Benefits (and Downsides) of Money Challenges

Budgets Don’t Work for Everyone—Try the Spending Tracker System Instead

From HYSAs to CDs, Here’s How to Level Up Your Financial Savings

Season 2, Episode 10: “Which Is Smarter: Getting a Loan? or Saving up to Pay Cash?”

The Magic of Unclaimed Property: How I Made $1,900 in 10 Minutes by Being a Disorganized Mess

We will periodically update this list with newer articles. And by “periodically” I mean “when we remember that it’s something we forgot to do for four months.”

Bitches Get Riches: setting realistic expectations since 2017!

Start saving right heckin’ now!

If you want to start small with your savings, consider signing up for an Acorns account! They round up your every purchase to the nearest dollar and save and invest the change for you. We like them so much we’ve generously allowed them to sponsor us with this affiliate link:

Start investing today with Acorns

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 16 - Let It Flood

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: This feels like a good time to tell you guys we’re only halfway done and that I pinky promise there’s a happy ending.  Chapter Title from Foundations of Decay by My Chemical Romance

Word Count: 22k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: It's time. Usual Warnings, with big smut and bigger angst.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 15 - Chapter 17

“What about Paris?” 

She leaned around the bathroom door to frown at Ben, toothbrush muffling her words. “What about Paris?”

“For where they ship us off to after this shit.” Ben glanced down at his phone, displaying a generically fucking boring postcard picture of the Eiffel tower. “It’s full of fucking art and shit.” She loved stupid fucking art and shit.

“I don’t think they’re going to let us choose where we go, Ben.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “And you’d hate Paris. You hate France.”

Ben scowled. “It’s a stupid, useless, cowardly country full of-“

“Fucking pussies,” She smiled at him—so bright and happy—and Ben couldn’t bring himself to do more than roll his eyes at her dogshit impression of him. “I don’t think you’d make it a week in Paris. Someone would offer you food and you’d try to kill them.”

“What about,” Ben glanced at the next recommendation on the Ten Best Romantic Vacation Cities list he’d found online. It wasn’t total fucking shit, even if the website kept trying to tell him the Ten Best Ways to Use a Vibrator with a Partner. He’d save that tab for later. “Havana?”

“Cuba has a strained relationship with the CIA.” She shrugged. “I don’t think they’d agree to take us in.”

“Hawaii?”

“Well, I’d be fine with Hawaii, but I don’t think you would.” She retreated back into the bathroom, and Ben frowned.

“I’d fucking love Hawaii. It would be full of damn beaches to fuck on-”

“No,” She reappeared, walking over to stand between Ben’s legs. Looking so fucking perfect there—wearing his shirt and hair still messy from his hands and holding his face between her palms—that Ben almost missed what she was saying. “They wouldn’t put us in a resort, they’d put us in a town. Probably away from the beach, definitely without the infrastructure it should have. Just a real bummer of human rights. You’d hate it.”

She said those last words so simply that all the fancy, brainy shit she’d been telling Ben felt pointless. She thought he’d hate it, and she was always fucking right, and was smiling down at him with so much adoration on Her face that—even if she was somehow wrong—Ben was now certain he’d hate it.

“Fine,” he grunted, dropping his phone to his lap and tugging Her further forward with hands on the back of her thighs. “Where the hell would you want to go, if you’re so fucking smart.”

She was so fucking smart. And She knew it, because she was grinning when she said, “Rome.”

“Rome?” 

“It has a bunch of art and history and culture for me, and some very good fucking food for you. Plus, everyone there is stupid hot.”

Ben winked at Her. “You’re stupid hot enough to power a country, beautiful. I don’t need anyone else.”

“Thanks,” She mumbled, looking very firmly away from Ben as her face flushed that pretty fucking color. “But I was talking about for our escort business.” 

“And that’s why you’re the damn brains.” Ben rubbed circles on Her skin, and she fell a little further into him, hands tightening on his face. “Always fucking planning. We’re going to need to find some people half as damn hot as we are, because we’re only fucking each other.”

She scoffed, and Ben thought Her heart might beat right out of her chest. “How sweet of you, to keep your dick in your pants at even the prospect of money.”

“We’ll earn plenty of goddamn money. My dick is yours, Sunshine.” 

She hummed, and her hands started to play with Ben’s hair in a way that made him feel like a goddamn puppy. What was worse was that it felt fucking good. Her perfect fucking hands, touching him because she wanted to, because she liked touching him. “Even if someone offered ten million dollars?” 

“Yours.”

“That’s financially irresponsible.” She mumbled, still incredibly fucking determined to not meet his eyes. “We could buy a house with that money.” 

“If I was offering my dick for money,” Ben drawled. “We could buy a fucking island. But it’s yours,” he said Her name firmly, and she glanced at him with wide eyes. “So get damn used to chasing customers off.” 

“Chasing customers off?” 

“I’m going to have to do it for you,” he grinned at Her. “Fucking pussies who think they can fuck you the way I will.” 

She stuck her tongue out at him, but Ben didn’t miss the smile she was failing to fight. “Horny fucking cunt.” 

That was enough. Just that was a good enough reason for Ben to pull Her all the way into his lap, let her straddle his thigh, and silence her small sound of surprise with his mouth. For Ben to tug and touch Her skin in time with all the ways he’d learned to play her mouth until she was limp and moaning against him. Until he could bite Her lower lip and trace his hand along her spine and she’d throw back her head and arch against his hand. Until Ben could suck that spot on her throat and trace a hand across her ribs as she’d start grinding down onto him. 

“Ben-“ 

“Horny fucking cunt,” he echoed Her words against Her skin. “Your horny fucking cunt goddamn wants my dick, doesn’t it? Brat.” 

“Fuck you,” Her words were said through gasps, hands clawed and scraping at Ben’s scalp, and he chuckled.

“Afraid that’s not on the table right now, beautiful.” He pulled back to grin at Her. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t do anything about how fucking wet you are.” 

She whined something that might have been a plea, might have been a curse or vulgar phrase aimed at Ben, or might have been just one of the many pretty fucking sounds she made, but it all would’ve achieved this same effect. She was needy, She wanted Ben, and she was trying to fuck his thigh. Rolling her hips on it desperately, trying to chase relief against him. Making smaller, more desperate noises every time Ben’s hands brushed against her tits, every time his teeth or tongue found a new place to worship her skin. 

This was all they could do right now, and fuck it was torture. It was so goddamn painful to have Her grabbing at him and moaning and saying his name in that perfect fucking way—pleading and adoring in Her breathless voice—and not just be able to fuck Her. To know he had to goddamn wait another day, to feel his pants become tight like they had before and force himself to hold off when She wanted him to fuck Her. She wanted him. He had been given the image of Her slight drool when she’d jerked him off and knew she would look at him like that again. Look at him with more fucking care and want, because Ben would fuck Her until she wouldn’t ever think another weak fucking asshole could fuck her like she deserved. He’d fucking ruin Her. He’d have Her bounce on his cock like she was bouncing on his leg, and he would make her feel so fucking good. Make him worth something to Her, one fucking thing that nobody else would be able to give her.

Ben pulled back for a second, needing to just fucking see Her. See how fucking beautiful she was, wanting him, get a goddamn glimpse of how it would look when she rode his dick instead of his thigh. He’d never seen anything better. He’d seen mountains and waterfalls and the goddamn Northern Lights and they might as well have been fucking dumpster fires and car crashes compared to this. If anything, the car crash would be the only half-worthy comparison. Because She was destroying herself against Ben, staring at him with dazed, pretty fucking eyes, and all the bliss and pleasure on her face was from Ben. He was doing this to Her.

And he couldn’t look away if he tried. 

She’d made a small whine when Ben had pulled away from her throat—pushing down on him harder and hand scraping along the nape of his neck—but he pressed his head against hers and She moaned. 

“Ben, please-“

“So fucking good,” he growled, and She moaned again. “You want to cum, beautiful?” 

She nodded. “Yes.” 

“Beg.” 

“Fucking ass-“ She leaned forward, trying to capture Ben’s lips against hers. “Ben.” 

“I need you to fucking beg,” he kissed all across Her face, everywhere he could without bringing her any closer to the edge. “You want your horny fucking cunt to cum, then beg.”

“Please,” She was smoking. Her skin wasn’t growing warmer, but a glowing smoke was clouding the room as she tried to pull Ben closer. “Fucking please, Ben-“

He kissed Her, and she screamed into his mouth, clawing at his hair and skin. Bucking off his leg so that Ben had to grab Her hips and keep her still, had keep her from continuing to bump against him because he’d cum in his fucking pants. He had to pull himself the fuck together, he wasn’t a goddamn virgin pussy, but fuck She was so perfect. Ben might have almost cum just when She’d smiled at him, standing between his legs and touching him so easily.

As Ben looked at Her come down—beautiful and perfect and torn apart all over him—and she looked at Ben like he’d seen her look at the city skyline from the window, with the face she had when she listened to a song she loved. The Thing became painful. It had been trying to tell him something. Since the night before it had stopped trying to remind Ben how perfect She was, stopped trying to push him into her. Ben was well fucking aware how perfect She was. And since he’d crashed into Her there wasn’t a goddamn chance he was going to pull away.

So now the Thing was trying to tell him something. On repeat over twelve hours it had been rioting in Ben, trying to tell him something so fucking important. Something critical, that he needed to know so She could know as well.

And when She started to slide off of Ben—falling to her knees before him—the Thing felt like it might tear him apart.

“Hi,” She smiled at him, face so fucking bright and happy. Looking at Ben like he was everything.

He was. To Her, he was fucking everything. And weaker men than Ben would’ve cum just from Her saying that. Weaker men wouldn’t fucking survive Her. She’d look at them with sharp, infinite amusement on her beautiful face and fight with them over nothing and they’d simply goddamn die because fuck she was perfect. But She wouldn’t look at them like this. Like they were everything. That was—by some fucking grace of a god Ben was starting to be indebted to—a look She reserved for him. With adoration and care and something that was alive and powerful sitting deep in Her perfect eyes. Thank fuck Ben wasn’t a weaker man. He’d have never earned Her, on her knees before him with her hands on his thighs. He still hadn’t earned Her, but fuck him if he wasn’t going to dedicated the rest of his goddamn life to trying to. To showing Her that he was worthy of her looking at him like that, that he could keep up with her and protect her and-

Ben grunted Her name, because her hand was starting to trail up his leg and any and all thoughts were becoming just Her. “What are you doing.”

“Being an altruist,” She hummed, palm resting over Ben’s fully hard cock, still fucking smiling. “Giving back.”

“Sunshine-“ Ben cut himself off with a hiss, because she just fucking squeezed him. Her heart was stuttering around inside her, but Ben couldn’t tell if it was from desire. He didn’t need, didn’t want, Her to do this because she thought she had to. It had to be from desire. He wasn’t fucking Homelander. If She touched him, he needed her to need it. To want him. It wouldn’t mean a goddamn thing if she didn’t. If She touched Ben without looking at him like he was everything. “If you don’t want to-“

“I want to,” Her answer was fast, a little too fast, and Ben smirked. There it was.

“You want to?” He drawled, leaning over her, tilting her chin between his fingers. “How bad do you want to suck my dick, beautiful?”

“Bad,” She whispered. “But less and less by the second.”

Ben snorted. “Smartass.”

“Do you want me to suck your dick?” She blinked up at him, voice a little softer. “It’s just an offer, you don’t have to take it-“

Ben pulled Her face up between his hands, kissing her until her words name needy sounds and she was grabbing at his arms. When he was satisfied with the way she was moaning, Ben lowered her back down between his legs and grunted her name. “If I ever tell you not to suck my dick, fucking shoot me.”

“Yeah,” She nodded, glancing down at the outline of Ben’s cock, pushing against his pants that were still fucking on for some reason. “Okay.”

He muttered Her name, and she looked back up at him. “How much work do you want to do?”

She didn’t answer. She just started moving, pulling Ben’s pants down and taking him in her hand so quickly Ben would’ve thought she’d practiced. Stroking him once, twice, a third time, looking at his cock with pretty, lust-clouded eyes. Ben twitched in Her hand, and had to force himself not to rut into her, to just groan as Her thumb ran over the angry, red head of his cock. His job was just to watch Her—how she was so fully entranced in fucking torturing him—and let her do what she wanted. But it wasn’t fucking easy, not when she was so fucking beautiful, not when Her mouth was hanging slightly open and Ben didn’t think he could wait another second not being at least somewhat inside of Her.

Thank fucking hell and heaven and everything between that She didn’t go slow. Thank goddamn Christ that She took all on him at once, in a long movement that bumped him against the back of her throat, and set a brutal, torturous fucking pace. Found a beat, fast and rhythmic, where She’d pull up, up, almost all the way off with her hand trailing behind her, and lick the very tip of his cock before dropping back down. Down until Ben could feel the tightness of Her throat, squeezing his balls once before repeating it all again. Over and over, sucking with her teeth grazing him and her moans—loud and needy fucking moans—making Ben wonder if this was heaven. That was the only way that this—that She—was real, if he’d died and somehow managed his way into fucking heaven.

But Ben’s hand in Her hair that he’d tangled between his fingers to just touch her, was real. The small jerks of his hips into Her mouth—when her moans would vibrate around him and echo in his ears so he couldn’t help himself—were real. Her warmth and beauty and the feeling of Her was real. And fuck She was so fucking beautiful and perfect and-

Ben said Her name through strained teeth. “Where-“

She went faster. Moaned louder with a whine, her hand in time with the beat of her heart. Leaned into him, the wettest and most fucking sinful sounds Ben had ever heard escaping her. She was grinding down on air, so fucking pretty and focused, but looking up at him under eyelashes with want. Managing to take him deeper.

What did Ben in was Her. Fucking Her, groaning his name around his cock, looking up at him like he was everything.

He tried to pull away. He’d fucking swear he tried to pull away. He’d tried to paint her face or tits or any other perfect part of Her she’d allow, but she held him. She kept a firm grip on Ben’s leg for just a second—only long enough to tell him what she wanted—and he’d given in. He’d fucked Her face through his orgasm, and She hadn’t flinched as he came down her throat. Swallowing and letting Her tongue brush him all the way until he was done, then pulling off of him with a popping sound, and giving him a soft smile.

The amount of self-control Ben was capable of needed to be fucking studied. Every part of him needed to fuck Her. Anyone with half a fucking mind would need to fuck her if they were allowed to see her like this. Flushed and breathing heavy, eyes slightly unfocused with a want, cum dribbling out of her mouth. Allowed to see Her wipe it off with her fingers and suck them dry. Without hesitation, like it was something she didn’t even have to think about doing. But only Ben was allowed to see this, and that made it a million times more impressive that he was able to not throw Her onto the bed and fuck her until some stupid mission was the last thing she cared about.

The mission. The stupid fucking mission they had been supposed to be getting ready for. When it was over, he’d have all the time in the world to fuck Her like she deserved. But they’d have to actually do the mission first.

“What time is it?” She was looking around the room, still kneeling in front of Ben. “MM said we had to be in the dining hall at noon.” 

Ben couldn’t be fucked to stop staring at Her, let alone know the fucking time. “Check your damn phone, Sunshine, I’m not a fucking clock.” 

She stuck her tongue out at him. Her tongue that had just been wrapped around his cock. That had just been tasting his cum and she was still on Her knees-

“Mine’s dead, and like,” She waved vaguely past him. “Way over there. Give me yours.”

That snapped Ben out of it. Her palm was extended, she was looking at him expectantly, and he could not give her his phone. “You’ve got legs,” he grunted Her name, trying to look at her and remain completely fucking unaffected her flat glare. “Fucking use them.” 

She scoffed. “When have you ever been in favor of me using my legs.”

“I’m always in favor of you using your legs. They make excellent fucking handles.” Ben winked at Her, and her heart fluttered slightly. “And you’re always on my ass about letting you walk yourself. Here’s your fucking chance.” 

“Oh, fuck off.” Her voice was bored, unwavering. “Phone.”

“No. Get your own damn phone.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you being so weird.”

“I’m not being fucking weird-“ 

“Yes, you are. What’s wrong with you.” 

“Nothing, it’s my phone-“ 

“Benjamin.” She snapped, and he was in trouble. He knew that voice, that was Her I’m fucking onto your shit, Pretty Boy, voice. “Is it porn? Because I won’t give a flying fuck-“

“It’s not fucking porn,” he scowled. “I wouldn’t hide porn from you, that’s fucking stupid.” 

“So you are hiding something.” 

Shit. “Shut the fuck up.” 

She dove forward, hand jamming into Ben’s pocket. Where She knew he kept his phone, because she knew fucking everything. Insufferable, brilliant, perfect fucking woman. Thankfully, Ben was just faster than she was, and slammed his hand down to trap Her hand against him.

“Ben-“

“I’m not fucking hiding anything,” Ben said Her name firmly. It was incredibly fucking important she didn’t think he was keeping secrets from Her, because he wasn’t. This was worse than that. “I just value my goddamn privacy-“ 

“Oh, shove it up your ass, Pretty Boy.” She tried to tug her hand—now wrapped around Ben’s phone—from his grip. “I leave the door open when I shit and you spent an hour last week telling me about what Baseball games made you hard. I just sucked your dick. There’s literally nothing on your phone that could shock me.” 

He doubted that. Ben almost wanted to just let Her have his phone, to prove her fucking wrong. His pride managed to win for now, but if She kept talking about how she’d sucked his dick his will might dissolve real damn fast. “I told you about the baseball in fucking confidence-“

“I didn’t tell anyone.” She wrinkled her nose. “How would that have even come up? Hey, Annie. You know how you’re not Ben’s biggest fan? Wait until you hear about how he got a boner when the Phillies won the 1980 World Series, I’m sure it’ll completely reverse your opinion of him.” 

“Brat-“ “Can I please just check the time?” She had stopped trying to pull away from Ben, only frowning up at him with her pretty fucking eyes watching him carefully. “I won’t look in your phone, I just need to see the clock. Please.” 

Ben didn’t love how well that worked. How Her saying please and somehow trusting that he really wasn’t hiding anything from her made Ben crumble completely in only a second. Worse, he didn’t hate himself for it. He couldn’t call himself a fucking pussy because goddammit, anyone would’ve given into Her. Anyone with eyes and a brain would be willing to give Her anything.  

“Fine,” he grunted, loosening his hand from pinning Her’s in his pocket. “But I don’t want to hear a fucking word out your mouth, got it?” 

She blinked at him, but nodded. “Uh, sure.” 

His whole body was tense as She pulled out his phone, tapping the screen on, still on her fucking knees. She needed to stand up, needed to stop being so fucking perfect that Ben couldn’t look away, because now he had to watch Her look at his lockscreen as his teeth ground enough to break. Ben had to watch Her eyes widen, hear her heart skip a beat, and soft lips fall open in surprise.

She looked up at Ben, and he couldn’t avoid her gaze if he wanted to. “Ben-“ 

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “You promised. Not a fucking word.” 

“I did not promise,” She pushed. “I agreed. You should’ve made me promise, because I-“

“Fucking promise then. Not a word.” 

“Well, that ship kind of sailed, Benjamin.” Her voice was dry, and Ben couldn’t figure out what that face meant. How She was looking at him—still like he was everything—but with something pushing up behind her eyes. That powerful thing, the one Ben couldn’t name. “So now we’re going to have several words about it.” 

Ben scowled, remaining silent as he realized there wasn’t a way out of this. She was sitting straight, one hand planted on Ben’s knee to balance herself, and had placed her body right where Ben would knock her backwards and onto the floor if he tried to move away. He could try and kiss and fuck his way through it, but She had the sharp look in her eyes that told him she’d either bite him, burn him, or let him fuck her before immediately getting on his ass again after. 

She sighed, and turned Ben’s screen so he could see it. “That’s me.” 

It was Her. She didn’t need to be fucking showing it him, he well knew that it was her. It was his favorite picture of her, the first one he’d taken that wasn’t a blurry piece of shit. It showed her downstairs, watching the TV with a focus Ben could only describe as violent. He remembered what they were watching, that she’d been tapping Ben’s arm along with the soundtrack, and that it had been close to midnight, because he could recite every detail of the photo—in picture and out—backwards with his damn eyes closed. She was wearing Ben’s shirt and shorts that had been small enough for the shirt to completely cover. It gave the impression that she was only wearing Ben’s shirt. She was frowning at the TV—perfect face cast in a green light from its glow—and leaning against Ben’s shoulder with his hand on her thigh. She had been half asleep, and the drawn frustration on her face and intensity in her eyes had been because she was fighting to make it through the movie. The fucking Muppet Movie, that she’d used a favor for Ben to watch with Her. He hadn’t watched it, he’d watched Her watch it, but there was no reason she had to know that. She’d seemed thrilled he was just there, and he’d been satisfied watching Her struggle to stay awake, feeling her fall further and further into his side, and listening to her mumble about the Muppet’s fucking cultural importance right up until the credits rolled and she immediately passed out.

Ben fucking loved that photo. How She could’ve just watched it alone but used a whole favor just for Ben to sit with her. How She’d been so determined to stay awake she’d been trying to inch away from him, but Ben would pull her back gently and she’d just sigh as her eyes drooped further. How at one point She’d started singing along with all the damn puppets, and the room had filled with a colorful, misting light. How She looked so much like his, how anyone glancing at the photo would see that she was choosing him and know that he had chosen her. How fucking beautiful she looked, even in the dark from the higher angle. So fucking perfect. 

He didn’t have any justification for it. The photo or why it was his lockscreen. It had taken Ben a whole hour while She was with Annie and Hughie to figure out how to set it. She’d told him, and he’d listened, but phones were a goddamn terrible, dogshit technology. But he’d done it. By himself. And fought the urge to brag to Her after. Because She didn’t need to know that it was his lockscreen, and Ben didn’t really know to explain why it was. It made him fucking happy. He liked seeing Her pretty face every time he used his phone. 

And he wasn’t sure how to tell Her that without sounding like a fucking idiot pussy.

So he just glared at Her and grunted, “Obviously.” 

“Ben,” Her words were slow, and she wasn’t looking away from him. “Why is that a picture of me.” 

“Because the camera was pointed at your damn face.” 

“Benjamin.” 

“It’s a good fucking photo, okay?” Ben snapped. “You look hot.” 

She glanced at the photo. “I do not look hot.” 

He scoffed. “Get your fucking eyes checked, Sunshine. You look hot. Every photo of you looks hot.” 

Her eyes somehow grew wider, her heart picking up speed, and Ben was going to chop off his tongue. “Every photo of me?” 

“That’s enough,” Ben lunged forward, but She swatted his hand with just enough heat for him to pull back with a hiss of Her name. “Give me my fucking phone.“

“Tell me what you mean by every. Every photo of me.” 

“No.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Fine, you stubborn, grumpy ass. Have it your way.” 

Before Ben could stop Her, she was swiping his phone open and entering his password. Hunching down so Ben could see her face, covering the phone protectively with her body. 

“This is violation of my fucking privacy.” He grumbled. “I’m going to report you to HR.” 

She shot him a flat look from under her lashes. “You didn’t even know what HR was until Mallory made us all sit in on that seminar because I called Butcher a hussy fucking cuntwad bitch and one of the regular agents overheard. And I could report you to HR for taking photos of me without my knowledge.” 

“They’re not damn pervert creep photos-“ 

“Ben,” She looked up at him, thumb hovering over the Photo Library app icon. “As your closest thing to unqualified legal counsel, I’d advise you shut the fuck up.” 

Ben scowled at Her, but snapped his jaw shut, watching her wearily as she opened his photos. 

They were all of Her. The only ones that weren’t of her were something called—according to his very thorough internet research—screenshots, that Ben didn’t know how he was taking, let alone how to stop taking. But the rest was Her. There wasn’t another fucking thing worth taking photos of in this stupid damn compound. In the whole fucking world. She was scrolling through them way too fucking slow, heart stuttering against her ribs, and Ben thought he might be fucking blushing. He didn’t fucking blush, he wasn’t a ditzy fucking schoolgirl or embarrassed pussy asshole who blushed- 

She surged upwards, yanking Ben down by his shirt to kiss him. Gently, sweetly, and so fucking soft, humming into Ben’s mouth with a smile. Leaning against his chest until She was hanging off him with her arms around his neck. When she pulled back Her eyes were burning with that strange fucking look, and she was chewing her lip and she studied him. Looking for something Ben didn’t know how to show Her. Mouth opening and closing, heart beating fast, and the Thing needed to tell Her something- 

“You’ve been playing Candy Crush,” She said with a small, smug grin. “I saw the screenshots. They go back like, three weeks.” 

“Shut up,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, and She just shook her head. 

“No, I’m going to rub this in your fucking face so hard-“ 

It was his turn. To kiss Her and hold her and hope that was enough for the Thing to just stop screaming at him. It wasn’t—it made everything worse when She relaxed against him with a happy sound—and the Thing grew impossible to ignore. Drowning everything out with Her, Her, Her, Ben had something she needed to have too, She needed to understand. The only thing to keep it at bay, from bursting out of Ben and into Her, was touching her. Setting his mouth deeper against Hers, hauling her over him as he lay flat on the mattress, letting her whines and breathless sounds run right through him. Let them satiate his undying need and hunger for Her. 

She pulled back first, and Ben let himself be slightly cocky about how her thighs were squeezing around his chest. About the fact that She just rested her head on his shoulder as she caught her breath. Warm breath fanning over his neck, heartbeat slowing right until Ben started to sit up and She mindlessly ground against him at the movement. 

The Thing had to tell Her about this indescribable, unending fucking something. But the Thing didn’t have words. It was a part of Ben, and Ben couldn’t get a goddamn fucking clue what was so apparently fucking crucial for Her to know. But She had to know, whatever it was she had to know, she needed to get it, get him, get why, Ben needed to tell Her- 

“It’s almost noon,” She whispered against Ben’s skin. “We need to go.” 

Ben nodded, and picked Her up against him, turning them so she was resting on the bed as he stood. “I’m wearing my fucking suit.” 

“Okay,” Ben could see her watching him in the mirror, still only wearing a shirt and underwear. He tossed her some pants and bra over his shoulder, and didn’t move until She started pulling them on. “You should bring your shield as well.” 

He frowned at Her. “What about you.” 

“What about me?” 

“You need a fucking weapon. I still have that pussy agent’s gun-“ 

She rose from the bed, padding over to Ben side with a small smile. “I’m the weapon, Pretty Boy. And I have you.”

Any protests Ben might have had about how She might be a walking, breathing weapon of mass destruction but Homelander always made her freeze were killed by those words. She did have him. She’d always have him. She didn’t need a weapon because she had him. She was brilliant and quick and made of fire, but if all that managed to fail, she had Ben. She was standing here, with him as he changed—stealing looks that he wasn’t fucking missing at his bare chest—and She had Him. 

“What wrong,” he grumbled, and She shook her head, hands roaming through one of the top drawers. 

“Socks.” 

Ben rolled his eyes, and grabbed out a simple black pair from the top. “I want my fucking phone back.” 

“Why, to play Candy Crush?” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben muttered. “I’m fucking winning. I’ll delete it when I fucking win.” 

She snorted. “You can’t win Candy Crush, Benjamin.” 

“What the hell are you talking about.”

“There’s like a million levels. And they’re always adding new ones. It’s not a winnable game.” 

“Well I’ll make it fucking winnable.” 

She snorted. “How.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben frowned, watching Her as she continued to search the drawer. “And I just gave you perfectly good fucking socks-“

“I need underwear,” She mumbled, face flushing. “Mine are, uh, I can’t wear them.” 

Ben grinned—wide and smug—at Her reflection, “Why not?” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Ah,” Ben winked at Her when she finally met his eyes. “You’re welcome for that.” 

“Shut up,” She chucked a stray bra at Ben, glaring back down. “Go get your stupid fucking phone, you cunt.” 

Ben ran his hand up Her back, into her hair, and gently turned her head to look at him. He kissed Her one last time because she was so fucking perfect and no one could damn stop him. Long and wet, until She said his name in that perfect fucking way. “Brat,” he whispered against Her mouth, and she shoved his chest lightly. 

Ben took a steady step back, chuckling at Her glare, at the way her sharp eyes were still full of want for him. At the way Her dramatic pout was just a little bigger because he’d made her lips swollen. At Her. Just Her. So fucking simply Her. 

As She changed, Ben ducked under the bed and frowned at where he’d stashed the gun. Carefully between the mattress and frame, unloaded with the rounds beside it. He wouldn’t need it. The plan would work, and he wouldn’t need it. There was no need to bring it—to show the team he had it—and not need it. 

But it couldn’t hurt. He could stash it in his suit, hide it from Butcher and Mallory and Annie, and nobody would have to know unless he needed it. And then they wouldn’t try to take it away, because Ben would’ve just fucking saved their asses- 

“Just bring the gun, Ben.” 

His head bumped against the metal frame of the bed as he pulled out from under it and found Her standing above him with her arms crossed. “What-“ 

“You should bring it,” She shrugged. “I mean, it won’t hurt Homelander, but guns don’t weigh nothing. You could throw it at his face, if you needed to. Catch him off guard.”

Fucking Christ, She was perfect. Ben didn’t need to be told twice, and as he returned under the bed to retrieve the gun he heard her steps move away from beside him. When he stood back up, Ben saw that She had moved to her side of the bed, and was placing her sunglasses up on her forehead before turning to Ben with a grin. 

“Ready?” 

Ben shoved his gun into his pants, hauled up his shield, and gave Her a rough nod as he tossed his arm over her shoulder. “Fucking born ready.” 

For once, She and Ben weren’t the last people to arrive at one of these stupid fucking meetings. Butcher and Mallory were there—Ben didn’t think they had lives outside of fucking up everyone else’s—huddled along with MM at the head of the table. The French Prick and Kimiko were in a silent conversation on one of the benches, but Hughie and Annie were late. Ben tried not to feel too smug about it, but next time Annie tried to berate him about keeping his dick in his pants and his mouth to himself because he was making Her late, he’d shove this in her fucking face.

Seeing them, Mallory gave a curt nod and ushered Butcher and MM through the steel kitchen door as She guided Ben to drop down at the bench. Kimiko smiled at them both, the usual, toothy and broad smile for Her, and a small one with a nod for Ben. As She and Kimiko launched into an exchange of gestures, the French Prick gave Ben a nervous nod. 

“Good morning, Soldier Boy,” the French Prick was watching Ben carefully. 

“It fucking isn’t,” Ben grunted, and She kicked his shin under the table. 

Play nice, She shot him a quick glare before returning her attention to Kimiko, and Ben rolled his eyes. He was saved from the French Prick trying to continue engaging with him by Annie and Hughie’s arrival, Annie walking over to join the group of conniving dickheads in the back and Hughie halting at the bench, glancing nervously at Ben. 

“Just sit your pussy ass down, Kid.” Ben snapped, and braced for another hit to his leg. It didn’t come, and when he looked over at Her—expecting a glare or scowl—the only sign she’d heard him was her knee, pressing into his. 

Hughie sat, fidgeting at Ben’s side and trying to look at the doors without anyone noticing. With quick, weak glances and jerked head movements. Ben was about to tell him to just stand the fuck up and join them when he felt Her nudge his shoulder, and looked over to see her blinking at him. 

Kimiko said they were arguing about splitting us up. 

Ben scowled at Her. The fuck do you mean splitting us up. 

Mallory wanted you to go to the tower. MM didn’t. 

That was, genuinely, a fucking shock. MM hated him, there wasn’t a world where he’d stick up for Ben fucking staying with Her. It must have shown across Ben’s face, because She shrugged.

He apparently thought this wouldn’t work if they separated us. Said you’d just be a giant fucking whiny manchild without me. 

Did they decide? Ben decided to ignore MM’s manchild jab, because She’d just find a way to turn it on him with a joke and that fucker seemed to be the only one with a damn working brain. Because there’s not a fucking chance in hell you’re meeting Homelander without me. 

They’re still arguing. Butcher hadn’t voted yet, and they were waiting for Annie. 

Ben rolled his eyes. Who damn died and put those four pussies in charge of us. This is fucking democracy, Sunshine, we deserve a vote. 

Well, we’re both technically dead, Kimiko and Frenchie aren’t citizens, and I think Hughie just doesn’t want to deal with them. 

They’re talking about our fucking lives. We should get a goddamn say. 

Take it up with Mallory, Pretty Boy. 

I’m not taking shit up with Mallory. She can suck my dick if she tries to separate us. 

She pouted at him. I thought your dick was mine to suck alone. 

Ben snorted, pulling Her closer towards him and kissing the top of her head. Before he could growl something in her ear that would make her fucking horny enough to ditch this whole stupid goddamn plan and take off to Rome with him, the doors were swung open and MM stalked back into the room with Annie close behind him. Butcher and Mallory followed after a few seconds—Mallory having pulled a huge fucking poster out of her damn ass at some point—and they stopped at the head of the table as Annie dropped next to Hughie and MM sat beside the French Prick. She hadn’t tried to pull out from under Ben’s arm, and until she did she’d stay right fucking there. 

“Look alive, cunts.” Butcher glared around the table. “We’re moving out as soon as all our bloody ducks are in a row. Grace?” 

Mallory nodded, spreading the poster across the table. It was a blueprint. Ben recognized it immediately. He’d seen it far too many fucking times. It was a Vought Tower blueprint. 

“Butcher, Marvin, Frenchie, and Kimiko will take this door,” she tapped the blueprint, and something around Ben’s throat loosened when he realized he wasn’t going to the tower. He was staying with Her. “Into the building. It’s used for the Seven’s housekeepers and more illicit guests.” 

Hughie frowned. “Illicit?” 

“Hookers, lad.” Butcher winked. “It’s the hooker door.” 

“Oh. Uh, good for them.” 

“And we have access to it?” Annie leaned forward. “MM, you said A-Train-“ 

“He’s leaving it unlocked for us.” MM tapped the map, near where Mallory had just done the same. “And making sure someone conveniently loses their badge.” 

“Someone?” 

“Don’t worry your pure little bleedin heart, Starlight.” Butcher drawled. “We’ll be keepin the lady on lockdown. Best fuckin witness protection package the CIA’s got.” 

Hughie frowned at MM. “What about A-Train? Are we, are we just going to trust him?“

“He’s got his own ass on the line as well now.” MM’s voice was firm. Not leaving room for argument. “And after the Diner, he and Ashley both got skin in the game. I trust him.” 

“And he’s just leaving the door unlocked? Giving us an opening?” 

“He said he’d try and keep The Deep and New Noir distracted. Can’t account for Sage though.” MM looked away from Hughie, back to Mallory. “As long as there hasn’t been any leaks, it shouldn’t fucking matter that Sage is in the tower though. If she doesn’t get the drop on us, she’s a non-issue.” 

Mallory nodded tightly. “Agreed. And none of my men are stupid enough to say shit to anyone, so we’re in the clear. Team Butcher will take the elevator up, find Ryan Butcher on 99, and extract him. Butcher has the Becca and Anomaly files on his phone, and hopefully that will be more than enough to make Ryan go willingly.” 

Ben tensed, and when She spoke her fingers were tapping against his arm. “And if it’s not?” 

“Then Frenchie creates the diversion, and we leave empty handed.” 

She nodded slowly, examining the blueprints. “Frenchie?” 

“Oui?” 

“What exactly is your diversion?” 

“I have detested the billboard of Firecracker in the Times Square for several months. She is dead, she will not miss it.” The French Prick beamed with pride, and She glanced up with a frown. 

“Times Square?” 

“It will be controlled, Madame.” The French Prick assured Her, shooting Ben quick pussy glances. “Only just enough.” 

She nodded, narrowing her eyes back on the blueprint. “We’re taking two separate cars, right?” When nobody answered, She looked up. “Mallory?”

“You’ll all be transported in the van.” Mallory frowned. “It’s more effective-“ 

“No,” She shook her head, attention returning down once more. “It’s more dangerous. We’re already risking a lot by Annie coming with Ben and I. We can’t also have one group unable to make a quick getaway.” 

“I suppose,” Mallory’s lips drew in a thin line. “Butcher could take his car-“ 

“We’ll take Butcher’s car.” She tapped the blueprint, near the door. “There’s cameras. If they see Butcher’s car, they’ll know something’s up. You have,” She looked up, scanning the table with sharp eyes. “You’ve taken care of the cameras in the building. Right?” 

“We’ll shoot them as we go,” Butcher grunted, and She gaped at him. 

“As you fucking go?” 

“They won’t be entering the tower until after Homelander leaves it.” Annie leaned across Ben and Hughie to look at Her. “And they won’t be wandering. It’ll be fine.” 

“Speaking of Homelander,” Mallory crossed her arms. “Starlight, Campbell, Soldier Boy, and the Anomaly will,” she sighed. “Take Butcher’s car to the Starlight Fund. From there, Soldier Boy will call Homelander with Campbell’s phone. Once Homelander arrives, Starlight will alert Team Butcher, and they’ll begin. Do not-“ Butcher received a withering look. “Proceed with the extraction until Team Starlight has given the green light. Understood?” 

Butcher shrugged. “We’ll see.” 

“Butcher-“ 

“We’re playin real bloody fast and loose with a lot of this, Grace.” Butcher snapped. “I’d be more fuckin worried about what we’ll do if Homelander doesn’t take his bait.” 

Everyone looked at Her, still frowning at the blueprints. Ben squeezed her thigh lightly, and she glanced up at him a frown. “What-“ 

“What’s your plan, Love,” Butcher drawled. “For if Homelander don’t fall into your trap that easy.” 

She swallowed, and Ben could hear the rapid beat of her heart. “He will.”

Her voice was steady, every part of her controlled, but under the table her leg pressed into Ben’s, and her hand drummed against his leg. Ben grabbed it, stilling her movement, and She glanced at him.

You’re going to be fine, he glared at Her. This is going to fucking work, and you’ll be fine.

She smiled at him with sad fucking eyes that carved something open in Ben’s chest. I know. She tilted her head at him. And I thought you hated this plan.

I do. Ben scowled. I fucking loathe this stupid goddamn plan. But it will work, and tonight I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll stop making such fucking idiotic plans. 

She pouted at him. But making idiotic plans is one of my best qualities. 

Ben rolled his eyes. I’m well fucking aware of your best qualities. That’s not one of them. 

Really, She gave him a flat look. Because I think it’s in the top three. It’s stupid plans, my tits, and my ability to put up with your shit. 

Smartass, Ben bumped his knee with hers, grinning down at Her. You’re not even fucking close. 

Not even the tits?

Your pussy is better, Ben winked at Her. Trust me, Sunshine. You’ve got the best pussy I’ve ever fucking seen. 

She flushed, wrinkling her nose at him. Have you been ranking all the pussies you’ve seen? 

Had to pass the damn time somehow. 

I feel like there had to be other options. 

Maybe, Ben shrugged. But I don’t really give a shit. And now I can be fucking certain when I say your pussy is my favorite. 

What are my best qualities, if you’re such an expert? She was watching Ben carefully, and he almost scoffed at how nervous she looked. Like he might not be able to give an answer. Ben could list Her best qualities for fucking years, if someone let him. 

You’re a goddamn genius. You’re fucking kind, kinder than you should be. And you’ve got the best fucking pussy of all time. 

I don’t think I’m kind, She frowned, and that definitely made Ben scoff. 

You’re the kindest person I know. It’s fucking annoying. Ben studied Her soft, tight features. She didn’t believe him. You’re not nice, Sunshine. You’ve got a smart fucking mouth and a damn attitude. But you’re kind. 

She nodded slowly. And you don’t hate that? 

Ben blinked at Her. Why the fuck would I hate that. 

Kind people are pussies, Ben. 

Nice people are pussies, He glared Her name at her perfect face, watching him intently. They’re weak, lying, insufferable fucking holier-than-thou assholes. You’re not any of that. 

She smiled at him, without teeth but real. That was her real, comfortable smile that made the Thing so fucking loud. You’re not a pussy either. 

I fucking know that. He was trying to glare at her, but it wasn’t damn working. Not when She was smiling at him like that, and that deep, infinite thing in her eyes was so clear. Aimed at him. And the Thing had to fucking tell Her something- 

Butcher coughed, and Ben realized the whole fucking Pussy Brigade was staring at them. “You twats paying attention?” 

“Does it fucking matter if we are?” Ben drawled. “It’s her damn plan, and I know everything I’ve got to do. Not our fucking fault you dumbasses need a whole meeting.” 

“Then could you please repeat your instructions, Soldier Boy?” Mallory glared at him. “For our own peace of mind?” 

Ben held Mallory’s glare with his own. This was a fucking waste of time. “Go to the Starlight Fund, call Homelander, distract the pussy, then leave.” Protect Her. Don’t let her out of your sight, or Homelander within a fucking arms reach of her. Keep Her safe, at any fucking cost. 

“With whose phone, Gov?” Butcher sneered, and Ben rolled his eyes. 

“Mine, you fucking-“ 

Butcher made a loud buzzer sound. “Afraid that ain’t the right answer. Would you like to try again for double Jeopardy?” 

“That’s not how fucking Jeopardy works.” MM frowned, and Butcher shot him a glare. 

“That ain’t the fuckin point, MM. The cunt got it wrong-“ 

“Whose fucking phone should I damn use then?” Ben snapped. There would be time for Butcher’s fucking bitching later, right now Ben’s patience was about to fucking snap. This needed to be done. “Mine works fucking fine-“ 

“Your phone is a registered CIA number,” Hughie looked at Ben nervously as he explained. “Mine isn’t. Vought won’t take a CIA call, it’ll get screened on the first ring. And they probably won’t take a call from Annie, either. If we call the tower with my number we’ll get past the first checkpoint, and then you speaking will get us to Homelander.” 

This shit wasn’t worth arguing about. It was barely worth fucking talking about. “Fine. Are we actually going to do this, or just goddamn sit here like a bunch of assholes.” 

“We were just waiting on you and the missus to rejoin us, Gov.” Butcher sneered. “Everyone’s been clear for a hot fucking minute while you twats were eye-fucking.” 

Ben glowered at him, clenching his fist under the table. When this was over, Ben was going to kill him. It was going to be so fucking satisfying, and then he’d run away with Her to goddamn Rome. But this had to be finished first. 

As everyone started to filter out—tight nods and wishes of good luck being exchanged—Ben stayed at Her side. She was still looking at the blueprints, frowning as her eyes scanned slowly over the paper right until Mallory pulled it away. She started to stand, and Ben wrapped an arm around Her waist. Keeping her steady and at his side. 

“Team Starlight will leave first,” Mallory's voice was curt as she nodded at Annie. “Butcher-“ 

Hughie let out a high yelp as Butcher chucked the keys at him. Somehow, the pussy managed to catch them. 

“Lad, if you wreck my car, you’re buyin me a new one.” 

“Um, yeah. Okay.” Hughie nodded nervously. “Do I have to drive-“ 

“Yes, and any of those cunts bloody touch the wheel-“ 

“Your car will be fine Butcher.” Annie cut him off with a glare. “It’s just a car.” 

Butcher looked like he might kill her, but MM cut off any violence—fucking unfortunate, because Annie probably would’ve killed Butcher and then Ben wouldn’t have to—with a snap of, “We don’t got time to waste on this shit. The kid will drive, Butcher, and your car will live. Let’s fucking move.” 

Ben held Her against him out of the building, helping her into the backseat of Butcher’s car and pulling her back into his chest when he sat at her side. She let him, leaning against his body and burying Her face in his shoulder as her heart became uneven. Not fast, but arhythmic. Her breathing was controlled, steady against Ben’s skin, but her heart betrayed the fear in her. Ben fucking hated this. He hated that she was doing this to herself. He hated that the only thing he could really do about it was hold her, at least until it was over and he could kiss and fuck all the worries out of Her perfect brain. 

He could try to distract Her. He wasn’t sure it would work, not when she was hugging him so tight and so fucking afraid, but goddamnit he had to do something. He couldn’t just fucking sit here, in the back of Butcher stupid car, and do fucking nothing like a fucking weak goddamn pussy. 

Ben squeezed her against him once, and She hummed into his body. Not looking up at him, or speaking. So Ben turned forward, attempting a different strategy. 

“What the fuck were you pussies talking about in the kitchen?” Ben grunted, and Annie sighed in the shotgun seat. 

“It’s not that important.” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “So you weren’t trying to goddamn separate us?” 

Annie shot Hughie a glare, the kid’s knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Hughie, did you-“ 

“Kimiko told us,” She turned slightly in Ben’s hold, voice soft. “And they didn’t separate us, Ben. Don’t be an ass.” 

He glared at Her. “I’m not being a fucking ass-“ 

“Benjamin.” She wrinkled her nose at him, and Ben felt a little lighter. She was pushing back at him, she was less afraid, and that’s all he could fucking ask for. “Shut up.” 

“Uh,” Hughie glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “Are you, is he-“ 

“He’s fine.” She slapped Ben arm, and he scoffed. “Just grumpy.” 

“I’m not goddamn grumpy.“ Ben muttered. “I’m just trying to get some fucking answers. Figure out what shit they were saying about us behind our fucking backs.” 

“It’s really not that interesting,” Annie shrugged. “Mallory said it would be better to take you with Butcher. MM said it would be worse. Butcher and I voted with MM, and that was it.” 

She frowned, twisting around fully to look at Annie. “Butcher voted with MM?” 

Annie nodded, and She looked up at Ben. That’s weird right? I’m not insane? 

No, it’s fucking weird. Ben glared at Annie, and said aloud, “The fuck did he do that for.” 

“I don’t know,” Annie turned to look back at them. “I mean, would you rather he hadn’t?” 

“It’s just, it’s surprising.” She shrugged. “He hates us.” 

“I don’t think he hates you,” Hughie said slowly. “Butcher doesn’t like being wrong. Or challenged. You,” he said Her name, nodding to Her in the mirror. “Specifically, do both. I think when we found you he thought you’d be like either Annie or Maeve, and you weren’t.” 

“Annie or Maeve?” She gave Ben a confused look, and he shrugged. He didn’t have a fucking clue what Hughie was talking about, or how anyone could possibly be annoyed by Her not being Annie or Maeve. She was fucking perfect, and Butcher was lucky to be damn graced with her presence. 

“Like, completely against everything he does or completely for it.” Hughie looked to Annie for help. “Right?”

“I mean,” Annie frowned, nodding. “I guess. None of us were sure what we were looking for with you. Maeve said you were powerful, and hated Homelander. We all kind of took that as you’d been burned by Vought or something, not what, what actually happened.”

“And Butcher kind of got an idea that you’d be just, easy to work with. And after we did find you, I think he was sure you’d just be willing to do whatever he wanted to kill Homelander. And you weren’t.” Hughie shook his head, hands tapping on the wheel. “So I don’t think he hates you. I think he just doesn’t like that you’re um, not what he expected.” 

That was completely fucking insane to Ben. She wasn’t what anyone expected, that was one of the best damn things about Her. She was too damn forgiving and kind, but still a clever, vindictive woman who never fucking backed down. She didn’t ride any sort of fucking high horse, but also cared about people. It would be fucking annoying and insufferable if She wasn’t so fucking genuine about it. If her money didn’t live in her pretty fucking mouth when she said she’d do whatever it takes and understood what that meant for Her. She wasn’t easy to work with, not by a fucking long shot, but that was because she was goddamn resolved, so certain of what She thought had to be done and what She deemed unnecessary. She was always fucking right, she never fully broke, she never fucking faltered, and the whole goddamn world was better for it. 

“So he, he voted in our favor?” She was still looking at Annie, head tilted. “No conditions?” 

Annie shook her head. “I voted with MM, and he followed. Told Mallory he was with us.” 

She nodded, and gave a small sound of agreement. Even as he wanted a fucking reason—for Butcher’s goddamn attitude and cruelty to her, for why’d this was where he backed them up—Ben decided he would drop it for now, no how much this all made him want to pummel Butcher into the curb. There would be time for that later, now was about keeping Her here. With him. 

Ben kissed Her shoulder, because he fucking wanted to, he could, and she was starting to look damn sad again. She leaned her head back into Ben, and smiled up at him. Hi. 

How fucking far is this place. Ben met Her gaze, fighting his mouth tugging upwards to return her smile. This was serious. Fucking serious. He had to glare so She knew that. We’ve been driving for a million damn years. 

It’s been twenty minutes, Benjamin. We’ll be there soon. She gave him a teasing grin. You fucking toddler. 

Ben rolled his eyes. I am not a fucking toddler. I’m a fucking grown man, who’s doesn’t have the goddamn time for this shit. 

Really. She raised her brows, still grinning. It was getting a lot fucking harder to not grin back at Her. We have the same schedule, and I’ve got time for it. 

No you don’t. He winked at Her, and knew she figured out where he was headed when her finger dug into his arm and her face flushed. I’ve set aside our whole night to fuck you. And I’d like to get started as soon as goddamn possible. 

She stuck her tongue out at him, and Ben stopped trying to fight his smile. Cunt. 

Brat. He kissed her, pulling her fully into his lap and leaning over her body. She smiled against Ben’s lips, making a small sound from her throat, and the Thing was going to fucking explode and kill him. The only way out was to tell Her. Ben still wasn’t sure what the fuck the Thing thought he needed to say, but he was positive it was something for Her. Absolutely fucking certain that She needed to know that Ben- 

The car halted, the rumble of the engine going dead, and She pulled away from Ben to look around. 

“We’re here?” 

Hughie nodded, shoving the keys in his pocket. “Is everyone, uh, I guess ready?” 

“As we can be,” Annie unbuckled herself, taking a deep breath. “We should go inside. Fast.” 

She nodded, Her hands on Ben’s arm growing heated. Searing into his skin, smoke curling up into the air. 

Ben said Her name lowly, because this needed to be aloud. She needed to hear him. 

She looked up at him, her small smile not reaching her eyes. “Ben.” 

“You’re going to be fucking fine.” Ben hissed, turning Her body in his arms so she faced him fully. “I’m not going to leave your side. I’m not going to let him fucking near you. And then we’ll go home.” 

“I know,” She leaned forward, kissing him so fucking sweetly, pressing Her forehead to his. “I trust you.” 

As She started to slide out of the car, every part of Ben was telling him to grab her. To pull her back against him, commender a plane from any shitty fucking cargo airport, and leave. Get the fuck out now. The only thing that kept him from giving in was the knowledge that she’d hate him. She’d never fucking forgive him for making her leave, she’d never damn speak to him again, and Ben didn’t think he could live with that. He didn’t think that he could live without Her. He honestly wasn’t sure how he had lived without her before. He’d never needed someone like this, he’d never needed fucking anything before. He’d never cared so much what someone else thought, been so willing to do anything for just one person. One perfect fucking person. Ben had lived a whole lifetime, and then some, alone. And he’d been content. Not happy, but content. Now he was happy. Now he had Her, and she was perfect, and he never wanted to go back to just content. 

So he followed Her out of the car, shield in his hand. He’d follow her anywhere. Out of a car was barely anything when he’d move mountains and burn cities to follow her. Actually, he’d clear the cities first, then burn them. Ben was pretty certain She’d be pissed about him burning a city with people in it. Looking down at Her—beautiful and pulling his arm over her before he was at full height—Ben decided he’d probably follow her even if she was pissed. She’d probably be justified anyways, as she was rarely genuinely pissed at Ben anymore, so he’d always fix whatever he did and keep following Her. Right into hellfire, where he’d still be happy, because She’d be with him. 

The Starlight Fund was a completely desecrated fucking shithole. There was a truly fucking terrible amount of pro-Homelander graffiti—one even depicting every member of the Seven shitting on a group of Starlighters—and Ben was pretty goddamn sure the scraping he was hearing was rats. 

“This is gross,” She muttered at his side, and he snorted. 

“Lot of fucking doodles on the walls,” Ben pulled Her closer into him, speaking into her ear. “That one,” he pointed to a drawing of Fish-Boy ripping his shirt off to display disgustingly ripped gills. “Is my favorite.” 

She hummed. “Because of the gills, or the muscles?” 

“Because he looks like he just shat his damn pants.” 

She gave a small laugh, and Ben wished this could be it. That they had come here to make fun of something stupid and now they were leaving. But Hughie turned around, offering Ben his phone with a shaking hand, and Ben had to set his shield down and take it. Had to feel Her tense again, and hear her chew her lip as Ben frowned at the screen. 

“I already entered the number,” Hughie rubbed the back of his next, words soft and nervous. Part of Ben wanted to hit the idiot, because it wasn’t fucking Hughie who was in danger. If She could hold herself together, this fucking pussy should be able to as well. But Ben just grunted—hitting Hughie wouldn’t really help anything, and She’d probably just get more tense—and let him continue. “You just have to call it. Say you’re, uh, you, and ask to speak to Homelander.” 

“And no fighting, once he gets here.” Annie added. “We’re just distracting him. We can’t fight him, not now.” 

“Why the fuck not,” Ben scowled. “We’d be doing the world a damn favor, killing him-“ 

“He might leave,” She said, finger’s tapping against Ben’s own. “He might just blast into the air and go find Ryan and this would’ve been for nothing. Ben,” She looked up at him, eyes desperate. “Don’t fight him. Promise you won’t fight him.”

“Fine.” 

“Ben-“ 

“I swear I won’t kill Homelander right now, as much as he fucking deserves it.” Ben grunted, still looking at Her. “This is fucking stupid.” 

“I know,” She gave him a tight smile. “Thank you for doing it anyway.” 

“If shit starts to even look like it’s headed south-“ 

“Then we can leave and you can tell me about how you were right for a whole decade.” 

Ben nodded, still holding Her gaze. In Rome? 

In Rome, She squeezed his hand over her body. And you can fuck me every day for that decade as well. And the one after it. 

Ben kissed Her, long and slow, not giving a fuck that Hughie and Annie were watching, or that they were surrounded by rats, or that the awful graffiti and awareness of Homelander arriving soon was hanging over their heads. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world. 

“I’m ready,” She whispered against him. “I’ll be okay.” 

He didn’t move for a second, just sharing Her breath. But she pulled back first with a deep sigh and buried Her face into Ben’s chest, arms wrapped around him. Waiting. 

Ben called the number, and it picked up on the third ring. 

An overly sweet woman’s voice echoed through the room. “Thank you for calling Vought International’s Crime Tip Line! All of our operators are currently busy, please stay on the line until one becomes available! You are seventh in line.” 

The voice was sounded fucking robotic when it had said seventh, and Ben wasn’t sure that the lady had been real either. “What the fuck was that.” 

Annie sighed. “We’re on hold.” 

“The tip line?” She twisted around, still leaning against Ben, to give Hughie an exasperated look. “Really?” 

“I couldn’t find Ashely’s phone number,” Hughie muttered. “Apparently she kept getting protest calls from Starlighters, and it overwhelmed their servers.” 

“Mallory couldn’t get it?” 

“It’s being kept secret. We’d have to do a freedom of information request, and that would’ve tipped them off.” 

“Please stay on the line, your call is very important to us. You are sixth in line.” The voice disappeared again, returning so sort of too-happy fucking elevator music. She sighed, slumping slightly against Ben.  

“I guess we’re waiting.” 

It took fifteen fucking minutes. Ben’s shield was still on the floor, and he’d pick it up when he had to but right now was about holding Her properly. At some point Butcher called to yell about where the bloody hell the signal was, and Annie had to explain what was happening. Butcher called them fucking cunt idiots, and hung up. She stayed against Ben the whole time, tapping against his arm over Her stomach, staring into the distance. When that goddamn music finally came to an abrupt halt the whole room froze, Hughie and Annie looking up from where they’d been sitting against the wall. 

“Thank you for calling Vought’s crime tip line, my name is Gavin. How can I be of service.” “I’m Soldier Boy,” Ben said bluntly, ignoring Her flat look of Really, Ben? “I want to speak with Homelander.” 

“Sir, this line is not a joke. Our policy requires me to report prank calls as crimes themselves-“ 

“This isn’t a goddamn prank.” Ben hissed. “I am Soldier Boy. I need to fucking speak to Homelander now, and if you report me as a crime I will find you and fucking kill you.” 

“Sir, may I please have your location-“ 

She had turned to stand in front of Ben, tugging his arm, pointing a finger to herself. Me. She gave him an urgent look. Say you have me. Use my supe name. And my real name. 

“I have the Anomaly.” This was fucking annoying, they shouldn’t be doubting him. He grunted Her full name, and she nodded at him. “She’s with me. And I want to fucking talk to Homelander. Now.” 

The line was silent. Ben glared at Her. That didn’t fucking work. 

She shook Her head. Wait for it. 

The line clicked, and a new voice—less bored and uninterested and a lot more fearful—spoke through the speaker. “This is Ashley Barrett, CEO of Vought International. I understand you’re claiming to be Soldier Boy?” 

“I fucking am Soldier Boy. Let me fucking speak to Homelander now.” 

The line was quiet again. “And you have her?” 

“Christ on a cross, fucking yes.” Ben scowled at Her. This is goddamn stupid. 

She shrugged. I’m just impressed you haven’t totally crushed the phone yet. 

Ben looked back to his hand, and found that his grip on Hughie’s phone was starting to cause cracks to form in the screen. He glared at Her. Shut up. 

The line clicked again, and everyone froze. Her heart was going to push out of her chest, and when the static sounded again Ben wasn’t sure it was even beating anymore. 

“Soldier Boy.” Homelander’s voice was so fucking weak. Even crackling through the phone and making Her freeze, he was a fucking pathetic pussy. “Is she really there? With you?” 

Ben looked at Her, face full of goddamn fear. He could stop this. Ben could hang up and Homelander would never have to step foot near Her again. She wouldn’t have to be afraid ever again, because Ben would take her as far away as he fucking could, and She’d be safe. 

He’d never hated anything more than having to say, “Yes.” 

“I want to talk to her.” Homelander snapped. “Give me to her. Now.”

She extended her hand, and blinked at Ben once. I’ll be fine.

It was a bold faced fucking lie. Her heart was going a goddamn mile a minute, and her face was blank, eyes glazed slightly. 

Ben glowered at Her. If anything goes wrong, if he say one fucking thing out of damn line, we’re leaving. 

Her smile didn’t meet her eyes. It was barely a smile, closer to a sad, anxious grimace with upturned lips. I know. Then her face grew gentle, with adoration painting her every feature. For him. Something unending and almost dangerous crossed Her eyes, and Ben couldn’t look away from her. I trust you. 

Ben nodded. You burn, I burn. It wasn’t what the Thing wanted Ben to tell her, but it was close. Better than telling Her nothing. 

You burn, I burn. She wrapped her hand around the phone, taking it from Ben as he picked up his shield. Let’s fucking do this. 

“If someone doesn’t say something-“ 

“Homelander,” Her voice was stronger than Ben expected. Her face was painfully empty—every piece of light in her gone as she became hollow—but her voice was even and controlled. “It’s me.” 

Homelander breathed Her name, and Ben’s blood went cold. He shouldn’t be allowed to say Her name. Not fucking ever, not like that. “Where the fuck are you. What have they done to you? Why have you been hiding-“ 

“I’m okay.” She wouldn’t look at Ben, gaze fixed on the floor. Fucking empty. “They haven’t hurt me. Just, I wasn’t allowed to see you. Or talk to you. They said just this once.” 

“Tell me where the fuck they’re keeping you,” Homelander hissed Her name. Ben was pretty sure she was going to throw up. “I’ll come find you, you can come home, and we’ll be together.” 

“I can’t,” She whispered, fingers starting to curl with smoke. “They’ll get mad-“ 

“So I’ll fucking kill them! I can do whatever I want, and it’s not like people will miss them! Just tell me where you are and I’ll come save you.” 

They needed to leave, right now. Her face was bloodless, Her breaths were mechanical, and Ben knew they needed to leave. She shouldn’t be doing this, she shouldn’t have to do anything for these fucking pussies, they should just fucking leave- 

Homelander said Her name again, and his voice had gone cold. “If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll find your pretty little sister and have her tell me. I know they’ve been making you hide. I know they’ve been hurting you. And if your sister loves you half as much as I do, she’ll want you to come back to me. Where you’re safe.”

Her eyes snapped up to Ben’s. She wasn’t trying to tell him anything, just looking at him. Her brain was turning, spinning, moving faster and faster with Her heart. Trying to find something, somewhere, that Ben didn’t understand. A way out, a way forward, some sort of fucking plan to get through this. He’d promised he’d let Her do this. No matter how much he hated it, Ben had swore. She’d do what she needed to do, and—as long as Homelander never fucking touched Her again—he’d stand with her as she did. 

Ben’s jaw clenched, and he held her gaze. I’m here. I’m right fucking here. 

There was more he needed to say. There was so much fucking more Ben needed to tell Her. But that was enough, because She nodded. I know. 

“They took me to the Starlight Fund-“ The words had barely left Her mouth when the line clicked dead. The room was silent, so painfully fucking silent, and She was staring at Ben. He needed to tell Her now, the Thing needed to get its fucking shit together and be damn clear about what it fucking was Ben needed to tell Her, so he could tell Her now- 

The roof crashed open, and Homelander dropped into the middle of the room. Cape and suit and so fucking weak. 

He breathed Her name, not even looking around the rest of the fucking room. “I fucking found you.”

Ben almost scoffed. Homelander hadn’t fucking found Her. She’d goddamn called him. Told him where she was. He must have made some sort of sound, because cold blue eyes shot to him.

“Soldier Boy. Thank you for bringing Her back to me.” 

Never in his fucking life had Ben hated someone more. She wouldn’t look at him, staring at Homelander and taking shallow breaths. Not touching Ben. Her back was too straight, all the smoke was gone from Her body, and Ben couldn’t hear Her heart. Like it has just fucking stopped.

“Homelander,” Annie stood up from the wall, a truly violent glare on Her face. It almost made Ben respect her, the contempt with which she spoke and the loathing in her eyes. “You’re not taking her. You can talk. That’s it.” 

“Oh, shut up, you boring fucking Girl Scout.” Homelander dismissed Annie with a hand, still not looking away from Her and Ben. “This is a family matter, you and Campbell can go fuck in a closet for all I care.” 

“We’re not going anywhere-“ 

“I don’t care,” Homelander finally shot Annie a bored glare. “But if you even try and interfere with this, I’ll laser Campbell’s dick off. Now,” he looked back to Her. “Let’s go.” 

She shook her head. She wasn’t fucking breathing. “I- I cant-“ 

“Yes you fucking can,” Homelander hissed. “You’re not mortal anymore, you’re a god like me. None of these weaklings could stop us. Soldier Boy,” he jerked his head at Ben. “Could even come with us. We could be a family.” 

“I’m not going fucking anywhere with you,” Ben could hear the drums. Distant, in his control, but building in time with his heart. “And we are not a fucking family.” 

“But you’re my father,” Homelander shook his head—as if he thought Ben could forget—and whined like a pathetic fucking child. “Don’t you want to meet your grandson? Be there for the birth of our,” he gestured to Her, and Ben was going to rip his fucking hand off. ”Next child? You’d never have to miss anything again. We’d be together.” 

“Homelander,” She was whispering, she was afraid, and Ben couldn’t do more than press his foot into Hers. Show Her he was there. He wasn’t going fucking anywhere. Slowly, her breathing became audible again—even if she remained frozen—and Ben didn’t take his eyes off Homelander. “Please. I just want to talk.” 

“We can talk at home.” Homelander took a step forward, and She flinched. 

“No. Please, I don’t-“ 

“What have they been telling you,” Homelander whirled on Annie and Hughie. “Have you been turning her against me? Poisoning her damn brain against me?” 

“They haven’t,” She pleaded, and that was it. Ben took a long step forward, until he was right at Her side. Homelander was too close, she was fucking breaking, and he’d stay right here until this was over. Then he’d hold Her until she smiled again, even if it took a hundred fucking years. But Homelander wasn��t going to make Her weak. Nobody was allowed to make Her weak, not as long as Ben was fucking alive. “Homelander, I just want to talk-“ 

“Fine,” he turned back to Her, face tight and furious. Glancing once at Ben, now right at Her side, before continuing. “Let’s talk. You’ve been hiding. I’ve been looking for you, and you’ve been hiding from me. They-“ a gloved hand pointed to Annie and Hughie. “Have been hiding you from me. It’s time to be a big girl and stop hiding. Time to come home so I don’t have to keep fucking cleaning up bodies while I look for you.” 

She swallowed. “Bodies?" 

“None of the workers at Tek Knight’s stupid fucking sex club would tell me where you went, so they all had to die. A bunch of fucking Firecracker supporters were demanding justice, so I had to kill them too.” 

“No-“ 

“Please,” Homelander rolled his eyes, taking another step. “It was for you. To protect you. They wanted to fucking draw and quarter you and I stopped them! I saved you, again.” 

“You didn’t save me,” She whispered, taking an unsteady step back. “You hurt me. You-“ She was shaking her head, voice growing louder. “You hurt me. You hurt me.” She was screaming, and Ben had never heard a worse sound. It was shrill, and unsure, and fucking terrified. “You hurt me-“ 

“Oh, grow the fuck up,” Homelander sneered. “You were nothing. You had no one. You’re lucky I even fucking looked at you, let alone saw something of worth! I made you everything you deserved to be, I fucking trusted you with my heart, and you just pulled it out and stomped all over it!” 

“No-“ 

Homelander raised his hand, and She fell silent. She was never fucking silent. “But I forgive you. I’m going to be the bigger person, and forgive you. We both made mistakes, I’m not blameless here, and I forgive you. We’ll get through this,” Homelander lowered his hand for her to take, saying Her name. “We’ll get through this together.” 

“No.” She breathed out. “You hurt me. I’m not going anywhere with you. Ever.” 

Homelander scoffed. “Stop being a fucking whining child,” he said Her name again, and moved forward, She moved back, and Ben blocked Homelander in his path.

Homelander blinked, but the shock on his face barely lasted a second. “You could come with us, Soldier Boy. You don’t have to keep working with those fucking idiots,” he jerked his head to Annie and Hughie in the corner. “Working for William Butcher. He betrayed you before, and he’d do it again. I’d never betray you. I’d make you fucking proud. We just have to leave together.” 

“I will never,” Ben spat, fist clenching at his side. “Be fucking proud of a pussy like you. A weak, spineless, pathetic fucking excuse for a man.” 

Something like hurt flashed across Homelander’s face. He’d thought Ben would agree. He’d thought Ben would fucking hand Her over. Homelander had truly fucking believed that Ben would ever let him fucking near Her again. 

“Fine. Have it your way.” Homelander looked past Ben, and said Her name. “Let’s fucking go. Now.” 

She must have shaken her head—Ben couldn’t turn and look, he couldn’t take his eyes off Homelander for a fucking second—because Homelander’s jaw ticked. 

“Now.” 

“Never.” She hissed. “I’m never fucking going anywhere with you again.” 

“This is your last chance to do this easy.” Homelander snapped. “We can be civilized about this. It doesn’t have to go this way.” 

“You fucking heard the woman,” Ben sneered, and Homelander looked back to him. “No.” 

Homelander sighed. “I didn’t want to do this. I told Sage it wouldn’t be necessary.” 

“Sage?” Her voice shaking. Ben hated not touching her, he hated that Her heart still was weak in her chest, he hated all of this stupid fucking shit plan. 

“I’m going to have to tell her she was right,” Homelander continued, frowning into the air. “She’s such an annoying fucking bitch when she’s right. But if you’re not going to chose the easy way, then let’s do the fucking hard way.” 

Annie was moving slowly from the corner, keeping Hughie behind her. “What the hell are you talking about.” 

“In January, after we found out you,” he gestured at Her. “Were alive, Sage said we’d need a way to eliminate Soldier Boy. I told her that was dumb, that when it came time you’d come back to the right side, to me, your son, but she was a real fucking pest until I agreed to her stupid idea.” The pussy was fucking monologuing, glaring around the room with his hands on his hips and sharp, exasperated movements. “She scheduled the meeting, said it didn’t fucking matter what actually happened as long as she got what she needed. I said you wouldn’t be that stupid, but you were. You told her exactly what that French asshole was using to stop you from going all boom without your leash there with you, and she locked herself in a lab for a whole month. It was unbelievably inconvenient. When she finally came out, she gave me this.” Homelander reached back somewhere, pulling out a small, seemingly empty vial. “And said to use it first chance. I don’t want to use it, but,” he sighed, shaking his head. “If you won’t listen to reason, I have to.” 

“Homelander,” Annie hissed. “What’s in there. What the fuck are you going to do-“ 

“Gas. It’s fucking gas. I was getting there.” Homelander rolled his eyes at Ben. “Women. Always so pushy.” 

The drums were louder. Homelander was only a half step from Ben. Holding gas. His head was pounding, hitting only a half-beat out of time with Ben’s heart. Over the rush of blood in his ears—vision stark and violent and red—Ben could barely hear Her speak. It was under her breath, and barely audible regardless. 

“No.” 

Homelander ignored Her, giving Ben a toothy, awful fucking smile. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in,” he paused, glancing back down at the vial. “Three days? I honestly just couldn't pay attention to Sage’s fucking lecture.” 

Time moved slow. Homelander’s hand went to the vial, the drums were a fraction away from taking over but still too far, and She screamed. A high, loud, raw scream that tore through the world. It might have been a word, or Ben’s name, but it didn’t matter because it was Her. Screaming, fucking breaking. 

The world broke with Her, and something exploded. A bone-rattling sound of destruction echoed through Ben, through Homelander, through everything as the room was almost blindingly lit. The vial cracked open, glass melting in Homelander’s hand, but Ben didn’t pass out. A small wisp of steam pushed into the air, Ben felt faint, and then it was gone. For a split second he could see all of Homelander’s face, with slight wrinkles and lines and wide eyes. Afraid. Homelander was afraid. Frozen, with a parted mouth and a slack face of terror, his gaze fixated just beyond Ben. 

At Her. 

Homelander was blasted backwards—fire arcing through the air and into his chest—and right through the dust-covered, paint-peeling wall. The building rumbled, the air was waving around Ben, and the whole world was electric. He didn’t have to turn to know it was Her. She was burning, and the whole world was singing for Her. It was alive, the air crackling and everything illuminated for Her. 

Ben had never seen anything like Her. All these fucking heroes pranced around like dancing fucking monkey’s, bragging about god-like power and being chosen. Homelander called himself a god. Said nobody was like him, nobody was as powerful as he was. Moaned about how nobody was his equal, how even Ben only just matched his power. Ben could wipe out Homelander’s powers, Homelander could knock out Ben, Ben could punch him and make him bleed and Homelander could leave a temporary cut on Ben’s skin. They could keep trading blows, measuring their dicks, and stand around all fucking day to argue like pussies about who was more powerful. 

Or they could just look at Her. 

Because She was a fucking god. 

Bathed in white flames tinted purple, floating off the ground, and burning. This wasn’t the bomb in Ben’s chest, running through her body like electricity in a wire. This wasn’t heat that lived in Homelander’s eyes, focused and hot but limited. This fire, bright and hot like a hurricane, ripping through the world and everything between it, was Her. Only Her. It wasn’t nuclear, or artificial, or confined. It was wild and feral and pure fucking power. Her. 

Ben had to fucking move. 

“Go!” He shouted the order to Annie and Hughie, still pressed against the wall. “Fucking move! Go!” 

Annie nodded, grabbing Hughie arm and pulling him with her to the exit. They’d start the car, but they wouldn’t leave Her. They might leave Ben, but they wouldn’t leave Her. Nobody with a heart would leave Her. Not ever, not here. Not with Homelander. 

And Ben had to fucking get Her out. Fast. 

Homelander was staggering to his feet—a few yards from the building in the broad daylight—and She had hurt him. She’d fucking marred him. Blond hair was tinted black with ash, one blue eye was milky, and his cruel face was half-melted. Twisted with scars and fucking hideous. 

And She wasn’t done.

She had landed on the ground and shrugged off her jacket—whole body still alight as the world bent and burned around her—before vaulting past Ben, out into the street. He roared Her name after her, but she didn’t look back. Homelander was almost fully stable, touching a hand to where She’d hit him, and Ben had to fucking go.

He followed Her in long, sprinting bounds, and reached them just before Her fist landed. Right on Homelander’s burns, blasting him back another twenty fucking feet. 

Christ, She was fucking perfect. 

Ben reached Her, grabbing her arms and ignoring the pain of the fire against his skin. He healed fast—faster than Homelander—and in the adrenaline he wasn’t able to be certain, but the flames felt duller than usual on his hands. Not meant to hurt him. 

He hissed Her name, trying to pull her with him. Back to the car. “We’ve got to go, right fucking now.”

She yanked Her arm from his grip. “Ryan’s not out.” 

“Ryan?” Ben gaped at Her. “What the fuck-“ 

“The signal didn’t go off. Everyone’s still in the tower. If we leave he goes back to the tower, and we’re assfucked.” 

“I don’t give a shit-“ 

“Ben,” She grabbed his face between Her burning hands, and Ben was goddamn sure it should’ve hurt. But it didn’t, it just felt warm. “This is it. This is what I need to do. And I’m fucking doing it.” 

He couldn’t stop Her. She wasn’t breaking anymore, she wasn’t in danger now—not like She had been before—and Ben was never going to fucking leave Her. “You burn, I burn.” 

She nodded. “Let’s fucking burn.” 

Ben needed to tell Her. She was dropping her arms, turning away, and he needed to tell Her. He was so fucking close to knowing, to being able to recognize that- 

Homelander blasted forward, landing only a few feet from Her and Ben. His words were low, cold. Angry. “You fucking bitch. We’re going to have a very long conversation later about trust-“ 

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben pulled out his gun and shot Homelander right in the fucking mouth. 

It didn’t kill him—they weren’t that lucky—but it worked goddamn wonders in making his words die in his throat. In giving Ben a chance to punch him in the throat, making him cough the bullet out and giving Her a chance to kick him square in the chest. It was a smooth hit, not strong but wrapped in fire that seared right through Homelander’s stupid fucking suit. Ben slammed the blunt end of his shield right into the exposed skin and revered in the sickly crunch of its contact. 

Homelander roared as his eyes began to grow red, aimed at Her, and Ben’s fist was just fucking fast enough to clock Homelander’s jaw. Hard enough to turn his head, to make the laser cut through the air into a glass building. 

She realized it at the same time Ben did, exchanging a simultaneous look of Fuck. We’re outside. 

No casualties, She narrowed her eyes at him. I back Homelander up. You blast him. 

Ben frowned, ducking under a weak punch, thrown by Homelander at what he imagined was supposed to be Ben’s face. You said not now. He didn’t know why the fuck he was arguing with Her. This wasn’t something at all damn worth it. But Ben still waited for Her answer, and the moment She gave the clear, he was going to fucking kill this pussy. 

We’re improvising, Benjamin. Her face was set, determined. Ready? 

Ben nodded, and turning to see Homelander right in his fucking face. Up close, even as the lasers built in Homelander’s eyes, the state of his wound was fucking disgusting. 

“I fucking-“ 

There was no chance to find out exactly what Homelander was fucking, because She dove at him—face wrathful, a fucking inferno—and they went flying through the air. Over the street, away from the gathered pedestrians, onto the manicured lawn of Vought Tower. People were screaming, scrambling away, and those already on the sidelines were watching through phones, flinching as Ben stalked past them. She could hold Her own, but he needed to get there. Get to Her. 

The grass of the lawn was smoking, and Ben felt like he was walking through a goddamn swamp as he approached them. She had twisted around—onto Homelander’s back with Her arms locked around his throat—and was growing brighter and brighter as his bellows turned strangled and choked. The pussy still had to fucking breathe like anyone else, but smoke was curling into his lungs as Her arms burned through his throat. 

Good. 

The drums were back, building and building, and light was starting to shine in Ben’s chest. He had a shot. A clear fucking shot. He’d hit Her, but she’d be fine, and then she’d be safe forever. 

Any hesitation—weak and fearful for Her at the top of Ben’s chest—was killed when She looked at him. 

Do it. 

The drums fell into time, and Ben’s vision went white. Homelander’s roar sounded through the air, and the world became something far away as the bomb went off. Ripping through Ben’s chest with a vengeance, through the air with an atomic boom. 

When the world became clear, Homelander wasn’t ash or a mortal body on the floor. He was gone. They were both gone. 

Ben screamed Her name. It wasn’t a roar, or a bellow, or a growl, or anything other than a scream. Where the fuck did She go. Why wasn’t She here, with him. Ben had failed Her, he had fucking failed her, and he couldn’t hear Her heart or see her beautiful face and where the goddamn fucking hell was She-

He could hear his name. Her voice, carried on the wind, was yelling his name. Ben looked up, just in time to see Her falling from the sky, a quickly dying comet, just a few feet to his left. 

Ben caught Her, shield clattering to the ground. He’d always fucking catch Her. And when their bodies collided, Ben could feel Her. Afraid. Every fiber and cell of Her body and mind, made of pure, unbridled fucking fear. Frozen fear, hollow and frigid in Her body. 

When She spoke, Her voice wasn’t full and furious anymore. “He took off, took me with him. I burned his dick and he dropped me, but he’ll be back-“ 

“Let’s fucking go,” Ben didn’t release Her, turning back to the Starlight Fund. If he was fast, fucking ran, they could get the fuck out now because Ben wasn’t going to survive another goddamn second of there being a chance he could lose Her. Not when he was certain this was Her fear in him. 

But She tugged at his arms, trying to get out of his hold. “Ryan, we need to make sure Ryan’s out-“ 

“No-“ 

“Ben, please.” She squeezed his bicep, and Ben looked down at Her. Safe, unharmed in his arms. He couldn’t fucking lose Her- “We just need to keep him occupied. I’ll be fine.” 

“You’re out of fire-“ 

“It’ll come back,” She didn’t sound sure. “I’m fine, he didn’t get me-“ 

“That was too fucking close-“ 

“Ben,” She was pleading, tugging at his shirt. “We have to. You promised-“ 

He snapped Her name. “You’re in danger-“ 

“I’ll go. I’ll go find them in the tower, and you keep Homelander here. Please. We don’t have time to argue-“ 

He wanted to tell Her no. Ben wanted to tell her that’s fucking insane, stay here, or don’t goddamn leave, don’t fucking go where I can’t follow you. But she was so fucking stubborn. It was one of the infinite things he loved about Her, but fuck it was pissing him off. She wouldn’t leave—be useless as She’d call it—and Ben couldn’t let Her fight Homelander. Not when he could feel her painful fear, and there wasn’t even smoke in the air. So he grunted, lowering Her onto the sidewalk. 

“Thank you,” She whispered, and that deep thing in Her eyes was back. It was in Ben, now, and it was peaceful and eternal in his brain. It was so strong, and wrapped around Ben’s every sense, making the world clear and everything alive. 

“Wait,” Ben grabbed Her arm, stopping her just a second. “Take this.”

She blinked at Ben’s gun, shoved into Her hand, before looking back to him with a nod. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“Stay safe.” He muttered, and She gave him a small smile. 

“I always do, Ben.” 

The thing he couldn’t understand inside of Her was bigger than the world. A world that, for a second, was just them. Her, fucking perfect, and Ben. With Her. When She started to walk away, into the tower, the whole world was going with Her. 

She looked back at him once, and Ben realized that the Thing had said it. Somewhere, when She had been in his arms, the Thing had found words and he couldn’t fucking remember what they were. He had to focus, to grab them back to him so he yell them after Her, so she could hear- 

Homelander dropped with a crack on the pavement, and the Thing’s moment of clarity was gone.

Now Ben had a fucking job to do. 

He was brutal. This wasn’t the fucking time to pull punches, to feel anything outside of hatred or a thirst for blood. Ben had to keep Homelander here, and he would. He would beat him fucking bloody until he was just a pathetic, whimpering fucking pile of bones and skin. People were filming, and he’d let them. Everyone should see Ben paint Homelander’s brain across the street with his shield—back in his hand—and there should be evidence of Ben peeling Homelander's burnt face off his skull. Everyone should witness how fucking weak Homelander really was, how fucking useless and desperate and evil. Homelander tried to jab at him—tried to mock him or ask where She’d gone—but all of Ben’s already thin patience was gone. He wanted Homelander to hurt, hurt the way Ben had felt Her hurt. He couldn’t take Her pain and put it into Homelander, so bashing his head open was the second best option. 

And Ben was winning. Homelander landed a few weak blows and Ben got scorched with one or two lasers he wasn’t able to dodge, but Ben was fucking winning. He’d have to thank Her, later, for how thoroughly she’d ruined Homelander’s face. Ben was pretty sure the fucker was—at least temporarily—blind in one eye. He was slower to block, turning his head more than he should, and it gave Ben a few extra hits right into his ugly fucking face. Homelander kept trying to grab something, scramble for a gun or some shit, but it wouldn’t matter. Ben was fucking winning. He’d knock the pussy unconscious and go home. Maybe even fucking kill him- 

Homelander’s mauled face shot up, and he was gone. Fucking blasting into the sky, fleeing like a goddamn coward, and Ben let him. He could’ve grabbed Homelander’s cape, pulled him back down, but the job was done. People were scattering away with screams at the remaining rumbles of an explosion Ben could only assume was the French Prick’s signal echoed through the city. He’d heard it go off, only a minute ago, but hadn’t fucking cared. Not when he could just keep hurting Homelander. And now Ben was left in the crowded street with a bunch of fucking idiots filming him. Flinching and scrambling away when he turned back to the Fund as part of his brain still looked for Her. In the crowd, somewhere off to the side, or in the remains of the Starlight Fund. He was searching for Her smile, her sharp eyes, just some sign she was there. 

Ben saw Her sunglasses. That was the only evidence that She had been here. There was smoldering wreckage and burnt grass, small fires clustered around the ruins and on the street, but this was evidence of Her. Of the perfect woman who laughed with him and never fucking faltered. 

They were broken. Tinted blue glass on the floor and bent frames. She was going to be really fucking pissed about that. For reasons Ben didn’t understand, She loved those stupid sunglasses. 

He’d buy Her new ones. He’d make sure Mallory finally started paying them, and Ben would buy her a million fucking off-brand Soldier Boy sunglasses. 

Annie and Hughie were in the car. Nobody had followed Ben into the ally—one very stupid kid had tried, but scrambled away at Ben’s glare—so Ben dropped into the backseat of the car. Alone. 

Hughie looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Uh, where-“ 

“She went after Butcher.” Ben snapped. “She’ll meet us there. Fucking go.” 

Annie and Hughie exchanged looks, and Annie pulled out her phone. Swiping through it, glancing up around Ben nervously until she found whatever the fuck she was looking for. 

“Butcher says they’re out with Ryan, and everyone’s heading back.” She showed the screen to Hughie, and he nodded. “We should go.” 

“That’s what I fucking said.” Ben muttered, and tried not to look at the place beside him. Where She’d usually be, rolling Her eyes or calling him a grump. 

The car ride back was long. Fucking longer than the car ride there. Time was stretching, fucking crawling so slow without Her there. Ben had been away from Her for less than a damn hour, and he missed Her. He missed Her so fucking much. A year ago, he’d have called himself a pussy. He’d have scoffed, sneered that he was fucking Soldier Boy. He shouldn’t miss anyone. People should miss him, and be thankful he ever looked at them in the first place. But Ben a year ago hadn’t met Her. He didn’t get it. That She was beautiful, and brilliant, and had the smartest fucking mouth he’d ever heard. That She felt like heaven and hell and Ben didn’t want to exist without Her. If being a pussy for this one perfect woman was the price Ben had to pay to have Her, he’d pay it. He’d pay anything. 

She wasn’t answering Ben’s texts. He’d messaged Her, asked her if everyone was in one piece or giving her shit for going off book, and She hadn’t answered. But that didn’t mean a fucking thing, because She kept her phone in Her jacket, which was currently smoldering ash in the remains of the Starlight Fund. He’d buy Her a new phone as well. And fucking punch Mallory in her wrinkled, sour face if they got any shit about Her destroying another phone. 

Annie and Hughie weren’t trying to talk to him. At some point Annie had put on Billy Joel, and Ben let her. He hadn’t hated his music, in the 80s, and knew that She just liked music. Any music. So it made it a little easier to pretend She was here. To pretend something wasn’t growing sick inside of Ben. 

Even as it started to rot. As everything started to feel wrong. 

Ben didn’t wait for the car to fully stop before opening the door. He didn’t even bother to grab his shield. Nobody else could pick it up anyway. Hughie gave a weak protest as he stepped out, but Ben saw Annie shake her head in his periphery and Hughie’s mouth snapped shut. It was a smart fucking choice. 

She’d had the keycard. The door was locked and She had taken the keycard. So Ben had to wait—glowering at the parked Pussy Mobile a few spots down from Butcher’s car—for Annie and Hughie to let him in. Stand behind them stiffly in the elevator with his arms crossed, and just fucking wait. 

“Butcher said we’d debrief in the dining hall,” Hughie mumbled. “I don't think he's happy with us. With the whole, uh, fighting Homelander thing.”

Butcher could fucking suck Ben’s dick. 

The doors opened, and Ben shoved his way out of the elevator, not waiting for Hughie or Annie to keep up. His steps were long, stomping, and fast—almost a full run—but there was no fucking time. He needed to see Her. He needed to see Her right fucking now- 

He shoved the doors open, marched into the dining hall, and froze. 

Butcher and the Kid were at the table, MM and Mallory sitting across from them, their backs to Ben. Kimiko and the French Prick were at the other end of the table, in a silent conversation. There were four empty seats between them and the larger group. Two for Annie and Hughie. Two for Ben and Her. 

But She wasn’t fucking there. 

And Ben couldn’t hear Her heart. 

“Where is she,” Ben growled, and Butcher looked up at him. 

“Good work to you too, you dumb fucking cunt-“ 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben hissed. There wasn’t fucking time for this. “Where the fuck is she.” 

MM turned, frowning at Ben. “Who the hell-“ 

Ben roared Her name as Hughie and Annie pushed into the room, their hearts faltering behind him. Seeing what Ben saw. “Where the goddamn fucking hell is she!” 

Mallory was looking at him now, lips in a thin line, words clipped. “She was supposed to be with you-“

“I fucking know that!” Ben’s voice might be shaking the building. “She went inside the Tower, to find you fucking pussies. Where the hell is she?” 

“We,” MM blinked at him. “We haven’t seen her. She was supposed to be with you.” 

“Oh, shit.” Hughie whispered, and the room fell silent. 

The world was fucking ending. This was the judgement day, or apocalypse, or end of days or fucking something, because She was gone. She was gone. She’d disappeared into the fucking Tower, and she was in danger. Ben had let Her go into the tower, Ben had fucking failed Her. He should’ve gone with Her, he should’ve kept Her there and trusted her to fight, he should never have let Her go alone. She’d told him not to leave her alone, Ben had promised to keep Her safe, and now She was fucking gone. He’d failed. And nothing fucking mattered expect getting Her back. 

Ben turned roughly around to Hughie, extending an arm. “Give me the fucking keys.”

Hughie blinked at him. “Uh, why?” 

“To drive the damn car.” Ben snapped. He didn’t have the goddamn time for this shit. She was in fucking danger. “I’m going to get her. Fucking keys. Now.” 

Hughie was fumbling in his pocket—apparently not a complete fucking dumbass—but froze at Mallory’s cold words. “You’re going to stay here, Soldier Boy, until you receive further orders.” 

Ben didn’t bother to turn around. “Shove it up your ass, you fucking bitch. Keys.” 

“We don’t know where She is,” Annie said carefully. “She could’ve left the tower, could be coming back here-“ 

“Or she could be in fucking danger.” Ben’s voice was rising to a shout. “Give me the fucking keys-“ 

“Lad, if you give Soldier Boy my fuckin keys, I’ll shoot you.” 

Ben whirled to Butcher. “Shut the fuck up, you useless fucking pussy. Does fucking nobody,” he scowled around the room. “Give fuck about her but me? Do none of you care that you just fucking abandoned her?” 

You abandoned Her. It echoed in his brain, twisting around his throat. You failed Her. You left Her. 

“Of course we care,” MM snapped. “But I have to be with Butcher on this. She could be anywhere-“ 

“So fucking find her!” Ben bellowed. How could none of them fucking get it, fucking understand that She was lost, gone, alone, afraid. In fucking danger. “If you care, get off your asses and fucking find her!” 

“Frenchie,” Butcher stood, glaring at Ben. “Take Ryan to his room.” 

Ben looked away from Butcher just long enough to see the Kid watching him with wide, fearful eyes as the French Prick herded him past Ben, out the door. He glanced at Kimiko—still sat at the end of the table—and she was frowning at him. Signing something Ben didn’t fucking understand. She’d have understood. 

He looked back to Butcher, and spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m finding her. Good luck trying to fucking stop me.” 

“We will bloody find her,” Butcher snapped. “But we ain’t going to do it in a day. She’s probably fuckin fine-“ 

“She was in the fucking Tower. Are you that fucking stupid-“ 

“I ain’t stupid. I’m a realist.” Butcher held Ben’s murderous glare. “Like she is. We’ll find her, now sit the fuck down.” 

“Don’t pretend like you fucking know her. Like you’re fucking buddies and you know what she’d want-“ Kimiko was waving at Ben, trying to get his attention as he roared, and he shot her a withering glower. “What fuck is wrong with you?” 

She pointed to her phone, and reached it out for Ben to take. He snatched it from her hands—slightly thrown by the seemingly genuine sympathy and worry across her face—and looked at the screen. 

BREAKING NEWS: Vought Announces that the Homelander’s girlfriend has been recovered from Soldier Boy’s captivity.

He’d failed Her. In the worst possibly way, Ben had compelety fucking failed Her. 

The glass cracked in Ben’s grip, and he chucked the phone at Butcher. “Is that fucking enough to get you to move your pathetic fucking pussy asses, and fucking save her?” 

MM leaned over Butcher’s shoulder, reading the screen. “Fuck.” 

“What’s-“ 

Hughie’s confused words were cut off as Annie shuffled behind Ben, “I’ll check-“ Ben heard her swallow. “Oh, shit.” 

“Jesus,” Hughie whispered, and Ben’s skin crawled. Why the fuck were they just standing here. Why weren’t they moving. Fucking saving Her. 

Butcher only stared at the screen with a scowl, and Mallory stood to read the headline as well. 

“Butcher,” she said slowly. “This is-“ 

“Changes nothing.” Butcher tossed the phone back to Kimiko. “We keep on the fuckin track.” 

Ben’s whole world froze with wrath. Locking him in place. Spinning him around, stabbing into his chest, making the world painful. 

“Are you fucking insane?” Annie shouted from behind Ben. “She’s-“ 

“Nothing.” Butcher snapped. “We’ll get her back when Homelander’s in the bloody ground.” 

“Butcher, even for you-“ 

“This ain’t about me.” Butcher hissed over MM. “It’s about her.” 

“She’s not going to be our man on the inside, you psychopath!” Annie shouted. “She a fucking victim-“ 

“If we go now, Starlight, the bloody hell you think will happen?” Butcher leered at Annie, over Ben. Still unmoving, unable to move as the drums echoed in his head. “We’ll storm the fuckin castle and Homelander will just hand her over?” 

“We could,” Hughie protested, voice weak. “I mean, that’s kind of how we just got Ryan-“ 

“Homelander ain’t stupid, he’s not fallin for that trick two times in a row.” Butcher turned back to Ben. “If you’re that much of a whipped fucking idiot, Gov, we can go right now. I’ll even bloody drop you off. But they’ll see us comin, and Homelander will blast her far, far away. You wouldn’t ever even fuckin see her again.” 

“Butcher-“ 

“Let the man answer Grace.” Butcher held Ben’s gaze. “We ain’t going to stop him if he leaves, or goes after her. It’ll be her bloody funeral. Not ours.” 

He could. Ben could leave right fucking now, and find her, and then they’d leave together. He’d keep Her safe forever, do fucking anything to make her forgive him for failing her.

But a voice that sounded like Hers echoed through his brain. 

Don’t be a dumbass, Benjamin. Butcher’s right, which is annoying because now he’s going to be a cunt about it. But he’s right. 

You’ll find me. You’ll always find me, I trust you. 

I’ll see you soon. 

Butcher read Ben’s answer on his face, and nodded. “Right choice, Gov.” Something passed over Butcher’s feature, something a lot more human than Ben had ever seen. Almost understanding, almost pained. “She’s a clever lady. She’ll get through this.” 

She’ll get back to you. 

And Ben would be here. He’d get Her back, and be here to hold her and burn with her when she returned to him. 

He’d kill Homelander, and never fail Her again. 

——————

Something is wrong. 

Something is very, very wrong. 

Your eyes are closed, but nothing around you is warm. Everything is freezing, the blankets are silk instead of cotton, there’s a strange smell of factory-made coconut in the air, and you’re alone. Ben isn’t here. 

That’s what’s wrong. 

Ben isn’t here. 

You’re suddenly afraid to open your eyes. You don’t remember what happened, you don’t know where you are, and Ben isn’t here. Your mind is moving slower than you need it to, trying to pull back bits and pieces to figure out what happened. Rolling a loop of where are you, why isn't Ben here.

Why does everything feel so wrong. 

You ran into the Tower. You know that much, Ben had given you his gun and you’d ran into the Tower before Homelander could return. You’d almost said it, he’d looked at you like you were his whole world and you almost let yourself say Ben. Ben, I love you. But that had felt final. You didn’t want final, you wanted Ben. So you’d just left. 

You’d told Ben you’d find Butcher. You’d meant to find Butcher. You swear, now, in this strange cold place, that you’d really meant to just find Butcher. But you hadn’t. The blueprints of Vought tower had flashed in your head, along with a small, persistent voice asking you Where was Sage? In all of this, with you and Ben destroying the front lawn, where was Sage? 

There was a security room on the first floor. Actually, there were two security rooms on the first floor. One was labeled such, with faded notes about electrical wiring scratched onto the copy Mallory had shown everyone. The other was identical, with no notes but the same design, labeled office 2. 

You hadn’t been able to find an office 1. Only an office 2. 

So you’d headed there first. 

The door was locked, and your fire wasn’t coming. Homelander had taken you into the sky, higher and higher and away with hands gripping your arm around him, and everything had frozen. It wasn’t the chill of the high wind, it was your blood, your skin, your head. Everything became cold and the fire had started to flicker, all your control over it waning. You’d told Ben you’d hit Homelander’s dick, but he’d just dropped you. He’d made a surprised sound from his throat you’d never heard, and his arms had grown slack around you. You’d pushed off of him and fallen, any fire left dying as you’d dropped through the air. And now it was asleep. Not gone. Still under your skin, still running through your body in the way you’d come to trust, but dormant. Unwilling to come out, even when you’d desperately needed it. 

So you’d shot the handle off. 

You remember that clearly. You’d looked around the hallway, empty as people either hid from Ben and Homelander or went to watch them, thought fuck it, and shot Ben’s gun. 

The door had swung open, and Sage had been right where you expected her. 

She hadn’t turned from the monitors, and said your name in a bored tone. “You’re early.” 

“I’m early,” you’d repeated, raising the gun to a mediocre aim at Sage’s head. You remember wondering if Ben would cum on the spot if you asked him to teach you how to properly use a gun. “There’s no possible way you planned this.” 

Sage had shrugged. “It was more of an outline. A hypothetical. One of many. I honestly didn’t think you’d go with this option, but here we are.”

“Which one did you think we’d go with?” You’d been unable to help yourself from asking. You’d had to know just how predictable your plans were, so you could adjust. Be more erratic. Maybe you’d put Butcher in a dress, really have fun with it. 

She’d turned, spun in her chair to look at you with a small, cold smile. “My money was on you sacrificing yourself, trading yourself in. Didn’t anticipate Soldier Boy stopping you, but I’ve adapted. And now we’re here.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about.” Your hands had been shaking, and you’d looked behind Sage at the monitors. You could see Ben and Homelander on the lawn, and—running through a polished hallway—your team. With Ryan Butcher, failing to shoot at a single camera. You'd yell at Butcher about that later, when this was done. This was almost done.

“In January, when we met for the first time, you confused me.” Sage had tilted her head at you. “That’s impressive. Nobody confuses me. Once I’d found out who exactly you were, Homelander selectively filling in pieces as I figured out the rest myself, I still didn’t fully understand. Once again, impressive.” 

“Oh, gee, thanks.” You’d kept your eyes on Sage, but clocked every movement on the monitors. So close. “You really know how to make a girl blush.” 

“I’m serious. I couldn’t figure you out. You should’ve run when you got out. You’re a smart woman, you should’ve run. But you didn’t, which displays remarkable stupidity. You’d aligned with William Butcher, but seemed to hold qualms with his methods. And your deal with Soldier Boy, the cherry on top. In January you were,” She’d paused, frowned at you before continuing. “Strange. Not friends, not quite, but not simply hateful. Certainly not apathetic. Enough for me to worry about Soldier Boy truly being a problem. And then, by the end of the same month, he seemed to truly care for you. If anything, you managed to baffle me more.” 

“If you say impressive again,” you’d snapped at her. “I’ll fucking shot you.” 

“And you’re much more violent than I anticipated. Yet another thing that threw me, because all signs would point to you being a pacifist. But I figured it out. I found the thing I’d been missing. The club-“ She sighed at your shocked expression. “Please don’t get caught on that. I was separated from Vought for over a decade, I am well aware of the Renegade Room. I haven’t told Homelander about it, I won’t, but I’m aware. Of the club, and your plan with Butcher. That helped me figure it out. You care. About humans, about everyone. No matter how they treat you, how they collectively wrong you and fail you, you care.” 

You’d shrugged. “Kant said never to treat people as means to an end.” 

“Kant also said man must be disciplined.” Sage had shot back. “But you’re not interested in that. You’re forgiving. You tried to discipline Soldier Boy, but then you let him stop you. I didn’t think anything would stop you. I’m still trying to piece that part together fully, but I know how to adapt to an empty picture. I know, for all your care, something with Soldier Boy is different. And you can stop looking at the monitors.” 

You’d blinked at her. “The monitors-“ 

“I know Butcher has Homelander’s son. I’ve sent people to collect them. Right now this is about you. You, Homelander, and Soldier Boy. See,” she’d looked at the monitors with narrowed eyes. “Sometimes I outdo even myself. When I developed the gas for Soldier Boy, I didn’t think it would be this important. But, fuck, those months in the lab around about to pay off. Because-“ 

Hindsight coming to you now, you probably should’ve let Sage finish her speech. Figured out how this was going to pay off for her, and how it probably wasn’t in your favor. But you remember hearing people to collect them and gas for Soldier Boy and a ringing sound starting in your ears. So you’d shot Sage in the face. 

This part was harder to remember. This part felt painful. 

You think you’d sat in the chair. Pushed Sage’s body to the floor and sat. Or maybe you’d just stood at her side. Or behind the chair. 

No matter what, you’d looked at the monitors. You’d seen Noir and The Deep. Not being distracted by A-Train, but running through a hall that looked far too similar to the one your team was in. You’d stopped them. Somehow you’d stopped them because you remember the relief when they turned around. It might have been a phone call, maybe there was a walkie talkie, but it didn’t matter because you’d stopped them. And Ryan had gotten out. 

Then you’d seen Ben and Homelander, still fighting. Ben throwing steady, powerful punches and slamming his shield into Homelander’s body. Then you’d see Homelander reach for something. 

The gas. 

Homelander had been reaching for more gas. And Ben hadn’t been seeing it. 

You’d screamed. You’d grabbed Sage’s phone, or walkie talkie, or just screamed louder. Loud enough to be heard. 

You were in the Vought building. Alone. Homelander could come find you. 

And then Sage had stood up, and you’d been confused. You’d definitely just shot her. 

She’d pulled out a vial. 

And now you were here. 

In Vought Tower. Or a warehouse. Or a lab. Or underground.

Cold. 

Alone. 

You aren’t chained to anything. Your mouth has a gag around it, so you can’t speak, but you can move. You’re dressed. No shoes, but a shirt, loose pants. Underwear. You can’t hear anyone, only the hum of a fan. A lot of fans. It’s really, really cold. 

If Sage sent you here, she should know better. She should know cold doesn't matter. Your fire came from you, not the air around you. You could, if you tried, burn all of the arctic circle while standing at the north pole. But it was still so cold. 

And bright. When you peel your eyes open, blinking and wiping at them—your hands are cuffed and wrapped in big red mittens, so you can’t really accomplish much with them—the room is almost blinding. It might be because of how long you were out, how your head was pounding and aching when you’d woken, but it was so bright. 

You don’t recognize the room. Your eyes adjust quickly, the pounding is already gone and your exhaustion is leaving fast, but you can’t figure out where you are. It wasn’t the white room, or a new lab, but an apartment. A truly awfully decorated apartment, where everything was glossy marble and silk and sleek furniture that didn’t look usable in any way. The bed you’re on is low, the frame made of iron and the mattress feeling like it’s sinking into the floor. It’s not bright anymore, not as the effects of Sage’s gas—what you were assuming was Sage’s gas—were dissipating by the second. It’s low lit, too low lit. Everything is cast in a yellow glow, and the lamps and ceiling lights feel like they’re more for pure decoration than actual practical use. Another part of this hideous, unnerving picture. There’s a lot of red. A lot of white. A lot of blue.

Your heart drops. Deep into your stomach where it churns around with bile and fear. You know where you are. You know exactly where you are. Everything is too clean, too modern, and too impractical. Like it’s been designed to be gaudy, high-brow, and ostentatious. There’s a white marble statue of a bald eagle, and a painting of George Washington on the Delaware that you hope isn’t an original. 

But it could be. Because this is Homelander’s room. 

You need to run. Your hands are confined and your fire is asleep, but your feet aren’t chained. So you can run. Or jump out a window. Homelander’s room is on 99—you remember from the blueprints: floor 99, south facing quadrant, next to Maeve’s old room and Noirs’ current one—but you’d survive the fall. You’d survive anything. But you have to go. You have to push through the sick and crippling feeling that’s growing like mold in your body, through the sheer cold in your blood that’s trying to root you in place, and run. 

Rolling off the bed is easy. Getting your legs to stop shaking is harder, and taking steps without collapsing is near impossible. But you have to run. You can break when you’re home, when you’re safe and Homelander can’t find you again. 

You can fucking do this. You steady your body, and take a long breath. You’re strong. You’ve escaped him once before. And done a lot of other, crazier shit. At this point it’s just another Tuesday. 

It’s a Friday. A small voice—bored and petulant—reminds you. And you were in a lab upstate. This is Vought Tower. You’ve never escaped Vought Tower.  

Shut the fuck up. This voice isn’t yours. It’s deep, and always a little gruff, even as it encourages you. You’re strong, Sunshine. You’re a spiteful, brilliant, angry pain in the ass. You can fucking do this. 

You’re strong. You can fucking do this. 

You’re going to jump out the window. 

Getting out of the room is simple but difficult, and getting down the stairs is fast. You fall, tumbling down the steps and landing on the floor with a crunch, but the adrenaline makes it painless and whatever broke is already healed. You half-crawl, half stumble to the windows. Wide, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the New York skyline. You can’t really see the street below you. 

This is going to really fucking hurt. 

Two steps back. Actually, four steps back. Enough to get a running start. Breathe in, out. You’ll be fine. And if it kills you, it kills you. 

Anything would be better than this. 

You’ve taken three steps when something grabs the back of your shirt, halting you. You scream into the gag, and a red gloved hand covers your mouth. 

“It’s just me,” Homelander hisses in your ear, and you stop fighting. Your whole body shuts down into the cold, and you can’t scream, or sob, or do anything but let Homelander drag you back and throw you onto the long, stiff couch.  

You can’t look at him. Looking at him makes this real. 

He notices, and jerks your chin to force your eyes to meet his. Colder than the room, full of malice and something that might be his version of hurt. Blue. You fucking hate blue. 

“You weren’t going to try and jump?” Homelander’s voice sounds genuinely disbelieving. “I mean,” he laughs your name, and you want to throw up. “Even for you that’s drastic.” 

He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know what’s drastic for you and what’s not. But you can’t even glare at him, because all your energy is starting to fade, weighing you down like stones filling up your lungs. 

Homelander sighs. “I mean, you’ve already hurt my feelings enough for today.” His grip on your face might crack bone. “Stealing my son,” he gestures to his face, still bubbling with burn scars. “Doing fucking this to me. I mean, what did they do to you? To make you do this to me?” 

He sounds like he’s going to cry. You don’t care.

“Well,” he stands up, releasing your face and frowning down at you with his hands on his hips. “It doesn’t matter now. We’ll fix it. It’s fine your little plan worked, because it brought you back to me. And we’ll get Ryan back, together, once you’re less,” he sighs, waving a hand. “Fucking broken. This time will be different, I won’t keep you two apart. That was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

You just look at him, and his face twists into a sneer. 

“I said I’m sorry. It’s your turn.” 

You have a fucking gag over your mouth. And, even with the fear making everything too loud and bright and blurry, you’d never apologize to Homelander. He’ll have to kill you first. 

His glower fades in a second when he remembers the gag. “Oh, well, I’m going to pretend you apologized, because I can’t really take your gag off. Not while you’re still,” he spins a finger around near his head with a whistle. “Cuckoo. You get it, it’s just a precaution. I mean,” he laughs. “We can’t have you doing your little reality warping trick when you’re still loosing your fucking mind!” 

It’s not reality warping. It’s sensory manipulation. And for some reason that starts to set steel in your body. You’re not losing your mind. You’re not unstable or drastic. It’s fucking sensory manipulation, and your plan worked. Homelander had said Ryan was gone, and you’d done that—ruined Homelander’s picture perfect, all-American face—because you hated him. The fear wasn’t leaving, but it wasn’t growing anymore. And you could glare at Homelander. Let all your hatred, your hatred, not anyone else’s but yours, show across your face. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look!” Homelander huffs with an eye roll. “It’s temporary. Just until I can trust you again! We’re going to do this right this time, we’re going to do us right this time, and once we’ve rebuilt our trust I won’t have to take these kind of precautions. They’re fucking annoying for me, too. This isn’t just about you.” 

You just glare. 

“I mean, you can’t be that mad. You’d do the same thing, if you were in my shoes.” Homelander leans over you, studying your face. “I’m not letting you go this time. Everyone’s going to know you fucking belong to me. I mean, we’re made for each other.” He laughs again, and it’s horrible. It’s joyless and mocking and scraping around your insides painfully. “I mean, you were a good option for me before the V. Smart, pretty, good genetics, more compliant than Becca Butcher, less annoying and weird than Stormfront. You’d never be as mean to me as they were. For Christ’s sake, Stormfront killed herself on my fucking birthday! Did I tell you that? How fucking mean!” 

He’d told you that. Homelander had visited you that day, and asked you if you’d ever do that him. You’d said you would, because you had to and part of you had hoped he’d just leave. He hadn’t. 

“But you’d never do that to me. And after the V?” He grins at you, and it makes the scars look uglier. “You’re almost as strong as me! All those fucking nerds said one shot was going to kill you, but you survived four!” He leans over you, making you crane your neck with a rough hand. “Did I ever tell you that? One V shot should’ve killed you, and you definitely shouldn’t have lived through two. One of those scientists kept trying to tell me that you were growing more powerful and unstable each time, that we should fucking quit while we’re ahead, but I believed in you. And now look at you. My equal.” He shrugs. “Or at least fucking close to it. Closer than Maeve, closer than Stormfront, closer than anyone. Which is why I forgive you, and now I’m going to do this right.” 

He keeps saying that. Keeps saying he’s going to do this right. You don’t know what that means. 

“Sage already announced you’ve come home. I would’ve done it, but,” he gestures to his face, and some sort of twisted satisfaction runs through you. “I could just wait it out, but you’re up before we thought you’d be, so you can fix it.” He grabs one of your hands and starts to undo the cuff, but pauses. “If you need an incentive to behave, let me just remind you that you won’t make it out the door. You’re strong, but I’m fucking stronger. You can run, but I’ll knock you down. You’re staying with me. All the fucking worms who tried to keep you away from me won’t be able to this time. Butcher can try and come get you, but I’ll just kill him and his whole merry band of idiots. They send Soldier Boy, and we’ll knock him out. Sage has wired the whole building for it, just in case. You don’t have to worry about that, but you should know. Trust.” Homelander pulls off the wrapping on one hand, raising to his face. “You’re never fucking getting away from me again. Now fix what you did.” 

The fire is back. It’s woken up—not at full power but more than enough—coursing through your whole body as Homelander words rattled around your head. They’ll knock Ben out. They’ll kill your team. 

You could run. Homelander’s moving your hand against his skin, and you could burn him and run. 

But you touch him, your skin on his, and suddenly you’re afraid. 

It’s not your fear. Your fear is freezing, made of panic and memories. This fear is foreign, hostile in your body, made of something vile and strange. This fear is buried deep, deep down, and strong. This fear is parasitic. This is Homelander’s fear. 

Homelander’s afraid. 

Of you. 

And in a split second, you make a choice. 

You had a plan for this. In the back of your head, you’d buried a plan. You’d never wanted to use it, you’d never told anyone you had it, you’d even pretended it wasn’t there so you could sleep at night. 

You could run. You could leave and go back to Ben and warn him that they had more gas, warn Butcher that Sage was planning something, because you were certain she was. But you didn’t know what. 

And you had a plan. 

Ben was going to kill you. You were going to kill you. As Homelander’s face healed under your hands and your own face grew raw and painful, you hated yourself. You wanted to leave. You wanted to go home, back to Ben, and just leave. But the fire was settling quietly back into your body, silent and cold once more as your choice became set. 

Homelander was right. This wasn’t about you. This was about the world, and making it safe. This was about trusting that Butcher wouldn’t let Ben come find you, as much as you wanted him to. Every part of your heart wanted Ben to burst through the door, pick you up, and take you away. Anywhere that wasn’t here, and you’d tell him you loved him and he wouldn’t leave. But you’d promised to keep him awake, and if he came to save you he’d go under. He wasn’t going under. And, as much of a prick as Butcher was, he’d know to keep Ben away. And you’d get back to Ben. Soon. But right now this wasn’t about you. 

Here were the cards you’d been dealt. Here was your shot at the devil. 

You weren’t going to miss.

End Note: I know y’all hate me now, but please let me cook. I swear I'm not a sadist and this is going somewhere. Remember the agreement we made that you didn’t know about; you GOTTA trust. 

Please, please, please leave a comment if you want to! Never be afraid it’s too long or too short and think I won’t read it. Every single one means the whole world to me, whether it’s a thought on an older chapter or a predication about the next one. No matter what you’re telling me, feedback or jokes or opinions, you will ALWAYS make my day. Cuss me out for this chapter, ask my why the hell I hate love, tell me about your day, no matter what I want to hear it <3. See you in Angst-town USA, population us, for chapter 17.

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[jackactuallywrites]

Hidden Paradise

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit (detailed shagging)

Warnings: Unprotected sex and also shower sex which we all know is unsafe

Summary: You walk in on a man in the shower, it takes you seeing him in the skull mask a week later to realise it was Ghost, and he is very intrigued by your reaction

Notes: This absolutely wouldn’t be possible without @xxven my muse and pookie and beta reader who gave me the plot 🤍❤️ (also raven on TikTok for making a hot thirst trap that inspired a whole scene)

Word Count: 4,195 (I am very horny for ghost)

ao3 link

There was very little luxury to be found on a military base; your military fatigues were never soft, your boots were the cheapest given by the contractors, your bed squeaked every time you so much as moved an inch, and there wasn’t so much as a tealight allowed in the barracks.

However, you’d found a quiet sanctuary. Far from the rest of the buildings on the base, there was a small shower block, disused and forgotten about in favour of the newer, more convenient showers. The water pressure wasn’t all that great, and the tiles would probably never return to whatever shade of white they’d started out as, but all that mattered was that it was so wonderfully, blissfully quiet.

Silence was one of the hardest commodities to come across on a military base; there was always something going on, whether it be a training exercise with a hard-edged sergeant screaming at recruits or the grunts trying out whatever shiny new piece of equipment the government had seen fit to waste money on, but out there in the shower block, muffled by a copse of trees, there was nothing. Beautiful, precious, nothing.

Today had been yet another long lesson in tedium, worsened by the fact that your most beloved friends were out in the field, busy repairing the vehicles with whatever they could scavenge from the base. You already felt exhausted at the idea of how much paperwork you’d have to do after they’d torn through the place, and the day proved you right, with you having to go to every single place in the garages to check what stock had been taken as mechanics had an annoying habit of forgetting to write down what they’d used. It was long into the evening by the time you’d finally finished putting in the orders to replace every strange bit of junk the mechanics had used, and all you could think about was the long shower you were going to take.

The route through the forest was one of the only places you could get away with wearing your headphones and listening to music without getting scolded by the sergeant on patrol, and you took advantage of this privilege every time, blasting some classic disco music in your ears as you approached the shower block, blissfully unaware of the world outside. If not, you might have noticed the sound of the shower running.

As such, you walked into the block thinking of nothing but how your new eucalyptus shower steamer would smell, having got fairly good reviews online. You already had a favourite shower at this point, the one on the very end, with the best water pressure that the rusted old pipes could provide, though it had no door to speak of. You walked along the yellowed tile floor, passing by the empty showers until you finally reached your favourite one, only to find that it was very much not empty.

Standing under the sputtering stream of water was a tall, well-built man, his tan back glistening under the hundreds of droplets of water, highlighting the various white scars on his back, some of them small, some of them intimidatingly large. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down, admiring the muscles in his back and perfectly toned legs, as well as a surprisingly sculpted ass. Whoever he was, he was statuesque in his beauty, as though he had been carved out of marble, and as he turned around to face you, showcasing the golden hair that trailed down from his abs, you caught a glimpse of his shaft, thick and long, yet quickly covered by a large hand.

It was that movement that broke the lustful spell you were under, and your eyes finally stopped ogling his body and flicked up to his face. You didn’t recognise him, not his pale green eyes or his crooked nose, but you could absolutely recognise the outrage on his face, and you yanked down your headphones, keeping your eyes firmly above his waist, “I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was in here.” His voice was little more than a snarl, “Get out.” You had absolutely no desire to argue with a man built like that, so you gave a quick nod and hurried back out of the shower block, not willing to spend a single second more in his presence.

~

Since your encounter in the showers, not a single night had gone past where you hadn’t dreamed about the man, his body, his hands, the dark blond hair that led down his navel, and the thick veins on his forearms. It lurked in the back of your mind, eternally present as a lustful little memory to entertain you during the more boring moments of your day.

Yet again, you were in another meeting writing down what items had been used over the week and what needed to be ordered for the next month's exercise. It was made slightly more interesting by the fact that this time, you were working with the SAS, and not just that, but with some of the most feared soldiers there were, including the worst of the worst, Ghost .

You swore you could almost feel the insidious aura coming from the man in the skull mask, as though it was radiating off him in dark waves. When he spoke, his words were sharp and to the point, never expending more energy than was strictly necessary, and rarely directing his attention to you, sitting in silence and taking notes, not that you were complaining. Every time the man spoke, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as though your body was trying to warn you that he was dangerous. It was only toward the end of the meeting that you finally spoke up, standing and reciting everything that you’d written down in your notebook.

It was times like that where you’d have to put on a brave face as if you feared the room of men no more than a pack of kittens, making sure your voice was loud and firm, forcing them to listen to you. None of them seemed particularly interested; after all, you were a perfect, albeit boring professional, yet you remained undeterred, making eye contact with each of them. Even Ghost was looking at you; you could see those pale green eyes watching you from underneath his skull mask with a strange intensity. You remained undeterred, staring back at the man as you read out the various things that were in stock and what would have to be ordered, yet there was something niggling at the back of your head. Those eyes were strangely familiar.

It took you a second to remember, and then the barely buried memory came back: the beautiful man in the shower, his body glistening, his toned muscles, and the dark blond hair that covered his navel. The words in your mouth died on your tongue, and you saw Ghost’s eyebrow raise underneath his mask as if he was intrigued by your reaction to him. You cleared your throat, hoping that the heat you felt in your cheeks wouldn’t show up on your skin as you dropped your eyes back down to your notebook, pointedly ignoring him as you focused back on your task, ensuring that you hadn’t missed anything.

Inexplicably, Ghost spoke up, interrupting your admittedly dull recital of your list, “How soon can we get a restock of the M16 mags?” His question forced you to look over at him, and his pale green eyes seemed as though they were trying to drill right through your head. You refused to back down this time, meeting his gaze no matter how prevalent the image of his naked body was in your mind, even if you did stumble over your words as you flipped through the pages, “Those mags, uh, the ammo for the M16 that is, we ordered those last Tues-Wednesday , so they’ll be in by the end of this week.”

You couldn’t see his expression under his mask, but you could have sworn that it tugged in a way that suggested he was smirking underneath the black fabric, a touch of smugness in his eyes. Was he flirting with you? There was no possible way for you to find out in the middle of a full room, so you decided to put that tantalising idea to the side, wrapping up the last few items on your list and then glancing around the room, “If there’s anything else, please send me an itemised list by the end of the day.”

With that, the meeting was over, every soldier packing up their files, undoubtedly each one as bored as you, and you had little desire to spend any more time with them, especially with the suspiciously intense look Ghost was giving you, so you gave your farewells and left the room as quickly as you could, doing your best to rid your mind of the confusing thoughts whirling around in your mind. Ghost, the supposed ‘psycho’ killer, was flirting with you. Or perhaps threatening you. You weren’t entirely sure which. And yet, you had a strange desire to find out, that small part of you that longed to step into dangerous territory. But how could you? That meeting had been the only time you’d ever interacted with the man; other than your brief encounter in the shower, it didn’t seem like there would ever be another opportunity to be alone with him.

Unless.

Regardless of how outraged he’d been previously, he’d seemed entirely intrigued by you in the meeting, almost amused. You’d seen the direction he was headed; if your mind wasn’t already overtaken with delusional optimism, you could have sworn that he was striding in the direction of the old shower block with what seemed like great determination.

This was one of those deciding moments, a fork in the path where you got to choose what the outcome would be: adherence to your usual routine or something far more thrilling. You could almost feel the clock ticking in your head, your time running short, and for once, you decided to be brave and at least a little bit stupid, heading to your barracks to pick up your things before heading out toward the shower block, adrenaline pounding in your veins as you made your way through the small woods to the brick building.

Even from the outside, you could hear the shuddering of the pipes as they desperately pumped water, your heart beginning to pick up the pace as you pushed open the heavy wooden door, closing it softly behind you, now able to hear the pattering of water on the tile floor and see the black clothing draped over the bench that ran the length of the wall. You walked down the centre of the block, approaching the last stall on the end, and yet, you couldn’t take that final step. Everything below the waist was screaming at you to leap into the shower with the man, yet your brain conjured images of the humiliating HR meeting you’d be in if you had, in fact, entirely misinterpreted what were admittedly very subtle hints. You didn’t dare push over that line with a man so far above you in rank, but you weren’t prepared to entirely give up, so you merely slunk into the stall next to his, stripping off your uniform and hanging it on the backside of the door, pulling it to and surrendering yourself to an unsatisfying shower.

The shower head shuddered as you twisted the knob for water, a few spats of water dripping out, yet nothing more. There was a good reason you stuck to that end stall; almost every other shower there had been neglected to the point of failure. You took this as a sign to give up, turning around to get your things, only to find Ghost standing in the now open doorway.

There was nothing but a towel lazily wrapped around his hips to cover him up, his blond hair already soaked, water leaving little trails down his body, pulling your eyes down. You quickly snapped your attention back to his face, your hands already going to cover your chest and between your legs instinctually. Ghost’s eyes lingered on your body before finally flicking to the broken shower head, then back to your face. You could see that intrigued twinkle in his eyes as he gave you a slightly smug smirk, gesturing toward the other shower stall with his head, “Mine works. We should share.”

You almost couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. The exact situation had been playing out in your mind ever since you’d seen him naked, yet never once had you made the connection between your shower Adonis and Lieutenant Ghost. The two couldn’t be reconciled in your head, but you quickly decided that this was a problem to be solved later, if at all. You turned your non-functioning shower off, though slightly reluctant to use the hand covering your chest to do so, and then walked out of the stall, ducking under Ghost’s arm holding the door open for you, and rounding the corner into the warm stream of the only functional shower, allowing the water to wash away all the important questions that should have been asked, only focusing on the present moment.

Though you’d chosen to face away from him, you could still hear the noise of his towel hitting the wall as he tossed it aside, your entire body tensing up as you felt his presence behind you, the nerves nipping at the back of your mind. You didn’t dare turn to look at him, trying to find something else to focus on to quiet your frenzied brain, your eyes flicking to the one bottle of his on the floor in the shower, trying to figure out what scent ‘original’ was supposed to be, and whether one liquid really could be shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Your thoughts on his toiletries were brought to an instant halt at the first touch of his hand on your hip, a questioning touch as though he was gauging your interest before moving any further. He might have been feared special forces, yet here, you retained a level of control, of security. You relaxed into his touch, leaning back until you bumped up against his chest, and his arm snaked around your stomach, wrapping tightly around your waist as he stepped forward into the stream from the shower, his head dipping down to rest in the crook of your neck. You could feel his other hand trail a path up your thigh before it, too, wrapped around you, pulling you snug against him in a tight embrace, like a man starved for any sort of touch.

For a moment, the two of you remained in that simple intimacy, your arms resting on top of his, enjoying the sheer pleasure of his embrace. Your hands were the first to move, your fingertips gently trailing over the muscles in his forearms, admiring the strength in them, unable to hold back a smile as you saw the not-so-subtle way he flexed them for you. His hand moved then, and you followed them with your own, one trailing down over your hipbone to the top of your thigh, gently stroking the skin there, the other one shifting up until it was just underneath your breast, pausing right before he touched anywhere interesting.

Clearly, he wasn’t about to touch anywhere without your explicit permission, and you decided to test him, pulling his left hand up until it was settled over your breast. His fingers paused, and you felt the tenseness in his arms, yet after a beat, he stretched out his fingers, tracing a little pattern over the swell of your breast, circling your nipple before his hand covered your boob entirely, gently squeezing it in his hand. You could feel his breathing growing heavier, every exhale blowing air over the skin of your neck, but you had no intention of stopping, relaxing into his touch, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, your eyes closed. The hand on your thigh had grown tight, fingers digging into your flesh, and you began to move his hand further in to where you could feel a growing need for his touch.

The further you moved his hand, the tighter his grip on your chest got, pulling you closer against him until you could finally feel his hardness pressed against the small of your back. His clear excitement emboldened you further, and you pushed his hand firmly between your legs, letting his fingers slightly part your labia to rest on your clit. That action earned you a low growl from him, and he buried his face into your shoulder as he pushed his fingers further down, touching the slick wetness beginning to leak out of your needy pussy. The second he felt your wetness, he drew his fingers back from you, digging them into your hip and pulling you firmly against him, rubbing the bridge of his nose against your neck as though he was trying to ground himself in the moment.

You had no problem allowing him to take his time, focusing on the simple pleasure of the warm water on your skin and the heat emanating from his chest to your back. His hand moved back to your pussy, more determined than before, as he slid his fingers down your slit, gently probing your slick hole with his fingers. As he slowly slid one in, he let out a strangled groan, shifting his face so he could bite down on the flesh of your neck, his other hand massaging your breast as his finger began to easily slip inside you. He stretched his thumb up to rest on your clit as he gently began to pump his finger in and out of you, rubbing in little circles, and you couldn’t help but let out a little moan.

The slightest of noises from you seemed to spur him on, and he pushed another finger inside you, beginning to kiss and suck at your neck as he did so, your body easily accepting his two fingers, and so he followed it with a third, his dick twitching with excitement against your back as all three of his fingers sank inside you without resistance.

Whatever good sense you had left was beginning to dissipate in the haze of your lust, and you reached your hand behind you to wrap around his cock, slowly beginning to stroke him as he gently fucked you with his fingers. He rewarded you with a soft groan in your ear, and so you quickened your pace, beginning to pump his dick in earnest, wanting him to receive the same pleasure as you. Your body was eagerly opening up around him, and the last bit of your intelligence vanished as your desperation for him overpowered you, and you begged for stupidity in two words.

“Fuck me.”

There was no hesitance in Ghost’s touch now as he pulled his fingers out of you, turning you to face him and then bending down to grab your thighs and lift you up, pinning you to the cool, damp wall of the shower stall. You could see the lust in his eyes as he shifted to hold you with only one hand, the other quickly moving to his dick, positioning it at your slick entrance and then slowly beginning to lower you down onto him. There was no comparison to the pleasure you felt, not only from feeling him slide into you, but to watch his face as he did so, his open lips, the desperate look in his eyes, his gaze entirely focused on you as though you were Aphrodite herself. You sunk your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from moaning out loud as you felt him stretch out your insides, yet you let your hands dig into his shoulders, your nails raking his skin as you felt every inch of him.

When you finally sunk down to the base of his cock, he leant forwards to rest his head on the wall beside you, clearly struggling to contain his composure, his hand digging into the flesh of your thigh, the other splayed out on the cool tile wall. He took a second to breathe before he began to slowly thrust up into you, his hand shifting from your thigh to your hip to pin you in place. Even in your wetness, you could feel how big he was, filling you up so perfectly, and you arched your back against him, desperate to feel every inch of him inside you. His eyes were on you now, and he moved his hands from the wall to your lips, tugging your bottom lip out from between your teeth and issuing you a singular command, his gaze intense.

“I want to hear you.”

Even in your pleasure, you couldn’t stop yourself from obeying a command from your superior officer, and you let out the moans you’d been holding back, tightening your legs around his waist to pull him into you as much as possible, your fingers raking against his back as he fucked you, his hips beginning to move more forcefully against you. His fingers now moved to your hair, brushing the errant strands out of your face and then shifting down to cup your cheek, lifting your face, his voice soft, “Look at me.”

There was no mistaking the utter lust in his gaze when you looked up at him, yet you could also see quite a great deal of tenderness, of genuine care, which only served to heighten your pleasure, your hands moving from his shoulders to the back of his neck as you clung to him, desperately grinding your hips against him. He picked up his pace further yet still restrained himself from fully slamming into you, his grip like a vice on your thigh. His voice grew hoarser as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, clearly strained, “Touch yourself.”

In another situation, you might have felt insecure, yet you were entirely awash in lustful pleasure, and so you obeyed, reaching down with one hand to begin rubbing circles around your increasingly sensitive clit, feeling that same build of pleasure in your core as Ghost fucked you faster still, his expression growing more desperate by the second. He leant forward to whisper his final command against your lips.

“Come for me.”

Your body seemed honour-bound to obey him as your pussy clenched around his dick, your pleasure building until it finally crescendoed, with Ghost’s lips crashing onto yours as you finished, his hips moving frantically as he desperately fucked you, his thrusts stuttering as he finally shot his load deep inside you, his body crushing yours into the wall in a tight embrace. Your kisses became softer as the both of you came down from your frenzied high, his grip on your body loosening slightly, your death grip around his neck becoming less deadly.

With a satisfied groan, Ghost let himself sink to the floor, pulling you down along with him into his lap, letting his dick remain inside you as you settled more comfortably on top of him, resting against his chest as he lazily wrapped his arms around your lower back, cradling you against him. After such bodily heat, the comparatively cool water of the shower felt heavenly on your skin, washing away your intermingled sweat.

You probably could have slept there, with Ghost still buried inside you, yet he was not so spellbound. With a gentle movement, he pulled his softening length out of you, reaching over to grab the bottle of soapy liquid he’d left on the floor. Then, he repositioned you so you were now sitting in between his legs, his thick thighs boxing you in as he opened the bottle behind you. You weren’t entirely sure what he was doing, nor did you care, still awash in a pleasant afterglow. The touch of his fingers gently massaging the liquid into your hair was a heavenly surprise, and you practically melted into his hands, a human-sized pile of putty perfectly manipulated by him. He ran his fingers through the length of your hair, thoroughly soaping up every strand before he let the cool water wash away the suds.

Then, he got to work on your body. Never had you been so grateful for three-in-one soap as it meant you didn’t have to miss a second of his warm chest against your back as he began to soap up your body, his fingers incredibly gentle against your skin, paying attention to every single part of you, and then letting you lean back against his chest as the water washed everything away, his arms coming to rest around your waist. Every single care of yours seemed to follow the soap down the train as you relaxed into him, enjoying the way he rested his chin on your head as you closed your eyes, finally entirely at ease.

[natailiatulls07]

could i request some leclerc!reader and so comfort with charles please

It's okay

Arthur Leclerc Charles Leclerc Lorenzo Leclerc Pascale Leclerc & Leclerc!reader

Summary - In order to find her way in life, Y/n Leclerc runs away in the dead of night only leaving a note

Warning - neglection, running away

-

Growing up with three older brothers and two of such competing in karting competions, life was hard for Y/n Leclerc. Pascale and Hervé invested lots of their money and energy into Arthur and Charles.

When she was seven, Y/n's interest in ballet started. The young girl had her heart set on being a professional ballerina. So thats what she did. Y/n convince Pascale to enrol her in ballet class.

From then on, she became more and more talented. Quickly becoming the top of class. Yet when recitals came round and she was the lead, the only person who came to watch was Lorenzo.

The rest of the family were out at karting competitions cheering on Charles and Arthur. Yes they would apolgise to Y/n for their absence but to her it never really felt quite right.

-

Y/n was 14 years old, life got harder. Karting turned to formula 2 and E. Lorenzo now building his own life, he moved out of the house.

And the worst of all, Hervé Leclerc passed away. This meant attention was limited, Pascale was busy. She had her salon to run, she was running around supporting the two boys racing and she was mourning the lose of her partner.

As much as he wanted to support Y/n during her recitals, Lorenzos life became busier and he could no longer come along each recital. She felt as though no one her family could see her or her talent.

So what did she do? Y/n collected enough money to enrol herself into a ballet academy. In the dead of night she packed just enough and left without a sound. Of course she couldn't leave without leaving a note, she loved her family.

Dear Maman, Charlie and Arthur, I love you all dearly, please don't worry about me. I will be gone for a while, Lo Lo knows where I will be but please do not pester him. Thank you for everything and more Love from your dearest daughter, Y/n xx

-

Y/n Leclerc was a sensation, one of the best of her age. She was a household name, even if you weren't that well educated on ballet you knew who this elegant women was.

However, it was rare for the ballerina to speak publicily, Espercially as many would ask of her surname and family relations. And it wasn't hard to understand why.

"So Y/n please tell me, any relation to formula one driver Charles Leclerc?"

"No comment, thank you"

Charles, Arthur, Pascale and Lorenzo watched on, following her social media through burner accounts not wanting to make this harder for Y/n.

They could see how she spent most of her time dancing, spending time to herself or getting cocktails with friends she made along the way.

~

yourusername

Week in my life...

Spending time alone, you must prioritize self care

Fruit cocktails with friends, the key to my heart

Looking after the minis, they're the cutest little things

Lounging on my sofa after a long day of rehearsals, it is tiring!

Liked by cl_2648749 and 146,283 others

comments are limited

username Gorg gorg girlie

cl_2648749 <3

username I so wanna be her friend omfggg

~

But she wasn't stupid, Y/n knew who those burner accounts were. Every single post, the burner accounts were there front and center. She felt their eyes on her, it was silly really but she constantly felt like they were watching her.

However, Y/n felt warm with that in mind. Like they were finally noticing her for the first time. No longer was she fighting for the attension with her two older brothers. But was it just online? If she were to go back, would it go back to how it was before.

Plus she had built up a life on ballet. Y/n made a family with her friends. Everyone knew her, fuck she is a household name hiding her Leclerc identity from the world, even herself.

-

"I think it's a good idea! It's been long overdue in my opinion"

"No. We need to work to her choices, not make her uncomfortable."

"Okay when?!" Charles throws his arms in the air with frustration. He was pacing in front of the television; Arthur, Pascale and Lorenzo all sat on the sofa watching him.

The topic of Y/n came up in passing by Arthur and it became much more. Charles was fighting, he was desperate to get his dear little sister back home. However Lorenzo, knowing how Y/n felt about everything, was fighting back and trying to prioritize her feelings.

The constant pacing stopped abruptly, and Charles turned to look at Lorenzo with a harsh glare. "Why do you want to so desperately work to her choices? Are you in contact with her?" You could hear a penny drop.

Eyes snapped over to the oldest boy, all confused and harsh. Lorenzo sunk into himself. "I um..." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Yeah um so I kept contact with her yes"

"Is she okay?" The first question Pascale asked. Years of guilt plagued her mind, she neglected her own daughter and she was now paying the price for that.

Lorenzo nodded. "Yes, she's okay...Y/n she um built up a family through her friends and as you know she is doing well for herself..." A small proud smile morphed onto his face, he was proud of her for doing this for herself.

"Does she hate us for what we did?"

He breathed in and out. "No, she doesn't hate any of us...she understands completely..." That did ease some guilt for the other three, it would of killed them to know that she hated them, her own family.

There was silence for a couple of minutes whilst they all fell into their own thoughts. And then Pascale spoke up again. "Can you at least text her or call her whatever...talk to her, please tell her that we love her and that we want to see her again...we're so so proud and sorry"

Arthur and Charles both nodded in agreement. "I'll see what I can do..." Lorenzo promised.

-

It seemed that the next time they would see Y/n would come round much soon than expected. It wasn't planned, totally sporadic.

Charles was in the kitchen, in Lorenzos apartment. He was scrolling through his phone when there was a ring coming from Lorenzos phone. "Lorenzo! Your phone, it's ring!" Looking over the driver read the name.

Y/n

He knew it was wrong to answer the call, but it felt right like this would do something so he did. Charles picked up the phone and answer.

Before he could speak the voice he missed so dear filled his ear, yet it was panicked and he could hear uneven breathing.

"Lo I'm sorry please, I came back to Monte C but uh um the paps they um oh my god I can't breathe they keep following me! Please please I don't- I don't know where to go!" He missed her voice, granted it for much more mature and wiser now, he still missed it.

Though he was entranced by the situation, now very concerned. "It's okay, it's okay" His mind was on speed mode, much like it was in the car. "Send me the location, I'll come and collect you"

Y/n's voice came out calmer and confused now. "Cha...is that you?"

Charles nodded his head before realising she couldn't see him. "Yeah um it is Cha, I'm on my way" He rushed down to his ferrari.

-

Pulling up to her location, his heart clenched. Y/n had grown so much since he had last seen her, she had grown into herself and looked alot like Pascale now.

Charles climbed out of his car, walking over to her and collided her into a bone crushing hug. "Oh chérie, je suis vraiment désolé..." Oh darling, I'm so sorry

Tears soaked his shoulder, the whole chaos of the day and reuniting with her older brother weighing down on Y/n had finally toppled off completely.

She couldn't speak, just hung onto him. That long time spent away from her family catching up to her. "It's okay...it's okay..." Charles whispered in her ear.

-

[earthtooz]

BABE I HAD AN IDEA- Reo Mikage ANGST where he calls reader a gold digging whore in the middle of an argument, ultimately affirming all of her insecurities so he has to figure out a way to show that he didn't mean it and that he's sorry without using his disgustingly abundant wealth 💔 anyways ilysm hope you take care of yourself

NO YOU ARE LITERALLY DISGUSTING FOR THIS (affectionate) YOUR MIND >>> YOU ARE SOOOOO RIGHT. SHUT UP THIS WILL LITERALLY BE THE MOST SCRUMPTIOUS FIC EVER BECAUSE I AM LITERALLY ABOUT TO PUT MY WHOLE EARTHUSSY INTO INCORPORATING THIS IDEA SOMEWHERE !!! BUT FOR NOW, TAKE THIS SNIPPET I WHIPPED UP IN ONE SITTING.

girl feel free to come back into my inbox WHENEVER and giving me your juicy ideas bc holy shit i loved this.

CW: HURT/COMFORT - A LOT OF BOTH, SWEARING, UNEDITED - I WAS GOING THRU IT WHILST WRITING THIS DON'T LOOK AT ME!

IMAGINE THIS: it's been a rough night for both you and reo, he's been through a lot in the past weeks because his dad just had to during the middle of soccer season to lecture reo about how to run a big business. the transition process is beginning to happen since father mikage is about to retire and although your purple-haired boyfriend has been preparing for this his whole life, having gone to business school part-time and graduating with honours, there's still a little part of him that feels weary from all the responsibilities.

all this accumulated stress needs to have an outlet eventually, right? welp, you just happened to be there at the right (wrong) time. you were simply delivering a platter of apples to your boyfriend who had his head in his hands, hunched over an endless pile of paperwork that was beginning to irk him with each passing second. countless images of him shredding up the paper flowed into his mind, a fury that manifested into his reality, except the paper was you D,:

one thing evolved into another, reo's endless stream of venomous words didn't stop flowing out of him as he spat poison after poison, burning you with the intensity of it all.

"you're so overbearing, can't you see that i'm fine? unlike you i can handle myself when things get hard," he spits, eyeing you with fury in his eyes, one that makes you gulp thickly.

"reo-"

-but you wouldn't know the first thing about fighting for what you want right, you fucking gold-digger."

that stops you in your tracks, silences you effortlessly, causing you to let your hands drop limply back to your sides as you stare at your boyfriend blankly. you're sinking into an abyss of hurt and insecurity, it's getting harder to breathe because of the way your chest swells with anger.

reo only continues, not noticing the way you physically and emotionally drop. "even if you don't give me attention for one second of the day, i won't forget you exist, so stop being so clingy and unnecessary! my money isn't going anywhere either, you don't need to occupy majority of my day so leave me alone. go shop online or something."

that was it. was that all reo perceived you to be? a dent in his money, the expenses of his bank account?

"fine. goodbye," you simply mutter before slipping through his office door, out in the hallway.

"don't bother me whilst i'm in here," he says with finality, one last declaration before you shut the door behind you.

the luxurious walls of reo's penthouse look down at you mockingly, the spacious area caging you in, chanting 'gold-digger' over and over again until it's all you hear.

staying here feels wrong.

so, you grab your purse and leave, as quietly as possible. slipping down to the garage where your (second hand) car was parked, you start the engine up and begin reversing out of the parking lot.

you begin to reflect on your relationship with reo. you love him, you really do, you love him because he's reo, the man who was always capable of making you smile, laugh, and make you feel like you were on top of the world. his money and fame was an added bonus that you truly didn't care much about.

but ever since dating him, you've had your own insecurities that have been forced on you by other people. there were crowds calling you a 'gold digger' who was only with reo 'for the money', and although you were sure of yourself and your intentions, your armour breaks down sometimes.

what reo said tonight was the final jab that allowed it to fully disintegrate.

you had a stable job of your own and finances to your own name, money wasn't something you avidly chased, sure having a few zeroes in your bank account was nice but that was all you really needed. as long as you could buy necessities and spoil yourself, it was satisfactory, and you could provide that for yourself!

reo loved to spoil you, showering you in luxurious gifts that you never knew how to accept. it would take a great deal of convincing for you to take what he bought you, and when you promised him to stop buying them for you, he agreed before buying you more material stuff.

as you pull up to the parking lot of the apartment complex that you resided in, you get into the elevator with a heavy heart, pressing the button to your floor with a lot of emotions.

the ride is silent. everything is so silent.

your apartment is even more silent. it's unused, slightly barren. your furniture was still there, except some dust had gathered on the tables and cabinets from how long you've neglected it.

the only reason you were able to keep your apartment was because you had no expenses outflowing since reo took care of almost everything. anything you needed, he bought it, groceries, bills, whatever, were charged on his card. for a period of time, your bank account merely grew and never decreased.

and since you hadn't been here for a while, electricity and water bills never bothered you too much.

you flop onto your made bed with a sigh. it wasn't as soft as reo's but you didn't find it in you to care, you just needed some well-deserved shut eye.

well, 'shut eye' occurred for merely an hour before your phone started vibrating violently.

with a groan, you shove your face back into your pillows before blindly reaching for your phone.

you already knew who it would be without looking at the caller id. of course reo would be looking for you, noting your obvious absence in his penthouse.

"hello?" you mutter.

"y/n? where the hell are you?" comes reo's frantic voice from the other line. he sounds genuinely concerned.

"doesn't matter."

"i'm sorry for everything i said. please, come back."

"reo, i'm tired, i can't do this with you right now."

"i'm sorry, i'm really really sorry."

"i don't want to hear this right now."

"i love you."

you sigh and you're sure reo can hear it on his end. unsure of how to respond, you just hang up on him before throwing your phone away. normally, you would feel bad about the way you left him, but that wasn't the case this time. you just needed to sleep on this.

but, it was reo you were talking about, and the last thing he was going to let you do was sleep without him.

at 1:24am, there's a series of ferocious knocks on your door, followed by screams of your name.

oh my god it was so embarrassing, you literally shoot out of bed as soon as you register what was happening and dash for your door. you don't want to disturb your neighbours' sleep and let them hear that the pathetic grovelling of your boyfriend. the entire hallway could hear reo and his shouting.

you open the door, pull him in, and slam it shut behind you again, leaving the purple-haired to stare at you with a bewildered expression.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss.

he looks at you the same way a puppy does when its owner kicked it out of the house.

you should've known that merely telling reo 'i don't want to hear this right now' would not be enough to pacify his determination and the fact that you hung up on him only intensified his pettiness. the purple-haired always sought you out, pulling himself into your orbit like a magnet. where you went, reo followed, even if it was to the ends of the world.

he had the money to do whatever he wanted, you suppose.

"i wanted to make sure you were safe," he pouts. "i didn't know whether you'd be here or not."

"well, i'm safe, and i'm here. so."

"i can see that," he leans against the back of your couch. reo looks so out of place in your small apartment, awkwardly playing with his hands. "so... should we go to bed?"

the audacity. "what do you mean 'we'? go back home, reo, i'll see you some other time."

as you turn around to go back to your bedroom, reo's quick enough to round around you, blocking you from the hallway with his larger figure.

"but you are my home. please, i'm really sorry about what i said, i didn't mean it," he pleads, grabbing your face so you could look him square in the eye.

you step out of his grasp easily, shaking him off. if you were in your right mind, you would've seen the look of heartbreak on reo's face.

"sure, if you didn't mean it then you wouldn't have said it in the first place, mikage."

you swerve around him to reach your bedroom and he follows you the entire time, trailing behind you, desperate for an ounce of your attention.

"i know i fucked up, but i didn't mean to hurt you and project my frustrations like that onto you when you were just trying to care for me." you sit down on your bed with a sigh and reo takes a seat beside you. "you know i love you right? like, a lot."

that's right. if there's one thing about reo it's that he loves you to an endless degree.

"thank you for always caring for me. i know you don't do it because you're after my money or fame, but because you want to ensure that i'm healthy and not rotting in all that i have to do," his voice cracks. is he beginning to cry. "i don't know what i'd do without you."

you let a beat of silence pass by before dropping your walls. he was always going to smash through them no matter what.

"i've always felt insecure in our relationship," you confess, no louder than an exhale and if reo wasn't holding on to every action of yours, he wouldn't have heard you. "being called a gold digger became normal when i started dating you and i didn't really care. well- i tried not to care."

you continue. "i don't want to let these comments get to me, but then you said it and... i don't know, it just felt horrible."

you feel an arm sneak under your leg, and another hand come to your elbow, both of which simultaneously pull you to straddle reo's lap. you don't look him in the eye- something he frowns at.

"i love you for you. you're the best i'll ever have, reo, but sometimes i-"

"-please don't finish that sentence," he murmurs, breath fanning against your face.

you meet his gaze. he's crying freely. tears are running down his cheeks like streams and you instinctively bring use your thumbs to catch the drops. you hate it when he cries.

"i don't want it to be anyone else but you," confesses the purple-haired. "i hate it when we're separated, i can't stay away from you too long or i think i will go insane."

his statement causes you to giggle a little.

"you laugh but i'm telling the truth."

"i laugh because you make me happy."

his arms wound around your waist, keeping you pressed against him, leaving you with no room to escape or part from him. just what reo likes.

"i'm sorry for what i said," he says against your collarbone. "when i didn't see you in our home, i didn't know what to think. i got so scared for a second because i had no idea where you could've gone so i started spamming your number-"

"-yeah wait, was calling me 24 times necessary?"

"i was going to keep calling you until you picked up so it could've taken 24 or 1000 times or more. now let me speak." you nod wordlessly, smiling a little at how silly reo can be. "and when i realised that you went back to your apartment, i felt horrible that i drove you out."

he looks up at you with glossy eyes.

"you came here because you wanted to prove me wrong, right? because you bought all this by yourself and don't need me, right?"

"well, kind of, but i also didn't want to be around you so i came back here."

reo frowns before leaning in to press delicate kisses to your neck. "please don't leave me. i need you by my side," he inhales before whispering his next statement. "even if you don't need me."

a hand of yours go up to thread through his hair. "don't say that," you use your other hand to direct his face away from your neck, pressing a kiss against his puckered lips. "i absolutely adore you, my love. you're my favourite person ever."

he smiles before leaning in again, kissing you with more fervour and passion. you can feel another tear slide down his cheek.

"lets go to bed, reo," you say when you part and he simply nods, laying you on the side of the bed before laying beside you, arms naturally finding themselves around your waist as reo tugs you as humanely close as possible. "sorry if this mattress isn't as comfortable as your twelve grand one back home."

"i couldn't care less," he whispers whilst tracing patterns on your bare skin.

so long as it's you he's next to, reo doesn't have a lot to complain about.

[feelingf1]

pretty isn’t pretty - daniel ricciardo

pairing: daniel ricciardo x female!reader

summary: you’ve started comparing yourself to the other wags, and now you’re starting to wonder, does daniel deserve someone better than you?

authors note: i am obsessed with this song. it’s not okay. this is also kinda short, sorry😭

enjoy!

—————

You collapsed onto your bed after an enjoyable but exhausting day. You had spent your day accompanying Daniel in the paddock on the last race of the season.

Because you were still mainly located in yours and Daniel’s home town, you didn’t often get the opportunity to travel so far to go and see him race, but you were glad you could.

You threw your outfit on the bench, putting on your comfy pajamas before making a call for room service and scrolling through your phone.

You opened up Instagram and saw that Carmen, George’s partner, had posted a picture of you, Lily, Isa and Charlotte.

You liked it, reposting it to your story, before checking the comment to see what people were saying.

That was your big mistake.

You opened a comment section to people slagging you off, for every reason they could.

“Y/N looks like she pulled that outfit out of her cousin’s closest”

“Jesus she could try and make some effort with her hair and makeup.”

“What?” You said to yourself. It hadn’t come to your attention before that people online didn’t really like you.

“She’s such a slag, sucking off Daniel for his money”

-> “Pity she wouldn’t use Daniel’s money to dress herself up a bit.”

“Daniel deserves way better than her.”

That last comment stuck with you. Your friends had always told you not to believe what the comments said. But surely if they’re all saying the same thing, they must be right?

You scrolled through the other photos the paparazzi had captured of all the other wags. Looking through them, you came to understand how you believed you were a lower standard compared to them.

They had the newest handbags, shoes, clothes, makeup. They had people dressing them up for this and every event they attended. They didn’t even had to think twice before flashing their card in a designer shop.

You, on the other hand, had to go to a thrift shop to buy the dress you wore so you could still afford your rent and bills at the end of the month. You used the drugstore makeup you had been using for years, as getting it done by somebody would cost too much, and you’d have to cut back on buying groceries.

How could you ever expect yourself to compare to these angels who had everything they could ever want? Of course, if you had asked Daniel, he would have bought you a brand new Louis Vuitton dress with a Gucci clutch bag just for today, but you prided yourself on not having to rely on your boyfriend for money. Maybe you prided yourself a little too much.

Tears started to fall from your eyes and down your cheeks. You couldn’t help but think you were and embarrassment to Daniel. That he only kept with you because he felt bad for you and your sad little life.

You headed to the bathroom to take off your makeup, so you could cry without looking like a panda. You stared in the mirror for a little too long, starting to point out imperfections that nobody else saw but you.

You started to cry again.

You crawled into the hotel bed, pulling the covers up over your head, and wept. You wept and wept until you felt empty. And then you came to a realization.

You had to break up with Daniel. You had to let him find someone better than you. Someone prettier, someone richer, someone who wouldn’t put shame on his name.

You were too busy crying to hear the sound of your hotel room door opening and closing. The second Daniel saw you upset, he rushed to your side.

“My love. What’s wrong?”

He pulled the covers down from your face gently, revealing your reddened cheeks and puffy eyes. A look of worry washed over his face.

“What’s happened?” He asked, softly.

You wiped your eyes in your hoodie sleeves and started at the ceiling, not even having it in you to look at his big, brown, beautiful eyes right now.

“We- we need to break up.” You croaked out.

Daniel’s face dropped. “What? Y/N, what the hell are you talking about.”

You brought your hands up to your eyes and started to cry tears you thought you didn’t have left. Daniel softly stroked your cheek in an attempt to calm you down.

“There’s- there’s just comments I saw online and they say how bad I look compared to the other girls.” You rambled out, still not able to look at him.

“Oh, doll.” He whispered.

“And one comment said that you deserve someone way better than me, which you do. I’m too ugly and poor to be with someone as good as you.”

Your breathing started to increase a little as you started to panic. Daniel pulled you into his arms, cradling you, as he rubbed soft circles on your back.

“Oh Y/N. You can’t listen to those silly little comments. I’m the one that’s lucky to have you.” He said, into your ear.

“But-” You went to argue but Daniel cut you off.

“No, listen. Y/N, I’m the luckiest person in the world to have somebody like you. Somebody so kind, so pretty, so smart, so sweet, so dedicated. You’re the prettiest girl in the whole entire world. Nobody compared to you, my love.”

He softly took ahold of your hands, removing them from your face.

“Let me see my beautiful lady.”

You smiled up at him. You were so lucky to have somebody like him. He really was one of a kind.

“Y/N, I love you.” He said.

Your face lit up, he said them. He really said those three beautiful words for the first time. Just when you thought you couldn’t love him more, he proved you wrong.

“I love you too, Daniel.”

He pulled you into a proper hugs and you stayed there for what felt like forever. You didn’t care, as long as you had Daniel, you could stay with him forever.