#i can imagine him sitting in front of the fire and just SOBBING

[axstoria]

Bruce sobbing until he throws up in his room one night after he finds out in Flashpoint that his baby would have been a priest, had he never met him.

Instead of growing up surrounded by guns and blood, Jason might have been taken in by the local church and raised as the pastor's son instead of his own. He would have had plentiful food and attended Sunday mass, clutching crosses and Bibles between his little fingers instead of batarangs. A cross would have danged around his neck, and the distinctive 'R' of the Robin uniform wouldn't have been plastered on his chest. He would have slept throughout the night, safe in those stained-glass walls, in his bed instead of out fighting crime.

He could have graduated high school, and all the church clergy would have sat in the stands to watch, cheering on their boy as he walked up to the podium to receive his diploma.

Jason would have gone to school—college—and become a man of the community. He would have found solace in the Lord instead of tucked away under a cape and cowl after long patrols. His boy would have inspired all those who stepped foot into his church, helped hundreds, and saved dozens of souls.

Depending on his branch, the boy could have gotten a wife and had kids. He could have been happy.

Yet, curse Bruce and his infinite charity, he couldn't bear to see a boy alone on the streets, left in the same situation he had been all those years ago. What man in his right mind wouldn't of taken Jason in that night?

He can't bring himself to think about it. His baby boy could have been alive and well this entire time, and Bruce wouldn't have ever known him.

The guilt he feels over that is worse than the guilt he felt when Jason died in that warehouse, knowing that he damn well could have prevented it, had it not been for his stupid, shadow-covered, bleeding heart.

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining an a/b/o dynamic where the entire 141, including you, are all Alphas. Except, after a few years of such close contact something starts to shift.

You start to become an Omega.

"Why is this happening to me?" You all but wail. It hurts to breathe, everything feels like it's on fire. Your stomach twists again, painful cramps shooting white hot lighting up your spine. "Why does it hurt so bad?"

Your pack is all around you, trying to soothe you in anyway they can but it's not working. Everything hurts, your teeth feel like they're going to crack from how tight you have them gritted. The wave of pain ebbs for a few gracious seconds before starting up all over again. You whine and sob and reach out for any of your team.

"Whats going on?" Price huffs, his cool hand cupping at your face. His touch is the barest relief even as he drags down one of your lower eyelids. He tuts in an intense concern. "Simon, have you seen this before?"

The larger male drops to one knee. He gives you a quick once over before dipping his head towards yours. He presses the front of his mask to the crown of your head. Through your labored panting you barely hear him take in a deep inhale of scent.

He coughs and stands back up too quickly. Judging by his flighty gaze, something is seriously wrong. Another tremor of pain wracks your body. You open mouth squeal. It's getting so much worse.

"Simon!" Soap growls, trying to bring his fellow alpha back from whatever memory he'd fallen into. "What's wrong wit' 'er?"

"She's turning into an Omega."

Everyone in the room turned their gazes towards Ghost, even you, despite your pain. You? An Omega? But you've always been and Alpha. It was part of the necessary requirements to be a part of the 141. You'd been genetically tested, hormonally tested, and aptitude tested. You were a full blooded Alpha coming from generations of Alphas.

"There's...ngh...no way." You hiccup out, tears blurring your vision.

"That doesn't make any sense. That can't happen." Gaz adds. He rubs at your back. His cool touch soothes even more of your pain into a dull throb, but it isn't enough.

"M' n' Alpha!" You cry out in anguish, the first of many tears finally dripping down your cheeks.

Something about Ghost's words hurt worse than any pain your body was making you go through. Try as you may to deny it, he was right. You could feel your body changing, altering, breaking and bending.

"Why is this happening to me?" You wail.

"There's too many of us." Ghost huffs, he glances around at your pack.

"Why does that matter?" Soap grumbles, scooping an arm around your center to pull you up into a sitting position. "We're a pack."

"That's just it." Ghost sighs tiredly.

"I've never heard of this being 'n issue." Price butts in. He grabs your face again and brushes the tears off your cheeks. "Task Forces are fully Alpha run. They 'ave been for years."

"If what Ghost is saying is right, it's biological, Captain." Gaz huffs, his thoughts visibly racing. "Too many Alphas, not enough Omegas. It means we'd go extinct."

"But why didn't she change earlier?" Johnny asks. You teeter in his hold but he keeps you upright. He lets you lean against his chest. He smells more comforting than usual.

"It's hormonal. She's been with us almost three years now, it takes time." Ghost says. Price nods in agreement.

"I'm an Alpha!" You sob, trying wrench yourself free from the multiple men around you. "I- I don't want to be bred. I don't want to be claimed! I'm an Alpha!"

"We're know you are, Love." Price breathes softly. He continued to wipe tears away from your face with a tenderness that only makes your despair swell further. "But this is happening, and we can't stop it."

"Take me to sick bay, please. They'll...they'll put me on blockers or something! Please, anything but this! I don't want to be an Omega."

The pack looks toward Ghost but he shakes his head.

"This is you first heat. The blockers will kill you."

You scream in pain, fear, and frustration. Another wave of excruciating pain washes over you. You wrench out of Soap's grip and fall against the floor. The tile is cool against your flushed skin.

As much as you hate him for it, Ghost is right.

This is your first heat.

Your back arches off the floor. Your toes curl and you squeal, shaking, gasping, panting hot breaths. You can feel yourself start to sweat. There's a sudden gush of wetness between your thighs. Embarrassment floods you. You try to curl into a ball but your body keeps being wracked with tremors.

"H-help me..." You cry out weakly, sobbing into the tile.

Your pack seems to finally get a whiff of your fluctuating scent. All around you, you watch as one by one each of their gazes grow more and more pointed. All of you know what must be done. After all, you're an Omega now.

...and there's no going back.

[buckgasms]

Hi! Big fan of your work and okay you asked for it but I imagine mean bully!Bucky where he has his eyes on this young agent who just joined the team and she’s just so sweet and shy and he already fell for her when his eyes landed on her. He always secretly steals her underwear and she’s so sweet that she cries when she saw a cat got hurt on the street and Bucky saw her running to Bruce so he can help the cat, BIG MISTAKE cause the way her tears runs down her face he thinks she’s so beautiful and hot and it makes him more horny and so that’s where he starts bullying her just to see her tears and he step it up one day that during training he pinned her down and he can smell her getting turned on so he call her name until she cries but he just continues and put his thigh between her legs and he’s just so mean about it that before she gets any released he stops and ever since he can’t keep his hands off okay sorry if it’s weird

Thanks beautiful nonnie 🩷

Hmm ok so this sounds like a dark!Bucky to me, what with the underwear stealing and loving to watch her cry right?

Which I am certainly happy to accommodate 😈

This went a bit off course but i hope it's ok! It is a bit dark so please proceed with caution! ☢️

I imagine that first night after he sees you really crying, big tears sliding down your cheeks he's got your underwear wrapped around his cock as he fists himself over and over again, just imagining your pretty face and how much he would love to make to cry over and over.

It takes him so long to calm down from it because he just can't control the fire in his belly every time he thinks about you. So sweet and innocent, ready to submit and do whatever your told, take whatever he gives.

I bet he'd constantly tell you to stay late at the gym to work on your punches, belittling you and reminding you how weak you are and how you'd need someone to look after you all the time.

Maybe he sneaks into the showers to listen to your muffled sobs of frustration and tiredness just so he has something new to imagine later that night.

☁️

And maybe one night you are sparring with him and he lands a jab right to your stomach and you drop to the floor, winded and you burst out crying right then and there. He has to keep a straight face because he can't believe how fucking beautiful you look, sobbing and sweaty, laid out in front of him.

He drops to the floor pressing his knee right into your core and leans down, hands either side of your head as he comes in real close.

"How many times have I told you, you aren't up to this. You need protecting little girl..."

You huff and shake your head, pouting a little as you sob. 

"No I don't, you just keep treating me like shit and that last kick hurt..."

He grins before pressing his knee harder into your core and pinning your hands down to the mat. Before you can stop it a little moan escapes your lips, even as your eyes widen in shock.

"Doesn't sound like I'm treating you bad now, does it baby?" You curse as he grinds again, chuckling as you whimper and more tears spring from your eyes.

"Cut it out...let me go..."

He hesitates for a moment before relenting, sitting back on his haunches and watches you walk away in a hurry.

☁️

He wasn't sure if you'd come back again, but there you were bright and early, refusing to back down. 

This time he decided to ignore you. He left you till last each time there was an activity, and would just tut every time you didn't do something perfectly. 

So you tried harder. He could tell by the end you were desperate for some kind of reaction, but he gave you nothing.

When it came time for the hand to hand combat you were positivly fuming. So you kicked and punched and clawed at him with all you might. He had to put up a bit of a fight to keep you off but he did eventually manage to floor you.

He dismissed everyone but you didn't move. When the last person filtered out you were still stood on the mat, panting.

"I'm not done."

He smirked and dropped his kit bag. Squaring up to you on the mat. Before he could reply you lunged at him and scrabbled with each other for a good few minutes before he pinned you again.

"You gonna cry baby?" He mocked as you squirmed and groaned, tears leaking down your cheeks in your anger.

You managed to kick at his crotch, winding him slightly and escaping from his grasp, but he recovered quickly and as you rolled over he slammed his body down on top of you, his breath coming in pants by your ear.

"That wasn't very nice" he growled before manouvering to sit on your legs, gripping your hands behind your back. You continue to squirm and wail as he drags down your shorts and underwear.

"You wanna act like a brat, I'll treat you like one..." His first slap stops your movement and you gasp. He knows this is risky but he doesn't care, he lands spank after spank on your perfect ass, enjoying the little squeaks from you as he covers you in red hand marks.

Your body is shaking with sobs as he works, which only serves to make him hard as he keeps going, occasionally spreading you ass cheeks to look at your pretty holes, which he notes is glistening despite your protests.

Finally he climbs off you and presses his face into your ass, taking a deep sniff and pressing little kisses to your lips and ass cheeks before rolling you over to lie on your back.

Your face is blotchy and puffy from tears, and he drags you so your thighs are wrapped around his waist.

"There you are, much better, and so fucking pretty hmm?"

You whine as he paws at you, but you don't fight him, you just watch him rake his hands all over. 

"Why are you so mean to me?" 

Your little voice takes him by surprise and he leans over, pressing his hard body against your soft one.

"I'm not mean baby, I'm just worried about you. I want you to be safe, I wanna take care of you. Plus you look so pretty like this, I can't help it baby...."

You sob as he presses kisses to your tear stained face, but he relishes the way your soft lips respond to his, accepting his kisses as he dominates you.

"Do you understand now? You want me to make you feel better now sweetheart?" He keeps kissing you, grinding against your bare heat, waiting until you nod.

"Good girl, let me make you feel better now..."

He pulls back and smirks as he sees your eyes widen as his cock is pulled out and slapped against your heat.

You whine and protest a little as he drags the tip against your soaked folds but he hushes you with a finger in your mouth, sinking his cock in slowly but relentlessly until he is all the way inside you.

"S'too big Bucky... Can't...." You protest but he can feel your walls squeezing him tighter as he waits for you to settle.

"Yes you can baby. I can feel your cunt, doesn't wanna let me go does it? Tell me, tell me you want it..."

You squirm and moan as more tears slid down your cheeks. He growls and catches them with his thumb and sucking them, still waiting for you to respond.

"Fucking say it baby, tell me you want it..."

Your breath shudders but you nod and without waiting another moment he begins rutting into you. He can't believe how good you feel, how tight and soft you are. He loses himself in the pleasure, leaning down to lick and kiss at your tears as you wail in pleasure.

Your moans echo around the gym, and he feels you grip onto his shoulders as he pounds into you. 

"Bucky... Please..."

He pulls back, lifting your thigh to plant more smacks to your already sore cheeks, making you squeal and cry, your walls squeezing him tighter, fluttering as your peak builds.

"Come baby, show me what a good girl you are. My pretty little cry baby..."

More squeezes, more slaps and tears follow until you reach your peak. He follows quickly after, filling you up and claiming you as his own.

He collapses into the mat next to you, panting and sweating as you lay next to him shaking and whining. 

Eventually he gets up and pulls his shorts on, before pulling your underwear up tight and hauling you up and cupping your face in his hands. 

"Now, I wanna see you here tomorrow after class for another lesson alright? We're gonna work on things together and I can take good care of my little cry baby ok?"

You sniffle and nod at him, so he rewards you with a soft kiss before sending you off on your way.

He's definitely going to hell, but as he watches you scurry away he thinks, he doesn't really care.

[vanserrasswife]

Please, Stay

Part 2

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel returns from his mission and you confront him about him leaving you a week prior.

Word count:1702

One week later

It’s a cold night, the fire roaring in the corner of the living room not doing much to protect against the harsh cold. I shiver as I pull the blankets closer around me, wishing he was here. If he was here I wouldn’t have needed all of these blankets, we could have been in bed together long ago. The warmth of his body shielding me from the cold.

My eyes flutter shut again before I force them open, the words on the page blurring. I slam the book closed, looking out of the window into the dark. How late is he going to be? I let out a long breath and rest my cheek against my hand. If I stare into the night for too long I can almost imagine him there, just watching me. Waiting for me to realise he’s there and run out to greet him.

Not this time. This time he can come to me. My heart aches slightly at the memory of the fight a week ago. If you could even call it a fight, it was just me begging him to stay and him leaving as always. This time I’ll speak to him about it, I won’t just brush it under the rug.

My eyes shut again and I let sleep take me away, maybe he’ll be back by the time I wake up. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll wake up to Azriel cradling me in his arms and apologising, telling me that he’ll stay. That he won’t be leaving again for a while. That he’s mine for a while and I’m his.

————————————————————————

Sunlight pours in through the window and I hiss, rubbing at my eyes as I adjust to the light of late morning. I stretch my legs and sigh, my eyes eagerly scan the room for a hint of him. A muddy footprint, a pair of boots by the door, a coat slung over the back of a chair, a lone shadow. Nothing. Nothing except for a piece of paper, lying on the kitchen counter.

My hand trembles slightly as I pick up the paper and unfold it. The sight of my mate’s neat handwriting and the faint scent of him coming off of the letter, bringing a smile to my face. A smile that's quickly wiped from my features. Two more days. He’s going to be gone for two more days. The tears return, the ache deep inside me becoming stronger.

I’m going to be alone for another two days, a half laugh, half sob chokes its way out of me and I frown as I storm off to mine and Azriel’s shared room. I fling the wardrobe doors open, hinges creaking as I start to throw clothes into a bag. I move around the house in a similar manner, grabbing necessities, enough to sustain me but not to alarm Azriel as soon as he gets back.

This is the last time. I throw the packed bag into the back of my side of the wardrobe. He has one chance. One more chance to fix this. To stay with me. Or I’m gone.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

I glance up from my book as the front door swings open and I hear boots being wiped on the doormat. My heart skips a beat as I listen intently to the sounds of my mate taking off all of his work gear, knife holsters and weapons being left by the door to be put away later.

I take a deep breath, schooling my smiling face into a neutral one as I remember the conversation yet to be had. My stomach drops and my heart beats faster as my mate’s towering form walks through the doorway and he sits himself down on the couch next to me.

Shadows dart out to weave through my fingers as Azriel reaches over to gently take my book from my hands. He places it down on the couch, the other side of him and gently cups my jaw guiding me to look at him. Tears begin to well in my eyes at the gentle touch, at the love contained in it.

Azriel shushes me, promising me that everything is ok and he gently brushes away a tear before pulling me into him. Into his embrace, his warmth, his comfort. Azriel holds me silently, letting me release the tears I had been holding for the past week. I sniffle, the tears slowing as I pull away from his shoulder, out of his embrace. A hand stays brushing tears off of my cheeks, the other rubbing circles into my hip.

“Angel, are you ok?” I let out a shaky breath, my eyes focusing on the shadows weaving through my fingers. Azriel’s hand gently grabs my chin, pulling my head up to look at his. Deep hazel eyes meeting my own. I shake my head softly and pull out of his grip, moving further away from him. I need a clear mind for this conversation, I need to put some space between us.

Azriel doesn’t try to move closer to me as I start my rant, the words I had been holding in for a week all spilling out at once. “I’m upset Az, I thought that you could stay for a while and then you couldn’t and I-'' The words fall steadily out of my mouth and Azriel’s shoulders sink slightly, he curls in on himself slightly as if he was just now realising the extent of how upset I had been at his inability to stay with me.

“And I know that it's your job and that.” I stop for a breather as Azriel looks into my eyes for the first time since I had started my rant. “I know that you have to do your job and that you have to do whatever the High Lord says,” my voice is calmer now and Azriel is still staring straight at me, “but I- I just wish that you could stay for longer than a handful of days at a time.” My shoulders slump and I let out a long breath as Azriel starts speaking.

“Baby, It’s my job. I have to do it, even if it means I have to be away from you.” Another sob wracks its way through my chest and comes out my mouth accompanied by a laugh. Of all the ways I thought this conversation would go, I knew it would be this way. His work is more important than me. I knew that and I still held on to the hope that I would be his priority, more important than his job. But I’m not.

I take a deep breath, I need to calm down before the conversation continues. I need a break, maybe some fresh air. I could go for a walk and come back to this in an hour or two. If Azriel will even still be here. I try to push the thought away, but its engraved itself in the front of my mind. Oh gods. What if I leave and when I come back and he’s left again. I need to finish the conversation now.

“Your job means more to you than I do.” I cringe as I say the words out loud, but don’t find myself apologising, I can’t find it in me to apologise for saying it. Saying the thought that had been nagging at me for days now. Azriel winces and I know my words have hit something deep within him. Have upset him, maybe now he’ll know how I felt when he left.

“Angel. My job- it doesn’t-” I meet his eyes, silver lining them. The light reflects off of the watery tracks drawn across his cheeks and I fight every urge to go to him and comfort him. To tell him that everything will be ok, when I don’t know if it will be.

Azriel moves to stand in front of me, his hands gently cupping my face. A look of desperation taints his features and he shakes slightly. “I’m so sorry, bunny, I never want to make you feel like that. I’m so so sorry and I-” he blows out a breath, dropping to his knees before me. Hands encircling my waist he presses kisses to my clothed stomach. “Az, I-”

“I’ll speak to Rhys, I’ll make him send someone else. I’ll spend more time with you. I’ll do anything just please, please give me a chance.” His hands tighten around me, fisting my shirt pulling me impossibly closer to him. “Just one more chance.” He mutters over and over and over again. Like a prayer, a worship, a wish. He repeats it louder, quieter, barely a whisper, carving the words into my skin through kisses and touches.

“Az.” I whisper and he freezes, silence embracing us as his gentle words and loving touches stop. Slowly, as if I have forever, I reach down, taking Azriel’s chin between my thumb and forefinger and tilt his head up to look at me. His normally godly features look ethereal, devastatingly beautiful as he sucks in a harsh breath. Hazel eyes shining with hope. Hope for a second chance. Hope for a chance to fix this.

“One chance.” I whisper, his face lights up and he wraps his arms around my waist again, pressing fast loving kisses to any part of me he can reach. “But you have to prove it. Properly.” He nods, hair brushing against my abdomen, “And you have to stick to it. Not just for a few weeks, but forever.” His hand starts rubbing my back through my top and I suddenly wish I wasn’t wearing it. “I still don’t fully forgive you for leaving the way you did.” His eyes glaze over with a new wave of tears but he fights them down, adam's apple catching in his throat as he nods slowly. Nodding in understanding and shame. Shame at how he had made his love, his mate feel.

“I promise, my love, I’ll do whatever it takes.” I nod and run my hands through his hair, brushing out the knots and tangles. “But first,” Azriel looks up at me expectantly, “I want to speak to Rhysand.”

[gtgbabie0]

A cold heart

{After distancing yourself from Cregan the truth finally comes out}

Hope you enjoy as always lovelies! 💕

CW// reader is pregnant

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Cregan grew up in the North, he became acclimatised to the cold weather as he grew, but yet he’s never felt so cold then he does right now in your shared bedchambers, despite the warmth of the fire. It’s a type of feeling that completely renders him numb. An aching feeling that sits heavy against his chest, it’s almost as if he can’t breathe.

He watches you climb into bed slipping underneath the many furs. His heart freezes as the realisation slowly sets in, he’s in for another night of silence, and like every other night for the past few weeks you’ll sleep as far away as possible, shrugging off his touch.

It's not that you didn't want him to touch you, quite the opposite actually. You just couldn't risk his wandering hands grazing against your tiny bump, you wouldn't let him find out, not that way.

He doesn’t think he can go another night of isolation. So he reaches out to you in hopes you’ll reopen your caged heart to him once again, just as you did all those moons ago when he confessed his feelings to you.

“Love, will you please tell me what’s bothering you? I can’t stand this silence” he says, a gentle hand against your shoulder and he winces when he feels you go rigid under his palm.

He retreats his hand not wanting to be the cause of your discomfort. You don’t look at him, far too afraid of the pain that will stain his face.

It’s not that you don’t want to tell him, in all honesty, you so desperately wanted to share the news, but you’ve heard so my awful stories from other ladies about their husbands seeking pleasure through other means, how they are completely abandoned by them simply because they were ‘undesirable’ it hurt to hear. You couldn’t imagine going through that.

So maybe that’s why you push Cregan away, because if you do it first it’ll hurt less when does inevitably happen.

“Nothing is wrong Cregan, I’m tired,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of comfort.

He likes to think that he is a calm man, never quick to anger but right now in this moment, anger is quick to warm his heart.

“Do not lie to me” he says, tone firm. You have only ever heard that when some lord made the mistake of insulting you in front of him, you remember thinking how you never wanted to be on the receiving end of that, yet here you are.

You sigh, biting back the tears that sting the back of your throat. “I just want to sleep Cregan” you whisper and he doesn’t miss the way your voice quivers.

You hear him let out a deep breath, then the bed shifts and he’s getting ready. The sudden change in the atmosphere makes you sit up, bringing the furs up with you, protecting yourself from the bitter cold.

“Where are you going?” You ask, watching as he laces up his boots, his eyes flicker to yours for a moment but they don’t linger long.

“I have work to do. Don’t wait up for me” he tells you and before you even have time to try and even think of what to say he’s gone.

You don’t bother stopping the tears that fall so effortlessly from your eyes. A regretful sob broke through your lips as you feel yourself engulfed by unwavering guilt, the type that pinches at your heart leaving bruises in its wake.

You can’t find solace in sleep, not without Cregan beside you. So you wait, and wait a book in your lap but you pay it no mind as your eyes stay fixed on the door.

You questioned whether or not he had already found another woman. Filthy thoughts tainting your mind, and you know it’s silly. Cregan would never break your trust or heart like that, never.

The hours seem to drag, and you contemplate if you should go out and find him yourself to say your sorries and give him a well-earned explanation, but the Maesters told you rest is the best thing for the babe.

Then the heavy wooden door opens, and there he is. “I told you not to wait up,” he says, and you watch him intently as he takes off his furs and leather.

You want to speak but you haven’t the slightest idea of where to even begin, there are so many words that rattle around in your brain but none of them seem good enough.

He looks over at you, and if it weren’t for the anger that still tingles his skin he would’ve felt sorry for the way you seemed to go in on yourself.

“Have I done something? Offended you somehow?— hurt you?” He wonders, wincing at the way his voice trembles, and the sound brings tears to your eyes.

You shake your head, trying to string a sentence together but the only thing that comes out is a pitiful sob. Emotions collide in your chest.

“Then what is it y/n? Why are you treating me as if I’m a stranger?” He asks, sitting at the end of the bed.

You study the scars that litter his chest, the one that travels across his ribcage that you love to you trace with gentle fingers, and you yearn to be held by him once again.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him, your hand splayed against your collarbones. You can’t stop the cries that escape you. You shuffle down to where he’s sitting, a careful hand against his shoulder. “I’m sorry Cregan- I can explain” you gasp.

His slightly calloused hand soothes the expanse of your back, he hates seeing you so upset. The painful expression that paints your face, how your eyebrows furrow together. He promised himself that he’d do anything in his power to prevent this.

He wants to be mad, but he can't not when your shoulders shake as you try to stifle your cries behind a shaky hand.

“Love, breathe,” he says, taking your hand in his as he guides you through deep breaths. He’s always been so good at that.

He brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently and you sigh at the feeling of his beard against your skin.

“Cregan, I-” you look up at him as he urges you to continue, worry laced through his eyes, “I am with child” you whisper, your eyes flickering down to where your hands lay against his lap entwined with his own.

“The ladies have said- told stories of how their bodies change, how they no longer look the same as before- their husbands, they-” you sob, not being able to finish the sentence, a desperate need to get him to understand. And he does, he knows what you’re trying to say, and it hurts him beyond words that you would ever even consider the possibility.

His hands gently cup your tearful face, and he gives you the most endearing look he could muster. “My precious wife” he starts, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “You are the light of my life, my heart is yours entirely,” he tells you, a sense of relief washing over him as you fling yourself into his arms.

It was silly of you to doubt his love, especially for you. “I know- I’m sorry,” you tell him, kissing his shoulder.

“How long have you known?” He asks, his hands grasping at your hips.

“I had a suspicion for a while” you confess, bringing his hands to your belly. You let out a breathy giggle at the way his eyes light up with excitement as his hand soothe the expanse of your stomach.

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before wiping away the stray tears that fall from your lashes, “A pup of our own eh?” He says, a teasing look flashing through his eyes as he urges you to lay against the pillows.

His hand dips underneath your nightdress grazing along your thigh travelling to rest at the curve of your stomach, your bump was barely there but yet he knows the difference. He smiles at you softly, enjoying the way your breath hitches at his touch.

“I promise I’ll take such good care of you, and our little one” he says, love bleeding into his tone as he peppers your neck with kisses. Your fingers thread through his hair as you urge him closer to you, you had missed him more than you thought.

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[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 22 - I Stayed In The Darkness With You

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: May I introduce everyone to my secret extra villain, bureaucratic incompetence! Chapter Title from Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine.

Word Count: 24k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Sunglasses and text messages break the camels back. Usual warnings.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 21 - Chapter 23

“Do you,” Ryan swallowed the food in his mouth, staring at the floor as he spoke. “Do you guys get nightmares?”

Ben didn’t know how to handle that question. He didn’t know how to handle most of Ryan’s questions that weren’t about Her or the more glamorous parts of Ben’s past. He could talk about Her for the rest of fucking time and never get tired, and it was pretty damn easy to mutter I did see Star Wars in theaters, was even at the premier of two of those shit-ass movies. Pussy characters, none of them can just get their fucking jobs done. Hero's journey bullshit, and shut your damn mouth Sunshine, you’re the one who told me about the hero's journey. Indiana Jones was a fuck ton better anyway. 

He didn’t talk to anyone but Her about things like nightmares. Even She didn’t know the full extent of them, of the memories of gas and knives and sterilized needles that had plagued Ben’s sleep. Or how they’d turned to terrors of Homelander taking Her, of Ben roaring Her name into the dark and only hearing wordless screams in response, and of blood. Nightmares full of blood and fog that he’d woken up from choking on air while she was gone. Ben certainly didn’t tell Her about the nightmares where he touched her and she started clawing at his skin and sobbing, falling to the floor and not allowing Ben to pick her back up. Where she didn’t recognize him and just kept screaming. 

He’d been waking up with Her screams still ringing in his ears, and hadn’t told her. He wouldn’t tell Her, because this was Ben’s fucking issue, and he’d deal with it his goddamn self. She had enough shit to deal with. She’d spent the past week working her damn ass off—combing through more and more of A-Train’s stupid fucking leads, listening to the media spout more and more bullshit lies about Her life, and training with Ben and Ryan—and her own nightmares had returned. After Ben had found Her in the shower, screaming and crying and fucking breaking apart in front of him, there hadn’t been a night were she hadn’t burst into flames and Ben hadn’t had to listen to the strangled, painful sounds that left her body. But she hadn’t stopped touching him. Linking her arm through Ben’s when they walked, pressing her thigh into his at the table and pulling his arm around her body. Running a hand through his hair before tugging his brow to hers when she crawled onto him in the dark. Holding Ben against her as the fire died out, letting him pull her back down until he was flat on his back and rubbing circles on her hips. Relaxing into his kisses on the top of her head and pressing her face into his neck as she fell back asleep.

Even now, sitting on the mat of the gym as they ate lunch with Ryan, she was touching Ben. She was leaning into his side as she sighed, watching Ryan carefully as she answered his question. Of course She’d know how to answer that question. She was fucking perfect.

“I do,” Her hand had wandered to Ben’s knee, tapping against him as she spoke. “Most of us do. I’d imagine it would be more worrying if we didn’t.”

Ryan blinked at her. “Worrying?“

“Well,” She frowned. “We’re exposed to a lot of fucked up situations. We make a lot of impossible, horrible decisions. Nightmares mean that we still care, that we’re still capable of remorse over our worse actions and haven’t given up on ourselves enough to just remain unaffected. We’re still able to feel something, even if that thing is fear.”

“But I don’t want to feel fear,” Ryan mumbled, still watching the ground. “I don’t want to be afraid of stuff anymore. My dad said that I shouldn’t be afraid of anything, that fear was a weakness.” 

“Ryan,” She leaned a little further forward. “Can you look at me?”

When he listened, slowly looking up with a nervous expression, a small, sad smile crossed Her face.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Um, I don’t know.” Ryan glanced at Ben, and even though he didn’t know what the fuck She was getting at—he rarely did—he gave Ryan a sharp nod. It seemed to say what the kid had been looking for, because Ryan swallowed and continued. “My dad?”

“Fear really fucking sucks,” she whispered, and Ben’s fists tightened on his cheesesteak. “But it’s not bad. It doesn’t make you weak. We all get afraid, it’s your brain trying to tell you that you and the people you care about are in danger. And Homelander is dangerous. It’s smart to be afraid of him, Ryan, because then you’re not like him.”

“But I’ve hurt people, what if I am-“ 

“Homelander,” Her nails were burning on Ben’s skin. “Isn’t afraid of anything. Because he thinks he’s above fear, because he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. Just the fact that you’re afraid of Homelander tells me you’re nothing like him.”

“Are, are you afraid of anything?”

She nodded, heart picking up in her chest, and Ben moved his hand silently to her waist. Pulling Her closer without looking away from Ryan, keeping his face perfectly fucking neutral when she squeezed his knee and her breathing slowed.

“Homelander.” She took a heavy breath. “And heights.”

Ben hadn’t known that. He made a mental note to look up if you could take a boat to Rome. 

Ryan nodded, looking at Ben with wide, nervous eyes. “Ben?” 

He grunted, taking another bite of his cheesesteak as he waited for Ryan to continue. 

“You don’t get afraid, right?” 

Ben froze mid-chew. He wasn’t afraid of anything, and—if he was—it wasn’t any of Ryan’s goddamn business. It wasn’t like fear ever fucking affected him, or made him whine like a pussy, made him fucking cry like Ryan was about to-

He looked at Her. Completely fucking involuntarily, Ben looked at her and knew he was afraid of that. Afraid he’d fail her again. And maybe also gas. And small, closed spaces. Not Homelander himself—that pussy could eat Ben’s shit—but Homelander hurting Her. Hurting her in a way that made Ben lose her, taking her away where Ben couldn’t get her back. But that was a fear for Her. It was a service to Her, to share some of the weight she kept trying to carry alone. And of course Ben would be afraid of failing Her, he’d done it once and it had put her in fucking danger, so that didn’t count. Gas didn’t count either, gas had taken Ben’s who goddamn life away from him, anyone would be afraid of gas if they had half a goddamn brain. Closed spaces were a little fucking pathetic, but Ben would like to see any other pussy be kept in a box for forty years and not start to fucking hate it. But none of that was shit for Ryan to be all fucking sad about-

Ben felt Her whack his arm, and looked down to find her glaring at him. Stop being a giant fucking manchild and tell Ryan you’re afraid of something.

Ben scowled, but swallowed his food and looked back to Ryan. “Everyone’s afraid of shit, kid. As long as you’re not a fucking pathetic dickless pussy about it, you won’t be any less of a fucking man.” 

Ryan nodded, something in his eyes a little lighter and a confusing fucking warm feeling inflating in Ben’s chest. “Thanks.” 

“Don’t fucking-“ 

Her hand flew up to cover Ben’s mouth, and when he shot her a glare she just wrinkled her nose. If you ruin this nice moment, Pretty Boy, I’ll stab you. 

Ben rolled his eyes, Shut the fuck up, and pulled Her hand away, kissing her knuckles before looking back to Ryan. “You done with that sandwich?”

“I’m, um, not really that hungry.“

“I’ll hold on to it for you, and you can put it in the fridge when you get home.” She pulled out from Ben’s side, reaching across the mat with her perfect fucking ass in the air to grab the rest of Ryan’s food. Ben couldn’t let himself stare at Her ass, or think about kicking Ryan out to fuck her into the floor, or sit with his legs crossed anymore. He had maybe a minute before he’d have to stand up, and he needed to get his shit together so he didn’t do it with a raging hard-on.

“You don’t have to-“

“If I don’t,” She leaned back into Ben, grinning at Ryan. “Grandpa will eat it when neither of us are looking. He’s like a dog, you can’t leave food out.” 

“I am not a fucking dog-“

She sat up on her knees, giving Ben the prettiest fucking fake-pout and kissing his cheek before pulling back with a smile. A wide, bright smile where there wasn’t any pain hidden in her perfect, sharp eyes, and all Ben could bring himself to do was glare at her.

Brat. 

Cunt. Go show Ryan how to punch stuff.

He kissed her once, soft and quick and so fucking simple—his hands in her hair and her body half on his lap—before pulling back to stand. Ryan scrambled up, following Ben silently to the far side of the mat, and She scooted back to the wall.

Over the week, they’d developed a habit of this shit. Ben trained Ryan for a few hours, while She sat off to the side and switched between watching them and working on the V leads. Then they’d eat lunch together, Ben and Ryan would go for another hour or so, and they’d walk Ryan back to Butcher before returning to their own apartment. It was a damn good routine, because Ryan was already a fuck ton better then when they’d started—he hit the target every time now, and had only crushed two metal plates on accident today—and She had used the time to build a fucking airtight case for the president to just give them some goddamn V.

She’d explained the whole thing to Ben twice. Once in their apartment and once during a meeting with the team. Ben didn’t remember any of the first time, because she’d looked so fucking hot—chewing her lip while she thought and glaring at the papers in front of her with sharp eyes—and he’d wanted to slam Her on top of those stupid papers and see if she could recite all that fucking smart shit with Ben buried deep inside her. He’d managed to remember the second one only because she’d said it was really important they all have a basic understanding of our argument, in case Singer decides to cold call. 

“The first half,” She’d frowned at the papers as she sorted through them at the dining hall table. “Is mostly evidence of Homelander as a genuine threat to American stability, security, democracy, and like, fucking everything else. I think-”

“If Singer ain’t total fuckin brainless cunt, we shouldn’t need to show our bloody work-“

“It’s precautionary, Butcher.” She’d snapped. “And if you’d let me fucking finish, I was going to say that we could all just use personal experience for it. The second half is the important stuff. Copies of the document that says this would work, a vague outline of a plan to get the V in Homelander, a list of all the other avenues we’ve exhausted to get some V-“

“He’s not going to know I gave you guys those leads, right?” A-Train had cut Her off with frantic words. “If these get leaked or some shit, it can’t be traced back to me-“

“No,” She’d shaken her head. “We’re not saying how we got them, because that’s not important. He just needs to know that we’ve looked elsewhere, and there isn’t time to waste on continuing on wild goose chases. I’ve added hypotheticals about what could happen if we don’t act soon-“

Ben loved Her so goddamn much. He’d stopped paying attention, because he was losing his fucking mind about how much he loved her. She was so beautiful, and smart, and if everyone would just shut the fuck up and stop asking Her stupid questions Ben could get fucking lost in how perfect she was.

He’d gotten a boner. He’d been watching her talk all fucking focused and intense and pretty, and she’d grinned and bumped his shoulder with hers about something Ben couldn’t even fucking remember anymore, and he had completely given up on paying attention so he could get lost in a fantasy of bending Her over the table and fucking her until she whined and her eyes rolled back in her head.

It was becoming a fucking problem, how everywhere Ben looked was just another place he wanted to fuck her on or against, and how every word she said made him want to tell Her he loved her. He’d thought about it before, while she was gone, it was somehow worse when she was home. When she kept doing things that made him love Her more. Ben kept thinking he’d finally hit fucking capacity on how much he loved her—that loving her so much he’d move mountains and crack open the sky was the greatest type of love anyone was fucking capable of—and then She’d prove him wrong. She couldn’t just let Ben exist in goddamn peace, she had to make him and Ryan lunch everyday. She had to keep encouraging Ryan, and teasing Ben about wanting encouragement right before she’d tell him she thought he was an excellent teacher, even if he wouldn’t stop swearing at the child. She had to keep singing to herself while she moved around the apartment, and making everything around her so much fucking better than it had been before. She had to finally stop fucking apologizing, and kept curling into Ben’s body like it was the most natural thing in the fucking world. And it all made Ben feel like a fucking dumbass, because he kept being wrong. There was no limit to how much he loved Her, and every single thing she did would always make him want to just fuck her until she was happy and felt good.

But Ben wasn’t allowing himself to fuck Her. Not when he’d touched Her once and she’d shattered. They’d reached a silent agreement to not talk about the gun range and to keep kissing but never do more. Ben’s hands would wander down to her hips and her heart would pick up, so he wouldn’t go further. She’d kiss him and run fingers over his abdomen, but the moment Ben tensed in anticipation she’d freeze and drag them back to his chest. They hadn’t talked about it, but Ben knew she’d say I’m fine, and he’d insist that she wasn’t—people who are fine don’t fucking wake up in the middle of the night on fire—and she’d insist she was. They’d fight, and Ben didn’t want to fight with her. Not about something that fucking mattered like this, not when she kept kissing and smiling at him before—barely an hour later—something would suddenly shift and Her eyes would grow more and more hollow. He loved Her, and if they had a fight he’d probably yell that he fucking loved her to make her understand why it was killing him to watch Her be in pain that he wasn’t allowed to fix, and he’d lose Her. She wasn’t ready, and if Ben made this about how he loved her he’d lose her. He wouldn’t say it right, or well. He didn’t know how to talk about his goddamn feelings without sounding like a pathetic fucking pussy. He’d fuck it up and She wouldn’t understand that he loved Her so fucking much it could carve into the earth, and he’d lose Her.

She still looked at him with adoration. She still touched Ben like she wanted him, and sighed his name like it was important. But that was all she could give him right now, and Ben had to force himself to find a way to be okay with it. To let Her break and break in front of him, to keep her safe and pick up her pieces off the tile floors, then just kiss her until she gave a soft, happy sigh. To not grab her face and tell her that he loved Her. That he was so fucking worried about her because he loved her, and that he’d keep waiting. He’d wait and wait forever until she wanted him again. He’d take whatever she’d give him. He fucking loved Her, loved her in a way that would kill any other goddamn asshole to feel because it was fucking primal. It was real, raw, painful and indestructible love. Love where Ben would never be able to show it enough, never be able really make Her fucking understand how powerfully and zealously he loved her.

He could imagine it. Ben could indulge himself in these stupid fucking fantasies and drive himself mad as a punishment for being too fucking weak to know how to fix this. For being so much of a fucking pussy that the woman he loved kept breaking down and he could barely make it better, Ben started torturing himself with all the ways he’d could get this fucking right.

He’d roll Her over in their bed and kiss her breathless, before telling her that he loved Her and she was beautiful. Then he’d fuck her, gentle and long and goddamn romantic as shit, and she’d moan his name.

She’d give him one of her perfect, secret smiles over dinner and he’d tell Her in silence. Her pretty mouth would fall open, and she’d make a lame excuse to pull Ben back home. The door would barely close before she’d tackle him to the floor and ride him until she fell against his chest.

They’d be at a meeting, and Ben would just fucking yell it over the table. He’d roar I fucking love you, Sunshine, and the whole team would leave because Ben would already have her half-naked and in his lap.

Fuck, even now as She walked a pace ahead of him—smiling down at Ryan as he rambled about fucking homework and listening like She actually gave a shit, because she probably did—Ben wanted to grab Her and fuck her. He didn’t even need a wall or a bed, he’d just pick her up, rip off her pants, and slam himself into her until she felt good. But she’d fucking fall apart again after, and the pain of watching that was unspeakably worse than the ache of never touching her again. 

But he would tell Her. Ben would keep fucking trying to make this better for Her, and when the shadows started to creep out of her eyes and Homelander could never fucking touch her again, Ben was going to fucking tell Her. He’d say Her name, and she’d look at him all pretty and concerned about if everything was okay, and he’d tell her. I love you. I love you so goddamn much, and it’s made me a pathetic fucking pussy, and I don’t give a fuck because I love you. You’re perfect and I love you. You’re my whole fucking world and I love you. I’ll wait for you to be ready for the rest of goddamn time, because I love you. 

And she’d smile at him and say- 

“Benjamin, if you don’t start walking I swear to god I’m going without you.” 

They’d dropped off Ryan. Ben had given him another awkward hug before Ryan had turned to Her and they’d hugged as well. Then she’d smiled at Ben over Ryan’s head, making all of his thoughts devolve into perfect. Beautiful, perfect woman. He loved Her so fucking much, and when he told her that he was going to blow her perfect fucking mind with how fucking romantic it was, and he’d stopped paying attention.

She was walking back in the direction of the gym, and Ben frowned. “Where the fuck-“

“Mallory called a meeting, and we’re already late-“ She stopped tugging at Ben’s arm, giving him a flat look. “You forgot.” 

He had forgotten. She’d told him when they’d sat down for lunch that they’d have to go straight to the dining hall after, because there were updates that apparently couldn’t just fucking wait for the daily briefing tomorrow morning. He’d nodded, taken his cheesesteak, and she’d kissed his cheek. That alone had melted his brain a little, but then she’d moved some hair out of his face and leaned against his side and Ben had started wondering if this would be it. If he lowered Her onto the gym mat and told her he loved her, it would work. If She’d pull him down to her mouth and let him kiss her until there was a dent on the floor, then mumble into his mouth that she loved him as well. That she understood, and if Ben wanted to fuck her when they got home she wouldn’t stop him. 

In reality She was still glaring at him outside of Butcher’s apartment—perfect arms crossed and pretty eyes narrowed—and Ben had to act indignant. If he didn’t, she’d ask a lot of fucking questions and he’d shut her up by walking her backwards into the wall, telling her he loved her, and kissing her fucking stupid. 

“Mallory calls a whole lot of fucking bullshit meeting, we don’t need to go to every single one-“

She snorted. “Yeah, we do. You just don’t want me to call you old.”

“I’m not fucking old. And I didn’t forget-“

“Ben.” She linked her arms through his, and Ben scowled at her goddamn beautiful face and bored, amused, perfect fucking voice. “You are very old. And we have to go to the meeting you forgot about, you fucking dinosaur.” 

“Most of these stupid meetings are completely goddamn pointless,” Ben grumbled, even as he let her pull him down the hall. “Mallory thinks every single thing needs a whole hour to go over, and it’s never any actual fucking progress-“

“It might be, though.” She shrugged, grinning over her shoulder. “And if there is news, Kimiko will bring out the ice cream to celebrate. Don’t want to miss that.”

“We have our own ice cream, Sunshine.” He tugged Her arm just enough for her to fall back a pace, walking at his side so Ben could rest his arm over her shoulder. Keep her right against him, where she was fucking safe and smiling and there weren’t shadows across her perfect features. “We can just go the fuck home if you want ice cream.”

“We don’t have sprinkles. I want sprinkles.”

“Those things taste like fucking wax-“

“They are wax, Pretty Boy. They’re sugar wax.” Her hands had risen to hold Ben’s over her body, and he had to fucking pay attention and not spin her around, dance with her in the hall and dip her down all fucking romantic before whispering that he loved her. “I just want some colorful fucking sugar wax to go with my boring, old man vanilla ice cream.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “You fucking love my old man vanilla ice cream. You eat it just as much as me.”

He caught his own error, but she didn’t jump in with a smug voice and tell him as I. And when Ben frowned down at Her, she was watching him with that expression he didn’t understand. All adoration and want, with something burning behind her eyes, and her voice soft when she spoke. 

“I do love your old man vanilla ice cream.” Her smile spread, and her eyes looked a little brighter. “But I’d love it more with sprinkles.”

Ben snorted, and kissed the top of her head. “Brat.”

“Dramatic fucking cunt,” she mumbled, and Ben would have to figure out where to buy sprinkles now. There wasn’t a fucking chance in hell he was asking Mallory for that shit, but he’d figure it out and maybe it would help keep her expression light and joyful.

Everyone seemed to have finally fucking accepted that She and Ben would never be on time, because the most shit they got for being ten minutes late—again—was Mallory shooting Ben a glower and a collection of sighs when they entered the dining hall.

“Now that we’re all here,” Mallory’s words were cold, and Ben pulled Her a little further into his side on the bench. “Let’s get started. William?”

Butcher grinned around the table, a smug smirk on his face. “You cunts ready to hear the first good news you’ve gotten in a year?” 

“Good news?” Hughie frowned. “Did we find some V?”

“Guess again, lad.“

The French Prick leaned across the table. “Madame Sage has made an error?”

“Sage doesn’t make errors,” A-Train muttered. “It’s probably more about Vought, a lead or some shit.“

“Still ain’t it, mate. Anyone want to take a shot-“

“Butcher,” MM grunted, running a hand over his face. “Just fucking tell them, you asshole.”

“You really take all the bloody joy out of life, MM.” Butcher hands slid in his pockets, pretending not to see MM flip him off as he continued. “The one and only cunt in charge agreed to meet with us. Said he wants us in DC by tomorrow afternoon, gave us a fuckin travel fund and everything.” 

“In DC?” She narrowed her eyes at Butcher, and Ben felt her tense under his arm. “That’s a four hour drive away, and we can’t all go-“

“Most of you won’t be going,” Mallory snapped. “You and A-Train are at a security risk if you leave the compound, William has to stay with Ryan, and Campbell has some work to do.”

Hughie blinked. “I do?”

“Ah, that may be my fault petite Hughie.” Frenchie shrugged. “I requested that the A-Train provide access to Vought’s supe files. I will need your aid in retrieving them through the computers.” 

Hughie nodded slowly, looking back to Mallory. “Does that mean it’s just Annie and MM?”

“Blood good deduction, Lad, but you forgot about Soldier Boy.”

Everyone looked at Ben, and he froze as Her heartbeat picked up. “The fuck you mean he forgot.” 

“You’re goin’ on a field trip, Gov.” Butcher winked. “I’ll pack you some applesauce for the road, and make sure you take a piss before you get in the car.” 

She swallowed, glancing between Ben and Butcher, and her words were far too fucking soft. “How long will they be gone?” 

“About a day,” Annie sighed. “We’re leaving around 7am tomorrow, and after the meeting with Singer we’re going to have to wait for a transportation clearance, which probably won’t come until morning.”

“Transportation clearance?” Hughie gave Annie a confused look. “Can’t you just take Butcher’s car?”

“Nope.” MM shook his head. “Sage has got records of Butcher’s car. We’re taking an FBSA escort there, and a CIA escort back.”

“But,” She was still so fucking quiet. “Why will you have to wait for morning?”

“Route approval,” MM muttered. “Bunch of fucking security shit, and the motherfuckers at the CIA move slow. Annie’s right, it’ll probably take us a day to get there, do the meeting, and get back.”

“Why the fuck do I have to go,” Ben hissed. This was a fucking stupid idea, he didn’t need to be there. He didn’t need to be anywhere without Her, and he sure as hell wasn’t fucking leaving her. “I’m not going to be doing the actual damn pitch, and Singer can eat my fucking balls if he thinks I’m going to brownnose him to get the V-“ 

“He specifically requested your presence, Gov.” Butcher shrugged. “Didn’t say why, but I’m sure it’s your sparkling fuckin personality.” 

“Shut the fuck up you pussy, I’m not going anywhere-“ 

“Was it a condition?” She was looking between Butcher and MM, fingers tapping on the table. “Did Singer request Ben, or demand him?”

MM sighed. “Demand. We don’t bring Soldier Boy, they won’t let us in the door.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “You’ve got all the information for the pitch?”

Annie and MM started rattling off all the details She’d given them about the V, and her face was so fucking tired. She wasn’t looking at Ben, but her body was all but falling into his, her eyes were far away, and her breathing was fucking mechanical again.

He squeezed her shoulder, glaring down at Her until she glanced at him. I am not fucking going to DC. 

Yes. You are. She gave him a small, empty smile. You have to, Ben. Please. 

He shook his head. No. I am not fucking leaving you for a day just because Singer’s a fucking pussy who thinks he can make demands.

I’ll be okay, She pressed her knee to Ben’s, and he didn’t fucking believe her. It’s only a day, Pretty Boy. I’ll survive. 

She would survive. She was strong as fucking hell, and she’d survive one goddamn day without Ben. It was him that wouldn’t make it one hour away without going fucking sick with worry that she was in danger, or alone, or breaking and he wasn’t there to help. I don’t give a fuck. I’m not fucking leaving. 

If you don’t, we won’t get the V. She sighed. We have phones, Pretty Boy. You can text me, and I’m not going anywhere.

Ben scowled. Swear that if you need me home you’ll tell me.

She was giving him that look again. There was something fucking confused behind her gaze, like she hadn’t understood his words. But She nodded, Promise, and turned back to the table.

Ben was going to have to go. He had not fucking interest in going, but She was asking him to, so he would. This could get them a step closer to killing Homelander—to making Her fucking safe and Ben being able to say he loved her—so he would. He spent the rest of the meeting glowering at everyone and holding Her tighter, making sure she knew he was in no way a fucking fan of this bullshit, but didn’t keep arguing.

It would be fine. He’d survive one fucking day without Her. She’d be home and safe, and he wasn’t so fucking pathetic that he’d whine and moan like a pussy without her there. Then he’d come home and kiss Her, and beat Homelander’s fucking brains in, and find them the next boat to Rome.

After the meeting, they ate dinner with the team. It was tense, with everyone a little quieter than usual and focused mostly on their food, so Ben watched Her. He’d already memorized every single fucking thing about Her, but he never got tired of just watching her. She was so fucking beautiful, smiling at Ryan when he arrived, resting her head on Ben’s shoulder when she finished eating, signing with Kimiko about something that made her giggle—light and joyful, the best fucking sound in the world—and looking up at Ben when Kimiko turned back to Hughie.

Are you ready to go?

Ben had been ready to go for a damn hour, and he didn’t waste another fucking second before nodding, pulling Her up with him, and turning to the door.

She made a small sound of surprise, and Ben waited for her to be all fucking kind and polite—bidding the team goodnight and hugging Ryan—before tugging her back to his side and out into the hall. 

“Are you okay?”

He frowned down at Her as they walked back to their apartment. “What.” 

“I know you don’t want to go to DC, but-“ 

“I’ll fucking manage,” he grunted. He wouldn’t, this was going to be fucking horrible, but She didn’t need more shit to worry about. “And you’ll text me.” 

“I will,” she mumbled, pressing Her face into Ben’s side and letting him guide their steps. “Thank you for doing this.” 

Ben sighed. “Don’t.” It’s for you, Sunshine. I’d fucking do anything for you.

“But I am,” he could feel Her smile into his side. “Thank you.” 

He didn’t push it. She was smiling, and he fucking loved Her, so Ben just opened the door to their apartment and sighed. “TV?”

She nodded, playing with the fabric of his shirt as they sat on the couch. “Your night to pick, Pretty Boy. Can I guess?”

“You’re fucking going to anyway-“

“It’s either the documentary about the Cuban Missile Crisis we didn’t finish, or the baseball game that’s on tonight.” 

Ben frowned. “How the hell do you know about the game?”

“I pay attention,” she smiled up at him, and he was going to fucking explode. “I like to know if I’ll be spending the night listening to you lose your fucking mind over some balls.”

“They’re not just some balls, Sunshine, it’s a staple of fucking America-“

“With balls.” 

Ben rolled his eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”

“No,” she reached for the remote, passing it to him with a grin. “And, for the record, my personal vote is for the game. It’s Red Sox versus Phillies, and I want to see you cry when Boston beats your ass.”

Ben snorted, and flipped through channels until he landed on the game. “Brat.”

“Cunt,” She wrapped her arms around his torso, resting her head on his chest. “I,” she sighed. “I adore you, Benjamin.” 

“I adore you too,” he muttered Her name, and she gave a small, content sound, relaxing further into his body. “You’re okay.” 

She hummed, looking backwards with that strange fucking warmth in her eyes. “I’m okay.”

Ben kissed Her, soft and easy, and didn’t believe a goddamn word she was saying. They did this every fucking night, and he knew how it would end. He’d spend the whole time swallowing shouts of I love you, and she’d almost fall asleep against him. So fucking beautiful, so fucking tired, and Ben would keep trying to figure out how to just fix this shit. To find something he could say to Her that would make her tell him how to make this better. He couldn’t touch Her, she’d break. He couldn’t tell Her he loved her, this wasn’t about him. But She had to be happy, and Ben wasn’t going to fucking rest until he figured out how to make her totally and completely happy.

Here, in the glow of the TV, was a place she was happy. With Ben holding Her tight and tracing patterns on her skin, her face was peaceful and her heart was steady. He was pretty fucking sure she’d been happy, in the gun range. But then She’d broken, and Ben was never going to allow it to get any worse. She was still happy, most of the time, but she wasn’t touching him. Wasn’t trying to take more.

So he’d keep waiting until he got his fucking act together and figured out a way to tell her properly, or until She told him to touch her again. Until Ben knew how to make the happiness stay, and stop it from fleeing in the dark.

Ben felt a tug on his hand, and looked down to see her turning his fingers between her own, not meeting his eyes as she spoke. “Can you-“

He didn’t wait for Her to finish. She was quiet and nervous, and she looked so fucking exhausted, and the stupid game didn’t matter even a fraction as much as she did. Ben knew what she was asking, so he picked her up and carried her upstairs to the bathroom.

She was still crying in the shower. Steam would choke the room as she turned the water up to boil—She’d refused to let Ben fix the ceiling fan, so now the whole apartment grew humid every night—and Ben had been forced to hear Her heart race, hear the quiet, choking sobs shake her body, before he’d break into the bathroom and could hold Her until she was breathing again. After three nights in a row, he’d just started showering with her. Every night Ben set her down on the bathroom floor, stripped his clothes, and pulled her carefully with him into the water. She didn’t cry when they did it like this. When Ben stood a step back while she used all her fucking hair shit, and held Her against his bare chest when she looked at him with a silent plea to do so. When she was done, he helped dry her off, then carried her to bed. Set Her down carefully, go back to the bathroom to brush his teeth—keeping an ear on her heart as she shuffled around the room—and climb into bed himself. Nothing more. Not until She was ready, and Ben couldn’t break her by touching her.

He’d developed a daydream. Ben loved Her so fucking much he’d started to fantasize, late in the night when she was content and peaceful against him—before the fire and screaming began—about if she did love him. About a perfect world where She blinked her eyes open, sat up on Ben’s chest, and smiled down at him as she held his face and played with the hair of his beard. Where she leaned down and kissed him gently, murmured that she loved him, that she was Ben’s the same way he was Her’s, and he believed Her. He looked at the joy on her face, believed that she was okay, and did everything. He’d do everything for her, to her, with her. Everything she asked or needed or wanted, Ben would do.

In the daydream, it was what Ben wanted as well. In his head he’d grin at Her, flip her on her back, and take control. Make her feel so fucking good, make her moan and writhe under him, give Her one place in her life where she didn’t have to do any work. Then they’d kill Homelander together—maybe he’d just fucking drop dead the next morning—and leave this stupid fucking life forever. He’d carry Her to Rome, and buy her a house with the money they earned from her excellent fucking escort business, and fuck her on every surface available to him. He’d tell Her he loved her every other sentence, and she’d smile at him, and Ben would ask Her to marry him. He’d just walk into the room, grab her and say I love you, Sunshine, and you should marry me. I’ll fucking treat you like a Queen, because you’re perfect and I love you. She’d giggle, and tell him that he already did treat her like a queen—because he would, no matter what Ben’s whole life after this was going to be about fucking her like she deserved and making her happy—but still agree to marry him. They wouldn’t bother with the fucking dramatics of a wedding, it would be quick fucking work with the most goddamn romanic vows in history and then a kiss that quickly turned into Ben fucking his wife stupid. He’d make sure she smiled all the goddamn time, and then—at least in the fantasy—he’d fuck her full of babies. Homelander would be dead—fucking burned or dumped in the ocean or buried a thousand feet under—and She’d tell Ben she trusted him and loved him and wanted a family with him, so he’d give her that.

It would have to wait until after Homelander was dead. Ben knew Her, he knew she’d need a little more time to be ready for that, but—in this perfect world—she one day would be. In this perfect world She’d never be afraid again, and she’d cry about whatever normal people cried about, and Ben would make her feel safe enough to have a family. Ryan would visit them, that was obvious. Annie, Hughie, Kimiko, and MM would as well, because that would make Her feel even more loved. Even Butcher had somehow worked himself into this, and was at occasional dinners when they went back to New York to visit Violet. The only people that wouldn’t be allowed near them were Mallory and her mother.

It would be fucking perfect. She’d wake up next to him, and he’d surround Her with evidence of his love for her. He’d kiss her at every chance, and tell her he loved her wherever he could work it into the conversation. He’d let her boss him around all fucking day, and the moment the door closed behind them at night Ben would lock it and drag her into their bed. He’d fuck Her stupid, and she’d give him a blissful, happy smile, and that would be their whole fucking lives. Happy. Just fucking happy.

The most Ben indulged in these thoughts was when She was truly, fully passed out. When Her breathing was slow and her heartbeat was even, Ben would tell her in the dark. When he was certain she couldn’t hear, Ben would mutter to her all the ways he’d make her happy. How much he loved her, how she was so fucking beautiful and perfect and he’d never stop waiting for Her, because if there was even a goddamn chance his stupid fucking fantasy could be real he’d take it. She was worth waiting for. Ben loved Her, and one day he’d figure out how to make himself worthy of being loved by Her. 

It’s how he spent every night now. Waiting for when she woke up in flames again, holding Her until she fell back under, and tracing his hands over her face until it was peaceful and all the tears were wiped away. Usually he’d fall asleep himself, savoring in the feel of Her body against his and the sound of her heartbeat, but tonight he couldn’t. Tonight all he managed to do was fucking watch Her in his arms, and try not to think about how he wouldn’t be at her side tomorrow night.

Then, as light began to leak through the windows, Ben’s phone rang.

It was an unknown number. She’d told him not to answer those, because if it’s not spam they’ll leave a voicemail, and if it is spam you’ll be telling them you’re an active number and you’ll get more calls. He didn’t fucking understand what that meant—She’d definitely tried to explain, and Ben had definitely gotten distracted by how her tits squished together when she crossed her arms—but She was always right about this shit, so Ben ignored it.

Barely thirty seconds passed before it rang again. Ben flipped the screen over, because there wasn’t a fucking chance in hell he was letting this wake Her up.

It rang a third time. And fourth. By the fifth, Ben was going to fucking smash his phone.

He couldn’t smash his phone. He was leaving in the morning, and if he smashed his phone he wouldn’t be able to text her.

On the sixth, Ben scooted carefully to sit against the headboard, made sure she was still comfortably asleep with Her head in his lap, and picked up the goddamn call.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” he hissed, keeping a careful ear on her heartbeat against him. “But if you call me one more time I’ll fine you, cut off your fingers, and shove them up your fucking asshole.” 

“Charming as always, Soldier Boy.” Stan Edgar's voice was clipped and bored, barely muffled by the static of the receiver. “But I don’t believe that’s a way to talk to an old friend.”

Ben froze, and the glass of the screen cracked in his grip. “How the fuck did you get my number.”

“I have my methods, but you shouldn’t concern yourself with them. I’d imagine you have bigger things to worry about.”

Ben glanced down at Her, daylight starting to dance across her face. He didn’t have time to entertain Edgar’s weird, underhanded fucking bullshit. “If you know I have other shit to worry about, why the fuck are you calling me.”

“I’d like to catch up. Surely, even within the chaos, you have enough time to pay me a visit.”

“I’m good. Too long a drive just to talk to an old fucking asshole.”

“As far as I recall,” Edgar hummed. “I am forty years your junior. And it is not only you I wish to see, so it is not your call alone to make.”

“If you don’t stop speaking in cryptic fucking bullshit-“

Edgar said Her name, and Ben's heart stopped. For a split second there was a ringing sound in his ears, and he couldn’t fucking breathe. He missed the rest of Edgars sentence.

There was a second of silence on the phone, and Edgar cleared his throat. 

“Do you care to respond-“

“You’re not getting anywhere fucking near her,” Ben’s had, unconsciously, pulled Her closer. “I don’t care about our deal, she’s staying the fuck out of it.”

“Luckily, this is not within the confines of our deal. It is simply a request for some company, along with an invitation for a plus one.”

“I know how you fucking work shit, Edgar,” Ben watched Her shift slightly, and lowered his voice. “You can shove your request right up your tiny fucking dickhole, and swallow your own fucking cum when you beat your meat to get it back.”

Edgar chuckled. “I always forget how… poetic you are, Benjamin. In a better life, you were a mediocre reality television writer.”

“Call me Benjamin again, and I’ll drive upstate just to cut out your fucking tongue.” Nobody but Her was allowed to call him Benjamin. She always said it with some sort of unyielding care, no matter how angry her tone was. She said it right, in a way Ben hadn’t known was the correct way to say it until she’d grinned at him and said Benjamin, I give a shit about you. I adore you. I want you. Edgar said it like he was scolding a fucking child. Ben wasn’t a fucking child.

Edgar might have some sort of fucking chip in Ben’s brain, because his next words were amused, confident, and exactly what Ben had been thinking about. “Ah, I’d imagine that strikes a certain nerve, given the nature of your relationship with the only other person who addresses you as such.”

“You watch your fucking mouth-“

“It amuses me how oblivious you have grown to be. It may be the old age, but you have become downright unobservant.”

Ben scowled, and She rolled over against him, burying her face in his stomach. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re implying, Edgar, but if you called just to make pussy fucking request, then my answer is no and we’re done.”

“Is she with you?”

She hummed against Ben’s body, and he ran his free hand through her hair. “No.”

“I am afraid that I don’t believe you.” 

“Then that’s real fucking shitty for you-“

“Ben.”

He froze, and looked down to find Her rubbing her eyes open, a fucking adorable frown on her face as she watched him. He didn’t know how to mute the call, so Ben held the phone high above his head and lowered his voice to hardly fucking audible. “Go back to sleep, Sunshine.”

She shook her head, slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Early. Lie the hell down-“

“Who are you talking to?”

“We’re fucking talking-“

She gave him a flat look. “On the phone.”

He could lie. He could say it was Annie or Hughie or Ryan or Butcher, but she wouldn’t believe him—none of them called Ben, and only Ryan really texted him—and Ben had hit a very fucking annoying point where he was physically incapable of lying to Her. “Edgar. Go to bed.”

All the lingering sleep vanished from her eyes in a second, growing sharp in a way that would turn Ben on if this wasn’t so serious. “Why the fuck is Edgar calling you.”

“I’ll tell you in the morning-“

“Tell me now.”

He glared at Her. “You need rest-“

“Benjamin,” She hissed. “I am not going to get any rest while I know Stan Edgar is on the phone. Not when you still fucking owe him. Tell me what he wants, or I’ll grab the phone and ask him myself.”

“You can listen, and I’ll tell you-“ She started half climbing up Ben’s chest to try and grab the phone, and he snorted. “Fucking Christ woman, you know I could just sit on you and you’d have to wait.”

“You won’t though,” She muttered, trying to drag Ben’s arm down to where she could reach his hand. “Pussy.”

This was serious. This was really fucking serious, because Edgar was a genuine threat and now wanted Ben to walk Her right into his fucking lair. This was goddamn serious, because Ben wasn’t going to allow his shitty fucking decisions and deals that he’d made to protect Her in the first place put her in harms way.

It was incredibly fucking serious, and Ben need to get his head out of the gutter about how her hips were wiggling on his chest and her angry Benjamin, I’m going to kick your ass face was still beautiful. He needed to stop thinking about how she was the most amazing person he’d ever met, and about how much he loved Her, because it was making him fucking pathetic.

“If I give you the damn phone,” Ben grunted, and she paused to look down at him. “You have to put it on that speaker shit and calm the hell down.”

She nodded quickly, reaching her hand down to his eye level. “Deal.”

He was supposed to shake Her hand. She wanted Ben to shake her hand. But he was using one hand to hold the phone, and his other hand had developed a mind that was governed by Ben’s impulse of love Her, touch Her, take care of Her, and had wandered up to hold her steady on her waist. She hadn’t tried to move it—she was fucking leaning back into it—so there wasn’t a chance in fucking hell Ben was taking it away himself.

Ben handed her the phone, and tried not to act too fucking in love with Her as she slid down his body, holding his gaze the whole time. She hit a button on the screen, gave him a look that said you’re learning how to do this yourself later, Pretty Boy, and took a deep breath before she spoke.

“Edgar, why the fuck are you calling us at,” She glanced down at the phone. “6am?”

“So you are here,” Edgar’s voice was delighted. Ben wanted to smash the phone. “How delightful to speak to you again, it truly has been far too long.”

“And here I was, going to ask you to never fucking speak to me again.” She drawled. “I don’t think our relationship is as serious as you thought it was.”

“I’m wounded,” Edgar said Her name, and it sounded fucking wrong. “I thought we had a connection.”

“If by connection you mean you made me fight a bunch of man-eating sheep and I didn’t manage to kill you and make it look like an accident, then yeah. Sure.”

“Ouch,” Edgar chuckled. “I’d think you have much to thank me for. Would you have ever woken up our dear Benjamin without my advice?” 

Ben could see the flash of anger in Her eyes. Whatever careful game she’d been playing with Edgar ended, even as her tone remained bored. “I like to think I’d gotten there myself eventually. Tell me why you’re calling.”

“As I was telling your companion, I’m inviting you both to lunch.”

She looked up at Ben with a frown. Lunch? 

Pussy didn’t mention lunch. Said he wanted us to visit, and I wasn’t promised any fucking food.

Her nose wrinkled, you are shockingly literal sometimes, Pretty Boy, and her attention turned back to the phone. “Is this an invitation to lunch, or a you owe me lunch.”

There was a brief second of silence before Edgar answered. “Interesting. I didn’t expect you to be aware of our little arrangement.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

Edgar sighed through the speaker. “It is an invitation. There will be talk of the favor, but I’ve grown lonely. I think I’d enjoy the company.”

Ben scowled. “You can shove your company up your fucking ass-“

“Edgar,” She cut him off with a glare, and her voice was softer than Ben’s as she spoke, words slow and her brow drawn. “If you already have a favor picked out, why should we entertain you? Wouldn’t it be simpler to just tell us?”

She kept saying us. She kept talking about Ben as one with her, and if she didn’t stop soon he’d tell her he loved her right fucking now, with Edgar still on the phone.

“You are a truly phenomenal woman,” Edgar said Her name again, and Ben’s skin started to crawl. “There is not much that escapes you. I understand how Soldier Boy became so taken with you.”

“Yeah, I’m a real marvel of humanity.” Ben didn’t fucking love the way she said that, dry and monotone, like she fucking wasn’t. “Tell us what you want, Edgar.”

“Well, it helps if you think of this as a karmic act. If you are truly set on not making the short drive to speak in person, then I’ll cash in my IOU and that will be all. If you can find it in your heart and schedule to visit a lonely old man, then I might find myself in a better mood.” 

She frowned. “A better mood? You want to be a little less of a cryptic bridge troll and a little more of a normal person?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to see me in person to see the extent of my generosity.” 

“You can keep your fucking riddles in the dark, pathetic fucking hole you crawled out of-“

“Can we have a few days?”

Ben stared at Her. What the fuck are you doing.

We need to run this past the team.

We don’t need to run fucking shit past them, because we’re not going.

She sighed. I think we should. He can’t hurt us, and he knows a lot. Whatever generosity he’s talking about might help us.

“I can wait a day or two, if it would aid you in coming to the correct conclusion-“

“Great,” She cut Edgar off. “Mallory will call you. Don’t call us again.” She paused, glaring at the phone. “Bitch.” And hung up.

“There’s not a chance in fucking hell-“

“Please think about it.” She dropped his phone, holding his face between her hands. “We can wait to talk to everyone about it until after you get back home. Just really think about it.”

His answer was no. There was not a single universe where Ben was going to agree to put Her in danger like that. For something so fucking pointless, when she couldn’t fucking sleep through the night without losing her goddamn mind. The more he thought about it the more Ben was certain that this was simple fucking no. He would deal with this himself, and she’d stay far, far the fuck away from its line of fire.

But She was so pretty. She was watching him with a sharp gaze, and there was hair across her eyes that Ben wanted to move away, and her hands on his cheeks and jaw were warm. They fit fucking perfectly on his face, because She fit fucking perfectly against every part of him. Ben loved Her, and it was really making him a goddamn pushover. But it was worth it. It was really fucking worth it, because when he grunted and gave her a small nod, Her whole face lit up and she leaned in to give him one, soft, gentle kiss.

Ben was tired. Later, when he knew he was going to have to justify this to himself, he was going to remind himself over and over that he was tired. He’d been up all night worrying about Her, and so nobody could say a fucking word about it because all his resolve had been poured into care for Her, and his decsion making had been bound to take a hit. Ben was fucking exhausted, and that’s why when She squirmed slightly on his lap and teased her tongue along his lips, Ben let his control snap and flipped her over.

They’d made out since the gun range. They never stopped making out, and Ben was pretty sure that—if work and food and breathing and all that other pointless shit weren’t obstacles—he’d been happy spending the rest of goddamn time making out with Her. Pulling her up to his side on the couch, leaning over her in the hall, tugging her between his legs at the table.

This wasn’t making out. This was fucking eating each other. Ben was bruising Her mouth, biting her lips and running his tongue along her teeth, letting how her hands clawed at his back and pulled at his hair spur him on. Letting himself push her deeper into the mattress, using a free hand to grab and squeeze her ass as she wrapped her legs around his torso. She made a high, whining sound that sent something electric through Ben’s blood, so he did it again and let himself groan when she started to grind up into him. His knee ended up shoved between her legs, and when her head threw back Ben trailed his mouth across her cheek and down her neck, leaving wet open kisses and dropping his hips onto hers in an attempt to not rut against Her. It was all mindless and hungry and so fucking natural. This was where Ben was supposed to be. Above Her, against her, touching her and caring for her and taking every moan in his ear as fucking testament to how this was love. He fucking loved Her, and there was even the tiniest goddamn chance she’d love him back he’d stay right fucking here.

He stopped because he had to. Because if he kept going and She kept making perfect, musical sounds, he’d tell Her. Ben had already risen back up to her face, letting her pull his tongue between her teeth and growling into her mouth, only a second away from just telling her. From muttering I fucking love you down her throat and letting her swallow the words with another whimper. So Ben had to pull away, let her heavy breath trade with his, and just fucking pull himself together. Ignore his less than helpful dick and heart trying to control his body and only hold her gently. Trace soft, light hands over the parts of her body he was allowed to touch, and tell her he loved her like that. 

“Ben,” Her voice was a whisper, and when he opened his eyes hers were still closed. Her mouth was parted and swollen—he’d fucking done that, it was evidence of how much he fucking adored her—and her hands had stilled in his hair. She was so fucking beautiful, with the morning light on her face and her whole body relaxed, it might drive Ben insane. “I,” She took a long, unsteady breath. “I really, really adore you.”

He kissed Her again, and a long sound of content hummed from her chest. Ben moved up, kissing along the bridge of her nose, between her eyes, and on her brow. “I know,” he grunted against her skin. “MM and Annie will be able to handle Singer their fucking selves, it’s not like anyone’s going to like what I have to say-“

“Please don’t tell Singer to eat his balls or suck your dick.” Her voice was bored, but when she looked up at Ben there was a light behind her eyes that made his whole body relax. “It’s not very diplomatic.” 

“I don’t give a fuck about diplomacy,” he muttered. “If Singer wasn’t such a fucking uptight pussy he’d just take our fucking word and give us the V.” 

“And you can tell him that after we get the V. Until then you’re going to have to pretend to not want to kill him.” She paused, voice growing soft. “Please, Ben. Just try.” 

He sighed, searching Her face for any excuse. Anything that he could point to and say here’s why I should fucking stay. Here’s a goddamn solid reason that I don’t have to fucking leave you. Something you won’t be able to argue with me about, something you won’t even try to argue with me about.

There was only one. And Ben wasn’t allowed to say it. He had to swallow his only plea of let me fucking stay and care for and love you because I’m going to go fucking mad with worry, because you’re not okay and I can’t help but fuck me if I’m not going to try and nod. He had to sit in the silence, still touching her, always touching her, and keep himself from giving more. Then he had to fucking stand up, and get ready. She made him shower—Ben made her keep the door open—and when he exited the bathroom she pushed past him with a large plastic bag in her hands.

“What the fuck are you-“ 

“You need toiletries,” She didn’t look over to Ben, still in the door, as she gathered his toothbrush and shampoo into the bag. “And I’m not letting you anywhere near hotel hair products.” 

Ben turned to look back at the bed with a frown, and there was an open suitcase on the mattress full of half-folded clothing and his supe suit, a shirt and pair of pants set out for Ben to change into. When she came up to Ben's side, her voice was nervous. “I, um, you’re not good at packing. So-“

He grinned down at Her, reaching up to grab her chin and kiss her once, sweet and easy and fuck she felt perfect against him. One of Her hands reached up to grab Ben’s wrist and keep him there, and her feet shuffled to bring her further against him, tucking into his side. When Ben pulled back her eyes were wide, and there was a little of Ben’s saliva still on her lip. When his thumb moved to swipe it away, her heartbeat stuttered slightly, and Ben loved her.

“Where the fuck did you get a suitcase from?” 

“My ass.”

 He snorted, and a smile started to cross Her mouth. “Brat.” 

“Cunt.” 

Ben leaned down, careful not to drop his towel from around his waist as his hand moved to hold the back of her head. “Thank you, beautiful.”

“I couldn’t get your shield in there,” she whispered. “Why the fuck is it so heavy.” 

He chuckled. “That’s kind of the damn point. And I can just fucking carry it, I think I’ll fucking live.” 

She nodded slowly, gaze dropping down to Ben’s bare chest, and he felt his hand tense against her. She was fucking gaping at him, and her heart was getting faster, and fuck if she kept looking Ben with all that thirst and want he wouldn’t make it out the door- 

“You should, uh, get dressed.” Her voice was breathless, and her grip on Ben’s wrist was growing tight. “You need to go soon.” 

Ben kissed her nose, and stood up. He changed as she finished packing and put on the coffee—Ben ended up with a travel mug shoved into his hand—and they walked to the elevator with Her leaning into his side and Ben’s free arm over her shoulders.

They weren’t getting a send off. MM was waiting against the wall, flipping through a binder of Her plan with a backpack at his side, and Annie was nowhere in sight.

MM looked up when they stopped in the hall, giving Ben a short nod before turning to Her. “We’ll text you after the meeting. Shoot me a message if you need to add anything to this.” He tapped the binder, and she nodded.

“Where’s Annie-“

“Downstairs with transport. I was just waiting for Soldier Boy’s slow ass so we can get moving.”

Ben scowled. “It’s 7:55, we’re not even fucking late-“

“Doesn’t change that you’re the last motherfucker here.” MM shrugged, glancing back Her and saying her name a lot fucking nicer than he ever said Soldier Boy. “I can give you a minute, if you want-“

“Yes, please.” She moved in front of Ben, watching him carefully as she spoke. “Ready?” 

“No.”

“Ben, please-“

“I’ll do this, but I’m not going to pretend I fucking want to-“ Ben cut himself off as she wrapped her arms around his torso, squeezing him with her face pressed against his body. Ben’s arms flew up without a thought, holding Her as close as he could, and he sat in the sound of her heartbeat.

“I’ll miss you,” She mumbled into his chest. “Be safe.”

“I haven’t left yet, I can still fucking stay-“ 

“No,” she sighed. “You can’t. But you’ll be home soon, and I’ll be here.”

“You’ll be here.” Ben was repeating it to remind himself. To make his body fucking listen to him, and use his goddamn sense to know that she’d be right fucking here when he got home. Still safe. Ben being gone for one fucking day wouldn’t put her in danger, she was a whole lot stronger than that. “Text me.” 

She smiled against him. “You know how to text, grandpa?”

“If I don’t, you have no one to blame but your damn self, Sunshine.” Ben pulled back to look at Her, and his breath hitched a little when she smiled up at him. “I think I’ll fucking figure it out.”

“If not, you can always use text to speech-“

“He is not allowed to use text to speech,” MM snapped, having suddenly fucking appeared beside Ben. “I do not want to hear whatever horny shit this motherfucker is going to text you.”

Ben scowled. “I don’t even know what text to speech fucking is-“ 

“And you’re not going to learn.” MM glanced at Her. “We’ve got to go.” 

She swallowed, and looked back to Ben. “Don’t kill Singer. Maybe yell at him a little, but don’t kill him. Try not to kill anyone, but if you have to don’t make a mess. I put a playlist on your phone for the drive, but if you get bored you can text me because I’m probably not going to do anything all day. Stick to my pitch, and stay safe, and be careful about what you say because I don’t really trust anyone but us. And come home, Ben, please come home as soon as you can-“

He kissed Her, long and gentle and careful, because he was starting to worry she might make herself pass out or get the bright fucking idea to come with them. “Your faith in me,” he muttered Her name, running a thumb over her cheekbone. “Is fucking astounding.”

“I do have faith in you, I’m just nervous, we need this-“ 

“I know,” he sighed. “I’m going to get the V, because we need it, and then I’ll fucking walk back to Jersey if I have to. I’d be faster than the damn car anyway.” 

“Don’t do that,” She mumbled. “I don’t want to have to clean highway shit off your clothes.” 

Ben snorted, and she smiled up at him. So fucking perfect.

I love you. Ben put it all over his face. He allowed all his adoration and affection and care for Her into his eyes, let his jaw relax and his mouth smile just enough to tell her. I fucking love you, Sunshine, and I’ll always come back. Nothing anyone does to me will ever make you lose me, because I’ll crawl out of any fucking hole or cave or lab or prison to get home to you. I love you. 

She didn’t understand, because she was blinking wordlessly at him, but this was better than just fucking leaving. Ben kissed the top of her head, and—because he was fucking pathetic and wasn’t masochistic enough to resist it—brushed his lips against hers. He smiled down at Her in one last, desperate fucking bid to make her understand, and used all the fucking strength he had to pull away and follow MM into the elevator.

They weren’t taking the Pussy Mobile, because it had finally fucking kicked it after the Believe Expo and was rotting away in a government junkyard like it fucking deserved. Instead, Mallory had stuffed Annie, Ben, and MM into a goddamn minivan. Agent No-Gun was standing next to Annie when Ben and MM arrived in the garage, and was saying bunch of shit about routes and safety that Ben didn’t fucking hear, because he was throwing his shield suitcase in the back and climbing into the van. There wasn’t a goddamn chance he was going to be stuck in a middle seat, listening to Annie sigh or MM fucking fidget for the four hour ride. 

To his surprise, nobody tried to stop Ben as he spread out across the back row. MM just glared at him and sat in the middle with a frown, and Annie gave him a small smile, leaning over her seat as Agent No-Gun turned on the engine. 

Annie started to say a bunch of shit Ben didn’t hear—he was focused on his phone, trying to remember what the fuck a playlist was and how to access it—before mentioning Her name and making him look up with a frown.

“What the fuck are you saying?” 

“Is she okay?” Annie sighed, watching Ben carefully. “She’s been a little, um, weird the past week. I’m not sure if the media is still getting to her, or something else that she doesn’t want to tell us about-“ 

“She’ll be okay,” Ben snapped. She wasn’t okay, but she would be. It might take a whole fucking lifetime, but Ben would stand with her the whole way. And he might not actively think of Annie as an annoying, whiny fucking bitch anymore, but she still didn’t get to know about the gun range, or the showers, or the nightmares. If She hadn’t told Annie about that shit, then Ben wouldn’t. His loyalty was with Her, and not a single goddamn place else. “I’m taking care of her.”

Annie’s voice was shockingly gentle. “I don’t think you’re not, Soldier Boy. I just wanted to know if I could help.” 

Ben paused, narrowing his eyes at her. MM was still silent in his seat, and they had begun to pull out of the garage, but Annie’s eyes weren’t moving from Ben’s. Her heart was only a little above where it might usually be, and her face was genuine, so Ben grunted, “how the fuck would you help.”

Annie shrugged. “I’m asking you for a reason. You know her better than I do, I mean, you’re in love with her-“

MM slapped Annie on the shoulder, and her mouth snapped closed.

“How the fuck did you know that.” Ben hissed, body growing rigid. “I haven’t fucking told anyone-“ 

“Oh, you’re,” Annie blinked at him. “Sorry, I just thought you’d deny it.” 

“How the fucking hell did you know-“ 

“It’s kind of obvious-“

“Annie,” MM grunted, glancing back at Ben. “We all fucking agreed-“

“The fuck are you talking about, you all agreed.” Ben paused, looking between Annie and MM’s tight expressions. “Who else fucking knows.”

“Hughie, Butcher-“

“Annie-“

“Come on.” Annie rolled her eyes. “Do you really want to be stuck in the car with him for four hours without answering his questions?”

MM scowled, but fell silent as Annie continued.

“Frenchie, Kimiko, and A-Train-“

“Fucking A-train-“

“He asked us what the hell was going on between you two.” MM muttered, shooting Annie a harsh look that made her sigh and nod. “And we told him.” 

“Mallory doesn’t know,” Annie added. “But I think she’s guessed.” 

Ben glared between them. “How.”

“You aren’t exactly subtle, asshole.” MM gave Ben another look he didn’t fucking understand. “We’d have to be fucking deaf and blind to miss it.” 

“We kind of all put it together separately,” Annie’s face was weary, watching Ben like he might start ripping their heads off their bodies. It wasn’t a totally unfounded fear, not if they kept their observant shit up. “For me it was the meeting with Edgar. Hughie said he got it after Neuman.”

Ben’s head whipped to MM. “What the fuck told you.”

MM ran a hand over his face, still glaring at Ben. “When you made her call her sister.”

All that shit was fucking months ago. A goddamn lifetime had passed since all of it, and Ben had only figured it out himself after the Believe Expo. They said it was obvious, but She hadn’t seemed to get whatever memo that every other fucker on their team had. She’d have brought it up, She’d had talked to him about, because subtlety wasn’t exactly her greatest strength. She’d have told Ben if she knew. 

“You pussies haven’t fucking-“ 

“Nobody’s told her,” MM was watching Ben carefully, and exchanged another fucking look with Annie. “That shit’s not our place.” 

Ben had a lot of other fucking questions. Why nobody had decided to maybe fucking say something to Ben about this. How often they talked about it behind his goddamn back. How it wasn’t their fucking place, not by a mile, but while they were having this dumb as fuck conversation, what were their opinions on Her loving Ben-

 Someone’s phone started ringing, cutting Ben from his thoughts. 

“It’s Mallory,” MM muttered, giving Ben one last look. “Don’t be a fucking ass about this. We’ve observed something, against our will I might add, and she doesn’t know. That’s it.”

MM picked up—Malloy was an impatient bitch who had to ask about an ETA she could pass on to Singer—and Annie looked like she was going to say something. Her mouth opened and closed like a damn fish twice, before just shaking her head and turning back to her seat.  

Ben’s phone buzzed in his hand before he could force Annie to contiune, and if his smile made him look like a fucking idiot when he saw Her face on his lockscreen, he looked downright moronic when he read the banner on the display.

When he’d gotten his phone, She’d entered her name into it. Just her name. No extra bullshit or annotations like the others, just her damn name. Ben hadn’t fucking stood for it. He’d tried to model his excellent revision after the other contacts, but the way to type a semi-colon was apparently a fucking secret that Ben wasn’t allowed to know, so he’d had to improvise. He’d deleted her name—you could wipe his memory and replace his brain, but some part of Ben would always fucking know her name, so he didn’t a fucking phone to tell him—and done the nickname and instructions.

2 messages from Sunshine, take care of.

Ben grinned, looking around the minivan to ensure nobody saw how fucking stupid he looked—although it might not matter anymore, since they were all apparently fucking invasive dickwads—and opened the messages.

You forgot your coffee.

There was a photo, a half-blurry picture of the mug She’d given Ben on their table. He wasn’t sure when it had left his hand between their apartment and the elevator, but it clearly wasn’t there now.

wut the fuckk am i sopossed to do abut it now 

Ben turned his phone over, and it was a few seconds before it buzzed again.

Are you going to make any effort to spell?

He swallowed a chuckle. no

Please?

no

I can just not text you. That option is very much on the table.

u textd me firs

Ben paused, then added, i havnt beeen gon a fuckinh hour

Her response was immediate and Ben wasn’t sure how she typed so fucking fast. Shut up, or I’ll dye all your clothing pink and tape over all your baseball games while you’re gone.

do nut do that i havnet fuckingg watched thwm

If you make a modicum of an attempt to type in a way I can decipher, I won’t.

Ben rolled his eyes, and typed a little slower. whats a modicum. is it jizz

No, you horny ass. It means a small amount.

like modicome

That’s the exact same word, you just can’t fucking spell. 

brat 

You love it, cunt. And I don’t know why you even record the games, we can just stream them.

i dont trust the stream to be fucking right

Right??? About what?

game. its the principl Sunshine.

It’s a stupid principle. An old man principle. There was a pause, three tiny bubbles popping in and out of Ben’s screen, and then How’s the ride going? Has anyone killed anyone else?

Ben looked up at MM and Annie, still facing forward. no

Who’s driving?

lady suit

Ben didn’t get a response for almost a minute, and he’d just started to glare at the display when her message came through.

Do you mean Agent Cortez? The one you stole the gun from?

yes

That’s it?

u dont need two peopl to drive

I meant is that it for security.

apperently 

Apparently.

shit the fuck up

Gross.

Ben snorted, and decided that this could be enough. He was happy to spend four hours in this horrible fucking minivan, because She’d still be talking to him. Her voice had stopped following him around a few days after she’d gotten home—he hadn’t heard it in over a week—but he’d had the real Her at his side. The Her he could touch and tease and grin at, and who would match everything he threw at her in stride. The Her he was allowed to look at and think I fucking love you. He might not be able to touch Her like this—through the phone and over text—but he could still imagine her bright smile with every message and pretend she was at his side, telling him about her day. About how since Ben wasn’t home to train Ryan, they were going to eat lunch together in the apartment. About how she was cleaning out the fridge—asking if he wanted another two tubs of strawberry cream cheese, because they were down to one and he tore through them in a day—and whatever TV show she was watching without him. She rarely took more than a minute to respond, and Ben never fucking looked away from his phone, so the hours passed easily.

He hadn’t even noticed they’d parked until the doors of the car opened, and it grew suspiciously quiet as MM and Annie left their seats.

“Soldier Boy?” Annie poked her head back inside, and Ben nearly threw a headrest at her on instinct. “We’re here.”

Ben looked outside the door with a frown. He’d been to the White House, and this wasn’t fucking it. This was a loading dock. “Where the hell is here.”

“Hotel,” MM called from somewhere behind Annie. “We’ve got an hour until the actual meeting, and I am not fucking leaving my clothing in the car. You better start hauling ass, or we’ll leave you in the car.”

Ben rolled his eyes, but grabbed his phone, climbed over the middle row and out past Annie, and grabbed his suitcase before following Agent Cortez through a gray door and up too goddamn many flights of stairs for there not to be a fucking elevator.

He got his own room. It had a nice rug, and a bunch of fucking shit paintings, and a large bed that Ben would not fucking be sleeping in. The sheets were too cool, and there wasn’t an imprint of Her body on one side or the smell of her shampoo on the pillows, so Ben would maybe sit on it, but that would be the extent of its function. He didn’t bother to take his shit fully out the suitcase—tossing his current clothing on the bed in exchange for his supe suit—but did plug his phone in with the stupid little white wire, reading the last text She’d sent. 

Ryan wants to know your opinion on Frankenstein, if you’ve read it.

i had to read it in shcool. was ok. He paused, looking around the hotel room. we got to the hotel. fucking pussy singer is making us wait a hour.

Are you settled? Did you get to eat on the way? If not you should ask MM, he’ll probably have a plan for food.

As if he’d been fucking summoned, MM walked through the previously fucking locked door of Ben’s room.

“How the fuck did you get in-“

MM raised his hand, displaying a key card. “You settled? We want to go now, Singer might be able to see us early.”

Ben scowled. “Why do you get to just fucking walk in to my goddamn room.”

“Because I’m your fucking CO, and a hell of a lot more trustworthy. You’re only here because Singer’s nostalgic or some shit.”

“I’d go back right fucking now if you pussies don’t want me-“ 

“Nope.” MM looked around the room, frowning at the open suitcase before turning back to Ben. “You look fucking settled. Let’s go.”

Ben glanced back at his phone, sent her a quick text that they were going to the meeting, grabbed his shield, and followed MM back to the shitty fucking minivan.

Singer did not get them in early. They’d arrived at the White House—it looked the exact fucking same since Ben had been here last, expect with a fuck ton more computers—been sat in a random ass room with a table and paper cups of dogshit coffee, and waited for five goddamn hours. Right as Ben started to seriously consider standing up and just fucking finding Singer—they’d shoot him, he’d live, and everyone could go the fuck home—a lady in a gray skirt walked through the door and gestured for them to follow her. The did, into a room that looked the exact fucking same as the one they’d just fucking been in. The only difference was the five men and women in black suits and sunglasses, lining the walls around President Singer.

“Mr. President, Marvin Milk, Annie January, and,” the woman glanced at Ben with nervous eyes. “Soldier Boy are here.” 

“I can see that Millie.” Singer sighed, gesturing to the chairs across the table. “You three sit the hell down, you’re makin me feel like a jackass.”

MM nodded, and dropped across from Singer with Annie to one side and Ben—after receiving a sharp glare—to the other. 

“It’s good to see you again, Sir.” MM clasped his hands on the table, leaning forwards. “Thank you for meeting with us-“ 

“Don’t thank me yet.” Singer looked between them, eyes landing on Ben. “Soldier Boy, you look about how I expected.” 

Ben scowled. “Why the fuck were we waiting for five hours.” 

MM and Annie glared at him, MM’s mouth opening to probably tell Ben to shut the fuck up, but Singer chuckled.

“You should be lucky I’m entertaining this shit at all. Grace told me what you want, and I’ve got a few questions first.” 

Annie nodded. “What do you need to know?” 

Singer said Her full name, and Ben’s fists curled on the table. “She’s been making some risky fuckin gamble. Riskier than waking him,” Singer nodded to Ben. “Up. You willing to place all your bets on her willingness to play with fire?” 

Ben shouldn’t talk. She’d told him to be diplomatic, and if he opened his mouth he’d tell Singer to shove his dick in his mouth and eat Ben’s fucking asshole. So MM got to answer.

“It’s all paid off before,” MM’s words were short. Neutral. “She’s the one who got Neuman out of your hair, and kept your constituents from going full fucking team Homelander.” 

Singer hummed. “And what about the FBSA incident? I heard about how she got away from the tower, I’ve seen the footage of all those agents dropping down screamin. You think she’s stable enough to get back in the game?” 

“She’s gotten a,” Annie paused, frowning. “Handle on her powers. She’s not a danger to anyone, and she’s doing a lot of work.”

“That wasn’t my question.” Singer leaned back in his chair, flipping his phone in his hands. “She’s managed to make a real mess of the public. We need to get some sort of direction with where to take this. Get her back in front of a camera, on the record about those Homelander accusations.” Singer shot Annie a look. “And next time, I’d like to be kept in the loop before you pull a stunt like that.”

“It was the fucking truth.” Ben’s words were hissed through teeth, and he channeled all his vulgar threats at Singer into a violent glare. “And until you actually fucking pay us, we don’t need to tell you shit.”

Singer narrowed his eyes at Ben. “She needs to fix what she broke-“

“She doesn’t need to do a goddamn thing. You put a camera in her face, I’ll break it.”

The suits around Singer were tensing, hands dropping to their guns, but Singer just shook his head. “You know, I’ve heard the rumors about you two. Didn’t think they were entirely true, sorta wanted to see for myself, but I also didn’t think I’d spend my career cleaning up media messes.”

“With all due respect, sir, Soldier Boy’s not wrong.” MM let out a long breath. “She’s not a threat, but I wouldn’t put her back into the public eye yet. There’s no telling what Sage and Homelander have ready for that, and she just underwent some real fucked up shit. She’s the reason we’ve got Homelander in a stall, it’s not fucking worth the risk of sending her right back into that motherfuckers arm for some good press.”

Ben wasn’t going to let Homelander anywhere fucking near Her, but didn’t get chance to shout that before Singer was sighing, rubbing his chin as he spoke.

“I’m willin to keep her on the bench for now, but I ain’t sure we’re going to be able to hold Homelander off much longer. I got guys in congress saying they want him as my VP replacement, and I can’t keep kickin that can down the road.”

“That’s what we’re here to talk about.” Annie glanced at MM, waiting for his small nod to continue. “I understand Mallory told you what we’re here to request, and we wouldn’t be asking if we didn’t think it would work.”

“Mr. President, you know as well as we do that Homelander’s a threat to democracy.” MM’s words were careful, slow. “All we need is one shot. Just one vial of V, and we can finish this shit for good.”

Singer scoffed. “You people keep sayin this will be our shot. That French Asshole’s weapon against Neuman was supposed to be our shot. Edgar’s farm up in Maine was supposed to be out shot. Soldier Boy was supposed to be our shot. But Homelander’s still fuckin running around. What makes this shot any different.” 

“We’ve got the receipts to prove the V will put him under-“ 

“I’ve seen all your documents, Starlight.” Singer dismissed Annie with a hand, gaze falling to Ben. “Why ain’t you able to finish this, huh? Just fire at the laser eyed asshole, get it over with?”

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

“Sir,” MM interrupted Ben with a glare, and Ben rolled his eyes. “This is a delicate situation. The V is the easiest way to get it done without any unnecessary death or destruction. It’s all we’re asking for.”

“You think I can just snap my fingers and make it appear?” Singer snorted. “It ain’t that simple. That V is fuckin miles underground, and you’re lucky I’m even saying we have it. On the record, it was destroyed three damn years ago. There’s not a chance we’re just givin you some-“ 

“How fucking stupid are you,” Ben drawled, deciding to fully ignore the glowers and sneers of everyone in the room, or the clicks of guns. “That you think we’d give fuck about your records or obstacles. You want Homelander out of the picture to keep your cushy fucking pussy job, this is the damn way to do it. Either that, or you can try and hold that star-spangled dickfuck down yourself while I take the shot.”

The room was silent, and Ben could fucking feel Annie and MM’s glares. Singer himself didn’t look too pleased, and Ben didn’t even bother to try and give a fuck. Not when Singer took a long breath, glancing down at his phone, and relented.

“I’ll need approval from my defense secretary,” Singer muttered, still glaring at Ben. “And some sort of collateral if you idjits can’t do your fucking jobs again.”

“Your whole fucking country is collateral, you pussy headed motherfucker.” Ben stood up, grabbing his shield from beside his seat. “We’ll do our job, you do yours and get us that fucking V.” 

Ben marched out of the room, and waited just long enough for Annie and MM to scramble after him before following their previous path back to the minivan.

Nobody yelled at him about Singer. But it seemed less about Ben’s anger paying off, and more about a general distaste for the whole fucking situation. For how much of a bureaucratic ass Singer was being, not just doing what it took to kill Homelander. How all those pussies had to do was give them the V, far away from the actual fucking fight.

The ride back to the hotel was tense—Ben didn’t see why they couldn’t just fucking go home, but when he said as much all he got was a grunt about security from MM—and it was dark outside by the time they returned. When they got upstairs, Ben slammed his door with a mutter of night to Annie and MM, and dropped his shield on the floor with thoughtless clang as he stripped down.

He’d left his phone on the bed. It had made for a boring fucking five hours—he’d never fucking tell Her, but he’d read a book Annie had pulled from fucking nowhere in an attempt to entertain himself—and Ben turned on the screen the moment he crossed over to the mattress, reading 4 messages from Sunshine, take care of and swiping them open.

Good luck with Singer.

Try not to kill him.

Please tell me how it goes.

Make sure you get dinner.

Ben hadn’t eaten dinner. He’d get on MM’s ass about that later, after he texted her back.

singer is alive and talkig to cabnet for v

Her response was almost immediate. Oh, thank fuck. I’m proud of you, I really didn’t want to go on the lam. 

why would u be a lamb

ON the lam, Pretty Boy. It means running from the law.

the fuck would make u run from the law

Because people aren’t just going to let you kill the president. There would be consequences. 

Ben grinned at his phone. youd run from the governemnt for me

Don’t get too fucking smug. I’d beat your ass for MAKING me run from the government first. 

but u wouldd

I would. Did you eat?

did u fucking eat

I did. I had dinner with everyone. It was hotdog night.

u saved me a dog

Nope. We have hotdogs in the fridge, you can microwave one when you get home.

youre so fuckigg mean to me sunshine 

Fuck you. Just for that, I’m eating all the brownies Kimiko gave us.

whyd she give us brownies 

Technically, she gave ME brownies. I was going to share, but you’re being an asshole.

brat

Cunt. Did YOU eat?

Ben paused, and sighed to nobody. i will

That’s a no.

i didnt fucking say no i said i will

But you didn’t.

shut the fuck up

Go eat.

you cant fukcig make me

Please eat, Ben. You need to just as much as I.

why 

Because you’re a human person. Even with the V, human people need food.

ill eat the brownies when i get home

If you don’t promise me you’re going to go eat right now, there won’t be any brownies when you get home. I’ll give them to Butcher.

u woulndt

Wanna bet?

Ben scowled. i dont want to eat i want to talk

I’m going to bed, Pretty Boy. It’s late.

its ten

And I’m exhausted, we were up early and it’s been a long day.

what happpend

Worried about Edgar and Singer. Media is full of bitches.

ur oaky. Ben paused, starting to type out becaus ill come home right-

Her message came through. I’m fine. Promise me you’ll eat.

Ben glared at the phone, because he didn’t fucking believe her, but still deleted his offer and typed whatever

Ben.

swear it

Thank you. There was a beat, and then a second message. I miss you. Thank you for doing this.

i miss u ass well 

Another beat. I miss your ass as well.

Ben snorted. He fucking loved Her. go sleep sunshine

I’ll see you tomorrow?

u will or ill fucking run to jersey

Just steal a car. I know you can.

i thought I wasnt supposed too 

I’ll make an exception. Whatever gets you home.

ill be home toomorow. godnight beuaitufl

Ben put his phone down, fully dressing before walking down the hall to bang on MM’s door.

MM was glaring with bleary eyes when it swung open. “The hell you want?”

“Where the fuck do I get food.”

“Call hotel services, dumbass.” MM paused before closing the door, watching Ben with a tired, cautious expression. “You weren’t total fucking shit with Singer. And Mallory says they’ll have us on the road by 7am tomorrow. Be ready.”

The door closed, and Ben returned to his room to figure out how the fuck to call hotel services. It took him a whole damn hour, but Ben got shrimp, ice cream, and a real nice fucking robe that the CIA would be paying for. He picked up his phone, frowned at the banner of Message from Sunshine, take care of, and opened it up. 

He thought he hadn’t read it right at first. He blinked a few times—he’d gotten wine as well because nobody appreciated him asking for coke—and crushed his phone in his hand when the words clicked. When they hit him with the force of a train.

Goodnight, Benjamin. I love you.

————————

You can’t sleep. You’d texted Ben goodnight two hours ago—you think, your brain is a little slow from exhaustion—but it’s too quiet, too cold, too dark to do anything but stare at the ceiling and drown in your own thoughts. Too lonely to do anything but worry and worry and worry about everything, and try not to cry.

You’re so tired. You’re home, you should just feel safe and easy and happy, but you’re just fucking exhausted. Your joy is still real when you smile at Ryan, and talk to Annie, and laugh with Kimiko. All your love is still so strong and eternal, circling your head and bringing your every thought back to Ben. It’s painful, how much you love him. How you can’t stop breaking, or wanting him, or missing him. He’s been gone for barely twelve hours, and you miss him. Your eyes are drooping, and your brain is foggy, and all you can do is miss him.

The exhaustion is all in your head. It’s all stemmed from the stress of what if Singer says no to the V. Ben said he was running it past his “cabnet”, but what if they say no. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep fighting Homelander forever, it’s going to kill you. This needs to be over, it needs to be over now, you can’t fucking do this anymore. You’re not strong enough to do this anymore.

Weak.

You’re home. What matters is that you’re home. You can’t feel anyone—it’s been a week of the pills, one in the morning and one in the night, hidden from Ben because you’re still not ready to tell him—or sleep a night without blood haunting your dream, or spend an hour without glancing at your phone and seeing another story about your life.

People are still putting together your “relationship” with Ben. You’d told Annie everything—at least, everything that wasn’t how Ben made you moan and how you loved him so much it made you a little bit of an idiot—and she’d relayed it all as instructed. You woke Ben up to kill Homelander. You became friends with him, and you made each other promises about never going back. You lived together, and had a complicated relationship. You’d chosen the words carefully, ignoring Butcher’s eye roll and Annie’s sigh, and reminded everyone that this was technically Annie’s point of view. This was what she could’ve observed without your input, and what she’d say. And now, all across the internet, more and more timelines and breakdowns of the Anomaly and Soldier Boy’s relationship are popping up. A lot of them are paired with timelines of you and Homelander.

All of them make you feel sick. Even if they buy Annie’s words and denounce Homelander, they still say things you don’t want to hear. You’re obsessive. In love with Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy’s in love with you. It’s a toxic relationship. You killed people for him. He was killing people for you. It was unrequited on your side. Unrequited on his side. It’s a great American love story. It’s star crossed. He’s probably going insane without you. You didn’t love him enough to go back to him. You’re not worthy of him. Even with Starlight’s claims about your powers being far greater than Vought let on, you’re still weak. Weaker than Soldier Boy. Weaker than Homelander. Your greatest advantage is your feminine allure, because you’re a whore, and you’re weak.

You’re so fucking tired.

Homelander had avoided a direct response to the stories about you and Ben. Sage had entirely denounced Annie’s claim within two days, calling them all blanket lies and propaganda meant to manipulate the public, but Homelander had just agreed. Said they were looking for you, trying to recover you, that he loved you and missed you and would kill whoever had taken you from him.

You keep having nightmares about that as well. Where the blood is splattered across your skin, and Homelander is holding Ben’s heart in gloved hands—red, maybe covered in blood, you can’t tell—and you lose him forever. You burn and burn and burn, and sometimes Homelander dies, but Ben always dies. You always lose him, and have to live for the rest of time with a hole in your head and a heart that doesn’t really beat right anymore.

When you wake up, Ben is always there. Holding you and rubbing soothing patterns onto your skin, muttering words of comfort into your skin and surrounding you with his warmth and the smell of pine. It always calms you down, seals up another crack in your body as you believe him just a little more every time. You’re home, and that’s what matters. You’re here, in Ben’s arms, and everything is going to be okay. You’re still broken, but he’s staying, and you’re all that matters.

Ben won’t touch you, but you’re going to be okay. He keeps tensing and pulling away whenever you try to give him more, but he’s still here. Still holding you in the shower, still kissing you and staying at your side, but not touching you.

You wish you could feel him. You wish you could understand why he won’t touch you. Being afraid that the hunger in him had simply had a quiet, wilting death when he saw how broken you were, and now he gives a shit about you—adores you—but doesn’t want you. He doesn’t love you, he hasn’t loved you, but now he doesn’t want you either. You don’t want to make him do anything, not if he doesn’t want to, not while he’s staying, but you wish he would just touch you.

He won’t. You’re weak and broken, and even as you’re healing you’re just so tired. You can’t control yourself, can’t finish this, and you’re fucking tired. You’re not strong, unconquerable, and zealous with anger like Ben, or Butcher, or Kimiko. But you’re not forgiving and determined like Hughie and Annie and MM. You can’t give them anything like Frenchie or A-Train, and you’re not innocent like Ryan. You’re guilty of blood sticking across your body, but you’re too tired to do anything about it, and you don’t have it in you to kill Homelander with your bare hands, but you don’t have the patience or resilience to wait longer.

You need this to be over. Homelander dying won’t set that thing still flailing in your gut back into place, or stop the nightmares forever, but you’ll stop looking for him in shadows and being a little afraid of the open sky. You’ll be able to make yourself strong enough to tell Ben you love him, and force yourself to be okay when he says no. 

You’ve spent the whole day missing him. Everything keeps rounding back to how you miss him. How the bed is too big without Ben snoring on top of you, and how the sheets and pillows smell like him, and how there’s still an indent of his body on his side of the mattress. You’d led a normal day while he was gone, doing laundry and texting him and trying not to be too pathetic about how much you love him. Spending the day with Ryan and talking about Ben like a normal person, trying to clean a little and not letting your hands linger on his coffee mug or shirt, watching TV and not looking at the empty space next to you.

Trying to focus on dinner, and not worry about Singer, or why the meeting was taking so long.

“Why did they have to go to DC?” Ryan had asked you over the table, speaking through a mouthful of relish and ketchup and mustard and every other condiment in the dining hall. “Couldn’t Singer have, maybe, uh, called-“

“Ryan,” Butcher had grunted. “Chew and swallow. She ain’t goin nowhere.” 

Ryan’s eyes had widened, and he’d given Butcher an apologetic look as he closed his mouth. 

“I don’t know,” you’d answered, poking at your hotdog with a finger. “Singer probably wanted some evidence that we cared about this enough to make the trip. It’s not too far, and we need the V, so it’s not worth arguing about.” 

“I thought, um,” Ryan had coughed slightly—he’d swallowed a little too fast—and given you a nervous frown. “I thought you got V. Hughie mentioned you were still at the tower for V. To, um, kill my dad.”

“Hughie, lad, the fuckin hell did we say about keepin it on the low-“ 

“I’m sorry!” Hughie had shrunken from Butcher’s glare, face growing red. “I just mentioned it, and Soldier Boy said it first-“ 

You’d frowned. “Ben said what?” 

“He said you wouldn’t want to lie to Ryan, and he’s the one mentioned that the V would help us kill Homelander-“ 

“I’m not upset about it!” Ryan had jumped in as Butcher’s glare at Hughie became lethal. “I was just curious, don’t be mad at Hughie or Ben-“

“It’s okay, Ryan.” You’d sighed. It was only 7pm, too early to have a bloodbath in the dining hall. “I’m not mad. Butcher might be mad, but he’s a little bitch baby.” 

“Fuckin watch it, Love-“ 

You’d ignored Butcher, and watched Ryan carefully as you spoke. “I was at the tower for V. But I couldn’t find the right kind, so now we need to look somewhere else.”

“The right kind?” Ryan had frowned. “What, um, what kind was there?”

“The V Ben and I have,” you’d explained with a sigh. “I don’t know what it would do to a normal supe, but it’s essentially useless in any format on Homelander.”

“You did not happen to keep it when you returned, non?” Frenchie had leaned around the table, looking at you hopefully, and you’d shaken your head.

“It got destroyed on my way back. It’s gone.”

You’d been lying. The V was still in your underwear drawer, hidden next to the suppressants and taunting you in the silence. Ben’s phantom was gone, his Thing in your chest gone with your empathy, and it was just you and thoughts of weak. You miss Ben, and you’re weak, and you need this to be over. ‘

Homelander has to die. He hasn’t earned taking up your life like this. Your life is supposed to be you and Ben, warm and safe. You keep trying to get lost in a fantasy on Ben’s hand in yours, living in a house in Rome where there’s grass outside and sunlight all around you. Laughing with him and kissing him and never thinking about Homelander again. Giving him everything you have—even if he never loves you—and just being happy. No more gods. No more wars. No more blood or dirt on your hands or under your nails. No more impossible, difficult fucking choices. Just you and Ben, together, with him grinning down at you and peace everywhere in the world.

You’re exhausted. You can’t sleep. You need this to be over. And after another few hours, it makes you sit up and cross the room, makes you open the drawer and take out the V. The small vial turns over in your hands, the text of Project Anomaly, Trial 6 slightly faded, and the green liquid within it completely useless to finish this.

Your feet carry you downstairs, and down the silent halls with the vial still in your hands. They take you to the dining hall—a few generators and appliances casting it in a low ligh— and over to the table. There are almost twenty in the whole room, but everyone had come to a silent agreement that this was the table. Where you eat with everyone, where Ben presses his thigh to yours, and where plans are made. 

You have a plan. It’s not a good plan—Ben would hate it, but he’s in DC and can’t stop you—and yet it’s all you can think about in the dark. Ending this. Really, properly ending this. 

It takes a little while. Thirty or forty minutes of humming into the empty room and letting pine and strawberries and vanilla fill the room with an invisible warmth, waiting to see if your guess was correct.

Then the door swings open, and Butcher freezes in the hall as your eyes meet. 

“The bloody fuck are you doin’ here-” 

“We need to talk.” 

Butcher scowled, stepping into the dining hall but not moving across to the table. “We ain’t got shit to talk about-“ 

“Yes,” you sigh. “We do. Please just sit down, Butcher. It won’t take long.”

He looks you up and down, huffs, and stalks over to the bench, dropping across from you with a glare. “How’d the fuckin hell you know to find me here.”

“Ben said you don’t really sleep,” you shrug. “He said you always have terrible bags under your eyes, and your heart goes a little too fast, so his bet was, and I quote, ‘the fucking pussy is either on a bunch of drugs he’s not sharing with me, or he’s sleeping less then I do’. And I guessed you wouldn’t want to wake up Ryan, so I took a gamble. And I was right.”

“I ain’t able to believe I backed you up on wakin him when you gave your fuckin pitch.” Butcher mutters. “Shoulda killed it in the first month when you got all fuckin chummy with the cunt.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure our friendship is really hard for you-“ 

“I don’t give a flyin fuck about your friendship,” Butcher snaps. “I’m pissed with myself for lettin it get this far, losin my teammate to being in fuckin love with Soldier Boy.” 

Your mouth falls open, and you can hear the blood in your ears. “I, um, I don’t know what you’re talking about-“ 

“Save it.” Butcher rolls his eyes, giving you a bored look. “We all fuckin know, you make disgustin heart eyes at him every damn day. I’m just sayin, you twats start makin mini-supes, I am not takin responsibility for them killin their nannies.” 

“What do you mean we all know?”

“All the Boys,” Butcher shrugs. “A-Train confirmed it-“

“He wasn’t supposed to say anything-“ 

“We already fuckin knew. And nobody’s told Soldier Boy, so keep your bloody head on your shoulders.” 

You sigh, shaking your head. “He, he still doesn’t-“

“Nah, he’s a fuckin idiot. You both are fuckin idiots.”

“Hey-“

Butcher drawls your name, giving you a flat look. “I put it together at Tek Knight. We all been gettin it for far too fuckin long, and you’re real bloody stupid for someone who can fuckin feel people’s emotions.” 

“I’m taking the suppressants,” you snap. “Specifically so I don’t make Ben feel what I do.” You take a long breath. “I can’t force him to love me. It’s not my call you make.”

“I don’t give a fuckin dick or tit about what you’re doin it for,” Butcher gives you a long, strange look. A frown without cruelty or bitterness, like he’s trying to figure something out. “Just don’t get all fuckin piney over him when it’s your own fault he don’t know.”

You scowl, and swallow a sneer of he doesn’t know because I can’t lose him. I love Ben more than should be physically possible, and he’s too important for me to be selfish and manipulative to make him love me. You came here for a reason, and you’re too tired to fight—really, properly yell and shout and swear at—Butcher. So you shake your head, glancing down at the V in your lap, and look back up at Butcher. “Can we please just talk about why I’m here?” 

Butcher shrugs. “Floor’s all fuckin yours.”

“I,” you take a deep, heavy breath to slow your heart, and force yourself to meet Butcher’s eyes. “I want you to do it.” 

“Do fuckin what-“

“I want you to kill Homelander.”

Butcher stares at you for a second, for once at a loss for words. “The bloody hell would make you want that.”

“It has to be you,” you mutter, fingers tapping faster and faster on the table. “This has to be over, and it has to be you. Ben is going to blast him, and you’re going to shoot him. Right in the head, with a normal, boring gun. He doesn’t get to have me burn him alive, have Ben or Kimiko bash his head in, or have Annie send him flying and break his spine. He doesn’t get a good death. He doesn’t get to be a martyr, or a legend. He’s going to die like a fucking person.”

“I ain’t-“ 

“Butcher,” you whisper, and don’t bother to hide the exhaustion and pain from your voice. You need him to do this. Butcher is a piece of shit, and has given you hell since you’ve met him, and he needs to be the one to kill Homelander. He’s the only one who might understand this. Understand why Homelander shouldn’t be killed in a way that matters. That Homelander doesn’t fucking deserve that. “I want you to do this. I want Homelander to realize he’s lost, that we beat him, and then I want you to kill him, and for this horrible fucking shit to be over.” You choke slightly. “I just want this to be over.”

You think he’s going to try and resist you. You think Butcher is going to choose to be generous at the worst possible moment, and tell you that the killing blow is yours. That you’ve suffered the most at Homelander’s hands, and should get to watch the light leave his eyes. But you don’t want to. You’re past revenge and fury and blood. You’re just tired. All you really want now is to burn in Ben’s arms, to bury your head in his chest and burn and burn and burn until you’re not afraid anymore. Until the heat has fused all your cracks back together, and Homelander’s never able to hurt you again.

But he doesn’t. Butcher just nods once, eyes never leaving yours, and grunts, “you got a deal. That it?” 

“One more thing.” You hold up the V, glowing slightly in the soft light of the breaching morning. If Butcher is surprised you have it, you don’t see it on his face. “This is the V in me. The V in Ben.” You place it on the table in front of Butcher, watching him carefully. “You can use it on yourself, and become the thing you’ve loathed for years. You can use it on me, and I think it might kill me. If it does, Ben will kill you. You can use it on Ben, and make him stronger. You can do whatever the fuck you want with it, as long as you do it. As long as you, Butcher, just you, make the choice and live with the fucking consequences.”

You stand up, and leave Butcher silently in the dining hall. You’ve said what you need, and Ben will be home soon. You’ll be able to fall into his arms and sleep. Until then, you’ll just have to make yourself busy.

There’s the laundry you forgot to fold last night. Ben’s underwear and socks that you’d left in the dryer, because he’d texted you about the meeting and the relief of it going well had slammed a wall of exhaustion into your brain. You dump everything in a basket, and carry it upstairs. It’s boring, but it’s better than just waiting. 

Your phone is face up on your bed when you enter the bedroom, and it lights up with a text as you close the door.

Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion

We’re headed back, ETA around 10.

Soldier Boy broke his phone somehow btw.

And the meeting went well, just in case he didn’t get a chance to tell you.

You text back a thumbs up—you’re honestly shocked it took this long for Ben to break his phone—and leave the phone face up on the bed as you fold laundry. You manage to kill fifteen minutes with this, because while Ben has a truly abysmal amount of clothing, your brain is moving tragically slow from a lack of sleep.

Coffee. You need coffee. It will kill another five minutes, and you might actually manage to stay awake until Ben comes home. You can put on the coffee, and make a sandwich, and hum to yourself as you drink, just to practice making lights and shadows bend around you. Ten minutes.

Ben doesn’t fold his clothing. When you return upstairs and open his drawers, that much is obvious. Pants and shirts have been tossed mindlessly into drawers, and underwear and socks are mixed together without thought.

That’s another thing to do. Fold Ben’s clothing. Simple and tedious, keeping you awake and your mind on your hands instead of clinging to the silence. The feeling of you, just you, the only one to blame for how cold and tired you are, not strong enough to get through this alone, but you are alone, and you’re so tired- 

Clothes. Fold all of Ben’s clothes. Take them out of the drawers—pants and shirts first, they take up the most space and the least time—fold them, and return them. Then you can pair the socks and organize his underwear, and-

You pause, frowning at the almost empty drawer. There’s three stray socks, a pair of boxers, and sunglasses. They’re not your sunglasses, they’re green and don’t have the little Soldier Boy symbols on the ear pieces, but they’re the same style. Your sunglasses had broken anyway, and these might just be Ben’s, but they’d been hidden. Ben didn’t hide his things. His razor was on the bathroom counter, his shoes were scattered around downstairs, and his mug was at the front of the cabinet. Sometimes he just left it out, because he’d fucking be using it tomorrow anyway.

And, even if Ben did hide things, an underwear drawer was an incredibly odd place for sunglasses. You’d just dismiss it as the glasses falling in the drawer, but they look carefully placed, wrapped in the boxers like they shouldn’t be seen. 

They’re just sunglasses. Sunglasses that look just like the ones that had been broken when Homelander took you-

Far in the back of your head, something starts to ring in your brain. Nobody had told you that your sunglasses had broken. You hadn’t seen them since you’d gotten home, but that could’ve just been a coincidence. Sage could’ve gotten rid of them in the tower, or Ben could’ve lost them somewhere in the months where you’d been gone, but they’d been broken. Ben’s phantom had told you they’d been broken in the fight with Homelander, and you’d told him that you’d liked those sunglasses because they reminded you of him. 

These ones looked the exact same as the broken once, save for the colors. Simplistic black frames—no patterns or symbols—and a dark shade of green that matched the Soldier Boy suit. Almost exactly the same hue, a slightly darker shade.

You have a theory. A weak, flimsy theory that makes you carefully place the sunglasses back in the drawer and run downstairs to your computer. It’s not really based on anything, all your evidence is speculative—Ben’s allowed to be a weirdo who hides sunglasses in his underwear drawer—but you have to check. Just so you don’t go insane, you have to check. 

Between you and Ben, there’s only the one Jane Smith email account. Which means there’s one amazon account, and you can check the purchase date of the sunglasses. It takes a second—your hands have changed from going too slow to going too fast and losing efficiency in your frantic movements—but you find the receipt, and the date. Late May, nine days after the Believe Expo, which means four days before your escape. When you’d started testing your empathy on the Deep.

The same day you’d talked to Ben’s phantom about the sunglasses.

It could be a coincidence. It’s technically possible that it’s a complete, total coincidence that doesn’t mean anything, let alone what you think it might mean. What your brain is starting to draw together. That, towards the end at least, whenever you spoke to Ben’s phantom, his Thing would grow stronger. That you’d been able to feel him there, feel that extra sense in your body that told you Ben. Ben is near you. He’s across the bridge or in the bathroom or down the hall start to go haywire when you were alone in Homelander’s apartment. Where Ben couldn’t have possibly been.

You’d just missed him. You’d just driven yourself insane the torture of being trapped at Vought and the sickness of missing Ben, and the longer you were gone the more you’d needed that small escape of Ben’s voice in your head. Telling you that you would come home. That there wasn’t another option, because you were coming home because you were strong and you’d fucking get through this. 

But you’d missed Ben yesterday. Geographically he’d been even further than when you’d been at Vought, and you hadn’t heard his phantom. It had grown silent, gone with his imprint in your chest. The imprint that was bombed with empathy, that grew back with it as well. The imprint that had appeared after the Believe Expo, after you’d seen Ben, held him and had your every thought reduced back to its natural pattern when he touched you. Had everything be Ben. Ben, I love you. 

The phantom had grown stronger after that. Louder, more persistent, full of stranger conversations and rattling Ben’s Thing inside you when it spoke. But it had just been from missing him. You’d see him and it had made you miss him all the more. Ben’s Thing in your chest might be the empathy, but the phantom was just an echo of your love. A result of how he’d become a vital part of you, how you loved and loved him, loved talking to him and laughing with him and hearing his voice say Brat and Sunshine and fucking breathe and shut the fuck up and I love you-

The phantom had told you he loved you. The phantom had been incredibly persistent about how Ben loved you. Which was evidence that it isn’t what it might be. Ben doesn’t love you. Ben doesn’t love you. Ben doesn’t love you. Ben doesn’t love you.

It doesn’t feel like a real sentence anymore. It’s running around in your head—Ben doesn’t love you, he doesn’t, he just doesn’t, Ben doesn’t love you—and it doesn’t feel right. It’s a fact—it doesn’t need to feel right, it just is—but now it’s become only noises that make your heart contract and your own love wail. You love him. You love Ben so, so much, and all it’s done is drive you mad. You just want him to love you, and the phantom is made of your want and love, so it indulged you and told you Ben loved you. 

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t.

Unless this is what you think it might be, Ben doesn’t love you. If it is what you think it is, then- 

You have to know. You have to know now, whoever is driving him home needs to drive faster because you might be wrong, but you might be right. And no matter which one it is, you need to know right fucking now.

There’s about two and a half hours until Ben opens the door. You spend most of that time making a list. Writing down every conversation you’ve had with the phantom, just to be sure. To go in prepared, and know what you’re looking for. You fold the socks and underwear when you’re done—twenty minutes—and decide to leave the sunglasses in the drawer. No leading questions, no steering Ben towards the possible truth. Thy hypothetical truth, that’s going to make you sound insane if you say it aloud, but that’s feeling less and less implausible as you’re forced to wait. 

You don’t feel Ben when he comes home. You’re going over the list, rehearsing in your head, and you hear him. Even through the compound’s soundproof walls, you hear Ben stomping down the hall, stopping outside your door, and banging on it.

He’s shouting your name. Not yelling, shouting. Over and over again, until you stand up and let him in.

Ben almost falls on top of you, and there’s something wild in his eyes. His hair is messy, there’s slight bags under his eyes, and his jaw is clenched so tight you’re worried his teeth are going to break. He’s scanning you up and down, one hand gripping your arm like you might vanish, feet planted apart and body towering over yours like he’s ready to defend you from something.

“Hi,” you whisper, and Ben’s voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“We need to fucking talk.”

You swallow. “Yeah, we do. But I’m first.” 

“The fucking hell you are, I need to-“

“Ben.” Your voice is firmer than even you’ve heard it, and Ben freezes. You’d feel bad, but this is important. Ben’s home, and—as much as you want to figure out why he looks like a feral animal—you need to know if you’re right. “I’m first. Sit down.” 

He scowls, but follows you to the table and drops in his usual chair, glaring up at you. “You get seven minutes, then it’s my fucking turn.”

You nod, grab the list—crinkling it between your hands with a slow, grounding breath—and start at the top. “What food do you want on your birthday?”

“Is that what’s so goddamn important-“ 

“Answer the question, please.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, my birthday was last month-“

You have to push past that. Later, after you figure this out, you’ll have time to yell at Ben about his birthday and why you weren’t made aware of it. Right now, you’re on a time limit. “Benjamin, if you don’t answer the fucking question-“

“I don’t know, fucking burgers! Burgers and cake! Are you done, can I fucking talk-“

That wasn’t as helpful as you’d hoped. Burgers and cake is an incredibly predictable answer for Ben to have, so you push on. “No. How many states can you name?”

“I don’t fucking know, I don’t keep track of that shit. I’m not like you and Ryan, it’s not all fucking fifty, but I can name a damn few-“ 

You’ve never told him you can name all fifty. Not to his face. “What does manifest destiny mean?”

Ben scoffs. “Are you giving me a fucking pop quiz-“

“Benjamin-“

“It’s the fucking nationalistic belief that Americans had the right to go west, and should exert the means to do it. Is that it? Can I say my goddamn thing-”

You have to glance at the paper to be sure, but that’s practically word for word what you’d written. What you’d told Ben’s phantom. “What type of porn does the Deep watch?” 

“Tentacle, you’re the one who fucking told me-“ Ben pauses, his eyes narrowing. “Why the fuck are you asking me all these damn questions.”

It takes a long, heavy breath to get the last question out. “Have you been having nightmares again?” 

“Some. Why the fuck does it matter, we both have nightmares-“ 

“What have they been about?”

Ben doesn’t answer immediately. His jaw ticks, and his eyes on yours start to peel you apart. “Blood. Fuck ton of blood and smoke.”

There’s more. There’s something Ben’s leaving out, but right now you don’t care. You’re past being subtle, or thinking about anything but you’re right. You’re almost definitely right, and there’s only one last question to ask. 

“Why are there sunglasses in your underwear drawer?” 

His scowl deepens. “Why the goddamn hell were you in my underwear drawer-“

“I was folding laundry. Why.” 

“Gift.” He grunts. “For you. Replacing the old ones.”

You feel a little lightheaded. “What, what happened to the old ones?”

“Broke when Homelander took you.” Ben pauses, and you think his gaze might be burning into your skin. “If you don’t start making some fucking sense about what you want-“

“While I was gone,” the words start to vomit out of you, frantic and uncertain. “Did you ever, I don’t know, hear me? Hear my voice, talking to you? Or, I don’t know, feel me, when I wasn’t there? Like there’s no way I could’ve been there, logistically, but you were still hearing me-“

Ben snaps your name. “Maybe I did, but I fucking missed you. It’s not some big goddamn news story, and since you’ve been back I haven’t heard shit-“

“Why did you get kicked out of the dining hall?”

“What the fuck are you-“

“Benjamin.” You take a long, deep breath. “Last week, why did MM kick you out of the dining hall?”

“I told you already, I got hard and he’s a fucking uptight pussy-“

“What made you hard?”

Ben goes completely rigid in his seat. “Don’t fucking worry about-“

“Were you thinking about me? About how you’d want to fuck me?”

“How in goddamn hell-“

“Because I was thinking about it,” you whisper, forcing yourself to hold Ben’s gaze. “That morning, before you got home, I thinking about how you’d fuck me. You said you’d prep me, then missionary, then from behind, then I’d ride you, and you told me condoms don’t work on supe jizz. You told me-“

“What the fuck do you mean I told you.”

“Your voice told me. In my head, I was talking to you. I’ve been talking to you. In the tower,” you swallow. “I’d talked to you all the time. In my head. And I-“

Ben grunts your name. “Whatever you’re trying to say, say it.”

“I think I can read your mind!” The words sound stupid when you say them. You sound fucking crazy, but you’re right. “Or like, speak to you through your brain? I was doing it for a while, then it got really weird after the Believe Expo, and I think it’s because you put something in me-“

“Put something in you-“

“I don’t fucking know, Ben! I’m not a scientist, I just know that there’s been this thing in my chest, right here,” you jab a finger at the area near your heart, and Ben’s eyes widen. “And it feels like you, and it’s gone right now because the empathy is gone, but-“

“What the fuck do you mean the empathy is gone.” Ben’s words are low, and his glare is searing right through you. “It’s part of you, it can’t just up and fuck off-“

“I, um,” your nails start to dig into your arm as you hug your body, the list balled up in your hand. “I’ve been taking a suppressant. A pill. It, um, kills the empathy, so I can’t use it.”

“A suppressant.” Ben stands, eyes never leaving yours, voice rising to a shout. “Are you fucking insane?” 

“I’m fine, it’s-“

“You’re not fucking fine! Nothing about this is fucking fine, that’s a part of your goddamn body! You might as well be chopping your fucking arm off-“

“My arm would grow back, just like this-“

“It would still fucking hurt you! Why the fucking hell would you do something so fucking stupid, why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me-“

“I’m fine!” You scream, and smoke begins to rise from your fingers. “I fucking fine, Ben! This is helping me! I just, I can’t fucking control it, I don’t know how-“

“I would’ve fucking helped you!” He takes a step forwards, glare rooting you in place. “I’d do what the fuck you needed to help you control it, but you didn’t fucking trust me-“

“Of course I trust you!” Ben. Ben, I love you. “I fucking trust you with my life, but this isn’t about you-“

“Then why wouldn’t you fucking tell me, I’d have told you it was fucking stupid and insane, because this is fucking stupid and insane-“

“Because I’m fine-“

“You’re not fucking fine!” Ben roars your name, and you swallow. “You’re keep waking up fucking screaming, and you can’t fucking shower alone, you’re not fucking fine, stop saying you’re fine-“ 

“I am!” You shake your head frantically, gaze dropping to his chest. You can’t look him in the eyes right now, you’ll break. “I’m really fine, I’m just tired-“

“Because you haven’t slept a goddamn night peacefully in a fucking week!” Ben’s voice is strained, like he’s in physical pain. “Did it occur to you, even fucking once, that maybe cutting off your arm over and fucking over would hurt you?”

“I don’t care!” Your voice is losing its anger. You’re just so fucking tired, you don’t want to fight, you want to start crying, collapse, just fucking rest. “I don’t care if it’s hurting me! I deserve it! I’m hurting everyone else-“ 

“Are you fucking stupid-“

“No!” You can’t really hear anything over the blood pounding in your ears, over the cold starting to climb into your lungs. It’s hard to breathe. “I’m hurting people, Ben! I’m broken and afraid and weak, I can’t control myself because I’m weak and I can’t make you weak as well-“

“You are not weak-“

“I am! I’m weak! I can’t just get fucking control over my own body, and I’m so tired, and I can’t fucking do this anymore! I can’t keep fighting Homelander and being useless. I’m not like you, I’m not strong enough to do this-“

Ben’s still a few feet away, but when he says your name it rolls through your body. Pushes past the cold and grabs your insides, forces your eyes to his. He looks like something is hurting him, the wild glint in his eyes now tangled in with something bright and furious and hot. “You are not fucking weak. You’re the furthest goddamn thing from weak. You’re fucking alive. You fucking survived. You did something idiotic and so fucking selfless and goddamn impossible, and you lived. You are fucked up and perfect and the strongest fucking person in the world.”

The snapped off thing in your gut starts to wrap around your heart. “Then why won’t you touch me?”

He pauses, mouth open and closing once before he grunts through teeth, “what the fuck are you talking about.”

“You won’t touch me, Ben.” You’re done screaming. You’re choking on something, and every word is strangled and soft. “You stopped touching me after the shower. If you don’t want me, you can just tell me-“ 

“Of course I fucking want you, stop being insane-“

“Then why-“

“I touched you and you fucking broke,” he snaps. He’s done yelling as well, but somehow this hurts more. Ben’s voice is low and heavy, and it’s dropping something into your lungs. “I touched you once, and you goddamn fell apart. You keep saying you’re fucking fine, that Homelander didn’t do anything, but I touched you and it hurt you-“

“You didn’t hurt me,” you breathe out, and the world is blurry. “You couldn’t hurt me, Ben. You could never hurt me. I just, I can’t feel you and I hate it. It’s horrible, but I want you to touch me. Please,” everything is far away. Your tongue, your head, your thoughts and throat and mouth are all second to Ben, across the room. So close, not close enough, never close enough. He could never be close enough, and he still doesn’t understand. “I, please, I want you to touch me, Ben. I’ve never wanted anything more that I want you, I’ve never loved anyone more than I love you-“

You don’t hear your own words until after. You don’t register what you’ve said until Ben’s closed the space between you in one step, until he’s grabbed your face with firm hands, until his mouth is crashing onto yours and it’s all Ben. Ben, I love you. 

He’s everywhere. He tastes like coffee and salt, and his touch is desperate. He’s falling onto you, groaning into your mouth when your lips part, invading your mouth with his tongue and teeth and spit, angling your head back to give you more. Your hands fly to his wrists, trying to make sure he’s real. You can’t feel him, but his pulse is heavy under your grip, and he’s so warm, and even as he bites your lower lip his hands are careful and gentle on your face. You’d said it, you said it for Ben to hear, and his touch is still reverent. He’s still holding you like you’re holy, confusing every part of your body as he deepens to kiss into something almost brutal—unrelenting and fervorish, devouring and starved with swallows of every sound that leaves you and his tongue in your throat—but his hands on your face remains adoring and gentle. Fingers tangling in your hair, a thumb tracing over your cheek while the other drops to carefully tilt your head back further.

When he pulls back, Ben’s forehead falls to yours, and you’re both silent. Trading ragged breaths and he traces over your swollen mouth with a light touch and his eyes, and you watch him. When Ben’s eyes finally meet yours they’re blown out and almost feral.

“Don’t take the fucking meds again,” he mutters, gaze stripping you apart before he adds, “please.” 

You’d missed this morning’s pill. Thirteen hours would be up soon. And Ben is real and sounds like he’s pleading, so it’s easy to give in. “I won’t.”

Ben nods, and pulls back. “You need to sleep,” he holds your gaze, even as he draws back up to his full height. “You’re tired.”

This is the worst possible time for your body to listen to Ben more than it listens to you, but the world starts to fuzz with exhaustion, even as you protest. “Ben, we need to talk-“

“We will. After you get some goddamn sleep.”

“It’s only eleven-“

“Did you sleep last night?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Did you fucking sleep, Benjamin?”

“No. So I want some rest, and I’m not doing it without you next to me.”

“But-“

“Trust me,” he grunts. “Just fucking trust me. We will talk about it, I fucking swear, but you need to rest first.”

You take a long breath, and nod. Ben doesn’t wait for you to open your mouth before he’s picking you up, marching up the stairs and into the bedroom, laying you carefully on the mattress before climbing over you and tugging you into his chest. Sleep is crawling into your head—the warmth of Ben and the steady rise and fall of his chest making your head quiet and everything easy—but it’s still too bright to close your eyes, so you roll over and bury your head in Ben’s body.

“What was your thing?” You mumble into his skin, still just a little too wired from the fight to fall under. “We didn’t get to it before I, um…”

Ben’s chuckle makes your whole body grow loose. “You texted me.”

You frown. “I texted you all day, Pretty Boy-“

“You texted me that you love me.” He mutters, and a hand starts to run through your hair, soothing your brain and keeping you against him as your face flushes.

“Oh.” You try to pull yourself closer to his body, hoping you can fully hide the soft nerves in your voice. “I, um, I was tired. I must’ve typed it and, uh, sent it without thinking.” 

“Did,” he pauses, voice low and tense. “Did you mean it.” 

“Both times?”

He snorts, and you smile against him. “Yeah, both fucking times.”

“Yes,” your voice is a breath, words muffled against him, but you know Ben hears because his hands on your skin freeze. “When, in our heads, when you said it-“ 

“I meant it.” He mutters. “I’ll always fucking mean it.”

You nod, hands curling into his shirt. “Okay. Good.” 

“How long until that stupid fucking pill-“

“Soon,” you whisper. “I don’t know why we can’t just-“

Ben grunts your name, his hand on your back starting to rub small circles that drag you further down. “Trust me. Get some sleep.”

He’s lucky you love him. If you didn’t, you’d get a little closer to murdering him every time your body elects to override your brain for Ben’s words. But he says sleep, everything fades into pine and warmth, the sound of Ben’s heartbeat near your head lulling you easily into sleep. 

Blood. So much blood. All there is in the world is blood, filling up your lungs and overwhelming your heart. You don’t know where it’s coming from—don’t know how to stop it—and it’s sweeping over you like a hurricane. Blood on your hands, in your throat, metal on your tongue and red in your vision. You can’t breathe, and you’re screaming for Ben but there’s a smoke far, far above you that’s keeping him away. You can hear him roaring your name, see his figure somewhere around you in the liminal world you’ve been trapped in, but when he reaches for you the blood drags you further down. No matter how much you struggle and flail and scream, it’s just blood. 

Blood, parting away as something cold and blue starts to walk towards you. Grabs you by the neck and yanks you up to watch it. Evil and cruel and no. No. No no no-

You’re screaming when you wake up. There’s something around you—not the blood, this is warm and safe and right—but you can’t really hear what the deep sounds echoing through your head are trying to tell you. It hurts, it all hurts. Your head is cracking open, your heart is aching, your mouth feels like sandpaper, your muscles are sore and your skin is itching and your blood is trying to leave your body because this hurts, this is all so painfully cold save for the pounding of something warm in your chest. Something grounding you and keeping all the fear and screams of unfair, so fucking unfair in your body. It’s full of ardor and it’s bloody, but not the blood that chokes you. Blood that feels like yours. That feels devoted and sharp and furious, that’s made of adoration and hunger and love. 

It’s everything. This thing is powerful and focused and wrathful, aimed and attuned to every single part of you. It’s making the world sharper, and everything feels like it has a purpose. There’s nothing that doesn’t exist to aid what the thing serves, and everything glows when the thing is fed. It’s starving, it will never not be starving, it will only grow more and more hungry, but the hunger isn’t fed by taking. It’s fed by giving, by working and worshiping and caring for something perfect. All that matters is the perfect thing—it fits so well with the beat of the powerful thing—because it infects everything with light. Nothing is ever dark when the perfect thing is tended to, and it’s not easy to tend to, but it’s fucking worth it. The powertful thing lives in your chest, and it’s not yours, but it belongs there. It’s content and happy there, and it riots when you make a small sound. A set of words that you don’t really understand right now, but you need to say. Everything is still coming back to you as your blood returns into your body, but you need to keep saying the words.

The ringing in your ears finally fades, and you can make them out.

Ben. Ben, I love you. 

“I love you too, Sunshine.” A deep voice—it might be the only one in the world that matters—rolls from the warmth around you into your chest. “Sleep.” 

It’s Ben. Ben’s around you, holding you like you’re sacred, and you’re still so tired, but you can feel him. His Thing is alive in your chest, and you know what it is. Ben’s love. Raw and obvious and everything. Burning in you, with you, for you. Ben loves you. 

“Ben,“ you mumbled, and his Thing hums. “I’m-“

If you say sorry, I’m not fucking you in the morning.

Rude. 

You love it.

I do. You sigh against his skin. I love you.

I love you as well. Ben’s voice, inside your body and everywhere around you, is right. This is right. Ben loves you, and you love him, and nothing has ever made more sense.

And, right before you tuck yourself further into his chest, right before you fall back into peaceful, restful, safe sleep, you can breathe.

End Note: We have officially completed the slow burn. I welcome you to the rest of the story: a goddamn wildfire. They’re about to fuck so nasty, you guys don’t even know. Call them Tinashe the way they’re about to freak.

Thank you for reading!! If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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Taglist

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@generalmoonpolice @ifyouwerethemoon

[cherryredstars]

Hi cherry!!! I just saw that you finished jjk s2, so I was wondering if you might write something for nanami? Ik you haven't written for him before but I would love a smut scene please 🤭

Imagine stamina training with Kento!! (gn!reader)

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Makeshift Leash, Penetrative Sex, Indirect Mentions of Choking, Orgasm Delay, Overstimulation

Your whole body feels on fire.

The back of your thighs burn and your arms tremble when you try to lift your upper body. Your hole is sore and aching from Kento's rough thrusts, your sensitive bits twitchy and throbbing from his mean pinches and rubbing. Your nipples are permanently hard from the friction of the bed sheets as your body jolts higher up the bed. A constant pressure rests again your throat as the cheetah print fabric circles your neck, sporadically yanked as it wraps around Kento's large fist.

You have no choice but to follow the rough tugs, your head thrown back as he preforms another 'breathing exercise'. You let out a strangled moan as Kento counts each second close to your ear, your mind becoming hazy from the lack of oxygen and the painful spikes of pleasure from his cock feeding into you. He release you with a groan, letting your head fall back to the sheets as he loosens his grip around the tie.

"Good. Take a break."

You pant heavily, body shaking with each of your inhales. Your body trembles under him, disgusting trails of sweat running down your body as you try to endure his training. You let out a weak sound as you feel the bubbling of release in your stomach, and Kento tsks behind you.

"Hold it," He demands, cruelly snaking his fingers to the front of your body to tease the sensitive place between your thighs.

You cry out a protest, quickly cut off as he tugs on the leash again. You can feel tears streaming down your face, blurring your vision. Kento's body press down into yours, and you whimper weakly as you try to withstand his weight.

"You will listen to what I say and hold it." He hisses into your ear, teeth gritting as you pulse around him.

You nod as best as you can with the tie pressing into your throat, hands balling into the sheets in an attempt to ground yourself. Your body is on the verge of giving out completely, your bones are starting to feel like TV static. You aren't sure how much longer you can hold out, and Kento can tell by your mix-matched breathing. Still, he lets you sit in your misery for a few more minutes before giving you mercy.

"Come."

You do instantly, letting out a loud cry as your body collapses. Your body spasms as you release, your body growing hot as Kento reaches his own peak inside of you. You sob horribly into the bed, overstimulation working itself into your muscles as your body prepares to shut down. Sleep is at the forefront of your mind as Kento massages your back and aching thighs, heavy sighs of relief melting from your lips.

It's short lived when you're tugged back again, choking on your next breath in surprise. The pressure is worse with the limited amount of energy you can spare to hold yourself up, your body trying to fight its way back down despite Kento holding you up.

"Good, again."

[reneeluv154]

Frostbite

Hope you enjoy🤍🤍🤍

In this imagine Newt finds out you have frostbite and takes care of you.

(More on my profile if you like this.)🫶🏼🫶🏼

I was cold, so cold but I wouldn’t let the others know, we had been walking in the scorch for weeks, although I wouldn’t call it the scorch anymore. It was cold, cold enough to make your lips blue and your skin crack and bleed. Newt tried to offer me his gloves when it first started getting cold two days ago but I denied them, instead wrapping them up in my sock’s.

Now the sock’s were just to hide my gruesome frostbite rather than keep them warm. “Guys, let’s stop here, we’ve been waking for far too long.” I couldn’t agree with Minho more, the blisters on the back of my heels and my toes making it to where I could barely walk.

“Y/n are you okay?” Thomas asked wearily before watching me stumble to the ground. “Woah hey.” Thomas tried to catch me but I hit the ground with him and Newt on either side of me. I began to weep which then turned into sob’s of anger. I punched the ground, “I’m fucking done! Do you hear me!” I screamed out as loud as I could, causing a vicious pain to shoot through my head. Everyone was crouched down forming a circle around me, fear and worry plastered on their faces.

“Hey, take a breath Y/n.” Newt was calm with a comforting hand on my back, the other on the sand, trying to keep from slipping. I violently sucked in air never fully finishing a breath. I truly couldn’t breathe. I looked at him with panic in my eyes as I tried to breathe, tears still rolling down my cheeks. “Okay, everyone back up.” His voice was stern enough so they understood but calm enough to not scare me. He gently grabbed my face.

“You’re gonna be okay. Focus on my heartbeat alright?” He grabbed my hand, placing it on his chest gently, leaving me to feel the calm, steady beating of his heart. After a few minutes, my breathing slowed, and my tears were gently wiped by his simple calloused hands. “You're okay.” He whispered, bringing me into a tight hug. I believe more for him than for me. He knew I never liked hugs. Although I had always wanted one from him, I hugged him back knowing that’s what he needed at the moment. I didn’t want to let go but loosened my grip leaving him to let go.

“Thomas, help me walk her over to that building.” He nodded over to what was more like a small shack a few feet away. So with Thomas on my left and Newt on my right we carefully walked over to the shack, taking a few minutes to settle down. I sat on a small crate while the others cleared spots to sit and sleep for the night. I was staring at the ground when Newt came, sitting down beside me, offering me a cup with something in it. Not bothering to zone back in, I shook my head.

“It’ll warm you up.” He said, setting it by my foot on the ground and kneeling in front of me. “Can you take these off for me?” He asked gently, laying a hand on top of mine. I finally zoned back in still not looking directly at him but carefully taking the socks off my hands trying not to let the fabric pull on the cracked skin.

His eyes widened when he saw the purple and blue, bloody knuckles and fingertips. ‘Fry, can you make a fire real quick?” He asked, not taking his focus off of my hands. “Already on it, Newt.”

“Why didn’t you tell someone Y/n?” He asked gently, trying to warm my hands with his own as well as blowing on them.”I don’t know.” I was quiet, barely even audible. “My feet are pretty bad too.” The look he gave me was the sweetest yet saddest thing I had ever seen. “They don’t have frostbite, just lots of blisters.” He nodded. “Go ahead and take your shoes off, the cold should make them feel a little better.”

I nodded, taking my shoes off while he went and grabbed a thin blanket we had stolen from W.I.C.K.E.D. wrapping it around my shoulders. He was right, the cold felt good on my hot blistered feet. “Here, let’s go sit by the fire.” He handed me the hot cup making my hands sting but I knew that meant it was helping. I was caught slightly off guard when he picked me up and carried me to another crate, this one close by the fire, my feet still being cooled off by the patch of cement underneath me.

I decided to sit on the ground closer to the fire. Newt came and sat on the crate behind me, his legs on either side of me. “Newt?” I asked and received a small hum while he set down his cup which I learned was just hot water, and started to play with some strands of my hair. “Is it okay if I just give up?”

“Give up?” He questioned. “Yeah, If I just quit trying to make it out alive.” I was ashamed of asking such a question but I knew he wouldn’t judge me. He grabbed both my shoulders leaning in close to my ear. “Y/n you can not give up, I won’t for one second let you believe that you can give up because I would never let you do such a thing.” And for the first time in a long time, a small smile made its way onto my lips. It felt so good to smile, especially with someone like Newt.

Around an hour later he had braided my hair and wrapped up my hands now everyone was getting ready for sleep. “Where are you sleeping, love?” He hadn’t called me that since the first time I came to the glade but it made me feel special.

“Can I…sleep next to you tonight?” He nodded, “Of course, c’mon.” He laid out some clothes on the ground and used a jacket as a pillow. “Go on, I'll tuck you in.” He smiled, so I laid down letting him lay two blankets overtop of me, given that was all we could spare. He then laid down, a small bit of space between us. “Goodnight Y/n.”

“Goodnight Blondie.”

I woke up a tad bit cold and a bit scared. There was thunder and rain all around us. The small shack was the only thing keeping us safe and that wasn’t promising. I moved over to where Newt was lying and rested my head on his shoulder, he wrapped an arm around me and pulled me closer. “Are you okay?” He whispered, his voice still sleepy making me blush. “Yeah, I’m a little cold but more scared than anything.” Just then lightning struck close making me jump. “Shhh it’s okay. I’m here, I’ll keep you safe I promise.” He rubbed my back and gave me a small kiss on the head now wrapping both arms tightly around me. Humming a small song, which soon put me to sleep.

[webslingingslasher]

HI BESTIE idk if this ask went through but! grumpy x sunshine trope/i hate everyone but you trope with peter and reader? like sweet boy peter with an absolute menace of a gf whos only soft for him <3

ok so i imagine this in a few different ways. 

the first way is the ‘touch him or hurt him and i’ll kill you’ way

“Don’t fucking talk to him that way!” 

You barked orders at Flash so harshly he winced and turned his eyes to the table, he couldn’t look at your direct stare of a thousand burning fires. Your voice was sharp like a whip and curled around his throat, it even made Ned and MJ look down, afraid to add fuel. 

Turning your head back to Peter you soften your eyes and coo at him, you bring your hand to his shoulder and squeeze, it makes him look at you. He wears a soft grin, it tells you that he’s just fine, you want confirmation. 

“Are you okay, honey?” 

Peter places his hand on yours, “I’m okay, I don’t think Flash meant much harm.” 

“Didn’t know you had a guard dog, penis.” Flash’s words are mumbled but you seeth, no one was allowed to talk about Peter that way. 

Your hand comes down on the table, Ned jumps but stays quiet as you hiss words out at him. 

“The only dog here is you, don’t demean my boyfriend you fucking piece of -” 

Peter’s hand pulls at your elbow, his best attempt at stopping you but MJ called your name out cutting you off, Ned flickered between you and Flash, if looks could kill he’d be dead. 

“Flash is an idiot, don’t waste your breath.” 

Flash whines at the comment but resides when you huff and agree, finding Peter’s hand to hold in your own. 

Peter leans in to whisper in your ear, warmth coats your cheek when his lips brush against your earlobe, “easy killer, you don’t need his mom suing you for emotional distress.” You pout at his words and move to whisper in his, peter’s thumb swipes at the back of your hand, “but he was mean to you.” 

You lean into Peter when he presses a kiss to your cheek, his lips move against the skin. 

“He was, wasn’t he?” 

—-------------------------------------------

the second kind has gotta be when you’re upset but only peter can calm you down

May was in a panic, you were standing in the middle of her living room with your arms wrapped around you crying. She’s never seen you so upset, you’ve always been cool calm and collected around her, imagine her surprise when she opened the door to your shaky knocks and sobs. 

“Oh, honey!” Her hand reaches out to grab at your shoulder, you move to dodge her touch. It wasn’t anything to do with May but there was only one person who could calm you down right now and it wasn’t May. 

You feel a prickle at her frown, “I need peter.” You speak between shaky breaths, concentration on getting your words out, May looks real sad, “he’s not here right now, honey. Come in, I’ll give him a call.” 

You don’t even feel your legs move, they carry you to a stop in the middle of the room, you can’t even get to the couch. They feel like lead, you hold yourself steady, it took almost everything in you to come to peter and he wasn’t even here, instead you have May’s sad eyes and you’re not sure to open up to her yet. 

“Peter? I need you to come home right now, yes, everything’s okay, just as soon as you can, okay?” 

May knows you heard her, but you still blankly cry and stare at the floor, shaky breaths escape quickly. You jump when May’s hand grazes your elbow, “sweetheart, please come take a seat.” She knows you’re not too fond on touch, or attention from her, and she knows she can be a bit overboard with it, but this was one of those times she couldn’t rein it in and she needed you to feel her love. 

You nod, and even lean into her hold when she pushes you to the couch. It makes May’s heart soares, she doesn’t take the moment for granted and settles you before rushing to get you water. You sniffle and wipe tears, you appreciate May but she’s not who you need. 

Within minutes the front door swings open, May gives him wide eyes, she’s sitting on the coffee table in front of you, you keep your eyes on your shoes, you punish yourself for not taking them off, you know May hates that. 

“May! What’s- Baby?” 

Peter’s eyes hit his aunts the second he sails through the door until his attention is called to the back of your head on the couch, then he gets a sinking feeling in his chest. May’s eyes give him a sense of urgency, he rounds the couch and feels like his hearts been punched when he sees you’ve been crying. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Your lower lip wobbles, you were feeling better, May had been gentle enough the initial upset went away but having your comfort person look at you with sad caring eyes it made all the pain and hurt flood back, fat tears drop and May flys up to move Peter in, she hides in the kitchen. 

“Hey, hey, hey, stop crying, I’m here.” Peter sits in the space next to you and wraps his arms around you, his love swallows you and makes you find comfort in his chest. 

—---------------------------

but yeah, i see so many ways this fitting cause this is the mcu peter/mj trope and i love it so much 

[green-tea-in-absinthe-bottle]

NEVER GONNA DANCE AGAIN (oneshot)

Aventurine x ex girlfriend!reader

He would gamble his own life before ever risking your relationship but his dangerous job forced him to give you up, shattering both of your hearts in the process. Months later Sigonian notices you on one of the boujee parties he got invited to as an IPC representative. Motivated by yearning and alcohol in his veins Aventurine tries his luck in love again. ANGST,SUGGESTIVE

general masterlist

Aventurine was always a little bit fed up with those expensive parties thrown by his business partners, lavish ballroom filled with pathetic people living with no purpose besides endless consumption, each of them raised in conditions he could only dream of as a child, staring at him with curiosity. Hoping that he will make a mistake, prove them he is still a lowlife they take him for despite all those privileges he now enjoyed as a high ranking IPC member. But tonight he sincerely did not care about any of this, barely acknowledging the noise around him. 

He sipped on a drink more pricey than lifetime supply of food for his whole clan would be, giving out charming smiles that never reached his devoid of emotions, outstanding eyes to greedy leaches sitting alongside him at the poker table. Seemingly interested in shallow exchange of blows disguised as jokes and witty remarks young man looked around not expecting anything positive out of this meeting, maybe except meaningless material gains he forced himself to care about for the sake of keeping up his Aventurine persona.  

Then he noticed elegant woman standing alone near the entrance. Fingers adorned with precious rings clenched around the glass, almost shattering it in desperate attempt to conceal how much his hands started to shake at the sight of familiar face. He thought he imagined it at first, but his broken heart wasn't playing tricks on him. Aventurine would recognize your face even after centuries, every detail of it carved into his mind, into his soul. Long, green dress tightly hugged your figure, enhancing every curve he loved to caress so much. It was really you. Just as beautiful as the day he broke your heart, five months ago. The day he saw you for the last time. 

*** 

- Why are you doing this to me? To us? After all this time? - tears dripped down your cheeks, you were choking on your sobs. Aventurine wanted to hold you, make you feel like everything will be alright, but he knew what he needed to do to keep you safe. 

- Y/n, there is nothing to talk about, stop making this so hard. I never loved you in the first place, I just needed some distraction from my work. - he was always a great liar. You seemed to believe him and he thanked Aeons for it, despite how much it hurt him to see you in pain. It's the only way to make sure they won't touch you. - It was funny to play house with you for two years but that joke got old. You no longer entertain me.  

You looked into his eyes, begging for this to be a cruel prank, searching for any crumbs of love in his eyes, but they were cool and calculated. Speaking to him when he put on his poker face felt like talking to a wall. Despair slowly turned into hatred in you heart, it's fire kept you warm in spite of your ex boyfriend's cold attitude.  

- I hate you. I hate you so fucking much. I can't blame you for being a shameless liar, you told me that's who you are at the beginning. I should've trusted you when you showed me your true colors. I don't even want you to apologize, I played myself investing my love in you. Now get lost Vasha. - nickname once spoken tenderly now felt like a slap to Aventurine. How do you tell somebody in front of whom you bared your soul that they were only a toy to you?  

He spared you the rest of monologue he prepared and went outside with all his belongings packed in three suitcases. He glanced at the door of your shared place for the last time and whispered to himself. 

- In another universe I can be just your Kakavasha, kiss your face every morning after I wake up by your side and hold you every night, love you the way you deserve to be loved, make you proud of me. Protect you with my own strong arms and build our future with them. But Aventurine can't afford such luxury, not at your expense. Not if it can cost your life. 

***  

Just thinking about how he treated you made him want to punch himself in the face. He tried to reason with himself. Back then his position in Stonehearts was endangered after he risked his Cornerstone during the mission in Penacony.  If he lost all his power opponents he got during his work in IPC would go straight after you and he wouldn't be able to fight them off. Aventurine secured his rank and influences by now, as soon as he did that he got rid of enemies to make sure he will never feel this incapable of protecting those dear to him. Such as you. 

Aventurine knew he should not hope for rekindling of your love, not after all those terrible things he has said and done, but could you blame him? All his life nothing really belonged to him, nothing but your heart you so willingly gave to him. Even money he bargained with were only borrowed from IPC, just like his new name, dignity and life. Not to mention his whole new personality, attitude worn as a mask grew so deep into him it felt like a second face. Kakavasha was a different man, the kind that knew what was really important and what was not.  

One not impressed by money or political circus, instead wanting to protect and provide for those close to him, more down to earth and proud than Aventurine could ever be with all his wealth and victories. The one who stood in silence when the lights were gone, the one who observed emotionless when his fate was debated by the rest of the Stonehearts, the one who put his own body as a shield between his friends and dangers of battle.  

There was not much those two men caged together in one body had in common, with few exceptions. Both had iron will and ambition forged in hellfire they went through in this lifetime, both were aware that even with all the luck in the universe their destiny was inherently unjust and both knew they will love you till death returns Kakavasha's tired soul to his family and Gaiathra Triclops in afterlife.  

Alcohol circulated in his veins, clouding his mind and soothing his fears. He excused himself not caring about worried glances his coworkers sent him and rushed towards you on slightly wobbling legs, passing self-important gentlemen and overdressed ladies. Concentrated on getting to you as fast as possible he didn't plan on what to say so once your eyes crossed he just froze in place. At first your eyes widened in pure shock but right away hatred took over. Aventurine inhaled sharply when your brows furrowed and jaw clenched. He wasn't used to irritated glances from you, you were always so gentle with him. His mouth got dry. 

- Long time no see, dear. - your voice was more collected than you expected it to be. Sometimes you imagined meeting him again but even in your dreams you were never this calm and over him. So time truly does heal wounds. - I have no idea why do you think you can just approach me out of nowhere after what you did to me, but I won't let you waste any more of my time after you stole years of my life with your empty promises. So please, hurry up.  

- So cold, huh? - Aventurine awkwardly attempted to laugh his anxiety off. - I know I must come off as a complete jerk but please, listen to me. Back then... I... I don't know how to explain that. 

- Maybe for once just say the truth if you even know how to be sincere. - you scoffed. - Simply say it like it is.  

- I was one bad day away from losing my job and I needed to make sure you won't get hurt in the process.  

You raised one of your eyebrows.  

- So you can only love me when you are on the top of the world but as soon as problems emerge I am a burden to discard? - you rolled your eyes.  

- Don't say that... It's not like that. - he hid his left hand behind his back, toying with one of the poker chips he always carried around. - If they kicked me out all kinds of sick people who prayed for my downfall would go after me. None of them would miss the opportunity to hurt me even more by harming you.  

- If that's what you say... - you seemed unbothered.  

- What do you mean by that? - Avgin curved his lips in confusion. 

- How can I be sure you aren't lying? That wouldn't be the first time it seems. - you chuckled sadly.  

- Please don't use that against me, I had no choice... - before he had a chance to explain further you interrupted. 

- Why should I believe you? Not to mention at this point it wouldn't change anything. - you looked away. - Not after all this time. 

- How could I let you know it was a bluff if you cut me off completely? I couldn't find you anywhere, I tried for weeks. You moved out and blocked me. - Sigonian's voice broke when he choked on repressed emotions, wondering if you even listened to him, your expression not showing any sign of interest. 

- I don't care anymore. If you really wanted to you would find a way. - you shrugged. 

Before he could mention how he overused his political influence and still could not find a single trace of you black haired male approached you both with glass of wine. Aventurine sized him up, tall and well build man had a reserved and cool aura, Avgin could feel hidden power radiate from that guy, as if he had a beast under his skin. Something about the way dark-haired male looked at you made his stomach turn. 

- I brought the drink you wanted. Are you ok? Who's that man? - mysterious guy asked you, concerned by your uncomfortable body language. He had a deep, melodic voice but spoke in monotone way. 

- I should ask the same thing. - Aventurine did his best to sound intimidating. - You guys know each other? - he turned his gaze back to you. 

- Yes, it's my coworker, Dan Heng. We grew really close lately. - you smiled at that strange, tall man. Sigonian stopped himself from asking just how close the two of you were. - Thank you for a chance to catch up Aventurine, but you see, I'm very busy right now. I promised to introduce my... friend to a few people. 

You gave him venomous smile when Dan Heng put his arm around your waist protectively and pulled you away from your ex. Aventurine hated the way you let that guy touch you. Did you allow him even more in private? Did you let him do things Avgin used to do? Does that other man know how beautiful you look with messy hair and no make up, with flushed cheeks and tears of pleasure in your eyes? Do you sing for him the way you did for Aventurine every night? Does he wear your marks on his back? Gambler preferred not to know, but whether Dan Heng already took his place by your side or was yet working on it, he was sure of one thing.  

- It's not over yet. - Aventurine muttered, clenching his left fist till he heard a poker chip breaking in half. 

[loviatarsluv-old]

If you’re still taking writing prompts, may I request Halsin comforting the reader who gets bad anxiety about going to sleep?

ahhh this is so sweet and definitely something I think about constantly, imagine curling up in Halsin’s lap and him holding you and comforting you im going to scream!!!!!!!!

ty for this prompt, I needed it 😭

Halsin x gn!reader/tav 🩷

rating: sfw (very soft and fluffy and sweet)

Sleep has never come very easily to you. And the few times it did, it was restless - filled from start to finish with nightmares that always inevitably woke you up in the middle of the night, clutching onto your bedroll, chest heaving and eyes streaked with tears.

You’d been able to hide it from the others for the most part, but Halsin noticed a few nights ago while on night watch, when you lurched out of your bedroll, silently sobbing. He watched you as you tried to calm yourself, burying your head in your hands and curling your knees to your chest. He wanted so badly to comfort you then, but he didn’t wish to make you uncomfortable in his efforts. So he silently watched you until you finally settled back into your bedroll, and your eyes closed once again for the night.

The next night, you noticed he’d been lingering close to you all evening, periodically asking you if you needed any help with anything, even offering you a cup of the tea that he’d brewed, bringing it to you with a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat.

He towers over you as you sit on a log next to the campfire, watching the flames lick at the night air and the smoke swirl and try to find shapes in it. You almost gawk at his size and stature, despite having already spent a considerable amount of time with him - you’d think you’d be used to it by now.

You smiled and took the cup gratefully, your fingers brushing against his as you took it from him.

“Thank you.”

His smile softens, and he brings a hand up to brush a lock of hair behind your ear.

“No need. It should help you sleep, we must take all the rest we can before morning.” He says, resting his hand on your cheek - his warm palms feel like a beam of sunlight.

Your face falls.

“Y-yeah. Right.” You reply, your voice meek and small as your eyes fall to the cup in your hands, staring at your reflection in the tea.

Halsin notices your demeanor shift, his brows softening as he kneels in front of you.

He holds your chin between his thumb and his index finger, guiding your face up so your eyes meet.

“What is troubling you? Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asks, his expression outwardly calm but his light eyes flicker with concern.

Your body tenses, and you feel your eyes start to sting with tears that you can’t shed. You shake your head, and force another weak smile.

“I’m okay, really. Nothing dire or important. Thank you.”

You feel a tightness in your chest - you wanted so badly to talk to someone about this, you knew that you likely needed to, but for some reason the words just wouldn’t come out, the taste of them bitter on your tongue. It wasn’t out of fear of Halsin judging you, as you knew he was the last person in the realm that would judge you for such a thing or probably most things. He had a true heart of gold.

Part of you just wanted to preserve the image of you that he had in his mind - strong and fearless and unbreakable. It was unbecoming of a leader to be wrecked over something as simple as nightmares.

“It is important to me, if it is important enough for you to lose sleep over. But, if you are not ready to talk about it, I shall be here when you are ready.” He says simply, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes and savor his touch, still feeling his lips burning on your skin even after he pulls away.

He turns to walk away, and you grab his arm to stop him.

“Halsin?”

He turns, his scarred face glowing in the orange light of the fire, his eyes reflecting the flames. “Yes, my heart?”

“I’m so happy you joined us. Thank you.”

His eyes soften more than you’ve ever seen, almost resembling those of a puppy whose just been adopted.

“As am I.”

You give his arm a gentle squeeze before letting go, and watch him lumber back to his own tent, sitting just outside of it and fixing his gaze back on you. He watched you as if he were ready to leap in front of an arrow for you, as if he were ready to fight to the death for you. Your cheeks heat under his stare, and you look back down at your tea.

Just drink it. You need to sleep. He made it for you, just drink it.

You take a big sip, the warm liquid heating you as it goes down your throat and it tastes of chamomile and honey. You smile, as you remember Halsin telling you of his sweet tooth, and how you teased him about being a bear that loves honey.

The tea helps you ease your nerves just enough to finally let yourself feel tired enough to seek your bedroll and lay down, slowly drifting off to sleep.

You only sleep for a few hours, every second of it plagued by your usual nightmares - flashes of bloody battles and mind flayers and everyone you care for either hurt or dying. Just as an arrow hits you in your dream, you wake with a start, lurching out of your bedroll, gasping and clawing at your blanket.

Your eyes burn with previously unshed tears, now falling in a full torrential downpour. You bring your knees to your chest and just sob, unable to control or care about your volume as every sob racks through your body like a tidal wave.

You don’t notice Halsin approaching you before you feel his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his lap, cradling you and shushing you until your breathing calms.

“S-sorry…” you sob into his chest, gripping the fabric of his nightclothes for dear life.

He shakes his head, then rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Do not apologize. You are not made of steel. You are made of flesh and blood, and a beating heart. You are made to feel.”

You sigh, your shoulders still shaking and your hands and voice trembling as you speak. “I’m just so exhausted… and I can’t even find respite in sleeping.”

He tightens his arms around you, tilting his head so that his cheek presses to your scalp. “Would it help to have someone to keep you company? I can stay here beside you, if you desire.”

You nod, your breathing finally slows and your body starts to settle. “Please.”

He scoots aside into your bedroll with you as you cling to him, refusing to let him go and let go of the bliss that is being enveloped in his embrace. He grabs your blanket, pulling it so that it covers you, tucking it in between the two of you so it’ll stay.

“Are you comfortable?” He asks, his large hands gently rubbing your arm and leg.

You nod, and snuggle into his chest.

“Could you talk to me? Like… tell me a story, or something,”

You don’t see it but you can feel the smile radiating off of him as he lets out a contented breath, then places a kiss to the top of your head.

“Of course.”

He begins to tell you of his time with Thaniel all those centuries ago, of their adventures in the forest and describing the serenity of being wrapped in nature’s embrace. He tells you of the times he was in wild shape and got mistaken by other bears as a true bear, and how he acquired the large scar on his face. You listen to the steady beat of his heart and the gentle rumbling in his chest as he speaks and it’s infinitely more effective than even a lullaby is to lull a baby to sleep.

Your eyes slowly close and you drift back to sleep, this time, rather than horrific nightmares, you dream of a calm and peaceful clearing, the wet grass tickling your bare feet as you walk - and you see him, waiting near the water, hand outstretched and beckoning you. You smile in your sleep.

He looks down at you, watching you as you slumber, his heart pounding as he runs his thumb along your cheek. He would cherish this moment of seeing you in pure bliss, and cherish the thought of him having given it to you. He’d give you the moon and the stars if he could, he thinks.

god I am unwell I love him so much halsin snuggles would fix me I think

[weird-is-life]

Sirius Black after escaping the Black Manor House, bloody and bruised and sobbing his heart out, comes to James’s house where Remus and reader already are. Reader gets so incredibly protective of Siri and just wraps herself around him, hardly even letting fleamont near him in fear of him getting hurt again. She falls asleep in his lap, still curled around him like a shield.

Hiii, ty for the request!!! Hope this is okay, warnings: pet names, mentions of bruises and blood, angsty, fluff, mentions of food/drinks, (0.7k)

You don't expect anybody to barge inside Potters's home, so late at night. You, James and Remus have been talking and inventing a plan on how to free your Sirius from the nightmare, that is his household for hours, hell even days now.

So when you see him standing in front of the door all bloody, bruised and so so sad, you almost think you've gone crazy.

But you haven't, he's really there. Sirius knew, he had to get out of his house. And even if he knew it wasn't going to be easy, he didn't expect his family to fight so hard to keep him there. It all happened so quickly, one minute, he was casting one spell after another and the next, he was knocking on James's door with blood running down his arm and face.

"Oh my gosh, Sirius!" you throw yourself around his neck, hugging him tightly just to really make sure, you aren't imagining him.

Sirius lets out a sigh of relief, upon having you finally back in his arms, even if his whole body hurts like crazy. And unintentionally, he can't help it, the tears start to run down his cheeks as his body shakes with the sobs.

You don't say anything, almost as startled by the state of Sirius as he is, you just hold him more tightly.

The guys give you a few minutes before they get too impatient and go to hug Sirius tightly. You step back for a moment, giving them some space, because you know they need it, too.

Eventually, when Sirius's soft sobs stop and there appears a smile on his face, you say, " come on handsome, let's get you cleaned up."

You take his hand and lead him to the bathroom as Remus and James make some tea and something to eat.

You sit Sirius down on the tub and bring out some gauzes and antiseptic spray. You start to gently wiping away the blood and cleaning out the cuts.

Sirius tiredly, defeated just sits there and lets you clean him up. His eyes close on their own accord as your loving hands patch him up.

You work as quickly and as gently as you can, but every now and then you hear, Sirius wince.

"I'm sorry, sorry" you say worriedly, "I'm almost done."

"It's okay, sweetheart," Sirius answers softly with hoarse voice.

You stop, what you are doing and sigh, " I'm sorry, Siri, that....that you had to go through this on your own. I'm sorry, we weren't there."

Sirius opens his eyes to look at your pretty, but very upset face," sweetheart, there was nothing you could have done. Nothing. And it's okay, if you weren't there, you are here now, that's all that matters to me," Sirius tries to give you is best smile and it works. Even if he looks like he just went through hell and back, his smile looks the smile as it always does.

You sniffle a little and smile back at him, putting your hands through his wild hair, you whisper, " I love you, Siri."

"I know," Sirius says," I love you, too. So much."

You lean in to give him a kiss, but hesitate, not wanting to make him hurt with all of the cuts.

Sirius, apparently, doesn't care about it, because he pulls you close to him and kisses you. His whole face feels like it's on fire from the pain, but all he cares about is that he's safe and he's got you with him.

When you pull away with giddy smile, you quickly go to your room for some Bruisewort Balm (healing cream) and some clothes, he can change into.

Once Sirius is looking like himself again, you go hand in hand to the living room, where the tea and food and relieved James and Remus wait for you two.

You make yourselves comfy on the couch there. You snuggle Sirius close the whole time, not intending on ever letting him go again.

And as the sun starts to rise, everybody falls asleep in the living room, too exhausted to move to the much comfier beds. But you are as comfy as one can be, as you hold on tightly to your Sirius.

[didyoulookforme]

thinking about riding Matty while his hands are tied behind his back yummy yummy monday evening thoughts

oh my god anon, thank you for this.

are you in my head? because this is something i've been wanting to chat about regarding soft subby bf matty but haven't gone around to doing a proper blurb so here are some ramblings that i hope make sense. it's just a run-on stream of consciousness thing with no formatting and no real ending. i also got too carried away so it is a longer one lol

warning: 18+, smut, reader is upset. grammatical errors, typos.

other bf matty blurbs & rambles here.

okay, so imagine you just got home from a fucking awful day of work. freaking debbie from accounting is back at it, making your job impossible and a living hell. who knows what her problem is. anyway. right away when you enter the apartment you are greeted by the scent of a delicious pasta that your dear bf matty is preparing because he's one damn good cook (it's canon for him, lol). you go to the kitchen and sit at the bar, watching as matty whips up the alfredo sauce which is your favourite. matty greets you without looking at first because he's too focused on getting the proper cheese to cream ratio for the sauce, but once he does, he knows right away that something's off.

bad day, huh?

you make some sort of confirming grunt before you rest your forehead on the cold marble countertop. because your head is down, you don't notice the sad expression on matty's face; he cares about you too much so anytime you're feeling down he cannot help but feel upset, too. he takes one last taste of the sauce (perfect!) before he pulls it off the fire and places it on a trivet. as much as he loves cooking and prepping dinner for you, he wants to make you feel better. so the pasta can wait. bless him.

he takes off his denim apron (which has a drawing of a rooster on the front, for some reason...) before heading over to your side. you feel the warm palm of his hand rub your back in the gentlest of ways while his other grabs your hand. c'mon darling. you raise your head to finally look at your surroundings again only to realize that he stove burners are off and his apron is crumpled on the countertop.

matty, what about the food, i know you like finish-

don't worry about it, love, the food will still taste good later on. let's go.

you're not one to deny him, so you get off the stool and follow his lead as he takes you over to the living room, guiding you to both to sit on the sofa.

he asks about your day as he knows talking makes you feel better in these sort of occasions but it catches him off guard (and you as well, truly) when you just start sobbing uncontrollably as you recount your day. the stress and pressure has been building in your body that all you can really do is cry out of frustration. matty instantly brings you close so you're straddling him, arms wrapped tightly around you, trying to provide some sort of comfort as the tears just stream down your face soaking the fabric of his shirt. your head is buried in the crook of his neck, giving him access to gently kiss the skin of your exposed neck, continuously whispering it's okay, it's okay.

and everything is usually okay, but this time you cannot help but feel an overwhelming mixture of anger and exhaustion. it's bad enough that you've subconsciously grabbed fistfuls of your boyfriend's curly hair, and when you realize you're doing so, you instantly jerk away, apologizing profusely while more tears streak down your face.

oh no, i'm sorry. i'm so sor--

he urgently but carefully grabs your face between his hands, bringing his forehead against yours. it's okay, it's okay. everything feels like too much right now, that not even the sensation of his gentle fingers on your face can soothe whatever is brewing inside you.

and at that moment you cannot help but kiss him. hard, fast and hungrily. he whimpers against your lips at the shock of it all, but doesn't hesitate to kiss you back, letting you take the lead and set the pace. teeth clashing against each other, you bitting at his bottom lip, shoving your tongue in his mouth constantly. it's messy and aggressive but he doesn't stop you, only pulling away to catch your breath, looking down at the crumbled fabric of his now over stretched shirt clenched in between your fingers.

seeing his dishevelled state--red swollen lips, unruly hair, wrinkled top--is enough to edge you on to continue, now focusing on leaving marks all over his neck, around the several necklaces that he wears. there's nothing gentle about it, a sharp contrast as to how softly he's holding on to your waist. you lick, bite, suck at any skin that you find, leaving behind countless bruises along the way as he moans uncontrollably underneath you. your left hand is back on his hair, pulling at it so his neck is exposed, while your right one is aimlessly trying to unbutton his pants but failing miserably. god knows you're already frustrated enough, so you just grab one of matty's hands and bring it over to the front of his jeans so he can undo the pesky button and zipper himself. once he's done, he places your palm back at the top of his pants, giving him a mumbled thank you before you slide your fingers under the fabric of his boxers.

you waste no time and start stroking his cock as fast as you can, all while you desperately kiss him leaving you both breathless once more. because of your erratic pace, it doesn't take long for matty to begin losing control. you know he's getting near his climax because of the way his legs are starting to shake and how close he pulls your body against him. however, you're too deep in whatever trance has possessed over you, that you take your hand away as to not let him finish. not yet at least.

and before he says anything about it, you get off his lap and on to your feet, dragging him up with you so you can take off his pants and underwear completely. you instruct him to remove his shirt and you swear he's never done it faster in his life. instantly your lips are clashing against each other for the millionth time that night, giving you the chance to reach behind your head and undo the white silk scarf holding up your ponytail. again, you're not entirely sure what's taken over your mind and body, but before you know it, you tie matty's wrists behind his back.

you push him down on the couch, bitting your bottom lip and silently asking him if this is alright. the fucked out expression and small smile tugging at the corner of his lips is all the confirmation you need.

please.

you take off your soaked underwear but decide to keep your floral cotton dress on because you know it's his favourite. it's the least you can do for how you've been treating him. not that he minds; it's quite the opposite in fact. with each of your knees to his sides, you straddle him for the second time that night, grabbing his cock and guiding him to your cunt before you sink down and take him all at once.

and it fucking hurts. having him inside you without any foreplay is probably a stupid choice, but part of you hopes that the pain can help take away some of the anger and resentment built up in your body not only from that day, but weeks and months prior. more tears end up streaming down your face. from the pain or anger, you don't know. probably both.

hey, hey. love are you ok-?

you cover his mouth with your hand before he can say anything else, but you look at him and nod, glassy eyes assuring him that it is okay. he returns an understanding, soft look, and that's when you finally begin to move your hips, grinding hard against his dick so you can feel every single inch of him inside you. in that instant you see his brown eyes roll to the back of his head, mumbling a fuck against the palm of your hand. you work yourself up to a steady pace, switching between grinding and moving up and down his cock to hit that spot inside you which makes you delusional.

with your fingers still over his open mouth, you can hear his muffled moans, his spit now covering the palm of your hand and dripping down his chin. it's fucking obscene sight but one that you hope you'll never forget.

making sure that his eyes are on yours, you finally take the hand off his mouth. his gaze follows as you take your soaked fingers and guide them under your dress, your high pitched moans a clear sign that you have started to rub your clit.

oh my fucking god.

he snaps his head up to look at you with the most lustful yet loving expression on his face. the adoration radiating off him is too much for you to handle and you cannot help but smile, the first time you’d done so during that whole day. there is no more pain, no more tears, just pure pleasure running through your body, washing away the frustration.

thank you.

[smallestapplin]

I won't leave

Somewhat based in castlevania sotn, as it's implied Alucard has ptsd from his mother's death.

Please note my requests are closed, but I'm always happy to chat! (Note this has been queued.)

-

-

-

It's a known fact the world is dangerous, filled with monsters who wish you dead in some way shape or form, wheather those monster be truely as their namesake or human like you.

But you swore to help the innocent, it's what Alucard loved most about you.

You were selfless, compassionate, witty and able to banter with him easily.

But he loves those late nights with you at his side, laughing about something stupid, or just whispering your love for one another. He never thought he'd allow himself to love, he's a monster just like his father, and he can't help but carry that insecurity with him after everything he's done.

Yet your touch and words never fail to break through the walls he carefully built for centuries.

He fights tirelessly to protect you and fight off the creatures of the night, nothing ever phasing him or making his stoic expression break in these moments. You are his first priority, your safety is all he cares about and keeps him going in his most heated battles.

Even so you fight right along side him with ease, both of you working in tandum as if you have all your lives. You always are there to help comfort him, mainly after that battle with that succubus who cruelly took the form of his mother in her last moments.

It's a topic you don't bring up, never wanting to pasture him about it, but you happily listen to him as he tells you stories of her. He just knows his mother would've loved you, he can almost imagine bringing you home and his mom adopting you as her own.

Maybe in another world he'd get that bliss.

Maybe in another world he's family was still together and he could've introduced you to them.

That's not this world or this life though.

He knows deep down had it not been for his mother's last words he would've joined his father in the destruction of humanity.

But you keep those thoughts from forming.

As had he done so, he would've never met you, his sweet darling.

Maybe that's why the large bonfire was making his head swim.

laughater from the newly saved town had been drowned out.

As the blaze grew fire so did his heart rate. Everything feels too hot, why can't he breathe? Screams ring in his ears, screams he can never get rid of.

You look to your lover, ready to ask if he wanted a drink until you saw hos still he was.

"Alucard?" You ask, your voice low as to not draw any attention.

His chest was barely moving, merely taking short quick breaths. His eyes are wide, filling with tears that reflect that amber glow from the fire. You act fast, instantly at his side and tentivly touching his back to rub slow circles.

"Adrian, Adrian look at me. Shhh it's okay. Sweetheart I need you to look at me."

You aren't sure how long you stood there calling for him before he gasps, taking a large gulp of air, panting as he blinks rapidly, his golden eyes snapping towards you with tears screaming down his face.

"Shh shh it's okay. Come on." You move your hand to his lower back and gently guide him away from the towns bonfire.

Their cheering grows quieter the further you two move away, before finding a private place for him to sit. When he sits on a bench he's grabbing your hands, keeping you in front of him as he sobs into your stomach.

You quickly wrap your arms around his shoulders, gently shushing him and telling him to let it all out. You run your fingers through his hair, tenderly scratching his scalp to comfort him.

"I'm- I'm sorry-!"

"You have nothing to apologize for, you've done nothing wrong."

You've never seen him cry, Alucard is always sure to keep himself in check,but you're not about to let him feel bad for this. He only cries harder at your words, his arms coiling around your waist, tight like a snake.

He can't let you go, he can't lose you too!

He fears if he lets go you'll disappear, consumed by the very blaze that took his mother.

You already have an idea on what happened,and you're not about to blame him for it as it's such a raw memory for him.

You'll stay with him as long as he needs, letting him sob into your shirt until he tires himself out.

[camels-pen]

harbor on the sea

There was a woman by the water. A fishing pole was stuck into the sand next to her, line bobbing gently with the waves.

Before he'd realized, he'd already moved to sit beside her, just inches from the ebbing tide.

She smiled at him, her face entirely featureless. Yet he could imagine. Tired eyes, a kind smile.

And a lovely, long nose.

She was a harbor. A place to come home to. The only place he knew, a lifetime ago. And now, well.

If she was a harbor, then he was the sea. All of the seas. Everywhere and all encompassing. Beautiful at the surface but full of hidden depths.

A home to many people, not just Usopp.

The woman turned to the sunset ahead of them. She was admiring the light, the warmth.

He was warm too. First impressions were terrifying, but they were far past that now. Usopp had seen his acts of kindness as they were, despite the way he sounded like a jackass sometimes.

His kindness was what started all this in the first place.

But the light can blind you. The seas can be cruel too. The woman was saying as such, despite her lips not moving.

They could. They had. But it's about learning to sail on the sea- with the sea- not fighting against it. There would be ups and downs. Setbacks and mistakes. But the point of an adventure was the journey, wasn't it?

(And the sea would not erode. Not like her. He would make sure of it.)

When did he get so wise? The woman seemed to echo his absent thought.

He picked up a thing or two over the years. He'd also been reading a lot more romance novels of late.

The woman chuckled, a breathy, silent thing. She leaned over to pull Usopp into a hug, and it was like he was a little kid all over again. She pressed her face to his hair and a glowing feeling of rightness filled his being from head to toe.

He missed this. Missed her.

A spot of something warm on his cheek. It wasn't from the woman.

He couldn't stay.

Usopp shifted, staring into her eyeless eyes. He needed to ask her something if he never saw her again...

She smiled. As if he already knew the answer.

But he didn't. He didn't know. He needed to hear it from her, he could never just presume-

She tapped his nose. Overthinking again. She patted her lap, inviting him.

He didn't want to leave her.

She would always be with him. The woman placed a hand to his heart.

Usopp's lip wobbled. He took a breath and nodded. He lowered himself down.

By the time his head rested on her lap, Usopp was out like a light.

-

Usopp woke up. Sat straight up in his bunk. Sanji, right in front of him and lips still slightly puckered, quickly moved out of the way. “Geez, where's the fire?”

With an odd taste in the back of his throat and imprint of his pillow on his cheek, Usopp said, "I think my mom gave us her blessing to get married."

Sanji furrowed his brow. "Isn't your mom dead?"

"Yeah."

"Huh."

A moment of silence passed.

"You think we should wait for my mom to say something too, or do you just wanna go for it?"

Usopp groaned, covering his heated face. “If you're just gonna tease me, give it a few hours.”

“Actually, I was just going to tease you, but…”

There was a shuffling of cloth and a a creaking of wood. Usopp peeked between his fingers before dropping his hands entirely, mouth agape. “No way,” he whispered. “No way no way no way.”

Down on one knee. Hand aloft. An open ring box.

A silver ring.

“I think this is as good a time as any, don't you?”

As Usopp tackled Sanji to the floor in a heap of sobs and snot, he could almost see his mother's approving face. Hear her declare that this one- this one's a keeper.

[desertfangs]

Inebriated - Armand/Daniel - 1000 words

Daniel is drunk and pleading for the blood. Again.

This angsty little nugget was written for @vcmicroficmay Week 3 for the prompt "Inebriated."

Full text here or cross-posted to AO3.

“Give it to me, damn you!” Daniel demands, the liquid sloshing over the lip of the glass that he jostles in his hand while he speaks. “Haven’t I proven that I’m worthy?” 

“It is not a prize one becomes worthy of,” Armand says patiently. 

Daniel scoffs, anger rising. “Bullshit! You’d do it if you really loved me.” 

Armand starts to say that’s absurd, that his love for him is precisely why he cannot damn him to this, but Daniel won’t hear it. 

“You don’t know what love is! How can you!” He slurs his speech but Armand understands well enough. “You torment me and toy with me and you’ll never do it. You’ll just let me die. And then what!” 

The last part comes out more like a sob than a question. Daniel is drunk enough that the alcohol is melting his resolve. Some drunkards grow cruel and mean the more they imbibe, but Daniel simply runs out of steam. His anger in this state tends to come out in short, fiery bursts, like fire from the mouth of a dragon, and then dissipates. 

Armand merely needs to wait him out. 

“Well? Do you have my grave picked out?” Daniel flings his hand forward in an accusatory gesture and the rest of the contents of the glass slosh onto the floor, ice and all. Daniel stares at the glass in his hand, as if offended it had dared spill its contents without his permission. But then he looks back at Armand. “Will you leave my body in my bed to rot? Or will you take me out on your boat and drop me into the sea?”

“Daniel—” Armand reaches for him but he pulls away. 

“Don’t.” He walks back to the living room and leans against the wall, sliding down it onto the floor. His fingers tear at his short blond hair and he glares at Armand with a mixture of anger and pain. 

And then the tears come. 

Armand stands across the room, watching him helplessly, listening to the sobs shake his chest. His lungs rattle as he holds his head in his hands and stares at the carpet. Air wheezes through his trachea. Daniel starts coughing but the sobbing doesn’t stop and Armand is afraid he’ll choke. 

He crosses the room and kneels in front of Daniel. He takes his hands in his. After a moment, Daniel catches his breath. He meets Armand’s eyes. His beautiful, violet eyes are red with large circles beneath them. Tears—mortal tears, made of saline—streak down his cheeks.

“I would do it for you,” Daniel says. His voice is weak. He looks defeated. Lost. So much younger than his thirty-one years. 

“You believe you would,” Armand says. “But you don’t know—”

Daniel scoffs and leans his head against the wall behind him, tilted to stare up at the tall ceiling overhead. Armand stares at the line of Daniel’s throat, at the artery pulsing under his skin. He’s pale—not pale like Armand, not like the dead, but like a mortal who does not get enough sun.

“I know I would,” Daniel insists. 

Defiant, always. 

Armand does not bother to argue. The tears have stopped. His beloved—this strange and beautiful boy who has captured Armand’s heart so fully—sits listless and broken. His shoulders slump. His heart rate slows. He sniffles again, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. 

Why can’t I make you see? 

Armand bends forward and kisses his tear-stained cheek, salty and wet. He smooths his forehead. You’re still so young, Daniel. 

Daniel swallows and looks away. His thoughts are turbulent, bouncing around from the broken glass on the floor to the exhaustion he imagines he feels in his bones, to the frustration that tears at his soul. 

Armand bites his own wrist, gashing his flesh with his fangs. Daniel’s eyes focus on it, his pulse racing at the site of his blood beading up out of Armand’s pale white skin.  

Daniel shakes his head, trying to resist. It won’t be enough. What’s the use? 

Armand starts to pull his arm back. He won’t force his blood on Daniel. It was meant as an olive branch and if Daniel will not take it—

Slender fingers snatch his wrist, holding it there in front of his face. He doesn’t drink. He just watches the skin knit back together. He’s always so fascinated by the way Armand’s body heals. 

He licks his lips. Then he glances at Armand, his look pleading enough that Armand knows his desire. He cuts open his wrist again.

This time, Daniel does not resist. He holds fast to his arm, keeping it against his mouth as he drinks, swallowing deeply, desperate to drink enough blood to work its magic. Armand enjoys the feeling of Daniel drinking from him and the calm that comes over Daniel when the blood sears through his veins, their hearts being in unison. 

Finally, he eases his arm out of Daniel’s grasp. 

Daniel’s eyes are brighter now, his mind clearer. His heart pounds in his chest. He meets Armand’s gaze again. 

“You used to say I danced with danger, back when this all began,” Daniel says. “That I walked a fine line.” 

Armand stares at him. He did say those things, many times. And they were always true. Even now, he—

“You do the same thing by letting me drink from you.” Daniel glares.

Armand says nothing. 

Daniel gets to his feet, more steady now that the blood is working through him and the effects of the alcohol are fading. “You know what I think? I think you want to do it. You’re just a coward.” 

Daniel storms out of the room. A moment later, the back doors to the Villa bang open and Daniel disappears into the night. He’d headed toward the Plaza, not the boats. He’ll stay on the island, then. 

Relief rushes over Armand. He goes to get a dustpan to clean up the broken glass.