#i had so much trouble with the formatting

[bluemerakis]

┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ I’m not going anywhere ❞

⤷ Part 2/3

⤷ Read part 1 here

⤷ Word count: 15.9k (I’m SO sorry 😭)

[18+ ONLY!!]

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PAIRING:

S3!Soldier Boy x fem!reader

WARNINGS:

Cussing, mild angst, mild harassment of reader via side character, described violence (nothing intense), reader being a baddie (as she should), fluff, spanking, pet names. Lmk if I forgot any! :))

SYNOPSIS:

As you make all the preparations for tonight’s plan to flee the Russian compound, you run into trouble that forces you to confront your Supe nature.

The Boys arrive shortly after to help you free Ben, where you discover that he has a new, deadly power.

Unresolved tension forces yourself and Ben to split from the rest of the group and find your own way out.

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From the sidelines of the testing room, you watched with wistful eyes as the heavily armed guards streamed inside and fanned around Ben’s entrapped figure. He put on a display for them, writhing between the chains and hurling out all manner of insults to convey his disdain of the Russians. You knew the emotions were true, only more dramatised for the sake of make-belief; it was any other day, not the last.

Through the planned commotion, Ben slipped you a discreet glance, and you caught the slightest dip of his chin before his head was forcibly pressed against the table by one of the guards. Your heart ached at the sight of his fully-pinned figure, more guards streaming in through the door and swarming about him like an exploded hornet’s nest on the prowl for its next victim. One of the braver men came up to press an arm across your boyfriend’s neck and slapped an oxygen mask over his flaring nose and mouth, then with a single flick of the mechanism, Novichok gas streamed into the chamber.

As the nerve agent buffeted Ben’s unwilling airways, the guards had to fix his head in place with great effort as he attempted to dislodge the mask with grunts of protest. His lungs were desperate to reject the debilitating gas with strong fits of coughing, but his effort was to no avail.

You watched as the Supe’s frantic movements began to dwindle, the anger framing his eyes softening with his wilting glare. He blinked many times to try and fight off the haze, but it consumed him entirely— finally stilling him into a docile puppet. His eyes lolled to the back of his head, his lids clamping shut to preserve his dignity while the clatter of chains against the steel table settled at last.

And just like that, the super-abled, invincible brute that was Soldier Boy had been subdued.

The guards held their formation for a few seconds longer, the mask suffocating half of Ben’s face emitting the last of its gas for good measure. Once they were certain that he was asleep, they slowly began to release their hold on him, the oxygen mask removed from his face. The last guard to go was the one still holding Ben’s limp head, and when he was given the go ahead, he released it without a care, causing it to topple to the side to face you.

You grimaced at the lack of respect they showed his comatose form—yeah, he was extremely short of a saint, but he was still a person, one who’d been subjected to years of torture and experiments that should have killed him at any point. If there was anything that could’ve warranted some ounce of respect, you’d have settled for that fact alone. But you couldn’t have much of a say in the matter when he was only supposed to be your experiment.

Besides, in your line of work, you’d be speaking from the place of a fucking hypocrite—what’s a little rough handling compared to repeatedly stabbing poisoned needles into his arm, just hoping it doesn’t kill him?

Taking in a deep breath, you lifted your chin slightly with a great effort to appear unfazed by the entire ordeal. You couldn’t help drinking in Ben’s expressionless features, though, noting that for the first time since you’d known him, he looked almost peaceful. You hoped that he was—that he’d been swept into some or other dream to help him pass the time of this dull, inhumane routine. You recalled the dream he’d told you about only an hour earlier, the one where’d you’d both been an entangled mess within his bed.

Despite the crude way he’d painted the picture, it had been a rather fond milestone in your relationship. It was the first time Ben had found it in himself to man up—as ironic as that sounded—and admit with his own two lips that he loved you.

You walled off your thoughts as the head guard appeared at your side, your attention shifting to where they brought in a rolling table and lined it up beside the operating table. You watched as the guards slowly began to undo the chains wreathed around Ben’s sleeping figure.

“Did everything go smoothly?” The head guard asked, his voice muffled beneath his all black ensemble. His shoulder lined up beside yours as he turned to watch Ben’s unloading beside you.

You heaved a subtle sigh through your nose, head fixed forward as you watched them shovel your boyfriend’s body onto the rolling table with a spiteful lack of care. Not having the energy to speak, you offered a mere nod.

Thankfully, your response was satisfactory enough, the guard returning your nod before he left your side to bring up the rear of the patrol rolling Ben toward the exit. The Supe’s arm was dangled over the side of the table, and your eyes latched onto the plaster you’d placed before he was moved through the doorway and the sight was ripped from view.

But the image lingered in your mind. Never again would you have to place another plaster—or needle—in his arm. Come tonight, there’d be no need to because you’d both be free of this rotten hellhole.

The testing room became eerily quiet as you were left alone to bathe in your emotional haze. There were a few routinely things you’d have to do before tonight’s escape. You glanced over your shoulder at the case you’d left on table, the one that had born the experimental compound you’d injected into Ben. It was standard procedure to return the case to the experimental lab following each session, along with completing a written log about the process—vitals, patient response, any hiccups in the administration.

You were tempted to forsake it all out of spite. A harsh scolding and beating for failure to comply would matter little if you weren’t here to receive the punishment. But you knew you couldn’t risk the extra attention of getting caught in misconduct—couldn’t let your emotions get the best of you when there was so much riding on your role in tonight’s plan. So you held your breath, not without scorn, and marched over to collect the case before leaving the room without so much as a last glance back.

There was no detail worth remembering about that place—if anything, you hoped its image would fade within short time.

The day was still young. With far too much time to kill, you’d fulfilled your duties by returning all the equipment to its due place. You’d been in and out of almost every room of the compound, where you’d made a point to start discreetly packing a branded corporate backpack you’d nicked from the clothing and gear room. You’d begun loading it with necessary supplies—a first aid kit, medication, clothing, even managing to procure a set of burner phones for yourself and Ben.

Throughout it all, you’d kept your pace brisk to minimise interactions with the far too chatty employees of the establishment. The last thing you needed was to get caught in conversation with a loaded and somewhat illegal backpack in clutch.

To wrap up your tedious responsibilities of the day, you were bent over one of the tables in the compound’s common room, logging all the details of your session into the designated book. The bitter aroma of filter coffee hung in the air, which you breathed in with eager appreciation. As much as this place sucked, the coffee had always been good—great, even. There’d been a pot brewing before you entered the room, and you only hoped that the person who’d put it on wouldn’t return while you were still around.

The backpack was laid between your feet as you scribbled away busily, keeping the details of your time with Ben as subtle and concise as possible. Your hand dragged along the paper to terminate the log with your signature, and just as you set the pen down with a tired sigh, a heavyset pair of boots pounded into the room.

Your heart seized on the spot with a heartfelt fuck.

“Hey, you,” an all too familiar voice greeted.

You glanced over your shoulder to confirm the worst of your suspicions, where you were faced with the guard that’d gotten into a spat with Ben. He had the beginning of light bruising all around his nose that had bloomed up the route of his sinuses, light purple crescents propping up both his eyes. You had to fashion great restraint to avoid grimacing at the sight. You were surprised he’d walk around with such a visual admittance of defeat in the first place, as opposed to signing off early and hiding out at home until the bruising wore off.

“Oh—hey,” you pushed out tensely, turning your body to fully face him before leaning your backside against the table. You crossed your one leg in front of the other and used your furthermost heel to try and slide your backpack beneath the table, bidding internal prayers that his attention wouldn’t stray to your restless movements. “Finishing off your shift?” You asked, eager to hold his attention.

The guard must’ve noticed your gaze lingering on his bruises for a few seconds too long because he dragged a hasty palm over his face before cradling the back of his neck out of hot embarrassment.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he insisted. “I’ve always been a big bleeder and bruiser—my mother used to tease me about it when I was a little boy, always falling and scraping my knees. I used to look like I’d come back from a war,” he laughed behind an almost expectant stare, so you forced a chuckle to entertain his babbling.

He took a step toward you, and there was far too little space between your bodies for your liking. “Anyways. . . would you, uh, maybe like to have a coffee with me? There’s enough in the pot for two, and I wouldn’t want it to go to waste. It should be done soon.”

You glanced over your shoulder at the brewing pot in the corner of the room, then turned back to him with a polite smile. “I appreciate that, but not tonight. It’s been a long day, to say the least. I really just need to get home and crawl into bed.”

With another smile, you leaned your hands against the table, fingers beginning to tap at the wood impatiently. Get the fuck out of here already, you groaned internally, ankle feeling at the fabric of your backpack.

During work hours in the compound, no employee was allowed to carry around baggage. It was a safety precaution to ensure no items would be stolen. All baggage had to be checked in and out at the front desks, where the guards—guards like him—would do a thorough search to ensure nobody had nicked anything time-worthy. And then the baggage would be checked into a personal locker for the entire day until closing time.

Nothing coming in, nothing going out.

The only exception is the branded backpack you currently carried, which was often used to transport equipment between rooms of the compound. But they were typically reserved for the technician assistants—as is their job to lug around equipment for the more important personnel. And you had no business carrying one around at this hour of the day, anyway—most of the employees would’ve already signed off and headed home with no further work to pursue.

It made you suspicious, to say the least. Getting caught with supplies like medication and burner phones would warrant you a one-way ticket to a good beating. There would be no passable excuse you could pluck from the depths of your ass to cover yourself against that.

You needed to get out of here. Now.

The guard looked briefly offended by your rejection, but was quick to blink away the expression before lifting a hand to wipe his nose incredulously.

“Okay—yeah, of course,” he sniffed, briefly glancing off to the side. When he turned to look at you again, he crossed his arms as he did a sweep over your figure. “Well, shouldn’t you be off, then? You seem pretty comfortable, unless you’re not in a rush to get home to a boyfriend?”

You could have scoffed at his transparency, but with a man like him, you doubted that he’d take it well, and you had no idea whether anyone would be around to hear you scream. Not that you had real reason to be afraid—you were a Supe well within her abilities to protect herself. Only, very few in the establishment still knew that. You’d been around for far too long, watching as other employees came and went with the years while you remained tethered by emotional obligation. A done deal. Love.

Besides, you liked to keep your business on the down-low, it was safer that way. Most of the employees here were as anti-Supe as most of the world—and why wouldn’t they be? This entire operation was quite literally founded on experimenting on the super-abled. There was no remorse, or love for Supes to be found here.

You tried to pass a nonchalant shrug. “I guess I’m not in a rush,” you admitted tensely, extra hyperaware of the backpack you’d now managed to successfully push beneath the table.

The guard took another step closer, now directly towering over you. “Then you could stay for that coffee, yeah?” He prompted, his voice low and dripping with distasteful intent. “No boyfriend to get back to, right?” He added more softly, teeth flashing with a lewd grin. You caught his eyes flickering down to your lips.

No way in fucking hell. Standing a little taller, you returned his gaze firmly. “No, thanks,” you reiterated, holding your ground as he glared you down. You refused to be intimidated by him; he’d have to know that, too.

The guard looked eerily thoughtful. “All right,” he relented, but his cornering position didn’t falter. “Just one last thing, though. . .” He trailed off with a smugness that tugged at your patience. You knew he was playing some sort of twisted game, and he wanted you to take your turn.

“What’s that?” You pushed out disinterestedly. You expected that he’d try and find some other angle to knead that would get you to relent to his harassment. But what he said next was far from expected, your body seizing on the spot as your heart plummeted to the depths of your chest.

“You think I didn’t notice that little bag you’ve been sneaking around the entire day?”

Your breathing became shallow, and you couldn’t do anything but watch as the guard bent his head to creep his lips close to your ear.

“I’ve been watching you all day.” His breath was hot against your chilled skin, setting off your instinct to flee. “Now, I could be asking you what you need all of those things for. . .” His hands came to trap your body on either side of the table. “Or, we could come to a little agreement, and I’ll let your little rule-breaker slip, hm?”

You craned your head away from his lips, turning to face him with a scorching frown. “Get the fuck off of me,” you spat lowly.

The guard looked mildly amused. “Or what?” He challenged.

Without replying, you lifted your hand from the table, palm facing skywards as your fingers began to curl with malicious intent. The guard’s attention flickered down to witness your gesture with clear confusion etched across his battered face—but the confusion was quickly turned to panic as your fingers began to draw into a slow first, and the Supe that you’d buried deep within you all those years ago began to resurface.

At the will of your fist, you watched the vessels of his eyes begin to thicken—gutters of red paving way through his pearly sclera until it struck his dark pupils, causing them to dilate uncontrollably with each passing second. His throat began to strain, the air in his passages thinning into non-existence until he could do nothing but splutter and gag on his empty lungs. The warm colour in his lips began to drain into a lifeless shade of blue, matching the veins that rose along his neck and face like prominent ant trails.

And then his strength began to falter.

The guard staggered backwards and fell to his knees, hands flying to grapple at his throat in desperation, as though he could grab ahold of the oxygen currently fleeing every cell of his body and hold it hostage for his exploitation—to continue fuelling his pathetic, abominable existence.

You pushed yourself from the table with your remaining hand, bending over briefly to snatch up your backpack before stringing it over your shoulder. Your other hand was drawn into a fist so tight that your skin began to whiten, almost rivalling the shade of pale that the guard currently wore. And you didn’t relent as you closed in on him, not even when you felt the first trail of blood flee your nostrils, and tasted the acrid, iron tang along the walls of your throat.

The guard glanced up at your approaching figure through bloodshot eyes, his expression a primal fear that only a situation of life or death could coax from you. The veins tracing his entire body became so prominent that they could’ve exploded with a single flick of your finger—and you were tempted.

You came to a stop directly before his pathetic form, not bothering to stoop to his level as you spoke. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” You taunted. “Hypoxia—the very oxygen in your body slipping away until all your systems begin to shut down—slowly, in agonising sequence.”

You began to prowl a circle around his dwindling stature for dramatic effect as you pressed on.

“First, your brain’s cells will die, and you’ll become all confused and disoriented until you’re as dumb as a fucking vegetable. Your heart is the next to go, taking everything down with it. And then, your lungs will start to fail, forcing you to breath deeper and deeper with the desperation to latch onto a single breath. . . but no matter how hard you try, I just won’t allow the air back in. It’s excruciating—” you paused as you watched his body begin to rock with violent convulsions, “—but I don’t need to tell you that, do I?”

You circled back to the front of his body, drinking in his frail effort to stay upright through the spasms—desperate to preserve what pitiful sense of pride he still possessed. You tilted your head mockingly, the first trail of blood fleeing your nose to splatter onto your shirt.

“And do you know what the best part is?” You continued scathingly. “There’s not a damn thing you can do about it—not when it comes to me. All you can do is watch. . . and die.”

Foam began to spill at the corners of the guard’s mouth, his eyes so comically red that it felt like an enactment of the rage he currently bore you—and the sentiment pulled through in his furrowed brows and twisted snarl. You could see the disgust in his expression—a look that practically screamed fucking filthy Supe. Rather a Supe than a rabid fucking animal—and he’d been rabid way before this attack.

“Word of advice,” you pushed on—not that he’d live to follow it. “Maybe don’t fuck with the hand that controls the very air you breathe.”

With a single, thorough jerk of your first, you heard the distinct pop of flesh as you tore through the walls of his organs, the tissues deflating into his sure death. Suddenly, all his movements halted, and there was a single, detestable glint in his eyes before they glazed over with a lifeless stare. His hands toppled to his sides, acting as a domino effect that sent his soulless body to the floor with a hard thud.

You glared at his corpse for a few seconds, the fist you’d held onto finally releasing to reveal leaking, red crescents carved into your palm’s flesh. Trails of blood streamed from your nose and into the hard line your lips had pressed into. You swept your tongue along the flesh to clear it away, swallowing back the thick clotting in your throat. You lifted your aching fist to wipe away the blood trickling from your nose, your lips falling loose to exhale softly.

It’d been years since you’d channelled your abilities, and to such an extreme extent, no less. You felt the way your body trembled, your own breath falling slightly short with the beginning of fatigue, but exhilaration kept your jittery legs firmly rooted. It felt good to tear through that wretched man—and you knew that it shouldn’t have, but it did. It felt. . . powerful.

In all the years you’d been trapped here, you’d had anything but power. Every aspect of your life had been controlled by the Russians, and you’d had no choice other than to be swept along with their will. Your gaze dragged back to the guard’s corpse.

But not anymore, you affirmed silently. Not anymore.

With a single, disdainful sniff, you stepped over the guard’s lifeless body, leaving his shredded flesh to drown within the puddle he’d bled.

You made for the room’s exit, and behind you, the pot of brewed coffee let out a shrill whistle.

ミ☬彡

In the holding room, you were leaned against the tank that currently hosted Ben’s sleeping form. The steel was warm against your back as it whirred with all the mechanisms trapping him in a steady sleep, and you had to shift a couple of times to prevent the burning of your skin. The heat soothed your goosebumps, but did little to settle the nagging anxiety within.

An hour had passed. More like twenty rough minutes—but it had felt like ages since you’d left that guard’s body in the common room and made a hasty beeline for this hold. It was already moon-high—most of the employees would have long since called it a day and gone home. So the chances of the guard’s body being discovered at this time were low—you knew this. Yet you kept waiting for that door to come toppling down, armed forces streaming in to beat you onto your knees and make you a live experiment alongside Ben. If you’d survive their outrage to begin with.

Besides you, the only other souls currently roaming the property were all banished to the outskirts, doing perimeter checks and walking tedious lines to ensure nobody would be getting in—or out of this compound. No employee had the reason or desire to stay in the building past closing time, so there was no need for the guards to do a last sweep within before setting up the nighttime perimeter.

Fatal flaw, in your humble, biased opinion.

But your eyes had been glued to that entrance for so long that you could still see the door carved into the darkness behind your lids every time you blinked. Your arms were crossed against your chest as you waited, as if to cradle the unsteady heartbeat in your chest, while your index finger ticked away busily at your bicep.

Shortly after arriving here, you’d taken a second to tend to and bandage the hand you’d unintentionally bled raw during your fit. Your palm still ached with the memory of your furious grip, but you tightened your hold on your arm in the desperate attempt to numb the area into painless submission. It didn’t budge.

Eventually, you found it in yourself to tear your gaze away from the door, your head buckling to take in the view of the floor. You caught a glimpse of the blood stain in your shirt. Almost as if that had reminded your body to pay you the repercussions for overexerting your abilities, you felt a light trial of blood trickle from your nose. Your bandaged hand flew up to catch the red droplets, and you held your fist against your nostrils for a few seconds to absorb the rest of the clot.

You gave a hard exhale through your lips, your patience wearing thin with both your weakened body and the anticipative wait. You dropped your hand back to your side, still feeling the faint, sticky glaze of blood within your nostrils. But you ignored it, almost hoping your body would grow bored with punishing you and ease off for a while—just until The Boys broke you and Ben out of here.

You had no idea when they would arrive. The initial phone call that had started this entire ordeal hadn’t exactly been detailed—it was more of a quick in and out—instructions first, questions later call. And oh, the ambiguity of the plan drove you insane.

On the other side of the room, you heard the scrabble of Jamie’s nails against his glass enclosure. That wretched hamster had seen better days. You figured he was the sort of pet Ben could get along with—if their shared trauma of being experimented on was reason enough to bond.

Suddenly, a heavy clank sounded against the door of the main entrance, which instantly plucked you from your thoughts and had you drawn into a defensive position before you could process the entire situation. Another loud clunk rattled the steel, then another. It sounded like the adrenaline currently pumping your heart to an all time high.

Whoever was behind that door didn’t sound passive. Your paranoia got the best of you as you imagined Russians guards waiting to storm the room. Had somebody found the guard’s murdered body and alerted the nighttime patrol? You knew you should have done a last sweep of the compound before hightailing it toward the hold—perhaps you’d missed an employee, and now you’d have to pay for leaving a loose end uncut.

The door finally relented with one last thud, and it gave a low, trembling creak as it slowly descended to the floor—the scene so cinematically dramatic. It landed with a deafening clunk, a dust cloud exploding to conceal the doorway. You waited tensely, expecting to see the Russians stream through with defences ablaze at any second.

So, this is it, you ridiculed silently. This is how I go out. A bitter smile spread your lips. What had all these years—all the suffering been for, if not to pave way for a happy ending? Did you and Ben not deserve it, after everything?

Tsk. Fate, thou art a heartless bitch.

But the first man to step through the haze was tall and heavyset with dark, messy hair and a thick beard—but most importantly, lacking a guard’s uniform entirely. The sight laid your internal monologue to rest. You wouldn’t be dying today.

The newcomer narrowed his eyes and did a scan of the room. When they landed on you, a devilish smirk hitched up the corner of his mouth.

“Well,” he called out in a thick, English accent—the same one that had driven you crazy through the digital line. He took a dramatic step past the collapsed door, his shoulders rocking side to side before stilling to face you. “‘Ello there, Love. Fancy finally meetin’ yer in the flesh.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you spat out, all the breath you’d been hoarding in anticipation channeled into that single sentence. “Ever heard of a fucking knock?” Your tone was hostile, but your hands fell to your side with relief, your heart rate beginning to settle into a steadier rhythm.

The dark-haired man glanced around him with calculation—likely scanning for any hidden traps or accomplices, then popped a glance to where the door laid needlessly discarded onto the floor. He turned back to you with a done deal grin, hands spreading in an innocent gesture.

“Sorry ‘bout tha’, Love,” he chuckled, that charming smirk becoming far too comfortable on his rough features. “But it do make for one diabolical entrance, done it? And The Boys don’t deserve nuffin’ less.”

As if that did the trick in summoning the rest of the group, more figures slunk through the door to take up formation behind the Brit—a dark-skinned man with distrust woven into his features as he glared you down, a tall, scrawny, kid that looked as jittery as a hostage, an Asian girl that glanced about the room with interest, and a fair-skinned man with what looked like a mullet in bad taste.

The Brit tossed a nod in your direction. “We haven’t formally met. Name’s Butcher,” he said, strolling further into the room to make better acquaintance.

You trailed closer to meet him halfway, coming to stand perfectly in front of Ben’s sleeping tank—as if to shield his helpless form from any potential danger. You were met with the Brit’s outstretched hand, and you glanced down at it with a brief narrowing of your eyes before your attention flickered back up to him.

“It don’t bite, Love—promise,” he jabbed.

You flashed him a wry smile, but you were still hesitant as you slipped your bandaged palm into his. He held you firmly to deliver a polite shake, and you were ready to slink away from his hold when he trapped you in his grasp with a curious study of your palm.

“Blimey, did yer give a knife a good ol’ wank?” He huffed.

With a light scoff, you curbed his prying nose and offered him your name, to which the Brit grinned in a manner that felt forced.

“Lovely name yer’ve got there.” He released your hand and pivoted on his heels to address the rest of the group. “Right, you lot, we don’t got a lotta time. Them red cunts out there know we’re in ‘ere, and they’re gonna come lookin’ for us with ten rounds o’ fuck yer stuck up them fuckin’ guns. So keep yer wits about yer, and keep off each other’s throats, all righ’?”

Your attention drifted to where the Asian girl turned to Butcher, her hands lifting to portray a series of symbols that you could recognise as sign language, but the words were lost on your uneducated eyes. The fair-skinned man beside her turned to face her.

“Don’t worry, Mon Coeur, we can handle them,” he reassured her—a distinct, smooth slur to his words.

French, you noted with a hint of surprise. What an interesting group of people.

“Uh, guys,” the scrawny boy spoke up. You caught a hint of alarm on his features before he turned away to face the door. “I think more guards are on their way.” You strained your ears and heard the faint commotion of Russian phrases and thudding boots in the distance.

“Great,” the dark-skinned man commented sarcastically, head swinging over to face the French. “Ya just had to go and say that, didn’t ya, Frenchie? Should’ve touched wood, man—now we’ve got the whole fuckin’ armed guard about to come down on our asses.”

Who the fuck came up with the name Frenchie? You thought with a scoff. If it was a given nickname within the group, there was a severe lack of creativity amongst their ranks.

Frenchie looked confronted at the man’s attack. “I didn’t do anything! Blame Butcher for frying le whole fucking grid and sending his fist directly into the guard’s face!”

“Oi!” Butcher interjected, taking a step toward the bickering men. “I didn’t see yer lift yer bloody finger to help, now, did’cha? And it don’t matter now. So lay off the fuckin’ tiff, boaf o’ ya, and brave yer bollocks f’a righ’ burnin’.”

You couldn’t help but smirk lightly at the group’s dynamic. One thing was certain—with them, there was never a dull moment.

You could hardly acknowledge that thought for a second longer before armed guards were rallied at the door, causing The Boys to pivot toward the entrance in alarm. Gun were pointed into the room before bullets began flying in scattered chaos.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell! Take cover!” Butcher yelled, and The Boys all scattered to various ends of the room to avoid the rapid fire.

You attempted to do the same, when time seemed to slow at the prospect of a bullet heading directly for you. Your breath roared in your ears, muffling all the sounds around you into a single, shrill ring as you lifted your hand into the air out of instinct. With a single twist of your fingers, the bullet making a direct line for your face curved through the air, and it deviated from its path to strike glass some ways behind you.

You let slip a relieved, breathless chuckle, but didn’t waste another second as an easy target out in the open as you scampered to hide behind Ben’s sleeping tank. You pressed your back against the tank, your head collapsing against the metal with a wide grin.

You hadn’t pulled off that trick for quite some time—and it was bold to assume that it would’ve worked when your body was severely out of practice. Guess the Supe in you never leaves, does it? You remarked with silent appreciation.

But still, you cursed your unpreparedness. For all the things you’d remembered to pack, a gun had somehow slipped your mind entirely. Having powers was good and all, but the ability to withstand gunfire was beyond your biological pay grade, and without your long lost Supe uniform, you were as vulnerable as any other human in this room.

Something small levitated into the air ahead of you, drawing your attention into a bewildered stare. Jamie, the hamster, gravitated through the air, whisking directly past you and into the chaotic storm of bullets. You had a good guess of where the bullet you’d redirected had gone.

“It fucking flies?” You scoffed in amazement.

You heard a guttural scream followed by a string of Russian pleas, and you guessed that the hamster had his own personal vendetta to fulfil. That makes two of us.

You heard The Boys calling to one another as they came to terms with their depleted bullets, but the Russians were still keenly at it, the shots bounding off the walls of the room until it sounded like a drawn out melody of war and sure death. You risked a glance past the tank, outstretching your hand to drain the lungs of one of the Russians raining hell on where Butcher and the scrawny kid took cover.

The Russian seized on the spot, hand flying to clutch his chest before he collapsed to the ground and didn’t stir again. Butcher caught that stunt with an impressed glint to his eye, his chin dipping in the slightest gesture of approval. You returned it with a smug grin, but what came next whisked the amusement clean from your lips.

The Brit discarded his emptied gun, stepping into the clearing with a loud-ringing “evenin’, cunts,” and then you witnessed his eyes ignite with a red, bustling flame. He strolled into the open fire, the bullets bounding off his skin like they’d never stood a chance in the first place. And then you saw it—beams of molten lava searing through the air to decapitate any and all matter in its destructive path.

The Brit’s head panned around the room to exterminate the Russians one by one, until nothing but silence filled the room, and the unpleasant scent of scorched flesh bombarded your nose. You slowly rose to full height, stepping out into the clearing just in time to witness Butcher’s red eyes simmer into their normal dark shade. He glanced about his companions in waiting—for what, you had no concrete idea, but you could guess that the rest of the Boys were as shocked as you.

You glanced around at the rest of their faces to gauge the group’s reaction. The scrawny boy appeared behind Butcher with a look of amazement and admiration bright on his features—stupid fool would likely get himself killed gawking after that reckless Brit. You glanced over at the dark-skinned man, who looked furious as he glared down the leader of The Boys. Frenchie, and the Asian girl attached at his hip, exchanged puzzled glances that quickly turned curious once they glanced between Butcher and the dark-skinned man.

There was definitely some unspoken tension lingering between those two men—some ongoing war for leadership. But before either of them had a chance to speak, the scrawny boy let out a yell.

“M.M.—behind you!”

The dark-skinned man spun around, and your attention flitted to where a Russian guard had snuck up onto him with his gun armed and ready for attack.

He’s not going to make it, you thought with a jolt. Instinctually, your hand whisked into the air, and a second later, the guard staggered in place to paw at his chest—some pathetic attempt to remove his gear and undo his gradual smothering. But before you could sign off on the murder, the scrawny boy appeared behind the Russian with his fist impaled through the guard’s chest.

You had to blink twice to solidify that scene—the boy was naked, and he’d been on the other end of the room, fully clothed, only a second ago.

“What in the fuck is going on?” You muttered, hand falling back to your side. The Russian guard, now void of a heart, mimicked the gesture as he planted onto the floor, his gun clattering to the ground beside him. You squinted at the naked boy—first Butcher, and now him. Just what crackhead group of Supes had you gotten tied up with?

The scrawny boy glanced down at his bloodied hand in a fit of ragged breaths, his expression a mixture of confusion and amazement, as if he couldn’t believe he’d just done that. You wondered whether his reaction was toward his power, or the murder—though he didn’t seem like the type that went around killing often, or at all, and he sure as hell didn’t look like somebody who enjoyed it.

“Jesus!” The man—M.M.—breathed out, hand lifting to cradle his head in denial, acceptance, and then defeat. “I can’t—I just can’t,” he muttered, turning away from the scene to take a heated second for himself.

You left the tank’s side to approach Butcher, and the Brit spun to face you with a smirk—always that damn smirk.

“Well, tha’s a nifty li’l power yer’ve got there, innit?” He praised in something akin to admiration.

You couldn’t return the sentiment. “You’re a Supe?” You exclaimed. “You didn’t think to mention that when we first spoke?”

The Brit beamed with some emotion beyond you. “Tha’s the best part, Love,” he said, head tilting in exhilaration. “I ain’t no bleedin’ Supe. I’ve had me a good hit of Temp V, is all—it gives me the wankin’ wonders o’ Supe powers without all the stinkin’ cameras and promos stuck up me arse.”

“Yeah,” M.M. spoke up in a tone lacking amusement, turning to face the group once he’d blown off enough steam—but honestly, he only looked more peeved. “And it’s only killing you, ya stupid motherfucker.”

Butcher flashed him an unfazed glance. “Well, we’re all slowly dying, ain’t we, M.M.?”

The dark-skinned man crossed his arms in what looked like disappointment. “Yeah, but you just had to go and take the fuckin’ crown on that one, didn’t ya? Goddammnit, Butcher, I can’t with you.”

“Then don’t, mate, ain’t yer concern,” the Brit replied simply, then turned his attention to the scrawny boy with a proud grin. “Nice one, Hughie—laid one on tha’ wanker in a heartbeat.” His head lowered to where the guard’s heart lay on the ground, and he beamed a little too hard at his pun.

Hughie seemed flustered at the compliment, but cleared his throat self-consciously when M.M. flashed him a glare.

“Put some damn clothes on,” the dark-skinned man scoffed. “I don’t needa see any more ass today.”

Frenchie crept up behind Hughie holding the outfit the boy had discarded in the wake of his teleportation. “Here, Petit Hughie,” he said through an amused grin.

“Ah, thanks, Frenchie,” he chuckled awkwardly before accepting the uniform and turning away to become decent.

Turning to face you, Butcher gave a nod. “Right, then, why don’tcha show us the way, Love? We’ll get yer nuclear heartthrob outta this place in no time.”

You harboured an eye roll before beckoning curtly over your shoulder. “He’s in there.” You stepped aside to give the Brit a full view of the sleeping tank.

Butcher’s expression turned solemn as he brushed past you to inspect the container. “What the fuck,” he drawled. “They’ve got ‘im wrapped up tighter than a priest’s chaste cock.” Your brows furrowed at his acquired taste for humour—but in that way, he and Ben were quite alike. “How do we open this fuckin’ thing?” He asked distractedly, moving around the frame to inspect the reinforced locks.

“Good question,” you told him, watching him from the same position as you crossed your arms in frustration. “If I had any idea, you wouldn’t be here. They’ve got that tank reinforced like hell—I’ve tried everything to get it open. It’s useless.”

The Brit tossed you an incoherent glance over his shoulder, then tuned his focus back to the tank. “Well, let us have a go, then.”

You cocked your head in smug doubt, watching as the Brit wrapped his large palms around the rim of the tank’s door. Who does he think he is? You scorned silently. He released a loud growl, the muscles of his upper body flexing with strained effort. He kept up the exertion for a good few seconds, and you left out a light huff through your nostrils to confirm what you’d known all along—there was no way that he was getting that door open with his two bare hands.

Almost as though Butcher could heed your thoughts, he amped up his efforts with a growing yell, and to your amazement, the door began to budge with a heavy creak. You watched with subtle awe as the Brit managed to successfully detach the door, his study frame collapsing back slightly as he hovered the metal in his grasp. It was insane to think that his abilities were all thanks to that Temp V substance, but you could only imaging the tolling effects that it had on his body. Hell, you’d been receiving V since you were born, and even you had moments where your body became worn by your abilities.

Butcher turned with the door, scanning an area to discard it toward before he settled for a corner that was far too close to the Asian girl’s loitering figure. When the door landed with a dull thud, the Brit turned to face the tank—you all did.

You took a few steps closer, coming to stand beside Butcher as you watched smoke pour out the hold and cascade around your feet. The Brit outstretched his hand to keep you back, which made you glance at him with a mixture of confusion and surprise.

“He’s not dangerous,” you told him, but you were quick to catch yourself with a frown when you remembered all the instances Ben had woken up in a confused state—and the time he’d hurt you because of it.

“Yeah? Well, tell that to yer face,” Butcher answered gruffly, wholly unconvinced by your faltering advocation.

You bit on your tongue and nudged the Brit’s hand away, but nonetheless, you didn’t move any closer. Butcher flashed you a sidelong glance but didn’t say anything further. You noted how Frenchie and the girl had inched their way nearer to where you stood, just as eager to witness the man that had been an expired legend up until now.

When the smoke started to clear, you could make out the outline of Ben’s figure, stood upright and strapped to a contraption that would hold him in place during his coma. His eyes were still closed, an oxygen mask strapped around his face. Your heart ached at the sight—it was demeaning, him tied down against his will, completely bare and stashed away in some dusty basement to be forgotten until he was needed again.

Never again.

Just then, Ben began to stir, his eyes opening slowly as he drifted back into the waiting world. The arms at his sides flexed with what strength he could muster, and it was still enough to tear through the fabricated restraints around his wrists. His eyes blinked many times as he stared ahead into the newfound opening, but not at anything, or anyone, in particular. He lifted a jittery hand to pry the mask from his face, his hand lowering to his side and dropping it into the smoky oblivion below.

Beside you, you heard a disbelieved murmur leave Butcher’s lips. “Soldier Boy. . .” He breathed.

As if that was all the beckon he needed, Ben’s hands gripped at the rim of his tank, nose scrunched and teeth gritted as he tried to haul together the effort to pull himself from his personal prison.

You instantly dove forward to help him, but Butcher’s arm found yours in restraint once more, pushing you a step back as he turned to face you.

“Stay back, Love. He’s got a fuck-sight o’ that nasty gas pumpin’ through ‘is veins. I mean, have a shufti o’ tha’ cunt—he don’t even know where the ‘ell he is. Yer don’t wanna piss about a timebomb like tha’, trust me.”

“He’s not a bomb,” you answered in frustration. “He’s just confused. You’d be the exact same if somebody fucked with your brain the way these comas fuck with his.”

“I ain’t baggin’ on yer boy, Love, just tryna prevent unnecessary casualties. Don’t need yer blood on me hands.”

Before you could reply, Ben’s frail voice called out your name.

Your heart lurched at the sound, your head swivelling to neglect Butcher and the anger he was starting to evoke. Your boyfriend was leaned halfway out of the tank now, his brows still kneaded together with disorientation as he battled to keep his attention pinpointed on you. You pushed past Butcher’s arm and rushed to catch Ben as he staggered out of the tank, his one hand finding your shoulder for support while his other reached back to steady himself against the metal.

“You’re okay,” you murmured, hands coming up to gently frame his bearded jaw as your lips spread with a smile of relief. He remembered you—no temporary amnesia this time, no forgotten memories, no further pain to endure. “I’m right here, Ben.”

The Supe blinked rapidly, his chin lifting a fraction as his red and teary eyes did a hasty sweep of the surrounding members of The Boys. You called his attention back to you, stroking a thumb along his cheek.

“Hey, don’t worry about them. It’s the group we talked about. . . The Boys. They got you out of that tank, and we’re about to get the hell out of this place,” you comforted him softly.

Ben’s eyes found yours again, but they were glossed over and narrowed, as though your words were incomprehensible to him. His attention dropped to the bloodstain on your shirt, then shifted to the bloodied bandage wrapped around the palm that cradled his cheek.

The hand he’d placed against the tank moved to cover your bandaged palm, and you felt the way he trembled against you. “You’re. . . bleeding,” he pushed out between staggered breaths.

You gave him a weak smile. “I’m fine,” you assured him. “Trust me, you look worse than me, so worry about yourself, first.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but then his eyes screwed shut and his teeth grit around a muffled grunt, the hands he’d placed on you flying to clutch at his chest.

You held his buckling head firmly between your hands, craning yourself in an attempt to get a view of his face. “Ben?” You called to him worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

There was no reply, only pained grunting as he continued to claw at his chest. When your eyes lowered to his torso, you were horrified to find that his flesh had begun to illuminate from within. Slowly, an orange light began to bloom at the centre, painting every organ, vein and artery in clear, dark definition against his translucent skin. You felt a surge of heat begin to radiate from him, enough to burn your arms into releasing his face and assault your eyes into a tight squint.

“Ben, what the hell is going on?” You called in panic, arm coming up to shield your teary eyes.

The Supe grunted in pain, his palm moving clumsily to shove you back at the chest. You staggered back a step, nearly losing your footing until you felt a large hand steady you at the back.

Butcher appeared over your shoulder. “Blimey, tha’ cunt’s ‘bout to blow,” he remarked roughly.

“What?” You replied with a quiver in your voice. You dropped your arm and blinked rapidly to focus your burning eyes back onto Ben. You spotted him struggling away from the tank—away from you—travelling a blind line that drew all the way to a wide-eyed Frenchie.

The French stood backed into a corner, gun slowly raising to act as a pitiful means of defence against the Supe’s disconcerting approach.

“Easy now,” Frenchie attempted to calm Ben, opting to lay off the threatening gun as his hands lifted in surrender. “We are all friends, no?” He laughed nervously, eyes flickering past the Supe to fix you with a pleading expression.

You returned Frenchie’s look with helpless panic. Quite frankly, you had no idea what was going through Ben’s mind as of now, or just what on earth was brewing inside his chest, but you had a gnawing feeling that somebody in this room might not live to find out.

You made the move to approach your boyfriend, eager to stop Ben and disprove that nagging voice in your head, but Butcher found your wrist in a tight, relentless grasp this time around—and it only continued to tighten as a show that he didn’t intend to let you go this time.

“No fuckin’ way,” he said before you had a chance to protest. “If yer boy over there pulls the plug on ‘is night lamp of a chest, boaf you and Frenchie will get yerselves killed. If Soldier Boy lives to see another miserable day, I’ll be needing yer to help us figure out just what the hell them Russian cunts put in ‘im.”

You gave Butcher a long stare, your chest nagged by some feeling that seemed to resonate with the Brit’s words. You knew exactly what had been pumped into Ben. And with that knowledge, you might be able to figure out this new power of his and help The Boys keep him under control. But was the Brit really willing to let Frenchie die for the sake of it?

Turning back to the scene, you watched as Ben’s head buckled again, pained shouts leaving his lips as he fought to control the ever-growing light within. At some point, he began to beam so bright that you couldn’t stare at him any longer without feeling as though your vision would terminate on the spot, so you turned your head away.

And then you heard it—Frenchie letting out a yell, and a loud explosion that sent something flying into a wall. Hesitantly, your eyes drifted open, where you witnessed Butcher’s hands pressed against his ears with a twisted expression. Behind him, Hughie and M.M. did the same, their faces mortified.

Your breathing came out ragged—loud and harsh in your ears as they adjusted to the normal air after what sounded like a deafening, sonic boom. Turning your head slowly, you saw Ben hunched in on himself, his body returned to its normal colour—void of all deathly glow. You wanted to feel a surge of relief, knowing that he was okay, but then your eyes drifted ahead of him to where a figure lay motionless upon the ground.

The Asian girl was sprawled across the floor, blood seeping from wounds along her torso, so dire that you could make out the cuts even from where you stood. The stone wall just behind her was cracked with what must’ve been the impact of her hurled body, and the sight brewed fresh dread in your heart.

No, you breathed silently, your eyes growing hot with horror. Suddenly, the words you’d told Butcher only moments ago came around again, a voice that taunted you into guilt. He’s not a bomb. He’s not a bomb.

And yet he’d just blown up and injured—possibly killed—one of the group members—people who had risked quite a lot to save the both of you. Your hand came up to cover your mouth in a state of shock and remorse, and for a moment, you couldn’t do anything but stand in a fit of paralysis.

Frenchie scrambled up from the other end of the floor and sped over to collapse at the girl’s body, hands frantically searching her neck for a pulse. He settled on a point and hovered his fingers there for many seconds, and you held your breath in anticipation as you waited for him to confirm her life, or death.

To your relief, he let out a jittery sigh. “She lives!” He declared into the room. “Mon Coeur,” he called more softly, a hand moving to turn her face toward his, but her lids remained heavily clamped, and even her lower lip dropped open in her unconscious state.

“Bloody ‘ell,” Butcher breathed from behind you, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed.

You hurried over to where Ben still stood, crouched over and consumed in a haze of overwhelming emotions that you couldn’t possibly begin to comprehend. You slowed a little ways before him, your hand cautious as you reached to gently cup his back. You were unsure at this point of what potential triggers may set him off.

When you made with the skin of his back, he gave a slight flinch, but he turned his head a fraction to drink in who’d touched him. When he saw it was you, his face briefly softened with a quiet regret that made your heart ache—an almost unspoken apology for the mess he’d made. You took up a firmer grip on his back, urging him to move toward the wall for better support against his weakness.

“Come on, just take a moment,” you urged, and he relaxed into your gentle guidance as you moved the both of you toward the wall. You tried your best not to glance at the girl’s unconscious body, but Ben wasn’t so merciful in sparing himself the guilt as he risked a glance toward her body. and holding her motionless body in his view all the way until you’d reached the wall.

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” you told him in an almost whisper. Because it’s my fault. I gave you those powers when I gave you your last dose. You wanted to tell him that, but you choked up on the guilt, and it would do little to comfort what had already happened. So instead, you settled for, “you had no control over it. The important thing is that the girl’s alive, okay? You didn’t kill her.”

You didn’t know that for certain. So much could happen between now and the trip to the hospital. Ben spared you a dark glance that reflected your thoughts.

You reached to cup his cheek, but he turned away from you to face the wall, his hands coming up to steady himself against the stone. Your hand fell back to your side as you let out a soft exhale.

“I’m going to figure out what’s going on with you,” you told him. “But just stay here for now, I need to talk to Butcher and the others, okay?” You weren’t entirely sure that you had Ben’s ear, but he was too stunned to go anywhere for the time-being, so you felt confident enough to leave him alone to talk to the others.

“Not a bomb, eh?” The Brit scoffed on e you reached him. “Well, Love, it don’t sound like yer know yer man as well as yer think ya do, d’ya?”

“Give me a break,” you retorted, coming to a complete stop in front of the dark-haired man. “This. . . power of his isn’t anything I’ve seen before. If I knew he could do that, I would’ve told you, and we could’ve found a way to keep the lid on and prevent anybody from getting hurt.”

“What, like he wasn’t already a murderer before this very instance?” M.M. spoke up from where he stood, idling beside a bewildered Hughie.

You flashed the dark-skinned man a glare. “He didn’t mean to do it,” you said more firmly.

M.M. had this biting fire to his eyes, his upper lip twitching with a barely perceptible emotion. “Didn’t mean to do what, exactly?” He drilled. “Kill all those innocent people back in the day, or almost killing an innocent girl right now?”

“M.M.,” Butcher called to his friend, a light undertone of warning. “Don’t, mate.”

M.M.’s head swivelled toward the Brit. “Don’t you give me that fuckin’ ‘mate’ shit, Butcher. I wanna hear it from her—I wanna know if she’s really okay with all the shit that that motherfucker has done!” He turned to glare at you, causing your heart to lurch. Clearly, he had some hefty history behind his anger.

“We don’t got time for this,” Butcher attempted to interject, but M.M. stopped acknowledging the Brit, his tense shoulders rising and falling around some greater restraint on his part as he glared between you and Ben.

Your lips were hellbent on a clueless silence. You didn’t know what personal wrongs Ben had dealt M.M., but you knew that your boyfriend had a stained past. Truth is, you had no way to ever justify what Ben had done back in the day. And judging by how deep M.M.’s dislike and distrust for him ran, you figured that the Supe must’ve done something unforgivable.

Ben was far from perfect, you knew that. He had questionable morales, some that you’d never learnt to swallow even after all these years you’d been together. But you’d been trying to help him abandon those problematic viewpoints, and he’d been getting there slowly before Vought and the rest of Payback had gotten him kidnapped and slipped into a tank.

“Nothin’ to say, huh?” M.M. mocked lowly, his lips twitching with disgust. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Ya can’t justify a prick like that.”

“Hey, guys. . .” the naked boy—Hughie—spoke up, his anxious stare shifting between M.M., Butcher and you. “I hate to interrupt. . . whatever this is, but we’ve got to get out of here. What if more guards show up?” It was beyond you how somebody as scrawny and young-looking as him had met the criteria of such a raggedy tag group of misfits lead by the world’s number one British asshole, but he was right to be worried.

In the distance, you heard the thin, angry shouts. You didn’t want to stick around long enough to hear what they were saying.

You glanced over your shoulder to where Frenchie still hovered over the injured girl, her body half scorched and basted in the blood trickling from her abdomen. Your heart ached at the sight, and then your gaze slipped over to where Ben braced himself against the wall in a heaving mess of disorientation.

Oh, things were so fucked.

“She needs a hospital,” the French slurred, hands frantically whisking across the girl’s body. His eyes were a desperate plea as they fixated Butcher, then his head collapsed to where he took the girl’s unconscious head into his hands. “Hang in there, Mon Coeur, we will not let you die, you hear me?”

You turned back to Butcher. He was the head of this entire operation, so you waited tensely for him to hurl out some sort of command, a plan of action—anything. The commotion surrounding the room grew louder, which made the Brit glance at the entrance they’d barged through.

“We gotta get the fuck outta ‘ere,” Butcher grumbled. He jerked his chin at the Hughie. “Hughie, help Frenchie with Kimiko, we ain’t stayin’ ‘round ‘ere any longer than we got to. I don’t much fancy playin’ a round o’ Russian Roulette with those trigger-happy red cunts—and right now, they got a ragin’ boner for the lot o’ us.”

Hughie scampered past to heed Butcher’s orders, but not without risking you an uneasy glance. He disappeared from your view as he slipped past you to conspire with Frenchie in getting Kimiko to the car.

“You two, back o’ the van,” the Brit told you, calling your attention back to him. The furrow of his frown ran deep as he took a step closer to glare you down. “And yer best keep America’s Ancient Arsehole from gettin’ all hot and bothered in me ride, or we’re all as good as fucked, ‘ear that?”

Before you had the chance to return Butcher’s scorn, you were interrupted by a protest that sounded most displeased.

“Uh uh,” M.M.’s voice rang out clearly, causing both yourself and Butcher to turn to him. He loomed tensely, eyes darkened and features modelling a look of heartfelt disgust as he glanced between you and Ben. “No way in hell—I ain’t climbin’ into the same car as that motherfucker,” he declared with an accusing index figure in Ben’s direction, his hard stare further isolating your boyfriend before he turned his attention back to Butcher. “They gotta find their own way—meet us somewhere we can recoup and plan out this fuckin’ stinkin’ pile of shit you got us into, Butcher.”

“M.M.,” Butcher groused, taking a step toward his companion. “We don’t got time for this, mate. We came ‘ere to do a job, and we gotta do it quick. Yer don’t gotta hold ‘ands wif the cunt, yer just gotta brave face until we get clear o’ this shitshow, all righ’?”

But M.M. looked unconvinced, the distrust in his stare not once relenting as he did another sweep of you and Ben. His chin lifted slowly—a bold notion of defiance as he glared Butcher down.

“Nah,” he said lowly, arms brought forward to cross over his chest. “Not happenin’, Butcher.”

“Oh, f’fuck’s sakes,” the Brit grumbled, hand brought up to his jaw to stroke across his beard with exasperation as he attempted to negotiate with his companion.

Just by observing the dynamic between the two of them, you could tell that they bickered like this far too often. Two alpha males, constantly clashing horns as they fought to uphold their own glaring sense of right and wrong. But there was no time to stand back and bathe in the ricocheting argument, so you intercepted their bickering with a hint of impatience.

“It’s all right,” you steadied with outstretched hands, which made both Butcher and M.M turned to look at you. “I’ll find Ben and I another way out. I know a route, and I know where to get a ride. You just focus on getting the girl to the hospital, and we’ll lay low somewhere until you tell us the next move.”

Without waiting for input from the two of them, you turned and scampered off to the bag you’d left at the foot of Ben’s tank. You passed a glance at Ben, who still stood leant against the wall, head hanging low in oblivion. You doubted he’d caught a fraction of the ongoing conversation.

“Like ‘ell yer are,” Butcher called to you. “I’d be a daft wanker to let the two o’ ya off me fuckin’ leash, now, wouldn’t I?”

“Seems right on par with the asshole of the year award you’ve made runner up for,” you mumbled under your breath before reaching the bag and bending down to unzip it. “Listen, it’s not like we’ve got many options when your friend over there has made his feelings about us clear. I’m just trying to get Ben and I out of here in one piece,” you added more loudly.

“All right,” the Brit reasoned. “Say I let the two o’ ya slip away, hand in hand, how do yer s’pose we find yer again? Trackin’ yer down to this fortified safe already cost us some hefty shite—and it’ll be a li’l difficult keepin’ a lead on yer this time ‘round when yer’ve only disappeared into the whole o’ bleedin’ Russia!”

“Hold that thought,” you called back, hand rummaging through your loaded supply bag. Your fingers clattered against the burner phones you’d packed in case you and Ben got separated, and you pulled one of them out. You weren’t so eager to hand off the only thing serving as a backup should the two of you run into trouble, but you had very little luxury of choice right now.

Turning back to Butcher, you made you way back over to the ruffled Brit, hand outstretched to offer him the phone. “Call the number saved on there, I’ve got another in the bag. Once we’re all in the clear, we’ll meet you wherever it is you need us to be.” The Brit fixed you with a distrustful stare before snatching it from your presented palm.

You’re fucking welcome, you thought irritably. You pivoted on your heels in an attempt to retrieve your backpack and get both yourself and Ben the hell out of here, but Butcher’s hand found your arm in a firm grip before you could manage to slip away.

“Oi!” You were forcibly spun around to face the towering Brit, who torqued his chin at you with far too much attitude for your liking. “How do I know tha’ you and Chernobyl’s li’l arsehole ain’t gonna do a runner into the fuckin’ sunset for good now that we’ve freed the boaf o’ ya? I can’t trust cha.”

Your scowled at his lack of charm, yanking your hand free of his throttling grasp to take a step back. “We may be strangers—and you may be the finest pick of the asshole litter, but we made a deal, and I always honour my word. You can count on that, or you can suckle on paranoia’s tit while we wait for the backup guards to gun us down. Your choice.”

Butcher seemed briefly surprised by your mouth, if his hitched brows was any indication. But he was quick to morph back into his signature frown, lips parting with what could’ve been an attempt to further pick at the scab of distrust. Thankfully, M.M.’s voice interrupted on cue.

“Butcher, we gotta go!” He called, back turning on you both as he raised his gun to assault a Russian guard that had slipped into the doorframe.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, these cunts are relentless,” Butcher muttered in exasperation as he took in the new company. He faced you with a displeased expression, dispelling a defeated sigh before he cocked his head in the slightest gesture that bid your official release.

You gave him a small, curt nod, and without wasting another second, you slipped away to grab your bag and hurried over to where Ben’s figure remained propped against the wall, bare back presented to you in a heaving, sweaty mess.

You reached to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, which caused him to flinch away and spin around in full-blown defence mode, but he quickly relaxed as he drank you in.

“Hey, we’ve got to go,” you cooed gently, reaffirming your hold on his arm as you encouraged him to drape it along your neck. Ben succumbed to your guidance and partially leaned himself onto the side of your frame, and you tried your best to accommodate his large stature by securing your other arm around his waist.

“I got you,” you murmured against his jaw, but you could tell that it was lost to the hurricane of disorientation that currently circled his head and rendered his responses naught. As of now, he was surviving off of nothing but the familiarity of your presence.

Behind you, wind buffeted the back of your neck as Hughie glided past, and then there was the distinct, sharp whisk through the air that indicated he’d teleported to some other corner of the room—judging by the guttural scream that followed shortly after, likely directly into the chest of one of the guards. But you had no time to glance back to confirm that thought, not that you’d much like to see Hughie’s naked form again, anyway.

Together, you and Ben began to hobble through one of the back entrance’s. You entered into the winding corridor, whose overhead lights flickered menacingly. It created an eerie atmosphere that matched the theme of this entire compound, and it fed into the flight instinct that kept your feet moving.

When you’d first made contact with The Boys—about a week ago—you’d begun mapping out the best route possible for the group to infiltrate the facility. As a contingency plan, you’d also noted the route yourself and Ben currently ploughed through, just in case there’d been a kink in the plan. For once, you were thankful for your tendency to overthink.

After what felt like an endless straight line, you turned the corner of the corridor, Ben’s steps faltering with the change in direction. Your balance dipped the slightest bit as you scrambled to steady him in your hold.

“All good?” You checked in.

“Fine,” Ben pushed out with a grunt, his head still lolled over as he tried to focus his attention on the ground. “Keep on movin’.”

You breathed a light okay and kept on the prowl. Up ahead, you spotted a janitorial closet tucked into the corner bordering the designated exit you’d mapped out. You hastily steered him toward the door.

“In there,” you instructed, releasing the hand he had draped along your shoulders to twist the doorknob and push the door open. It gave way with an animated creak, and you hurried the both of you inside, guiding the Supe deeper into the dim, narrow space.

He slipped his hand from your shoulders to grab one of the cluttered shelves for support, and once you were certain he was steady enough to support his faltering frame, you turned to close the door behind you. You stole a quick glance out the small, dusty window centred in the janitorial door, feeling a slither of relief when no armed soldiers seemed to round the corner in pursuit of you.

“What’s. . . the plan?” Ben breathed out from behind you, his voice rough and thin as he fought off the sleepy haze. Usually, he had time to adjust coming out of the coma, but this time around, he’d been woken in such a flurry state of things that he’d barely been given the time to adapt. And it certainly didn’t help that he had a newfound power of blowing up unprovoked. It had taken a lot out of his sleepy state.

You turned to face your boyfriend, whose nude figure was on full display now as he stood facing you, a little taller, bolder—almost the man you knew him to be. You could have marvelled at the chiselled isles of his abs, and the moisture that furnished his skin and accentuated every curve of his muscles with the light’s faint glare, but this was hardly the time or place to indulge your desires.

With great difficulty, you averted your gaze from his figure as your hand moved to glide the backpack’s strap from your shoulder. “First, let’s get you dressed.”

You plopped it onto the floor at the nose of your boots, then bent down to dig into the crowded space in search of the clothes you’d packed for him. You pulled out a pair of grey sweats and an oversized t-shirt that you’d stolen from one of the guard’s lockers. You hadn’t had much luck in finding underwear, and you weren’t about to go around rummaging through lockers and sniffing pairs to deduce whether or not they were clean.

You straightened up and handed Ben the clothing, whose eyes flickered down to the items with a growing alertness—and unveiled judgement.

“The fuck is this?” He asked, hand gesturing to the sweatpants crowning the folded fabric stash. You knew he was making a point to ridicule what passed as fashion in this day and age. It was pretty much his brand to criticise everything and anything that didn’t fit his very limited ideologies, but there was no time to entertain that now.

“It’s the best I could do, is what,” you retorted, palm diving forward with impatience as you urged him to take the clothes. “Talk shit about it later—in fact, have an entire rant, but right now, you’ve got to put these on so that we can get out of here, unless you’d like to keep on running around naked and flashing the whole of Russia.”

Ben’s eyes lowered down his body as you spoke, then lifted back to your face with an entertained air, his eyebrow lifted smugly. “What, you don’t like the view?” He jested. “Cause I gotta say, it’s the real panty-dropper. The ladies—they just can’t get enough o’ all o’ this.”

When you didn’t entertain what he passed as humour with a response, your expression blank save the impatience, he cleared his throat somewhat self-consciously before hesitantly taking the clothes from your grasp.

Pointing his free finger in your direction, he said, “you’re a doll,” and began slipping the clothes onto his body. You lowered yourself back to the bag to retrieve the socks and sneakers you’d also managed to nick before placing it at his feet.

While you waited for him to get modest—physically, at least, you zipped up the bag and strung it back over your shoulder before rising and turning to peer out the window again. There was a gnawing unease still buzzing at your fingertips and teasing at the steady pace of your heartbeat as you stared off into the corridor, just waiting for any sign of movement. While you stood, you couldn’t help but wonder whether The Boys were managing to hold their own back where you’d left them.

Your thoughts flitted to the injured girl—Kimiko; you hoped that they’d managed to escape and get her to the hospital, and there, you desperately wished that she’d live to see another day. Ben’s outburst was something you’d never seen before, even after all the years the Russian’s had trialed him to see what new powers your modified treatments had brought forward.

You knew that the explosion wasn’t personal, that it was an unfortunate case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you’d seen the look in M.M.‘s eyes—in all of their eyes. There was so much hatred and fear lingering in their stares, and it told you that The boys had come on this job with a preconceived notion about who you and Ben were. So it wouldn’t matter how much convincing you’d have done to try and plead in both your favours; they’d never trust you.

You didn’t much trust them either, that feeling was mutual, you only hoped that it wouldn’t interfere with the conditions that this plan had been tied to. There was still a job to be done before you and Ben could be free—properly free.

Ben’s finger’s curled around your waist, which jerked you from the whirlwind of thoughts you’d gotten sucked into. You turned to face him, fully clothed this time around, and you had to admit that he looked rather attractive in the casual attire.

“How are you feeling?” You asked. He looked alert in the eyes, his movements stronger and more controlled compared to his earlier erraticism.

“I feel fine, no need to fuss over me like I’m some goddamn spineless pussy,” he brushed off dismissively.

You scoffed lightly. “Forgive me for giving a shit,” you muttered, turning away from him to reach for the door handle. “Come on, we’ve gotta go. We’ve already taken longer than I would’ve liked.” You turned the knob and managed to pull the door slightly ajar. “For all we know, they’ve already got more guards set around the per—”

Before you could finish that mildly frantic sentence, Ben’s hand wrapped around your wrist and yanked it from the doorknob. You’d barely managed a protest before he whirled you around to face him and pulled you against his body, his hand only releasing yours to take up firm grip at your jaw. Instinctively, you shrugged the bag from your shoulder and heard it thump to the ground before your own hands came to rest against his broad chest.

With both hands now bracketing your face, he dove down to press a desperate and warm kiss to your lips. At first, the chafe of his overgrown beard felt foreign, but the way his lips eagerly entangled with yours was all the familiarity you needed to melt into his consumption entirely. His large hands stroked down your neck in perfect rhythm, caressing the slopes of your shoulders all the way down your back, and finally, they settled for a firm hold at your hips.

His thumbs hooked over the front of your pelvis as he pushed you against the door you’d been so eager to slip out of only moments ago, and it clicked into it’s place within the frame with an abrupt thud. You release a stifled moan as he pressed you into the wood, and he greedily swallowed it whole, claiming every aspect of your being with this gluttonous kiss.

Your hands dragged up his chest to frame his neck, where you pushed him away to break off the kiss. His lips were plucked from yours with a palpable click, and his features morphed with a disappointed frown as he leaned back to give you air.

Moving his hand to drag two dramatic fingers over his lips, he gazed at you through those charming eyes of his. “I was just gettin’ started with you, sweetheart,” he said lowly.

Chest slightly heaving, your hands lowered to his waist as you gazed up at him. “As much as I’d love to take this further, we can’t stick around here much longer. This part of the facility isn’t used much, but it’s somewhere they’ll come looking once all the other sectors are cleared.”

“You really did have it all planned out, huh?” He murmured sweetly, eyes flickering back down to your lips in a manner that told you he craved another taste of you. But thankfully, he was quite capable of self-restraint when the stakes were too high. He brought his focus back to your eyes with a cheeky wink before he withdrew from your proximity.

“I always did admire that ‘bout you,” he stated before leaning over and swinging his arm forward to scoop up your backpack and lug it over his shoulder. Then, with a nod, he gestured to the door.

“Let’s get a move on, ain’t got all fuckin’ day, right? Besides, I made you a promise back in that lab, and the sooner we can get the fuck outta this ass-fuck of a dungeon, the sooner I can do good on my word.”

You grinned amusedly. “Because you’re old school like that, huh?” You poked.

“Damn right,” he said, hand wrapping around the nape of your neck as he pulled you toward his lowering head. He placed a long kiss against the crown of your head, inhaling your scent in the process.

Your bandaged hand reached up to wrap around the arm that held you against Ben’s adoration, your eyes fluttering close as your body released the tension that had been drawing your every muscle rigid for countless decades.

During all these years at the lab, you were forced to be strong for both yourself and Ben. But you’d never been made to be a warrior—not in any way other than physically, at least. You wanted to be protected, held, cherished like a fragile item that could fracture with the slightest push. In that way, you supposed you were a little old school, too.

Ben had never hesitated to take on that role. To him, it was a dutiful honour—he wanted nothing more than to protect you.

Being trapped in this compound had you stuck in a loop of stress and anxiety, but for the first time, in a very long time, you knew you could breathe a little deeper to relieve that tightness in your chest. You knew you could risk that blink—that shuteye you’d been denying out of fear for your life. Because now that Ben was back, you knew that you were safe.

Gently pulling your head away from his kiss, your hand lingered on his arm as you whispered, “let’s go.”

His lips quirked in the softest smile of agreement, his hand hesitantly falling away from your neck only to take your banadaged hand into a firm, but careful grasp. “Just can’t get enough o’ you,” he chuckled deeply, but you caught the more solemn implications behind those words.

He’d been robbed of your touch for far too long, as much as you’d been of his. Only, he’d had to endure it much harder than you—having constant dreams about all the ways he could devour you during his induced comas. It had been an endless taunt with no assurance that it would ever happen, and now that he was stood here with you in the flesh, he was overcome with the urge to hold onto you, as though he could be ripped of your presence in a blink.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised, your fingers tightening in his.

Ben glanced down at your intertwined hands, strands of his hair scattering across his forehead with the motion. It concealed any look that might’ve come across his eyes, but you didn’t miss the soft breath of relief that parted his lips.

He glanced back up at you with practiced composure, taking in a brave sniff as he faced you. “Ah, fuck all this teary-eyed shit. Let’s get the fuck out of here, get a banger meal and then lay one on a shitty motel mattress.”

You gave a small chuckle and released his hand to turn towards the door, where Ben shifted back to accommodate its opening. He held it open for you to slip through, and once you were in the hallway, he appeared behind you with the door clicking shut.

Glancing both ways, you were relieved to be in the clear, and even more relieved to hear that no warning alarms had been set off in the distance. You hoped that meant Butcher and the rest had managed to exterminate the rest of the guards before they had a chance to come down with their final iron fist.

Redirecting your attention to the exit, you beckoned for Ben to follow you through the double doors and out of the back of the compound. You stepped into the crisp night air, the doors swinging closed behind you as Ben appeared at your side, pressed into your arm as he sought out a fraction of your warmth.

“Son o’ a bitch,” he grumbled through chattering teeth, head swivelling about to get a glimpse of the unfamiliar environment.

“Yeah, you haven’t felt real cold in years,” you sympathised with a chuckle, hand slipping into his as you lead him through the empty lot dotted with crates and lorries.

“It’s a fuckin’ maze out here. Do you know where you’re going?” He asked doubtfully.

“Trust me, I know where we’re going.” You lead the way around a corner, where you came face to face with a yard of broken down, discarded vehicles that no longer served a purpose other than reusable parts. “Over there.”

You gestured to a modern, up-kept car nestled between various rusting metal on wheels. You’d stashed the getaway car here a few nights ago, and thankfully it had been one of the easier parts of the plan, given that not many employees wandered all the way out here.

You lead the way toward the vehicle, making a beeline for the driver’s seat. When you reached the car, you turned to Ben with a hand held in the air.

He slowed before you with a confused stare. “What?”

“The keys,” you told him, nodding your chin to the backpack on his shoulder. “They’re in the bag—the side pocket.”

He gave a slow nod of understanding and slipped the bag from his shoulder, plopping it down onto the floor as he bent over to undo the side pocket. A moment later, he pulled out the car keys, which wasn’t much but a remote and a dangling key chain. They clinked against each other loudly as he moved to pick up the bag in his other hand and rose to full height to face you, but he held off on handing you the keys.

“I’ll drive,” he said firmly.

You gave a light laugh. “I appreciate that, Ben, but you don’t know the first thing about the cars of today.”

The Supe looked insulted. “The fuck you on about? It’s a fuckin’ car. It’s got wheels, a throttle and a steerin’ wheel. How hard can it fuckin’ be?” He scoffed and lowered his head to the keys, pausing with a frown of panic before his gaze flitted back over to you. “It doesn’t fly, does it?”

You let out a loud laugh at that, which made Ben’s head loll to the side with a disappointed and slightly flustered stare.

“All right, all right,” he said—all hot and bothered as he glared you down. “So it doesn’t fuckin’ fly. Forgive a man for havin’ hope that the fuckin’ assholes back in our time did good on their promise of a future with flyin’ cars.”

He took a few steps toward the car, arm shooing you aside out of self-conscious spite. “I got this, all right, Princess?”

You faltered a step back as he barged past, your lips parted with the urge to rebound his argument, but you knew that a man like Ben needed to be shown, not told. “Fine,” you said, backing down to let him access the driver’s door uninterrupted. Your hands spread in a dramatic gesture. “Have at it.”

“I will,” he retorted arrogantly, clearing his throat as he lifted the keys to study it. His eyes flickered between the door handle and the keys a few times before flashing you a frustrated glare. “Quit starin’ at me like a braindead potato—I’m figurin’ it out!”

You had to fight to keep a grin from pulling at your lips, your hand coming up in a fist to conceal the lower half of your face. “Mhm,” you hummed into your hand, watching as Ben studied the remote for a few seconds.

The symbols that were supposed to mark which end of the singular button locked and unlocked the car had completely worn off with the years, so you couldn’t blame him for having a hard time with decoding the controls. It was at that point that you expected him to ask for some guidance, though, but the epitome of his masculine pride kept him silent. Eventually, he settled for pressing the bottom most corner, which made the car flash with the locking mechanism.

“Hah,” he breathed proudly, turning to flash you a smug wink. “See? Nothin’ to fuss over. Told ya I’d figure it out.”

“Yeah, you’re a smart one, Ben,” you indulged eagerly, hand falling from your face as you crossed your arms in waiting. “Go ahead, then.”

Ben reached for the handle, not without handing you a suspicious glance, and when he tugged on the door, he was overcome with impatience when he found it still locked.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be ticklin’ my fuckin’ ballsack!” He exclaimed irritably, hand falling away from the handle.

You fixed him with a long, delighted stare that made him shake his head lightly before handing you the keys. “Wipe that grin off your fuckin’ mouth,” he warned.

You took the keys from him and clicked the unlock button. “Or what, Ben?” You asked pointedly, chin lifting to meet his stare boldly.

He chuckled all-knowingly. “You know what,” he husked darkly, eyes glinting with innuendo as he took a step toward you, chin tilted down as he sized you up. “Or I’ll have ya on your knees tonight, pretty lips all stuffed and achin’ ‘round my dick til you can’t even fathom havin’ this attitude of yours.”

Your lower lip fell limp at that, a soft exhale of disbelief leaving your lungs as your head tilted back to hold the weight of his scheming stare. “You’re threatening me with a good time, Soldier Boy?”

Ben’s smirk beamed through that overgrown beard of his at the use of his Supe name. You knew the title on your lips spurred him on in inconceivable ways. “Always a good time til you can’t breathe, isn’t it?” He hummed somewhat condescendingly. “Maybe it’s ‘bout time I give ya a taste of your own fuckin’ medicine.”

Before you had a chance to respond, he moved away to circle around you, then you felt his hand come down on your ass in a light spank. The sound echoed across the desolate, metal graveyard, and you were lurched forward an inch by the momentum.

“What was wrong with fuckin’ keys, anyways?” You heard Ben grumble as he made his way around the car and toward the passenger seat.

You gave an amused huff and shake of your head before opening the driver’s door and sliding inside. Once you were in the seat, you closed the door and were met with Ben not-so-gently tossing the backpack onto the backseat.

“Careful with that,” you told him, placing the keys into one of the compartments before moving to strap yourself in. “There’s a burner phone in there. I told Butcher to call us once they’re in the clear so that we know where to meet them.” You flashed him a quick glance. “Seatbelt,” you added.

Ben obliged and reached for his seatbelt before clicking it in place. “Butcher?” He echoed in confusion. “He the lead asshole of this entire operation?”

“Yeah, asshole and some,” you remarked with a tut.

You moved to press the car’s on button before grabbing ahold of the gear and shifting it into drive mode. Putting the hand break down, you carefully began to manoeuvre the car out of the scrapyard and through the quiet, empty lot.

You heard Ben’s stomach growl just as you neared the the fence-line, which made you glance over at him with sympathy. “We’ll get you something to eat soon,” you promised him.

“And I expect dessert, too,” he added with a sly smirk. You caught on pretty quickly with a smile and slight shake of your head before turning your attention back to the road. “Ain’t gonna lie, seein’ you take control and mannin’ the wheel like this is gettin’ me all hot and excited down there.”

You scoffed as you pulled up to the gates, void of any guards at this instant. They didn’t usually account for this part of the compound, but you were glad that that hadn’t changed within short time of tonight’s breach. You put your foot down on the break, slowing the car to a stop before you glanced at Ben.

“What, you gonna ask me to give you another quick job?”

Ben’s brow cocked expectantly. “You offerin’?”

You held his stare for a moment, if only for dramatic effect, before flicking your head at the gate. “Just get out and open the gate,” you ordered.

His eyes narrowed briefly, lips parting before he drawled a husky, “yes, ma’am.”

You watched as he unbuckled and opened the car door, making his way to the front of the car. He hovered in front of the gate for a few seconds, likely figuring out the latch, before he began rolling the gate back. In no time, he was back in the car and strapped in, and you gave the car some eager gas to push the both of you through and out the gates of hell.

You made a turn onto a long road, which paved way into a whole lot of unknown. You figured that anywhere would be better than this place, so you stepped on the acceleration and sent yourselves fleeing down the tar and toward the luminescent, rounded moon perched on the dark horizon. You couldn’t help but glance up at the rear view mirror, witnessing as the Russian compound gradually grew smaller and smaller with the hasty distance you sought to put between it and you.

“This is it,” you murmured, mostly to yourself, eyes turning back to the road before you. So much relief had been channeled into those very words, but your fingers still gripped the steering wheel with the fear that something would go wrong. It always did. The universe had a way of implying that neither you nor Ben were set up for a happy ending.

A warm hand slid over the hump of your thigh, fingers squeezing gently to offer a sense of comfort and support.

“Hey,” Ben called to you gently. You turned to glance at him, only long enough to catch the soft glint in his eyes before you turned back to the road. “Quit gnawin’ at your lip. We’re freed the fuck outta there. It’s just you and me now, yeah? We got this.”

You smiled weakly at his reassurance, making the conscious decision to ease off the tension in your grip on the steering wheel. “Yeah,” you murmured half-heartedly. There was not much that could convince you now, other than the events of the future itself. But for Ben, you would try your best to hope for only an upward trajectory from here on out.

The buzzing of a cellphone called your attention to the rear view mirror, where you zoned in on the backpack on the backseat. Ben’s head swivelled to glimpse the bag, his hand leaving your thigh to reach for it.

“Leave it,” you told him.

Ben paused and turned to face you with a puzzled glance. “Isn’t it Butcher?” He asked.

“It is,” you told him, eyes fixed on the road. “But that prick can wait. For now, I want you all to myself. We have lost time to make up for, and until we do, screw everybody else.”

You heard the Supe chuckle, the sound of the bag falling back against the seat gracing your ears soon after.

“I like this new you,” he commented, his hand moving to wrap around and rest against the headpiece of your seat. “God, it gets my balls up and runnin’. Wanna have a feel?”

You giggled at Ben’s forwardness, the sound almost foreign on your ears. You hadn’t realised just how much you missed these tiny, absurd moments between the two of you. You hadn’t had much to laugh about in a long time, or anybody to laugh with—life had been cold, dull and lonely. But now, as you drove into the horizon, with the man you so dearly loved at your side, you felt renewed within.

The Boys, the plan, everything. . . they could wait. Right now, nothing other than the two of you mattered.

═════════════════

A/n: I have finally attempted gradient text and y’all are gonna be sick of me for it 😭 this wasn’t supposed to become such a long chapter, but I’ve had such a blast with this idea that I got a little carried away. I really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it. Part 3 will be out soon to conclude their little story! Sorry for the delayed release, it’s been a scramble over here with Christmas preparations + I fell ill a few days ago and have been fighting for my life ever since 🥲 (im just a lil sickly thing). Anyways, thank you all for reading! All likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated ᡣ𐭩

Tags: @gibson-g1rl @fallbhind @bohemianblasphemy @violent-darkness @babyfri3dric3 @cevansbaby-dove @artemys-ackles @nyx-the-alien @smutboba @mochminnie @kamisobsessed @littlewitchgirly @spxideyver @destinys-dreamer @star-yawnznn @weaponxgames

Comment/message me to be added to/removed from the tag list for any future Soldier Boy works!

Other works: The Boys Masterlist

If there are any errors, SORRY. I’ve reread this so many times that I’ve become blind to any mistakes. I’ll fix it. Eventually lol.

[schmittymctitties]

oh please *gestures to my pride pins* Respect the Drip

[mo-ok]

(he didn't fall off, he saw Signalman and fucking booked it out of there)

[the-busy-ghost]

Idk why every time I have a project that involves using the Register of the Great Seal for something even slightly more complex than looking up a single isolated charter, I always have a lovely plan where I think it will only take me a couple of hours to go in, check the index, and take the numbers I need down. And then I end up having to skimread the whole damn volume.

[nolongerexistingsadcatface]

What are your top 5 hetalia/Nyo America hot takes >:3 ?

This is sooo tough... Pft I've never even thought about nyo america for more than 5 minutes, idk how I’m gonna do this

Ok fr real time: I think everything i post about america is a hot take atp HAHA But I’ll try to think of some kooky ones for u 😜

1. DON’T HATE ME GUYS. But I like humanities girl America more than stem girl America…… 🫣 I think my purpose in this life is to spread the good word about American art throughout history cus WOW is it good AFFFFF… I’m just sick of seeing no posts that aim to celebrate american authors 💔💔💔💔 The only time I see American literature posts from non literature freaks (affectionate) are when they’re being made fun of 😭😭 Like ok you guys just don’t understand it…. you don’t understand the genius that is the early 1900s American novel….I LOVE AMERICAN CLASSIC LIT IN CASE YOU COULDNT TELL And also I am shit at science, like so shit, and I’m sick of seeing Hetalia stupid meme posts that require a gawdamn master’s degree in chemistry to even begin to READ the post, let alone understand the joke….

2. Quaker/pacifist Nyo America, y’all already know

3. Idk if this is a hot take per se, but I don’t use Amelia for Nyo America cus I think it binds her too closely to canon/fanon nyo america

4. If she’s not naturally asexual, she’s. becoming isnt the right word, but it kind of is? Idk…… Like she isn’t ACTUALLY asexual—she would be fine w sex if she didn’t have issues—but now she finds it near impossible to feel sexual attraction because of past trauma. She skipped being hypersexual and went straight to abstaining cus she couldn’t take it anymore </3

5. Redhead , I think we all know that at this point, it’s my staple

6. I DON’T THINK SHE’D HAVE PERFECT TEETH?? Blah Blah YOUR America can be a representation of American stereotypes, MINE is a representation of wider American people and culture <3

Ok onto actual general hot takes………… ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

7. I DON’T THINK ENGLAND LIKES KIDS…. Like idk, to me, that mf hates babies and kids and thinks they’re gross and icky. He’s literally the youngest child, there’s no way he had any introduction to/interaction with babies that was influential/long enough (INCLUDING RAISING AMERICA COUGH) for him to view them as anything more than nuisances who shit and cry (i wuv babies dont get me twisted. this is uhhh free indirect discourse )

8. Scotland and Ireland aren’t brutish dickheads sawrry. Or at least, if they Are dickheads, then ALL the UK bros r dickheads, not just those two #slay

9. Sealand’s existence annoys me . All micronations’ existences basically, like they don’t exist in my canon srry

[bikmui]

.muse profiles finalised (browser and mobile)

[thekeatoncadet]

Also on the topic of Faye and dumb self-indulgent oc content

[motorsportbarbie13]

Hiiiii couldn’t help but see you do requests, could you do something where after a hard race reader placed on the podium but felt sick and Max catches her when she collapsed after getting out of the car? Maybe with the words "I can't... my legs... everything's tingling..." and him being super worried. Basically a little angsty with a fluffy end where he’s checking on her, can be established relationship or not.

OH ANON. this was so fun.

Enjoy!

Heatstroke In which, as it turns out, Max wasn't just 'Maxplaining' the difficulty of Singapore to you after all

Pairing: Max Verstappen X FerarriDriver!Reader Warnings: fainting, getting sick/weak, max being a knight in shining armor. Word count: 2.2k Masterlist

Max tried to warn you. Lando tried to warn you. Checo and Lewis had tried to warn you. Hell, the entire fucking grid had tried to warn you that Singapore was a different beast. You had thought they were just coddling you and being over dramatic, as the boys tended to be with you. It was a hazard of being the only woman on the grid, which frankly, drove you bat shit crazy because you had earned your way into the red Ferrari seat next to Charles on your own, thank you very much. You didn’t need to be coddled and you didn’t need to be warned off anything. 

But they were right. 

Singapore was a different beast. 

The heat during the day was oppressive but at night? There wasn’t any relief once the intense sun went down either. You were from Michigan though, that midwestern state being famous for its hot and sticky summers so you had thought you’d been prepared.

As you claimed into your sleek red car, lining up P3 behind Max and Lando though you knew you were in trouble before the green flag waved. The thing about sweating in the humidity like this is that there’s no where for the moisture on your skin to go, the air already too heavy so that slick sweat sticks to you, making you even hotter than before. 

“Fuck, this is going to be brutal.” You mumble, hoping that the braid you tied your hair in would stay for the entirety of the race. Suddenly, shaving your hair into a pixie cut like Fred had been suggesting (mostly jokingly) for weeks seemed like a good idea.  

The formation lap is fine. 

The first ten laps are fine, if not a little squirrely thanks to your car being wildly loose. 

The first fifteen laps are fine, if not a bit hot. 

But on lap 23? All hell breaks loose. 

First, your hydration system fails and you’re completely unable to get any water through the tiny straw that you usually flip into your mouth on the straightaway, just like Danny taught you. You’re sweating up a storm with no way to replenish those valuable electrolytes. 

Then, you’re so busy focusing on the fact that you’d give your first born child for a sip of water you nearly slam into the same exact wall that took George out on the last lap of last year’s race. You yank the steering wheel around so hard, you feel something in your wrist pop. The searing pain causes you to over correct and you nearly drive right into your own fucking teammate. 

“Fuck. Tell Charlie I’m sorry.” You groan over the radio, telling your engineer to pass on the message to Charles. 

“Focus on your race.” Your engineer tells you, voice obviously strained just as yours is. “Charles is fine.” 

Well, I sure as fuck am not fine. You think as you fight the car down towards the starting line. 

On lap 45, you’re granted a reprieve when a Sauber goes into the wall, bringing out a yellow flag. The leaders all duck into the pits, including yourself. There’s nothing anyone can do about your water situation and at this point, your instincts have kicked it. 

Max was right and you knew it. Singapore was hell. He had tried to tell you last night, as you had been snuggled up in bed with him, a ritual that you both had become dependent on this season. It seemed cliche, you falling for one of your rivals. You hated it but there was no denying that there was a magnetic chemistry between the two of you that had started the moment you had met last year while you were still driving in F2. 

You had resisted his charm for a while but things had taken a turn the night it was announced you’d be driving for Ferrari alongside Charles. Several of the drivers that lived in Monaco full time insisted on taking you to Jimmy Z’s to celebrate and who were you to say no to a bunch of handsome men paying for your drinks? 

The night ended just as you might expect it: Max drunkenly confessing his year-long crush on you and you drunkenly kissing him in a dark alleyway as you waited for your Uber. What had started off as a drunken confession and your reckless response that wasn’t supposed to mean anything had turned into one of the greatest things that has ever happened to you. Max and you? The pair of you were endgame. 

But none of that mattered now. Not here, in the raging heat and humidity of Singapore. You knew that Max was going to give you shit for not being better prepared the moment you got out of the car. You knew you were in for an ‘I told you so’ lecture on the plane ride back in the morning. You knew Max was right and you had been stupid to underestimate the power this track had over drivers. 

Looking back on your first race in Singapore years later, you don’t quite know how you managed to finish those last laps. Pure determination and stubbornness, Max would insist later on that night. But before you’re able to fully wrap your head around how dangerous of a situation you’d gotten yourself into, the checkered flag is waving and you’ve crossed the finish line in P3, right behind Lando and Max. 

Your third podium of the year. If you had been more coherent, you probably would have been elated. But all you could think about as you pulled your car into parc ferme, right behind that little cardboard 3 sign, was the ice bath you knew was waiting for you somewhere in the paddock. 

Your red racing suit is soaked through and through, you can feel it before you even get out of the car. It takes a mammoth effort to pull the steering wheel out of it’s dock and for a moment, you worry you’re so weak you can’t even do that. In front of you, you see Lando pop out of the car in the P1 spot, elated to have won with a healthy margin of over 20 seconds for the second time that season. 

Max is out of the car too, albeit a bit slower than Lando. There’s a distant buzzing in your ear that sounds eerily like your engineer’s voice asking if you’re okay. But you’re completely unable to focus on anything beyond the tingling sensation in your legs. This wasn’t something you’d ever felt inside a race car in all your years of driving. Everything stung, like a million little fire ants were making a meal out of your flesh. It took every ounce of strength, of which you didn’t have much, to hoist yourself up out of the car. 

Your head swims the moment you stand up straight, and you feel your legs collapse under you. Somewhere off in the distance, you hear Max calling your name but you can’t look up, your helmet suddenly feeling like it weighs 300 pounds. 

Crouching in your car, you desperately try to pull yourself together before anyone notices you’re struggling. You didn’t want to give the media the satisfaction of pulling another ‘look, another woman who thinks she can hang with the rest of the F1 drivers.’ Like they’ve been attempting to do all season. 

Your eyes are closed but you still hear the faint call of Max’s voice somewhere off in the distance. The entire world is reduced down to a singular pin prick of light while you fight to stay conscious, the heat and humidity wrapping their ugly little fingers tightly around your throat. 

Just as you’re about to surrender to the warm quiet of the darkness that seems to be calling out to you, a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, hauling you out of the car like you weigh less than a bag of potatoes. You go limp in the arms of whoever has come to your rescue, collapsing under the strain of what you just put your body though. 

“Baby, please. Look at me.” 

Somehow, your helmet has been removed and you find yourself blinking up at Max. 

When did he get here? You wonder idly, not realizing it was him that pulled you out of the car. 

Max had gone practically feral when GP told him that you’d gone nearly 3/4 of the race without water. He knew how brutal this race was, and the humidity was unusually high tonight. He had gotten out of the car fairly quickly but had panicked when he saw your helmet tipped forward, resting on the halo device and you not moving. 

You lift your head, still wondering where your helmet was and instantly found yourself staring straight into the baby blue eyes of your boyfriend. “Maxie?” You croak, throat feeling like you just dined on a three course meal of sand and gravel. 

“Hey…” He coos, bringing you closer to his chest. “There’s my girl. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He rubs soothing circles over your back, not caring that the press is having a field day with this. 

“I can’t…” You stutter, struggling to make the words in your head sound coherent when your mouth tries to form them. “My legs…everything is tingling.” 

If you had been a bit more coherent, you would’ve seen the look of absolute panic cross Max’s face. He frantically looks around as he lifts you into his arms, one arm under your knees, the other cradling your back against his chest. He knew you were going to absolutely murder him when you come around and see the pictures. You hated being coddled and hated showing affection on the grid even more. You and Max weren’t really hiding the fact that you were together, most fans knew and it was common knowledge around the paddock but the causal fan might be surprised to find out the lore between the two of you. So this outright show of concern, affection, and panic over the state of you that Max was showing right now? It was absolutely not a common occurrence 

“Interviews are going to have to wait.” Max barks at Jensen, this weeks post-race presenter. “She needs medical attention.” 

Jensen simply nods, allowing you to pass. 

Fred and Charles intercept you half way to the tent, insisting that getting you in the ice baths will be the thing to help you the most. Max, nearly delirious with worry because while your eyes were open and you were somewhat alert, follows their instructions and takes you back behind the garage area where the ice baths had been set up. 

It’s all you can do to stand upright as Max unzips your race suit. It’s so heavy with your sweat that it practically peels off of you with no effort, gravity doing the work for Max. And then your left in just your fireproofs. If you hadn’t been in the middle of the paddock with thousands of people and cameras around, Max would have stripped you down to just your underwear, but that wasn’t an option. 

WIth Max and Charles’ help, you’re able to hoist yourself into the waiting ice bath. The shock of the frigid water jolts some awareness back into you the moment your body is submerged in the glacial water. 

“Holy fuck.” You grit out, eyes closing in pain. 

“I know…I know, schatje. But it’ll get you feeling better so much quicker than anything else. 

You nod, still not fully aware of how you got here but thankful for Max’s steadying presence beside you. He’s crouched down so he’s eye level with you as you ball yourself up to get as much heated skin under the cold water and the worry etched all over his face is enough to steal your breath. 

“Max. Holy fuck. That was…you weren’t just Maxsplaining to me last night, were you?” 

A chuckle finds its way out of his lips, despite the state of panic Max is in. “No, I was not just ‘Maxsplaining’ anything last night, silly girl.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You’ve got your fire back, I see. I think you’ll live.” Max leans in to press a kiss to the crown of your head before dropping another kiss on your temple, then your cheek, and finally his lips find their home on yours. Right where they belong. It’s not a lingering kiss, or a passionate one. No. This kiss is filled with gratitude and relief and sheer dumb realization of how much this man loves you. 

Your eyes are open more now, a few minutes in the ice bath doing your heat stroke symptoms good. It takes you a few moments to really grasp the severity of what just happened. How close you came to passing out mid-race. How it was Max that got you out of that car and was at your side before anyone else. 

All around you, the paddock is bustling to life. The scene Max created by hauling you over to Ferrari’s garages has somewhat dissipated. Only a few onlookers are stopped still, but your team remains solidly around you, faces a mask of concern. But the only person you see is Max. 

“Thank you, baby.” You murmur when he leans in for another kiss. 

“Anything for you, schatje.” He rasps, emotion clawing at his throat. “Anything.” 

[mytheoristavenue]

Shy Makeouts with Your Fav!

Summary: You initiate a makeout as a confession and he's just putty in your hands!

Warnings: Just fluffy stuff, makeouts, sub!character, dom!reader, gn!reader

"H-Hold on..." He said, staring up at you shyly. He'd always had the softest spot for you and no matter how confident he could be, no matter how resilient- he never could tell you no. That's what had him sitting on his own bedroom floor with you in his lap, kissing down his jaw without any shame for knowing neither had confessed yet.

"Sh-Shouldn't we talk about this first...?" He asked weakly, swallowing thickly as his head rolled to the side to give you more room. This felt so taboo, and yet he had no intent to stop it. "Hey..." He shuddered while your lips brushed his throat, but his palms stayed planted on the floor.

He could never pinpoint what it was about you that made him so shy. Maybe it was you dazzling smile or the mischievous glint your eyes would have when you had an idea that would get him in trouble. Kinda like right now. You were smirking at him for above, peppering his face with kisses, giggling at his blushed cheeks and furrowed brows.

"I'm seriou- ahh..." He sighed, melting when your lips brushed the shell of his ear. Your playful giggle rang in his ears as he tried to muster the willpower to stop you, to make you talk things out with him. "W-Wait, please-" He begged, trembling under your touch, but his arms betrayed him, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away. "Just talk to me, you know I hate it when you get all cryptic..."

"What would you like me to say, big guy?" You finally mused, breath hot on his ear.

"That you like me...?" He confessed with red cheeks. "T-That you keep kissing on me because you want be my..." He didn't have the heart to finish his thought, the embarrassment becoming too much to bare.

"Oh, but I do like you..." You smirk deviously. "And I do want to be whatever it is you want me to be." You didn't miss how his infectious, dopey grin cracked across his face at your confirmation. "There's that cute smile..." You giggled, settling back into his lap as he melted against your touch like butter in a pan. "Now, where where we?"

Mezo Shoji, Fumikage Tokoyami, Mashirao Ojiro, Eijiro Kirishima, Tamaki Amajiki, Izuku Midoryia, Tenya Iida, Hanta Sero, Shoto Todoroki, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, Juzo Honenuki, Shihai Kuroiro, Iguro Obanai, Inosuke Hashibura, Tanjiro Kamado, Gyomei Himejima, Tomioka Giyuu, God Usopp, Roronoa Zoro, Vinsoke Sanji, Cyborg Franky, Portgas D. Ace, Spirit Albarn, Soul Evans, and whoever else you'd like!

I hope you guys like this format! I wont be doing this like this all the time, but I thought it might be a way to give yall something when I'm away for a few days at a time!

[razzek]

I really want to apply to this zine, the themes are so up my alley. But this is the fourth or fifth time in a row, with me and I think a few other people asking, that the creators aren't providing critical information in an accessible format. I tried to use screen recognition with Voiceover to see what the images said and got jibberish. So many artists and writers who would like to join zine projects are disabled and are being shut out by this kind of thing. I don't know if I will even bother applying at this point, I feel very unwelcome by the continuous ignoring of accessibility needs (yes one or two posts had descriptions added days later in a reblog but it's been very inconsistant). When a project that is aiming to be inclusive does stuff like this that actively excludes people like me it's always such a punch to the gut and feels more unfair than projects that aren't focused on an under represented group.

What content is allowed?

Will artists be able to draw fairies from mythology and folklore? How about non-european inspiration? Will there be nsfw art in this zine? What type of writing will be included?

Apps open on the January 12th , 10 am AEDT, (Jan 11, 6pm EST for the US). And will close on the 19th of January, or once we reach 500 applications.

[i2sunric]

𝗬𝗢𝗨’𝗥𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗠𝗘 (s.jy)

unrequited love (but is it really?)

MASTERLIST

PAIRING: bestfriend!jake x reader (f)

SUMMARY: you’d loved him quietly for so long, it felt like a part of who you were. but love, when unspoken, had a way of festering. it filled the silences, lingered in the spaces between you, and left you questioning everything.

WARNINGS: heartbreak, too little communication (barely one at all), reader watches from afar, jake is kinda a f boy (but make it romantically, lol), if only they confessed they’d be happy, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 1st December 2024

WC: 2k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy (project) @whateverhoon @theothernads

NOW PLAYING: You’re losing me (From The Vault) by Taylor Swift

a/n: very low effort, i’m sorry

Middle school had been a maze of awkward hellos and the formation of friendships, but finding Jake had felt like finding your person.

He'd been the boy who shared his snacks with you when you forgot your lunch, sat beside you in class, whispering jokes that got you both in trouble, and the first person you called when something — anything — happened.

“You're stuck with me now," Jake had said that first day, his grin as bright as the summer sun.

His cheeks were round and he was wearing glasses while his brown hair fell onto his forehead, a beautiful mess.

"Lucky me," you teased, rolling your eyes. But deep inside, you had never felt luckier.

You weren't one to make friendships fast, all your attempts at small talks always ended up being awkward and uneasy, usually with you making a fool out of yourself.

You were glad Jake had been extroverted enough to adopt you.

You still remember the middle school science fair, which was supposed to be a showcase of brilliance and innovation—or so your teacher had declared with far too much enthusiasm. To you and Jake, it was more like a recipe for chaos.

The two of you had decided on making a volcano that would erupt using baking soda and vinegar. It seemed simple enough, but it was proving to be anything but.

"Alright, now we try," he gawked excitedly, holding high the plastic bottle that served for your volcano.

The construction-paper casing you had made in arts and crafts sat beside it, drying after unfortunate an incident involving too much paint.

"Wait," I said, looking at his hands where the measuring cup full was held. "How much vinegar did you put?"

"Uh…" He paused, looking suspiciously guilty. "I don't know. A lot?"

"Jake!" you groaned, trying not to laugh. "It's supposed to be precise! What if it explodes everywhere?"

"That's the point, isn't it?" he shot back, grinning mischievously.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide your smile as Jake dramatically tipped the baking soda into the bottle.

For a moment, nothing happened, and the two of you leaned in closer, peering into the bottle like a pair of amateur scientists.

Then it happened.

With a loud whoosh, the vinegar and baking soda reacted with more enthusiasm than either of you had anticipated. The foam burst out of the bottle, spilling onto the desk and splattering onto your hands and clothes.

"Jake!" you shrieked, jumping back as the foam continued to pour out, dripping onto the floor.

Jake was laughing so hard he could barely stand. "It works!" he managed to choke out gasps for air.

“You're impossible," you said, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably as laughter bubbled out of you.

"Admit it," Jake said, wiping his hands on his already-ruined shirt. "This is way cooler than whatever the other kids are doing."

You shook your head, still smiling. "We're definitely getting detention for this."

"Totally worth it," he said, grinning at you.

Through the years, Jake had been your constant— your rock, your safe haven.

Along the way, your feelings changed. It wasn't his laugh that warmed your heart; it was how his hair fell in his eyes when he was focused on something, the way he would hold the door for you without a second thought, and the way he knew how you were feeling without your ever having to say anything.

But you kept those feelings locked away, terrified of what might happen if you said them out loud.

You thought that maybe, with all the high school matters and puberty hitting, Jake would grow distant from you.

You weren't as popular as him; you liked being on your own or with your small circle of friends, especially due to your awkward nature.

But, much to your surprise, your connection only got stronger.

The hallways were never empty, always alive with laughter, chatter, and the occasional sound of lockers slamming shut. You could usually maneuver them with ease, but today was different.

You could feel it— the weight of whispers, eyes darting toward you, and the kind of sharp-edged giggles that made your stomach churn.

You knew they were talking about you. They usually did.

“She's got Jake wrapped around her finger, and I saw her laughing and sweet talking to Sunghoon too. She wants everybody, uh?”

"I know, right? She's so clingy. It's so embarrassing."

The voices were muffled but not small enough, and their words pierced into you like small, jagged pebbles. You continued walking, trying to keep your head high, but it was hard to avoid the way their laughter trailed after you.

As you turned the corner, almost colliding with him, Jake leaned casually against your locker, waiting for you, just like he always did before class.

His smile vanished the instant he saw your face. "Hey," he said quietly, straightening up. "What's wrong?"

“Nothing," you mumbled, fumbling with your combination lock.

Jake's eyebrows furrowed, and he looked down the hall, where the girls were still whispering, their eyes darting between you and Jake. It didn't take him long to put the pieces together.

"Are they bothering you?" he asked, this time sharper.

"No," you said, lying, avoiding his eyes. "It's fine, let's just go to class.

Jake wasn't convinced. He stood there a moment, his jaw clenched, before turning on his heel and walking straight toward the group of girls.

"Jake!" you hissed, grabbing at his arm, but he was already out of reach.

"Hey," he said, his voice even but with a firmness to it as he came to a stop in front of them.

The girls froze; smug expressions faltered under his gaze. "Got something to say about my best friend?"

The hallway grew eerily quiet.

One of the girls, the ringleader of the group, stammered, "W-We weren't talking about her—"

"Right," Jake interrupted her, his tone heavy with sarcasm. "Because I definitely didn't just hear you." he sneered bitterly "Listen, if you've got a problem with her, you've got a problem with me. And trust me, you don't want that."

The girls looked at each other uneasily and then murmured something about needing to get to class, scurrying away.

Jake turned back to you, his expression softening when he saw the mix of embarrassment and gratitude on your face.

"You didn't have to do that," you said quietly as he walked back to you.

"Of course I did," he replied, slinging an arm over your shoulder as if to shield you from the rest of the world. "No one messes with you. Not on my watch."

It was the protectiveness in his voice that warmed your heart, and as the two of you walked to class together, you couldn't help but think that Jake had always been more than just your best friend— he was your safe place, your unwavering ally.

Starting university together had been exciting, a new beginning for the both of you.

New faces, new experiences, and yet the comfort of Jake remained the same. You still would study late into the night together, eat cheap takeout, and walk across campus under the streetlights.

Then Jake started dating.

It wasn't sudden. It began with a girl from his biology class, someone perky and charming.

Then there was a girl in his intramural soccer team, followed by a string of casual dates that never seemed to last long but still stung like tiny pinpricks against your heart.

You told yourself it was fine, that you had no right to feel this way. Jake was your best friend, and he was happy. That was what mattered.

But it's another thing watching him laugh with someone else, watching him give away the pieces of himself you selfishly wanted for yourself— it just hurt in a way no words could describe.

It's one Friday night; Jake convinces you to join him at a party. That wasn't your scene, really, but he had begged, promising it just would not be the same without you.

The music was loud, the laughter even louder, but none of it could drown out the sound of your own thoughts.

You stood by the corner of the room, nursing your drink and pretending not to notice the way Jake's smile lit up the space.

He was in his element: talking, laughing, charming people around him with ease. His dyed blond hair caught the light as he leaned in to hear someone over the noise. And though you tried not to stare, you couldn't help it. He had that effect on you; always had.

You’d loved him quietly for so long, it felt like a part of who you were. But love, when unspoken, had a way of festering.

It filled the silences, lingered in the spaces between you, and left you questioning everything.

“Hey,” Jake’s voice cut through your thoughts, startling you.

You looked up to find him standing in front of you, his signature grin in place. "You've been awfully quiet tonight," he said, tilting his head. "Everything okay?"

You forced a smile, hoping it was convincing. "Yeah, just tired."

Jake studied you for a moment, his gaze softening. "You sure? You've been kind of… distant lately.”

The concern in his voice made your chest tighten. He cared. Of course, he cared. But not in the way you wanted him to.

"I'm fine," you lied, taking a sip of your drink to avoid his piercing gaze.

Jake frowned slightly but didn't push. He never did. It was one of the things you loved about him, his ability to read the room, to know when to give you space.

“Well," he said finally, his voice lightening. "If you need anyone to talk to, you know where to find me."

You nodded, gave him a small smile. "Thanks, Jake."

Yet even as he walked away, your heart was aching, knowing that he'd be there for you but just never in the way you actually needed him to be.

Later that night, after most of the party had cleared out, you found yourself sitting on the back porch, staring up at the stars.

Almost everyone was gone, just a small afterparty happening inside, though you didn't want to be part of any. The chill in the air was a welcome distraction from the turmoil in your chest.

"You okay?" Jake's voice came again, softer this time.

You turned to find him standing in the doorway, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket.

He stepped outside and sat down beside you, the warmth of his presence seeping into your skin.

"Done cleaning?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, leaning back against the railing. "I was worried about you," he admitted.

Your heart clenched. "I told you, I'm fine."

Jake let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "You're an awful liar, you know that?" he eyed you up and down "Seriously, you're quiet. more than usual."

The corner of your mouth twitched, but the smile didn't quite reach your eyes. "Maybe I just don't have anything worth saying.

Jake turned to him, his face soft but serious. "You always have something worth saying," he said. "You just don't let people hear it."

It was a comment that hit closer to home than he probably realized, and for a moment, you considered telling him the truth-about how you felt, about how much it hurt to love him from a distance. But fear kept the words locked in your throat.

Instead, you laughed quietly, shaking your head. "You're too good at this, you know?"

"At what?"

"At making people feel seen," you said, glancing over at him. "It's kind of unfair."

Jake chuckled, his gaze softening. "I just care about the people I love," he said simply.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, even though you knew they weren't meant the way you wanted them to be.

"Jake," you started, voice shaking very slightly. "What if—"

But before you could finish, the door behind you creaked open, and someone called his name.

One of his last situationships, asking for him to come inside. To join her.

"Hold that thought," he said, standing up.

You nodded and saw him disappear into the house; his figure grew tiny before tucking into it. It sounded in the air-the speech you wanted to say after he was already out the back door.

And with all that, beneath the vast expanse of star, something struck you - maybe love towards Jake would mostly be experienced in silence: the remembering of moments and convincing you enough even when those weren't.

Because you wanted him, his presence, half of his heart. You knew you would be content, even with a quarter of that.

But nothing would occur if one kept silent, afraid of spoiling all those years of friendship for some fleeting thing.

[phaedraismyusername]

This year some of my favourite books I read were written by indigenous American authors and I just wanted to shout out a couple that I fell in love with

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones

Horror being my second most read genre, I did not think books could still get under my skin the way this one did lol. It follows four Blackfoot men who are seemingly being hunted by a vengeful... something... years after a fateful hunting trip that happened just before they went their separate ways. The horror, the dread, the something... pure nightmare fuel 10/10

Moon of the Crusted Snow by Waubgeshig Rice

An apocalyptic novel following an isolated Anishinaabe community in the far north who lose contact with the outside world. When two of their young men return from their college with dire news, they set about planning on how to survive the winter, but when outsiders follow, lines are drawn in the community that might doom them all. This book is all dread all the time, the use of dreams and the inevitability of conflict weighs heavy til the very end. An excellent apocalypse story if you're into that kind of thing.

My Heart is a Chainsaw by Stephen Graham Jones

This book follows Jade, a deeply troubled mixed race teenager with a shitty homelife who's *obsessed* with slasher movies. When she finds evidence that there's a killer running about her soon-to-be gentrified small town, she weaponises that knowledge to predict what's going to happen next. I don't think this book will work for most people, it's a little stream of consciousness, Jade's head is frequently a very difficult place to be in, but by the last page I had so much love for her as a character and the emotional rollercoaster she's on that I had to mention it here.

Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger

Taking a bit of a left turn but this charming YA murder mystery really stuck with me this year. Elatsoe is a teenage girl living in an America where myths, monsters, and magic are all real every day occurrences. When her cousin dies mysteriously with no witnesses, she decides to do whatever she can, including using her ability to raise the spirits of dead animals, to solve the case. The worldbuilding was just really fun in this one, but the Native American myths and influence were the shining star for me, and the asexual rep was refreshing to see in a YA book too tbh

Split Tooth by Tanya Tagaq

The audiobook, the audiobook, the audiobook!!!! Also the physical book because formatting and illustrations, but the audiobook!!! Tanya Tagaq is an Inuit throat singer, and this novel is a genre blending of 20 years worth of the authors journal entries, poetry, and short stories, that culminates in a truly unique story about a young girl surviving her teenage years in a small tundra town in the 70s. It is sad and beautiful and hard but an experience like nothing else I read this year.

[bamsara]

I dont know if it was intentional but I love that Narinder when he sees Lamb throwing up he turns gentle and pushes their wool and ears back so they dont get stained with vomit and for some reason it reminded me of how when Nari was throwing up too after the nightmare he had when they were on route to fight Leshy, Lambert helped him with camellias for the nausea.

Ahh, parallels. I think.

IM SO GLAD YOU POINTED THAT OUT allow me to ramble for just a moment.

Narinder was trapped in the Afterlife for over 1000 years, with little social skills and plagued by wishing for vengeance and his only company being two kittens who become disciples under his rule. He has terrible social skills, if not lacking them entirely.

(I would argue that Aym and Baal also have horrific nonexistent social skills, so those three cat's can't really help each other communicate properly to anyone else outside themselves.)

It can be argued that since The One Who Waits had other vessels to pass time and try to kill /annoy his siblings before the prophesized Lamb arrival, that he would have developed them a little bit more, but I would argue that the power balance would have been oodles more severe since the vessels weren't the promised one. He didn't need them, so if they no longer were of service or disobeyed him, he got rid of them. Whether just sending them out or killing them, any how.

Lamb, however, knows they are the last Lamb, the prophesized liberator of The One Who Waits, and therefore his only option. They knew that they were his only reasonable way out of there (whether they asked for it or not) so they were oodles more comfortable than how a professional relationship would have been.

So they asked questions, bothered him, played and ran around him. Complained and vented to him. Yapped and yapped. What is he gonna do? Kill them? Find a new vessel? He can't. "You're as trapped into this prophecy as much as I am, so let's be friends"

Example parts from Chapter 3:

The power balance equalizes because Lamb did not see his presence a God, but rather a fellow prisoner and victim of fate. Rude and demanding, but in the same chains as they were. 'My lord' was simply formalities at first.

This puts Narinder / The One Who Waits in social situations he hasn't been in (or hardly been in) in over a thousand years, and frankly, he had no idea how to navigate them:

Example from Chapter 5:

The God of Death has not needed to comfort or 'be there' for someone in a long, long time. The Lamb's presence is what forces him to try, even if his first attempt aren't perfect. So in that same chapter, he'll ask them a question to distract them. Conversation. Like how they do it.

While I won't post a screenshot of everytime this happens in written format (not including the dreams/memories/flashbacks that haven't been posted yet)-

The One Who Waits is pushed outside of his bubble when it comes to socializing in a way that isn't just 'God-to-Lowly-Vessal' format. He has to talk to them like a person, because he's being talked to like a person, not a god on a pedestal.

Obviously after the final battle and betrayal (to both of them, otherwise known as the Grand Miscommunication) this means nothing for a while as tempers are still high and feelings are hurt. But overtime, this returns, and can show in small ways (ways that may not seem like comfort but is certainly an attempt) like just in Chapter 18:

Trying to bring them an 'offering' (breakfast) mirroring other times the Lamb has done the same for him:

Crudely offering to replace something they are upset at losing/later offering reassurance abet in a curt way:

And what you mentioned: earlier when the Lamb is throwing up, narration shows they're having trouble with keeping their wool, cloak, bell, ect all back at the same time. He can see that. He has a mental boiling pot explosion over the fact that helping them is even a want that he has after the denial crisis he's experiencing where the only answer a minute ago seemed like he needed to kill them, and he chose comfort.

It is intentional. Narinder is learning how to show care, and allowing himself to show care. Slowly, and not perfect, but learning.

[goldendoodlerlockerlove]

Here's mine on Gene!! I'm not great with editing, so ignore all of the mistakes please--

Character Spotlight! 🎥✨

You know those “get to know my ship in five minutes” sheets? I thought it would be neat if there was one for characters that were a little less ship-focused. The incredibly talented @drawthethingdoppelganger helped put this cute sheet together! Feel free to interpret the questions however you like, I promise you won’t be graded. People could do the same character and have completely different answers after all. Mostly though have fun!

[yammpi3]

𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀 𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 𝙀𝙉𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙆𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙤 𝙏𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙢𝙞 [𝙃𝙖𝙬𝙠𝙨]

synopsis. You were a former hero commission hero but when you made a simple mistake in a mission the commission sent you on they deemed you unfit and fired you, hence made you out to be a villain to the public. A few years later you meet your old partner Hawks out on his nightly patrol then you guys make up….made out .. :3

— content warnings. sorta plot with smut, eating out, p to v, kissing, sex sex sex, not really coordinated well? i think? dom/sub hawks

— W.C 2.3k

— authors note. This has been rotting in my drafts for like a year now but i thought i should post something…so..heres this!! Im rlly sorry if it’s formatted kinda weirdly, imo the smut is also written sorta weird but i think thats just me..overthinking it ANYWAYS enjoy reading <33 also Thank you FOR 100 FOLLOWERS?? i didn’t expect my blog would reach that much so TYTY.

Hawks sighed heavily, leaning back in his office desk chair, elbows propping on the armrests. He rubbed his tired eyes, tilting his head back, attempting to avoid eye contact with the stack of paperwork that lay out before him.

Every muscle in his body ached with exhaustion. It felt like he had been sitting in this same spot for days, poring over reports and documents in an endless cycle of busy work. As the number-two hero, the public demanded nothing but his very best. They expected him to always be alert and swift in responding to any crisis, dealing with volatile situations and dangerous villains with calm precision. 

But they didn't see this part. They didn't witness the countless late nights spent filling out forms, compiling statistics, and attending meetings after meetings. No cameras captured the headaches induced by mind-numbing bureaucracy or the frustration of dealing with petty politics. This was the hidden cost of his elevated rank—an incessant paper-pushing grindstone that wore him down more than any actual fight ever could. 

 

Slowly dragging his hands down his face, Hawks sighed again as the aches and knots of tension complained loudly in his neck and shoulders. For a brief moment, he considered using his feathers to shred just a few stray documents, to do less work. 

He stretched his arms over his head and rolled his tense muscles, his wings fluttering restlessly behind him. All he wanted at that moment was to forget. To spread his wings and fly through open skies, feeling the wind ruffle through his feathers as he left his troubles far below.

 

Tilting his chair back as far as it would go, he gave a long-suffering look at the piles of work that towered precariously around him, silently pleading with it all to spontaneously catch fire or simply vanish into thin air. With a resigned sigh, Hawks dropped all four chair legs back to the floor and reluctantly pulled the topmost file towards him once more, bracing himself for another grind of the ever-turning wheel.

Hawks rubbed his tired eyes once more, feeling his motivation drain away with each mundane paragraph he read. At this rate, he'd be here all night and well into the morning. With a groan, he tossed the file back onto the pile, temporarily defeated. Maybe a quick break was what he needed to recharge his focus. 

 

Pushing away from his desk, Hawks stood and stretched out his cramped body to its full height, his wings unfolding to their full span. A midnight flight around the city was just what he needed. The cool night air and darkened streets would do wonders for clearing his cluttered mind. 

Stepping out onto his office balcony, Hawks took a few steps back, then launched himself into the sky with his wings. He flew high, circling up towards the crowning heights of the skyscrapers that shone below. Closing his eyes briefly, he took a deep breath of the fresher air, feeling tensions beginning to melt away already. 

 

As he glided back down towards street level, Hawks scanned the sidewalks lazily while lost in thought. He was mulling over the options when movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. 

Your shadow slipped between alleyways, scanning for any civilians in the area. Suddenly flashes of red nearing a rooftop drew your eye—a familiar winged silhouette.

Going on a nearby rooftop, you spotted Hawks looking down, trying to find who or what he saw. 

You and Hawks used to know each other pretty well in your teen years when you dreamed of being a great hero. So when you were selected by  the Commission to become one, you were ecstatic. But from day one, Keigo Takami made things... complicated.

You two went way back to your training days, though you mostly kept your head down back then. Once in the pro scene though, Takami always found ways to rile you up during sessions, whether with sly taunts or risky stunts that pushed protocol to the limit. 

Part of you wanted to throttle that arrogant asshole, but another part couldn't deny the thrill he made you feel. 

Late nights spent training turned into more..private scenarios. For a time, it was nice to find solace in each other. But then came the ruling—you'd been deemed "not hero material" after one mistake, ruining your future. That's when Takami tried to connect with you again, but the hero commission wouldn't even allow him to be close to you to not damage the reputation he already made with the public. 

"You're up rather late for a hero," you whispered directly into his ear, barely suppressing a chuckle at his startled flinch. Golden eyes met yours warily, yet he made no move to escape our intimate embrace. 

"I'm off duty," was his measured reply. "And you?" Smoke clung thick to the memories in his eyes. 

Your fingers, carefully gloved, traced the proud arch of his wings, feeling tension bleed away slowly. "Care for some company, Keigo?"

He held your gaze steadily, considering. At last he nodded, extending a hand. “Not that I can shake you off anyway,” he replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

You sat together on the secluded rooftop, settling close against one another. As you caught up, you both couldn't help but feel deprived of each other's touch; it had been far too long since you'd seen one another face to face. Sure, he'd heard about you through others in the commission, but being here together was different somehow. 

When your voices at last fell silent, a gentle touch turned your chin to meet Hawks' searching eyes. "Y/N…" he murmured, leaning in so your faces were mere inches apart. One of his wings stretched out to block any view from the street below, enveloping you both in its feathery embrace. 

Hawks closed the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a soft yet insistent kiss.

One hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, as the other wrapped around your waist to draw you flush against his body. You felt even better than he remembered. 

 

When your lips parted under him, Hawks held back a groan as he rested his forehead against yours as you both panted for air. Wisps of steam rose between the two of you in the chill night. 

If he tasted you fully, it would undo his last shred of willpower.

“You're going to be the end of me.." Hawks murmured thickly. Already, he ached to have more, but taking you here against the railing would be too brazen, even for his recklessness. 

"Then take me somewhere more...private then," you shot back in a sinful whisper. 

With a sly smile, Hawks swept you into his arms in a bridal carry, wings already prepared for launch. "Hold on tight.”

 

Hawks kicked off from the roof of the building and took flight, relishing your tight grip around his shoulders. The thrill of having you in his arms sent adrenaline surging through his veins. 

He landed lightly on the balcony of his high-rise apartment, still holding you securely against his chest. Your masked face was turned up to meet his gaze.

"I.. I really missed you," Hawks murmured, pressing you back against the wall with his body. He caged you in with outspread wings, feathers gently ghosting your skin. 

 

"Me too.." you replied. Your hands came up to roam his body just as eagerly.

Hawks captured your lips in a searing kiss, conveying all his pent-up needs and desires without restraint. This was wrong on so many levels, and yet he'd never felt more alive. 

 

Kicking open the balcony doors, he swept you inside and laid you down on his plush sofa. His hands worked busily to remove your mask, wanting nothing between you and him; clothing fell piece by piece until nothing was left. 

 

"Say you want this," Hawks pleaded roughly, desperate for your answer. 

Your intoxicating laughter rang out as you pulled him against your body. "I want all of you, Keigo." 

Hawks' hands roamed your body eagerly, relearning every curve as his lips traveled along your jawline. You sighed contentedly, arching into his touch while undoing the fastenings of his hero costume with practiced expertise. 

 

Slowly, methodically, he kissed his way down the delicate column of your throat. Hawks lingered there to suckle your rapid pulse, eliciting breathy moans. His name falling from your lips in such a manner sent fresh spikes of arousal through him.

 

As you lay bare under him, Hawks paused to simply take in the sublime vision of your naked form, illuminated by the moonlight. "You're so..beautiful," he whispered in awe, tracing idle patterns upon your sensitized flesh.

 

Your hands delved into the downy feathers at his wings' bases, eliciting a guttural groan. The way you caressed his most sensitive areas, teasing but not quite enough, tested Hawks' faltering control. He nipped lightly at the swell of your breast in retaliation.

Tracing a tortuous path down your torso with wet kisses and love bites, Hawks' fingers dipped between your thighs. He chuckled at discovering your slick arousal, already swollen and desperate for friction. Slowly, he circled your clit, gathering your arousal onto his fingers.

 

"Please..." you begged wantonly, bucking your hips to chase more contact. But Hawks would loathe to grant your unspoken request so easily. He continued his maddening ministrations, coaxing you higher and higher with expert precision. Only when your keening cries bordered on anguish did he finally decide to sink two fingers deep inside.

 

The powerful rhythm he set drove you swiftly towards the peak. Hawks swallowed your hoarse screams of completion, savoring your intimate essence on his tongue.

"I've missed this..," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

 

Then his tongue delved into your slick arousal with deft, practiced strokes. Your responsive sighs and the way you grabbed Takami's hair only spurred him onward in his devotions. 

 

He alternated between broad, flat licks and focused flicks directly over your clit. When Keigo very lightly grazed his teeth along your folds, you keened and bucked again into his ministrations wildly. He hummed his approval, sending vibrations through your core.

 

It did not take long for you to climb once more towards the precipice, unraveling beautifully beneath his skilled mouth. Hawks drank deeply from your release, prolonging each aftershock with slow caresses of his tongue. Only when your quivering stopped did he withdraw, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he cleaned his glistening chin. 

 

As he swirled his tongue around his lips, savoring the last hints of you, you gazed up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Your chest still heaved in languid aftershocks of pleasure, your limbs boneless and slack upon the plush cushions.

"Come here," you beckoned hoarsely, crooking a finger. Your body cried out to be filled after such thorough worship, muscles reflexively clenching around nothing inside. 

 

Hawks obeyed without hesitation, crawling up to drape himself over your welcoming form once more. You gripped his shoulders firmly, flipping your positions with a playful show of wiry strength, and smiled down at him wickedly. 

 

Grasping his aching length and rubbing the tip of his cock had him seeing stars. Hawks groaned unabashedly.

Slowly, you let him inside, savoring each velvet glide. Hawks bucked helplessly, claws scrabbling for purchase against the cushions as your sensual walls milked his length.

 

The pleasure you drew from Hawks was exquisite torture. Each roll of your hips sent fresh shockwaves through his twitching member, shattering his composure. He was reduced to begging, his nails scratched weakly at your thighs as you rode him to the brink. 

 

"Please...I need to come," Hawks gasped, moving his hips upward in frantic little thrusts. His cock throbbed painfully with the desperate need for release. 

You smiled down at him cruelly. "Beg for it." Your lips formed the words deliciously slowly, knowing their effect.

Hawks keened, wings fluttering uselessly. "Please let me cum p-please I wanna cum, I need..to please..” 

 

Suddenly, you bore down on him, grinding your pelvis against his in brutal circles. The new angle sent Hawks reaching his high with a raw cry. 

 

You quickly let him pull out as his cock pulsed and thick ropes of seed spilled forth, splattering his taut stomach in pearly ribbons. Hawks shuddered through wave after wave; your continued help milking every last drop from him. 

Breathless and spent, he could only lay pliantly as you leaned down to collect his essence on your fingers. Your wicked tongue flicked out to taste, making Hawks twitch anew in oversensitivity.

 

You smiled softly, your expression gentling as you gazed upon Hawks' flushed, panting form. His chest still heaved mightily in the aftermath of his climax.

 

Reverently, you traced light patterns on his ribs and pecs with delicate fingers, soothing away any last tremors. Hawks hummed appreciatively at your tender touch, grasping one of your hands to press a lingering kiss to the palm. 

 

"Come here, Birdie," you murmured, beckoning him into your open embrace. Hawks complied readily, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with a contented sigh. Your legs tangled together comfortably as his wings folded around you both like a feathery blanket.

No threats of capture or duty rules could penetrate the sanctity of that moment. There, held securely within your arms, Hawks felt at once protected yet free—freed from the shackles of self-doubt and expectation. He belonged, body and soul, to one who accepted him fully without judgment or demand.

 

Drowsiness began to take hold as your rhythmic caresses through soft-down lulled Hawks towards slumber. "Stay?" he mumbled into your skin, his voice blurred by oncoming sleep yet filled with gentle hope. 

You kissed his forehead, followed by a whisper, "I’ll stay, promise." was the sweetest assurance Hawks could wish for.

© yammpi3 2024. All work belongs to @yammpi3. You can repost if you want to support my blog/writing! Please don't modify, translate, or plagiarize in any way on ANY platform.

[another-random-paradise]

Hii!! If you’d wanna, can you make short headcanons about the house wardens except Kalim and Idia with a reckless reader, like (for example); is chasing after grim for doing something stupid and sees a shorter but dangerous short cut and takes it, almost breaking a leg but they don’t bc their crush (not bf yet) catches them with their magic, (I believe he only said five people, but if not five, I would like if it had Malleus, Leona riddle, and Azul)

(btw I really like your writing! Keep it up, but don’t forget to take care of yourself <33)

A Rewarding Chase

Tysm for the request and the kind words!! It was very fun to write! I took the chasing grim idea and ran with it- made sure to try and not make it to repetitive!! I do have a four character limit, if you want the others too feel free to send a second request (I wouldn't mind, i had so much fun writing this-)! And take care of yourself too <3

---------------------------------------------------------

Reckless Reader being saved by him while chasing grim

Characters: Malleus, Leona, Riddle, Azul

Format: Headcanons

Warnings: Mentions of possible Injuries(Nobody actually gets Hurt)

Malleus

-It's already rather late, Malleus is on another one of his evening walks.. when he suddenly hears someone running, and you shouting

-He decides to check it out, because chances are, you're being reckless again. Also because he would get to see you again :) Nevermind that he saw you earlier during classes

-When he does, he, just as expected, saw you chasing after Grim once again, who knew what the little guy had done this time? He decided to just watch at first- at least until you once again decided to do something awfully reckless

-Grim decided to go down a steep staircase, and instead of running after him, you decide to jump down the stairs, in oder to catch up faster. And if there is one thing Malleus knew, it was the fact that humans are rather fragile, and that you would break your legs doing this Jump

-While very much shocked, he acted almost on impulse, the young fae Prince pulls out his Pen and stops you mid air. Being the powerful mage that he is, you can't wriggle yourself out of his magics grip. Once he sat you down at the top of the staircase, he was kind enough to also get Grim back

-A soft smile settles on his face as he questions your antiques, wondering if you weren't aware of your own fragility. You are, you just decide to ignore it!

-After sending Grim home, he asks you to join him on his nightly walk, he would love to know more about your impulsive decisions! He really just wants to know more about you in general. And in typical Malleus fashion, he doesn't even notice the faint blush on your cheeks!

-He tells you to call him, should Grim cause trouble again, he knows he wouldn't be able to change your reckless nature. And he doesn't want to- it is another part of you, and he loves all of you. He just doesn't want you to get hurt <3

Leona

-He has never been awake this fast.

-Leona was just once again napping in the botanical garden- When the sound of shouting woke him up, yours and Grim's shouting to be precise. He didn't think much of it, this happend pretty often after all, but nonetheless he decided to lazily open up one eye

-And thank the seven he did, because now he was very much awake and staring at you, as you climbed one of the tallest trees in the entirety of the garden.

-Turns out, Grim has decided to climb up a tree, and you being you, went after him. Well, people tend to be heavier than cats, so eventually a branch broke underneath you.

- The tree you were on wasn't at all small, the fall would very much end in multiple broken bones, if not worse!

-He quickly pulled out his pen, catching you. Grim got away in the end, while Leona scolded you told you off. He complained about your antics interrupting his nap, and that he won't catch you next time. He absolutely will, and the actual reason he's upset about your antics is that it worry's him

-He might just force you to stay with him, so that you, and i quote; "Won't cause any more trouble", but really he just wants to be close to you. But then again, could it really be considered forcing, if you willingly agree? who'd say no to napping with their crush, after all ;)

-He might occasionally glance at you, while trying to go back to napping. He isn't entirely sure how he fell for someone as reckless as you, but you know what they say: Opposites attract :)   

Riddle

-It was just supposed to be a normal unbirthday party.

-Riddle, of course, invited you, like he always does! Pretty much the entire dorm except maybe Deuce know about his crush on you by now And you in Grim were pretty much a package, you invite one, the other comes along.

-Riddle doesn't mind, of course! He does Who was he to demand time alone with you, it's not like your dating! He really wishes you were... were it not for Grim being such a trouble maker

-Grim had decided to throw a tantrum after not getting "fed enough", as in, he got the same amount of tarts as everybody else, before running off. You run after him, and in turn Riddle goes after you, as he already knows how reckless you can be

-And thank the seven that he did, as just as he finally catches up, he sees you trying to jump over a Rose bush to get to Grim- Sure it would break no bones, but the amount of thorns could severely cut you, and leave scars, or worse get infected!- The small Redhead is panicking to say the least

-He quickly takes his pen and uses magic to pull you back, almost making you bump into him in his panic!

-He scolds you almost immediately, if you were a part of his dorm he would have collared you! He wouldn't have, this man plays favorites Though you can't help but notice how not even once he brought up how you could have ruined the Roses or your Uniform.. All he cared bout was your health! And that made you happy, I mean, your crush actually cares about you!

-After helping you catch Grim, the party was already over, so he bids you farewel, sending you back to ramshackle, before both of you return to your respective rooms to comprehend the situation and blush :)

Azul

-How someone as organized as him could fall for someone as reckless as you? He doesn't know, but he did.

-This is proven as, just like always, he personally came to attend to you when you came to eat dinner at the Mostro lounge. He says it's because it's a busy night, but really it's an excuse to see you! And you don't question it because you get to spend more time with him because of it! 

-But alas, Grim didn't wanna behave, so after being told that they were out of his favorite food, he took of and somehow climbed onto one of the lamps. 

-You weren't having it, not today. You usually try to hold your reckless nature back in front of Azul, not wanting to terrify your crush, but Grim's tantrum just ruined the great conversation you were having with Azul ,ordering desert!

-So, you climb onto your seat and leap at the lamb! Considering you aren't focused on landing properly, but on catching grim, chances are very high you'll Hurt yourself, most likely straining your ankle

-So, Azul being a Gentleman, as well as not wanting to taint his reputation by letting a guest get hurt He'll hate himself if he just let's you get hurt, uses his magic to catch you, as he isn't the strongest physically 

-He sends the eels after Grim while taking you to the VIP lounge. You think he's about to ban you for live, but actually he checks up on you, making sure you weren't injured in the process of the jump, as well as that his magic had no side effects 

-You do have to stop him from banning grim for live

-He may just draft up a contract about being more careful with your antics, or to at least think twice before acting, you don't even realize how much you worry him! You most likely refuse, knowing that you can't just stop yourself from, well, being yourself. But he does make you sign a contract to not speak about what happened.

-You leave, smiling to yourself, now knowing that your crush cares about you, as he sits in his office blushing about the whole situation, just hoping the twins don't walk in 

First Riddle request!! Very exited because I love the mini Tyrant <3 Also, for Azul's part, for one line, I wanted to originally write 'Your crush' but decided to change it to Azul, and almost published this with it saying 'your Azul' I-

Feedback is welcomed, just be nice!

Remember to drink water! Have a nice day/night <3